what do i even file this under

the spy au that @philosophium ordered !!


Andrew slips through a slit in the crowd, brushing through the sleek trains of expensive gowns, rich wool suits jackets catching on his own. He’s on his second flute of champagne, and the tartness keeps him focused. His attention is on the flavour and the rim of the glass and the warp of faces through it. His earpiece crackles and whispers.

He can see his mark on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by servers and liars and pretty things. One of them is all three, Andrew can tell: a waiter’s vest, a seam of over-applied foundation, and bright blue eyes.

He’s distracting, flighty, a rubber band pulled all the way back. He looks like the memory of a case file, and a name occurs to Andrew one second before Kevin hisses it into his ear.

“It’s fuckin’ Charlie Pilot. Don’t engage, Minyard, we’re not here for him.”

Andrew doesn’t make any effort to reply, just takes another pull of champagne. He’s not really watching the troupes of entertainers or the clockwork security or the velvet and silk blooming under bowing chandeliers. He’s not even watching the man he’s either going to rob or kill, who’s laughing and weedy, red in the face from the alcohol. He’s stuck on Pilot –  next to his target, holding a heavily stocked tray of appetizers, his expression pleasant and empty.

He’ll be an irritant to what should be a straightforward plan, if he keeps hovering. Andrew takes a loaded step forward and the voice in his ear complains.

“Don’t even think about moving in until Pilot leaves. He’s probably doing reconnaissance for Matt. I bet he doesn’t even know about the file.”

Andrew watches Pilot’s face tick, the way he blinks like he’s on a timer, the way he’s worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth.

“I bet he does,” Andrew murmurs, and he drains the last of the champagne. He plucks his tie pin away from the fabric and drops it in the empty glass, leaving it on a passing tray.

“What— what the fuck Minyard, we’ve lost visuals. Do you hear me? Andrew? Andrew?”

Andrew weaves through the rest of the golden crowd, ignoring the buzz of Kevin’s reprimands in his ear. He finds a new spot on the outskirts of the crowd where Pilot has installed himself.

“Do you know how fucking expensive those cameras are? You’re such a piece of shit operative,” Kevin says. “When you inevitably come back without the intelligence and without our equipment, it’s costing us to keep you around, do you realize that?”

Andrew’s more focused on the way Pilot’s shoulders are turning to face him, the slim line of his tailored pants, that eyelash-thick smudge of un-blended make up.

“Shrimp?” Pilot offers, swaying the tray in his direction.

“No,” Andrew says, but he stays uncomfortably near, feeling along the edges of his boundaries without finding any seams. Pilot’s composure is still and reserved as a frost-ravaged garden.

“Have a good evening then,” Pilot says graciously, turning back towards the host that Andrew should be sizing up but hasn’t even looked at. He glances at him for a sliver of a moment, finds himself uninterested, and looks back at Pilot.

Andrew catches him suddenly by the arm, but relaxes his grip just as quickly, caught off guard by his own impulsivity. His own disguise is just an invitation and sun bleached hair; he isn’t playing a character like Pilot is. He’s neutral for a living, but Pilot is a new weight on his scale, unbalancing him so that he can’t quite settle at zero.

When their eyes meet, the polite, curious waiter snips out of existence. Charlie Pilot stares at Andrew, with eyes like the bluest part of a fire.

“There’s a conflict of interest,” he tells Andrew calmly. “And your interest will lose.”

“I’m not interested in anything,” Andrew says broadly.

“Hm,” Pilot says, unconvinced. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t lie,” Andrew says. He’s always saying it; it’s a novelty that employers enjoy and enemies challenge, amused.

Pilot raises his jaw, mouth twitching. “No, you wouldn’t, would you.” His eyes flicker to the side of Andrew’s face, where Kevin is breathing furiously through his earpiece, then down to the grip he still has on his forearm. He lowers his tray down until the rough edge is pressed to the root of Andrew’s hand threateningly. “You’ll want to let me go, Andrew, or you’re going to end up needing a longer armband.”

Andrew feels genuine surprise squeeze his fingers around Pilot’s wrist. He hadn’t noticed the black fabric extending a whiff beyond his crisp white sleeve. He lets go, and Pilot tucks his shoulders back, satisfied. His hair is too dark to match his freckles, Andrew notes quietly. It is, perhaps, what the make up was meant to cover up.

“You are not going to win, Charlie,” Andrew says. “We’re the more capable team.”

Pilot smiles indulgently. “‘Charlie’,” he repeats, mouth curling around the name. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been Charlie Pilot.” He jostles his tray from one hand to another, and loosens his collar with his freed hand. “And I don’t think you understand how much farther ahead we are than you. If you’re looking for information, we already have it. If you’re trying to find the connections this place has to the Yakuza, we’re the ones undoing them.”

“Who’s we? I don’t remember seeing anything about loyalty in your case file. You’re just a runner.”

Pilot looks briefly bothered by this, and he juts his chin again. “I’m loyal to whoever’s doing the work that needs to be done.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Who are you?”

He looks down, at Andrew’s empty hands, at the hip where he’s hiding his gun. His expression is warped and sad when he looks up, like the real filling in his strange costume is finally oozing out.

“You can call me Neil,” he says, and drops the whole tray of food so that it clatters and rolls into the host’s feet. There are gasps and yelps, partygoers dodging and stooping to catch the runaway platter. Andrew looks impulsively down to track its progress, and when he looks sharply back up into the knot of activity, Neil is gone. Of course he is.

He doesn’t have time to think about where he might have disappeared to, just steps neatly into the opportunity that’s been afforded to him. He uses the distraction as a doorway directly into the offices behind the coddled host.

Kevin is asking repeatedly for updates, and Andrew fishes the earpiece out and tucks it into his breast pocket. He likes to be alone for this part, when the most important door closes behind him and everything makes as much sense as a ticking clock.

He keeps thinking of Neil’s reaction to ‘runner’, of the vulnerability trussed up in his persona. He finds himself sick to his stomach wanting to know what his real hair colour is.

He tries every door in the polished row of them, finding all of them locked. He picks the lock on the door farthest from the burble of the ballroom behind him, and cracks into what looks like a room built for business arrangements and drinking. There’s a snifter next to a half dozen tumblers on a cart along the wall, and extensive cabinets under the desk.

He feels his way along the underside of the desk, and opens each drawer, idealistically left unlocked and unprotected. He finds useless information and shady information and heaps of anonymous, unlabeled tapes.

He finds the safe in the floor, facing up patiently under a wingback chair and a panel of floorboard. He stoops so that he’s face to face with it, shrugs his jacket off like a dead skin onto the floor, and puts the heart of a stethoscope to the face of the safe.

He’s sweating, spread out surreptitiously on the floor, but the safe is flimsy. It cracks in under an hour, the party wilting two rooms over, pressure taking him by the hair. Andrew flicks the door open impatiently, unwinding the stethoscope from around his neck.

It’s filled top to bottom with paper, and he reaches for the first file, carding his fingers through the spill of sheets.

Got you, it says. Over and over again, in unassuming little typescript. And on the next page, got you.

Andrew’s fingers flex. The next file is the same, and the next. A million taunting, twirling repetitions: got you. Got this. Got here first.

The safe was already cracked. The list of names was already stolen. Neil’s face winks and swarms when he closes his eyes, furious. If you’re looking for information, we already have it.

He roots around for the bud in his pocket and pops it back into his ear. He leans back, splayed away from the spill from the safe, the stacks of failure. He enunciates clearly into the microphone sewn into his collar.

“We have to find Neil.”

Keep reading

Hard Eyes: Part 1

Prompt: batmom meets Talia and there’s a lot of tension between them because of their history with Bruce and Talia wanting to take Damian back to the League of Assassins

Requested by: @shyinfluencer2017

Words: 1445


The station is larger than you imagined, and you’re not quite sure where you’re going. At this point you’re just following instinct. You move through the halls, Dick’s call still fresh in your mind. “Mom, it’s Bruce. You need to come now … it’s bad.” You hadn’t been able to make out anything after that, the tears had muffled his voice too much.

          As you turn the final corner it’s to see your boys, and the entire league. You try not to think about how bad it must be, for those looks to be on their faces. You pause for a moment, cherishing the last few minutes that you pretend everything’s okay. Then you rush forward.

          The boys see you immediately, and it takes no prompting, they rush to you. Despite having been taller than you for several years now, the oldest three seem so small, and Damian, your poor sweet baby, he seems so scared. They cling to you, and you do your best to comfort all of them assuring each of them that it’s going to be okay.

          After they’ve calmed down a bit you move forward and then you stop. There’s no love lost between you and Talia. You’ve seen the woman maybe twice in the four years since Damian has come to live with you. She’s no mother in your eyes, and she certainly doesn’t have a claim to your son.

          You decide to focus more on the doctor. He confirms what Dick said on the phone. It’s not looking good, and it will all depend on the surgery. There’s a less than ten percent chance that Bruce will be able to be the man he was before this. That reassures you in some weird way, Bruce has always been able to beat the odds.

          Finally, you take a seat. Your back is hurting, and your ankles are swollen, and technically, you’re supposed to be in bed at the moment. But, extreme times call for extreme measures. One hand goes to rest on your protruding belly, as the boys sit down beside you.

          Dick is the first one to break the silence, “So how’d your doctor appointment go? Bruce was so bummed to miss it.”

          You smile at that Bruce had been to every pregnancy check before this one. He had been so upset to miss this one. You hadn’t planned this. As far as you were concerned you had your hands full with all the boys. But one glass of wine too many had led to a forgetful night.

          Some part of you had expected the boys to be disappointed. But they had met the idea of a new sibling with enthusiasm. In fact, one of the boys would typically go with you and Bruce to the appointment.

          “Did the doc finally tell you what you’re having?” Jason asks with a grin “It’s another boy, isn’t? Something tells me Bruce is only for making boys. Look at the squirt.”

          Damian scowls at the nickname, but he doesn’t argue with Jason’s statement. If you had expected anyone to be upset about the pregnancy it had been Damian. The boy had clung to his blood tie with Bruce for so long, you had worried about him feeling threatened. Instead, he had taken to the role of big brother rather seriously.

