#to commemorate the fact that one day i WILL make you play out this reveal here's this shit that i literally never stop thinking about lmao

[owliellder]

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x Painter fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author Note: I'm actually thinking I might be doing one chapter every other night, but I would also like to draw on my comically large art tablet at some point this week, so I might skip a day or two.

Cross posted onto AO3

Session 2: Color Matching

You partially regret just agreeing to "tomorrow", seeing as this man decided that he wanted to show up at 4am.

It was the original time set for yesterday's session, and you guess he felt bad for being late, but god damn he texted you an hour earlier telling you he'd be there by 4am. Dragging yourself out of the comfort of your bed was difficult, but in the end it was worth it to draw such a stunner.

You had to get there before Leon did, so there you were; half awake, dressed in a pair of fuzzy pants and a loose t-shirt, and a small cup of tea in your right hand while the other fumbled with the keys to your little work room.

That was the greatest part about your job as a professional painter. You didn't have a dress code.

Though most days you did try to look your best, some days it was just easier to be comfortable. Besides, it's not like tons of people come and see you everyday, it was usually just one person at a time.

It was 3:47am by the time you'd gotten to your workspace and settled, sitting on one of the many floor pillows in the living area you put together away from the actual painting setup. The tea was warm, it was keeping you sleepy, but you couldn't stop taking small sips. It was in your hands, there wasn't much you could do to stop yourself.

You told Leon to just come on in when he arrived, not wanting to walk all the way back down just to lead him back up. The stiffness from sleep was still in parts of your body, so you knew it would be difficult to get up, even when he did finally stride through that door. He dressed nicely today, just what you needed him to do.

Wanting to relish in the dim yet warm lighting of your various lamps for as long as possible, you beckoned the man to come over and sit with you, which confused him slightly. He thought you would be ready to get started once he showed up, but he wasn't one to argue so early in the morning. Instead, he shrugged and slowly sauntered over to you, taking a seat on a floor pillow across from yours.

"Good morning." Leon grumbled quietly, his voice barely hiding the fact that he wasn't quite awake either. That rumble in his chest made your stomach flutter. "Good morning to you, too." You responded, closing your eyes for a moment to take another sip of your tea.

"When uh-" He cleared his throat, putting a fist up to his mouth as he did so. "When are we gonna get started?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, moving the cup away from your lips to stare at him. "I wasn't expecting to be up so early, so just give me a few more minutes to wake up and then we can turn my main lights on."

Leon sucked on his teeth as he thought, turning his head to look over out one of the windows as he rested his wrists on his knees. "Oh, yeah, sorry. Just wanted to make up for being late yesterday."

You laughed softly before letting out a quiet sigh, setting your tea down on the low coffee table sitting behind you.

"Don't worry about it, but also don't make me get up so early again, old man." You attempted to joke, immediately noticing the wince on his face at the nickname. To divert, you stood up and stretched, patting his shoulder as you walked by him. "Alright, let me pull my stuff out and then we can get started."

Leon followed you with his head, taking a few seconds before standing up himself, pressing his hands onto his knees to help get up from the floor pillow.

"I'm just going to be color matching your tones today. I won't do all of it since obviously lighting changes throughout the day, buuuut..." You trailed off, beginning to rummage through a drawer in one of your desks before pulling out handfuls of paint tubes. "I just need to pull out the basic colors I'll be using."

It was still pretty dim in the room which caused you to have to squint to see the names of the colors on the tubes. Leon found that partially amusing, his chuckle causing you to glare playfully over at him. "Something funny?"

"As funny as it is to watch you go cross-eyed looking at those," he smiled, gesturing with his thumb to the light switches near the door. "I feel like it'd be easier to just turn the lights on."

"My retinas will be fried if those get turned on-" You were cut off by your own shout when Leon took the liberty of turning the lights on himself, laughing as you quickly moved to cover your eyes.

He only had to squint for a second before his eyes adjusted. You, however, were not expecting the sudden change, so you got an eyeful of bright white light. Complete and utter agony that lasted for a full five seconds.

By the time you moved your hands away from your eyes, they were watering and you had to squint for awhile longer. "Give me a warning next time you decide you want to try and murder me like that." You said, wiping away the few stray tears you'd produced from the light sensitivity. "You might live in the light, but I don't!"

The man shook his head and crossed his arms, smile still plastered to his face as he slowly made his way over to the chair in front of your easel. "That's payback for calling me an old man."

You twisted your head around to the chair so you could give him an indignant look, catching a glance as he was putting his hands up in defense with a small "what?" before you turned to look down at the tubes of paint sitting next to your hands on top of the desk.

"Nothing, just wasn't expecting to work with a toddler, that's all.." You mumbled, smile creeping onto your face as you heard him click his tongue from behind you. "I was an old man not five minutes ago and now I'm a toddler?" Leon asked, voice peaking dramatically.

"Yes, you have quite the range, Mr. Kennedy." You began sifting through the various paints you'd pulled out, humming softly as you contemplated what route you wanted to take with them. Stick to primaries? Add secondaries? Should I just use every color I need? Hmmm..

Leon watched as you stared at the paint tubes you'd picked up, tilting his head to the side slightly to try and get a better look. He snapped his head back upright when you started to speak again. "I'm trying to decide whether or not to use a lot of different colors, or just stick to a minimum.."

It was almost as if you knew what he was wondering. "Uhh... what's the difference...?" The man questioned, raising an eyebrow as you turned around, seemingly having made your decision already.

"Using just the main 6 colors-" You turned around and were faced with his very confused stare, causing you to explain a little better. "The main colors you see in a rainbow."

He breathed out a quiet "ahh" at that. Okay, good. He knows his basics. Cute...

"I can mix just red, blue, and yellow at varying degrees to get any color I need. Adding green, purple, and orange will help even more." You pursed your lips, lightly tossing the paint tubes in your hands before setting them down away from the other tubes. "I need white also. Damn.."

"What's wrong with white?" Leon asked, leaning forward a bit to watch you dig in the drawer for a tube of white oil paint.

"Nothin'. Just forgot, is all. Trying to keep this as authentic as possible..." You mumble, quickly closing the drawer with a slam after pulling out the paint you were looking for.

Silently nodding his head in acknowledgment, Leon turned his focus to his surroundings again, admiring your choice in decor once more. He bought a nice decorative pillow for his couch yesterday after being here the first time.

You grabbed a few strips of thick white paper, running your thumb along its textured surface before setting them down. You told him to stay where he was as you set up a small art palette, little dollops of the paints sitting neatly in the circular grooves.

"I'm gonna make color swatches of your skin for myself." You spoke up as you suddenly turned and walked towards him, holding the palette in your left hand while holding the strips of paper and a small yet flat paintbrush in the right. "Also, I'll need to get a picture of you in the position you want, but I'll do that after all of-" you waved everything you're currently holding in a small circle. "-this."

Leon simply responded with an "oh, okay", his knee beginning to bounce as you quickly began to mix little bits of your paint together to get a simple pale skin tone down before you even attempted to match his.

As you worked, you were starting to grow nervous with the silence, and clearly the man in front of you was as well, given he had started to sweat slightly on his forehead. He wasn't nearly as conversational as the last two agents you painted.

"So.. you've earned yourself a portrait..." You smiled slightly, holding up the strip of paper you'd brushed your mixed paint on to see what colors to mix in next. "What'd you do to earn one?"

Leon hummed. It was hard to think about every mission he's gone on, all the horrors he bore witness to, the people he saved, the people he couldn't save, how it all started, and now the fact that he's done-

"Hey, woah, I'm sorry." The sound of your voice drew him away from his thoughts. "I didn't know that would be a.. sore subject for you." He blinked at you a few times, furrowing his eyebrows soon after. "What?"

You pulled the strip of paper away from his face, pulling your lips tight with a shrug of your shoulders at his response. "You suddenly looked mad. Like... really really mad. I thought you were gonna snap at me or-"

"No. It's just bittersweet, is all." Leon cut you off, waving his hand dismissively at you before nodding once down to the paint palette in your hand. "You can keep going."

You stayed frozen in your crouched position for a few seconds longer before continuing to swatch your paint. You kept silent, not wanting to seem like you were antagonizing him.

"I used to be just a cop." The man suddenly said, causing you to look up from where you were mixing your paints together. "Only for a single day, but I was a cop. Simple as can be."

You nodded, beckoning him to continue with a small smile, which he did. "I'm sure you've heard about some of that already though, since you worked with Claire not too long ago."

His comment caused you to let out a small "ohh" in sudden recognition, nodding your head again. "Yeah, that's right! She mentioned you on that, okay.."

Leon continued to talk about all of his missions vaguely, still having to keep confidentiality in mind. You let him drone on, having gotten his skin tone matched in a few different areas now. You stopped to scribble on the papers with the paint swatches, making sure to label where each tone came from on his face and hands.

You took note of how he circled back to his single day as a cop and to certain missions. His mention of saving the president's daughter had you immediately smiling. That was a straight ticket to earning his own portrait in that hall of the White House, he could've done just that his entire life and he still would've been seeing you at some point.

You focused on mixing your paint for a little while before noticing he had grown quiet, looking up to see him staring out the window, a faint orange glow from the sun rising highlighting his features. And his tears.

Growing concerned once again, you set down the paintbrush on the palette so you could place a gentle hand on his shoulder. It seemed he didn't notice that, too lost in his head to notice anything at this point.

"Hey..." You asked with a soft voice, your eyebrows furrowing with worry. "We don't have to talk about it anymore, you know..."

Finally, Leon looked back at you, eyes widening once he realized how watery his eyes were. He turned his head away so you didn't watch him wipe the tears that had fallen down his cheeks and use his sleeve to dry his eyes. It wasn't like him to be so easily bothered by this stuff.

"I just need one more color swatch and then you can go, okay? We can save the photo for another day." You gave the man a weak smile, one he didn't reciprocate. You understood.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but you filled in for him. "Seriously, it's no trouble at all. If you need more time then you need more time." Standing up from your crouched position, you left your half-finished color match swatch with the finished ones before walking over to set everything down on the desk.

You didn't want to crowd the poor man. That was probably the last thing he needed. Despite having only painted for a select few, you've learned to just step away from these retired agents when things would go awry. It was akin to a war veteran suffering from PTSD; they did almost have the same experiences as far as you could tell.

"I'm sorry."

Leon finally managed to say to you, his hands anxiously rubbing up and down on the tops of his thighs. Must be a nervous tick.

You angled yourself so you could see him while your body still faced the desk, smiling at him while your hands worked to neatly stack the strips of paper before clipping them together with a paper clip.

"There's absolutely no reason for you to apologize." You kept your smile as you responded to Leon, looking back down at your hands to make sure everything was put together properly. "You forget I strictly work with agents like yourself. From all the vague tellings, I know that the job is tough on you guys; body and mind."

It was weird having someone outside of the agency talk to him about this kind of stuff. It was weird for him to be bringing it up in the first place. Or, at least he felt like it was.

"Still, I should know better than to do that." Leon sighed, rubbing his hand along the side of his face before stroking his chin, scratching at the stubble growing.

"Know better than to do what? Let yourself process everything you've been through?" You spoke in almost a whisper. If your tone was any louder, you fear you'd come off as accusatory.

"I get it. Really, I do." Leon groaned quietly at your words, causing you to click your tongue. You grabbed your swivel chair and scooted it over so you could sit in front of him, and when you did, you brought your legs up to sit criss-cross just like yesterday, only there wasn't a table separating the two of you. You looked solemn. He didn't like where this was going.

"The whole point of painting you a portrait is to honor you and your work as an agent, but it's not just about getting yourself painted." You leaned forward in your chair, elbows resting on your knees, all the while keeping your voice hushed and gentle. "Seeing the portrait once it's finished is going to be an incredibly emotional ordeal. It's a reminder that this is truly the end of an era for you, Mr. Kennedy..."

Your words were really starting to strike a chord for Leon. He hadn't given it much thought. He didn't want to give it any thought at all. All he thought was "I'm just going to get myself a nice fancy portrait and be done with it". He didn't even consider what the portrait of him would actually symbolize.

"Oh." Was all Leon could muster, letting his gaze fall into his lap where his hands now sat clasped together. If it weren't for the comfortable environment you had set up here, he probably would've bolted ages ago.

You let him think everything over for awhile, wanting to give him all the time in the world. Clearly he needed something, but he wasn't allowing himself any sort of leeway.

It took some courage building internally, but you decided to stand up, taking the one step closer to him before placing your hand on his shoulder once more. You squeezed it a bit, bringing his attention back to you as he lifted his head up.

You attempted to smile at him, moving your hand off his shoulder so you could hold your arms out slightly. This man needed a hug and you were more than willing to offer the leeway he wasn't granting himself.

Leon stood up rather quickly which surprised you, and startled you just a bit, before feeling his large arms tightly wrap around you. It was a little awkward since he had to bend a bit to hug you properly, but it worked out in his favor, and yours too, since he got a better opportunity to bury his face into the crook of your neck.

He sighed happily when he felt your arms slowly wrap around his chest, doing your best to squeeze him for that extra bit of comfort, even rubbing up and down on his back. It had been so long since he had a real hug. It felt good.

You let him hug you for as long as he needed, which was longer than expected, but definitely not unwelcome by any means. Though, his warm breath against your neck and the smell of his cologne was causing you to blush. That's really the last thing you needed him to see after being so vulnerable and open with you.

You felt him start to pull his head away, prompting you to pat his back gently as an end to the hug. Despite the fact that it was faint, it was clear to you that he was blushing when you were finally able to look up at him.

You wanted to remain calm for Leon, letting out your nervousness through a quiet cough. "I know we've only met up twice, but if you ever need a change in scenery, just know that my workspace here is always open to you. I'm always open to you, okay?"

Your words were making him feel weird. Something he hasn't felt in a long time was creeping up his chest. Your smell lingering on his coat wasn't helping, either.

"Yeah-.. yeah, okay." Leon huffed through his nose, reaching up to scratch at the stubble underneath his jawline as he averted his gaze to the floor.

The sun was fully up now, so you walked over to where the light switches were next to the door, flipping them off. All your other ambient lights could be turned off later. For now, you needed to focus on the man still standing in front of that maroon chair.

"You can stay if you feel you need to, but I just want you to relax." You said, looking over at him as you heard his footsteps slowly walk past you to the living space.

"I'll head out." Leon bent over and grabbed his motorcycle helmet from where he'd set it down on the rug near the floor pillows. He placed his on his head as he walked over to where you stood next to the door, not really wanting anyone to look at his tear-stricken and red face any longer.

Once he finished fiddling with his helmet, you reached out and took his hand in both of yours, patting the top of it softly. "Text me when you're ready to come back over."

You couldn't see Leon's face anymore since he'd put the visor down, but you could definitely see him nod his head. He opened the door and let himself out, touching the side of the doorframe as he rounded the sharp corner and walked down the stairs.

After closing the door behind him, you started walking around your workspace to turn off all the lamps and other ambient lighting, pausing to listen to the sound of his motorcycle start up and drive off.

#daily dose of dilf #he's not a dad in this #but that doesn't mean he's not a dilf #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #resident evil leon #leon kennedy fic #leon x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy x fem reader #resident evil death island

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Mr Gaiman, if you don't mind, could you please tell me if the fact that you once asked an official in China that Chinese people need more sci-fi stories to fuel their imagination and hence innovation, hence their invitation of sci-fi writers and yourself many years ago, was a true conversation?

I once found this in one of your journals but somehow I couldn't find it anymore and thinking of digging deeper in your archives through China tags sound way too daunting as I just had many exams today and in one essay I cited this very example and you in it to prove a point that scientists need artists (I see writers as artists too) in this world, and now I'm kind of freaking out on whether I hallucinated the whole story or something.

Whatever it is, if you managed to read this ask, thanks a lot and hope you have a good day/night ahead!

It was in 2007 in Chengdu, at the first offically approved and endorsed SF convention. Here's Bob Sawyer talking about it on his web site at the time:

And here's Michael Swanwick:

and a Chinese article from the time:

And yes. When I asked why the disapproval of SF had turned to approval, I was told that Chinese fact-finding conversations at Apple, Microsoft and Google had revealed that most of the engineers, creators, designers and inventors had read SF when younger and had become interested in making what they made because of SF, and that the official Chinese position in 2007 was that SF should now be encouraged -- thus the convention.

From the article at the time:

The 2007 China (Chengdu) SF/Fantasy Conference hosted the event. The theme: “Science, Imagination and Future” is an ambitious Chinese effort designed to inspire public creativity toward future scientific and technological development as well as promote national insight for scientific exploration. The conference has been scheduled immediately before the World Science Fiction Convention in Yokohama, Japan.

The conference has designated August 25 as “China Imagination Day”. SF and fantasy lovers signed their names on a banner to commemorate this day during the opening ceremony.

“Imagination is an important premise for creativity. Science fiction literature plays an important role in inspiring people’s imagination and creativity,” said Li Xiuting, vice director of the International Department of the China Association for Science and Technology, at the opening ceremony on Saturday.

“Our (science fiction) words become the world and our words become places that you can visit. They become books and stories that inspire people. It is both surprising and reassuring to know by accident that the places have helped to make a future we are now living. Places like Microsoft and Google, Apple and places like MIT are packed with science fiction readers and fantasy readers,” Neil Gaiman said on Saturday.

[jimblejamblewritings]

the imprint or the blood singer | part 9.

Summary: Y/N Black. All about La Push. Shy girl unless you get to know her. Not one to make friends easily despite the fact that she very well could. Friends with her brother’s friends until one Bella Swan comes back to town.

Warnings for the Series: light violence, light smut

Pairing: Edward Cullen x reader, Embry Call x reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

“Was a fancy yellow sports car really necessary to rent?” You asked as Alice sped through the streets of Italy.

“It was the fastest on the lot… the Volturi refused him.”

Alice had caught you up to speed on specific vampire knowledge the pack didn’t have information on, especially the Volturi.

“That’s a good thing then?”

“No no.” Alice pushed the car as fast as it could go. “He’s going to make a scene. Show himself in front of the humans.”

“How much time do we have?”

“He’ll do it at noon, when the sun is at its highest peak.”

Alice parked the car when it could no longer fit through the streets of Voltaire. You and her ran, Alice careful to make sure all her coverings stayed in place. You kept having to push people out of the way.

“Why are they all in red cloaks?”

“St. Marcus Day Festival. They commemorate the exposure of vampires in their city. It’s what makes this perfect. The Volturi would never let him get far enough to reveal himself.”

You and Alice moved even faster, knowing time was quickly running out.

“He’ll be under the clock tower. I’m right behind you (Y/N). But you need to go first, he needs to hear you coming first. If it’s me, he’ll think I’m lying and rush into it.”

You could see Edward standing on the top step of the entrance to the clock tower. The buttons on his blue shirt were undone.

