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donald4spiderman · 3 years

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The City

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Summary: Reader is thinking about moving to California. Spencer’s determined to get her to stay.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Category: Fluff (angst if you squint)

**Inspired by Ben’s poetic confession in Parks and Recreations, S3E14**

Here’s a draft i forgot to post

**not edited yet**

Spencer’s POV

As a profiler, I’ve mastered the observation and analysis of behavior— we all have.

Picking the minds of serial killers is second nature— so why is it so hard for me to figure out why (Y/N) is behaving so strangely?

In the recent months, her witty and charming energy has dwindled into a lethargic imitation. Whether she’d admit it or not— (Y/N) can be extremely enthusiastic about certain things— especially our job.

So, when I watch her drag her feet, inch by inch, into the BAU each morning, It’s hard to contain my concern.

I know Morgan has noticed, and I’m sure everyone else has too. They’re probably just too scared to say anything. (Y/N) doesn’t enjoy people prying into her private life, so we all stay a comfortable distance away.

I watch her a lot... more than I’d like to admit. It’s hard to be unaware of her nervous behaviors— the nail biting, hair twisting, skin picking— I practically have enough data to make a correlation graph. I can tell when she’s upset, and it’s happening more than usual.

(Y/N) has always been kind to me. Even when I was at the peak of my stammering, slicked-back hair phase, she treated me with more respect than I deserved. I can only imagine how awkward I must’ve been (or, still am), and I thank her for not belittling me.

I guess I’m validating the Benjamin Franklin Effect when I say this— but I feel like I owe it to her to ask what’s wrong. Over the years I’ve built up (arguably) the closest friendship with her, so it only makes sense for me to bite the bullet for the team.

It’s partially due to the fact that I’ve developed a slight (if not major) crush over time, but who wouldn’t? A gorgeous, intelligent, quick-witted women is kryptonite for any person. Our conversations are always stimulating, she gives the best advice, and she’s always there to comfort a team member.

So, it pains me to see her struggle through a paperwork day. I wish she would reach out to anyone for help, but it’s not in her nature.

“H-Hi.” I smile as I approach her desk. Her tired eyes look up at me, and she smiles back.

“Hey, Reid. What’s up?

I rub the back of my neck nervously. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Morgan and Emily watching me struggle to form a sentence. They giggle as they watch.

“I-I was... um. D-do you want to get coffee with m-me? Not now! I mean— after work!” Morgan stumbles out of the bullpen, barely containing his laugh. I must sound pathetic.

(Y/N) nods hesitantly, “S-sure. I don’t know why you want to get coffee with me, but I’m free.”

“Really?” My surprise shocks her. “T-that’s gr-great! I can drive you!”

She chuckled, “I think I’d rather drive us. I’m pretty sure you can’t drive a mile without hitting a curb.”

I nod fervently. “Sounds good.”

As I make my way back to my desk, I send a glare in Emily’s direction as she continues to smirk at me.

(Y/N) grabs an empty table in the café, and we sit down, huddling close to our warm drinks. She orders a cinnamon latte, I order a black coffee with an unhealthy amount of sugar.

I place the drinks down. “Did you know that cinnamon is shown to reduce systolic blood pressure. It’s commonly used in South Asia and works by dilating blood vessel.”

She nods, “Surprisingly, I did know that. You’re gonna have to teach me something else, Doc.” I laugh in response, enjoying the relaxation that radiates off of her.

“I feel like we don’t get to, um, t-talk as much as I would like to.” My words get caught in my throat and she gives me a lopsided smile.

“Well, we don’t exactly have the most leisurely job.” She states, sipping her drink.

I bite my lip, she looks down. I convince myself that my mind is playing tricks on me, because there’s no way (Y/N) would glance down to watch me pull my bottom lip between my teeth.

“I know... but you used to talk more.”

“I’ve been busy lately. Tired too.” She mumbles.

I mean forward slightly, my voice is a hushed whisper. “A-are you... okay?” I’m anticipating an defensive response, but all she does is sigh.

“I’m alright. I just... I’m getting tired of being here— in D.C.”

My eyes widen and my brows knit together. “W-What! Why?”

(Y/N) shrugs, “I don’t know. I just expected to feel... really, really attached to D.C when I first moved here. I love my job, and I love you guys— but nothing’s keeping me here.”

My face drops. My disappointment is adamant because she scrambles to reassure me.

“It’s not that I don’t absolutely love working with you guys. You’re my best friend, Spencer. But... I came to D.C to... I don’t know... settle down.” It comes out as more of a question rather a statement. “It’s sounds weird, right? Me, settling down?” She laughs. “I-I don’t mean a husband and a family necessarily. I moved here because I wanted to belong somewhere.”

“You don’t feel like you belong?”

“I feel... I feel like everything I have right now is temporary. It’s not the feeling I expected to have. I just want to have something permanent in my life for once.”

I remain silent, lacking the proper response.

“Please don’t tell anyone!” She pleaded.

I smile solemnly, “I won’t. I promise.”

In that moment, I make another promise. Not just to (Y/N), but to myself. I’m going to show her how many things she has here for her in D.C.

I’m going to prove how much I believe she belongs.

I started by bringing her coffee each morning— a cinnamon latte from the same café we went to.

The first time she seemed pleasantly surprised. I sped through the doors of the bullpen, my coat and slacks absolutely soaked due to the rainy D.C weather. She giggled at the sight of my hair plastered to my forehead. I was certain that I looked like a wet dog.

“Morning!” I greeted, placing down both cups of coffee on her desk so I could fix my hair. “I-uh-I got you coffee. A cinnamon latte, of course.”

(Y/N) smiles brightly, “You’re the best. Thanks, Reid. I definitely needed this.”

Hotch and Rossi are watching me curiously, pretending not to look up from their files. At this moment, I could care less.

“It’s n-nothing.” Suddenly I’m blushing furiously under the weight of her stare.

“Thanks, again.” She clears her throat, “Y-you’re a really good friend.”

She smiles. And I smile.

In the next three weeks, (Y/N) and I grow closer at a rate faster then ever. I try to do something small for her everyday. Finishing up a file for her; Bringing her coffee or water; Sitting next to her on the jet. It appears to be working— she looks much more relaxed and happy. Her sarcastic humor is back and she engages more with the team.

We’ve decided to hang out after today. I find myself enjoying every minute with her, even if all we do is talk, eat, and walk around aimlessly. I’m sure she’s tired of me, but my infatuation with her only grows.

Tonight, we’re sitting at the park, watching people on their late night jogs, dog walkers, babysitters. We finished eating Indian food at a local restaurant. Turns out we’re both regulars at the same place, it’s a shame we haven’t run into each other.

She’s sitting criss-cross on the bench, her elbow rested on top of her knee. “You know,” She starts, “D.C is pretty great. I don’t think I’ve felt this... content in a while.”

I smile, even if it’s too dark for her to see. “Th-thanks. D.C is a great place, despite averaging 39 inches of rain annually.”

She means her head back against the bench. “I still don’t know. I feel like I’m just waiting for something. I don’t even know what that something is... a sign maybe?”

“A sign?” I laugh.

“Y-yeah... a sign. I’d usually make a pros and cons list and research the differences between the two places but... this decision feels too personal to look at it as just statistics.”

In this very moment, I decide to toss all my concerns, questions, what if’s, into the wind. This is my final move; my last resort; my Hail Mary.

My hands are trembling, and it takes me seconds to force the words out of my throat.

“W-well, besides the higher cost of living and considerably gloomy weather, D.C can be a p-pretty great place to reside. It has a busy political culture and is one of the most diverse states in the country.” I pause for a little longer than necessary.

“But, besides statistics and facts, if w-we look past objectivity, to me: D.C is where my friends are, and my friends are my family. Um... I like The City because it’s home to so many great people. A-and I know it’s hard to see the good in things considering how much violence we see on a daily basis, but certain people make me believe that things aren’t all that bad.”

(Y/N)‘a listening attentively, making me even more nervous than I thought possible. “D.C— The City— is beautiful. It’s charming. It’s a warm, cinnamon latte on a rainy day, o-or a late night walk in the park. To me, it’s home.” I catch her smirking a little bit, and I can only hope that she understands what I’m trying to say.

“Plus, The City is really good at her job. The City’s an excellent profiler. But, the city’s an even better friend, and an even better person. It doesn’t hurt that The City has great hair, and gorgeous eyes, and a perfect smile. And, she does this cute thing where she twists the ends of her hair, even if I keep telling her to stop. The City’s beautiful and definitely out of my league. She probably wants nothing to with me now, but I don’t care. I really like The City. And, even if she doesn’t like me back, she should stay, because there are so many people that like and love The City. ‘Cause who wouldn’t.”

(Y/N) is full on grinning right now, and it’s hard to stay patient when so much is on the line.

“Wow.” She giggles. “You really like The City.”

I chuckled awkwardly, “Y-yeah. I really do.”

“I mean, if you think The City’s so great, maybe I should stay. Plus, I’m sure The City likes you too.”

I feign confusion, “Really? I don’t know... The City can be kind of closed off sometimes.”

“Trust me— The City definitely likes you back. And I don’t think The City appreciates you saying that about her”

“Oh really?” I gasp. “Let’s ask her.”

I turn my head around, then proceed to look back at (Y/N) in the most dramatic fashion.

“Hey.” I laugh.

“Oh, Hi Dr. Reid!” She feigns surprise to match my frivolousness.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, b-but I really like you. And, a little birdy told me that you like me back.”

She laughs heartily, “Well, that little birdy is a pretty reliable source.”

Soon, her head is resting on my shoulder. My body’s stiff and the air is caught in my lungs, but I feel more content than I have in years. Somehow the weather is warmer, and the sun is brighter, and things just seem... better.

“This is a great city.” She mumbles, peering up at me in the most adorable fashion.

“Yeah,” I smile, “It really is.”

“Pawnee’s a really special town, I love living there. And, I look forward to the moments in my day where I get to hang out with the town, and talk to the town about stuff. The town has really nice blonde hair too. And, it’s read a shocking number of political biographies for a town, which I like.” - Ben Wyatt

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #dr reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #sub!spencer #bittersweet #criminal minds x reader #fluff #spencer x y/n #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader

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tambourgi · 3 years

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tagged by the lovely @ithvka for this!

what colour are your eyes? sort of gray-blue-greenish combo, that's not really any color very much at all. what little thing instantly tells you that a person is good? being a genuine and good listener, ESPECIALLY to kids or older folks do you have a recurring dream? not like a Real Dream, just a series of stress nightmares about my teeth calling out (so... fun) how often do you find yourself daydreaming? pretty often! name/nickname? I'm currently sort of sorting out personal name stuff... but I go by Felix on here and that's what most people call me. zodiac? saggitarius sun, pisces moon, aquarius rising... literally almost everything else in terms of planets and shit is in sagittarius, when you look at the little circle graph it's super lopsided. height? i was promised i would be six feet tall and i am NOT and i am still salty about it. languages? pretty much just english... i can get by in spanish, but clumsily. i took latin, which i am not bad at, and a year of french, which has enabled me to do an amusingly bad french accent. favourite season? autumn autumn autumn fall... i'm from new england and it's all about the apples/cider/pumpkin patch/red leaves/hot cocoa/wool sweater/hiking boots lifestyle favourite colour? a real true pine green (these days anyway... i change my favorite color about every 2-3 years) favourite animals? BEARS!!!!!!!! and tigers and of course cats. favourite character? hmm... tbh still having Feelings about Nadia Vulvokov, in terms of characters that feel Too Real. tea, coffee, or hot chocolate? coffee... i used to be a big tea drinker but now it's all about the bean juice average hours of sleep? six, maybe, if i am lucky. cat or dog? CATS. as a kid i used to be very scared of dogs. i'm fine with them now, i just don't like them. number of blankets slept with? approximately 100 (or like, 3) place ancestors are from? my family on my mom's side are like, came to the US in 1660 puritan times people, so... english, i guess, though i'm sure there's more going on. my dad is adopted, so no clue! dream trip? i would really really love to go to russia, but that's probably just a pipe dream... i am also in the process of planning a cross-country road trip with my mother for this fall, which is not the One True Dream Trip but which i am VERY excited for. blog established? fall 2010 baby, i've been here 11 years random fact about yourself? hmmm... i came fairly close to making an appearance on a kid's PBS show until my mother realized she would have to drive to boston repeatedly and steered me away from it (now that i have driven in boston as an adult, she made the right choice by a mile) three ships? not really my thing these days bc largely my reaction to any ship is "oh, they seem nice... oh THEY seem nice... oh, as long as you're having fun" ad infinitum last song? mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys by willie and waylon last movie? gawain and the green knight, which... i really was disappointed by, which is maybe not the popular opinion? i found it to have overreached itself, and it didn't really engage with arthuriana (or indeed the original poem) in any interesting capacity. in full disclosure i wrote my thesis on arthurian lit so like, i know it was NEVER going to be what i wanted, but it wasn't even what i didn't want in an INTERESTING way. the worst sin of a movie is to be boring! and it was currently reading? rereading reaper man by terry pratchett, which i try and read late summer/early autumn when i can. just finished the southern book club's guide to slaying vampires which was very fun. currently watching? catching up on buzzfeed unsolved so i can talk to my little sister about it currently craving? i want a dip cone very badly and also a cannoli

#tagged meme

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a-medvezhonok · 4 years

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Part 4 April x Sterling

[part 3] [part 2] [part 1] [Ao3]

The next day Sterling walked into Ellen’s class, she was a bit late after this morning’s family argument. Ellen smiled brightly as Sterling entered.

-Oh hi, sweetie. It’s not like you to be late, but I’m sure you had your reason. Saving some stray poor run over animal perhaps? Why don’t you take a seat? Sterling smiled back and nodded rather than try and go into the whole explanation for her being late. She looked around the class for an empty spot, obviously, the only free one was next to April. April patted the seat, with a big teasing smile. Sterling walked over for lack of other options, even though she really did not feel strong enough for April today, not after the morning she had just had.

Ellen carried on –Now as I was saying, today is a very special day. Second only to Easter, Christmas and May the third. That’s my Birthday- She pointed at everyone- so make a note of that. No, during this week you get to work on a very exciting project. Oooh, I love this part, the suspense of it all, preparing a last supper!!!-the class groaned.

-Together we will make a big old banquet for the whole class and anyone else you want to invite and then we can all feast on your scrumptious delicacies. Now I have already teamed you up with your specific roles, to save you the awkward, ooh who do I work with, situation. –Ellen starts listing the groups and jobs.

- April and Sterling,- Both tense up- you worked so well as a team last time, so I am giving you the very special role of making Jesus’s body, the bread! It’s up to you how on many you bake and what kind, but I would recommend a minimum of five loaves, because, I’ll let you in on a little secret here. Three years ago, people weren’t being very Christian when sharing the four loaves provided.- She finished giving out the roles.- Ok now I bet you are all so excited to start, so for the rest of the class, I will just let you guys plan and discuss. If you have any questions I’m always here for you, not going anywhere, never have and never will, forever. Discuss!!

April looked over to Sterling – Well I guess we are teammates again.

-Yeah I guess so.

-Are you ok? You seem a bit off? –April reached out instinctively to place her hand on Sterling’s arm, but Sterling quickly retracted her own arm. Then looked apologetically back at April and tried to smile.

-It’s just family stuff, you know.

-Yeah, I know what that’s like. – There was a slight pause. – Sorry, I mean, you can tell me if you want, you were a surprisingly attentive listener when I spoke about my dad, it’s only fair I return the favour.

-Hah, that’s sweet – At this April blushed- but I really can’t get into it all. But thanks’ for trying. You just went up a grade in friendship – Sterling joke punched April’s arm. At this, they both smiled. Sterling cleared her throat and composed herself more. – So what’s the plan for the bread?

April used her best mocking seductive tone -You mean Jesus’s toned supple body.

Sterling couldn’t help but scoff – Like you would go anywhere near his body.

The comment took April by surprise, a flash of fear on her face that maybe someone heard and understood the meaning. But she quickly realised everyone else was too engrossed in their own conversations to notice. –Perhaps not, but by the way Ellen said “body” she clearly wants a slice of that.

-Yeah, she definitely has a type, you should hear her talk about Moses.

-I know right? – laughed April. Sterling tried to keep the flow going, but she couldn’t think straight, April was looking directly at her and her eyes were so big and pretty and the topic of even bread innuendos was a bit too much right now. She had to change the subject.

- I was thinking we could do it at mine? – At this April raised a sharp eyebrow- I.. I meant the baking, we have at least two ovens. Knowing my mum, there might even be a third one hidden that I don’t know about.–April was surprised at how genuinely angry Sterling sounded about the prospect of there being a secret oven.

- Sure we can bake at yours- April instinctively in trying to comfort placed her hand on Sterling’s thigh- as long as that’s ok with whatever’s happening at home.

Sterling seemed to relax- Yeah it’s fine. If the banquet is on Friday, then you can come round on Thursday. Plus the house will be empty, Blair has her music lessons – suddenly Sterling starts aggressively whispering- which I didn’t tell you about, she would kill me for telling you, but she’s really good at it, so I don’t know why she wants to keep it a secret. She says it’s to preserve her image, but I don’t see why anyone would care- she started talking normally again- Sorry got off track, but my parents are out as well. So it would just be the two of us. – Sterling realised as she said it that maybe that wasn’t actually a great thing for the two of them, but tried to not show that train of thought. April was also trying her hardest to keep a neutral facial expression.