          It had started out with him and Tim inspecting everything you ate. Then he had researched everything needed for a helping a healthy baby grow. Classical music had been playing non stop around the manor. Then one day, you had walked into what had been designated as the baby’s room, just to consider paint colors, to find that it had already been painted a soft yellow.  

          And there was Damian, working on mural. It was this pretty field of flowers, a nature scene. For a while you had just watched him paint before all of a sudden he had simply said, “It’s going to be a girl. And she should have a happy, and pretty place to grow up. Somewhere she can always feel safe.”

          You had gone to him, and pulled him in close, not worrying about the paint staining his clothes and said, “Every child should have that Damian. I can only hope Bruce and I provided that for you and your brothers.”

          Damian had simply hugged you back and said, “I’ve never felt safer than when I was surrounded by this band of misfits.”

          You just laughed, because of course he couldn’t call it what it is, “A family.”

          Coming out of the memory you find everyone silent, and you take a moment to examine them. They’re still dressed in their uniforms and they’re covered in dirt.

          Quietly you suggest they go shower and change, when they protest, you tease and say that their stench is making you feel ill. That gets them going. A few of the League members inquire after you and the baby. Eventually they too leave, and then it’s just you and her.

          Neither of you says anything until you can’t take it anymore and you finally ask, “What are you doing here Talia?”

          She turns to face you, radiant as ever, her eyes as cold as ever. “My son and his father needed my assistance?”

          “Is that a question or an answer Talia, because I’m not buying it. The boys are too distraught to see it, and the League doesn’t know you well enough to see it, but I do. I know everything about you Talia. I’ve read every part of the file Bruce has on you, and I won’t let you do it.”

          She raises an eyebrow at that, “You’d let him die? You must really want his money.” She glances at your stomach, “After all your child is legitimate, and he didn’t even have you sign a prenup.”

          You roll your eyes at that, “I care about what Bruce wants, and he told me that under no circumstances was he ever to go into the Pit. If there’s one thing in this world that scares him, it’s what that goop would do to his mind.”

          She studies you for a minute, “Then I suppose I’ll take Damian with me when I leave then.”

          “You have no right. Bruce and I have full custody. And Damian is just as much my child as any of his brothers.”

          She smiles at that, “Is he as much your child as the one in your womb? Blood is thicker than water after all.”

          You can’t help but scowl, “I hate that saying, because while I may not have given birth to those boys, while I may not share their blood, I’ve raised them. I’ve attended every parent teacher conference, shown up for every play, taken care of them when they were sick, worried every time they go out on patrol, held them after a girl broke their hearts, watched them grow, watched as they became brothers, and so much more that you will never understand.” At this point you’re right in her face, because you want your meaning to me clear, “Those boys, are my children, and blood has nothing to do with it. You just try and take Damian, and you’ll be the one to need that damn goop,”

          She looks down at you amused, “Big words for such a little church mouse. What’s the little pregnant housewife going to do?”

          You just smile, “I wasn’t always a housewife Talia. You would know that if you were actually able to find anything on me before Bruce.”

          She actually looks a little frightened now, and you know it’s your eyes, they’ve slipped into that same hardness that had made people braver than her panic. You make one last statement, “Leave now Talia, and don’t you ever threaten my children again.”

          She leaves, she never turns her back on you but she leaves. You take your seat again, and wait for him to come out of the shadows. You meet Clark’s eyes, and you can finally feel the tears start to build as he wraps an arm around you, you let them out. He just holds you while you cry, because he knows. He and Bruce are the only ones that know about your past, and he knows that it’s Bruce that keeps you grounded, that Bruce is the one that keeps you from slipping. And he knows that if Bruce Wayne dies, as soon as you’re able to, you’ll hunt down the bastard who caused it. And he knows that he’ll have to be the one to stop you.

          For that reason Clark Kent prays that Bruce Wayne pulls through, for the boys, for you, and for your unborn baby girl.

because the world needed another redux II missing scene, right?

“Mulder?”

He lifts his head from the side of her bed and stares up at her. His face is tear-streaked and pale in the dark room, and she realizes that the keening sound from her dreams wasn’t her imagination at all.

“It’s the middle of the night,” she says to fill the space, and because she doesn’t know what else to say, finding him here.

She hadn’t even noticed he was holding her hand until he pulls it away. “I wanted to ask you something,” he says, “but then I got here and you were asleep — I mean, of course you were asleep — and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I can’t believe the nurses let you in.”

He gives her a little sideways grin. “They didn’t.”

Scully rolls her eyes, but it’s all fondness in her voice. “Mulder, have you ever followed a rule?”

“Not lately.”

She reaches out to brush her thumb over his cheek, just under his eyes; she can feel the dampness there. “Then break another one,” she says softly. She scoots over to one side of her narrow bed and pats the empty space between them.

“Scully…”

“I’m cold,” she says, which is true, even if it isn’t why she’s asking. “Come on.”

He looks at her long, considering, then bends to untie his shoes. He shucks them off, and his jacket, too, pushing them into the corner of the room between the nightstand and the IV. He climbs in facing her. There’s no way for both of them to be in this bed without touching: his hand on her hip, her ankles tangled up against his calves. “Is this okay?” he asks.

In response, she tugs him just a little bit closer. Lately she’s been thinking about what she’ll regret when the time comes; when, inevitably, this treatment fails like all the others. Not this: not the last five years. Not him.

As he settles in, nestling against the thin hospital pillow and closing his eyes, she studies him. The shadows under his eyes too deep, his cheeks too pale. There is something newly fragile about him, some secret he’s not telling.

“Mulder,” she says, and he hums in response. Even though she already knows the answer, she has to ask. “Do you believe in miracles?”

“I believe in amateur athletics and the triumph of capitalism,” he deadpans, ”if that’s what you’re asking.”

Against her better judgment she snorts.

His voice drops. “Yeah, Scully. Of course I do.” He lifts a hand to her face, running his thumb along her lower lip, the curve of her jaw. “You’re with me every day.”

( @fictober )

thegalacticpope  asked:

16 with Damian and Dick because u know I thrive off angst

I know it, and I hope this helps you thrive even more. : ) 


Dick was silent the entire ride back to the bunker. He had to be or he knew he’d end up saying the wrong thing. Even now, even furious, the last thing Dick wanted to do was hurt Damian. Any words that he might say right now would hurt because that’s how Dick was. When he was angry he was hurtful, his words digging until they found just the right place to stab.

People said that having kids makes them less selfish. Dick was still terribly selfish. He wanted his family safe, happy, and whole and he’d do anything to make that happen. What caring for a child had changed about him was his temper. He couldn’t have a short fuse around Damian, not if he wanted the boy to take any of his lessons seriously. Not if he wanted Damian to believe him when he said he cared, that he loved him, and that he’d never hurt him for making a mistake.

Even if that mistake had almost gotten Damian killed and had ruined months of work.

He was just shy of slamming the car door shut when he jumped out of the batmobile. He was beginning to understand why Bruce would pour himself into work when a night went bad. As a kid Dick had hated it when Bruce dismissed him and sat there, staring at the computer for hours, stony and silent. Dick had thought he was fuming, now he wondered if it was Bruce’s way of controlling his anger, and of keeping himself from yelling at Dick.

Keep reading

That Got Away: A Criminal Minds Fanfiction  1/?

Inspiration: Katy Perry’s Song “The One That Got Away”

Rating: Mature      Setting: Season 4       Featuring: Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader

A/N:

I am loving all the requests and song inspired fics out there. Please let me know what you all think! Warnings: Loss of a parent (the reader is a victim’s daughter), teenage angst and sexual awakenings. I do not own any of the characters or lyrics. Enjoy the fluff, stay for the smut, sorry for the tears. xoxo Stu


You hadn’t been home to visit your dad since last summer, having taken your students to Bulgaria to study the ancient city of Mesembria over your January term. His sprawling driveway was cleared and inviting, despite the wind that had followed you from the airport. You entered the security code on the side gate, your low heels clicking on the decorative stone walkway. The entry way to the kitchen was floor to ceiling glass doors that sparkled in the morning sun. You glance inside, expecting to see your dad tinkering with his espresso machine, or maybe making a smoothie with the juicer you got him one Fathers’ Day, after he declared he was going to lose some weight that summer.

Instead, you see an empty room, the sunlight barely penetrating the stone walls. You cautiously step through the door, keeping your left hand on the brass handle. “Dad? Are you there?”

Silence answers. You drop your bag on the table, your footfalls echoing through the cavernous room. You check your phone, verifying that your Dad hadn’t left you a message while your were in airplane mode. No calls or texts. You went around the counter and through the main hall of the house. Now panic was holding your stomach hostage, gripping your insides the further you ventured in to the unlit house.

“Dad! I know you are not asleep, where are you?” You ditch your heels and climb the winding staircase up towards the bedrooms and offices. You found him at his desk, papers on every inch of the wooden surface. His head down, you thought he was correcting papers, or absorbed in a new research endeavor. When you take a step closer, you see the pool of blood around the rollers of the chair’s feet. You scream.


Derek Morgan was on the fourth mile on his course around Locust Shade Park when the case came through. He grudgingly huffed it back to his car, hoping he could get a shower in at the locker room before making it to the conference room. The drive to the office was quick, Agent Morgan scanned the parking lot for his fellow BAU members’ vehicles. Smirking as he found that Hotch’s and JJ’s cars were the only ones in parking spaces.

After a refreshingly hot shower, Derek secured his locker throwing his ‘GO BAG’ over his shoulder, to take it with to the case briefing. He passed through the bullpen nodding to Reid and Prentiss, both nursing fresh coffees. “Any word on the case?” Derek asks in passing.

“Something about Pasadena,” Prentiss answered noncommittally.

“Pasadena?” Reid asked alerted.

“What’s up pretty boy?” Morgan asked, surprised at the younger man’s alarm.

“Cal Tech is in Pasadena, Morgan.” Prentiss answered, leading the guys to the conference room.

“Right, so you going to dial up your old honeys once we get our unsub?” Morgan teased.