Edward, you screamed his name in your head as loud as you possibly could.

Edward looked up slightly as if he heard you. But he didn’t see you, the red cloaks were blocking his view. His mind must have been playing tricks on him. You pushed yourself faster, allowing a little bit of your wolf side to kick in. Without much thought, you tackled Edward back into the protecting shade of the clock tower.

“(Y/N)?” Edward asked in disbelief as he clutched your head to his chest. “I thought you were dead, Alice saw you…”

He could feel your heartbeat, smell the sweet blood that linked you to him. He saw the look of fear on your face from Alice’s vision when he first met you. This was the cause of your pain and he felt more sorry for even leading you here.

“I’m very much alive, Edward. It’s not a mirage. I’m here, I’m here—”

You looked Edward in the eye and all time stopped. Whatever the pack’s theories were about you imprinting were wrong. You were sure you’d float away if Edward stopped looking at you. Gravity no longer held you to the Earth, he did. And for once you didn’t want to pull away from his eyes, but get lost in the gold forever.

Edward smiled at your sugary sweet thoughts, worried about how sickly he looked. Alice came running up behind you. You and Edward got to your feet and he began to button up his shirt and roll down the sleeves, hiding every inch of it from sunshine. You sniffed the air, disgusted. Vampire and its smell was not like the Cullens. It was like the redhead. The scent of a vampire that drank human blood.

“Let’s go, before you can think to cause another scene,” Alice said.

Before you could move Edward uttered one word: Jane.

The three of you turned around to see a blonde girl flanked by two much larger men.

“Aro sent me to see what was taking so long.”

You didn’t like the tone in her voice. Edward placed his hand on your lower back to guide you to follow the strangers.

“It’ll be best if we do what they say.”

You uncomfortably packed into the elevator. You reached for Edward’s hand, needing your anchor. You welcomed his freezing skin against yours. You needed something to keep you present in the moment, keep you alert. When you exited the doors, a woman at the reception desk greeted you in Italian. The strange vampires didn’t pay the woman any mind.

“Is she human?” you whispered to Edward.

He nodded.

“And she knows…and she wants to be…”

You were in disbelief. There would be only one reason a person would knowingly work for the Volturi. You didn’t think, couldn’t fathom, someone wanting to be turned into one of the creatures.

“And so she will be,” one of the strange vampires said.

“One of you?”

“Or dessert.” Jane smirked as the doors opened to a large room.

At the end were three vampires sitting on throne-like chairs. They were all permanently frozen at various ages: one closer to you and the Cullen siblings, one around maybe Charlie’s, and the last looking older than time itself.

“Caius, Aro, and Marcus,” Edward whispered to you.

The man Edward pointed out as Aro stepped down from his chair.

“Oh, I do love a happy ending.” Aro took Edward’s hand from yours. “Her blood sings to you, yet it makes me thirsty. How can you stand to be so close?”

“It’s not without difficulty,” Edward admitted.

“I can see that.”

Edward looked back at you. “He can read every thought in your head just by touch. And now you know everything, Aro, get on with what you want.”

“You can read every thought like me, yet hers are sometimes fuzzy. And our sweet Alice can’t see her future at all… I wonder if our dear is an exception to my gift as well? May I?”

Aro didn’t give you much of a choice as he grabbed your hand. A pin could drop in the room and it would sound like gunshots. Aro looked at where he held your hands and then looked you in the face. Blood red eyes. Eyes you would gladly rip out the skull they sat in.

“Marvelous. I see… nothing. So what shall we do now?”

Marcus sighed. “You already know what you’re going to do.”

“She knows too much. The human is a liability,” Caius spat out.

“No.”

Edward took your hand to run but you fell to the ground in pain. Aro gasped.

“Immune to powers of the mind but not of the body.”

“Let her go. Kill me instead,” Edward offered.

At his words, the wolf in you snapped. The pain caused by Jane and the pain of Edward’s pleas caused you to shift. Edward was in shock, he hadn’t seen this in your thoughts since you’d been in his arms. Alice knew you could shift but had yet to see your wolf. The rest of the Volturi were shocked at the sight of a horse-sized wolf.

You were russet in color, just like Jacob, but with black markings on your paws and the tips of your ears. The same way you hadn’t grown much with the phase as a human, due to how spontaneous and unnaturally it occured, your wolf stood smaller than the others. Your fur long and shaggy since you hadn’t had a chance to cut your hair. The shock of a wolf caused Jane to stop using her power against you.

“She says anybody touch me, she’ll go for your head first,” Edward translated.

“You’d give up your life for someone like us? A soulless monster? Your sworn enemy,” Aro said as if he couldn’t understand the concept.

“Kill her, brother, and get it over with,” Caius said, bored.

“You can see it yourself, she’s not human. She lives in the supernatural world like us,” Edward spoke. “Not a single law has been broken.”

“Can we continue to let an enemy of ours know exactly who we are? Where we reside? Our strengths and weaknesses?”

“What if she wasn’t an enemy? What if I turned her myself when the time came?”

“When the time comes? A drop of your venom is probably potent enough to kill her. You’d promise to sacrifice your only love?”

Edward was getting angry. The sweet talk and empty promises should’ve soothed Aro’s ego. Aro should’ve let you go, if it was anyone else he would’ve let them go. All Aro wanted was for him and Alice to join the Volturi. Both because of your powers, he had nothing like them in the guard, and to have the last word on Carlisle for leaving the Volturi.

“Let them go, Aro. No laws were broken, no harm was done. Let them return to Carlisle,” Marcus called out, exhausted.

Marcus was potentially the one vampire in the room you felt sorry for. Not just because he was trying to help you, but because he seemed over it all. You could only imagine how many years he had lived, how he was weary of his immortal life.

“If she can walk out without causing a scene, then they’re free to go. You’d be right, I’d see no laws broken,” Aro said looking at you.

(Part 10)...

#edward cullen x reader #edward cullen x black!reader #embry call x reader #embry call x black!reader #twilight fic

[mexicorecord1]

Commemorate Retirement With A Personalized Laser Engraved Jim Beam Bourbon Whiskey Whiskey Bottle: This Blog Will Have To Do With Whiskey Bottles And How They Are Utilized For Retirement Get Togethers.

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[thedangelos]

☾ for a mood board of our muses relationship  →  dex d’angelo (the father), evie hadamik (the daughter) 

“What’s your story, professor?”

What’s my story? Well, you see there was this woman. This beautiful woman and I tried to fool her but she fooled me instead and I loved it and I loved her. But she didn’t love me so she took the gift I gave her and offered it to a monster because she loved him instead. She loved him so. She loved him to death.

No, he couldn’t tell her that.

“I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details.”

#This is paraphrased directly from a conversation they had once there was so damn much to chose from bc god everything was suddex subtext #between them and everything hurt #to commemorate the fact that one day i WILL make you play out this reveal here's this shit that i literally never stop thinking about lmao #c: Dexter D'Angelo #o: Evolet Hadamik #moodboards #DexxEvie

[knivesareout]

take on the world - chapter one

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, bad jokes, flirting idiots and Tom doesn’t exist.

Summary: A whirlwind romance takes you by surprise when Frankie rescues you.

A/N: Well, here is the beginning of what is going to be a BEAST of a fic. There will probably be around 8-10 chapters in total and I’m already working on the next one (aka where the smut is). I will warn you all that this is going to deal with some heavy subject matter as we go along but I’ll put up proper warnings when they come. I hope you all enjoy and you can read it on AO3 here.

INSPO TAG | CHAPTER TWO

___________

There was a special place in hell for people who set their friends up on blind dates.

This wasn’t your first, or even your fifth, blind date in the last year that you’d agreed to go on to appease a happily married friend. This time it was Jessica’s husband’s co-worker who she’d shown you a picture of and you had wearily agreed, nodding as she told you how great he was.

He was in fact, not great, as he was now 30 minutes late and counting despite the numerous texts you’d sent him.

Thankfully the bar you were currently at was only a quick 10 minute walk from your apartment, a small miracle you were glad for. Surely you could stumble back the couple of blocks to your place if you decided to drown your sorrows in shots of tequila, a couple beers, and maybe a fruity drink or two if you were feeling spendy or particularly sad.

The bar was loud and, of course, overly crowded. It was a Saturday night after all.

Most tvs around the room were playing various baseball games at top volume with the season having only started a couple weeks prior. It wasn’t your favorite sport but you knew enough to keep up, eyes fixated on the Red Sox game just to the left of you.

“Need a refill?”

A cough sounds in your ear and you turn, realizing the question was meant for you. The man who’s taken up residence on the bar stool next to you is waiting for an answer, a distressed ball cap tugged low over his face and you wish you could see him better.

“Oh,” you laugh awkwardly, glancing down at the empty pint glass and back up again. When did you finish that? “Yeah, I mean. I need one.”

The man just nods, motioning the bartender over and he wordlessly clears your glass and sets a new one in front of you as well as one in front of the man next to you.

Muttering a quiet thanks to the bartender, you turn to the man in the cap and smile. “Thanks. Didn’t even realize I’d gone through it so fast.”

The man nods with a shrug of his shoulders, a slight smile on his face. “No worries. You looked like you were sucked into the game and figured I could help. I’m Frankie, by the way.”

Giving him your name, you reach a hand for him to shake- which he does. Rough, calloused hands envelope yours in a tight squeeze before he drops them with a cough.

You realize he must’ve been watching you before, if he knew you were with an empty cup.

Normally that was something you would find creepy because you were clearly alone, or at the very least weird but for some reason it’s endearing on this guy. Frankie. Out of the corner of your eye, you try to take in his features without being obvious, his attention now turned to the same game you’d been watching only moments before.

Dark hair curls outside of his baseball cap, a dimple embedded into his cheek on the right as he smiles. Patchy facial hair covers his jawline, bits of grey catching the light as he tilts his head back to take a swig of his beer and you wonder how old he is. At first you would’ve pegged him around your age, but now getting a somewhat better look he might have several years on you.

“Were you waiting on someone?” He asks, turning to you with his voice raised. A group of men are shouting in the back of the bar near the pool table and you wince.

You nod, downing half of your beer and swiping at your mouth. “Yeah. Blind date. I should know better but I can’t tell people no and he was cute.”

Frankie just laughs at your honesty, “So he just didn’t show?”

“Yep. Never had one that just didn’t show up. Figured I might as well get drunk to commemorate the occasion. Or commiserate. Either one.” You bring your glass up to his and cheers, shaking your head incredulously.

“His loss.”

You turn to Frankie with a raised brow, lowering your glass to watch him slowly check you out. You feel hot all over and clear your throat, teeth tugging on your bottom lip.

“What about you then? Here alone or did you ditch someone?”

Frankie presses a hand to his heart, fake wounded at your jab. “You already think so little of me? I was here with friends but they bailed on me,” he explains. “Saw you by yourself and thought we could both use the company.”

His answer puts you more at ease and you finish off your second beer of the night.

“So, figure I gotta ask. How old are you?” It really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things but if things are heading in the direction you hope they are, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable if you’re too young.

He seems startled by your question, like it’d never occurred to him to ask and he falters before answering. Did it make him uncomfortable?

“You know,” Frankie starts with a chuckle. “Normally, I’d be offended but I’m not. ‘M 42.”

Nodding, you blow out a breath that you didn’t realize you’d be holding. “Newly 30,” you tell him, bringing your refilled drink up to click against his own.

The age reveal doesn’t seem to bother him, at least from what you can tell. You’d never cursed your age before until now, hoping it hadn’t put him off.

You turn on the barstool to face Frankie, hoping to break the tension.

“So I have just one question for you, Frankie.”

He nods, turning to face you and waiting for you to continue.

You hold up a finger and place it on his jaw near his mouth, the one spot not filled up by wiry grey and black hair. His eyes are wide at your touch and he’s tense.

It was something you’d noticed right away when he sat next to you, your attention drawn to it for whatever reason. His terribly patchy facial hair was endearing.

“Why is this the perfect place for a kiss?”

The way Frankie looks when he laughs makes your heart ache in the best way. He tosses his head back, mouth wide as he tries to contain his laughter. His dark eyes crinkle, nose scrunched up at your blunt question and you retract your hand, satisfied with his response.

“How much have you had to drink?” He manages to get out between wheezing while he catches his breath.

“Couple shots of tequila while I stupidly waited. Two beers now, thanks to you,” you nod at the empty glass. “I might be drunk? It’s hard to tell, honestly. I think I’m fine.”

“So you’re just normally like this?” Frankie laughs, tilting his head. His fingers drum on the side of his almost empty pint glass, something you wonder is a nervous tick.

You push your empty glass away, hoping it’ll get the bartender’s attention and it does. Ordering Frankie another beer and a vodka cranberry for you, you turn back to him. “Guess so. If it’s too much though, I can pretend you never came over here and finish the game by myself.”

“Not what I meant,” he’s quick to tell you. “Just wanted to know what I’m getting myself into is all.”

Silently your lips tick up in a smirk and you start on your drink, turning your attention back to the game.

Over the next hour, you get to know Frankie and vice versa. He’s ex-Army; out for the last couple of years and he’s slowly getting back into the real world. Explains how he doesn’t have any family in North Carolina but all of his buddies live here, so he moved.

Frankie’s a helicopter pilot, giving city flyover tours to people coming in from out of town. He doesn’t love it but he loves flying so it’s enough for him, he tells you. You can see it in his eyes how passionate he is about flying and it makes you grin.

In turn, he asks about you. Normally you wouldn’t give up so much information about yourself to someone you don’t know all that well but Frankie has slowly started to feel like anything but and you feel guilty letting him give you so much only to get nothing in return- so you tell him. Maybe too much. About how your job working at a law firm is the most boring thing, especially when you had no interest in law. Which in turn sparks up his question- what do you want to do? That ends up setting you off on a tangent about your love of photography but how hard the industry is to break into to do it professionally or at the least get paid for it.

“Here, hang on.” You tell him, sliding your phone out of your back pocket and pulling up your Instagram. Social media was, normally, the bane of your existence but you used the app for your photos and nothing else, you tell him. He nods like he understands, telling you he isn’t much better technology wise.

Frankie’s quiet as he scrolls through your feed. He’s slow about it too, clicking on a few to see them bigger, and you bite your lip in anticipation at what he might be thinking. It’s nerve wracking to show anyone your passion and you manage to finish off your drink while he’s still scrolling, waving off the bartender as he asks if you want another.

“You’re fucking talented as shit, you know that?”

His response catches you off guard and you can instantly feel yourself getting warm at his compliment. It feels different, coming from him. A stranger who’s slowly becoming something more.

“You’ll have to let me take your picture some day,” you shoot back, kicking your dangling foot against his.

“You don’t have pictures of people on there though,” he’s quick to point out, handing you back your phone.

“Well no, but that doesn’t mean I don’t. It’s hard convincing people to hike with me is all.” Nature photography was your niche but you could already envision photographing a portrait of Frankie on a mountain with the sun illuminated behind him.

Frankie finishes off his beer and sighs loudly, turning to you with his brows raised. “Well, we’ll have to plan something then won’t we?”

You’d known that was coming and still, your stomach fills with butterflies as he all but asks you out. To see you again beyond this dark, crowded bar that smells like smoke and sweat.

“Definitely.”

Frankie asks if he can walk you home once the bar tab has been paid an hour later- he’s even covered yours too, in apology of your ruined date and unintentionally crashing your plan to wallow in self-pity afterwards.

“I’m just a couple blocks down,” you tell him, pulling your jacket tighter around your shoulders to combat the cool, spring breeze.

“No worries. Can’t complain about getting to spend a little more time with you,” he says cooly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

The line is smooth and cheesy but it still puts a smile on your face, which you’re sure was its intended effect.

You chuckle, turning to him so he can see the roll of your eyes. “Smooth, Casanova.”

Frankie puts his hands out in front of him in defense, scoffing at your jab.

“Cut me some slack, alright. Haven’t even dated a woman in years, let alone spent hours interrupted and talking with one,” he explains, knocking his shoulder with yours.

The little touch is something weirdly intimate and you cough, looking at him with a skeptical eye.

“I find that hard to believe, Frankie,” you chuckle, “You’re a good looking guy. Can even hold a decent conversation. No dates? Really?”

He shakes his head, shrugging. “Wasn’t in the right headspace for it. And now that I am, I just so happen to meet you and who knows. Was it fate?”

You spot the teasing tone of his voice immediately and you shove him lightly as you start to approach your apartment building. “You’re an ass,” you tell him, giggling as you try and pull your keys from your pocket, fingers fumbling and they drop to the ground with a clang.

You both reach down at the same time, heads knocking together and you can’t stop yourself from laughing. Laughing so much your chest aches with it and you can’t breathe, tears pricking the corner of your eyes and you glance over and Frankie’s no better, clutching his stomach as you both sit on the ground around your fallen keys.

“We’re a fucking mess,” you manage to get out between left over laughter and catching your breath.

Frankie lets out a loud breath, trying to calm himself and he nods in agreement. Picking up the keys, he hands them to you and stands, offering you a hand that you gladly take and try to steady yourself once you’re safely back on your feet.

“You alright?” He asks, running his hands over your hair and brushing at the crown of your head. As if he’s inspecting you for any injuries and you hold your breath.

The best you can manage is a nod, eyes flicking to meet his and you search them for any sign that he’s feeling exactly what you are.

He is. Expressive brown eyes that tell you everything you need to know.

Frankie sighs, pulling his hands back from your face and groans. Kicking at the pavement and mumbling quietly to himself.

Has the moment passed? Did you not react how he was expecting?

Turning back to you, he gives you a self-deprecating smile. “We’re drunk,” he explains. His tone is apologetic and you wonder why he’s saying the words if he feels bad about them in the first place.

“Maybe a little,” you agree. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t had, what I’m sure is, a much better date than I would’ve if that guy had shown up.”

You can tell your words mean something to him. It’s like he’s got this loose energy that he doesn’t know what to do with. Like he wants to shout and scream and run down the street. It makes you want to know more about him- what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.

Bouncing on his toes, Frankie hurriedly pulls out his phone from his front pocket and hands it to you. “I wanna see you again. Put your number in there?”

The phone is old. Flip-phone old and you laugh as you figure out how to program your number in there, adding your name along with a smiley face at the end before handing it back over to him.

“I had a really great time tonight, Frankie,” you promise him, fiddling with your keys. “Thank you for saving me from what was probably going to be a terrible night.”

“Me too,” he agrees, pursing his lips.

It’s like he’s deciding his next move and it catches you off guard when he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek.

Once there’s a fair amount of distance between you, Frankie heads down the sidewalk and waves. “I’ll call you,” he tells you, calling over his shoulder.

“You better,” you yell back.

Your grin is huge and you’re sure he can see it, even as he continues to walk backwards, watching you, and he disappears into the night.

---

Frankie calls the next day.