-Thursday it is. We can send each other recipe ideas and make a list of all the ingredients we will need. And then you can check off the ones that you have at home, and then I can check if we have any of the ones you don’t have, and then I can go to the store and -

-Maybe make a colour coded spreadsheet, make a couple of graphs too.

-Stop teasing. - There was that lopsided smile Sterling adored.

- Oh so you can tease me, but I can’t tease you?

-Yes, exactly. Plus don’t make it sound like you don’t love how organised I am. – At this she leaned in closer to Sterling- I’m also efficient.

-I hate you.

-Good, the feelings are mutual. – They both grinned.

#teenage bounty hunters #april stevens #sterling x april #sterling wesley #stepril

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cecilspeaks · 4 years

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169 - The Whittler

Let us go then, you and I When the evening is spread out Against the sky And pick up some Dell Taco for dinner. Welcome to Night Vale.

Beyond our town, past the Sand Wastes, in the Scrublands, sits the old general store. An oaken cabin style A-frame with boxed windows and a covered patio. On the porch there sits a swinging bench and upon that bench sits an elderly man, his face crumpled like a discarded letter, his eyes like tire tracks hidden beneath the shady brim of a straw cowboy hat. The old man holds a block of Elmwood the size of a potato in his right hand, and in his left, a carving jack. He whittles away at the knot of food, shaving off small corners, making detailed lines and indentations. The wood is all his world. And this world is quiet in his lap, on his bench, on his patio, before his general store amid the Scrublands past the Sand Wastes, which curl about Night Vale like the gentle but calloused hands of a father holding a newborn. As the old man whittles, he whistles sad songs with no words. But all those who hear the notes know they are bout loss. That they are about loneliness. But no one hears those notes. Not yet. No one sees the old whittler, nor his general store far out in an uninhabited stretch of desert. Not yet. If they did, they would wonder how an old general store, which was not there yesterday, was suddenly here today, a shop that by all accounts had weathered decades of abusive heat, wind, and isolation. They would hear his sad song, and the universal language of wistful sorrow would hide from them their understanding of time.

Let’s have a look now at sports. This Saturday night, the Night Vale High School Scorpions basketball team begins the district tournament. The Scorpions, having finished the season 18-2, earned the number 1 seat this year, but face some tough competition in their bracket. In the first round, they must battle another basketball team. This is logical, because most basketball tournaments feature other basketball teams. But the other basketball team is considered weaker than the Night Vale Scorpions, because a series of accumulated numbers indicates this is so. Should the Scorpions make it out of the first round and into the semi-finals, they would likely battle the number 4 seed, Nature. A tougher matchup to be sure, as Nature is unpredictable and ubiquitous. Nature’s style of play is best described as capricious and random, sometimes showcasing an array of flashy skills like sunny days, crystalline lakes, and otters. But Nature is a lockdown defensive force with effective momentum stoppers like lightning, quicksand, and poison ivy.

And in the finals, the favorites to compete for the title are Night Vale High School versus themselves, perhaps the toughest battle of them all, as each player must confront their harmful secrets, painful pasts, and darkest nightmares. Themselves are able to match the pace and power of Night Vale’s offensive and defensive sets, and we expect an excellent game. Good luck, Scorpions!

Most days the Scrublands are absent of humans, unapproachable and hostile. Today is not most days, as a line of Night Vale citizens has formed outside of the general store to see the old whittler and his wood menagerie. Parents ask for photos of their children with his work, and he only whistles and nods nearly imperceptibly. It could almost be interpreted as a slight twitch of the neck, rather than an affirming nod, but interpretations grow liberal when want is high.

Fathers and mothers snap pictures on their phones of children accepting gifts of wood figurines from the old man. The kids stare into the thin black ellipses that pass for his eyes, searching for the charming smile of elderly approval. But instead, seeing every single constellation of the night sky inside slits as thin as thistles and as black as tar. The historic expansion of the universe cannot be fully understood in words or even human thought, but it can be comprehended in the eyes of the tanned, wrinkled stranger.

The old whittler does not charge a penny for any of his work. He does not smile nor accept the many thank-yous coaxed out of the young ones by their manner-minded handlers. Nor does he accept requests. Children have many mascots, heroes, and cartoons that they love to possess via keepsake totems, and they repeatedly ask the old man for whittled representations of their favorite things, like Pokemon characters or one of Pixar’s anthropomorphic cars, or even Ted Allen, host of Food Network’s long running cooking competition “Chopped”. But the old whittler only carves what he carves. And he carves tiny horses, little cowboys, old-timey wagons, armadillos, tigers, tractors, almost anything you can think of. He finishes his sculpture of a koala bear and hands it to Amber Akinyi, who looks at her husband Wilson Levy, who is holding their sobbing, screaming 16-month-old baby Flora. The couple smiles together, never knowing that this balsa koala is everything they could have ever wanted beyond a loving family. Wilson begins to cry at the simple beauty of this craft. Amber begins to cry at the feeling of being understood, and young Flora stops crying as she fawns over the 6-inch tall antipodean marsupial, cartoonishly gnawing on a eucalyptus leaf.

The whittler also carves people. Small human figures, yes, like firefighters and ballerinas and clowns, but also actual people. Harrison Kip told the old man he wished to be happier in his own skin, and the old whittler grabbed Harrison’s cheeks and brought Harrison’s round, soft face before his own crinkled countenance, and Harrison screamed. He screamed in fear of what the old man was about to do. He also screamed in joyous anticipation, and the two screams were discordant like adjacent keys pressed simultaneously on a church organ. The old whittler pressed his knife against Harrison’s chin and began to pull the blade back, using the force of his thumb and the trunk of his forefinger. He repeated throughout Harrison’s assenting and defiant shouts, and after a few moments, Harrison stopped yelling and stood. His jaw squarer, his nose thinner and longer, his shoulders broader. And Harrison smiled.

Soon, the whittler began carving houses, roads, and city buildings. They were larger than the koala, much larger, for they were full-sized renditions of these things. He sliced and sawed away at block after block of red oak, hackberry and peachwood, forming new arteries of city travel, whole blocks of residences, and even cultural landmarks and venues. And the town of Night Vale, in a single late morning, began to expand into the distant and uninhabitable Scrublands of our desert.

Let’s have a look now at horoscopes. Gemini. Bury yourself in your work today, Gemini. Pile that garbage high and rest your weary head beneath its odorous, but comforting weight. Cancer. No more Mr. Nice Guy, Cancer. Today you are Mrs. Disinterested Lady. Get out there and be uninvolved in everything. Leo. You’re the talk of the town, Leo. Word after word is about you, and it is juicy! Like a rare steak, like a blood orange. Juicy like 2008 coutoure. Whew! You should hear what they’re saying. Virgo. You are not what you seem to be, Virgo. You seem to be a blackberry shrub, overreaching and prickly. But really you are a human, squishy and small. Continue to be the thorny fruit-bearing bush, though. Libra. You seek balance, Libra, but you are as lopsided as wealth disparity graph in an economist’s classroom. Share your worth, distribute your value fairly and compassionately, Libra, for the villagers are sharpening their tools. Scorpio. Hey Steve, love you pal!

Sagittarius. Your (-) [0:10:42] in relationships is going to be your downfall, Sagittarius. You’re an obsidian monolith, towering over everyone, absorbing all light, except the faint reflection of those who want to know what glows inside your stony façade. You don’t have to be a diamond, Sagittarius, or even quartz. Just try for salt lick, OK? I think you can achieve that.

Capricorn. Oh the games you play, Capricorn, you wicked little sea goat! You naughty caprine ocean dweller with your horns and scales, vexing us with your riddles and labyrinthian logic! The stars offer no advice for you, Capricorn, only envious praise. Aquarius. Put your money where your mouth is, but wash that money first, Aquarius. It’s been in so many other people’s mouths, ever since we added Jolly Ranchers as legal currency. Pisces. You’re swimming upstream, Pisces. Figuratively speaking, of course. I mean you are a human who does not need to actually swim upstream for food or a mate. Get out of the metaphorical stream and avoid the damage you’re going to do to your body and soul. Except for you, Tim. You’re a woodchuck, who is literally swimming upstream. I don’t like you, Tim, because you are eating my tulips. You can drown. Aries. Fake it til you pretend to make it, Aries. Taurus. Don’t hide your feelings, Taurus! Frame them! Display them ostentatiously on the wall. Mount them on plinths behind velvet robed (-) [0:12:33]. Curate an exhibit of your feelings, Taurus. Charge admission.

And now the news. The Night Vale City Council deliberated today on whether the old whittler in front of the old general store in the Scrublands was friend or foe to our town. Those voices arguing in favor of the old man celebrated the huge municipal expansion he was creating so quickly onto undeveloped land.

“This new infrastructure would have taken us dozens of years and millions of dollars to deploy, and he has accomplished it all in half day!” these voices said in unison. “Plus,” they added, “he whittled a little army man for my kid, a bracelet for my wife, and a sweater for our cat. It’s everything we ever wanted!”

The dissenting voices, and they were few, could only argue that he failed to acquire proper permits for any of this construction, let alone an outdoor vendor’s license which is mandatory even for giveaways. Excepting restaurant samples, marketing promotions, and military dispersion of chemtrails. The many-voiced, uni-bodied creature that is the City Council, huffed in nearly unanimous support for this old man. His sad whistling, his prolific whittling, and his beneficence to our city. “Did you see?” said there of the voices, “that inside the general store there’s everything you could ever need. Cans, boxes, shelves, counters! Walls. It’s amazing. Everything is craved from a single block of wood, and it’s all connected! No glue or bolts or rivets anywhere.” “He’s a deft hand,” concurred four other voices. “How does he even find single blocks of wood that huge?” wondered a solo voice aloud. “Whatever!” the entire City Council roared in unison. “That old man is a superb whittler!”

And now financial news. [hysterical laughter Ha ha hahahaha hahaha every-everything’s fine! It’s just dandy! Uh, thank you for asking.

And now back to our top story. Out in the Scrublands, an entire wooden suburb has grown from the withered hands and sharp knife of the old whittler, who has for the first time today, moved from the porch of his general store. He stands now upon a stage, a round platform on the center of a great amphitheater, which he personally carved deep into the cracked, red rock of the desert floor. The people of Night Vale gather and sit on wood plank rows, which curve in a semi-circle around the old man on the stage. Each person in attendance holds in their hands a whittled object given to them as they entered the audience space. The items are all different, esoteric, and unique, each item and unexpected gift of the whittler. Each item the very thing they have always wanted, even if it was never what they thought they wanted. They hold gently their presents, protecting them with their very lives. The whittler, with his straw hat still shading his keyhole eyes and riverbend mouth, stands before the people of Night Vale who sit in an arena of his own making, each cradling a beloved statuette of his own making. The old man reaches out and takes the hand of his bride. She, of course, is of his own making as well. She is craved of weeping cedar. Her veil, though entirely wood, is somehow translucent, and her sorrowful eyes are faintly visible behind the intricate work of the whittler’s blade. The old man whistles once again, and the crowd whistles along with him. They know the song now. It lives in them like longing, like blood. Like a soul. They know every word of the wordless (-) [0:16:51], and the notes of loneliness spread across the Scrublands to the mountains’ edge and echo back in the key of hope, with a lilt of contentment and satisfaction. They will only be happy when he is happy and he is, indeed, happy. As the whittler clutches the hand of his newly carved betrothed, the clouds part, revealing the happiest thing of all: The weather.

[“Embroidery Stars” by Carrie Elkin http://carrieelkin.com/]

Into the Scrublands I went, myself already as happy as I could ever be for I was with my own true love, my husband. I journeyed to see the whittler for myself, as an effort of journalism, a chronicler of interesting events. I wanted for nothing. My happiness cannot be improved. Or so I believed.

When I arrived, the whittler more than 100 feet a way, and through a mass of thousands, greeted me with a nod so unobtrusive, I believed it to be a trick of the eye. But from the distance, I could see the whole of the universe in those dark eyes under dark shadow, behind the final violet of sunset. I knew he meant me.

Carlos and I stepped to the podium, and the old man opened his palm to reveal an original carving just for me. I had hoped it was a Nintendo Switch, but it was a [sea plane] [0:23:05]. Carlos, like a child on Santa’s lap, cooed and asked the old man for a superconductive supercollider. And the old whittler, his burlap cheeks heavy with gravity and history, reached into the breast pocket of his (-) shirt and handed Carlos a tiny wooden rose. Carlos hugged his rose to his chest, and I my (sea plane). The whittler took the hand again off his bride and gazed upon her, her veiled eyes met by his boundless stare. They stood like that for more than an hour, not speaking. The only sounds were the cicadas chirping and the crowd whistling.

But the tune faded, and soon only the cicadas cut through the silence of a still desert twilight. And one of us, Larry Leroy, stood and walked on to the stage. He touched the old man’s shoulder. The old man did not turn. He did not speak. He collapsed into black ash. Then his bride, then the seats beneath us, it all gave way to crumbling nothing. Then the buildings and roads and even the general store turned into ash. Finally, every one of our object dissipated, like Eurydice almost free from Hades. A gentle cool breeze arrived to sweep our hope away.

We returned home, wordless, with occasional whistles of the whittler’s tune, once again in a sad and lonesome key. Our cherished gifts, we told ourselves, were nothing more than baubles, ephemera, however blessed or magical. They were mere things, not love, not family, not true love, they were objects, toys. Props. Distractions. They were everything we have ever wanted, because we could hold them, see them, touch them. We can no longer do that, but we can remember what it was like. The rough of the wood against the soft of our hand.

Stay tuned next for our new game show: “Name all the nouns!”

And as always, good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Give a man and a fish and he’ll wonder what your deal is. Teach a man to fish and he’ll ask you once again to please leave him alone.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #wtnv transcripts #episode 169 #the whittler

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killervibe · 4 years

Text

Puzzles

A really really REALLY fluffy Cisco/Caitlin fic! <3

~.~

There’s a fluttering in her stomach. It’s not morning sickness, and it can’t be her minuscule baby. It’s nerves, excited jittering, little butterflies flapping their wings inside of her. The back of Caitlin’s chair dips as she leans back against it, pensive.

It has to be perfect. It needs to be.

She thinks about Cisco’s smile, imagining the way he’ll beam. How his eyes crinkle in the corners, and his face will light up like the sun. She smoothes the paper in front of her, a thousand scenarios running through her mind.

How will she tell him? That he’s going to be a dad. That he’ll have a tiny baby to hold in his arms in a few months time. A child who will be the perfect mix of him and herself. An infant she already knows their father will love until they both grow old and more.

She thinks about her own father, long gone now, in every way she ever knew him. But it’s the memory that lingers. The early years. She thought about hop scotch and bicycle rides. Birthdays and crossword puzzles. The science they learned. She thought about the games they played.

Tapping her pen against her desk, she brightened. The plan crystallized in her mind. That’s exactly how she’ll do it.

~.~

The sun was beginning to set through the windows of the Speed Lab as Barry raced around the track for the gazillionth time. Caitlin stepped in with a folder tucked neatly under her elbow, her heels clicking down the friction resistant flooring installed in the room as she made her way to Cisco. He sat over the edge of the sideline area, his arms looped around the lower railing as he bit his lip with deep concentration.

Cisco never really bothered watching Barry run anymore unless there was some logistical component he was interested in analyzing. There wasn’t any rush or emergency this week which would warrant such a thing, which could only mean— Caitlin smiled, sidling up to him. “Another suit, really?”

Cisco was crunching some numbers on his tablet, rolling his eyes at her teasing. “There is never an excuse not to be current with the fashion trends. Thought you of all people would understand that.”

Caitlin scooted forward, climbing under the railing to sit with him. He stopped to help smooth out her dress skirt when it got rucked up. His hand glided over her covered thigh affectionately. Caitlin covered his hand there with her own so she could hold it, lacing their fingers together. Cisco adjusted easily, tracking Barry’s speed now by poking at the numbers on the screen with his other hand.

“I understand fashion,” she argued, “but this is his twelfth suit.”

He scoffed. “It’s not the twelfth! I only have eight models saved in my draft history.”

Caitlin huffed. He turned to cock an eyebrow at her. “Why? You want an update too?”

She thought about it. No, she was very happy with her Frost suit. And then, would Caitlin even need a new one any time soon? It may very well be that her crime fighting days were temporarily over. She was about to tell Cisco that when she remembered he wouldn’t get it. Not yet, anyway. This was why she had come to find him here in the first place.

“I’m good,” she promised him, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Can you open a breach? I’m heading home. How long will you be out here?”

He opened a breach with the careless ease of a flicked finger off his touch screen. “Not long.”

Caitlin crossed her arms, unconvinced. He seemed much too absorbed in what they were doing for that to be true. He sensed her gaze and glanced at her sideways. “Not long,” he promised again. “I’ll have a beautiful girlfriend at home waiting for me.”

Their eyes locked as he gave her one of his lopsided, heart-wrenching grins. The one that made her weak at the knees. So stuffed full with his transparent love for her that Caitlin wasn’t exactly convinced it wouldn’t knock her up if she weren’t pregnant already.

Caitlin reflected his look right back at him, softening like butter. He trailed his eyes down her figure, now that she was stood up in front of him.

He finally noticed the brown office folder in her grasp. “Hey, what’s that?”

She let him take it out of her hands, trying to school her face into a neutral expression. It was hard, she was already fighting off her excited grin. “Oh, this?” She watched him tilt his head at the graph paper and pen scribbles.

“It’s a coded equation. I’ve been trying to crack it for the last hour but I’m tired. I’ll try it again in the morning.” She tried to pull it back, but he held on, falling for her bait like a fish on a hook.

“I can do it,” he offered. She knew he would.