Luckily for Reid, the team was assembled and JJ was set to deliver the case. On the evidence screen a wizened face was peering back at the agents. Reid fumbled in his seat.

“Professor Graham Y/L/N was found dead in his Pasadena estate this morning. C.O.D is blood loss from being stabbed by an unknown object, numerous times.” JJ began.

“Who found Dr. Y/L/N?” Reid asked before Hotch could get a word in.

JJ glanced down at her notes. “His daughter Y/N, was visiting over spring break from Columbia.”

“Is she okay?” Reid followed, which gave everyone around the table pause.

“Reid, I am guessing she is pretty shaken up. But she is cooperating with the investigation, so chances are you can ask her yourself.” Hotch stood, attempting to steer the focus back to the case. “What is this about?”

Reid was pale, even more so than usual. He cleared his throat and looked down at the file put in front of him. He closed the folder and squinted his eyes closed for a moment. “Um, you see, Dr. Y/L/N was my first graduate school advisor while at Cal Tech. He is, well, was a very good man.”

“Reid, I am so sorry.” Emily Prentiss cooed at the grieving genius.

“It’s alright,” Reid sniffed, but his eyes remained clear.”Let’s just get the unsub.”

“Wheels up in 20, it is a long flight.” Hotch added quietly.


You sat in the police station fidgeting. The recycled air, chilled your already shaken frame. The detectives had asked you questions on and off for what seemed like years. You had your carry on bag with you, since it held some exams you wanted to read over. Your eyes continuously lost focus on the size 12 font, double spaced pages. You didn’t want to think about what you looked like to the other people in that crammed hall near the front doors of the station.

Rising, you approached the reception counter. You then left a note for the lead Detective, reminding him of your cell number and that you just went out for a quick bite. It had been six hours since you had made it home, 5 hours and 52 minutes since you became an orphan. Well, technically it had been nearing twelve hours since you had become an orphan, but it was 5 hours and 52 minutes since you knew you were one. Even inside your head, you rambled. One of those eccentric things you got from your dad, the socially awkward professor. Your heart tore just a little more.


He was sixteen when he first saw you. You were seventeen, fresh from graduating from your prep school out of state. Spencer had been invited over for dinner at Dr. Y/L/N’s house after a long day as a TA. He knew the professor’s daughter was home, he was just surprised that she would look like this.

At 16, Spencer had finally grown enough to not get stares from students and faculty around campus. His intelligent eyes and thin frame were agile in avoiding direct eye contact and much physical interaction from his academic peers. He purposely dressed like the professors, which actually made him look younger. He came off as a young man in a school uniform, instead of the scholar he was. He was animatedly speaking with Dr. Y/L/N, who had given him a ride, then suddenly there was a girl in the driveway.

Her long Y/H/C locks, were thrown up in a messy bun. Her legs were bare, save for the ragged denim cut offs she wore. Spencer stared, he was frozen in place in the passenger seat of your dad’s Volkswagen. He would never forget your smile that day, even if he didn’t have an eidetic memory.

*snap snap*

Agent Morgan had shaken Spencer out of his memories.

“So you were pretty close with this guy, huh?” Derek prodded.

“He was a good friend.” Spencer nodded.

“Do you know his daughter, Y/N well?” Derek asked over his file folder.

“We’ve met, “ Spencer added, “I was taken under Graham’s wing, being such a young candidate, he was very fatherly toward me.”

“So you had a sibling-like relationship with his daughter?” Derek mused, surprised that he hadn’t heard of you before.

“What? No, “ Spencer flustered, “She was in private school when I started working with Dr. Y/L/N, she was only home for the summers.”

“Awwww, we have a princess on our hands,” Morgan assumed.

“If you know many princesses who speak four languages and can recited the Odyssey and Illiad from memory,” Spencer snipped at Derek under his breath. “But she was her father’s whole world, so in that way I suppose you are correct.”

Derek looked over at JJ and Prentiss, his eyebrows raised. The women stifled their laughter in their coffees. He decided to let this reunion pan out before prodding Reid for anymore details.


You strolled back to the precinct with a mountain of whipped cream in a cup, pretending to yourself that this sugary monstrosity was actually coffee. You couldn’t stomach the salad you had ordered for your afternoon meal, but you could stomach some comfort calories from the corner cafe. You knew the FBI was aiding in the investigation of your father’s murder, so you mentally prepared yourself for another battery of questioning.

Your cell chirped at you, it was Detective Chang, “Dr. Y/L/N,” you answered habitually.

“The FBI’s BAU is here, if we could go over it with you again, we really appreciate it.” The gruff man informed you.

“Of course, Detective, I will be right in,” You answered, closing your phone with a satisfactory snap. You sniff and pull your chin up, your professor face was on.


Spencer was squirrelly, he could not sit still. He had bumped into JJ, twice since entering the Pasadena precinct and spilled Prentiss’ coffee while rearranging files. Hotch was at a loss. Rossi and Morgan were in fits. Once the evidence photos were up, everyone grew more sober and focused on the details of the case. Professor Y/L/N was a world-renowned scholar, he had been published in numerous journals annually since receiving his doctorate. He was a widow and lived in a large home alone, but there was no signs of forced entry or robbery.

The reason the BAU had been called in was because he had received a suspicious letter a month prior to being killed. Dr. Olivia Madison, his research partner had told the Pasadena PD. That coupled with the international influence of the victim, they wanted to ensure they utilized every resource.

A knock on the borrowed office’s door, signaled Detective Chang, “The victim’s daughter is back, whenever you are ready.”

Hotch looked around. “Alright, Reid, I am going to let you in there, but Rossi is going to be there to keep you focused.”

Reid nodded, wiping his clammy hands on his trousers. “Got it, Hotch”.

Rossi held the door open for the young ball of nerves, making eye contact with Hotch a cross the room.

“Do you think that was a good idea, letting him into her questioning like that?” Prentiss asked Hotch brassily.

“Was there anyway I could have stopped him?” Hotch countered.

“Hotch, we have a meeting with the President of Cal Tech in ten minutes.” JJ informed the unit chief.

That left Morgan and Prentiss to establish a timeline, build a geographic profile and continue to question anyone in Y/L/N’s department.


You absentmindedly played with your hair, the room was so stuffy. You pictured frescoes on the stone walls instead of layers of primer and acrylic. The grating opening of the door spun you in your seat. Suddenly your jaw became unattached from your skull. Spencer Reid stood before you, all cheek bones and long legs.

“Sir Sir!” You sang, leaping to your feet to tackle the thin genius. He had grown since you had seen him last, he rocks with your embrace. “What are you doing here?” You demanded, pulling back from him, but keeping his sides in your hands, you barely felt his ribs through his layers of clothes.

“Well, actually, I am with the FBI.” Spencer cleared his throat. “How are you doing, Y/N/N?” His big heart pouring through his eyes.

You retreat slightly, knowing you are being observed by his partner and whomever was on the other side of the faux mirror. Nodding, “As good as can be expected.”

Rossi holds out his hand to you, “Miss, it is nice to meet you, I am SSA Rossi with the BAU.”

You look over at the older agent, shaking his hand firmly, “Actually, its Doctor.” In the corner of your eye you can see Spencer smirk.

“Well, of course, Doctor.” Rossi continues, sitting opposite you. “What can you tell us about your father’s house when you arrived this morning?”

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Fall for You

A/N: Thank you, loves, for dealing with me and my laptop problems! I am trying really hard to get everything written and re-written (from the ones I lost)! It’s just been very busy these past few months! Anyways, enjoy! (Side note: I am Minnesotan, and the cabin is based off of my friend’s cabin! And this actually happened to me, because my puppy can be a hyper little shit!)

Also, happy birthday (last Saturday) to @glitterquadricorn !! This is dedicated to you! Hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Soulmates are born with the tattoo of their significant other’s name over their heart.

Word Count: 4200ish (Holy shit this is so long LOL)

Masterlist

Originally posted by whatwasdead

James Buchanan Barnes

Ever since I was a baby, my parents covered up the fact that I had a soulmate. I was never allowed to be babysat with the fear that someone would see the name scrawled across my little baby chest. When I was old enough to understand what the words on my chest meant, I was forced into hiding it – never to tell anybody that I had someone destined to be with me.

A supposedly dead someone.

When I was fifteen, I found the real reason my parents were so obsessed with hiding the name.

My parents were HYDRA.

They knew that Bucky Barnes – the man that I had learned about in the history books, the man whose name was tattooed over my heart, the man that was not allowed to be talked about in our household, and my parents’ killer – was The Winter Soldier. Not that they ever told me the truth, before their deaths. I was kept in the dark, my entire life. I was never aware that my famous soulmate was actually alive.

They took that secret to their graves.

I had been at school when it happened. I was standing in the lunch line with a few of my friends, chatting, when the principal and the freaking Secretary to the World Security Council – Alexander Pierce – pulled me out of lunch with grim looks on their faces. I had wondered if they had found out the name over my heart, but that was not the case. Instead, they pulled me into a room with a grief counselor and told me the news: my parents had been murdered.

I had no idea why Alexander Pierce – of all people – was there to tell me my parents had died, but I had been so consumed with grief that I had just brushed the thought aside.

I was not old enough to get emancipated, so I was sent to Minnesota to live with my grandparents. My grandparents had no clue that their daughter and son-in-law had been involved in something horrible like HYDRA. I didn’t even know, until a SHIELD army showed up at our home to question us. They thought that I would know something – anything – that could lead them to HYDRA, or The Winter Soldier.

There was nothing I could do.

My grandparents held a strong resentment towards my parents, after that. I did, as well, but they held on to that resentment until the day that they both died. Car accident. My grandfather had a stroke at the wheel and they had crashed. I had been staying at my cousin’s house for a wine and movie marathon, and got the call in the middle of the night.

More funerals. More loss. More pain.

My heart was broken.

I ended up coming into a lot of money, after that. My parents’ life insurance and my grandparents’ life insurance money all went to me. Way too much blood money for me. My cousin, Makayla, and I had decided to move in together, after that. She wanted to keep an eye on me, and I wanted someone who understood some of the pain that I was feeling. After all, those were her grandparents, too.