Phone numbers that weren’t saved in your address book were usually sent straight to voicemail but there was a nagging feeling deep in your gut to just answer it so you move to the edge of the sidewalk and out of the crowd and pick up.

“Hello?”

You catch a sigh and Frankie’s voice sounds over the speaker, bringing a smile to your face instantly. “Hey, it’s uh. Frankie. From the bar last night?”

Laughing a little, you nod to yourself. “Yeah. I remember you. Almost knocked me out when we bumped heads trying to pick up my keys.”

“Oh good,” he sounds relieved and you glance around as you wait for him to speak again, hoping the conversation was more than just chit-chat. “I know we just saw each other yesterday but I was wondering if I could see you again. Tonight maybe? If you don’t have plans. It’s fine if you do, I just thought I’d ask.”

He’s rushing through his words and you can tell instantly that he’s had to psych himself up to call you from his nervous tone through the receiver.

You don’t have plans and you’re more than eager to see Frankie again. Wondering if last night was a fluke and hoping that it wasn’t. Relationships weren’t your forte but maybe this was the exceptiontion. He was the exception.

“Yeah, I’d really like that Frankie. Just wanna meet me outside of my building around 7?” You chew on your lip nervously.

“Yeah,” he tells you. “That- that would be great. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” you chuckle. “Bye Frankie.”

“Bye.”

Suddenly thankful that you were done running your errands for the day, you headed back home with a grin on your face that didn’t seem like it wanted to leave. Cheeks aching, you wondered what and if he had anything planned.

It had been too long since you’d gone on any sort of date. A real date; something planned and thought out unlike the blind dates you were used to. Frankie didn’t seem the type for a typical dinner and a movie, and something about that idea had you even more excited to see him. Everything about the situation with him was unpredictable: the chance meeting at the bar, to the walk home where you laughed harder than you could remember. There was clearly something there between the two of you and it was exhilarating.

The rest of your day was spent cleaning and daydreaming about the night you might have with Frankie. You wondered if this was how it was supposed to feel when you liked someone. The concept was foreign to you, your relationship history basically nonexistent. Was it possible that he was just as nervous as you were?

As 7pm rolled around, a text sounded over your phone and you leaned over on the counter to see Frankie telling you he was outside. Grabbing a light coat on your way out, you took a deep breath and locked the door behind you. No turning back now.

Frankie was dressed similarly to last night. Jeans, a t-shirt and a tan jacket that looked like it’d seen better days. His hat was missing and his hair looked soft, the ends curling around his ears. You greeted him with a smile as you walked out of your building and he nodded, rocking back on his feet.

“This isn’t weird, is it?” He asks, nodding his head as you both started to walk left down the sidewalk. “The fact that we met last night and we’re seeing each other again?”

You chuckled, “It’s weird in the sense that I’ve never done this before. Any of it. But no, to answer your question. I wanted to see you again and I am, so.” Shrugging, you turn to listen to him as you both continue to walk, keeping to the side.

“Yeah, me too. I mean, I’ve met people in bars. Women. But it’s usually a one night kind of thing-,” Frankie stops himself and groans, running a hand down his face in embarrassment. “That sounds bad. Fuck.”

“Ain’t no shame in the game, Frankie. I’m not here to judge you,” you promise, pausing as you wait for the crosswalk sign to turn white so you can cross the street. “Where are we going, by the way?”

Frankie waits to answer until you’re both safely across the street and heading further into downtown, the crowds getting thicker and you push yourself against his side so as not to lose him. His arm finds its way across your shoulders to keep you close and he answers, leaning his head down closer to your ear. “There’s this bar and arcade thing down a couple more blocks that I figured we could spend some time at. Maybe head to the park after that and walk around. See where the night takes us?”

It’s easy to tell he hasn’t quite planned this out and something about that makes your heart race. He really had just wanted to see you, planning this as he goes only so you can spend more time together.

“The park can get a little murder-like late at night,” you point out with a laugh,

“That’s true. Well, we can always just see where the night takes us after we play a couple of games then if that’s alright?”

“That’s the part where you’re supposed to tell me you’ll protect me,” you poke a finger into his side and laugh. “But yeah of course, Frankie. Whatever you wanna do,” you reassure him. “I’m just along for the ride.”

The bar slash arcade was… something. You weren’t sure what you were expecting but it wasn’t what you walked into. The building was packed to the brim; loud noises, slots and different game noises sounding from every corner, and a small bar was tucked in the left corner with a tv playing what looked like The Shining above it.

“Have you been here before?” You raise your voice, balancing yourself on his shoulder to get closer to his ear.

He nods shouting back, “Yeah, once. Came with a couple of buddies of mine. They’ve got some cool retro games in the back that we used to play as a kid. Everyone loves air hockey too, right?”

You can see the air hockey table he’s referring to. The black light makes everything under the table glow and it reminds you of the arcades off of food courts that most malls used to have. The skeptical feeling you had when walking in seems to fade away and suddenly you’re excited, wondering why you hadn’t been here before when it was so close to your apartment to begin with.

“Once the table clears, I wanna play,” you say, tugging Frankie towards the back where you see a racing game that looks familiar.

Frankie exchanges a few bills for tokens while you hold the two racing games and once he’s slid in the appropriate amount, it’s immediately turned into a competition.

As the screen starts to countdown to your race, you turn to him quickly with a proposition. “If I win, you buy me a beer.”

“I was gonna buy you one anyway,” he tells you, shaking his head as if he’d do anything less. “But alright. If I win, you have to give me a kiss right here.”

He annoyingly points to the empty spot on his jaw where his facial hair didn’t seem to grow, that you had drunkenly pointed out the night before, and you can’t help the loud bark of laughter that escapes your lips as you quickly nod. “Deal.”

You’re almost tempted to lose once the race starts, just so you can kiss him there. But deep in your gut you feel like there’ll be plenty of opportunities to kiss him there in the future so you don’t hold back. The routes feel familiar as you and Frankie virtually drive through them and you’re sure you’ve played this game before, years ago.

As you both reach the last lap and the finish line, you just barely win and pump your fists as you cross. The screen declares you the winner in big font, a trophy spinning in circles and you turn to Frankie. “So, about that beer.”

You two end up at the bar for a little over an hour. The barstools surrounding the area are a hot commodity and once you and Frankie are sat down, you’re reluctant to give them up, especially with the bartender keeping your drinks filled without having to ask.

Frankie tells you about his friends. Benny, Will, and Santiago. How they’ve kept him going since returning back to civilian life. He says they’re all one big support group to each other, knowing that even if it feels like there’s no one you could count on, one of them is always around. There’s a tightness to his voice when he talks about them, like he can’t believe his luck that he has such supportive friends. The clear despair on his face has your chest aching, and you squeeze his hand in comfort.

It makes you yearn for a friendship like that. Most of your friends are married and it’s harder to relate to them when you’re single and living in the city while they’re still living in your hometown with a couple of kids. You tell Frankie as much and he sympathizes and points out that you have at least one friend in the city now, shaking off the emotions of such a heavy conversation.

“Looks like the air hockey table is free,” you nod, seeing the table free for the first time that night.

Frankie nods, standing up to grab his wallet. “You grab the table, I’m gonna close out the tab.”

You quickly walk over, grabbing the two handles and knock a few tokens into the machine when the lime green puck pops out. Frankie joins you a few seconds later, grabbing his handle and standing opposite you.

“So, what are we competing for this time?”

You think for a moment, “Well, I don’t think I need another drink. What about if I win, you have to cook me dinner sometime this week? Maybe Wednesday?”

Frankie seems taken aback by your suggestion but readily agrees. “I can do that. And if I win, you have to cook me breakfast Thursday morning.”

His offer isn’t lost on you and you toss the puck onto the table with a smirk as the air starts to push it around. “You’re on.”

The match is filled with trash talk as you two play. You even manage to gather a small crowd of people around you, cheering you both on. It’s close. For every point you get, Frankie’s one step behind you. Your wrist is starting to ache and the countdown starts on the side, signaling the end of your game in the next 30 seconds.

“You’re gonna lose, Frankie,” you taunt, scoring another point and he tosses the puck back on the table and shoots it towards you as you block it, sending it back across the table.

Except you lose. By a point.

There are cheers for Frankie and slaps on the back as another couple takes over the table and you both move to the side to watch.

“I can’t say I’m all that mad that I lost,” you tell him honestly, glancing up and locking your eyes with his own deep, brown ones.

“It was kind of a win-win for both of us either way,” he agrees, nudging his arm with yours. “So, another date Wednesday night?”

You nod quickly, “Sounds perfect.”

--- Frankie walks you home a few hours later.

After the arcade, you both grab slices of pizza from a small place down the block and walk around, grease staining your fingers and tongues burnt from being so hungry.

Most people are tucking themselves back into their beds at the late hour, your watch showing it was coming up on 2am as you both approach your building.

“A successful first date, I think,” you turn to him, arms wrapped around yourself as the wind turns cold around you. You sniff as your nose starts to drip, scrunching it up and Frankie laughs.

“I think you’re right,” he agrees, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you against chest in a hug.

You savor the warmth as you press your cheek against him, then turn your head. “I should go inside. And you should head home, it’s so fucking late.”

Untangling yourselves, Frankie shoves his hands into his pockets and knocks his arm against yours. “I’ll see you Wednesday?”

Nodding quickly, Frankie shoots you a smile and turns, jogging across the street to where his truck is parked.

It’s like seeing him walk away pushes something inside you, itching to see him just once more and you call out to him quickly before he can get in his truck, “Frankie! Wait! I forgot something!”

He turns to watch you run across the street as he stands in front of the driver’s side door, looking at you curiously once you’re stood in front of him.

“What did you forget?”

“This.” And you lean over to press a kiss to the bare spot along his jaw, the sparse hair around it tickling your lips and you pull away with a grin.

Turning to glance both ways before crossing the street you call behind you, “Goodnight Frankie!”

NEXT CHAPTER

#frankie 'catfish' morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie 'catfish' morales x reader #triple frontier fic #tom doesn't exist lmao #my writing #take on the world

[actuallysaiyan]

Question how's that future trunks sfw aplabet also have you done Sasuke sfw alphabet

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Trunks is such a sweetie. He’s super affectionate and he’ll show you affection in the most typical ways. It’s always a hug, a high five or a kiss on the cheek with Trunks. He just wants to make you smile, and he’ll always do nice things for you. He’s big on physical touch, but he’s not opposed to acts of service as well.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Trunks would be the ultimate best friend. He’d treat you right, he’d never tell your secrets and he’d always be up for hanging out and having fun together. He’s never going to argue with you over petty things, and he’s always going to want to be positive and have lots of fun.

The friendship would probably start if you meet him through his parents or the other Z fighters. Outside of that, it could be a chance meeting.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Trunks adores cuddling. The sensation of having someone he loves that close to him makes him feel so safe and secure. He needs to have your warmth close to him, it helps him sleep at night. He would wrap his arms around you, bringing you so close that you’re almost on top of him. Then he’d kiss you and play with you hair.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Trunks isn’t against settling down, but he does worry that maybe his presence could bring other enemies around. He’d love to be able to have comfortable life with his sweetheart, but it’s a bit of a risk with Trunks. He’s not amazing at cooking or cleaning, but he’s willing to do his part and he’s more than willing to learn how to cook so he can feed you.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

This is something that would completely wreck Trunks emotionally. He can’t handle saying goodbye to someone like this, so he’d have a really hard time letting you down. It would be heartbreaking and hurtful, and he would probably cry.

He’d probably ask to talk to you privately, but it would be so hard for him to tell you exactly what he’s trying to say. It would come out eventually, but he would be so heartbroken and he’d hate to see your reaction.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

It wouldn’t take Trunks too long to want to settle down and get married, but he wants to get to know you first and truly understand you before he even considers it. He looks at his parents' marriage, and while they seem happy now, it was a little rocky at first. He needs to be sure that you’ll both be happy before getting married.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Trunks is so gentle. He loves caressing you and tenderly brushing stray hairs from your face before he leans in to kiss you. He’s always got his hand on you, just making sure you’re okay or that you know you’re loved. He’s also very gentle emotionally and would rather talk things out with you rather than fighting or arguing.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Trunks adores hugs! He’ll hug you any chance he gets, but mostly when he comes back from fighting enemies or training. His hugs are warm, deep and drawn out. He likes to take you into his arms so that your face is nuzzled into his chest. He’ll soothe his hands up and down your back and just tell you that he loves you.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Awhh, it doesn’t take him that long to confess his love. Once he’s feeling this way, he’ll shyly confess to you. He’ll be all timid and red faced, hoping you love him just the same. It’s adorable and you can’t help but kiss him and tell him you feel the same way.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Trunks hates feeling jealous, but it is something that happens to him if he sees someone hitting on you. It creeps up on him, and he feels like his father all of a sudden. He becomes filled with rage, and he will wrap his arms around you and snatch you away from this person. Sometimes, he may pull you in for a deep and passionate kiss right in front of them too.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses are usually soft, sweet and a little chaste. But they can also be passionate, hungry and wanting. They leave you breathless and you are dizzy. He loves to kiss you on the lips, the forehead and some more private places when he’s feeling intimate. Trunks enjoys being kissed on the lips, the neck and the inner thighs.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Trunks is so good with children. He loves children and will help keep them safe and teach them all kinds of things. He was even good with his past self as a baby, so it’s safe to say he would enjoy having his own kids one day.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Trunks will wake up before you, and he will cook a small breakfast for you while getting coffee ready. He sets out to train, and he lets you sleep in. When you get up, he’s there waiting for you and serves you your reheated breakfast with a kiss. Then, he showers with you and spends the day cuddling or doing some small chores.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

When Trunks returns home and so do you, you both love to unwind with a nice dinner and some wine maybe. Then, he likes to give you a body massage, that may turn into something more intimate if you let it. Afterwards, you both love watching your favorite TV shows together and falling asleep in each other’s arms.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

It may take Trunks a little while to tell you everything about himself, and that’s just because the guy does have a lot of emotional baggage. He would hate to dump every single problem he’s had on you, and he wants you to feel comfortable with him. So, he’ll tell you things from time to time, and on some days when he’s feeling vulnerable, he might confess different things to you.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Trunks has good patience, but he is his father’s son, so sometimes that patience is tested and it could go very badly. He does everything he can to keep it under wraps, especially around you. He doesn’t want to be like his father in that way.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Trunks remembers little things that you’ve said in passing, right down to your third favorite color or the things you love to do at Christmastime. It’s not seldom that he shows up with little gifts that commemorate something you’ve said was a favorite of yours. He loves listening to you talk, and he never forgets any details.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Trunks’ favorite memory is when you both confessed to each other. The way your eyes seemed to sparkle when he told you that he loves you, and the feeling of his stomach flipping over and over...he thought he might puke. But when you leaned up to kiss him, it was the best feeling in the whole world.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Trunks would do anything to protect you. He knows he’s a target to some of the villains in the galaxy, so he would never let anything bad happen to you. He’ll fight anyone who wants to hurt you or give you shit. Trunks wouldn’t mind if you wanted to protect him, but he wouldn’t want you to get hurt if that were to happen.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Trunks tries his best to put lots of efforts into dates and things like that, but sometimes training and fighting gets in the way of things. No matter what, he’ll always treasure your anniversary and unless someone is blowing up the planet, you know he’s going to have something planned for that special day.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Trunks can have a pridefulness and a temper that matches his fathers, and he absolutely hates it that he can get that way. He wants to be a nice and kind person, but his Saiyan blood makes him act that way from time to time. Please forgive him when he does.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He doesn’t really care all that much about looks, but he does enjoy a partner that is willing to put some effort into their hygiene and the way they look. If you dress up for a fancy date, Trunks will be all over you. It doesn’t have to be much, but he always will appreciate the effort.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Trunks would be so lost without you. He needs you by his side to remind him of how good of a person he is. It’s hard for him to keep thinking that he is a good person from time to time, and you always remind him of that fact. He loves you and couldn’t bear being without you.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Trunks is someone who loves to play video games and he gets quite competitive. He’s never really grown out of that, and he would absolutely love it if you challenged him to a two-player game. It would make his night.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Trunks doesn’t like liars, people who are inconsiderate of others feelings and people who are just out to hurt others. He doesn’t like how some people have such hatred in their hearts and can’t control it.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Trunks is a big cuddler, and he needs to have his arms wrapped around you to sleep soundly. It feels good to have you near, and the way you smell is so comforting to him. It makes him feel safe and secure knowing that you are near him.

#writing #reader requested #cutelittleriot #future trunks x you #future trunks x y/n #future trunks x reader #dragon ball #dragon ball z #dragon ball x reader #future trunks alphabet #future trunks fluff #fluffy alphabet

[x0401x]

Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun: Ghost Hotel’s Café (Part 2)

Revealing the secrets of the menu, such as “crushing muffins so they will look like earth”! Interview with the staff of Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun GHOST HOTEL’S CAFÉ.

GHOST HOTEL’S CAFÉ, the collaboration café of “Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun” – an on-going manga from Monthly G Fantasy (Square-Enix) by Aida Iro-sensei –, was held in Ikebukuro, Tokyo at AniPara CAFÉ for a limited period from December 5 to February 11. Here, we have carried out an interview with the staff behind the planning and production of “Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun”. We have discussed things in detail, from the background of the collaboration café’s presentation to the public to the secret stories behind the development of the food and drinks that reflect ideas from the author, Aida Iro-sensei!

Interviewees

Square-Enix café organizer: Ookubo Kana-san

Square-Enix editor in charge of “Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun”: Imanishi Chiharu-san

Grounding Lab café planner: Andou Minako-san

Grounding Lab café planner: Nakayama Natsuko-san

Andmowa café menu creator: Aizawa Kanto-san

AniPara CAFÉ manager and menu creator: Shirato Kouhei-san

The collaboration café of “Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun” is entirely supervised by AidaIro-sensei!

——How was it decided that “Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun” would have a collaboration café?

Ookubo: The cue was that, while the café planning members were talking about what café to hold next, we were introduced to “Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun” as the most highly recommended title of our company.

Andou: There are a lot of young people in the staff of AniPara CAFÉ and most of them knew “Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun”, so by the time SquaEni-san talked to us about it, we gave them the one-sentence reply of, “By all means!” and asked them to let us do it. *laughs*

——This is the third time that “Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun” earns a collaboration café, so how were the fans’ reactions?

Imanishi: Since this is the third time, there were many reactions of concern about the very concept of “how will it turn out next?”. Thankfully, the responses were good and we received many warm messages such as “it was fun”!

——How was AidaIro-sensei’s reaction when it was decided that yet another collaboration café would be held?

Imanishi: They were very pleased. An event that the readers can enjoy is a rare opportunity, so they were hyped about many things, such as, “I wonder what we will do~!” and, “How about this?” (laughs).

——The theme of the collaboration café is a “ghost hotel” this time. How was it conceived?