“—Oh, Cisco, no, I wouldn’t ask you—”

“It’s not hard! I love these things. Where did it come from?”

Caitlin shrugged vaguely, neither confirming or denying his theories of where this came from. He already thought its a meta from another dimension. Caitlin turned to stifle a giggle into the palm of her hand. Barry was completely forgotten, as Cisco drew his knees up to place the papers against them like an easel, leaning forward to squint at her fake attempts to ‘crack’ the code. Cisco’s breach was still swirling patiently behind them. He realized she hadn’t left yet, and shooed his hand at her to go into the breach, promising to meet up with her for dinner.

Caitlin gave him a kiss goodbye, then did as she was told, the blue swirling vortex closed behind her as she made it to their bedroom. After brushing her hair and changing out of her stockings to put on something more comfortable, she stood in front of her mirror.

Slowly, her left hand trailed down her neck, past the slope of her shoulders and curve of her breast to land gently on her flat stomach. She slid her hand under her cozy sweater, tapping her skin there, deep in thought. In the mirror, she didn’t look any different. But she felt so.

“Only Iris knows about you,” Caitlin found herself saying to her itty bitty child. “That’ll change soon.” She glanced at the clock. “Shouldn’t be long now.”

Caitlin’s smile in her reflection was unlike any she’d ever seen in any pictures of herself before.

It took a while after the initial shock in the Star Labs basement bathroom to really process that she was going to have a baby with Cisco. Caitlin was in denial for most of the day, locking herself in her Med Bay to keep from seeing Cisco.

She knew Cisco wanted kids. Caitlin wasn’t as sure. She thought there was a feeling she was supposed to get. This gut instinctual one where she wakes up one morning with a green neon sign in her brain blinking on and off that sings You’re Ready! Today You Want to Become A Mom!

Iris laughed when Caitlin described it, and now she understood she didn’t need to have woken up to that neon green mental signal to feel confident that this was a really good idea.

The sense of Good Idea-Ness only intensified as the day grew longer, and Caitlin was fidgeting, trying to keep the news to herself as she planned the surprise. Now she couldn’t wait.

Just as she picked up her cell phone to order in dinner, a breach emerged out of nowhere. Cisco flailed out of it, calling her name as he waved the solved puzzle around the air. With crazed eyes and a frantic bumbling kind of awkwardness, he spun around in a full circle, shouting unintelligibly. He was so out of sorts it took him a few seconds to realize she was standing with a hand on her hip right in front of him. When he did, his eyes widened. He thrusted the solved periodic table of elements sequence at her, as if he wanted her to see for herself.

“Is this true?! Caitlin, is this for real?”

She nodded, light in her eyes as he let out a giddy laugh, pulling her into his arms immediately.

“For real? You’re pregnant?”

"Yes!" Caitlin giggled into the crook of his neck as he spun her around, then pulled herself from there to step back and memorize his reaction.

Tears were dripping down his cheeks. Caitlin’s finger swiped against his face gently, brushing the moisture away. She nodded once again.

He studied her with tenderness, leaning into her touch. “And you’re ready for this? You want to have a baby with me?��

“I want everything with you, Cisco.”

Cisco looked so dumbfounded, like he couldn’t believe his luck. He glanced down at her sweater, his hands jumping in the space between their bodies, hovering over her abdomen.

“Can I…?”

“There’s nothing to see,” she warned him, but lifted the sweater up anyways. His warm hands pressed lightly against her skin on her stomach.

“Wow,” he breathed in awe. “A baby Caitlin.”

Caitlin quirked an eyebrow. “Declaring genders already, are we?”

He grinned up at her sheepishly after crouching down to place a soft wet kiss over her bellybutton. “Baby Snow,” he corrected himself. He carefully tucked her sweater back in place, and rose to kiss Caitlin’s lips happily once, then twice.

“Baby Snow,” she repeated to herself. She wrinkled her nose. “Really?”

“What?” he murmured hot against her cheek.

Caitlin wrapped her arms around his waist, Cisco’s solved puzzle still in hand as they stood in the middle of the kitchen. “I was thinking baby Ramon.”

“Snow-Ramon?” he tried.

“Ramon-Snow sounds better,” she shot back.

Cisco pulled a face. “I don’t know about that.”

Caitlin laughed at their ridiculousness. “Let’s just call it our baby.”

Screw her medical degree; Cisco gazed into her eyes with an intensity she’s certain this time had the power to impregnate. She tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear lovingly. “We have time.”

“I can do that,” he said and kissed her again.

#the flash #fluff #killervibe #cisco x caitlin #the flash fic #tkv fic

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starlightsoulwriting · 4 years

Text

Constellations Against Skin

n.t. “You hold him in your arms, a thousand stars in the bones of a man, and nobody could have thought you’d come so close to holding constellations against your skin.”

Dean Winchester X Reader; Castiel X Reader

Soulmate AU

[AO3] [Chapter List]

Three: Homecoming

There were lungs on the table.

Lungs that were outside of their body. On a steel table.

Man, Dean fucking hated autopsies.

"Are you alright, Agent Mason?" The coroner, Dr. Sinha, looked at him, concerned. As if laying organs out on a table was normal or even remotely okay.

"I'm fine," He grunted, looking away from the steel tray where the nigh-completely incinerated lungs sat, instead focusing on a very peculiar black-brown stain on the floor. "Keep going."

The woman shrugged before gesturing at the body. Dean wasn’t sure if her subtle accent was British or not, but her words sounded airy coming out of her mouth. "As I was saying," She squished her fingers into an incision that circled its way around the organs, before peeling them open like butterflied chicken. The inside was basically charcoal, somehow squishy and crumbly at the same time.

And there went Dean’s dinner plans. He could not eat a burger after seeing that.

"Cause of death is pretty obvious. It's like someone poured lighter fluid into his lungs and lit him up. There was a sustained flame inside this man's body. Smoke inhalation doesn’t look like this." She turned and inspected the body on the other steel table. Her dark eyebrows furrowed, like she was convinced that if she looked hard enough she would find answers Dean knew weren’t there. "But there's no outward signs of any trauma. No wounds on his skin at all."

"Is there anything else off here, besides the obvious?" Sam asked, poking at a charred lung with a gloved hand. Dean smacked his hand away, giving him a look and a quiet ‘what the hell’. Sam just kicked him in the back of the knee while the doctor was turned away, nearly making him fall on the floor. Sam, of course, composed himself before Dr. Sinha turned back around with a blood sample, leaving Dean looking like an idiot.

Dr. Sihna just ignored the commotion, thank god, raising her eyebrows with a smug smile instead. In her hand was a vial that normally held blood, but this sample was obviously super fucked up. "You mean like this?"

The blood was green.

“Excuse me?” Sam’s jaw went a little slack, eyes widening. “That’s… Is that blood?”

Sinha nodded. “Straight from Mr. Doe himself.”

“Wait,” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. He was too tired for this shit. “I thought that was just a Star Trek thing.”

“Star Trek? Seriously?” Sam looked like he was about to start making fun of him but Dr. Sinha spoke up before he could.

“It’s not just a Star Trek thing, no,” She peeled off her gloves and handed him a file-folder to look through. “Sulfhemoglobinemia. It’s rare - I’ve never encountered it in the field, so it was quite the shock when I went to do a tox screen and it came out green.” She gestured to the report, which Dean started leafing through. It was a lot of medical terms and a graph with one very tall spike labeled ‘Sulfur.’ “It’s caused by sulphur, either from direct exposure or medication, binding to hemoglobin. The amount in his system is off the charts. He should have died weeks ago.” She put the vial back in the fridge, pulling on a new pair of gloves.

“There’s no signs of cyanosis - oxygen deprivation. It leaves skin blue, normally. Of course, not in this case.” Dr. Sinha pulled the man’s lips back to reveal that his gums were still very much pink. “I can’t wait to write this up. Strangest body I’ve ever found.” She looked at Dean again and winked. “You’ve snagged a hell of a case, Mulder.”

“What can I say?” Dean gave her a lopsided, flirty grin back. “I like a good mystery.”

“Well, let me know if you solve this one.” She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice to a murmur. “It’ll look better for when I publish.”

“We’ll do our best, Doctor,” Sam started, grabbing on to Dean’s arm lightly as if to drag him out. “Thanks for all your help.”

“You’re welcome. It’s been interesting.”

Sam let go of his arm once they were out in the hallway. “We still think this guy’s just the meatsuit? I’ve never seen something like that.”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, the sulphur might’ve just built up in his system for however long the demon’s been wearing him. I think. If that’s how it works.”

“Must’ve been a hell of a long time,” Sam scoffed.

“No kidding.”

A shrill, ringing phone screamed in Dean’s pocket, breaking the silence of the ME’s office. He answered just as they walked through the exit and into the overcast, windy day outside.

"Hello?"

"Dean?" You rasp through the phone. "Bobby and I are finished up at the hospital, we’re heading out."

"Shouldn't you be resting?" You heard him ask.

“I mean, yes,” You sigh and carefully tug on an oversized hoodie from your luggage - all your things were thankfully still at the motel, including your car, which was a huge weight off your chest. That car was your baby. It’d been a hell of a time to restore. “But I can’t stay here when we don’t know where Alioth is.”

“That’s fair,” Dean said. “Any other reason for the call, or is this just a heads up that y'all are ditching us?”

“Yeah, actually.” You hum and grab a filthy shirt from your personal effects and study it - the one you wore the night of the attack. It’d been bothering you since the nurse brought it back to you. Running your fingers along an odd oily patch in the fabric, your fingers were left tingling, almost like they were half-asleep. “Was there any oil at the crime scene? My clothes have giant blotches of the stuff.”

There was a moment of silence as he thought. “I think so. It was an abandoned factory.”

“This stuff is just super weird.” You slash a scrap of fabric from the shirt with your pocket knife and shove it in a ziplock, the feeling of menthol and static lingering in your fingertips. You might be able to figure out what it was later. “It feels like old magic. Not sure what or why, though.”

“What does that even mean?" He muttered into the phone and you heard Sam say something. A sigh. "There were some spell ingredients on the floor. Probably picked some up.”

“The demon was doing something shady, huh? What a surprise,” You scoff and mount your crutches, glancing back at the shabby motel room for the last time. Good fucking riddance.

“I don’t know how many answers you two are going to find, though.” You say softly, unsure if there was even anything left to find. You didn’t even know if any evidence they could find would even matter. You were content to forget everything that happened in this stupid town. What good would finding out what happened do, even, besides tell you whether Alioth had been exorcised or not.

Bobby was going to drive you to his house in your, leaving the truck in the motel lot. He’d already helped you pack your meager duffel full of your laundry and you were completely ready to leave.

You left the clothes from the crime scene in the trash where they belonged. They were absolutely ruined, and even if they hadn't been, you would’ve never been able to bring yourself to wear them again. “It might be a good idea to just fall back to Bobby’s and try to find the Colt. Solve both of our Demon Problems.”

The was silence and shuffling, and you heard the muffled voices of Dean and Sam talking - or were they arguing? After a moment Dean’s voice rang through the phone again. “If we don’t find anything more by tomorrow we’ll head back to Bobby's.”

“Alright.” You carefully navigate into the passenger seat of your Candy-Apple Red Mustang, shooing away Bobby’s attempts to help you in. No way we're you accepting that. You were a stubborn bitch, and he’d already helped enough just by loading up all your shit. “I’ll be looking for demon omens in the meantime.”

Dean sighed. “You really should take it easy, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” You rolled your eyes, a smile growing on your face against your will. It was kind of cute that he cared, even if you had the feeling he would’ve said that to anyone that’d just gotten out of the hospital. But it was nice. “And if some punk put you in the hospital you would be fine letting everyone else do all the work?” You dig, knowing how most hunters, including yourself, could be about self care - absolutely horrible at it.

“Awfully bold of you to assume I can be hurt.” He shot back. Oh, you could practically hear the arrogant, uneven grin on his face. Cheeky.

“My mistake,” You chuckle before wincing as it moves the bandages rubbing against your ribs. “I didn’t know you’re secretly Achilles.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” He said, the pet name making you feel things you weren’t quite ready to deal with. A blush worked its way across your cheeks despite yourself. “I don’t have a weakness.”

Bobby rose his eyebrows at your stupid, lovestruck grin before he started your car. You ignored him, smiling still. “I’ll keep that in mind, Winchester.”

“Please do,” His voice was low and rough in your ear. God, that was everything. “See you two in a few days, then.”

“I look forward to it.” You said, and you really meant it.

The line went dead.

There was silence in the car until you reached over and turned on the radio. Your favorite music started blaring, and Bobby grimaced at the volume before he turned it down.

More silence. You yawned and settled in for the long drive home.

Huh. It’d been a while since you’ve called that place home.

“So…” He started, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes before turning back to the road. He looked awfully smug, which was never good, “Dean, huh?”

Oh, god, this was not happening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.” He frew the syllables out, as if to rub in your face how much he didn’t believe you. “You haven't had moon-eyes like that since you left that Natalie girl in Wisconsin.”

“Bobby...” You groan. He was not going to bring that stupid prom stunt into this, was he? “That was like ten years ago.”

He hummed all too knowingly. “Exactly.”

Shithead.

You would never admit that he’s right, of course.

“Hey, (Y/n)...” He started, voice almost hesitant. “You’re sure this all has nothing to do with… whatever the hell you were doing those three years away, right? We’re sure it’s Alioth?”

Ah, shit, he went there. And your stomach just lodged itself into your throat.

“Yeah, Bobby. It was definitely Alioth. You heard what the boys said.” You forced out through strangling anxiety rising in your chest. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears and made everything else feel quiet.

He went quiet for a moment before he sighed, slapping his hand on the steering wheel. “Are you ever gonna tell me what happened?” His voice was low and exasperated, and also soft at the same time, somehow, as if he was afraid of scaring you away. “You were missing, (Y/n). For three entire, god-damn years, and you don’t expect me to want to know where you were? To not be bothered? I thought you'd gotten yourself killed!”

“You know I can’t talk about it,” You said, curling into your seat more, facing the window instead of him, suddenly nauseous . You couldn’t look at him now. Not like this. If you looked him in the eyes your resolve might crumble away into nothing.

“What, you show up on my doorstep last year, half-dead and catatonic, after years of nothing, and you can’t tell me jack shit?”

“No,” You murmured, hiding as best you could when sharing a car with someone, covering your head with your arms. Hot tears pricked at your eyes. You shut them tight against the tears. You were not going to cry. You promised yourself you would never cry over Him. Him or anyone else from New York. They didn’t deserve your tears. “I can’t.” Your voice cracked embarrassingly, but you didn’t care. You just wanted this conversation to be over.

Bobby let out a frustrated sigh and you knew that was the end of it. Thank god. You wiped at your face with your good hand, trailing off the tears that never fell, and stared steadfastly at the trees outside the window. Every once in a while you passed farms instead of woods.

The quiet hung in the car like an oppressive fog, stopping both of you from trying to speak. You didn’t bother complaining when Bobby changed the music sporadically, even if it drove you nuts. It wasn't worth it.

You had a pillow you jacked from the hospital under your head, and the gentle white noise of tires on asphalt had you drifting deeper and deeper into the veil of sleep.

You felt so tired. Maybe Dean was right. You should rest.

A nap sounded really nice…

…

A clear sky in the middle of summer. Sunny meadows and flying kites. Children laughing and chasing each other in the park.

Gentle fingers carding through your hair as you lay your head on a steady chest. Soft grass underneath you.

A warm voice.

"You don't have to apologize to me, veleshenai. I'm the one who should apologize."

The sound of wings and ancient whispers carried along the wind. Familiar and strange, powerful and soft. Warm, like the feeling of sun on your skin.

"I should’ve gotten to you sooner. But you're safe now."

A babbling brook somewhere in the distance. Songbirds. The smell of grass and pine and honeysuckles.

"It'll be alright. You can rest now. I'll watch over you."

You could stay there forever.

…

You startled awake when the car jolted against a pothole.

Any memories you'd just formed faded away into obscurity with the rest of your forgotten dreams, leaving nothing behind but tinnitus and a lingering, heartbreaking echo of warmth in your soul. The more you tried to remember the more the feelings and sounds fell through your fingers like grains of sand.

By the time you sat up in your chair it was completely gone.

It was past dark in South Dakota, your Shelby’s headlights the only bright spot in the darkness of a lonely back road. Dark trees rushed past your window at blinding speeds, blurring into a solid green monolith lining the highway.

The first thing you felt was that everything fucking hurt. You bit back a groan, swallowing your painkiller without bothering to get water.

It better kick in fast.

“Hope you slept well, kid.” Bobby's voice echoed strangely against your ringing ears and felt like your head was being stabbed through. “We’re almost back at my place.”

You just nodded at him, looking forward to a bed you recognized. Bobby’s guest bed was cheap, and lumpy, and he refused to let you buy him a new one, but it was home. You smiled weakly. “I can order some delivery if you want me to. It’s the least I can do.”

He waved you off. “You know I hate that. I can handle my damn self.”

You don't know what else you expected.

You pulled up to his property not long later. The sight of an old made your stomach churn. You always felt bad going down the driveway of the yard and seeing once-beautiful cars left to rust. How many memories got eroded away by the wear of time.

But the junkyard gave you isolation when you needed it - it’d been home to more than one of your poorly thought-out, cocky shoot-offs with any and every hunter you could rope into it. When you were sixteen you shot some poor sap in the leg . And even though it had been a ricochet, you weren’t allowed to sneak off with other guests for a year.