Makayla and I had moved into the cabin, which was nicer than most houses. It was more of a lake home, than a cabin, but she refused to call it anything else. She loved the thought of having a cabin on one of the many lakes in Minnesota. It was beautiful. Two stories, wrap around porch, deck coming off the porch, and a beautiful view of Moccasin Lake.

Once we had lived together for a while, I sat her down and told her everything that had happened with my parents. We talked about how I had learned that The Winter Soldier murdered them, when I moved in with our grandparents, how they resented my parents, and how my parents were actually bad people.

I had never realized, but I had held a lot of resentment towards them, as well. They were not supposed to die like that. They were never supposed to turn out as bad people. We were supposed to be the happy family that they convinced me we were. They were supposed to live long, full lives and I was supposed to meet my soulmate and have their grandchildren, and they were supposed to grow old.

“Haven’t you been keeping up with the news?” Makayla had said, eyebrows furrowed with concern, “They released a bunch of files on SHIELD and HYDRA. We could look at your parents’ files. Or files on The Winter Soldier.”

I hadn’t been keeping up, but after splitting 2 bottles of wine with her, we had decided to grab my laptop and start Googling.

“I- I can’t fucking read this.” I sniffed, tears streaming down my face as I stared at a file that contained photographs of my parents… In HYDRA uniforms.

“Well, do you want to see his file?” She asked, rubbing my shoulder in comfort. “The Winter Soldier’s file?”

I knew it would be a bad idea. I should have never Googled it.

James Buchannan Barnes.

My supposedly dead fucking soulmate was him.

He was The Winter Soldier.

The man who killed my family.

I had burst into tears. Makayla had no idea I had a soulmate. No one but my parents, and my grandparents, had known. After my initial break-down, I had to tell her.

“I cannot even begin to fathom what you are feeling right now, Y/n.” She sighed, wrapping her arm around my shoulders, “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” I sniffed, wiping under my eyes, “I need to know.”

I was not expecting what I had found. My heart broke. He was tortured. His mind was messed with so badly that he couldn’t even remember his own name.

The videos were awful. I could barely stomach watching them, but I couldn’t look away.

I had seen his picture many times, throughout my life. He was famous, after all. This man… The Winter Soldier… He was a broken shell of the man that I had learned about in all of my history classes. Gone was the man who had fought bravely in the war - alongside his best friend, Captain America. Instead, he was beaten into submission, broken, and controlled.

He didn’t even know he had me. His tattoo was practically gone. I could faintly see the first letter of my name, from his tattoo, but the rest was torn away. It had been replaced by the metal covering his shoulder and replacing his arm.

He didn’t know my name, anymore.

That was the moment I had decided to forgive him. The Winter Soldier was not my soulmate. James Barnes was my soulmate. Bucky. I just hoped that he was okay…

Makayla and I never talked about what we found. I couldn’t talk about it.

After that, I started keeping up with the news. I saw him a lot. Especially when he was a wanted fugitive after The Sokovian Accords. There was a lot of negative talk about him, and it had started to make me mad. I had forgiven him for my parents, why couldn’t other people forgive him, as well?

A year after Bucky went missing, he was spotted at The Avengers Tower. Apparently things had blown over. For the most part, at least. I could accept that. I just had to accept that I would never meet him. There was no way. He was too famous, and I wasn’t sure if he would even believe me. By then, I had come to terms that I was going to be alone for the rest of my life.

About two years after shit had blown over, fate decided that enough was enough.

I was mowing the lawn, and some man had stopped by, informing us that we had to sign Non-Disclosure Agreements about some people who had bought the abandoned cabin next door that shared a driveway with us. Not really caring about who they were, Makayla and I had signed the agreement.

I was shocked when I saw a team of workers completely renovating the cabin the next day.

Two fucking weeks. Two weeks of constant construction. To say that we were pissed was an understatement. Especially when they started working at the ass-crack of dawn, and didn’t stop until the sun was setting. It got worse after Makayla decided to take in her parents’ dog, Jarvis. He was a hyper, six year-old Golden Retriever – that was named after my Aunt’s admiration for Tony Stark. Every time there was a loud noise, he would bark like he was going to die.

It was horrible.

Thankfully, it was peaceful after those two weeks were up. Occasionally, there was voices or some music, but nothing we couldn’t handle. We hadn’t even met them, yet. They were barely ever there.

“Are you going to help me, or not?” Makayla snapped, pulling me from my thoughts. We were just about done staining our deck, and the heat was starting to get to her. It was 85 degrees (F) outside, with the sun beating down on us, and we needed to get it done before we lost the good weather for it to dry. “Why the hell are you wearing rain boots? You look ridiculous. Aren’t your feet on fire?”

“I kept hitting the bucket of stain,” I smiled, brushing one of the last few boards until it was well coated. “I didn’t want to get any more stain on my skin. This shit barely came off, last time.”

She rolled her eyes, continuing the task and slightly dancing to the loud music that was coming from her Bluetooth speaker on the cement porch.

The deck looked marvelous when it was done. It was a pretty big deck, built as an extension to our cement, wrap-around porch. The wood was nice and dark again, and would look nice on those days that we wanted to eat dinner and overlook the lake. The place was paradise.

“Hey, I think the neighbors are here, this weekend. I saw some people sitting on their deck, when I was mowing the lawn, earlier.” Makayla commented, as we put away the stain and brushes, “There’s a bunch of them. I was thinking about baking something and bringing it over there to introduce us. You in?”

“After I jump into the lake and cool down.” I was dying. It was too hot. I missed fall weather when it was 60 degrees and there was a breeze. That was perfect Minnesotan weather. “I’ll take Jarvis down with me, so he can jump in, too.” She waved me off, walking inside.

I found the dog sniffing the bushes in the front yard, and walked down to the dock with him, holding a stick for him to fetch. After a couple throws, Jarvis - spotting a small animal near the drying deck – took off towards the woods.

Stripping off my tank top – so I was just in my bikini and boots – I noticed that the group of people next door were heading to their dock and beach about 50 yards away. Some of them waved, and as I was waving back, I noted – in confusion – that they looked a bit familiar.

My thoughts were broken, though, as Jarvis decided to come running at me full force. He bumped my legs, sending me slapping against the water with a shriek.

Okay, that hurt. Idiot dog.

I kicked my legs to swim up, but was met with a great resistance. My boots were too heavy. What the fuck?! A surge of panic shot through my veins as I realized that my rain boots were full of water and causing my feet to sink into the muck and suction cup my feet in. Pull them off! I reached down and pulled at my legs and boots, trying to separate them. It was no use. The boots were stuck. I was stuck.

The panic was starting to build more and more, as I thrashed around under the water. I could see the surface. I was so close. The lake was not that deep at the end of the dock. I could faintly see the dog standing at the edge of the dock. I could see the sky, vision darkening as I desperately held my breath and tried to reach for the surface.

My chest was burning. A cold panic was setting into my bones. I needed to breathe. I had to, but I couldn’t. I would drown if I did.

I leaned down, clawing at my boots in distress.

Come on! Please! Let my foot go! Please, someone help me! Oh, fuck, this is not good.

There was an underwater explosion as someone had jumped into the water from my dock. I could faintly see somebody large swimming towards me, something glinting in the water catching my eyes as I tried to cover my mouth and nose with both hands, willing myself not to inhale the water. My vision was starting to darken from the lack of oxygen.

I felt large hands try and pull me up, but the boots were really sunk into the muck. The hands moved to my legs, yanking my feet out of the boots – by tearing the rubber – and freeing me. A cold, hard arm wrapped around my body as we shot upwards, towards the light.

As we broke the surface, I could hear the dog barking and people yelling. I choked as air finally filled my lungs. The person pushed me up onto the dock, rolling me onto the solid wood. I rolled to my side, coughing and shivering. A pair of small, warm hands lifted me into a sitting position, wrapping me in my towel that had been hanging from the boat lift.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” A woman’s voice came from my side, thick with a foreign accent.

I nodded, still coughing into my shaking wrist. I opened my eyes, shoving my hair out of my face.

HOLY SHIT!

My eyes widened in shock. The Avengers were crowded onto my dock. The Avengers. That means… I turned, and let out a shriek – startling everyone. BUCKY BARNES IS LITERALLY LESS THAN A FOOT AWAY FROM ME. I slapped my hand over my mouth in shock at my scream. Bucky Barnes was currently dripping wet, wrapped in a towel, staring at me in confusion. He saved me.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked, running his right hand through his wet hair and furrowing his brows.

Before I could answer, I heard Makayla scream from the cabin, “OH MY GOD, Y/N!” She was probably running across the wet deck in a panic, and probably creating foot prints in our hard work. I couldn’t look away from Bucky to look, though. I couldn’t stop looking at his eyes. His icy blue eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes.

He is gorgeous.

Clearing my throat, I tried to speak. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m alright.” I pulled my towel off to dry my hair a little bit. “Now I know why I had to sign the N.D.A.”

A chuckle came from behind me, as someone helped me up. Sam Wilson. “Well, luckily we were here, or this could have been really bad.”

“Y/n!” Makayla was in front of me with a dry towel, and I replaced my sopping wet one with the dry one to scrunch-dry my hair, “Oh my god, thank god you’re okay!” She crossed her arms with a serious look on her face, “I told you those boots were ridiculous.”

After rolling my eyes, I turned to face the group of people standing on the dock, “Sorry you guys had to come to my rescue.”

“Holy shit.” Sam laughed, nudging Steve Rogers, “Well, would you look at that!”

They were all staring at me. More importantly, they were staring at my chest.

My tattoo!

I moved my towel over my chest, cheeks turning red, “Um…” I turned to Bucky, who was staring at me in shock. His eyes were wide, and stance frigid. He looked ready to bolt. “Yeah, about that-”

“No.” Bucky’s voice was sharp, cutting me off.

My heart stopped. No? What does he mean ‘no’? “Excuse me?”

“No. This isn’t happening.” He grabbed my arm, roughly, with his metal hand, “Your tattoo is fake.”