Ookubo: This time’s theme was proposed by AidaIro-sensei.

Imanishi: In the first time, I think it is orthodox that the characters are made into café waiters, but since this is the third one, Sensei suggested that they felt like displaying them in yet another a different light, and that they wanted to make it so that both the people who would be attending for the first time and the people who had already attended before would be able to enjoy it in a brand-new way.

G Fantasy carries out a project of giving away color spreads as presents every year along with the commemorative issue of its launching, and the theme for the color spread of “Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun” on the 25th anniversary was “ghost hotel”. There was also the fact that the readers’ response to it was very positive, so Aida Iro-sensei decided, “Let’s go with a ghost hotel this time!”.

When it comes to “Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun”, you cannot miss out on ●●●!

——Did you get any menu or decoration suggestions from Sensei?

Ookubo: They granted us the base ideas of the menu and supervised the whole thing. They also chose the names of all the menu items. Writing “holy” in English was one of Sensei’s ideas. *laughs*

——The shop’s interior has a wonderful decoration perfectly fitting of a “ghost hotel”, with spider webs and mini characters hiding everywhere.

Andou: When we were thinking about how to reproduce the worldview depicted by AidaIro-sensei, we thought it was perfect... so we left it there (laughs)!

Ookubo: That spider web is amazing, isn’t it? The first time I looked at it, I thought it was a perfect fit for the café’s mood!

——The BGM that plays inside the shop is also a perfect fit for a “ghost hotel”.

Ookubo: We choose after listening to lots of tracks, so hearing that makes me happy! This time, Sensei gave us proper suggestions regarding the worldview, so the interior design parts were easy to picture.

Imanishi: There is a fun to it that is similar to riding on a horror attraction, even if you are inside a café. I think we were able to create this atmosphere exactly because its worldview is solid.

Ookubo: Also, since this is “Toilet-Bound Hanako-kun”, we would like everyone to check the toilets, by all means! I want people to see at least this with their own eyes.

——The toilet is a checkpoint that people cannot skip. The illustrations for the café were made by AidaIro-sensei this time too, but do the numbers written on the keys of each character have a meaning?

Imanishi: In this thematic setting, the employees (the characters) live and work in the ghost hotel. The numbers on the keys are the numbers of the rooms where the employees live, and they increase like 1, 2, 3... when you see them lined up in order, you will know who is whose neighbor and which of them are in the floors below or above. This is linked to the nature of the characters’ relationships, so please give it a check.

——Sensei did not just write the story but also story cards.

Imanishi: There might be people amongst the readers of G Fantasy who know about the 25th anniversary illustration, but I believe most of them will be seeing it for the first time. Since it could be difficult to understand what the story of this ghost hotel is and what the characters are doing, so we introduce them in the story cards and in-store PV. This method is easy even on people visiting for the first time, so we would like them to come hang out with friends here (laughs).

Aizawa: Quite a lot of the people who come to the shop are young, and on Sundays, it is not rare for families to fill up the seats. Amongst them, we have received a call from a father who had never been to a collaboration café before, telling us, “I want to make a reservation for my daughter; how do I do it?” and we have also been asked, “My daughter wants your goods; are they still not sold-out?”.

Andou: We have also been told, “I’ll save up my allowance to go there!”. Hearing things like these makes me think that it is great that we managed to implement a wonderful café, and I want people to enjoy it by any means.

“We crush the muffins to make them look like earth.” “The pot-au-feu is always chamfered.” – The secret stories behind the cooking of the collaboration menu are revealed!

——You have quite a quirky menu, with things such as the “GHOST HOTEL’S CAFÉ Afternoon Tea”, which comes with a written invitation to the Ghost Hotel; Hanako-kun’s favorite food, the “Hanako-kun Floaty Doughnuts”; the shinny “Mokke’s Delightful Candy Cake”, which is modeled after candies, Mokke’s stable food.

Andou: “Mokke’s Delightful Candy Cake” is quite a painstaking piece of work...! Of course, it is delicious, but I think being able to have fun taking pictures of cute food is a point that everyone looks forward to in a collaboration café, so we prepared a menu that everybody would be able to enjoy from their eyes too. When we were planning it out, we had about thirty suggestions for the menu in total, and from there, the team narrowed them down through discussions until the menu took the form it has now.

Nakayama: When it comes to Mokke, I think the image that comes to mind is of candies, do after a bit of devising, I came up with a cake that looks like candy. I am happy that, thankfully, the fans also had positive reactions to it!

——The “Edible Plots of Nene from the Gardening Club” shows quite a bit of uniqueness. Having a dessert inside a vase had a lot of impact.

Ookubo: The “Edible Plots of Nene from the Gardening Club” consists of muffins in flower vases, and the sight of the vases lined up in rows in the kitchen is quite surreal (laughs).

Shiratsuchi: We crushed chocolate muffins for them to look like earth and made them dirt-like. As a cook, I am also conflicted as to whether it tastes good to eat it like that, so while obsessing over the reproduction of its appearance, I break muffins into pieces every day, in order to combine them with a definite deliciousness.

——(Laughs) “Nene’s R•A•D•I•S•H Pot-au-Feu” is a warm and comforting dish, perfectly fitting for this time of the year.

Imanishi: This is actually the menu item that requires the most work out of the other collaboration foods.

Ookubo: The radish used in “Nene’s R•A•D•I•S•H Pot-au-Feu” is not a ready-made one that we warm up, and instead we cook the radish in the shop every day. On top of that, since the ingredients do not absorb the taste when cooked in the normal way, we chamfer (thinly scraping a vegetable so that it will take a round shape) the radishes one by one, so this is a menu item that takes up a lot of time. It costs 880¥, so when people ask, “Is this the quality of a collaboration café?”, I think it is in the good sense (laughs).

——My! The people who visit the shop should totally try this out, then.

Aizawa: We want them to! This desire is quite strong in us, but since it is a hassle to prepare that menu item, it would be a problem if too many people ordered it (laughs).

Shiratsuchi: While I was happy that everyone said, “It’s delicious~” during the sample food meeting, this item made me think, “I might’ve created something terrible (in a laborious sense)” (laughs).

All: (Laugh).

Ookubo: The cooking team really created the collaboration menu with a lot of passion. We make the crust for the “Clock-Keeper’s Tart ~with fruits~”, which is from the latter half of the menu, by hand every day in the shop. We fill it up with layers of berries, chocolate cream and wiped cream one after another... It gives us so much work that it could make people think, “Are you really serving this at a collaboration café?!”. I believe that even people who have only ever been to regular cafés and never to a collaboration one can also enjoy it.

Imanishi: The menu for the latter half of the collaboration has quirky and cute items, such as the “Mad-Risky Soup”, as in a “pretty dangerous” soup, and a limited number of the “Pipe Dream Cake”, so I think anyone can enjoy it, be it the people who visited during the first half or the people who are visiting for the first time during the latter half.

By the way, AidaIro-sensei’s top recommendation was “Kou’s Specialty Omelet Rice”! This rice omelet has caponata (boiling of fried eggplant) inside, so the flavor is unlike that of any other collaboration café. The fact that these secret gems exist is part of the wonderful levels of consideration from the cooks’ side.

——All the foods looked delicious, and every drink was wonderful too, so I was indecisive about which ones to order.

Ookubo: “Nene’s Welcome Cocktail” is also in the story that AidaIro-sensei posted on Twitter before the café’s opening. I recommend it as the first drink to the people who are visiting the collaboration café for the first time.

——By the way, are there any menu items that were rejected?

Nakayama: There was a legendary menu item named “Hanitarou Sandwich”, right?

Imanishi: There was! There is a character named Akane-kun who uses a haniwa as a protection charm, and I suggested a meal based on him – a “haniwa” coppe bread.

During the planning stages, I thought it was possible and tried reproducing it, but the cost turned out pretty high and its appearance was a haniwa through and through (laughs), so I wondered if anyone would order that... There was also the fact that Akane-kun is not much of a “haniwa stan”, so it became a legendary menu item (laughs).

Andou: I had suggested “Hanako-kun’s Doughnut” with the image of a school cap at first, but then the talk turned into, “Rather than a hat, I want it to have the appearance of a cute and tasty-looking doughnut”, so the cap version was rejected.

Ookubo: I also tried to produce a book-shaped cake, with the image of Tsuchigomori-sensei’s Four O’clock Library, but it seemed the price value would be too expensive, so it was unfortunately rejected.

——So there were menu items that were cast aside as “legendary” ones! This means you have created quite a number of items, but how do you come up with those ideas?

Nakayama: We were already collecting information from Instagram and Twitter and analyzing what the costumers were after. We deepened the conceptions from there to plan out the menu a lot.

Andou: Also, we think first-thing about what will be suitable for the costumers’ age range. In these occasions, rather than thinking about it as the menu of a collaboration café, we tried coming up with tasty-looking stuff as a regular food and drinks menu, and from that point, we created many things that drew close to the characters.

——It seems you were very conscious of the “showiness” of several menu items this time, so is “showiness” an indispensable element for your needs?

Andou: That’s right. Of course, the menu has to be delicious, but I think that, if it also turns out good for taking pictures, it will be posted on Instagram and Twitter, and become a cue for the fans to interact. The people who know the series will obviously do that, but I would be happy if this menu could become a trigger for even the people who don’t know it to talk about it, like, “That’s wonderful”, “What series is this?”.

Ookubo: We believe that the collaboration café’s menu is important for the original work’s side as well, so we take many requests, such as, “I want you to make this kind of dish” and, “I want to put this illustration card on it”, and the side that plans out the cooking does their best to give them form, so a wonderful menu is birthed every time, and as a result, it turns out as something that the fans can enjoy.

——It seems the people who will visit the store are quite young, so have you devised anything for the flavors?

Aizawa: We added a bit more variety to the taste of “Nene and Mokke’s Broccoli Gratin XD” during the planning stages, but we reviewed it in order to make it match the palate of young people better.

Ookubo: The “Mokke Curry”, which appears in the latter half of the event, was a green curry at first, but we changed it into a normal curry so that it would match the young ones’ tastes.

——On the topic of creating menu items that suit the customers’ age group, were there any difficulties or things you obsessed over?

Aizawa: The biggest hardship in making the menu of a collaboration café is the items’ appearance. Even if we deepen their image, we often worry about how to bring out their colors.

We repeatedly have conflicts such as, “I have to use this ingredient for bringing out this color, but this ingredient doesn’t fit this menu. Then how do I reproduce this coloration?” so it’s a relief when we eat the finished products and calm down with a, “It’s surprisingly good now that I’ve given it a try!” (laugh). Also, when we are feeling confident, the ideas soon flash into mind, but when we are in a slump, we get distressed.

Shiratsuchi: There was also a difference of views between the cooks’ side and the original creators’ side, so there were times when we thought, “We’ve made something really good!”, the original creators would say, “This won’t do!” (laughs). In regards to the menu, it is purely an insight race, so it made us happy when good flashes of inspiration took form and received approval.

——Anything from this menu that gave you an especially hard time?

Aizawa: As expected, that would be “Nene’s R•A•D•I•S•H Pot-au-Feu”, which we talked about earlier (laughs).

——Lastly, please leave a message for the readers.

Imanishi: New menu items will be added in the latter half, so I believe it has turned out as a café that people can enjoy no matter how many times they come. We want them to eat, drink and have fun. Also, the coasters that they can earn by ordering foods and drinks have wonderful designs, so I hope people will take them as a memory, by all means. I think you will definitely enjoy it, so please come over!

Aizawa: There are many attractive menu items, so do not forget your cameras!

——Thank you very much!

#jibaku shounen hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun #hanakodaily #jshk #tbhk #hanako #hanako kun #yugi amane #yashiro nene #minamoto kou #minamoto teru #mitsuba sousuke #tsuchigomori #yugi tsukasa #akane aoi #aoi akane #nanamine sakura #hyuuga natsuhiko #aidairo #interview #pash #my translation

[reelwriter19]

A Better Man

Pairings: Erik Stevens X Black Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Implied smut, cursing

Word Count: 3241

“Sssshhh...Erik you have to stop yelling.” You pleaded with your husband as you struggled to get his oversized drunken frame through the front door.

Slurring every word, “Y/N, I DON’T CARE! These colonizers know who’s buildin’ this is!”

You shook your head and couldn’t help but smirk as Erik kicked his boots off and planted himself on the floor in the hallway like a toddler. It was LATE and you were exhausted, but you gave him a pass on this f**k boi behavior because his 35th birthday was in a few days and even though he’d never admit it, that number was messing with his head. So when the owner of the lounge called you personally to come pick him up at 1:45AM, you threw on a sweater, grabbed your keys and ran out the door.

Erik looked up from his stooper just in time to catch you undoing your bra in annoyance. “YES!!! My girls need to be free!”

“Wow…..goodnight Mr. Stevens.” Shaking your head as you walked away, he seemed to find his sea legs long enough to scurry after you, wrapping his arms around your middle and slowly creeping his hands up to ‘the girls’.

“Come on ma, let me hit. You know I sleep better after.”

His touch in this moment was making you weak, but as you turned your head to permit him a kiss, you were hit with a heavy dose of reality. Erik hadn’t drunk this heavily in a while, and the evidence of it was seeping through his pores and breath in the worst way. You turned to face him, now keeping him at arm's length.

“UGH...nigga let you hit?! I love you, but the last time we tried to have sex when you were this drunk, you fell asleep in me, during said process. Uh huh...nope, not tonight. The girls will be all yours tomorrow.”

The next morning you awoke to find Erik still fully clothed, knocked and snoring on the chaise lounge in your walk-in closet. He still smelled, but you were grateful for the fact that he wasn’t too drunk to remember how you felt about outside clothes on the bed. You kissed him on his forehead, got dressed and started making calls. You were throwing him a birthday party that night at the house. You had to confirm food drop offs with the caterers, pick up some balloons and grab one final gift to surprise him with the next day. His training made him really hard to surprise, but you knew he wouldn’t be expecting this.

You heard the shower turn off as you walked back into the house from your excursion. “Erik!” You hollered putting bags and what seemed like 100 balloons in a corner, making your way upstairs to the bedroom.  “Kia and Shuri will be here in a few hours to help me set up. I’m gonna need you out of here soo…”

Your words trailed off as your ebony Adonis emerged from the bathroom, towel low on his hips, scars glistening on his chest. He knew his power over you and now you were the one intoxicated. He raised an eyebrow as he slinked over to you ever so slowly, you, still frozen, allowing him access to begin undressing you without much of a fight.

“You were sayin’ somethin’?”

“Baby...I have so much to get done for the party.”

“I remember you saying that these right here were all...mine...today.” He started to pepper kisses across your chest and conveniently dropped his towel to the floor. Every task on your list quickly faded into the background. He was the soon to be birthday boy afterall. Who were you to deny him this gift?

-------

The house was filled with laughter and music. You sat on Erik’s lap with his arm wrapped snug around your waist as he and some of his boys laughed about stories from their days at MIT. You knew the majority of the people there, Erik always kept a tight circle. But there was one guy, Malik, from his days in foster care that he recently reconnected with that hadn’t made your acquaintance. He was mostly quiet throughout the night, sometimes too quiet, but you chalked that up to how he was raised. Knowing what your husband went through, bouncing from house to house, no one really caring if he lived or died, you always had a soft spot for the people he bonded with during those years, and Malik was one of them.

T’Challa walked over to the rowdy bunch in his usual stoic way, hiding something behind his back. Nakia stood next to him, beaming from ear to ear.

“Pardon me Y/N, gentlemen, but N’Jadaka, I have something that might interest you.” He revealed a black velvet cigar box with the word “Daka” embroidered on the top in gold. It was rare to shock this man, it was even more rare for T’Challa to pull a reaction from Erik that wasn’t sarcastic or flippant.

“Yooooo, T! You wild out man!”

Turning to you as Erik stood up, “Is that a good thing?”

Before you could reply, Shuri belted out a laugh from across the room and said, “Oh brotha! That’s a VERY good thing!”

Erik hugged T’Challa, which was enough to bring a tear to your eye, as the men clamoured for access to a cigar as they walked out on the balcony to light one and commemorate the occasion.

You and Nakia locked arms and laughed at the group as they ran outside as if hiding a porno tape from their mothers.

Turning to her, “Should I ask where you got those?”

“Let’s just say, they once belonged to a very bad man with many items that needed to be confiscated for...archiving. And now they have been gifted to a better man to celebrate his life and the passage of time.”

“Riiight. Well thank you, for everything. I really appreciate you guys. He’s been so down lately. I couldn’t have done this without your help. I’m gonna go get the cake ready while they’re out there.”

Walking towards the kitchen, you noticed Shuri trying to hide behind a few other guests that were deep in conversation in the dining room. Pausing, you didn’t even have to walk her way to know what she was up to.

“Shuri! Put that drink down right now!”

“Awww, Y/N come on! I thought we were cool. I just want a taste of this good American stuff.”

“Girl, your mother will kill me! Put it down and go find the candles for the cake.”

She stomped over to you and you grabbed her in a tight hug.

“You’re no fun, Y/N.”

“I love you too.”

You walked into the kitchen dancing and singing to yourself. “Tell Me” by Groove Theory was now playing through the speakers Erik insisted you guys have installed when you first brought the place. A few of the guests trickled out of the room as Erik’s friend Malik followed you in.

“Tell me if you want me to, give you all my time. I wanna make it GOOD FOR YOUUU!!!!”

You grabbed some plates and napkins from the cabinet and turned mid groove to find Malik standing a little too close. He was taller than your husband but his facial features were no comparison. Let’s be real, not many faces could compare.

“Oh my bad. I didn’t mean to scare you...I was just lookin’ for a garbage. Y’all recycle?”

“Yep, uuh, right there by the door.”

“Cool cool.” Walking over to discard his beer bottle, he turned back around and extended a hand to you. “Malik.”

Switching the plates to your left hand, you extended yours to shake his. “I know. Erik told me about you. He said you guys were like brothers growing up.”

“Yeah, that’s my dawg.” Licking his lips and taking you in a little too intensely, he continued his thought. “We always liked to share things when we were comin’ up.”

You snatched your hand back as Shuri walked in with the candles in hand, dancing to herself.

“Y/N, you have to make me a playlist of these songs for the lab!”

“I will, I promise.”

You walked towards her, grateful to your God and Bast that Shuri’s timing was so impeccable. As you handed her the other items and took the cake from the counter, Malik touched your butt and quickly left the kitchen.

Did he just grab my ASS?!

No, no, he didn’t, he couldn’t!

That nigga just grabbed by ASS!!

You stormed out of the kitchen ready to raise hell, but as soon as you did, a smiling Erik black man jogged towards you and greeted you with a kiss on the cheek.

“You good babe?”

Hands on his chest, gazing in to his bright eyes full of happiness and peace for the first time in a while, there was no way you could ruin this night.