You’d been alone by then, always on the move. But Bobby's had always stayed home, no matter how long it far you strayed. It was worlds better than the group home, even with constant talk of killing monsters and drunk hunters and crazy stories. Here you could afford to be yourself, without the cruel judgment if your peers. Just Bobby.

You were free - even with him shoving GED courses in your face nonstop. That was just about the only real education you’d ever gotten.

The car slowed to a stop in the garage, engine slowing down and then going quiet. You pulled yourself onto your crutches and out of the car, refusing to your spinning head stop you from walking by yourself. So you hobbled up the half-rotted wood stairs while Bobby hauled your duffel bag into his guest room. Even though you’d just slept you were already tired enough to crash, whether it was from the stress of your injuries, your pain meds, or both.

You didn’t have the energy to bring up how many empty alcohol bottles cluttered the tables inside the house. More than usual. Instead, you ate your canned soup in silence, idly looking for abnormal weather patterns on your laptop. Bobby was on the phone catching up on whatever hunter chatter he’d missed in the past two days.

You managed to towel-wash yourself well enough to not feel gross before you maneuvered yourself into the familiar, squeaky mattress in the guest room. Your room in all but name at this point. You pulled the quilts tight over your head and closed your eyes, praying that sleep would take you quickly.

You just needed to get through the next month and a half.

It's funny.

Dean and Sam had probably spent a good amount of their childhood sleeping in this room, too.

It was kind of infuriating, actually - how hard John tried to keep you away from his kids, even when all of you spent an inordinate amount of time at Bobby’s.

How much planning had gone into that? How many last minute plan changes?

A familiar pain rang through your chest. The sting of rejection. You would think you'd be over it by now. After all, you barely even knew him. He'd made sure of that. You'd long since given up chasing the approval of someone who never cared.

But it still hurt.

John thought you were a freak.

Couldn't let his sons be tainted by your mere presence. God forbid you have friends or a sense of safety for once in your life.

You knew the only reason he ever helped you fight Alioth off all those times was because he thought the demon could lead him to Yellow Eyes. Alioth only ever mocked him about that. But you’d wanted the help. You wanted to live.

John saved your life and then dropped you like a sack of potatoes.

Bitch.

…

You slept horribly.

Your stupid casts were all in the stupid way, you couldn't get comfortable for the life of you, every other hour you woke up in burning, throbbing pain, and you were sure that you could feel every last one of your bandages rubbing against your skin.

At 5:46 in the morning you woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. So you gave in and got out of bed, slogging through your new morning routine. You had to brush your teeth sitting down.

At least you could make coffee and toast with one hand.

You sat down on the couch and scrolled through newspaper reports. looking for the standard demonic omens. Cattle mutilations and crop failures. But you also searched for any missing person/arson combos that happened since Saturday.

For a demon, Alioth was extremely flashy when he picked hosts. Always upper-middle class men. Men that had fancy suits to steal and giant, overly expensive houses to light on fire.

You took only a small amount of comfort in the fact you found nothing.

---

Sam and Dean found nothing.

There were no leads. No cameras anywhere near the factory where you'd been found. The body, while nuts, went nowhere. Even going by the crime scene again yielded nothing but the soot outline of a triangle shaped knife.

All they could really do was take photos of the blood sigil and gather some of the spell ingredients from the floor. Get the evidence back to you and Bobby, because the two of you had time to research wacko demon magic rituals, and he had monsters to kill.

On one hand, they could get back to taking cases that might actually go somewhere. Save people from spooks that were still around.

On the other, now they knew that there were more sociopath demons running around killing people. It didn’t exactly feel very good knowing the bastards were escalating. All the talk about a war coming and these 'special kids.' It left a hell of a pit in Dean's stomach.

He was left with the lingering feeling that all of this had been a big waste of time. He got to meet a hunter his own age, which was cool - they were few and far between, but that was about it. Everything was dead ends. They had no idea where that damn demon ran off to.

He couldn’t fault Bobby for dragging them out there, though. If the thing had still been there he would’ve needed backup.

He was still disappointed he didn't get to punch the bastard in his smarmy fucking face though.

Was he projecting? Maybe.

Did it matter? Not really.

He just drove, and listened to music, and didn't let his thoughts linger on things like that.

He got to Bobby’s place before Sam did. Since you couldn’t drive, there had been a bit of musical chairs that ended with his brother driving Bobby’s truck back to the house. Between Dean's lead foot and the Impala's engine he had a solid hour or two lead.

And you were arguing when he got there.

“Bobby, I am perfectly able to go to my workshop. You don’t have to bring anything into the damn kitchen.” You were sitting in one of the ratty chairs with your leg propped up on another, all crossed arms and pouting face. The bruises on your face were mostly gone by now, leaving you looking more tired than anything.

A toolbox full of god-knows what sat on the table in front of you. Gungy 1990’s stickers covered the surface almost entirely. Was that Lisa Frank or a just a rainbow? ACDC, NASA, all sorts of other acronyms he didn't understand, and a barely legible Terminator graphic on one side.

“Perfectly able? You can hardly get out of that chair and you think you can go down the rickety stairs to my basement?” Bobby drawled, and let a heavy, metal case thunk onto the dining table next to the tool box. Dean felt the impact rattle in his bones. “No, either you let me help you down the damn stairs, don't start working, or I’m hauling everything else up!”

“Maybe try not having shitty stairs, genius!”

Dean cleared his throat, making you jump in your seat, eyes darting to him in surprise.

Damn, that blush on your face was cute. And you would absolutely kill him if he ever said as much, he just knew it. He tried not to stare at your lips, red from you worrying at them. His stomach did a flip and he had no idea if he was freaked out or, god forbid, smitten.

You still kind of gave him the heebie-jeebies, though. Just a little. But he would ignore it as long as you didn't root around in his brains.

“Need any help?” He gave his signature, charming grin to the both of you.

“Yes!” “No!” The two of you shouted at the same time. You resumed your staring match with Bobby, eyes on fire. Tense silence hung thick in the air and he swore he saw sparks start flying.

A look struck you like you just had an idea.

“Hey, Dean?” You sing-songed in a voice he recognized - the same one he used when he was about to annoy the shit out of Sam. You were about to be a smartass.

“Yeah?” He half-smiled, anticipation like static in his chest.

“D'ya mind helping me downstairs?” You say with a wry smile.

"You're fucking insufferable, kid." Bobby groaned and left the room, leaving you with a mischievous gleam in your eye. Apparently that was exactly how you wanted him to react.

You sti

You stuck your tongue out at his back.

Dean recognized a fellow professional in the Fine Art of Being a Pain in the Ass when he saw one. He respected the hustle.

He sauntered over to you as you wobbled onto your crutches. “So what was all that about?”

You sighed as he walked with you to the half-rotten stairs that caused the argument in the first place. “You have ears.” You grumbled, but relented after his deadpan look. “Fine, fine.” You opened the door to the basement. “He just still acts like I’m a kid, sometimes. I -” You looked away from him and started chewing at your bottom lip again. “I tend to get pissed off when people try and help me too much, okay?”

You apparently decided to throw pride out the window, because you maneuvered yourself to sit at the top of the stairs, before scooting yourself down one stair at a time.

Well, that's one way to do that.

Since you seemed to be determined to do this yourself, he grabbed the toolbox from the table that he assumed belonged to you.

“You two seem close,” He said, more of a question than anything else.

He waited awkwardly at the top of the stairs as you made your way down by yourself.

“Yeah,” You started up again when you made it to the bottom, and Dean followed when you were clear. “I mentioned before that John wanted me away from you two,” You yanked yourself upright using one hand on the bannister. “So when I started pestering him about hunting, he dropped me here. Half the time I was here and the other half I was on hunts with whatever poor sap I annoyed into letting me join them.” You shrugged and mounted your crutches, moving to a workbench in a cozy alcove off to the left. “Mostly badass ladies like Ellen for obvious reasons. But Bobby's taken care of me more than anybody else ever has.”

“He’s good at that, huh?” Dean murmured. It hurt more than he could admit that it was probably true for him, too.

You gave him a soft smile, tension visibly flowing out of your frame. You idly played with a coil of wire from the desk. “Yeah, he is.” He set the toolbox down next to you, and the delighted surprise on your face told him everything he needed to know.

“Thanks.” A chuckle worked its way from your throat and his heart hammered harder than ever in his chest. You had a great smile.

Shit, he was in trouble.

---

“We’re goin’ do-own in an earlier round, and sugar we’re goin’ down swingin’~” You hummed along to the now-familiar track playing on the stereo. You were barely paying attention, though, your focus held tight by the project in your hands.

You'd taken to customizing hunting weapons, charms, spell seals. There was a decent amount of money you could make helping other hunters - at least from the ones that were well off. You weren't stingy, though, if someone needed a charmed knife you would give it to them.

Being forced home-bound for a few weeks could give you some time to build up inventory, and that's exactly what you were doing. The more you made from this, the less you had to win from poker games. And the less attention you drew to yourself, the better.

From the moment you could move your hands they were always doing something, whether it was drawing, or weaving, or, eventually, etching intricate designs into knife blades. You were prone to incorporating spells, runes, and magic into your art, even when that art was made with crayons. It'd been what caught John's attention the week before you met him - your parents had thought you were possessed.

Eventually you gave in and dove into magic-craft headfirst. You were accidentally doing shit anyway, might as well actually get something out of it.

You realized almost immediately that you were super weird. Not that you didn’t already know that. But most of the spells you ‘just knew’ were old magic. Magic that trailed all the way back to biblical times. Enochian seals you knew better than the back of your hand.

The language that flowed from your pen easier than water, it was the same as the one on your ribs - used to be - on your ribs. The words felt powerful and ancient and so, so right that sometimes you ached for a home that was never yours, but was actually your soulmate's. A soulmate you were pretty sure was never going to come.

You might've believed in angels, but you didn't dare believe you were special enough for them to come out of hiding.

You tried not to think about the fact your ribs were blank or that you were going to die alone.

Instead, you worked.

The weapon you engraved was relatively simple, by your standards. You just hoped it worked well. You didn’t have the energy or ingredients to do a more comprehensive spell right then. The seals would do most of the heavy lifting here, though, so it should be fine. You could always do a better ritual later.

Footsteps thundered down the stairs and then stopped. When you turned around there was none other than Sam Winchester himself standing at the bottom of the stairs. God, he's tall. "Hey," He smiled, eyes drifting to your work. "We're all here, ready to start planning?"

"Sure," You nodded, not looking up at him. "Just a minute, I gotta finish this inscription." Silver glinted in the low light of the basement as you carved the last few runes into the metal.

"Are those brass knuckles?" Sam quirked his brow, pulling up a chair and sitting next to you - close enough to talk easily without hovering. Humming a positive noise, you held the silver-coated punchers a bit farther away so you could see it better as a whole.

Beside you, Sam's was bouncing his leg up and down, and he played with his own hands. "Um, do you mind if we talk?"

"We are talking." You winked. "But, nah, I don't mind. What's up?"

"I have… a lot of questions." His eyebrows raised and you swore your heart was going to explode. Puppy eyes. "But I guess the first one is how you know my dad. I read some vague stuff about the demon after you in his journal, but there's not much besides that."

You sighed. You knew this was coming sooner or later. "Your dad saved my life when I was a kid," You set down the brass knuckles and kept working. "The night Alioth killed my parents. Worked with him on a few exorcisms once I started hunting. It's not like I knew him all that well." You hissed, harsher than you meant to. You paused a moment, gathering yourself. You huffed before you spoke again. "He didn't like that I could see in his head. If you’re looking to know him better, I'm not the person to ask."

"That actually sounds exactly like him." Sam let out a humorless laugh and rubbed at his temples. "I'm sorry. About your parents."

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, chest tightening. "Thanks. I know."

His eyes widened a fraction. "Oh, um, because… powers?" He gestured to his temple.

You chuckled against your rising nerves, nudging his leg with yours "No, because anyone with a sense of decency says that, genius."

An embarrassed, adorable smile grew on his face. "Right."

Hehe, he had dimples.

"I can't hear you right now, by the way, in case you're worried." You set down your etcher before holding up your charmed necklace for him to see - a silver trinity knot you'd enchanted yourself. "This keeps things quiet for me - like earmuffs. It was a bitch to figure out the spellwork for it, though."

"So how does it work? Your... psychic thing, I mean. Not the necklace." He said the word psychic quietly, like he was afraid of it, head tilting in a way that reminded you of a sad labrador.

There's a story here that you're missing, huh? But this was important to him. You didn't need to read his mind to know that.

You closed your eyes and tried to think of a good analogy, hand fisting in the fabric of your sweatpants.

It came to you after a moment.

"Imagine… imagine you're in a cafeteria, right? You hear everyone talking all at once so you have no idea what anybody's saying," You opened your eyes and looked at him again. "But if you're having a conversation with someone right in front of you, you can hear them just fine because you're focused on them. Thoughts are exactly the same way."

He rubbed at the back of his neck. "And when did it start? The mind reading?"

Let's think. All events in your life fell under one of two categories. Before the fire, Alioth, and being orphaned. And after.

You moved back to the brass knuckles, narrowing your eyes at the seals. More wobbly than your usual standard. "Since before my house fire." You murmured, only half paying attention.

Sam made a weird strangled noise next to you and you looked at him with a worried expression. Was he okay?

"You had a house fire?" He choked out before clearing his throat. "And you’re psychic?"

"Yeah.” You raised an eyebrow at that. What did any of it matter? “And?"

He looked at the floor, the workbench, the ceiling. Anywhere but you. "I've recently met a few psychics who had nursery fires when they were six months old. All connected to the yellow-eyed demon."

Ah. That would do it.

"Honey, I was eight." You grabbed his hand in your good one. When he finally met your gaze again his eyes were glassy. "Whatever pattern you're looking for here isn't with me."

"You're sure? It starts with migraines, then there are nightmares, and-"

"Sam." You interrupted, getting his attention back on you.

He stopped. "Yeah?"

"Would you like me to make a charm for," You paused a moment, looking at him closely. He obviously felt uncomfortable. You would let him hide under the guise of worrying about a friend for now. "-for your friend?"

"He doesn't hear thoughts." He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes, voice thick with emotion. "I don't think it would help. Thanks for the offer, though."

"Okay," You said softly, squeezing his hand lightly before you turned back to the bench and put away your tools. "Let me know if he changes his mind."

He nodded and hair fell into his face. "I will."

You couldn't tell if you’d made him feel better or worse.

It only took five minutes for you to hobble up the stairs - enough time for Sam to regain composure. He didn't look like he was about to cry anymore, which was good. He didn't need to be teased by his brother.

"Finally," Dean groaned. "What the hell took you so long?"

You just stared at him.

At the look you and Sam gave him he rolled his eyes and went back to eating the deli sandwich in front of him.

Oh, Bobby made lunch. Nice.

"You know what? I don't even wanna know."

And he said that through mouthfuls of food. Classy.

You rolled your eyes at Dean and sat down at the table. "So anyone got any ideas besides just keeping track of omens?” Your cast made your leg stretch in an odd way, bumping up against Dean��s shins. Amazing. Not awkward at all. “Cause I don't, short of summoning the bastard, which is the last thing we wanna do, really."

Dean shrugged.

Sam shook his head.

"I think that's about all we can do, kid.” Bobby sighed between sips of beer. “Wait for you to recover, keep track of omens, and try to nail down The Colt. Keep hunting in the meantime."

"Guess I'm playing research assistant for the next while." You sighed, before resting your hand on your heart like a lonely maiden from a Shakespeare play. "How am I supposed to live without the sweet, sweet freedom of the open road." You leaned back and put your arm over your eyes. "I will never again know the feeling of asphalt under my tires. My poor, beautiful car is destined to rot in the gara-"

"Oh, don't start this shit again, (Y/n)." Bobby grumbled. Dean laughed quietly, watching the exchange go down with no small amount of amusement.

You stuck out your tongue at Bobby. "You're no fun."

"And you're a drama queen."

"Yeah," You held out your hands in a 'duh' gesture. "Cause it's funny."

He rolled his eyes at you. "And I've been hearing the same spiel for over ten years. Forgive me if I don't think it's funny the ten-thousandth time."

“You love me.”

“Whatever.”

A short silence took over the kitchen as you all ate.

Then Dean looked at you from across the table and raised his eyebrows, rougish smile playing across his stupid, beautiful face. "You said somethin’ about a beautiful car?”

You rested your chin on your palm, smirk playing across your face. “1968 Shelby GT500 KR, original engine, Candy Apple Red. With white Le Mans stripes, of course”

A smooth whistle rolled from his lips and you tried not to stare at them too much. “Badass.”

Sam gave you a grossed out look before he seemed to realize that the conversation was going nowhere, and he left with a short goodbye. Bobby followed, grumbling about ‘You two and your damn cars.’

He probably knew you were about to get competitive.

“Of course, nothing can beat my Impala." Dean smiled again, smug, green eyes catching in the sunlight streaming in from outside. Then he opened his mouth and interrupted your staring. "Black 1967 with a 327 engine.”

"I know, I've been in her a few times," You hum, rapping your fingers on the table. It was John’s car, after all. He’d saved your life in that thing.

And, well, you didn’t mean to brag, but…

“Too bad she’s slower than Phoenix." You touched his arm lightly as if in consolation. The leather of his jacket felt soft against your fingertips. Your voice was low and your eyes were playful. Teasing. "We can clock a 13.7 second quarter-mile. Zero to sixty in 5.5 seconds.”

“But can you match that on the strip?” The cocky look was back on his face, leaning in closer to you and refusing to admit your car had better specs than his. You knew she did - you may or may not have checked before. “Record times don’t matter if you suck.”