I my jaw locked in anger, a hot rage surging through me. “Who the fuck do you think you are, accusing me of faking my tattoo, like some creep? I didn’t fake this!” I ripped my arm out of his grasp, rejection causing my heart to squeeze, painfully.

His icy eyes flashed with anger, “You’re lying!”

“Go fuck yourself.” I yelled, stomping towards the cabin, leaving the shocked group on the dock.

Unfortunately, Bucky followed me, and I didn’t get very far before he grabbed me and spun me around to face him, “How are you my soulmate?” His voice was laced with venom.

This was not how I had imagined us meeting, at all. This was the complete opposite of what I had imagined. I was not expecting the anger – on either side. “If anyone should be asking that question, it should be me, Winter Soldier!” I screamed, poking him in the solid chest, “Why would I want the man who killed my mom and dad as a soulmate, huh? What fucking sense does that make?” I slapped my hands over my mouth in horror. Oh, god, Y/n. He froze, mouth dropping open. I instantly felt horrible, and tears were threatening to spill over. I looked down to our feet in shame, “Oh, my god. I’m sorry. That was a terrible thing to say.”

“Is it true?” His voice was thick, and I could vaguely see his flesh hand start to shake, “Did- Did I kill your parents?”

“The Winter Soldier did.” I whispered, tears spilling, “Not you. I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t mean it.”

He shook his head, taking a step back from me. Then another. Then, he walked back to the cabin, but not before he could hide a tear that had slipped down his cheek.

My heart hurt so bad, I couldn’t catch my breath. What have I done? Why the fuck would I say something like that? That was so mean… Crap. Would it be more beneficial to talk to him, or to leave him be? It’s not like I really knew him, and I just offended the crap out of him… and probably hurt his heart worse than mine ever hurt.

“Well, that was unexpected.”

Turning, I saw Steve standing a few steps above me, arms crossed. I shook my head, thumb absentmindedly tracing my tattoo. “I’m a shit person.” Tears were still running from my eyes, leaving a hot trail down my cheek. “I want to go after him, but I don’t know if he will want to speak to me.”

“Everyone is going on a boat ride,” He smiled, “I think you guys should talk about… whatever just happened.”

Nodding, I looked down at my attire, “I should probably not have this conversation in a bikini. I’m going to go change, first.”

He let out a small chuckle, “Whenever you’re ready. He’s on the deck.”

I ran by him, yelling out a thanks. There were footprints on the deck, already, so I ran up the stairs on the deck and burst into the cabin. Makayla was still down at the dock, so I stripped on the way to my room.

As I was standing in my shorts and a sports bra, I heard a knock at the front door. What the hell?

Throwing on the first tank top I could find, I ran to the door. Bucky’s silhouette was in the frosted glass of the door – I could see the small glint from the sun shining on his arm and shoulder.

“Bucky?” I opened the door, anxiety burning in my chest, “I was just going to-”

“I’m sorry.” He cut me off, gazing at the script that was exposed at the top of my tank top, “I- I don’t even know what to say about your parents… and my behavior earlier-”

“Bucky. I was a dick, earlier, as well. You don’t need to apologize.” I grabbed his hand, pulling him into the cabin and shutting the door. “As for my parents, I forgave you a long time ago.”

“How?” He asked, letting go of my hand and sitting down on my couch in frustration, “How could you forgive me for that?”

“They were HYDRA.” I admitted, looking down at my feet. I heard his gasp, and I tried to explain quickly, “I didn’t know they were HYDRA. Not until people from SHIELD came knocking at our door to ask questions, but I saw their files when Natasha exposed everything on the web… including stuff about you.” I looked up, my eyes meeting his.

He flinched, shoulders stiffening, “Y-you saw the videos?”

Slowly stepping over to where he was stiffly seated on my couch, I leaned down to crouch in front of his rigid form. He looks so sad. I gently took both of his hands in mine, a small grimace on my face, “I did.” Staring down at his metal hand, I examined the little details carefully, running my fingers over the smooth, cool vibranium. “I am so sorry that happened to you. You didn’t deserve that. I forgave you a long time ago.”

He let out a shuddering breath, pulling me up from my crouch and into a hug, wrapping his arms fully around me. My arms wrapped around his waist, face pressed into the warmth of his chest. I could hear the fast thumping of his heart, and feel each shuddering breath fill his lungs. He buried his face into the hair at the top of my head, hot breath warming my scalp.

After a few minutes of silence, his arms loosened a little, “Can I see the tattoo?”

I leaned back, brushing my hair out of the way so he could get a better look at the script. His metal fingers left a cold trail as he gently traced his name that rested under my collarbones, causing goosebumps to spread across my body.

“My tattoo is ruined.” He murmured, continuing to trace his name, “The first letter is the only part that is still there. The rest got ruined.” He reached up, pulling the collar of his shirt down far enough for me to see, “Steve says that I was eager to find you in the 40’s – dating a bunch of dames in hopes that someday it would be you. When I got free from HYDRA… I thought you had died, and I didn’t even remember your name.”

“Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n.” I whispered, bringing my fingers up – cautiously – to touch the small letter of my name.

“It’s a beautiful name.” His eyes were closed as I traced my letter, and running my finger slowly along where the rest of my name should be. “I wish I was able to remember it. Steve remembered your first name, but nothing else.”

“I’m sorry. I should have sought you out. You could have known sooner.”

“Don’t apologize.” He brought his hand up to my cheek, warm flesh tracing along my cheekbone and stopping at my jaw, “I’m happy I finally found you.”

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I stared at his smooth lips. Taking a small chance, I leaned in and pressed my lips against his. He responded right away, pulling me closer and burying his flesh hand into my hair. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss. My breath caught in my throat and my arms wrapped themselves up and around his neck, pulling myself as close as I could. This was the greatest moment of my life. I was finally kissing my other half. His soft lips fit perfectly against mine.

Pulling back for air, a small grin made its way to both of our faces as he leaned his forehead against mine, “Even better than I imagined.”

Things were going to look up. In both of our lives.

I was sure of it.

I finally had my other person.

James Buchanan Barnes.

My soulmate.

___

TAGS: (I do forever tags, if you want to join the party! *wink*)

@luckynumber1213  @castellandiangelo @sassyandclassyx @mrsnegan25 @impossiblepizzapeace @glitterquadricorn

So about that one thing discussed during the stream…I have no regrets.

OKAY SO there was a bit of confusion; I accidentally inferred that Gaster is an artist (he is not), and Caitie made some great jokes about how Gaster keeps a secret gallery in True Lab and every picture is of Asgore. I cracked up and suggested they’re all in the style of Klimt. Like his entire gallery looks like the opening of Elfen Lied, but replace Lucy with Asgore.

And then this beautiful thing happened.

Also this mistake:

anonymous asked:

Maybe can you do something where Keith dresses up like a cat and Shiro just finds it too frikin cute?

one more silly halloween thing for you guys!!

Keith is both a cat and a sexy witch. Get you a man who can do both.

a direct sequel to this 

[also on ao3]

“Why does the party have to be at our house?” Keith mutters, in between ferrying Halloween candy around the house, like they’re somehow going to need multiple bowls of it.

Hunk leans in from the kitchen, “Because you own a house.”

That’s fair.

Keith gets scattered over Halloween. There’s something stressful about having that many people in his space, but also something good, because this is the one holiday Keith can remember fondly. Shiro doesn’t know the details, but from what he’s been able to glean, even as a foster kid it didn’t take much to shove him in a discount costume and send him out with a bag to gather candy.

If ever he did it with his parents, if he remembers, he hasn’t said, and Shiro hasn’t asked. You can love someone without holding all their secrets.

Shiro is sprawled on the couch, legs propped on the coffee table, playing wingman for Pidge and Lance so they have an excuse to get up close and personal on their end of the couch—at least, it makes a nice story. The couch is Shiro’s second love. If Keith ever leaves him, at least he’ll have something.

The front door slams shut and Keith streaks by, again.

“I think there are tricker treaters coming,” he says, with the same or greater seriousness he would use to announce a Galra cruiser. He stops by the couch. “Are you watching another bad movie?”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

So I guess only Jungkook knows what Jimin looks like when he's sneezing...Must be because of all that staring he does on a a daily basis. Must be because he is a satellite and monitors everything that Jimin does...The FACT that he ALONE knows what Jimin looks like when he's SNEEZING!! He must spend a lot time watching Jimin in various stages of sneezing...He probably filed it under the Cute Mochi Folder in his head...I can't get over this. Jeon is whipped.

Sounds realistic to me, even Jimin himself had no idea what he was doing. Jungkook didnt even get closer to see what was going on he just knew

He was already preparing his answer while everyone was still trying to figure out what was going on 

Amazing really 

it’s canon that kindaichi still holds a grudge against kageyama. he’s disbelieving, even, of the change kageyama has undergone because he’s experienced kageyama’s behavior as king. it’s also canon that kindaichi is still as competitive as ever, if not more, now that they’re on opposite sides of the net, now that kindaichi is setting out to prove something to the “tyrant.”

but do we ever talk about how kindaichi must really feel about kageyama, now that he’s seen that kageyama’s not a dictator anymore? because I’d like to think that kindaichi would be at least a little sad, a little hurt — that his own skills couldn’t bring kageyama to his full potential, or that maybe kageyama didn’t see their middle school team as a team worth changing for. that kindaichi could have been friends with kageyama, could have had the same sense of trust in him the way kageyama trusts karasuno now. that kitagawa daiichi could have evolved to be a team where the members build each other up and support each other, but he and kageyama didn’t give each other the chance to make that a reality. I think about that a lot.

Pairing: Bones/Jim/Reader Friendship

Word Count: 1597

Warnings: hella angst, mentions of depression, swearing

A/N: I’ve been in a bad headspace the past few days and I hoped writing would help (it did a little) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You’d been on the Enterprise too long now, and you were starting to feel it weighing you down despite the lightness of the artificial gravity. You had hoped your last shore leave would help center you again, but you took it in Yorktown, and the fake sun did little to warm the chill that seemed permanently settled in your bones. Where you used to marvel at the advancement of technology, you shunned it now, wishing more than anything to feel the old Earth’s sun on your face and its grass between your toes.