“Yeah, yeah sweetie I’m ok. I was just looking for the candles that’s all. You ready for your cake?”

Nestling his face in your neck as he replied, leaving a wet kiss. “As long as I can have the rest of my dessert later.”

You giggled as his facial hair grazed your skin and planted a passionate kiss on his lips. You hoped that Malik was somewhere watching, being reminded of who the hell your man was and the imminent danger his life was in if he EVER decided to touch you again.

-------

“Aight aight, enough of this terrible singing...blow out the candles man!” One of Erik’s college friends yelled, causing everyone to erupt in laughter. Erik obliged and everyone cheered. He found his way right back to you, engulfing you in his embrace from behind.

“I wanna thank y’all for coming tonight, for real. To have everyone I care about in the same room celebrating me, it’s just, yeah…...I especially wanna thank my princess, my QUEEN who pulled this off without breaking a sweat. I love you, Y/N.”

Turning to face your man, you couldn’t stop cheesing, caressing his dimpled cheeks as he pecked your lips repeatedly.

“Damn, I guess this is what happens when a nigga gets old. Got me all emotional and shit! Shuri, turn that music back up!”

-------

The house had finally cleared of most guests, finally allowing you to put your fuzzy slippers on. You were saying your final goodbyes to T’Challa, Nakia, Shuri.

“Are you sure you don’t need Shuri to help you stay and clean up?” T joked as they walked towards the door.

“Haha! No it’s ok, really. There’s not much more to do. Thank you again. You really made his night.”

“It was our pleasure, Y/N.”

“Make sure you stop by before you head back to Wakanda.”

You closed the door and the newfound silence of your apartment caused you to immediately flash back to that moment in the kitchen with Malik. You had to make sure it got dealt with, but not tonight.

You walked out on the balcony to take in the night air. The life of a hostess was not easy and fatigue was hitting you like a ton of bricks. Out of nowhere, a massive hand smacked you on the butt, scaring the crap out of you. You turned to see it was Erik and not the filth who had violated your space earlier.

“Why you so jumpy girl?”

Attempting to gather yourself quickly and avoid his gaze, you brushed past him and went back into the living room. But as always, he was hot on your heels.

“I’m not E, damn! You just...I thought you were upstairs.”

“You only call me E when you’re annoyed at something or pissed at me, so what’s up?”

“Nothing ERIK, nothing. You’re just always on your sleath shit moving around this house and I wasn’t ready. I’m just tired, baby, that’s all.” Walking towards the steps, you prayed that was enough to hold him off for a bit.

“I’m gonna go change clothes. I left the cake on the counter if you want another slice. Cuz I know you want another slice.”

Whew! Home free, at least for now. You knew your nightly routine would at least give you some time away from him to think. Of course you’d tell him, eventually, but you knew Erik’s past too well to pretend that you weren’t fearful of what he’d do. You’d never be able to erase the sound of the guy's jaw breaking because he put his hands on you at the club when you first started dating. Or the time he threatened your old boss's life and family for overworking his ‘princess’ when you started having panic attacks because of your job. You weren’t at all scared of him, but you were scared of how this news would set him back.

You emerged from the bathroom, fresh faced and wearing Erik’s shirt, to find him perched on the corner of your enormous bed, cake in hand and staring at you. You playfully walked towards him planting yourself in between his legs.

“Can I have a piece?”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’ll just go get my own.”

“I ate it all before I came upstairs.”

“You better be lying.”

He wasn’t budging and you could tell his patience was starting to wane.

“Fine! Since you refuse to drop this.” You hesitated, backing away from him, bracing yourself for impact, but quickly decided to go another route. You walked to the closet and grabbed a small gift wrapped box from where you kept your extra tampons. He joked with you once that he’d be willing to buy them for you, but after that, you were on your own.

“I made us reservations for tomorrow night. I was going to give this to you then, but you’re so impatient.”

You handed over the box with a huge smile on your face, the giddiness now starting to set in.

Erik looked down at the box and back towards you, rubbing your thigh slowly.

“Well, open, open!”

He chuckled, finding your sudden excitement amusing. “Oh I’m the impatient one?”

He finally opened the box and pulled out a black dog tag necklace with the word ‘Baba’ inscribed on one side and a fingerprint on the other. Erik stared at the necklace in awe. When he finally looked up, he had tears in his eyes, which always made you full on cry.

“Happy Birthday! I’m pregnant. This is your father's fingerprint. I had Nakia do some digging to…”

Before you could get another word out, Erik’s lips were attached to yours. He lifted you off your feet bridal style and placed you on the bed as if moving too fast would break you. Erik made love to you as if it were the first time. Covering every inch of your body with attention to make sure you knew how appreciative he was of the best gift he could have ever asked for.

-------

You laid on your husband's chest, tracing his scars while his fingers made lazy circles along your stomach.

“How long have you known?”

“A few weeks.”

“Damn, I must’ve really been out of it.”

You smiled because him admitting it meant he was finally back.

“E…” You sat up, gathering the sheet around yourself to face him.

“What’s up?”

“Is it hot in here? Wow, i’m sweating.” You jumped up suddenly wrapped in the sheet to go open the window. Now pacing…Erik sat up fully and gave you a minute to process whatever the hell you refused to spit out from earlier.

“Y/N, talk to me.”

“Ok, Erik, listen. Before I tell you anything, I want you to remember that you’re about to be a father. And before I needed you but now it’s your family that needs you. You hear the difference there? We’re a family. And I have a doctors appointment tomorrow afternoon so now that you know I want you to come so you can meet the doctor and get used to…”

In his usual sleath-like manor, Erik had hoped out of bed to stop you from pacing. Once you finally turned around, you were face to chest with him. He lightly grabbed your chin and raised an inquisitive brow. You took a deep breath and finally blurted it out! By the time you finished recounting the story, Erik’s jaw was locked and his body frozen. At this point, you were sitting on the edge of the bed because, exhaustion.

“....I didn’t say anything earlier because you were so happy. Baby I hadn’t heard your laugh in such a long time. I also know how close the two of you used to be. I’m so sorry.”

Hearing that brought your husband back out of his daze. He knelt in front of you making sure your eyes were locked with his.

“Y/N, listen to me. You have nothing to be sorry for, do you hear me? You’re my whole world..” Touching your stomach, “Tonight you’ve managed to make that world even better. That nigga violated my trust and made you feel less than in your own body, in our house...f**k no.”

Erik was eerily calm. The man you knew would’ve been dressed at the part of the story with the handshake and in front of Malik’s house with you on speaker by the time you said, “...touched by ass.”

Instead, with a kiss to your forehead, he made the choice to lay back down. “It’s all good baby, let’s get some sleep.”

-------

The next day you awoke to an empty bed. You got dressed quickly and headed downstairs to find Erik in the kitchen making breakfast.

“Good morning beautiful.”

This was always one of your favorite sights. You stood behind him, wrapping him in a hug while he plated the cheese eggs and breathed him in.

“It’s your birthday Erik. I should be cooking for you.”

“Please...besides your doctor called and had to push your appointment up by an hour so eat up quick! I don’t wanna be late.”

You watched him run upstairs, still wondering who the hell this new guy was and what he did with Erik “the colonizers can kiss mine” Stevens.

He came back down, keys in hand, dog tag on next to his father's ring, sneakers and glasses on. Damn you loved when he wore those glasses. That’s probably how you got pregnant in the first place.

“You ready?”

“Yeah…” You put your plate in the dishwasher and grabbed your bag, walking towards the hallway with him.

“Baby? About our conversation last night. You’re not gonna do anything crazy are you?”

“Oh, you mean Malk?”

“Yes, Erik, that’s what I'm talking about”

“It’s already handled.”

“Erik...what did you do?! Didn’t we discuss this? FAMILY. BABY. Us NEEDING you to not get locked up or worse.”

“Relax, Y/N. I didn’t do anything personally.”

You breathed a small sigh of relief, but he wasn’t quite done. “...let’s just say no one will see him anywhere, EVER...AGAIN.”

“E! You can’t just go offing people at every whim, even if you do hire someone else to take care of it for you. That’s not what I meant.”

“Baby steps, ma. Baby steps.”

#erik stevens x reader #Erik killmonger x Reader #erik x reader #blacklove #marvel universe #reelwriter19 #oneshot #birthday #black panther

[fanfics4all]

Painless

Request: Yes / No 

Requests are closed <3 Have a nice day/night

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3200

Warnings: SCHOOL BOMBING, CURSING, it’s criminal minds so read at your own risk! 

Y/N: Your Name 

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 

Masterlist 

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

Another day at work. Another day of someone dead. I thought as I walked into the office. I saw everyone was already in the round table room and sighed. Another case. I put my stuff down at my desk and walked into the room. I took my seat next to my boyfriend Spencer and gave a smile at everyone. 

“Does anyone remember this picture?” Garcia asked, bringing up a picture of a man and a girl looking distressed. 

“Hotch and I were there. That’s Principal Doug Gavens. We had to drag him to safety.” Rossi said, making everyone look at him. 

“High school bombing in Boise, right?” Emily asked. 

“School shooter and school bomber.” JJ said and it triggered my memory. 

“A kid named Randy Slade shot three students and then set off an I.E.D. in the cafeteria via cell phone, killing himself and thirteen kids total, but not before posting all his plans online.” I said and Garcia nodded. 

“It was one of those “Where were you?” events. My whole campus was glued to the T.V..” JJ said. 

“Last night, Principal Givens was killed by a bomb modeled exactly like the old one.” Garcia said. 

“It feels like the unsub wants to attack the man who kept the school together after the bombing. It’s a pretty symbolic target.” Morgan said. 

“And this week is the tenth anniversary of the massacre.” Hotch said. 

“And today is the first day of a four day event to commemorate the bombing at the school.” Garcia said. 

“Except commemorating it isn’t enough for this unsub.” Emily said. 

“No. He wants to relive it.” Hotch said. We gathered our things and got on the plane. We were all sitting down and going over the case files. 

“Perpetrators of school violence are often sophisticated with their weapons. Randy Slade carried his bomb in his backpack. This guy hid his in Givens’ clock radio.” Spencer said. 

“Yeah, and progressive. Each one tries to top the body count of the one previous.”  

“And they’re loners by default, not by choice. They try to join various social groups, but they get shut out.” JJ said. 

“Randy Slade wasn’t a loner at all.” Hotch said. 

“The family cooperated fully with us. He was a high-functioning psychopath, straight-A student, varsity wrestler, lots of girlfriends.” Rossi said. 

“With an above-average intelligence that made him incredibly resourceful. His explosive of choice was Semtex.” I said looking at the files. 

“It’s found at demolition sites, but it’s held under lock and key.” Spencer said. 

“Which made us consider the possibility of a partner. Never found one.” Rossi said. 

“Slade was too much of a narcissist to share credit. But he was also an impulsive teen, which is what bothers me about this unsub.” Hotch said. 

“His sense of control?” Emily asked. 

“And the end game that he’s working toward.” Hotch answered with a nod. 

“Slade’s pathology revolved around the big kill. This unsub could have done the same if he’d waited for the candlelight vigil.” Hotch added. 

“Which means there’s no blaze of glory fantasy here. This unsub has more bombs made, and he’s savoring the anticipation of his next attack.” Rossi said. After we talked everyone moved to their own spots to think and relax before we had the hard work to do. I sat next to Spencer and smiled at him. 

“This poor town.” I said and he sighed. 

“I know, but the odds are against them in this situation.” He said and I nodded. 

“I know, but that doesn’t mean it sucks any less.” I said and he nodded. 

“It’s a hard thing to deal with.” He said. 

“Yeah…” I sighed. We tried to keep our minds on things that would help us, instead of how much people were hurting right now. 

As soon as we landed we dropped our stuff off at our hotel then split up. Hotch and Rossi went to the station with Emily and Morgan. Spencer, JJ and I went to the crime scene. We walked inside and it was a mess, not shocking though considering what happened. 

“Okay, so the unsub has to be tied to the school somehow, right?” JJ asked. 

“Current student, alumni, family member who lost someone…” I listed off. 

“It could be Slade groupies celebrating his hero. He taped nails to the exterior of the bomb, specifically to rip open flesh. That’s a sadistic detail of Slade’s the unsub copied.” Spencer said. 

“Except he tricked Givens into blowing himself up. A groupie probably wouldn’t show that much self-control.” JJ said. 

“But someone with an ax to grind against the principal would. Maybe he’s a surrogate for the tomenters in high school he can’t punish.” Spencer said. 

“Who were yours?” He asked us. 

“I don’t even remember.” JJ answered. 

“You don’t even remember? Wait, were you one of those mean girls?” Spencer questioned. 

“No.” JJ said. 

“Valedictorian, soccer scholarship, corn-fed, but still a size zero. I think that you might have been a mean girl.” Spencer said. 

“Spence.” I said. 

“I was actually one of the nice girls, even to guys like you.” JJ answered and I shook my head. There was no stopping this now. 

“Guys like me? I’ll have you know that my social standing increased once I started winning at basketball.” Spencer said, I always forget that he coached basketball. 

“Oh yeah? You played basketball?” JJ asked. 

“Actually he coached it.” I answered. 

“You coached it?” She asked. 

“Yeah, I broke down the opposing team’s shooting strategy.” He said. 

“Is that why Morgan kicked you two out of the pool last week?” She asked. 

“Yeah, it took him three rounds to realize we were hustling him.” I answered with a laugh. 

“Huh.” She said and we went back to looking at the crime scene. As soon as we were done looking we got a call about another murder. So we made our way there. The three of us looked around and JJ decided to call Hotch and tell him.

“You’re on speaker JJ.” Hotch answered. 

“So, we might have another one.” She said. 

“Might?” He asked. 

“One of the North Valley alumni was killed in her motel room.” She answered. 

“No bomb or gun this time. Looks like he used his bare hands.” I added. 

“You got a name?” Hotch asked. 

“Chelsea Grant.” Spencer answered. 

The next day Spencer and I returned to the crime scene with Hotch. It was good to come back and look at it with fresh eyes. 

“The unsub crushed Chelsea’s throat so she couldn’t scream, then he pulverized her ribs, sending fragments of bone into her heart.” Spencer said. 

“Principal Givens was high-profile. Chelsea wasn’t. Right now the only thing connecting them is they’re both on the kill list.” Hotch said. 

“A list that Brandon kept secret for ten years, but he was in custody when this happened. So the question is, how did the unsub get the exact same list?” I asked. 

“Well, we ruled out a partner, but not conclusively.” Hotch said. 

“Slade made every part of his plan public. It doesn’t make sense that he would hide a partner.” Spencer said. 

“He didn’t want to share the credit. And this weekend is the partner’s best chance to claim it.” Hotch said. 

“Let’s go back to the station, we have a profile to deliver.” He said and we followed him. 

When we got back to the station we gathered everyone up and we were ready to deliver the profile. 

“Partners of dominant psychopaths are usually submissive, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t be intelligent or that they’re physically weak.” Hotch said. 

“This unsub laid low after the bombing and successfully evaded police and FBI. That took cunning and patience, which he’s exhibiting now with his current murders.” Morgan said. 

“We think he fits the loner profile Slade debunked. He grew up in an abusive home, which kept him from forming the normal social bonds in high school.” JJ said. 

“We interviewed all the outcasts from back then. How did this guy slip through?” Chief Cole asked. 

“Even outcasts eventually form friendships. But this unsub was the outcast the outcasts rejected.” Spencer said. 

“Exactly, he won’t stand out in any capacity, and as a matter of fact, most of his fellow students probably won’t even remember graduating with him.” I said. 

“And that invisibility is what made him attractive to Slade. This partner wouldn’t steal the spotlight.” Rossi said. 

“Slade targeted the cafeteria because most of the names on his list ate there together during fifth period.” Spencer said. 

“So his hatred festered when the names on the list emerged from the cafeteria as media heroes. And now he wants to finish the job that Randy started.” Morgan said. 

“Emotionally, this weekend is more a high school reunion to him than a memorial. We go to reunions to show who we grew up to be. Often that means changing everything about who we were.” Rossi said. 

“Consciously or not, Randy Slade revealed clues as to his partner’s identity when he detonated his bomb. Agent Prentiss will be conducting cognitive interviews to see what the survivors might remember.” Hotch said. We answered a few questions the cops had then went on to try and work out who this guy could be. Emily was with the survivors now working on them. 

“So, as you can see from your board there, this kill list is weirdly similar to high school. 

“Group on is like the popular kids, prom court, football team, dean’s list. The Heathers, if you will.” Garcia said. 

“Kids in Slade’s social circle.” Hotch said. 

“What about number two?” JJ asked. 

“Uh, mmhmm, that would be the kids from the other side of the tracks, 180-degree difference, kids this close to getting kicked out, Stoners, burnouts, mental cases. Chelsea Grant is on this list.” Garcia said. 

“Maybe Slade targeted them because they disgusted him?” JJ asked while Spencer’s phone was ringing. We have been doing a lot of that since we got here. 

“But they didn’t threaten Slade’s sense of superiority. He wouldn’t have even cared about them.” Hotch said as we ignored Spencer’s phone. 

“So maybe the partner put them on the list. They’d be closer to his social status than Slade’s.” I said as Spencer’s phone stopped ringing. 

“Why would the-” Spencer was cut off by his phone ringing again. 

“I’m so sorry.” He said, taking his phone out and hung up. 

“Why would the unsub list kids that he fit in with?” Spencer asked, putting his phone away again. 

“Apparently that’s how this clique worked. The kids in it were meaner to each other than kids on the outside. Garcia, separate out all the kids who got into trouble regularly. Then eliminate the names that the partner put on the list. Now, who’s left that came to the memorial?” Hotch asked. 

“Right. Whoever made the list wouldn’t put their name on it. Uh… sir, I think- I think I’ve got him. His name is Lewis Ramsey.” Garcia said. 

“Where is he?” Hotch asked. 

“Uhh… According to his cell phone he’s at a local bar.” She answered. 

“Send it to Morgan’s phone.” Hotch ordered and called him. Morgan brought him in and him and Hotch started interviewing him. Once they were done they told the rest of us. 

“You buy it?” Emily asked. 

“He fits the profile, and the evidence points to him, but he seems sincere.” Hotch said. 

“He’s not the unsub. He was the partner, but look at how Slade added “All the losers in this Godforsaken school.” This capitalization isn’t an accident. Look.” Spencer said and wrote it on the white board. 

“L-S-R, Lewis Stuart Ramsey.” He said. 

“So Slade named his own partner.” I said. 

“Ironically, Lewis’ marijuana addiction saved his life.” He said with a nod. 

“Well, that puts us back to our original problem. If the unsub isn’t the partner, how did he get his hands on a list that Slade and Lewis kept to themselves?” I asked. 