“What makes you think I can’t drive, hmm?” You tilted your head, quirking your mouth and raising a brow.

A spark. An idea forming in your mind.

A predatory grin spread across your face in the next second, “You know what? Wanna put your money where your mouth is?” You held out your good hand for him to shake. “Drag race when I get out of this cast?”

“Deal.” He said instantly, the gears turning behind his eyes, expression darkening just as yours had. “Loser has to do whatever the winner wants for a day.”

“You’re on, Winchester.” You grabbed his hand, holding his challenging gaze for a moment before giving him a wink. “You better practice while you can. You'll need all the help you can get.”

“Don’t get your hopes up too much, sweetheart.” An arrogant chuckle left his lips. “Baby and I are going to destroy you."

"I don't know," You lean in even farther and at this point you could count the freckles on his face. "Phoenix and I give a pretty good ride."

You could just eat him alive. And he looked like he thought the same of you, lips slightly parted, pupils half-blown. His low voice just about killed you.

A loud thunk startled you out of your trance, moment lost. Was that Bobby in the other room?

God damn it.

A/N: Lol I had to post this before I edit it into oblivion and drive myself insane. Any, as always, I hope you enjoyed! Have a great day, and please give me some feedback! Your guys' comments mean the world to me, thank you so much for reading!

#supernatural x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #castiel x reader #soulmate au #supernatural #longfic #chaptered #c.a.s.#x reader

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thetenthdoctorscompanion · 5 years

Photo

A One Shot Series - Peter Parker/OC

Word Count: 3,446

Warnings: Heights?

MASTERLIST | PREV | Four

Smart lasted about a week.

Peter hadn’t done it one purpose. He was just trying to keep his spidering random. Sometimes that meant going down one street. Sometimes that meant going down another. And yes, sometimes that meant swinging past Delmar’s. And when he did, sometimes he would happen to glance as Yasmin’s window. Sometimes she was there. Most times she wasn’t. However, there was one thing that was becoming something of a constant.

He’d tried to ignore it the first time. He’d paused to take a breath on the opposite building, definitely not checking the windows to see if Yasmin was home or working. And he was about to speed off again when he spared a second glance at her room. Outside the window, in the empty flower bed, was another paper snack bag with a spider drawn on it.

There was no way he was taking it, he told himself. He picked it up just long enough to ensure that there was nothing perishable—just more chips and granola bars—and then put it back in its place. Being Spider-Man was about helping people, doing his part to make the city a safer place for those who couldn’t protect themselves. It was not about getting free snacks and taking things from people who needed them.

At the same time, the bag became something of a moral dilemma for him. It plagued him at night whenever he had trouble falling asleep. Was it worse to take the bag when Yasmin had no need to pay him? Or to ignore it knowing there was a good chance she was checking her window every day for the moment it disappeared?

But her expectations didn’t matter, Peter decided. He couldn’t get close to people as Spider-Man. That was setting himself up for disaster, he knew it. Yet every time he reminded himself of that conclusion, another voice in his head would remind him that leaving the bag on her windowsill was practically putting up a poster that said, “Spider-Man might stop by one of these days.” He should probably take the bag if only to get the spider off of her window.

With the never-ending battle raging in his head, the only thing Peter could do was ignore the problem entirely. That worked for a while, until the world decided to make his decision for him.

He lost his first backpack.

Peter had no idea what had happened. The corner rooftop he’d been using had seemed like such a secure place! He’d never run into anyone up there, never seen another living soul. He wasn’t even sure how building occupants were supposed to access the roof. All he knew was that he’d stashed his backpack away after marching band, and when he’d come back at the end of the night, it had vanished.

Aunt May had not been pleased.

“What on Earth were you doing with it?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry! You know, I was just—I was running to get to band practice, and the strap caught on—on a door, and the seams just—chrt! The—The whole thing just like fell apart.”

“Well, why don’t you just give it to me? I can see if I can sew it back together.”

“I kinda…threw it out…”

“Peter!”

“I panicked! My stuff was everywhere. I was running late. Look, I don’t need to replace anything in my backpack. I just need a new one. Any one.”

Another lie. He hadn’t lost anything too valuable though. His textbooks had been in his locker, so the only thing he really had to worry about was redoing the work that he’d lost and borrowing some of Ned’s notes. If he skipped out on his spideroute for a few days, he should be able to make it up. He’d need new pens and a protractor—thank God he hadn’t lost the graphing calculator—but he’d also lost all the lunch money he’d had for the week. No way was he asking May for more.

So very early before school, he swung by the bodega and snatched the bag from her window. He left a web on the grate as an afterthought, just so she could be sure it hadn’t been an overachieving pigeon. And the next time he’d gone by, there was already a brand new bag in its place.

After one dumb decision, the rest followed like dominoes. I mean, really, he didn’t have enough lunch money for the week, so it wouldn’t be too bad if he took another bag to school. He just had to take it out of the spider bag first. And he stopped another robbery at a jewelry store, which was a pretty big deal, so he kind of deserved a bag of chips. And tomorrow they were serving spaghetti on the lunch line, and everyone knew that eating the school tomato sauce was always a gamble, so it was safer if he just stuck with his snack bag.

But the guilt was starting to eat at him again. So as soon as it was dark enough, Peter made his way over to the bodega and scaled down from the roof. The light was on behind Yasmin’s curtains. If he listened closely, he could hear her humming as she sat on her bed. He cleared his throat and knocked on the glass.

The humming stopped immediately. He was actually impressed by how quickly she managed to part the curtains and get the window open. Then he was staring upside down at her blinding smile.

“Hi,” she stage-whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, midnight snack?” He lifted up the bag she’d left out for him, and revealed the second paper bag he’d brought along. “Wanna split it?”

“O-Okay. But um…I mean, what happened to staying undercover?”

“Well, I was kind of thinking we could eat up here?”

“Up…?” She blinked at him for a few seconds before her eyes shot to the ceiling. “On—On the roof?”

“Uh, yeah. This way we don’t have to worry about anyone seeing, and you don’t make yourself a target.”

“Why would I be a target?”

“Cause you’re hanging out with me. If the bad guys know that I’m talking to you they could use you to get to me or something.”

“Bad guys?” she echoed, almost smirking. “Spider-Man, unless there’s something you’re not telling anyone, the most you’ve done is stopped a couple street robberies. You’re not fighting the mafia.”

“Yet,” he countered, jabbing a finger at her. “I just want to be safe. O-Only if you’re comfortable with that, of course. We don’t have to.”

“No, it’s fine, I just uh…I don’t actually know how to get onto the roof.”

Behind his goggles, Peter grinned.

“Give me two seconds. Grab a sweatshirt, okay?”

He scaled back up the wall, depositing the two lunch bags on the other side of the ledge. Inspecting the cement, he shot a stream of web onto the ground and yanked on it to test the weight. It shouldn’t be too hard. He only had to make it a couple of feet anyway.

“Spider-Man?”

Yasmin was peeking up at him out of her window. Peter dropped the makeshift rope down to her, where it brushed against the sill. He got far too much enjoyment from the panicked look on her face.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Don’t worry,” he laughed. “This is just a precaution. You trust me?”

“Well…yeah. But I’m starting to think I shouldn’t.”

Peter knew it wasn’t polite to laugh. He kept a grip on the edge of the building and threw the rest of his body down to her, offering his other hand. Nervous as she looked, she slipped out of her window and reached up to grab it.

It was both easier and harder than he’d expected. Yasmin was just as tall as he was, which meant a considerable amount of weight. He’d never deadlifted anything as heavy as a whole person before, but with his new spider-strength, it wasn’t as much work as he’d thought. On the other hand, the weight of two entire people was more stress on his stickiness than he’d been prepared for. He slipped down about an inch before he recovered. Yasmin gasped, her feet frantically looking for her window box again, but Peter held her tight.

“Woah, it’s okay. Don’t worry. I got you.”

He hauled her up, switching her from his arm to his back. She gripped at his shoulders for her life, face buried in the folds of his hoodie. Peter blushed, but scaled the rest of the wall without a problem.

“Okay, you’re good. See? Easy peasy.”

Yasmin was slow to retract her arms, though both their feet were on the ground again. She wobbled, and Peter grabbed her arm again. Just to be safe, he eased her down into a sitting position.

“Sorry. Uh—not easy peasy? I didn’t mean um…are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I just…”

“Is it the height? I am so sorry. If—If you try and think about it, we’re not that much higher than your room! And I promise I’m not gonna let you fall. We can sit in the middle of the roof if you want, and that way…”

“I’m fine,” she repeated. Her voice was still shaky, but her lips pulled into an uneasy smile. “Believe it or not, it’s the dangling over the street by a stranger’s neck. Not the height.”

“Uh…right…”

“I guess we should still move to the middle of the roof though. Just so no one sees us.”

She took one more look out at the street before moving, and Peter let her lead the way. He plopped down next to her, back to the rumbling generator, and held up the two paper bags. He’d drawn a lopsided smiley face on hers to match.

“Swap ya? I didn’t know what you liked, so I just guessed. I hope you’re not allergic to peanut butter.”

Peter watched, holding his breath as Yasmin unpacked her lunch bag—PB&J, pretzels, fruit cup, pudding cup, and two little juice boxes. She hid her face in hands, and resurfaced with a grin.

“I feel like I’m in the second grade!”

“Is that bad?”

“Definitely not,” she assured him. “You want half of this? I feel bad you don’t have a sandwich.”

He accepted half of the PB&J, though it took him a few more seconds to process. Yasmin was already taking her first few bites, and Peter frowned at his sandwich through his mask. “I…really did not think this through…”

“Wha—? Oh.” Yasmin wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, shifting nervously. “Um…I could turn around if you want? We could sit back to back. That way I can’t see you.”

Peter was hesitant. Coming here had been a bad idea in the first place, and now he was going to risk letting her find out who he was? Who he really was? He wasn’t insane.

But Yasmin couldn’t see his nerves through the mask. She was already turning around, her legs folded neatly under her with no sign of looking back. Peter scooted back against her, pulling up the mask just enough to free his mouth.

“No peeking, okay?” he said urgently. “Seriously. No matter how curious you are.”

“I promise.”

And for whatever reason, Peter believed her. Maybe he was insane after all.

They ate in comfortable silence, the distant traffic and radios of passing cars creating a gentle hum in the night. Yasmin still jolted at sudden noises, but not as much as she had been a week or two prior. None of it fazed Peter. He could barely taste the peanut butter he was eating. He was too hyper-aware of Yasmin’s lower back pressed against his own. She was shivering, and he felt bad for dragging her out into the winter air so late at night, but neither of them made any motion to move.

“Hey,” said Yasmin, breaking the silence with a rustle of her bag, “why is there a used scratch off in here?”

“Oh yeah, that’s one of the ones you gave me. I won like twenty bucks, so I figured I’d give it back.”

“Why? That’s why I gave it to you.”

“Well, I can’t cash it in as Spider-Man, and if I showed up with that without the mask then you’d know who I was.”

“Okay. Why don’t you just cash it in someplace else?”

Peter took a few gulps from his water to buy himself time. He was going to circle back around to the ‘I-don’t-want-your-money’ defense, but Yasmin spoke first.

“Unless, um…can you even cash this?”

“What? What is that supposed to mean?”

“Sorry, just…don’t take this the wrong way, you just seem kind of…small…”

“Hey! I—I am not small!”

“You know what I mean,” she said with a small laugh. “Your size, your voice, the way you talk. You come off as younger as the average superhero. I can’t exactly imagine Iron Man going around passing out sandwiches to random teenagers, you know?”

“No, I don’t know that,” he said defensively. Yasmin shoved him slightly with her back, and he rolled his eyes. “Fine, maybe not Tony Stark, but uh…what about Captain America? He would definitely be the kind of hero to hand out homemade sandwiches.”

“No, Captain America would not pass out PB&Js. He would work in a soup kitchen, or come to your assembly to serve you a hot lunch.”

“Well, it’s the one thing that can always give you an edge.”

Peter snickered at his reference, and Yasmin did too. But when she spoke, her voice was willed with vindication.

“I knew it.”

“You—uh—huh?”

“You’re young,” she clarified. “They didn’t start showing those videos in school until 2013, after the Battle of New York. So at most you’re, what? Twenty-two?”

“What? No, I’m uh—shit, that’s…”

Peter open and closed his mouth a couple of times, quickly doing to the math in his head. He’d been an idiot. He’d just walked right into that one, not fifteen minutes after he’d told himself staying was going to be a bad idea. His stomach clenched.

“You’re really smart,” he sighed, hopelessly.

“Not really. I guess I’ve just um…put a lot of thought into it.”

He ignored the ill-timed pang of excitement that sent through his chest.

“Listen, Yasmin, you—you can’t tell anybody that, okay?”

“What, that you’re young?”

“Any of this. Anything you know about me makes it easier to narrow down who I am, and—I just really don’t want anyone to know that.”

“Okay. I—I’m sorry.”

Her voice was quiet. Despite the seriousness of the whole thing, he kind of felt guilty. He wanted to spend time with her—impossibly—but it was hard to do that without giving himself away. And yeah, he didn’t want to tell anyone that he was Spider-Man just yet. He didn’t have the luxury that came with honesty like Tony Stark did. If he told people, they’d treat him different. He might have to move, or get sent to scientists so they could do weird tests on him and stuff.

But another part of him was keeping silent for a different reason. What would a girl like Yasmin say when she found out the guy who saved her hadn’t been some cool Tony Stark in disguise? He was just a nerd who build computers and couldn’t speak to her without a mask. Not exactly heroic.

“Just…nothing else about me, okay?” he said, his voice softening.

“Sure,” she agreed. “But um…what about this you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what about Spider-Man? Can I ask about him?”

Peter frowned, picking at his bag of chips. “What do you wanna know?”

“I don’t know. Where did he come from? Have you always been able to like…climb walls and stuff?”

“No, um…actually this is all pretty recent. A couple months now.”

“And you just woke up like that?”

“I got bit a spider. Hence…everything.”

“Oh my God, seriously?” she gasped. “You got a bug bite and just…woke up with superpowers? What if I get bit by a mosquito and become like a supervillain?”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Peter laughed. “It wasn’t just a random spider. It was like a super-spider. They were doing some kind of radioactive testing and…this is what happened.”

“So what can you do? I know you can stick to walls. It looks like you’ve got some kind of super strength or super agility or something. Unless you’ve always done gymnastics.”

“Ha, uh, definitely not. Most of it is just like…heightened senses? It’s like everything’s more intuitive now. I can tell if something’s wrong or if someone’s in some kind of danger, but it also means my reflex time is like a fraction of what it used to be. I can jump, I can catch, I can dodge. Like my body just knows what to do without me telling it to. So now I can do sick backflips and stuff.”

“And that stuff you shoot, does that like come out of you or…?”

“Ew, no. Gross.”

“Well what do you expect? Spiders make the silk for their webs, right? That’s not a weird question.”

“No, I get it, but—no. I make this on my own. Like chemically. I mean I designed it.”

It was silent for a few seconds. Behind him, Yasmin was very still.

“You…chemically designed your own super-webs?”

“Yeah. And the web shooters. I wear them on my wrists with like a cartridge for the web? And when I press the triggers there’s a contained reaction inside the chamber—that’s what propels the web. It took me a couple weeks, but I’m really starting to get a lot more comfortable with them now. And depending how I press the trigger and I can get different kinds of streams! So like if I do it one way I can make this rope-kind of effect, and if I do it a different way I get the wide-spread kind of net, like when I tried to fix your door. I really want to work more on the web-life, so I can control how long they take to dissolve. Eventually I wanna build a control onto the shooters, but for now I’m just sort of guestimating, so…”

Peter flushed, silently banging the heels of his hands against his head.

“Sorry. I’m rambling.”

“No, it’s fine! I mean, I barely understand half of what you’re saying but…you did all of this by yourself?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess. Why?”

“Cause that’s…crazy impressive.” She giggled, the sound filling Peter with a comfortable warmth. “You’re must be some kind of baby genius. I mean, I figured you’d been set up with fancy gadgets by some investor like Tony Stark or something. One of your superhero friends.”

“I don’t have superhero friends,” he said quickly. “I’m—I’m not even really a superhero.”

“Well you save people, and you have superpowers. Aren’t those the only two requirements?”

“I guess, but…you know, it’s like you said. I’m fighting robbers, saving cats. It’s not like I’m taking on the mafia, or terrorists. I can do these things, but I don’t feel like I’m a hero.”

They sank into silence again. Peter gnawed on his bottom lip, even as she comfortingly leaned against him. He wanted to be a hero. He wanted to be like Iron Man and Captain America and the rest of the Avengers. And maybe he could someday. He just needed the opportunity to prove himself. He almost hated himself for hoping for it. For heroes, there needed to be danger, tragedy. He’d never want to openly hope for something like that to happen. But he knew that there were terrible things going on in the world, and sometimes he couldn’t help but feel frustrated that with everything he could do, the only thing he was stopping was petty theft. He wanted to do more.

“Nope,” said Yasmin suddenly, shaking her head. “No way.”

“No?” Peter asked. “No what?”

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that this time around. I’m not doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“The whole doe-eyed fangirl thing. You want me to say ‘well you saved my life, so you’re a hero to me,’ and I’m not gonna do it.”

Peter laughed, really laughed. He had to cover his face for fear of being too loud, and rocked back into Yasmin as his body shook. She reached back and swatted him on the arm, still giggling herself.

“Hey,” he managed through his chuckles. “You said it, not me.”

“Alright. Shut it, Spider-Man.”