Everyone told you you were lucky to be stationed on the Enterprise - especially for a five year mission. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Something that has never been attempted before in Starfleet history. You were a part of something bigger now, and you weren’t sure you wanted to be. You missed your friends, your family. You missed so much.

Keep reading

C is for Complications

Prompt: Sent to the Wrong Printer
A/N: I originally aimed for this to be funny, but the muse had other ideas. Set in between 2x06 and 2x07. Enjoy!
Word Count: 2.7k
Tagging: @thebookjumper, @olicityhiatusficathon, @scu11y22, @mel-loves-all, @dust2dust34@releaseurinhibitions
Also available: on AO3.

xxx

I love you.

The words had been rattling around inside her all morning, really ever since they had gotten back from Russia, ever since she’d told him. You deserve better than her. You deserve better. You deserve…to be with me?

Felicity shook her head, as she attempted to focus on the swarm of emails currently cluttering her inbox.

Mr. Queen needs to read the updated proposal. I have attached a copy to this email…

Since Mr. Queen could not be bothered to attend our last three meetings…

Please inform Mr. Queen that as CEO he is responsible for…

Felicity puffed out her cheeks in attempt to relax herself, as she swiftly typed a response to all the emails labeled “URGENT.” And she’d thought hacking into the FBI had been stressful.

She did glean a small amount of pride, though, in being the sort of gatekeeper to the CEO. She was protecting him, just like she protected him every night that he was on the streets, sending warnings about what lay ahead, deterring unwelcome complications, like street cameras recording him taking his hood off in a well-lit alley or the timestamp similarities between Oliver Queen leaving a scene and The Arrow arriving.

If only she could deter other, emotional complications so easily.

Keep reading

Faith

Pairing: Teen Wolf x Supernatural crossover / Dean x Reader

Requested: Yes by anon.

A/N: confession: i like daddy dean but there is no daddy dean in this i just thought i’d voice my fantasies

I want to thank @lauraaccuetly for helping me out and for encouraging me! ❤️

Originally posted by yourfavoritedirector

Scott looked at you, before glancing at the two strange men dressed in suits on your door step. “Should we trust them?” Scott asked, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. You studied them for a second, clearly they were brothers and from the cuts and bruises on their faces, you knew they definitely were not FBI agents.

You shrugged your shoulders before patting your little brother on the back, “I’m not the werewolf, you are.” You wandered into the kitchen, hearing Scott let the ‘FBI agents’ in and they soon appeared in front of you. “Firstly, cut the crap.” You said, the two men stopping in their strides with a shocked look. The shorter of the two smirked at you and shrugged his shoulders.

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Time to Get Da Funk Back to Music
Daft Punk/LCD Soundsystem (22.11* Remix)
Time to Get Da Funk Back to Music

Lol so Soundcloud took this down immediately because of the Da Funk/Daftendirekt content (even though mashups fall under fair use and I got the Da Funk/Daftendirekt file from someone who reposted it on Soundcloud??)

Anyway, enjoy this mix!! It was a lot of fun to put together and it was a nice break from the work I’ve been doing at college. Lemme know what you think!!

Samples used:
Time To Get Away - LCD Soundsystem
Give Life Back To Music, Da Funk/Daftendirekt (Alive 2007) - Daft Punk

anonymous asked:

So, I'm kind of new to the voltron fandom, can you please explain to me what's going on with keithxmothman? Like, what is that headcanon? Why is everyone so obsessed with it & how did it even become a thing?

aaahhh fandom lesson!!! I’m going to make a short version of this, very matter of fact, because the real reply is: magic??? under the cut because of photographic evidence and rambling

Keep reading

“GOT A CASE, DETECTIVE?” - RAPMONSTER MAFIA!AU

Case #2: “ The Seven’s boss murder”

Characters: BTS x reader, Namjoon biaised.

Words: 4782

Type: Mafia!AU; Smut (next chapter, this time I swear!)

WoA: I owe this chapter and renewal motivation to the sweetest person I met around here, I can’t thank her enough, the sweet @lthyl who beta red it like a champion she is… 

I really wanted to introduce smut correctly. I think this chapter gives a great context to the rest of this story. 

And.. This picture… PLEASE! 


“Three days of rain…” Lily groaned, sitting in front of you at your desk, her long hairs were dripping wet, her chocolate skin covered by shadows under her green eyes. Lily, was an astonishing, natural, electric beauty. The only issue was her temper, she had the worst: being a woman in a mannish environment made her this way. At 28 she was the youngest of a legal medicine team and the best doctor you knew; she was the most intelligent and strongest person you’ve ever met. You two arrived on the same year, heard the same crap (minus the racists/homophobics comments, she sometimes had to face).

“Seriously, the first one telling me global warming is a scam is dead,” she sighed.

“Global warming…” you repeated, looking at pictures of the crime scene you had taken to Namjoon.

“Still on that case?” you nodded, her annoying sigh impressed you, she was very calm and patient with you generally, so this came as a surprise. “I disagree with your plan. What could assure you that Namjoon will help you? He’s not the helper type.”

“He didn’t…” you muttered, rubbing your eyes and stretching your back, making your desk’s chair squeal, Lily threw her head behind in a groan. “I knew it.”

“I thought we had agreed: we go together.” She put her feet on your desk and arms under chest.

“Yeah, I’m not going to take my roommate to this place. What if they keep you hostage, or worst kill you because of your manners?” you pushed her feet off some files and she rose an eyebrow with a sinful smile. “Who would pay the rent?”

You were her freeloader: when you two met, you took a floor you could barely pay for and put your money in common. Now, that she was officially a doctor and not an assistant, she was earning at least twice the double of your salary and still put all of her money on a common account you two had. Living with her was the best thing that had ever happen to you; most of the time, she was cheerful, or very calm and pretty easy going. She didn’t believe in property that she characterized as a “capitalist illusion”.

Feeling the sensitive topic of money and your guilt coming, she signed you to pass over by shaking her hand.

“I just wanted to see what they looked like, actually,” she said smiling even brighter when you shook your head snorting, “the Hot seven’s, girl! How did you even make it alive?”

“The boss is nice,” you shrugged off. She stared at you before snapping her tongue.

“Yeah, nicest guy I even heard of…” she didn’t even try to hide her irony. “When he was sixteen he was suspect in his stepfather murder case, the guy’s legs had been ripped off when he was alive, he had been enucleated, tongue excision, and you want to know the worst? The eyes, heart, brain and tongue have never been found.” You felt all colors drained from your face and sighed, closing your eyes; those descriptions of her on a monotonous tone, like if it was nothing more than the shopping list, were driving you crazy. Her job made her insensitive to those, but sadly your stomach wasn’t as strong as hers. “Have you eaten yet? I’m in the mood for Greek!”

“SERIOUSLY?!” the few colleagues left in the office looked at you. “Why aren’t you home yet?”

“Oh, yeah, I was here to explain this at first, then you talked about something, and I forgot.” You smiled, she was the talkative, filter-less when she was with you. “I will go back home when my roommate, AKA you, will come back too.”

“Lily…” you complained as she looked at you, determined not to give up. “I will.”

“Look, I need you home, even if you’re the worst roommate ever, baby. I need someone to listen to my story. Girl, I had nine homicides, in three days… The mobs are going crazy!”

You frowned. Nobody told you.

“Your dad forbade us to tell you, since he knows you went to see the Boss of one of the two fighting clans,” she sighed and grabbed some files from her bag that she threw on your desk. “This is hell of a massacre: most of the one I have on my table downstairs are kids… I mean, literally, there are kids. Well, one, but it’s just been two days since they unburied the hatchet. So logically…” She looked at you when you observed at the kid’s picture, in the middle of his forehead laid a deep red hole. He had a sad but calm expression.

Still, enough to make you feel terribly angry. “One shot, right in the brain. He didn’t suffer… BUT, his parents are.”

“Why would he keep me far from those?” you looked at your father office door.

“Because he fears you’ll be the next victim? I mean, somehow I understand, because of the locker incident…”

                A cold sweat ran down your spine. This incident that everyone kept on reminding you. You could have died, but instead, the bomber failed his art and Lily’s assistant opened your locker, losing her eyebrows and pride. Somehow, you knew it was luck you didn’t die, and bad luck for the bomber who died.

“Concerning the mafia war…” Lily started, adopting a maternal tone. “This is a rumor, but the higher ups are talking about suspending you,” she tried to look as detached as possible analyzing your reaction, but you simply smiled shaking your head. “There are pictures of you going in the Seven’s house. My boss told me it sounded bad, like… Really bad, Y/N.”

“I know, some investigators came to interview me today about it,” you sighed, pinching the top of your nose. “It… went pretty bad, in fact. They’re opening a case I think.”

“If you knew why didn’t you call me?!” she asked, getting on her two feet. “Look it can’t be this bad.”

“Oh, it is… And you know it!” you smiled, sadly. “I didn’t play by the rules, and lost. That’s the game.”

“You’re accepting it?” she furrowed her brows, and crossed her arms on her chest. “You, Y/N, who’s life has been police since day one, first breathing, you are accepting this injustice?!”

                Now that she had brought it like this you felt some rebellious and anxious feels bubbling in the pit of your throat. You nodded, and looked at the pictures of dead bodies on your office. Lily frowned as she took your chin in between her cold long fingers, checking your eyes.

“You’re high,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “What did you take, and where have you found it?”

“I’m not high, I’m just… Tired of fighting, that’s it, Lil’.” You stretched your back and winced when it cracked. “Look, it’s been two weeks that they are after me, even before I went to the Seven’s, the locker incident brought them here. They asked me if I did it, Lily, so why should I fight?”

“For Justice! You are always fighting for justice! If you give up…”

“What’s justice anyway?” you asked, getting up, anger finally bubbling out. Your violent reaction made her take a step back.

“Is it justice, when the killer of a three years old isn’t going to jail because he’s rich and can pay good lawyer? Is it justice when the parents who loses their kids see the killer being freed because he behaved? Is it justice when… When we’re here, beating up people to have answers?” you took a deep breath, Lily’s face was blank and her eyes round. “Why should I fight for something I don’t even believe in any more, Lil’?”