“The only answer is that part of the profile is wrong. The unsub’s vendetta has nothing to do with the list. Did you get anything from Jerry Holtz?” Hotch asked Emily. 

“Only that he mixed up the cell phones that Slade used. It felt like he was making the story up, but I only had a hunch.” Emily said. 

“We need to find him now. There’s a connection to the victimology that we’re missing. Whatever he’s holding back might be the key.” Hotch said. We found Jerry, but he was dead. He was killed at the school. We made our way there and Emily met us there. 

“Jerry Holtz? How long?” She asked. 

“Less than an hour. Security guard heard the commotion, but the unsub was already gone.” JJ answered. 

“The only people who knew we were doing the cognitive interviews were the other survivors. The unsub must be part of that group.” Emily said. 

“Well, we don’t know that for a fact. He could have been lying in wait.” I said. 

“Look, Hotch wants me to go through the victims’ lives and find the overlaps. We can compare their histories with the unsub’s.” JJ said. 

“What else do we have to go on?” Emily asked, looking at Spencer and I.��

“Spence said the unsub would have broken his hand beating Chelsea to death. Did you notice anyone with a cast on their hand, someone who seemed hurt?” JJ asked. 

“No.” Emily shook her head. 

“I might know why.” Spencer said and we all looked at him. 

“This unsub doesn’t feel pain.” He said. 

“You mean he has pain asymbolia?” I asked and he nodded.

“We need to get back to the station. Spencer told them about his theorie and no one understood what he was saying.  

“In english for the other people in the room.” Morgan asked. 

“There’s a medical condition called pain asymbolia, where patients register harmful stimuli without being bothered by it. They’ve been documented holding their hand over an open flame because their brain doesn’t send pain signals to the central nervous system.” Spencer explained. 

“Sounds pretty rare. You sure the unsub has it?” Rossi asked. 

“The crime scenes prove it. Once Spencer said it, everything clicked. He displayed an unusual level of savagery towards his victims. And consider this, he smashed through a glass display case, but there were no cuts on Jerry. That means he most likely punched through it as a show of force.” I said. 

“Now, the only way the human body could withstand that level of pain is if he couldn’t feel it at all.” Spencer added. 

“It must take a major toll on someone’s emotional development.” Rossi said and Spencer’s phone rang… again. 

“A significant contributor to our sense of empathy is the way we personally experience pain.” Morgan said and Spencer silenced his phone again. 

“And the unsub didn’t develop his sense of empathy because it was cut off. Does every person with Asymbolia have this?” Hotch asked. 

“Actually, most feel empathy just fine, which makes me think the rest of our profile is still accurate. Loner, invisible, outcast, boiling rage- Son of a bitch!” Spencer said, pulling out his ringing cell phone and answered it. I notice Morgan trying to hide a smirk. 

“Hi! This is Dr. Spencer Reid. I actually can come to the phone right now with a very special message that your mother is-” 

“Reid.” Hotch cut him off and he hung up. 

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Where were we?” He asked, putting his phone away. 

“I’m going to have Garcia check medical records. Uh, what causes Asymbolia?” Hotch asked. 

“Ssss- Severe trauma produces lesions on the insular cortex, usually after a stroke but this unsub’s so young, it’s most likely caused by an external factor.” Spencer said looking at Morgan the whole time. 

“Like a bomb going off next to him?” Rossi asked. 

“Yeah, like a bomb going off next to him.” He repeated at Morgan. Morgan just smirked and Hotch walked off to talk to Garcia. 

“I will crush you.” Spencer whispered. 

“What?” Morgan asked. 

“What?” Spencer repeated and walked off. I looked at Rossi and shook my head with a smirk. 

“You two are seriously pranking each other while on a case?” I asked and Morgan just smiled. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said and I shook my head again. I swear these two… 

JJ and Emily came by a little later with some new information. JJ was rearranging some pictures on the board. We looked on with confusion. 

“Recognize the top ten?” JJ asked. 

“No.” Hotch answered. 

“They were the students that went in front of the cameras after the bombing.” She answered. 

“I thought all the surviving students were interviewed?” I asked.

“After the initial aftermath, yes, but these are the kids that went on talk shows, traveled to other schools. My guess is that they didn’t self-select who made the cut.” JJ said. 

“Principal Givens did.” Hotch said. 

“That’s why the unsub killed him first. He was an outcast who wanted to fit in. Being a survivor should have been his golden ticket.” She said. 

“But he was excluded again, and that’s why he’s killing them.” I said. 

“Yeah. The rules of high school never changed, not even after a tragedy.” JJ said. Hotch’s phone rang and he put it on speaker. 

“Go ahead, Garcia.” He said. 

“Hey, listen up. I crossed-referenced student files with medical records. Now, there were six kids that were knocked unconscious in that blast, but only one fit the outcast profile. His name is Robert Adams, and he just used his credit card at a local restaurant, the address of which I just sent you right now.” She said. 

“I’m on my way.” Hotch said looking at us. Hotch gathered everyone up and JJ and I stayed back. When they came back Robert wasn’t with them. Hotch had to shoot him, there was no other way this was going to end. Once we got everything sorted we got on the plane to go home. I was sitting next to Spencer, who was resting his head on my shoulder while I read a book. We were sitting across from Morgan and Emily, Morgan was listening to music and Emily was reading a paper. He took his headphones off and we heard Spencer screaming from them. 

“Okay, kid, that was cute. But that’s all you got?” Morgan asked him, he was very clearly pretending to be asleep. Morgan’s cell ran and he answered it. 

“Hey baby girl-” He was cut off by Spencer screaming coming through his phone. Spencer had a smile on his face and Rossi held up a white napkin. 

“Uh-uh. Alright, Reid, it’s on. Just know that paybacks are a bitch.” Morgan said. Spencer just responded with snoring. I shook my head at the two of them. 

“You started this Morgan, it’s your own fault.” I said with a slight laugh. 

“Of course you’re taking his side, Y/N.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Well I am dating him, so yes I’m taking his side.” I said and Rossi chuckled. 

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs @schisbro87 @lover-of-books-and-teas @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches2 @genius2050 @drw0301bieber @softgamerking @lady-of-lies @simonsbluee @ravenmoore14 @maynardqueen101 @pettyjayy​ @reidssmile​ @currentfangirl-futuremedexaminer 

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer x fem!reader #fanfic #criminal minds bingo 2020 #painless

[pheedraws]

Life Day

Pairing: (The tentative beginnings of) Din Djarin x Nova Reed (OC)

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: None, just pure festive cheese... 

A/N: So, uh... I don’t think I’ve finished a fic, let alone posted one anywhere, since 2014. I’m a lil rusty. But, I recently discovered I’ve been bitten by the Mando-writing bug and I physically cannot stop, so... for better or worse, here goes.

Takes place within the gap between Chapter 8 “Redemption” and Chapter 9 “The Marshal”. 

(I know Life Day is technically in November, but c’mon. It’s still festive.)

"What... is this?"

The Mandalorian studied the small box before him. It looked innocent enough; brightly wrapped, perched delicately on his seat in the Razor Crest's cockpit. There was no real reason for him to suspect the innocuous thing, yet he found himself puzzled by it all the same.

How did it get there?

The bounty hunter wracked his brain for an answer. It wasn't his name-day; in fact, he couldn't recall ever telling anyone his name-day...

So what was it?

"It's Life Day," his companion answered nonchalantly, not looking up from the blaster she was cleaning. "It's a gift."

"Life Day?"

"Yeah." She looked up from her work then, smiling warmly at the bounty hunter. "You know... Wookie festival, day of celebration..."

"I know what it is." His brows furrowed beneath the helmet. "I just... hadn't realised it was today."

Nova laughed, sweeping the loose screws on the table back into her toolkit, cursing under her breath when one bounced onto the floor and rolled out of sight. "I hadn't either- not until we visited the bazaar yesterday. We've been so busy lately; I lost all track of the date..."

The Mandalorian hummed in agreement. They hadn't stayed in one place for more than two days since... well, he couldn't recall. Their quest to find other Mandalorians, to return the kid to his own kind, had taken them to the far reaches of the galaxy, trawling through the Outer Rim in search of answers. It was merely a coincidence that Life Day had fallen on the one quiet day they'd had to simply breathe since the showdown on Nevarro.

Din picked the gift up off the seat, cradling it somewhat awkwardly in his palms. "You didn't have to do this for me."

"I wanted to. It's... a tradition, of sorts." Nova sighed, drumming her fingers on the table in a pattern he'd become familiar with during their travels together. At the curious tilt of the Mandalorian's helmet, she continued. "My mother... When she was on Coruscant, in the Jedi Temple? The celebrations were huge." She smiled, closing her eyes at the memory. "She'd tell me all about them, even show me- painting pictures with her words and the Force, always telling me she'd take me to see the real thing one day..."

His companion trailed off, her tone becoming somewhat bittersweet.

"We never got to go there, in the end. But... I always celebrated it, even when I was on Tatooine. It... kept her memory alive, I suppose. No matter where I was in the galaxy or who I was with, I'd get those special to me a little something to commemorate the day. "

Those special to me. Din noted the faint blush on her cheeks, grey eyes widening slightly at the realisation of what she had said. He smiled softly at the sight; thankful the helmet hid his own expression from view.

Stepping away from the console, the Mandalorian slowly made his way over to the table his companion sat at, taking the seat opposite her.

"I got the kid something too, of course." The pair glanced over to the corner of the ship where the child sat playing with a distinctly bantha-shaped plush toy, chirping happily to himself.

Din smiled at scene before him. "He seems quite taken with it already."

He paused for a moment, studying the gift in his hands once more; turning the small box this way and that, admiring the red paper and the way it almost glistened in the light of the setting sun streaming in through the windows of the Crest.

The silence that fell over the cockpit was not an awkward one, and yet... Din felt compelled to fill it, to give her something in return for all the patience and compassion she had shown him since fate threw them together.  

And so, Din gave her a glimpse of the only thing he had to give, the only thing that was ever truly his and his alone; his past.

"In the Tribe, we didn't... I never... I haven't celebrated Life Day since I was a child, before I became a foundling."

Her eyes widened at his words, and he couldn't fault her reaction. The bounty hunter had always been... guarded around her, around everyone; never revealing more than he absolutely had to at any given time. He'd never spoken about his past to anyone before, not even the Tribe.

This is the way. The only way he'd ever known.

And yet... opening himself to others, having his soul be seen though his face was hidden... it didn't feel like such a betrayal anymore, not now.

Not with her.

"My parents..." Din paused at the memory, eyes sliding shut. He had found himself thinking about them... of their sacrifice more and more as of late, ever since taking the child under his wing. I suppose it's only natural, given the circumstances... "They would always do something to celebrate. It was just the three of us- we didn't have anyone else, but... it always felt... special."

He thought back to the days on his home planet, the warmth of his family. Din had long since buried his old self; he was a Mandalorian now, the creed was all he knew... but the memories remained, tucked away safely in the recesses of his mind, sheltered from the corrupting touch of time.

For years, Din hadn't given more than a passing thought to his old life. He remembered... that day in vivid detail, could recall the events that led up to his initiation as a foundling almost perfectly even years later, but everything else... It was as if it had simply slipped from the forefront of his mind, his subconscious shutting it out lest he lose sight of his new life. His new creed.

Nevarro changed all of that.

Piece by piece, his carefully shrouded identity had been pulled out from beneath him, bleeding out on the floor of that cantina. He had seen his parents in the events transpiring around him, their fate mirroring his own... until it hadn't. It hadn't been his time, but the ghosts stayed with him.

He wondered if they always would.

Gloved fingers finally pulled at the paper, taking care not to damage the delicate box beneath it.

When the Mandalorian caught sight of the gift's contents, he froze.

It... it can't be...

They had been exploring the local markets when he'd seen them; their sweet smell drawing his attention to a stall on the outskirts of the bazaar. He'd thought it simply a trick of his mind at first, his ordeal on Nevarro making him... sentimental, seeing things that weren't there; simply echoes of the times that had flashed before his eyes as he lay injured in the cantina, forever taunting him though the danger had now passed.

But as he neared the stand, feet carrying him in its direction before he could even truly think about the decision, he had found it to be no mere trick of the mind.

There, sat snugly in neat rows on the stall before him, bright colours dancing in the midday sun, were the sweets he'd grown to love as a child; the same sweets his family had indulged in each Life Day.

They'd had to leave the markets soon after his discovery, the Mandalorian pulling himself out of his... uncharacteristic slip long enough to urge his companions back to the Razor Crest, lest they stay in one place too long and draw any unwanted attention.

The job always comes first.

The sweets had been mostly forgotten about soon after, the unlikely clan shifting seamlessly back into their normal routines, thoughts solely on the journey ahead of them...

Until now.

"Where did you get these?" How did she know?

"I saw you in the markets. You were... fixated on those sweets. I felt bad that we had to get back to the ship before you had a chance get some, so..." She smiled softly, gesturing to the box before him with a nod of her head. "I made a detour."

He couldn't take his eyes off the sweets; their colours, their smell... It all seemed so much more real here than they had done in the markets. He could touch them, see the powdered sugar left behind on his gloves, mind filling with memories of his father laughing at a younger Din for spilling the fine powder all over his robes in his enthusiasm to sample the sweet treats.

The sudden bittersweet rush of nostalgia knocked Din off-kilter.

"I-" He paused, a knot forming in his throat at the sight of the sweets sat perfectly in their box. "Thank you."

Maker, he hoped she couldn't hear the waver in his voice.

"I hope I picked out the right ones..." Nova continued, concerned slightly by the silent demeanour of the Mandalorian. Din had always been quiet, but this was... different. "I was careful when I went back to the markets, I know you don't like-"

Din reached over the table to gently grasp his companion's hand, effectively halting her rambled worries.

"They're... perfect." His voice was tight with an emotion he wasn't sure he wanted to share with the woman, an emotion he wasn't entirely sure of himself, so he hoped and prayed the squeeze of his hand around hers spoke the words he couldn't. Not yet. "Thank you."

Nova smiled, shoulders visibly relaxing at the reassurance. "You're welcome."

Seemingly drawn in by the sweet scents, small hands tugged at the straps of Nova's boots, the woman leaning over in her seat to bring the inquisitive child up onto her lap. "Hey there, little one."

Though the child's ears fluttered in recognition of her voice, his eyes were focused solely on the sweets on the table, mesmerised by the sight before him. Din couldn't hold back his laugh at the intense look of concentration on the child's little features, knowing all too well the internal debate the youngling was having with himself.

"Here you go, kid." The Mandalorian held out the box in front of the child, watching as his black eyes widened in fascination. "Why don't you give one a try?"

The child cooed happily then, reaching for the small blue sweet in the centre of the box. The treat didn't last long; swiftly disappearing before it even had a chance to be truly savoured. Din chuckled, knowing he had done the same on more than one occasion in his youth, each time earning an exasperated look from his mother.

So alike... yet so different, too.

This time, when Din thought of his family once more... he didn't feel that same sadness, or loss, or regret. He felt only warmth. The shadows of his past, those tendrils of pain and loss and bad memories that had been swirling within his heart since that fateful day on Nevarro, had finally started to settle.

Here, on board this ship with this unlikely clan of three... this aliit... Din felt at ease for the first time in a long while.

The path ahead of them would be treacherous and hard; that much was certain. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, nor where their path would lead them next. All Din knew was that no matter where their journey took them, they would have this.

And that would always be enough.

"Happy Life Day, Nova."

Din was not a poetic man, nor had he ever claimed to be. But the smile that lit up her face at his words... He could have sworn it shone brighter than any star he'd seen.

"Happy Life Day, Din."

#this... was not meant to be the first fic posted on here #but I had this idea at approximately 11:55 last night and had to drop everything for it #chronology is for people who think ahead #I am not one of those people #The Mandalorian #Star Wars #Din Djarin #Din Djarin x OC #oc: nova reed #x: you feel like home #my writing

[owliellder]

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x f! Painter Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Final Word Count: 22.6k

Author's Note: Ta-da! I put a lot of work into this last chapter, like actually becoming the president for a couple hours, but I really wanted to make it worth everyone's time for sticking around and reading all the way through.

Thank you so much for following along! All the sweet comments from you guys never fails to make my day!

^//v//^

Cross posted on AO3

The Reveal

Almost three months.

It took almost three months for Leon's portrait to fully dry after it had been varnished. You'd checked it almost daily after the two month mark due to Leon's constant pestering. He was understandably antsy, and admittedly, you were too.

There was a lot of convincing involved, but you managed to keep the man at home while you transported the painting to the White House. He worried it would be damaged en-route. Such a little worry wart.

Setting up the painting's respective spot a column away from Chris and Claire's seemed very appropriate; tall, fake bushes sitting on either side of where it would be placed, a warm yellow bulb lighting up the inside of the decorative archway, and the patterned golden frame where the canvas would forever be now hung empty in that portrait hallway, waiting to be pieced together and completed.

The shiny gold placard had already been screwed onto the frame, words zapped on it via laser:

Leon S. Kennedy

USSTRATCOM Agent from 1998 - 2011

D.S.O. Agent from 2011 - 2017

You knew how long he'd been working as an agent, but it was still baffling nonetheless. Nearly 20 years of non-stop intense and usually very traumatizing work, what a feat.

Moving on, you'd worked out the plans for Leon's farewell party with the President and a few coordinators over the span of a few days, making sure to store the painting in a secure room for the time being. It was to stay covered with a violet piece of velvet cloth up until the reveal at the party, no one was allowed to see it besides you, the President, and the various security guards working the grounds.

After another two extra months of waiting, the farewell party was drawing near. There had to be enough time given for invitations to be sent out to people, wait for said people to RSVP, and allow travel time. And at this point, Leon was busting at the seams; extremely nervous, excited, and even a little scared at the prospect of it all.

Your words from that second painting session all those months ago never left his mind: "Seeing the portrait once it's finished is going to be an incredibly emotional ordeal. It's a reminder that this is truly the end of an era for you, Mr. Kennedy..."

The man clung to that, doing his best to internalize it and mentally prepare himself for what was to come. He was hoping you were exaggerating, but from what Chris, Claire, and even Jill have told him about their experience after the fact, he knew deep down that you'd seen it all too well before.

What Leon failed to realize was that he wasn't alone anymore. Sure he had his friends to help, but he'd never had someone to come home to everyday.

During the last few sessions, he had asked to stay with you at your apartment, citing the potential aftermath of the party as reasoning. However, you really didn't need him to explain his reasoning, you would've let him. Even if he just felt like it, you would've welcomed him with opened arms.

Besides, he'd already been staying at your place for longer periods of time over the months. You'd visited his house a few times, but he made sure to whine and complain about how bare and boring it was. If you remember correctly, Leon had said, word for word, that your apartment "felt like a warm hug". With that, he shelled up with you in only a couple weeks before the painting had dried. He made special effort to learn your routine, wanting to give you the space that you needed while also maximizing his time spent with you.