---

TAG LIST: @lostinwonderland314 (You singlehandedly revived this, good work haha)

#ocappreciation #peter parker #peter parker oc #peter parker x oc #spiderman oc #spider-man oc #stories #marvel stories #spiderman stories #holding onto you

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alexandjohn-answer-blog · 6 years

Photo

(I made a fic for this)

"BARISTA BOY!" John froze and looked up. There, a bit down the road, was Alexander, also known in his Starbucks as "The Coffee Fae". ("Surely he's not human!" His coworker, Lafayette, had sputtered. "Nobody could drink that much espresso and still look exhausted!") Alexander stood there, waving frantically. "You helped me pass my final!" He announced. Lafayette had to be right: he couldn't be human. Regardless, John smiled.

"I'm surprised you didn't have a heart attack," he chuckled as he walked over. He looked like he was starting to grow some peach fuzz. "It's nice to see you without a murderous look in your eyes, Alexander." He beamed.

"You remembered my name!" His face positively lit up. "How could I not? Your order was ridiculous." Alexander shrugged. "I've had stronger," he said nonchalantly. Christ, was his blood 25% caffeine? What ELSE did he drink that was worse? "Anyway, I've gotta repay you, I got a 98 on my physics exam." John gaped. "Most people just barely pass! Getting a C is godlike and you got an A?" He ran his hands through his hair and propped a hand on his hip. "Dude, my coworker is not going to believe me if I tell him I met you again, can I get your number?" "Are you coming onto me, Barista Boy?" He smirked, pulled his phone from his pocket. John blushed. "Wh-What?" Alex's smirk widened. Heh. Cute. "Well, anyway: my number," he immediately diverted the conversation. He recited the number to John, who then gave him his number. ••• John side eyed Alex, who was spinning a highlighter in his hand. He was so focused. And John was so distracted. They sat in the library—this semester, they shared a class, so they decided to study together. John had a pen in his hand and a notebook in front of him, but he had ceased to make notes. Ever since he'd called out to him on that street, John had developed something of a crush on Alexander. Then, they became friends. Months had passed and they spent almost every day together. Everyday, John's little crush had grown into something more, bit by bit. John sat in that library, stared at Alex from the corner of his eye. His eyes flickered across the pages, his passion for his work flourished in moments like this. His eyes sparkled, he was silently mouthing the words he skimmed over, his lips pursed at confusing lines, his eyebrows furrowed at the graph in his textbook. John felt what one might call admiration for the man in moments like this. Alex suddenly dropped the highlighter, grabbed a pen, and scrawled something in his notebook. He pushed the notebook over to John, who peered at the ink. "Take a picture, it'll last longer." John's face lit up like a stoplight and he couldn't tell if he wanted to laugh or shrink away in shame. His brain quickly came up with an excuse. He tugged the paper a bit closer and wrote a note back saying he didn't understand a certain part and was debating whether to ask or not, Alex had looked so focused. Alex snickered and helped him quietly, whispered advice to him. Meanwhile, John's internal monologue was basically an hour-long loop of "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He couldn't make out what Alexander was even saying. A realization had slapped John right across the face. He had fallen in love with Alexander Hamilton. "You get it now?" He murmured to John. "Yeah, thanks," he whispered back and snapped his head back to his own notes. ••• The summer break was over and Alexander was nearly vibrating with excitement. He'd get to see John again! He'd missed him so much, oh god, he'd never missed anybody like he missed John before in his entire life! And he was determined to articulate that to the man. He'd been so oblivious, how could he not have realized sooner? A sudden wave of anxiety washed over him. What if he'd been reading the situation wrong. What if John didn't feel the same way? What if he made a fool of himself? He fiddled with the end of his ponytail. Alex supposed he'd just have to take that chance. He couldn't just not do anything, he couldn't just wait around to see if John would ask him. He paced in his room with his phone in his hand. The Coffee Fae: Hey where's ur dorm this year

The Coffee Fae: I wanna see you!!! I have John withdrawal :(((

Barista Boy: I room with Laf this year but he's not here yet

Barista Boy: Alex I'm so bored I'd be happy to see you John sent him an address, Alex stopped pacing. He shoved the phone into his pocket and exited his dorm. He knocked on the door, rocked back and forth and his feet. John opened the door and smiled like he'd seen the sun for the first time. "Alex!" He beamed and jumped forward for a hug. Alex laughed into his hair, which he'd left down. "It's wonderful to see you, too, Barista Boy," his smile was audible in his voice. They, reluctantly, pulled apart to enter John's room, half of it still barren. John shut the door. "Welcome to my humble abode which I will be housed in for my sophomore year," he gestured dramatically around the room. He had posters and pictures all over the wall already. It looked very him, Alex smiled. John plopped down on his bed. "Summer was so boring, I hate going back home, there's nothing to do." "Small towns can get like that," Alex put his hands in his sweatshirt pockets and sat down next to him. "My summer was pretty uneventful, too." John sighed and fell back onto his bed. "I'm so happy to be back, you have no idea," his grin became calmer, softer. He looked over at Alex fondly. John could've sworn his cheeks reddened a bit. "Me, too," he averted his eyes. A very non-Hamilton move. John raised an eyebrow curiously. "Hey, um," he fidgeted with his hair. "Can I tell you something?" "Anything, Alexander," he encouraged. For once, words failed him. He may be a huge flirt, but he didn't tend to put himself in an emotionally vulnerable position. "Well, you know what they say: show don't tell," he chuckled nervously. "Slap-me-or-something-if-you-want-me-to-stop," his words were so quick they could just barely be understood as he turned around, grabbed the side of John's face, and leaned down. John's eyes widened, his face felt like it was boiling. He closed his eyes and moved his sprawled out arms so he could wrap them around his neck. Alex was flying, ecstatic. Their lips parted, Alex rested his forehead on John's. John was smiling like a small child who'd just found a Christmas present with his name on it. "I missed you so much," Alexander breathed. "Me, too," John replied. The door swung open. "I'VE ARRIVED, JOHN-" Alexander shot up so fast he fell off the bed, John giggled at him. "Oh, I interrupted. I can leave, if-" "Laf, I swear to god," Alex groaned as he sat up on the middle of the floor. John sat up and got up to help Alexander. He had the dopiest smile on his face and Alex couldn't tell if he hated it or loved it. He gave a lopsided smile back.

#hamilton #alexander hamilton #john laurens #lams #hamilton modern au #fic #fanfiction #fanfic #ask #ask blog

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jedifighterpilot2727 · 7 years

Text

Kara Meets Lexington

Kara meets Lexington, adorableness ensues.

Lena used to be my favorite character in this series, but now I'm pretty sure it's Lexington

“I don’t think I’ve seen you this nervous since our wedding.”

She turns to see Kara watching her, blue eyes full of concern.

“We’re just talking about adopting a child. A little girl who hasn’t spoken in the past 6 months; who from what Dr. Engrett has told us has had a pretty traumatic first three years of life. And she jumps at loud noises, and even if we manage not to break her - because she’s tiny- then how are we supposed to make that better”

Kara’s hands settle on her shoulders and she feels her fluttering heart start to slow.

“You care about all of that, and we both know that already starts to make it better!”

Lena sighs, and further allows herself to invade Kara’s space; wrapping her arms around Kara’s waist and settling her head on her chest.

“I just want to give her a hug, because she looks so lonely. But I’m not even sure if she likes hugs! What if she doesn’t like hugs?!”

Kara’s arms wrap around her and some of the tension melts out.

“Hey, hey. It’s gonna be okay.”

After a moment, Lena pulls away from the embrace - her nerves finally getting the better of her.

“She doesn’t like loud noises, and you know she doesn’t talk, and she startles really easily, so don’t be too fast - or too loud.”

“When I first came to Earth,” Kara whispers softly, in case anyone happens to be listening. “Everything was too fast, or too loud, or too see through. And even now sometimes I feel overwhelmed, I know what sensory overload is like.”

“Right, of course. Sorry, sometimes I forget. You’re just so good at hiding it most of the time.”

“It’s okay. You’re nervous, I get it - I’m nervous too.” Kara smiles and reaches in her messenger bag. “Wanna color?”

She’s holding out a Supergirl themed coloring book and a pack of crayons and Lena feels her heart meltl.

“You brought a coloring book?”

“Well, she said she likes Supergirl, and art always helped me feel better, so I thought we could color with her.” Kara shrugs.

“Have I told you today that you’re perfect?”

“Not since yesterday?” Kara tilts her head. "I think? Or maybe it was two days ago? I don’t really remember.”

Lena can’t help but roll her eyes.

“You’re impossible.”

The door to the office opens and Dr. Engrett sticks his head in.

“Are you ladies ready?”

Kara nods and reaches for Lena’s hand dragging her inside before she can protest.

“Now remember, I know it’s impossible for you to have not gotten your hopes up after last time, but you want any sort of connection to form organically - you don’t want to force it.”

“Of course.” Lena looks to Kara, who nods again. “We just want what’s best for Lexington.”

“Dinner is at 5:30 so you’ll have about an hour with her, and then I’ll have some paperwork for you to look over, things like that.”

Lena takes a shaky breath as he lets them into the common room, her hand sweating in Kara’s.

“I don’t see her.” She mutters nervously, eyes darting around the room.

“She’s here, its not like she can just disappear.” Kara teases gently.

“I know, I know.” She jumps when she feels a tiny hand slip into her free one.

Bright blue eyes are staring up at her, and she smiles down at Lexington, her grin growing when Lexi smiles back. The little girl pauses though, when she sees Kara standing on Lena’s other side.

Lena holds her breath as Lexi looks Kara over, as if trying to determine what to make of her.

Ever so slowly, Lena kneels down until she and the little girl are at eye level.

“Hi, Lexington” She whispers so softly she can barely hear herself, but Lexi doesn’t jump, only offers the hint of a smile.

“We never really had a proper introduction the other day, I’m Lena.”

The little girl waves slowly before turning to eye Kara.

“This is my wife, Kara.” Lena whispers softly, and Kara crouches down beside her.

“Hello, little one.” Kara’s voice is gentle, and Lexi studies her thoughtfully.

“Lena told me you like Supergirl, so I thought you might like this.” Kara holds out the coloring book and Lexi’s eyes grow wide at the sight of Supergirl on the cover. Taking the coloring book and holding it against her chest, Lexi tugs Lena (and consequently Kara), towards a small picnic table in the corner. When they come to a stop, Lexi releases her hand to take a seat at the table.

Lena looks to Kara, unsure exactly, of where to go from here; but Kara only shrugs back at her before sitting next to Lexi on the bench. Lena hesitates a moment before taking a seat on the Lexi’s other side - mainly because she’s starting to feel a little out of place just standing there.

Lexi flips slowly through the book, eyes roaming over the outlines.

She goes through every page twice before pointing to one of the pages.

Kara gently tears it along the perforations and hands it back to Lexi before popping open the pack of crayons on the table and selecting a page for herself.

It’s odd, Lena thinks, sitting there and watching them color - but she doesn’t really know what else to do. She glances around the room at the other children, feeling a wave of sad memories threatening to overwhelm her. She had been in an orphanage for almost four months before Lionel had seen fit to take her out. It didn’t help that he had known she was there the whole time - had been aware from the very day her mother had died but had still delayed in taking her in. Some sort of power play she was sure. It always was with him.

A tapping on her arm startles her out of her thoughts and she looks up to see Kara holding out a piece of paper. It’s one of the scenes from the coloring book and Kara winks, gesturing for her to take it.

She hasn’t colored in . . .

Well, she doesn’t really remember the last time she colored.

It’s been years, certainly.

As she picks up a blue crayon that perfectly matches the color of Kara’s eyes, she supposes that it’s an activity that’s about to start happening a lot more frequently.

They color in silence for the better part of the hour, until Kara pulls out a blank sheet of paper and begins drawing flowers. Lexi is enthralled, and carefully copies the designs; slightly shaky and uneven, but rather good for her age.

At least, according to the books Lena’s read on childhood development - not that she has any real life experience to go off of.

The tables turn, however, when Kara passes the crayon to Lena.

“Draw something, Lee.” Is the whispered request and Lena starts to protest only to look up and find two pairs of bright blue eyes pleading with her.

Something tells her this is the first of many times that she’s going to be compelled by a joint effort pout from those two and her heart stutters just a little bit.

Carefully, she sketches out a stick figure. His arms are lopsided, and his head is kind of oval but hey, she’s used to drawing her designs on graph paper - not to mention her designs usually don’t involve stick people.

Somehow she doesn’t really think Lexi would appreciate a drawing of her latest reactor field design.

A soft giggle erupts from beside her, and she looks down to see Lexington covering her mouth with her hands. Her eyes shoot to Kara who’s face mirrors her surprise. It’s the most noise she’s ever heard from the little girl, and she can’t help but feel a little proud of that.

Even if it was because of her horrible art skills.

She passes the crayon back to Kara who takes out a fresh sheet of paper and a begins to quickly sketch out a face. Both Lena and Lexi lean over to watch the form quickly take shape.

Lena always loved to watch Kara draw. There was just something about the way she could bring something to life so effortlessly. It quickly becomes evident that the sketch is of Lexi, and she can feel the grin stretching her cheeks.

When Kara is finished, she hands the picture to Lexi who studies it carefully before smiling up at Kara. The moment is short lived when the teacher calls the children to dinner and Lexi looks at them questioningly. Lena senses the girl’s wordless query and tucks the drawing into the coloring book before passing both it and the pack of crayons to her.

Lexi smiles brightly up at them, hesitating for a moment before moving to join the rest of the group.

“How is she so adorable without even saying anything?” Kara whines. Her face scrunched up like it is when Daisy or Mac does something particularly cute, and Lena can’t help but laugh.

“I’m glad you see it too.”

“I just want to wrap her up in a warm blanket and buy her a bunch of teddy bears and never let anything bad happen to her ever again.”

Lena laughs again, taking Kara’s hands in her own.

“So, does that mean you want to talk to Dr. Engrett about the next step?”

“I think we should.”

“Yeah?”

Kara nods

“Yeah."

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

“It’s a little more difficult to determine, sense she’s nonverbal, but I believe Lexington has taken to you two rather well. We firmly believe that the less time children send with us, the better; so if this is something that you’re sure about, I suggest we move forward immediately.” Dr. Egrett says from across his desk.

“When you say immediately . . .” Lena lets the question hang, squeezing Kara’s hand tightly.

“I mean that Lexi could come to live with you by the end of next week.” The doctor answers with a smile and Lena feels her heart jolt to a momentary stop before stuttering on.

“Next week?! That’s so soon! I’m glad it’s soon but we have so much to prepare!”

She glances at Kara who appears shell shocked.

“Are you alright? You look terrified.”

“We’re gonna be parents, Lee, in less than ten days, we’re gonna be parents. “

Surely Kara isn’t second guessing this, not when they’re so close. She swallows the nervous energy rising up in her throat.

“It’s good though, right?”

Kara’s eyes lock on to hers and she swears she can see the happiness shining straight from the other woman’s soul.

“It’s perfect."

#supercorp #supergirl #fanfiction #kara danvers #lena luthor #Lexington Luthor-Danvers #eyes like kryptonite

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wombatlogic · 7 years

Text

.defrag

a surreal experimental adventure game by ForgottenDawn (https://rpgmaker.net/games/9142/)

a review

defrag what?

.defrag is a minimalist/surrealist game, drawing some influence from Yume Nikki and its ilk (.flow) while having a more concrete storyline. (Once again, a disclaimer, I still haven't gotten around to playing Yume Nikki so my perspective could be lopsided. Either way, it's got a stark, black/white/noise feel and soundtrack to match. The project is near completion, with just a few polish items missing, and total playtime is somewhere at 3-4 hours.

This review should be mostly spoiler-free, covering the 1.3 preview release.

Story

The player character of .defrag is a humanoid figure, nameless and mute. While some friendly computer monitors give you some hints at the story as you're birthed into the world of noise, there's very little background and the world of .defrag exists mostly outside of any reality, sort of a standalone universe. Your character's lack of identify cements this.

I was a little worried in the first zone - The Aether. With a literally faceless protagonist, randomy "noisy" environment, and no clear goal in sight, I wandered around a little bit, then luckily found my way out. The rest of the game is roughly broken into zones, each with some memorable characters, multiple lines of dialog, and visually distinct designs. At this point, the game is open-ended. I personally wandered around, talked to everyone in sight (once), and started to piece together the premise of .defrag: the world is under assault by a "noise virus" with varied and unclear effects.

.defrag is a pure walking simulator, in that the only gameplay is traversing the world and talking to its residents. Luckily, the residents are a diverse set of folks. The character design is fun. Most of the everyday NPCs have their own consistent personality, and while the writing's never laugh-out-loud funny, it's enough to keep the player interested. The areas without NPCs are definitely less engaging. The major characters (mostly the aptly-named Blob and JIM THE GOD OF DEATH AND DESTRUCTION) have multiple expressions too, which adds a lot. The other major character is unseen, and your only form of contact with this mystery person is a series of signs which slowly grow from informative ("Junkyard ->") to narrative ("If I see one more turn, I swear to god...)

Eventually, once exploration is over, there's a series of not overly noteable fetchquests, but the game ends up turning linear. New areas (the Radio Tower, Purge Hospital) open up, there are some plot twists, and eventually a very thrilling buildup and finish where the game takes on some horror elements. The pivotal "loss of control" moment happens around Purge Hospital, where .defrag switches from open world to closed world, the pacing kicks up a notch, and the game turns genuinely unsettling. It's a very tight and well-executed second half.