“You’re doubting, it happens, but you will find out one day that…” she silenced when you got a box out from under your desk, you already had stuffed some old files and the remaining of your locker things. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve quit.” Your voice was shaking a bit when you pronounced those words.

“What the heck are you going to do?” she asked taking the snowball you tried to put in the box off your hands. “I mean you suck at everything else.”

“Stargazing? Studies? I don’t know, I need to stop this madness, that’s all I feel, okay? I need to get away from this hectic, stupid, nonsensical world! ”

“You need vacations, not a leave!” she cut you, looking at your Magic 8 Ball. “Did you decide thanks to this?”

                You smiled. It was fairly known that you took lot of your decisions with the help of this ball; you grabbed it and closed your eyes, shaking it as you asked for the hundredth time “Will I be okay?” and for the hundredth time the ball answered; “Ask your question later.” You looked at Lily when she put the snowball in the box, as her way to accept it.

“Well… I’m not against the comeback of the telescope!” she said smiling brightly, lightening your heart a bit, you silently thanked her. “What did your father say, though?”

“You know him, I dishonored my family just by being born, so he said the usual: ‘you disappoint me and what will I say to your mother this Friday?’ he’ll survive, I guess. I will!”

She snorted, and grabbed your notebook. “So, Greek and stargazing with beers?”

“Let’s skip the Greek and beers and go straight to whisky paradise, okay?” She nodded, smiling.


                You thought, going on the rooftops and pulling out your telescope from its closet, that whisky and Lily would have made you feel better. But it didn’t, and you weren’t sure anything would make you feel lighter ever again. You felt dead inside, and all the stars in the universes would never make you forget about it.

“We should get out.” Lily finally stated, checking at the emptiness of her glass. “I need to dance my life away. We should do that when we’re young!”

“Not in the mood. Never have been, never will be…” you commented, looking through the lens. “Why are you still trying this?”

“Hope, I guess…” She shrugged and looked at you with a pout. “Let’s be serious a minute, Y/N.”

                A loud ringing stopped her. You both looked at each other silently, until three new hurried rings reverberated through the floor. You obviously expected absolutely no one, and those ringing made you both nervous. You stood up and Lily signed you to remain here as a loud banging chocked the front door. Nervously, your hand fell to your hip, desperately looking for your absent gun. Lily signed you to stay here once more and she went back inside running as the ringing became continuous. You clenched your moisty hands in fists and listened quietly when you heard Lily roar her usual “I’m coming”. The typical tingling of the keys turned in the lock, and a loud thud soon followed by Lily screaming your name.

                Blood ran to your ears, your heart beating faster as you rushed down the spiral stairs; tripping at the last step, you fell on the ground. Your cheek was burning and your head hurting, it took you a while to understand that you fell, but it took you even more to understand the scene that was happening in the entry corridor: the door was wide open, covered with red handprints, Lily was on the ground holding a man in a suit’s head. You frowned and shook your head as your ears ringed, the fall had been hard on you. Lily was looking at you, shouting.

“Get my bag for God’s sake! Y/N! Now is not the best of all timing for concussions!!! GET MY BAG!” her eyes were shooting you daggers, and you ran in the living-room, grabbing her medical leather bag. “Come on, come on, come on!” she urged you as you fell in a stain of blood, your body was having a hard time. Yet not as hard as your mind now that you saw all this blood running out of… “Chess wound, the bullet is still in, I can see it it’s at least 7 cm from the heart, I need you to put pressure on it now! YN! You hear me?!”

“S-shouldn’t we call an ambulance?!” You shouted, staring at the flooding blood.

“Really?! Because you think they would save him?!” she answered, grabbing your hands, putting them on the wound, her sentence dragged your eyes to the man’s face, and your heart skipped a beat. “Hands on the fucking hole!” she replaced your hands as you tried to take them off.

“H-hello” scoffed the man, making more blood rush out.

“Namjoon…” You looked at Lily for a while as she was getting some injection ready. “I… What… How?”

“L-long sto-story…” he groaned looking at you with a frail smile. “I-I think I’m pass-passing..”

“No, that’s just a little something to numb your body,” Lily corrected taking the syringe off his arm. “Y/N, we have to carry him in the kitchen… I can’t stop anything from here, you hear me?”

                From here, you simply nodded and obeyed at every order Lily gave you. Transport him to the kitchen, clean the blood on the door, closing the door, put pressure on the wound, hold the light, clean the tools, light the wound. Lily was awesome, she wasn’t afraid, her moves were fast and mechanicals, she knew what to do, when all you could do was asking yourself if it was a good thing to save him and how you’ll explain it.

You hated yourself for that, since, he never stopped looking at you even when he hissed from some pain before she gave him more morphine. His black orbs were dilated by fear and panic, so you grabbed his hand and held it as strong and gentle as you could, caressing his forehead. You heard Lily snort, and barely saw her shake her head from the corner of your eyes. The intensity of the moment seemed to slow down, when you gave him a smile. He was calming down, you felt it.

“You two seem pretty close!” Lily muttered, after a while, she was closing the chest wound. You ignored her comment, you weren’t close to him, you just didn’t want him to die on you, not now that you could see his emotions running wild in his eyes. 

“Will he survive?” you asked, your voice being weaker than you thought.

“Sadly, in a week he’ll be out in the streets killing kids again,” she said through closed teeth, and here, you understood, Lily didn’t really want to save him but she knew how, she had to and doubts were all over her. But you, your doubts had completely vanished, he needed to be saved, he was only a human beast, as ugly as the two of you who thought of not saving him for a few seconds.

“It’s okay…” you whispered, getting closer to his ear, you saw him smile from the corner of your eyes and nodded when he tighten his hold around your frail hand. 

“Who are you, and what have you done with my roommate?” she asked amused, looking at you, surprised as you caressed his cheek while he closed his eyes gently. “Don’t pass out now, you!” she slapped him, making him hiss as you rolled your eyes,

“That will be it for morphine, thank you, Dr. Ash.” he ordained, looking at her for a while, until his eyes went back to you, your hands were still linked, glued to each other by the sticky blood.

She snorted “Who would have guessed the boss of the Seven’ was an addict to heroine, huh?” you frowned, opening your mouth to ask when she answered your question “I gave him enough morphine to make a horse sleep. He’s so used to it he’s barely high…”

“Not barely,” his thumbs caressed the back of your hand. “Just really high…”

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool.” Lily repeated washing her hands in the sink a few meters away, you chose this moment to question him.

“How are you feeling?”

He nodded and smiled, his lips forming a silent thank you.

“Okay, can you move? We should…” You were helping him to rise when Lily pointed a gun at him and you both froze.

“I got questions, first, Seven.” She whispered, her hand was shaking, and she looked awfully angry. “One: What the fuck happened?”

“I’m going to answer all of your questions, if you let me sit on a couch and bring me whisky…”

              You shook your head, those two were as stubborn as each other. Namjoon slipped from the counter and groaned, his legs almost giving up under his weight, you helped him as he growled in pain. “Why would you shoot on a man you just saved?”

“Because he’s a dangerous killer?” she replied curtly, smirking as much as him.

                As they used all sarcasm and irony to answer each other, you helped Namjoon reach the living room. The two of them would be a perfect match, you thought painfully as you served Namjoon a whisky in the kitchen after cleaning the mess of Lily’s operation. When you came back, they were silently watching the TV, you found yourself sitting in front of the news as well, your father was interviewed in front of a pub one block away from here; where the shooting took place.

“The shooting killed four persons, including the bartender and one innocent customer. Seven persons were injured, including one who’s condition isn’t sure. We understood that Kim Namjoon from the clan of the Seven’s and Hyunshik from the Dragon’s were involved, none of them were here when we arrived. We know from anonymous sources that Mr. Kim is badly wounded and have been seen in the South of the city, he’s actually researched for murder. If anyone knows anything, please call the police and don’t try to act on your own. This man is dangerous and won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“See? Dangerous killer!” Lily snapped, looking at Namjoon who took a sip shaking his head, cringing. “Are you going to pretend you never killed anyone?”

Namjoon looked at you as you straighten your back in the seat a bit further from the couch where they were sitting. “I…” he closed his eyes, and you bit your lips, of course he did.

“I’m not a cop, I can’t arrest you anymore,” you whispered, looking at your whisky, making it turn slightly; he smiled and nodded, he knew, obviously, because no surprise was seen on his face, and you felt some sort of anger bubble in your stomach. “How do you know so much about me?”

              Your tone was far from nice, aggressive and your whole body language was giving out your frustration. Both Lily and Namjoon were surprised, because even if you weren’t the one holding the gun at the moment, you felt like the most powerful in the room. Charisma had stroke you for a second, but so much attention made you lose your composure in a second.

“Because your father wants me to,” he finally said, your heart stopped beating “When you looked into the embezzled cops case, Hyunshik has sent a direct threat to your father. And Hyunshik doesn’t fear anyone, except me and the guys. So, your father asked me to keep an eye on you. It was mostly Hoseok, or Jungkook. We collected all kind of information about you, and Lily, of course… Everyone you talked to, everyone getting close from your stuff.” you closed your eyes, feeling ashamed; you didn’t even noticed you were under constant surveillance “If Jimin’s girl didn’t found the bomb, you would have been dead. Do you really think it was luck that it didn’t exploded?” Lily was staring at you, slightly worried.

“How much did he give you?” you asked, voice shaking, as you got up to check the street from the window.

“He didn’t pay with money, Y/N…” Lily whispered, drinking slowly. “I heard rumors about him blocking some investigations against the Seven’s. Nobody believed it, but…”

“He closed his eyes on our businesses, in exchange for your life,” Namjoon confirmed, making your eyes grow hot and tears come. “Guess your old man really loves you…”

“You have no idea what love is, huh?” you asked, briskly, making him silent and surprised. “When you love someone, you consider his point of view, his values, his ideas and you give up on your own when the choice you have to make will affect this someone. What my father did is called selfishness. He doesn’t respect me, he acts like he owes me, that’s different! I would rather die than let you sell guns and drugs to kids!” The living room was quiet and the atmosphere heavy as Lily stared at you in disbelief, you were correcting and screaming at the most dangerous man in Seoul, even her and her strong temper wouldn’t dare to try, at least not without a gun in her hand, she rose it as Namjoon moved a bit.