Leon was an actual angel, you were wholeheartedly convinced. Some days you would come home after working on another painting to the man cooking dinner, having bought an expensive wine to share with you. When your hands would start to ache and your back and shoulders were sore from the long hours spent holding a paintbrush in an awkward hunched position, he would set aside anything he had going on just to give you all the massages, kisses, and love that you could ever want.

Nothing was ignored when it came to you and your wants and needs. Leon admitted awhile back that he felt guilty for intruding on your space, though you were very quick to shut that down. He was far from a burden, actually lining up more with a dream come true.

And just like he did with you, you spared nothing while getting to know the in's and out's of the man that occupied your mind, heart, and home. You learned his favorite meals, watched his favorite shows and movies with him, returning the massages when he would return from the gym, and paid extra attention to how he liked to be held at night. Who would've guessed that the Leon Kennedy loved to be the little spoon?

What you spent the most time on was making sure to listen when he suddenly went on tangents about his past. They really did haunt him. You would wake up in the middle of the night to him huddled at the top of the bed, arms wrapped around his legs and head between his knees as he did his best to cry quietly. All you could do for him in those moments was pull him against your chest, gently rocking him back and forth while whispering sweet nothings, just until he felt either ready to talk or ready to fall back asleep. If he just wanted more comfort, then that's what he got, obviously.

He was only recently put on a couple medications to help him better manage his PTSD and anxiety since he really had to cut back on the alcohol in order to take them the way he needed. Definitely worth it to both you and him seeing as his nightmares lessened in intensity and frequency.

Now here you were, straightening out Leon's tie for him since his hands were failing him, nerves getting the better of him. He had taken his meds a few minutes ago, wanting to have the full effect during the party to combat any destructive behaviors during it, so it was no wonder his hands were still trembling.

"You're going to do so well, Leon." You smiled, giving him a gentle pat between his pecs after tucking his tie into his suit jacket. He was staring straight ahead, eyebrows furrowed with worry as he stared at himself in the mirror. "You've made so much progress and I couldn't be any prouder."

He licked his dry lips before slowly looking down at you, giving you the best smile he could, which was really just him pulling his lips back tight. If it weren't for you constantly being around to encourage him and push him to get better, he would not be able to attend his own farewell party.

How had he managed to get so far without this level of love and care? Where would he even be without you? Hopefully later when his mind isn't racing a million miles per minute, Leon will be able to tell you just how lucky he is to have you in his life.

Leon watched you in the mirror as you walked around to stand behind him, straightening out his suit jacket in random spots until deciding to just wrap your arms around his midriff, pressing the side of your face against his back with a content sigh. He brought his still-trembling hands up to hold onto your arms, rubbing his thumbs up and down across your soft skin.

His eyes settled back on his own face after staring at your arms linked around him, letting out a shaky sigh of his own as he attempted to just focus on this moment. You were perfect, ethereal, a true work of art. He wouldn't trade any of this for the world.

It took some time, about an hour, before Leon's medication was starting to kick in. You were definitely a big help, he couldn't give all the credit to his meds.

His relaxed demeanor wasn't easy to spot, the man was just naturally rigid, but you waited until he let you know that he was ready; ready to go to his farewell party, ready to see the portrait you painted for him, ready to put in the effort into accepting the next chapter in his life.

The drive to the White House was seamless, having been picked up in a blacked out SUV that held four personal guards, courtesy of the President. Leon wasn't going to complain, he actually kind of liked the pampering effect that came with being driven around by a dedicated entourage.

Almost all good feelings were drained from Leon when the car finally pulled up to the front of the White House where more guards stood waiting to escort the two of you inside. It was still early in the night, but the sun had set long ago, making for quite the beautiful atmosphere.

He could see numerous party attendees walking up the stairs, dressed up in their fanciest outfits for him. He held your hand the entire way up the stairs and into the entrance hall with a grip that was sure to leave your hand hurting. No matter, you could tell he needed you. That vice grip he had was well worth it for his comfort.

There were quite a few more people than either you or Leon expected. It seems as if all available agents, young, old, and retired, had been sent an invitation for tonight, along with quite a few high-ranking government workers. Luckily, this was a private event; no reporters, no news, only those who had been fortunate enough to be invited.

The first to spot you two was Chris who quickly made his way over to pull Leon into a bone-crushing hug, giving him a few solid pats on the back before letting go. Leon only reciprocated the hug with one hand, the other refusing to let go of yours, though his grip had loosened by now.

"Where's Claire?" Leon muttered, leaning to the side to scan over the sizeable crowd. "She's.." Chris turned around to also scan the crowd, squinting a bit as he looked. "She's somewhere. My wife is with her, her family, and Jill."

Leon pursed his lips with a curt nod, humming quietly in acknowledgement before standing straight again. He glanced down at where his hand held yours, squeezing it again for just a second as if to remind himself that you haven't gone anywhere.

Chris had turned back around to see the small gesture Leon gave to you, a coy smirk on his face. "What uhh... what's all this, huh?" He subtly pointed between you and the other man, voice lowered.

Leon cleared his throat and looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear despite the volume in the hall. "... M'gonna save that for the-.. the speech." Chris just nodded, crossing his arms before slowly turning to look through the crowd again. "Alright, well, let me go find the family and bring them over before you're swarmed." And with that, Chris made his way back into the crowd.

Unfortunately, Leon had been spotted by the rest of the partygoers before Chris could return with everyone. Many pleasantries were repeated while also returning small talk with the people he recognized, which was a lot. You managed to avoid most of it, only being questioned a few times due to the rather obvious hold the man had on you. Despite having attended the last few parties like this, most people unable to recognize you as the artist. A blessing and a curse.

The next couple hours were spent eating finger foods, conversing with whoever, and enjoying the way Leon started to flow with the event. He soon found his way to Chris, Claire, their partners and kids, and Jill which really helped him loosen up. He needed the more familiar faces, having now let go of your hand fully to talk more animatedly with them. You made sure to stick by his side as long as you could, letting out a soft laugh every time you noticed his quick glances over to you to check if you're still there.

The time eventually did come for you to part with Leon, signaling a couple guards to follow you down a few hallways until reaching the room where the portrait sat, still covered with the violet cloth. The decision to keep it back here for so long was made by the President, wanting less of a sudden reveal and more of a build up.

Normally it would already be hanging in the entrance hall, covered and ready to be revealed, but not wanting to risk any potential damage, you were asked to hold off bringing it in until the President was ready to give the speech leading up to Leon's.

It'd been set in the golden frame rather quickly with the help from one of the guards that walked down with you. You had the guard to hold it up for you so you could give it one final good look before he was instructed to lead you back. After recovering, you took the portrait in both hands, holding it close as you were escorted back through the halls and into the main entrance hall.

By now everyone had directed their focus closer to the center of the back wall. Next to where the President stood, your own art easel was now set up. That was mostly as homage to you and it wasn't like anyone besides you would understand that it's yours, though Leon did pick up on that little feature. He'd been staring at the back of that thing for months, counted the various old streaks of paint on the pale wood over and over.

It made his farewell all the more personal, struggling to mask the feeling of the ever-growing pit in his stomach from the friends he was still standing next to.

The sound of a mic being tapped drew everyone's attention in to the President, the volume in the hall quieting to a whisper, soon completely silent as he began to speak into the mic;

"Ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you to honor and pay tribute to a true hero, a dedicated public servant, and a loyal friend who has served our nation with unwavering dedication for the past 19 years. It is with great respect and admiration that I address you on this occasion, as we bid farewell to a remarkable agent who has exemplified the very best qualities of service and sacrifice." As the President spoke, Leon held his breath, hands gripping onto his suit jacket to keep from trembling again.

At this point, you'd silently walked along the side with the guards from before, bringing the covered portrait up to the front before carefully placing it on your easel. "Throughout this nation's history, these agents have played an essential role in ensuring the safety and security of our nation's people and have consistently placed their lives on the line to protect the sanctity of our democracy. And today, we acknowledge one agent who has done so with unparalleled devotion."

"This retiring agent has been a silent sentinel, ensuring the continuity of our democratic ideals. Through countless hours of training, vigilance, and selflessness, they have demonstrated a level of commitment that is nothing short of extraordinary. But beyond their exceptional professional duties, this agent has been a friend and a confidant to those of us privileged to work alongside them. They have been a source of strength, a steady hand in turbulent times, and a symbol of the unbreakable bond that can form within the ranks of those who dedicate their lives to service."

You positioned yourself opposite of the President, placing your hands behind your back to keep your posture tall as you now smiled at the crowd, subtly scanning for Leon. His eyes were already on you when you found him, and your smile only widened further.

It prompted his own nervous smile, toying with the buttons on his jacket while turning his attention back to the President, wanting to remain respectful to his, honestly, very flattering speech so far. You followed Leon's eyes, seemingly having the same idea to just watch and listen.

"The sacrifices made by our agents often go unnoticed by the public, and that is by design. Their commitment to duty is matched only by their humility. But today, we pause to recognize and celebrate this retiring agent's dedication, valor, and sacrifice." The President continued to address the attendees in the room, giving you a quick nod before returning his focus to everyone in the entrance hall.

The President outstretched his hand towards Leon standing in the crowd, now staring at him with a prideful yet relaxed look. "To Mr. Leon S. Kennedy, our retiring agent and loyal friend, thank you for your 19 years of dedicated service to our nation. May your retirement be filled with the peace and contentment that you so richly deserve. You leave behind a legacy of honor and courage that will never be forgotten." The crowd of attendees clapped and cheered briefly, causing Leon to reach his hand up to wipe across his face. A poor way to hide his red face. He's done that before, hasn't he?

Once the crowd quieted back down, the President finished his speech with a classic, "May God bless you, your family, and may God continue to bless the United States of America. Thank you" before the crowd picked back up cheering and clapping. You clapped along with them, laughing at Leon's flustered expression. He could barely hold back his smile, not really have expecting to be so well recognized for his service.

Leon's queue to make his way to the front was when the President walked over to stand next to you, making sure not to block the covered portrait from anyone's view. He'd recited this speech to you countless times, even more to himself when he was alone, but all those eyes staring at him were causing him to fumble. He messed around with the mic once he was standing in front of it, and that was your queue to walk over and stand next to him, placing a loving hand on his forearm.

That's all he needed, just a little extra encouragement from the person he relied on the most. His speech was short and straight to the point, never having been a man of professional word, yet he still managed to slip in some words of praise for you and all the help you provided him during his rough patch earlier in the year.

Neither you or Leon had outright said it to each other, let alone to anyone else, but hearing him announce to the entire hall of people that you were his girlfriend made your heart soar. Speaking about you calmed his nerves, and he wanted everyone to know just how lucky he felt, like he'd hoped for earlier.

He bent over slightly to whisper in your ear, covering the mic with his hand to make sure it didn't pick up his voice. "Now, why don't you go ahead and show us all that masterpiece you spent months working on?" Oh, now you were the flustered one, giggling nervously as you gave his arm a gentle squeeze before walking over to where the painting sat on the easel.

"Ladies and gentleman," Leon's eyes followed you as he straightened his posture out, speaking into the mic once more with a wide smile gracing his features, "I'm honored to have the wonderful artist herself present my very own portrait to you." As he spoke, you carefully lifted the cloth from where it was draped over the painting, finally revealing the ever-awaited portrait to everyone.

Just like with Chris and Claire's, Leon was sat in that soft maroon chair, slightly off center, but his position was different with his right ankle rested atop his left knee, elbows on the arms of the chair while his hands rested in his lap, fingers interlaced. His smile was soft and partially crooked while he looked forward with relaxed eyes, a few strands of hair painted to sit in front of his brow. And to tie it all together, it had a lovely green background, a dark forest green as the base while a sage green was used to add texture. The vintage look had always been your favorite, and Leon fit it so perfectly. He was nearly timeless.

Many "ooo's" and "ahh's" were heard amongst the clapping from the crowd, along with a handshake from the President. Before you could turn to face Leon, you felt his arms slowly slink around you from underneath your arms, the weight of his head now pressing down on your shoulder. You could feel his grin when he tilted his head to kiss your jawline, beginning to gently rock you side to side. Getting to show off your work was always so rewarding, but just knowing Leon was handling everything so well was a feeling you'll truly never forget.

He was happy. That's all you ever wanted for him. The man has truly earned his portrait in that agent hall of fame.

The portrait was soon brought down to the aforementioned hall to be hung up and displayed for good, a few small groups trailing down to get a better look at it. Chris was the noisiest about it, telling Leon it looked like it belonged above a grand fireplace, to which said man agreed with.

Chris, Claire, Jill, and their respective families stared at it for quite some time alongside Leon and you. They all chatted while Leon stared quietly, taking in every little fine detail you'd added. You changed his position some, and did he really smile at you like that? He really did look lovestruck. Of course only he could tell that. Hopefully.

He surprised himself with how okay he felt after seeing the painting. You warned him multiple times that it would most likely be overwhelming and emotional, and while it was, it wasn't in a bad way. The most compelling thought he had right now was to just sweep you off your feet and smother you with love.

Leon asked one of the guards to take a picture of him with everyone, including you, in front of his portrait. Then, just a picture of you and him standing in front of it, easily becoming the background on his phone.

The party went on for only an hour or so more before people started to trickle out. You and Leon were some of the first to leave, saying all your thanks and goodbye's with hugs and handshakes.

The moment the two of you walked into your apartment he practically pounced on you before the door had shut, large hands gripping tight on your hips as he sloppily made out with you. He just had to show his gratitude for all your hard work.

Your lips tasted so sweet and your soft little moans were driving him wild, he couldn't help the groan that rumbled from his chest. Full blown sex had been held off by you, not wanting to rush him into anything while you helped him manage his problems. Honestly, he was glad you'd held off on him, because now that he was feeling like his own person again, it made waiting all the more fulfilling.

Leon hoisted you up into his arms after you'd kicked your heels off, holding onto the back of your thighs as he carried you to the bedroom. You wrapped your arms around his neck, giggling against his lips as he carefully navigated around the short hallway and into the bedroom.

You looked so good splayed out on the bed for him, that beautiful dress you chose was insanely flattering on you. It had to go though, so after yanking off his jacket he made quick work of your dress, fumbling with the zipper for a moment before pulling it up and over your head. Your bra and panties didn't last either. He'd only gotten to see you naked a couple times before, but god, he'll never get tired of seeing you this way, acting all shy like you weren't his favorite view.

Leon was so eager to get his hands on you that he neglected to take off his suit, opting instead to hover over you and bury his face into your neck. He wasn't a good artist, but he loved to cover your neck in shades of red and purple like you were his own little painting, akin to leaving his signature all over you.

He only pulled away once you tugged on his hair, listening to your begs and pleas for him to get his clothes off. As much as he wanted to prolong this night and tease you, he couldn't hold himself back. He needed to feel your soft skin against his.

"So perfect." Leon mumbled against your skin, licking and kissing his way up your stomach and to your breasts after practically ripping off his clothes. His hands found their way back to your hips, pressing them firm against the bed to keep you from squirming away as he nipped at one of your nipples, pulling it into his mouth.

He moaned as he sucked and circled his tongue around your nipple, his eyes falling closed. The other couldn't stay neglected, so he brought one hand up to pinch and tug at your other nipple, sighing when he felt your body press against his as you arched at the sensation. He loved when your moans would pitch, so cute.

His cock was pressed against the inside of your thigh, rutting against it when you would tug at his hair. Once he decided your nipples had enough attention, he sat up and grabbed the backs of your knees to place around his waist. The new position offered Leon the perfect opportunity to drag his leaking cock through your folds, pressing it down with his thumb so the tip would nudge your clit with every slow thrust forward.

You were so wet, so delicate. He could've fucked you right then, slid right into that juicy little pussy, but he needed to take care of you first. He would never forgive himself if he hurt you.

Reluctantly, the man pulled his dick away from you, letting out a poorly concealed whine at the loss. He ran his hands up your thighs before moving one hand so he could circle your clit with his thumb, the other hand back on your hip to keep you steady.

"L-eon~!" You brokenly moaned out, pleading to him with your watery eyes. You needed more; his fingers, his cock, anything. He couldn't say no to that, stopping his assault on your clit to drag his middle and ring finger through your drenched folds to wet them properly. He brought your right leg to sit over his shoulder, hand gripping the top of your thigh as he leaned forward, studying your face closely as he gently teased the outside of your slit with his middle finger.

He moaned with you as he slid his finger in, keeping his eyes trained on you as he started to tentatively thrust his finger in and out. "Yeah?" Leon whispered, licking his lips as you barely managed to nod. "Yeeeaah, there's my girl..." The rumble in his voice was music to your ears.

His ring finger was soon slid in next to his middle finger, switching between scissoring you and making a partial 'come here' motion with them. After only a couple minutes you were leaking all over his hand and the bed, the wet sounds of your pussy mixed with your moans making his cock jerk and drip with precum. Leon clenched his teeth as he slowly pulled his fingers from you, immediately bringing them to his mouth to suck off your juices. He let out an audible sigh after swallowing, repositioning his dick to slide through your folds a couple more times before nudging your hole with the tip.

"Look at me, baby..." Leon's hushed demand brought you to open your eyes, if only half way. He made eye contact with you before leaning forward further to kiss you, all the while finally pushing into you. He soaked in your gasp, his eyebrows furrowing as you tensed up. "Relax.. let me in~..."

"It's only me.." He panted, tilting his head to kiss the corner of your mouth as your eyes shut again. "It's only me, baby..." he repeated this a few more times as he eased his cock inside of you, the stretch only stinging for a moment before it turned to pleasure. He filled you perfectly, you could feel every bit of him, especially with his right hand adding a bit of pressure to your stomach.

Leon sat still for a minute to give you time to adjust, taking the way you moved your hips as a sign to move. He pulled out, all the way to the tip, before slowly thrusting back in. He managed to choke out a quiet "Fuck-.." when you clenched around him. "Taking me so well.. such a big girl~.."

He always knew just how to talk to you, making sure to take his time buttering you up. You were putty in his hands, and between his words and the feeling of him reaching so deep inside of you, you could barely think.

It didn't take long for him to start to lose his composure, the sound of wet skin slapping together filling the room as his thrusts intensified. "All mine. All for me." The grip he had on your thigh was sure to leave a bruise, but that was the last thing on your mind.

The hand he had pressing on your stomach moved further down so he could circle your clit with his thumb again, jaw tight as he looked from your blissed out expression to where his hand was playing with you. "Oh fuck! That's it!" Leon growled, eyes glued to your cunt as he plunged in and out of it. "Cream this dick, mamas~... Cum on my cock so I can fill this pretty pussy up.."

The way you gasped and moaned when you came was enough to warrant a noise complaint, but screw your neighbors. You needed this just as much Leon did.