Pacing

...and then, there's a whole other half of the game? This is probably the weirdest part of .defrag and its biggest flaw, in my opinion anyway. For reference, here's a graph of my interest in the game as time progresses, roughly to scale over the four hours I played:

Notice that big flat portion after the climax? After the player visits every area, after the big mystery of .defrag is solved, after every character shows their true colors... then a whole new set of characters show up? There's two new sets of quests? And none of these quests actually expand on the world of .defrag or its mystery. While the new characters are all as fun as those in the first half of the game, they're simply irrelevant. The thrill is gone (there's no plot past this point, let alone plot twists) and the exploration is gone (no new maps, either). What's left? Character interaction, which is enjoyable enough, it's just not enough to make this part interesting. The second half of the game is empty content.

Some of this is compounded by the mechanics .defrag uses to move the player from one plot point to the next. Most of the gameplay is "character A requests you to talk to character B," followed inevitably by "character B requests you to talk to character A." The other half of the gameplay is "character A talks vaguely about character B," after which the player is supposed to psychically determine that new dialog options have opened with Character B. Just because Bill mentions Blob, I'm supposed to know to talk to Blob again? This is the cause of the "wandering" segments on most of my graph -- new options had opened somewhere but I didn't know the where. This is compounded by the open-worldness of .defrag -- it's possible to explore places before the fetchquest series requires it. For instance, I was told to find The Hub... immediately after previously talking to every Hub denizen.

Luckily, there are mitigating factors. Towards the endgame, characters offer to warp you to your destination. More importantly, there's a Speed Hax item that ups the walk speed, so retraversing areas isn't all that painful. I definitely would've quit without this item. It's a godsend from the developer and plenty of other games could take the hint. There's also a fast transport system to warp from one zone to another but for whatever reason, this system only unlocks in the second half, when there's no longer a reason to revisit zones. It's a pointless reward at that stage in the game.

All that said, as soon as the player reaches the Radio Tower, there's about an hour where everything is purposeful, well-paced, and well-executed. It's ironically the most restrictive part of .defrag, but this game is so much better when you know your purpose rather than backtracking through zones looking for one.

Aesthetics

The first thing that jumps out about .defrag is that it's monochrome for the most part, and it has sort of a glitchy aesthetic, etc, which is all fine and I enjoyed the game's visuals mostly. But seriously, the most striking thing about this game is its amazing sound design. The BGM is 80% noise, 20% conventional soundtrack. The noise parts vary from inoffensive to oppressive and powerful. Radio Tower especially is about three times more intimidating than it has any right to be thanks to its sound. While it's not much to listen to on its own, playing .defrag without the sound on would be a huge mistake.

https://forgottendawn.bandcamp.com/track/the-radio-tower https://forgottendawn.bandcamp.com/track/the-reveal-part-i

(Some of my favorites, free listening at Bandcamp)

(oh and for what it's worth, the part of Yume Nikki I'm most familiar with is its OST and I'd say .defrag is a worthy rival)

The conventional pieces only show up around the climax, and while once again, they sound average removed from the context of the game, they work fantastically well where they're positioned. The final areas start to layer ambient melodic components on top of the noise, and then finally there's true affecting, orchestral pieces for the climax. It's a powerful constrast. Combine this with the minor SFX throughout the game (footsteps, doors, hospital ambiance) and I can safely say .defrag's biggest asset is its sound.

Back to the visuals -- they work. The mapping is fine and varied between zones. Some areas are prettier than others. I especially enjoyed the wireframe sculptures of The Garden and the futuristic feel of The Hub. The glitchier areas of the game (The Aether, The Plant) weren't as fun, and some were uninteresting due to level design more than visuals, for instance, the hold-the-left-arrow-key Junkyard or infinitely-looping cellar areas outside The Hub.

As mentioned before, the character visuals are spot on though. I only wish more characters were present in the first half of the game, because in the first half, apart from the wireframe NPCs, expect the only faces to be Blob and Jim. Luckily Blob is very... expressive.

In conclusion...

.defrag is fascinating and for the most part, fun. The half a game that comes after .defrag is superfluous not fun. While there are a few mixups caused by the exploration elements in the first half, it's ultimately a unique and engaging experience. What I'd want from a .defrag 2.0 is its postgame content tucked into its first half. Most of the problems in the first half are what-do-I-do where-do-I-go problems that probably can't be solved without killing the fun that is exploring the world on your own, but more content there would definitely cut down on the "Wandering..." moments. The second half can be cut entirely and I'd recommend anyone looking to play .defrag (you should), just quit after leaving Purge Hospital. It's a quirk of the game that it can be "ended" at any time after the climax, so consider the rest very (VERY) optional.

In fact, there's one exact moment I can pin down as what feels like the "real" conclusion to .defrag. It's a scene in the hospital just after the climax where the player finally learns the fate of their predecessor, the person who placed all those signs around the world. If the low points of .defrag are backtracking through environments looking for someone whose dialog changed, then this is the high point: haunting use of sound, a well-told story, a discovery, and an emotional kicker. Play this for the good stuff.

#rpg maker #surreal #horror #game reviews #yume nikki #.flow

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buzrushblog-blog · 4 years

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Ask Questions Get Answers

A local community that may help individuals from all over the world to discuss their know-how and get any question that is imaginable. And, one thing that we made sure is that it was free to use.The site has rapidly grown, become most accessible and exciting question and answer community, which we are proud of. Considering the persistence of each group associate, the site is growing every single day - almost every min. This fabulous site rapdly grow in everymin & eveytime.That location for Ask Questions Get Answers.

1.There are more than doubly a lot of resolutions as thoughts. Even though many questions or concerns attained no explanations, many people gotten your five, five, or even more.

2.The Proprietors line is perfectly blank. The area small businesses I studied in San Francisco are investment no exertion in answering Search engines like google Questions and Answers.

3.Area Instructions do almost all of the responding to. Of a 274 advice offered, 232 got their start in end users who definitely have been proficient as Native Instructions by Search engines like google. Why so lopsided? I suppose the result lies in the advantage that The search engines transmits warnings to that band of owners when queries get required, and that they can acquire 3 elements for each help answer they provide. Obtaining more than enough issues should get you bonuses like 3 absolutely free several weeks of Google Enjoy Song including a 75Per cent price reduction away from Yahoo and google Play Videos.

Unfortunately, what I’m seeing in Google Questions and Answers is that incentivizing replies is leading to a knowledge base of questionable quality. How helpful is it when a consumer asks a hotel if they have in-room hair dryers and 10 local guides jump on the bandwagon with “yep”? Worse yet, I saw quite a few local guides replying “I don’t know,” “maybe,” and even “you should call the business and ask.” Here and there, I saw genuinely helpful answers from the Local Guides, but my overall impression didn’t leave me feeling like I’d stumbled upon a new Google resource of matchless expertise.

4 Some individuals the general public seem to be confused about making use of this feature. I realized customers when using the resolution segment to say thanks to persons who replied for their question, rather than simply just with all the thumbs up widget.

Moreover, I witnessed individuals making recommendations/claims, in lieu of important questions: And having a little exasperated

5.Some establishments are definitely building a great deal more basic questions than the others. Granted how everyone loves to talk about hotels and restaurants, I wasn’t astonished to see them topping the graphs in sheer volume of answers and questions. What have surprise me had not been observing considerably more doubts being expected of companies like yoga and fitness studios, florists, and locks salons; ahead of I just have the lookups, I might have suspected that pleasurable, “chatty” places like these is going to be benefiting from loads of inquiries.

Huge types almost everywhere are keeping Search engines like google Answers and questions unanswered

But just in case my limited focus was presenting a false picture of how local businesses are managing this feature, I did some random searches for big brands around the state and around the country, i chose San Francisco for my case study because of its general reputation for being hip to new tech.

I ran across issues in short supply of individual resolutions for Whole Foods, Sephora, Taco Bell,Macy’s and Denny’s, Cracker Barrel, Preferred, and T-Cell. As I looked around the nation, I noted that Walmart has cumulatively garnered thousands of questions with no brand responses.

However, the wrists and hands-straight down champion for that one locale in short supply of standard explanations is Google and yahoo in Mountain Point of view. 103 inquiries at the time of my research and nary an master respond to in sight. Alphabet may want to consider setting a much more impressive sample along with their private product… except when I am misunderstanding their eye-sight of methods Google and yahoo Questions and Answers is meant to be employed.

Just just what is the eyesight for Yahoo and google Questions and Answers, I marvel?

As I said at the beginning of this post, it’s early days yet to predict ultimate outcomes. At this point, the current set belonging to the property due to this attribute has rendered me with increased questions than responses:

•Does Google actually intend questions to be answered by brands, or by the public? From what I have witnessed, users are largely not aware of or deciding to ignore this function many periods put up-start up. Businesses are only alerted about incoming questions if they open the Google Maps app on an Android phone or tablet, as of writing this. There is no desktop GMB dash panel section for your have. It is not really a recipes for large adoption. That doesn’t mean your business shouldn’t be, though google has always been a fan of a crowdsourcing approach to their data, so they may not be concerned.

•A few of the legitimate-time goals in this function? I see quite a few end users asking them questions that called for rapid right answers, like “are you start now? ” whilst some would help lengthier reply time periods, like in, “I’m planning for a voyage and wish to really know what I will go walking to within your resort.” For time-reactive questions, what makes Questions and Answers fit in with Google’s legitimate talk option, Bing Online messaging, also presented endure summertime? Does Search engines like google visualize unique use conditions for options? If one of the two products will win out over time, while the other gets sunsetted, i wonder.

•The serious, actual pitfalls to brandnames of low-relief? If rants or spam are ignored, i applauded Mike Blumenthal’s smart suggestion of companies proactively populating the feature with known FAQs and providing expert answers, and I can also see the obvious potential for reputation damage. That being said, my modest investigation of San Francisco has left me wanting to know how many men and women (manufacturers or purchasers) have been focusing generally in most industries. Bing Information Solar panels together with the Nearby Locater take-ups are nearing an info bloat factor. Would you like to guide something, look into product reviews, stay conversation, see selections, get savings, get operating a vehicle instructions, make a contact? Internet websites are designed with a wide range of web sites to pay many of these likely behavior. Sticking them all in a 1” box may not equal the best UX I’ve ever seen, if discovery of features is our goal.

•What is the enthusiasm for people to take advantage of the product or service? For me personally, I’d be more likely to just pickup your phone to inquire about any topic which I wanted a fast provide answers to. I don’t have the confidence that if I queried Whole Foods in the AM as to whether they’ve gotten in organic avocados from California, there’d be a knowledge panel answer in time for my lunch. Additionally, a portion of the important questions I’ve wanted to know have obtained unnecessary the right answers belonging to the people, which appears like a complete waste of time for all those persons. Possibly whenever the include selections up energy, this tends to transform.

•Will boosting costs of doubts = growing costs of economic responses? Total numbers of questions for the 1700 locations they investigated nearly doubled between November-December of 2017, according to the GetFiveStars study linked to above. From my tiny take a look at San Francisco, it doesn’t appear to me of the fact that increasing outcome also occurred for individual solutions. For now, what I’m looking for is question volume reaching such a boiling point that owners feel obligated to jump into management, as they have with reviews, although time will tell. We’re not there yet, but if this feature is a Google keeper, we could get there.

So what should you be doing about Google Questions and Answers?

I’m a fan of ahead of time adoption exactly where it makes sense. Speculatively, using an effective Answers and questions activity could turn out to be as being a ranking alert. We have undoubtedly noticed it theorized that make use of of another Search engines like google asset, Google and yahoo Content, may results neighborhood pack search positions. Undoubtedly, leaving it towards the open public to respond to concerns about your enterprise with ranging degrees of exactness brings the possible risk of the loss of qualified prospects and muddying your online presence with the detriment of popularity. If your location has wheelchair access and an unmotivated third party says “I don’t know,” when, in fact, your business is fully ADA-compliant, your lack of an answer becomes negative customer service, if a customer asks. Ignoring the feature isn’t really an option, because of this. And, as i would not prioritize control over Questions and Answers above old-fashioned Yahoo-centered ratings after all this, I would suggest:

1.Do a branded search today and look at your knowledge panel to see if you’ve received any questions. Answer them in your best style, as helpfully as possibl if soe

2.Waste around 30 minutes in the week translating your company’s 5 most common FAQs into Google and bing Answers and questions queries and after that giving an answer to them. Ensure you are recorded in your company’s Google and yahoo credit account in the event you respond, which means that your text can be technically stamped because of the term “owner.” Regardless of whether you proactively article your FAQs whereas recorded for your business’ membership depends on you. I feel it is a lot more clear to do so.

3.If you’re acquiring this component of your understanding Panel isn’t buying inquiries, viewing it once weekly is possibly just going to be good enough with the produce.

4.If you be promotional a company that would be noticing some good Answers and questions action, and you will have the bandwidth, I’d insert verifying this to the day by day social network rounds you earn for the purpose of level of popularity managing. I would predict that if Google determines this feature is a keeper, they’ll eventually start sending email alerts when new queries come in, as they’re now doing with reviews, which should make things easier and minimize the risk of losing a customer with an immediate need. Need to go professional on operations right this moment due to problem quantity? GetFiveStars just introduced a very very helpful Google QAndA observation characteristic, integrated into some of their ORM software packages. Resembles a winner!

5.Do be on the lookout for spam responses and inquiries, and report them if they arise.

This simple infographic will get you going in a flash if you’re totally new to Google Questions and Answers:

My doubts, your answers

My claim investigation is modest. Can you assist extend our industry’s practical knowledge structure by giving an answer to a few pre-determined questions while in the feedback to enhance the photo of a up-to-date charge of adoption/performance of Google’s Questions and Answers? You need to, tell me:

1.Get you requested a subject with this aspect?

2.Do you receive an response and was it valuable?

3.Who clarified? This company, a random owner, a neighborhood Instruction?

4.Have you discover any forms of businesses performing a wonderful career replying to inquiries?

5.Do you know your emotions on Google Questions and Answers? Might it be a success? Definitely worth the time and effort? Any techniques?

Question & Answer Website: https: //community.buzrush.com/

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thrashermaxey · 6 years

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Eastern Edge: Defenceman Arbitrage and the Ottawa Senators

The goal of covering the Atlantic division before September has been accomplished. Unfortunately all of the digital ink that I am about to spew on the Ottawa Senators can promptly be thrown out the window once/if Erik Karlsson is traded. I had hoped that by avoiding the Senators up until this point that something would have happened on that front. Sadly, I was wrong.

While I promise to dive into Ottawa there really isn’t much there in terms of fantasy value, so I thought I would expand on a previous article on valuing defensemen. In the article I throw out the value of goals scored, since the difference between 15 and 13 goals scored should not produce a large statistical advantage from one blueliner to the next.

So what do blueliners do well? They get assists, power play points, and shots on goal. So if we rank our defenseman specifically towards valuing those stats we can get a great idea on who is leading the way. If you are in a bangers league – it would be wise to add in hits and blocks, but I would highly suggest you run the observations independent of each other. Points are a lot different than counting stats; I have included SOGs simply because there is very high correlation between SOG and points.

In my mind I can’t even believe I haven’t been ranking D this way for the last couple of years. I think it is in your best interest to follow suit as well. As I write this I am cringing that fellow league mates will now have both my strategy and value ranking.

One little piece of information that I added to my defenseman model is primary assist rate on a per game basis. Why did I choose this? Well P1 assists are correlated with consistent production rather than a player who stumbled into a rash of secondary assists. I’ve weighted the value of this advanced stat so that it doesn’t completely overtake a PP QB1 from an efficiency standpoint (someone who only scored 15 total assists all primary should not create lopsided value comparisions).

The below plot shows the value or z-score of SOG on Y axis and z-score of assists on the X axis, far right quadrant is particularly valuable. Trust me I understand this is a terrible way to depict data as there are way too many data points, but I do want to show why certain players contain so much value, I think you’ll be able to ascertain who I am talking about here:

Z-score of average SOG/gm vs. z-score of average assists per game (size of data point = total value of player)

The fun part of this graph is Will Butcher sitting by himself at a positive z-score relative to his peers in assists, with the size of his dot factoring in the z-score power play points and primary assist rate. Also there are some players in here that when you take a look at their ADP and what other defenseman they are being drafted around is a testament to how bonkers the valuation of defensemen is in terms of assists and SOG, the two things that they are most valuable at producing.

View a fantasy draft like a stock market in that you can expect other players to have the same information by drafting based on ADP. The ADP should reflect the overall market sentiment/value of a player. Given this belief the ADPs of top 50 defensemen should be predictive of value and reflected with a statistically significant p-value when they placed in a linear regression.

In fact, this is true: the ADP listed so far for the upcoming season on Yahoo! is predictive of player value and is also statistically significant.

Given a 95% confidence interval we can plot the player value, and in this case I am going to use my player valuation (assists, SOG, A1 rate, PPP). The plot below can show the player valuation compared to their current ADP. Players above the line are values compared to their ADP and players below the line should be taken behind their current ADP. I’m having a hard time getting this graph to blow up nice and big so you can find the tweet here, please hit follow as well; I will be doing this for all the other positions this summer.

It’ll be interesting to see if the market can correct as the season gets closer, but in the meantime start thinking about grabbing the guys above the lines as values compared to their peers.

Switching gears……..back to Ottawa

Like for the Wild West series, the ranks are based on a 12-team, head-to-head league, using the categories of goals, assists, power play points, shots, hits and blocks for forwards/defensemen and wins, saves, save percentage and goals against average for goalies. Player eligibility for this series is based on Yahoo, and draft ranks are based on average draft positions compiled from Yahoo, ESPN and CBS by FantasyPros. 2018-2019 ADPs are up if you couldn’t tell!