“And you’re acting like a princess.” Namjoon answered laughing, he was now sitting on the couch, his eyes closing longer and longer. “You have e-everything…”

“Okay, enough!” Lily put two fingers to Namjoon’s neck and sighed. “You have to calm down, you’re in chock, finally. Took you some time…”

“What does that even mean?” you asked, irritably.

“That he got shot and lost a lot of blood, he needs a blood transfusion. Plus, he’s obviously realizing what is happening right now, even a bad boy is scared when touched by a bullet.”

“I’m n-not…” Namjoon hands violently started shaking and his breathing accelerating.

“You have to calm down.” Lily warned “We’re going to need something relaxing, antibiotics and of course your blood Y/N, you’re a universal donor, no?”

“I’m O+” she nodded satisfied “What if we do nothing?” you asked, looking at the wounded man coldly, making him smile with irony.

“He’ll die. And when the Y/N I know will realize what she just suggested, she will die in shame.” Lily snapped “I’m going to install a drip from your arm to his, you better sit comfortably because it’s going to take a while.”

“But we didn’t ask him…”

                She rose her hand and left for the bathroom, leaving you alone with Namjoon. He was really having a hard time, and seeing this, you had to admit that Lily was right, you were ashamed of the question you had asked. Whoever he was, he didn’t deserve this kind of pain. You gave your ego up and went to sit next to him. Lily came back from her room with syringes and some other things you ignored the name of, as much as their existence and purpose. After a few minutes you found yourself sitting on the couch, a needle in your arm, linked to Namjoon’s arm by a short tube, he was laying on a mattress she brought from the guest room. It took a few minutes for Namjoon to calm down and find a more regular – still hieratic – breathing.

“I-I know you hate me” he whispered, trying to grab his whisky with his valid arm, you took it and put it away. “Tha-That’ll cal-m-me…”

“I don’t hate you,” you answered, gulping his glass and leaving it on the side, given the fact you drank it, he smiled, knowing he’ll receive alcohol from your blood “it’s just that I don’t understand, why losing so much time to end up… here.”

“Same rea-reason you’re a cop?” he laughed, and you grabbed his hand as he had a hard time focusing. “It was easy…”

“But…”

“L-look… I’m n-not… In sh-shape, let’s…”

                Lily observed the two of you while checking on his pulse and smile calmly. Obviously she was satisfied with the result. You could only find frustration in you as she explained you you’d have to sit here for at least another hour. She went to clean the mess in the kitchen, giving up on you and Namjoon. Your eyes wandered to the window, staring at the pink and blue sky, reminding you that two days ago you’d wake up around this time to go to work. The idea made you smile a bit, sadly: you had nowhere to go to, and anyway you couldn’t go anywhere without dragging Namjoon with you. Maybe because of the loss of blood or the situation, your mind wandered far away, asking yourself only one question: how did you end up here? Why did you believe in justice in the first place? Why couldn’t you just call the police for them to take Namjoon? Was it a rebellion? And if it was… Why saving the man you should hate the most? Now that you thought of it, staring at his soft and calm features, you realized you carried no hatred, not for him, not for your father, not for those trying to kill you. Some way, you knew, you will die and accepted every single thing that will lead you to it. A soft smile and some tears of appeasement appeared on your face.

“You’re high,” Lily said taking the needle off your arm, checking on your pulse. “I have to go to work,” she frowned when you simply nodded. “Y/N? You hear me?”

“I’m just questioning myself…” you started, staring at a sleeping Namjoon.

“You really have the worst timing ever, you realize it?” she asked making the two of you laugh. “I’ll come back in two hours, with more blood and antibiotics for him. But I can’t give him painkillers anymore, you’ll have to handle what will come. And it will be dirty trust me, because if he really was an addict, just what I gave him will drive him to want even more.”

“I know…” you struggled to get up and Lily pushed you back to the couch, bringing a plate of omelet and rice next to you. “When did you do that?”

“You should eat, and get better, because when he’ll get up, you two will fight again, and you have to win this fight, Y/N. We didn’t save him, we just gave him a chance to survive longer. Only he can save himself…”

“Since when are you like this?” you took a full spoon of rice and looked as she smiled amused, shrugging while taking your blood pressure.

“Before you came down, the first thing he asked was ‘Is Y/N safe?’ I’m pretty sure he’s the one looking after you personally. And correct me if I’m wrong but, is a gang boss supposed to take care of this kind of job?” you shook your head slightly as she got up. “When you’ll be better and he’ll be awake, drag him to the bathroom, he stinks. You should take a shower too actually. And keep his gun, don’t forget to lock the door from the inside: I can’t guarantee his survival if he runs out, the whole town is out for him.”

“Maybe we should leave here…” you whispered, looking at Namjoon for a while.

“No leaving, he’s still not stable, I have to take care of him!” she scolded, frowning. “Anyway, I’ll be back in a few hours with everything needed… Take care.”

                It took you a whole hour to feel better, and be able to go in the bathroom. You got out just when Namjoon came back from the sleepy dead country. You two barely talked until Lily came back with enough stuff for two wounded persons. For a man who was at his worst state a few hours ago, he seemed perfectly fine after a meal and shower. Lily looked a little less nice with him: you understood later that thanks to the shooting Namjoon had been involved in, she had to work double shifts and would not be able to come back until a good couple of days. When she left for the second time, Namjoon was laying on the couch while looking at the news.

“I’ve left my cellphone back there,” he growled, given the frown he offered, you understood it was not the best of the news he ever received. “I’ve left everything back there…”

“You’re not stupid enough not to cypher it, it will take them days until they crack it open,” you muttered, staring at the Glock in your hand.

“I sent a text to Hoseok, telling him I was coming here,” Namjoon threw you a dark look, and all colors left your face. “They’ll be here soon, and you don’t want to be caught with me.”

                You didn’t, but what you didn’t want was to be here, with evidencesq of him being here, and being questioned by your colleagues for days about him. You found yourself running around your room, packing all kind of clothes and books, and your telescope; it was the only solution. You couldn’t let him be caught, Hyunshik would send someone to kill him in the station, and if he was protecting you, you’ll be dead as soon as he would be. Leaving was the only reasonable thing to do, at least that’s what you tried to convince yourself of.

                Twenty minutes and an apology letter to Lily left on the coffee table later, you were stuffing your bags in the trunk of a car Namjoon stole in a deserted parking lot. You had given up on your phone, and comfort throwing yourself in the new adventure. A part of you was scared of being found, when another was only bubbling with excitement.


Chapter 3?

Go Out With Me - Sherlock Holmes x Reader

A/N: My first Sherlock one (two?) shot! I’m sorry about two things; 1. English isn’t my native language, so I don’t really know the difference between American and British English, save for some words and accent; and 2. sorry if it’s too OOC, but I watched this TV show recently and still not familiarised with the characters. I got inspired by Donna and Harvey’s relationship, in Suits xD :p Enjoy! <3

Word count: I have no idea

Originally posted by silent-micka

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8

If Raiders of the Lost Ark was a Classic Warner Brothers Movie

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The 5 times the Green Arrow unexpectedly called Captain Singh and that one time Singh was thoroughly done with that superhero BS - a fic

Oh god oh god what have I written. I blame @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline and @somewhatinvisible.

1

Captain Singh was sitting in his office, feet up on his desk and forlornly gazing at the kidney bean and coleslaw wrap that his husband had packed for his lunch when his personal cell phone began to ring. He checked the number, and frowned when he didn’t recognise it. As a Central City Police Captain, he didn’t give out his personal cell number very often, and all of the people who he knew had it were in his contacts. Taking a bite of his wrap and grimacing at the taste, he picked up, figuring there was no harm done. Maybe Rob or one of his detectives had lost their own phones, so were borrowing somebody else’s.

“Captain Singh speaking.”

“I need a list of all of the known metahumans currently imprisoned within Iron Heights,” came the immediate, modulated reply.

Singh practically spat his mouthful of food out, feet clunking down onto the floor as he growled out, “You? Again?”

“Yes, me,” the voice replied, sounding somewhat amused. “The Green Arrow. Now do you have the list, or not?”

“How the hell do you have my personal cell number?!”

“I have my sources. The list, Captain?”

“Get it from your own city’s police captain!” he barked irritatedly into the speaker. He hung up. Seconds later, his phone was ringing again. Rolling his eyes and figuring the emerald archer was only ever going to leave him alone if he did what he asked, Singh picked up and seethed, “YES?”

“Me again.”

“Yes, I fucking well know it’s you,” he gritted out. “Why can’t you get this from the Star City main precinct? You’ve broken into that place god knows how many times to steal information and hack into their database.”

“That requires effort, arrows and time, which I am currently short of.”

Searching for the file and muttering furiously under his breath about how he had enough vigilantes within his own city to deal with, Singh finally opened the document. “I have the list up on my computer screen right now, how do you want me to send it to you?”

“Send it to Mayor Queen’s email. He’ll pass it on to us.” And then the archer hung up without even a word of thanks, or explaining what he needed the list for.

“Fucking ungrateful vigilantes,” Singh grumbled, quickly emailing the list over to the mayor of Star City. “I’m blocking his cell number.”


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Opentoonz #1 : Basic Guide

Before you begin, think about the project you’re working on. Is it a video? Is it a .gif you just want to make for an icon or website? What do you want to do?

Animating takes time, discipline, effort and a willingness to learn. Much like anything, it is a commitment and tedious hardwork, even if you’re just doing it for a hobby like I am. As long you are eager, anyone can learn this program! The program is free so take advantage of this opportunity if you can.

INDEX

1. Resolution
2. Interface
3. Windows
4. Tool Bar
5. Drawing
6. Saving
7. Exporting

Click the cut to continue.

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