Check out yesterday’s column by Chris Kane on Minnesota.

Recap

Ottawa managed to go from one goal away from the Stanley Cup Finals in 2016-2017 to one of the absolute worst teams in the league last year. The power play was atrocious and led to Erik Karlsson’s worst power play assist rate since his first year in the league, when removing the year lost to injury in 2012-2013.

Unfortunately the midseason trade for Matt Duchene did not produce the anticipated results and now the team is staring down the loss of a potential lottery pick in the 2019 entry draft. Don’t expect this team to suddenly rocket to the power play elite and have multiple players in the top six worth owning. The players worth owning on this roster for next year can be counted on one hand.

Overvalued

Bobby Ryan – Enters the year as a 31-year old that has failed to produce anything greater than a 0.5 game pace for basically the last 4 years. He was drafted at the 202 spot and never produced any fantasy value for either a points or bangers and mash league. Don’t think this year with an increased opportunity will bring anything different for Ryan, draft a talented rookie rather than Ryan.

Games Played

Goals

Assists

Points

Points/ Game

Shots

Sht%

Hits

PPlay Points

Blocks

0.53

112

9.8%

Undervalued

Mark Stone – Enter Dylan Larkin 2.0. – I was sorting my spreadsheet for the last three years of production for Stone when I noticed a fairly large outlier. He scored ONE PP goal! ONE. He was expected to score roughly four goals, and he shot a whopping four percent on the power play. For a guy who everyone had crowned as taking the next step last year it sure seems like Stone has another gear to find if he can find a couple more points on the power play, given the surge in his PP usage from only 56% of the available ice time I fully expect Stone to improve on his totals and rates this coming year. This could be the opportunity share that pushes Stone into a league winner as he returns loads of value on his ADP (No ADP of value is currently available due to Stone being listed as injured).

Games Played

Goals

Assists

Points

Points/ Game

Shots

Sht%

Hits

PPlay Points

Blocks

1.07

132

15.2%

Matt Duchene – Duchene is currently listed as the 177th-ranked skater on Yahoo! He has been stripped of his RW tag that helped return some positional value. Duchene did turn it on for the second half of last year after the trade so it will be interesting to see what he is able to do in the upcoming campaign. Given his skill level and the opportunity available I believe Duchene will provide value on his ADP this coming year, don’t sleep on him as a late-middle round selection (career avg point per game pace 0.68)

Games Played

Goals

Assists

Points

Points/ Game

Shots

Sht%

Hits

PPlay Points

Blocks

0.72

190

14.2%

Erik Karlsson –. Right now he is being slated as the 36th-best skater, when you compare his z-score to other players he will produce value that won’t be accurately captured in the player rankings since it does not factor in positional scarcity. In most leagues Karlsson is still a first-round or possibly even second-round pick. I’m not sure drafting Karlsson in the second round is the best options given the value that is available later in your draft even just a couple rounds later. That being said it is tough to begrudge picking the perennial top fantasy defenseman. Keep this in mind:

His three year average 5v5 shooting percentage is 6.1% – last year he shot 2.9%

He has averaged 19 power play assists the last three years – he has 13 PPA last year

Games Played

Goals

Assists

Points

Points/ Game

Shots

Sht%

Hits

PPlay Points

Blocks

0.87

196

4.6%

120

I hope you enjoyed the analysis of defensemen ADPs – if you’re interested into digging into the source files or have any question about utilizing z-scores to value the players in your league send me a note on twitter.

Sources: Hockey-reference.com, Naturalstattrick, Corsica.hockey, Frozen Pool

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-home/eastern-edge/eastern-edge-defenceman-arbitrage-and-the-ottawa-senators/

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foursprout-blog · 6 years

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Just Please Don’t Forget Me

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/just-please-dont-forget-me/

Just Please Don’t Forget Me

God & Man

I’m afraid to think there will come a day where you don’t know me.

It’s been 7 months since we’ve spoken and 13 since I’ve seen you. We’ve gone longer than that before. But this feels too long. Too final.

I close my eyes and can still see that lopsided smile. Do you remember mine? Does it ever haunt your brain’s inner corridors, leaving an echo across a space it shouldn’t be in?

That dimple you said you could drown in is still here. Since you, no one has left a smile on my face so big, to bring it out as deep to be able to. No one has loved it as much as you.

My jeans are a little snug. I’d worry about not being aesthetically pleasing to anyone else, but not with you. I imagine you licking your lips, cupping your hand around my backside, then squeezing. You always did say my ass was your favorite part. You always did become weak at the knees of my curves. You admired me whatever the sight, really, on whatever dip or peak I was at on the fluctuating graph.

If you saw me now would it be the same? Would you look at me with the same smoldering eyes? Would you want me? Would it take every physical restraint not to act on it? Would it ache you to even have to look away? I must admit, even the thought brings me immeasurable pleasure and pain (in a way only ever you expertly could).

In this drought, it’s got me finally feeling rain kiss my skin, just imagining making eye contact with you again. Would you recognize the shade of my eyes, even from afar, would you see them there so dark but know the amber you’d come to face if you walked several feet my way? And if you did, would my voice sound strange or would you drown in the comfort of its familiarity?

I know I said I didn’t want to burn, not for you, not anymore. And I’m sorry, love, I know I said it to you in a poem. It’s just that I know letting go of whatever this thing between us is wouldn’t be so easy any other way. I know I said it hurt, but you know, you know, I’ve always loved those things the most.

I’ve always loved you the most.

(I’m still burning. I’m still hurting.)

I know there may be things I don’t know that others may be more familiar with. Like how you fold your clothes, how long your showers take and what time you prefer to eat dinner. And you may not know that I tend to keep my clean laundry in a pile before I ever get around to it, but when I do, I fold it symmetrically and impeccably. That I hang all my dresses according to length, which is directly relative to the occasion, and that my blouses are hung according to color and season. You may not know that the length of my showers is dependent upon my mood and that some nights I prefer to sit in the bath and just not think about existing. That I sometimes skip dinner, that I sometimes eat it twice, but I always have to eat it watching one of my TV shows and preferably with a glass of wine. That it doesn’t matter the time, because when I eat it I always wonder if you’d like what I had prepared, what my life would be like if I could cook not for one, not for two, but for you.

We may not know these mundane little things about each other. But we know each other in ways we’ve never let ourselves be in front of other people. We’ve given up control, lost it, and taken it, to and from each other. We’ve spent nights more decadent and uninhibited than most people could even fantasize. We’ve indulged in each other’s bodies like beasts and never felt as human. We’ve kissed and walked through Eden. You’ve roamed my skin and discovered universes nobody else knows exist. I’ve made you see colors non-existent in this world each time I so much as laid a fingertip on your skin.

Being naked was never enough. We needed more. More intimacy, more bare. We unzipped our flesh and told each other things most people keep secret. I let you hear words I held lodged in my throat. Words I was afraid would ever escape my mouth. You still kissed me. You made me feel unashamed.

I may not know when your alarm goes off or how many times you press snooze, but I know you. I know you in ways they never will. The things she hates, are things I love, things I know I could accommodate in my life.

I may be unfamiliar with your nighttime ritual, but I know what you like to do with that black leather belt you wear around your waist. I know what sounds you make, how your breathing becomes ragged as it’s striking through the air. I also know you don’t mind laying on your back and pretending you’ve given up power. I know that little spot on your ear that makes you shiver and roll your eyes to the back of your head. I know that dark look in your eyes and that you’re going to lick your lips before you bite. I know you’ve never called out anyone’s name the way you have mine.

You may not know I stay up later than I should and hate myself the next day, but you know the color and shape of my soul. You know the haunted house that is this body. That there’s this girl that sometimes screams and screams inside it. You know my vibrancy. But you also know I’ve given melancholy a spare key. You know where to touch me and how to touch me. You know the things that make my body shiver. You know I’m scared to let go of control but I need to. That I want to. You know I bruise easily, but that it gives me a thrill. You’re well aware I’ve always loved the things that hurt. You know how I can’t keep my eyes open and the way I bring my legs together and curl my toes when I’m slipping into ecstasy. You know nothing gets me there more than a hand around my neck and a thumb on that particular vein.

Only we know that feeling we have only ever gotten when together. That heat. How in those moments our hearts beat together and in sync.

The truth is we could never not know each other. I guess what I mean to say is please don’t forget.

#Happiness

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thrashermaxey · 6 years

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Ramblings: Tampa Evens Up; Jeff Skinner; Tom Wilson; Andrei Vasilevskiy; Defence Shot Distribution – May 18

We had a pretty lopsided game in Washington on Thursday night in favour of the Capitals. Unfortunately for Washington and their fans, this was a scene that has played out often in the playoffs over the last decade: dominate the opposition and lose.

A late third-period goal from Alex Killorn just as a penalty was expiring gave Tampa Bay a 3-2 lead, a lead they would not relinquish, adding a late empty-net goal for the 4-2 win. After falling behind at home 0-2 in the series, the Lightning won both games on the road to even things back up at two.

This was an outstanding game from Andrei Vasilevskiy. He faced nearly 40 shots and some of his saves were of the 10-bell variety, particularly in the third period. More on him a little later.

These types of games happen. Sometimes you just tip your cap (no pun intended, honestly) to the opposing goaltender and move on.

For what it’s worth, Nicklas Backstrom looked fine in his return, but Evgeny Kuznetsov was given significantly more ice time. This is nothing to be overly concerned about given Backstrom hadn’t played in a while and it’s doubtful he’s anywhere close to healthy anyway, but I wonder if this trend might continue next year. It’s nothing against Backstrom, he’s still a wonderful player. Kuznetsov is just that good, though. Maybe it won’t be a significant change, maybe they’re just close to even. Wondering aloud, over here.

Though Ovechkin is known for his goal-scoring prowess, this pass to Evgney Kuznetsov on the team’s second goal of the game, a backhand cross-ice sauce that fell right on Kuzy’s tape, was sick:

Kuznetsov ties it for the #allcaps , Ovechkin and Wilson assist pic.twitter.com/PD9FADW9Pf

— Shayna (@hayyyshayyy) May 18, 2018

That’s not Erik Karlsson-To-Mike Hoffman, but it’s pretty good.

Tom Wilson may not be a fan favourite outside the Washington fanbase but there’s no denying one thing: he had a monster fantasy season in multi-category leagues. Putting up 250 hits, 51 blocked shots, and 187 penalty minutes while being able to chip in 14 goals and 35 points is a very, very good year. Even in standard ESPN leagues where hits aren’t counted, he had so many PIMs that he was still a top-50 forward.

That brings me around to 2018-19. What do we do here? If he can replicate this season, there are no issues with drafting him as a top-100 player.

The big concern is his usage. He was a nice surprise on the top forward line at five-on-five and that slotting got him nearly 16 minutes of ice time per game. Does he get that slotting again? Jakub Vrana has played so well these playoffs he’s forced a reluctant Barry Trotz to eventually move him into the top-6. Andre Burakovsky is still a very talented forward who’s been battling injuries this year. If he can right the ship in 2018-19, do those two forwards push Wilson down the lineup?

Maybe not. Maybe Trotz decides that it’s best to lengthen the lineup and use one of Vrana/Burakovsky on the third line with Eller/Connolly (or whomever) to give them three more balanced scoring lines. Wilson is also an RFA and is undoubtedly going to get a raise on his $2-million that he made last year. Will that factor in?

Wilson’s upside is capped. He’s just not that good offensively without significant help and he won’t get anywhere near the top PP unit barring injuries or severe underperformance by that unit. He can be a Patrick Maroon-type where 15-ish goals and 40 points is a good year. With the peripheral stat stuffing, that’s more than enough. As long as he stays in the top-6, it’s more than doable.

By now, we’ve all seen quotes and rumours that there may be some big changes coming to Carolina this offseason. I think we all assumed that would mean a defenceman or two moved, but another name has appeared:

Bob McKenzie on Jeff Skinner: “The feeling is he will almost certainly be traded.”

Full quote from the Bobcast: pic.twitter.com/PHOKZFHne8

— Platinum Seat Ghosts (@3rdPeriodSuits) May 17, 2018

This does make sense when you think about Jeff Skinner only having one year left and maybe the team doesn’t want to commit to him beyond that. It is kind of sad in a way, though, as the franchise failed to advance to the playoffs in any of Skinner’s eight seasons. A waste of an elite scoring talent. Carolina’s loss will be someone else’s gain.

This is a guy either Alberta team should be targeting.

There was a good read by Joe Smith over at The Athletic a couple days ago on Andrei Vasilevskiy. They basically talked to current goalies like Henrik Lundqvist and Ben Bishop as well as former goalies like Brian Boucher and Kevin Weekes on what made Vasilevskiy so good this year. Most of the praise came down to two things: athleticism and footwork.

I have no way of really proving this but my thought has always been your goalie needs to be the best athlete on the team. When you look at elite goalies over the last 20 years like Dominik Hasek and Tim Thomas, they were what some may say is unconventional but they used their athleticism to their advantage. Carey Price (before the injuries) did the same even though he was technically very sound. Regardless, being a great goalie is about making saves you’re not supposed to make, not about stopping 50-foot slapshots from the point. Hasek, Thomas, and Price could all do this. Vasilevskiy does it as well.

This is a mea culpa. Last summer, I wrote a couple times that I wasn’t sold on him but reading the opinions of others and watching him more this year has changed my mind a bit. Goaltending is a fickle thing so he could very well be a .910 goalie next year instead of .920. But when I read what is being said about him, it’s hard not to think he won’t have a very successful career. It’s easy to forget he doesn’t even turn 24 years old for two months.

Now, if Tampa could fix that penalty kill…

For those reading my Ramblings this week, thanks! Also, you’ll be reminded that we’ve been talking about shot rates across the league.

On Tuesday, the discussion revolved around rising shot attempt marks at five-on-five and how this affects goal scoring. The basic premise is that with the rise in shot rates, the middling totals are become a little devalued, as are guys with middling goal-scoring totals. The most important thing to note is that the number of players with over 200 shots on goal or 20 goals at all strengths has risen a lot over the last few years.

Yesterday, we covered forwards specifically. Shot rates are increasing everywhere except the absolute top tier. Despite more shots in the NHL this year than in recent seasons, the elite forward shot totals at five-on-five didn’t increase. Rather, the elite shot seasons disappeared. There were still excellent seasons, and more crossed the 200-shot threshold at five-on-five, but the 220+ seasons were not there. The league-wide shot increase led to more shots in the middle but not at the very top.

Today, we look at defencemen.

While the forwards may have been nitpicking a bit – does anyone really care if Alex Ovechkin lands 219 shots instead of 226? – the defence shot distribution is a whole other ball game. It’s changed to a much greater degree than it has for the forwards.

First things first, here’s what the distribution looks like for defencemen at five-on-five in each of the previous five seasons:

Let’s go through a few things.

In 2013-14, the mean shot on goal total for forwards at five-on-five was 79.26, which rose to 83.54 in 2017-18. That represents an increase of 5.40 percent, which means the average forward is landing 5.40 percent more shots on goal than he was four years ago. Fair enough.

In 2013-14, the mean shot on goal total for defencemen at five-on-five was 51.32, which rose to 63.38 in 2017-18. That represents an increase of 23.50 percent, which means the average defenceman is landing 23.5 percent more shots on goal than four years ago. That is a lot.

That’s not a nitpick, either. Each season from 2013 through 2016 saw mean shot totals between 50.8 and 52.4 among defencemen. That has exploded each of the past two seasons with the mean in 2016-17 being 57.11 and of course last year was 63.38. While forwards are shooting more than they have in recent years, defencemen are just racking up shots.

Keep in mind that this is shots on goal and not just shot attempts. These are shots taken by defencemen at five-on-five on which the goalie has to directly make a save. This isn’t defencemen shooting around shinpads for a deflection or missing the net on purpose to look for a backdoor goal.

Also, unlike the forwards, elite shot totals from blue liners are becoming more readily available. You can see the 2017-18 season stretch further to the right than any previous year in the graph above but the numbers really tell the story: over the past five years, there have been 16 instances of a defenceman with at least 160 shots on goal at five-on-five, and seven of them came in 2017-18. Four of them came in 2016-17, with the other five spread over the three previous seasons. The elite shot totals from defencemen has been increasing rapidly over the last couple years. So, again, unlike the forwards, not only are there higher middling totals, there are more elite totals as well.

Now, it’s a matter of what to do about the elite guys. Brent Burns continues to be far-and-away the best volume option. Dougie Hamilton was often among the top, and still is, but he’s got company now in guys like Seth Jones and Darnell Nurse. There are other young stars like Zach Werenski and Ivan Provorov who could be knocking on the door soon. Don’t forget a healthy Erik Karlsson. If Hamilton can’t consistently separate himself in the shot department as he has over the past few years, how much value does he really have above everyone else? Unless Calgary fixes that power play.

The devaluation of the non-Brent Burns top shooting options on the blue line is just one of the interesting fantasy angles here. What does this say about the increase in goal scoring if defencemen are shooting so much more and yet goals are still going up? Is it time we start viewing certain fantasy defencemen as if they were a fourth forward on the ice rather than a defenceman?

There is a lot more to dig into in the coming months. This doesn’t even start going into the power play production which is so critical to fantasy value. All the same, the way hockey is being played in the NHL is changing rapidly and with it is the way we should be valuing certain fantasy options.

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-jeff-skinner-tom-wilson-andrei-vasilevskiy-defence-shot-distribution-may-18/

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