"Oohhh fuck yeah.. Milk me, baby~... shit-" Leon's thrusts stuttered to a stop while pressed flush against you, abs flexing as he pumped ropes of cum into you. Once you managed to open your eyes, all you could do was stare at the man, flushed pink and sweaty, sitting between your legs. Both of you moaned in tandem as he pulled out, Leon groaning to himself as he watched his cum drip from your pussy. Truly a work of art meant for his eyes only.

He leaned over you again to plant a quick kiss on your lips, chuckling when he felt you smile. "Let me go grab something to clean you up, okay?" You could only nod in response, reaching your hand up to caress the side of his face before he stood up from the bed. He walked across the hall into the bathroom, wetting a soft rag with warm water before making his way back over to you.

Leon made sure to be gentle when cleaning you, the warmth from the rag soothing your tender skin. You were able to sit up on your elbows and watch him, using his gentle touches as a way to calm your still racing heart.

After wiping himself off with the rag, he tossed it over in the general direction of your laundry basket. It was a problem for later. Right now, he wanted lay back on the bed and pull you up so you could lay on top of him. Along with just how nice it felt to hold you, he loved the weight of you on him. So that's what he did, pulling you onto him after laying on the bed, running his fingers though your hair on the back of your head.

"Leon." You muttered against his collarbone. His eyebrows raised, yet his eyes were closed. "Mm?" His right eye peaked open when he felt you giggle. "What?"

"I love you." His fingers paused their ministrations at your words. You lifted your head up to look at him, growing worried with his shocked expression. "Sorry, is that too-" you choked on your words, stopped mid-sentence by Leon's arms suddenly squeezing the breath out of you with a very tight hug. He pulled you up just a little further so he could smush his lips against yours.

"I love you too!" He breathed out excitedly. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to tell you!" You tapped his arm and he immediately relaxed his grip, mumbling a small, "Sorry, my bad.." when you took in a deep breath.

"You're adorable, Leon." You shook your head with a smile, brushing the hair from his face to give him a much gentler kiss before settling you head back against his chest with a quiet sigh.

Leon was still a tough man, but you made him soft. Only ever soft for you.

Side note: I totally forgot to add in the pussy eating i am so sorry. i thought i did but it was literally just a thought that never manifested 😭

tags!: @greywardensaywhat @xkittiecatx @httpsuguru @httpsuguru @k-fallingstar @lysa1201 @bobastayhigh @pocketstoriesstore @agent-dessis-posts @klee-iii @missjoenowhere @mi-zer-y @bigtiddiesimp @finsternisle @sweets3rial @sodacolablast (there's a few of you that tumblr wouldn't let me tag for some reason)

#daily dose of dilf #he's not a dad in this #but that doesn't mean he's not a dilf #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon smut #resident evil fic #resident evil death island #leon x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy x fem reader #resident evil leon #leon kennedy x reader smut

[lions-arch-chronicle]

Mild Spoiler Warnings for LWS5 No Quarter

Image ID for stories below read more

Title: Smashing, bashing Dragonbash returns

“Tyrians held the first Dragon Bash after Zhaitan’s defeat—an expression of relief and joy at beating impossible odds,” a statement by Arena Net reads. “With Jormag’s influence on the rise, it’s more important than ever to commemorate your victories with an annual party!”

Dragonbash has returned to Hoelbrak once again to bring joy and hope to the citizens of Tyria.

Fan-favorite events return to the Norn home city such as the hologram stampede, moa races, and the ever-popular and ever potentially fatal dragon arena.

“It wouldn’t be a proper celebration without your attendance. Join me in Hoelbrak for another moot for the ages! There will be tests of strength, racing, food, song, and most importantly—ale,” said Knut Whitebear.

I’ll see you there. Unless, of course, you don’t enjoy the fun.”

This year introduces new items to players that include the unique Holographic

Dragon Shoulder as well as holographic representations of the first generation of legendary weapons in the Imbued Holographic weapons set.

The moa races this year sparked a bit of controversy with allegations that one racer, Mystic Forgery, had experimental rockets strapped to its torso in an attempt to propel the moa forward. According to Photo Editor Dexsia Truthseeker, Mystic Forgery also had roughly 30 Superior Runes of Speed hidden within its feathers, a clear violation of the rules. After officials and Knut Whitebear were called to mediate the rockets were ruled as an unfair advantage to the other moas and the extra equipment was removed.

Dragonbash organizers also want to remind The Commander and other participants that while Zhaitaffy is a sugary, delicious, chewy treat it is not meant to be consumed in quantities of over 1000 pieces at a time, and doing so may cause intestinal harm and a sugar rush followed by an intense sugar crash.

Organizers also asked us to remind all participants that rollerbeetle racing is not for children, or sylvari, under 5 years of age because of the dangers that the highspeed races present. They recommend that families and participants who fall outside of this age range instead participate in spectating the races from a safe distance or hitting dragon pinatas located around Hoelbrak.

We here at the Lion’s Arch Chronicle wish you all a safe and happy Dragonbash!

Title: United Legions brace themselves against Dominion forces (spoiler warnings for lws5)

The newest shocking turn in the battle against the elder dragons has brought the charr to outright civil war with the defection of Imperator Bangar Ruinbringer and his followers creating the Dominion forces. Currently, a savage battle rages in the Drizzlewood Coast pitting charr against charr as more members of the United Legions allegedly defect to the Dominion.

According to the latest intel, the negotiations with the newly promoted Tribune Ryland Steelcatcher have failed due to the unexpected arrival of Pact Marshal Logan Thackeray and Lady Kasmeer Meade as reinforcements to the United Legions during the parlay.

The area has been split into two major battlefields with a seemingly neutral zone in the center. The situation is changing hourly but at the time of publication the United Legions control, Petraj Overlook, Vloxen Mine, and Port Cascadia. While the Dominion forces control Fort Defiance, Leadfoot Village, Wolf’s Crossing, and Lighthouse Point.

Editors Note: As the situation is changing rapidly this information is subject to change and may be inaccurate, we have reported the information as accurately as we could at the time of publication.

The former pact commander has allegedly aligned themselves with the United Legions, and have been helping to turn the tide in this brutal civil war that so far seems to have no end in sight.

The coverage of this story is ongoing and will be updated as new information is revealed.

Title: Lion’s Arch sees increase in fountain related accidents

I recently went on a tour of Lion’s Arch, and we came across the most beautiful fountain near the Trader’s forum. Our tour guide made a point to let us know that it’s where most of the accidents happen on the tour. An amazing 80%!! Obviously this had to be wrong because there were two quaggans having a good ole time playing in the fountain. I thought, “what the heck” and started playing along. Let me tell you I had the best time until I fell flat on my face after one of those little fellas told me I was too big for the fountain! Lesson of the day: Listen to your tour guide! Or wear non-slip shoes…

Editors Note: The Lion’s Arch Tour Guide asked us to remind everyone that those statistics are not a joke and that everyone should have listened to her when new Lion’s Arch was under construction because this all could have been avoided in the first place. The Lion guard has also asked us to remind everyone that this should not be attempted and that what our staff writer did was ill advised and could lead to serious injury.

Title: Opinion Article, About the Birds of Tyria

There are all kinds of amazing birds of Tyria! The most superior bird of all is the Ascalonian Quail. It is clear because they are compact and have ornamental feathers to show off their superiority to the rest of the birds of Tyria. I’ve heard many people say Griffins are the superior bird of Tyria but I am here to say that those folks are wrong. Griffins aren’t even birds!! They have four legs! All birds I’ve ever seen have 2 legs! Griffins in fact are arachnids! They have 6 limbs! I mean look at them! That’s not a bird! Some could argue that Moas are the superior bird, but alas they are too tall to hold in your hand! You can’t even carry them in your pocket! Owls are pretty cool! I even hear some people have them to help them fight. However, that’s too aggressive for most folks, unlike the small quail of Ascalon! Why not Hawks you ask? Their beaks and claws are very sharp! Great for hunting, or stabbing holes into your arms or eyes. Crows are pretty neat, they have the whole goth aesthetic going, but they don’t have the super rad head ornaments like quail do. And Griffins hardly have any of the benefits of these other birds, because they aren’t even birds!  In conclusion, Ascalonian Quail are the best birds in Tyria and Griffins are abominations.

Title: Lion’s Arch Chronicle welcomes new staff writers

The Lion’s Arch Chronicle proudly would like to introduce our two newest members to our  staff, Freepaw Kittyblog and Consultant Teekay they reached out to us after the publishing of our first issue.

Kittyblog will be covering local attractions and places to see when visiting your travel destinations, as well as being promoted to being the head of local advertisement while she travels.

“Hi there! I’m Freepaw Kittyblog! I’m a char who grew up in Divinity’s Reach,” Kittypaw said when asked for a statement. “I love visiting new places and I hope to one day make a living as a travel blogger!”

Our second newest member is Consultant Teekay they are well versed in all manner of research and have a knack for finding the deep truths that no one had thought to look for yet. They will be covering and either proving or debunking the latest rumors that are floating around Tyria, a true light at the end of the tunnel.

“Greetings readers! I’m Consultant Teekay, a fun loving, truth telling columnist from Rata Sum,” said  the Consultant in her statement. “I’ve traveled Tyria in search of secrets big and small, but secrets are no fun if we can’t share them! And that’s exactly what I intend to do!

We are proud to have these additions to our team and hope that you enjoy the stories  that they will be writing in the near future.

End ID

#Lion's Arch Chronicle #guild wars 2 #gw2 #lws5 spoilers

[recentanimenews]

FEATURE: The 4 Biggest Differences Between Raising Pokémon And Digimon As Pets

  This article written by Daniel Dockery was originally published on August 2, 2019

  Sometimes, visiting your childhood home can be like an archaeological excavation. You sift through the eras of your life, some embarrassing (Why did I own so many tropical print shirts? Why did I spend middle school dressed like a sixty-five-year-old dude vacationing in Beaufort, South Carolina?), and some baffling (What was I planning to do with all of those commemorative state quarters?). But sometimes, you find things that you immediately want to take back to the present with you. In my case, it was all of the little Pokémon stuff that I amassed as a kid: The KFC stuffed toys from the commercial that revealed that Colonel Sanders chose the Blue version ...

    ... The many trading cards, the "How To Draw Pokémon" book from the book fair that I'd trace over and then tell all of my one friends that I drew it on my own, the falling apart Pokémon Red/Blue Prima strategy guide where the writer revealed in the first paragraph that Pokémon was consuming his life in a way that he never thought possible ...

  ... And the Pikachu, Charmander, and Meowth electronic toys that I got for Christmas one year, the first two saying their names and the last one speaking Japanese, which baffled me as a kid because I didn't know what anime was. But most importantly, I found the Pokémon Pikachu Virtual Pet, a little yellow device that's shaped to look like a Game Boy. And inside of it is a Pikachu that you can walk with and give gifts to. And after a quick battery replacement, I found that it still worked. 

  It was fate. Because, later this year, I also discovered the twentieth-anniversary release of the Digimon Digivice Virtual Pets in a Gamestop. So, because I'd only ever raised Digimon in the video games and am terrible with money, I bought one. And now I have two tiny monsters that I can take care of. Why hang out with other people when I've got all the companionship I need right here:

    But I soon learned that there is a BIG difference between raising Pokémon and raising Digimon. For example ...

  YOU DON'T WANT TO MAKE PIKACHU MAD

    Back in its early days, you could count on one thing with Pokémon: Pikachu HATES you. Sure, eventually you'll earn its respect through battling or risking your life for it, but at the beginning of the anime and in the Pokémon Yellow game, Pikachu begins its journey hoping that maybe you'll just release it or get lost and starve to death in Viridian Forest. That's one of the reasons why Pokémon: Let's Go was such an odd experience sometimes: Pikachu just unconditionally and immediately accepts you as soon as it meets you. It's the only time you'll ever hear me complain about "kids these days" having it too easy. Ugh, Generation Z with their TikTok and their memes and their Pokémon that LIKE them. 

  Luckily for me, I got the Pikachu of the late '90s in my virtual pet. Unluckily for me, Pikachu was very aware that I had not played with it since the Clinton Administration, and it was pissed. See, the Pokémon Pikachu also doubles as a pedometer which counts your steps. So while everyone else is wearing their FitBit, I'm rocking a Pikachu that absolutely can't stand me on my hip. But the more you step, the more points you can acquire. And you give those points to Pikachu as gifts, and Pikachu will do a little dance and grow more pleased with you. As it turns out, though, no matter how many points I amass on the treadmill, it probably won't make up for the two decades that my Pikachu spent in a desk drawer.

  Currently, it's got its back to me, which means that at least it's on the screen (It can actually leave you, forcing you to restart or hide from you). Meanwhile, my Agumon in the Digivice is much less fickle. It's pretty content as long as I feed it and train it and make sure that its battles don't kill it. Oh, and it likes it a lot when you pick up its poop. And it should, because ...

  DIGIMON ARE ALWAYS POOPING

    A common feature of virtual pets is that you have to clean their droppings. It provides a cool life lesson for kids, teaching them to not take dumps on the floor all the time. But I did not know that Agumon, my sweet, simple lizard bro, would just crap, like, so much, y'all. I mean, all it eats is meat on the bone and protein vitamins, so it's not like it's getting too much fiber in its diet. It's pretty keto. But every time I switch it on to see if it's okay or has evolved, it's been pushed to the side of the little screen because its own habitat just can't handle how much it's pooping. 

  Meanwhile, Pikachu doesn't really go to the bathroom. It does have a bathroom though, as after it eats dinner and before it goes to bed (there's cute little animations for each), it brushes its teeth. So unless it's like one of those tiny NYC studio apartments where the landlord's like "Ya got a bed and a sink, so good luck with your butt," Pikachu does own a toilet. 

  So that's nice to note: Pokémon will clean up their business after they're done. Digimon will look to you and say "I have pooped four times. The walls are closing in. Help me, father." 

  PIKACHU IS WAY MORE STUBBORN WITH SCHEDULING

    Pikachu has a bit of a Type A personality — it likes its routine. Usually, in the middle of the day, if you shake the device, Pikachu will come marching in or sometimes ride a little scooter onto the screen. But if Pikachu is doing something, like eating or sleeping, shaking the device actually makes Pikachu less friendly toward you. You have to wait for Pikachu to finish its food before it even considers going on a walk with you. 

  Meanwhile, if you're like "Go back to bed, Agumon, you've been awake for four seconds," Agumon will do it. If you want to wake Agumon up to train for battle a dozen times, it's ready at all hours of the day. In fact, one of the only things that a Digimon isn't up for is that it won't eat anymore after it's full. After you've filled it with mutton and pills, it shakes its head "No," at which point you probably switch over to training with it for another hour.

  DIGIMON HAS A TON OF HIDDEN INTRICACIES

    One of my favorite things about Digimon games is their intricate approach to evolution. Sure, you could digivolve Dogmon now into BigDogmon. But, if you raise the friendship stat a bit, and level up some more, you could digivolve Dogmon into BigDogWithCannonsmon. I think it's awesome, and it carries over to the virtual pets.

  However, because they're virtual pets and showing more than three letters on the screen at one time would cause the device to explode, you don't get a lot of explanation as to how to do it. Like, my current Agumon could evolve into the classic Greymon, or, according to the Digimon wiki, one of six other monsters. So I could get a Seadramon, but because I haven't been taking notes, I will never know how.

  Meanwhile, Pikachu is perfectly content with being Pikachu and with being flippant with you. You'll never have to worry about finding a Thunder Stone or learning that it's been replaced with a Koffing or something. Instead, all you have to worry about is your best friend suddenly starting to hate you out of nowhere.

  And that's ... better?

  Did you ever own either of these virtual pets? Let us know in the comments!

      Daniel Dockery is a writer and editor for Crunchyroll. You should follow him on Twitter!

By: Guest Author

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

[oliveiraveiro]

The Right Moment

Open Heart, Rafael Aveiro x F!MC

Rafael and Casey both propose to each other.

based on this quote / ao3 link / tagging: @mvalentine​ <3

let me know if you wanna be tagged in rare rafael x mc fics of mine

Everything is perfect.

It’s been almost six months since Casey and Rafael moved in to their apartment; almost two years since they’ve gotten back together. The two of them are happier than ever: everything is right into place.

Tonight, like every other night and every day, should’ve been perfect as well. But earlier today, Casey lost a patient.

She’s cuddled in Rafael’s arms in their shared bed, devastated, painful tears in her eyes. “Do you think it’s better that they didn’t get to marry before he died?”

Rafael takes a shaky breath, knowing either answer is bound to make her cry more. He continues rubbing her back gently, careful with his words. “There’s not really a better scenario in this situation.”

“You’re right—” Casey sobs again, holding onto him tighter.

Rafael frowns, wishing he could be more helpful. But what happened was a freak accident. Casey couldn’t have done anything and they both knew that, but it didn’t break her heart less. Telling the news to the fiancée is just another thing that will haunt her.

“Just let it out, meu amor. I’m here for you.” He holds her closer, hoping his embrace makes her feel protected like he intended.

Casey cries out the sadness and stress. It really helps, as well as the comfort from her loving partner.

But she thinks about how lucky she is that she’s here in his arms, in the apartment they call home. In an instant she’s also thinking about how one accident can happen and just like that it’s easy for them to lose everything. This perfect life, this happiness, and the thought makes her squeeze his shirt in her hand tighter, as if that can assure she’ll forever stay by his side and he won’t leave hers.

Casey buries her face into his chest, the life she very much wants to spend with him playing in her mind.

She knows they still have a lot to achieve, specifically in their careers. Especially Rafael, along with work, he started the path to becoming an occupational therapist. Since last year he’s in an associate degree program to be an occupational therapy assistant. It might not be the right time to settle down more officially yet.

But god, life is too short. They know that fact well enough in their field, and today’s events is a dreadful reminder. Casey is confident there’s no one else she’d want to spend the rest of her life with, and every day she does her best to make Rafael happy and make sure she’s the right person for him. What more did they need to prove?

Before she can think of more harrowing thoughts, she speaks into his chest, muffled. “Let’s get married.”

Rafael doesn’t even skip a beat, although his heart does, and he immediately responds. “What was that?”

Casey feels the blood drain from her face. He couldn’t have heard her; she spoke in a sigh. No. She slowly pulls away to look up at him. “What?”

“You said something.” His eyes are surprised, she notes, but it seems like the good kind because of the smile he’s failing to hide.

Still, Casey blushes in embarrassment. She didn’t even have a ring or anything special or commemorative. She just finished crying, looks like it, and she soaked his black T-shirt with tears. This wasn’t the proposal Rafael deserves.

Okay, play dumb. “I didn’t hear what you said.” she says simply, running a hand through his hair to distract him a little.

“No, you said—” Rafael furrows his eyebrows. Did he just hear what he wanted to hear? While on the topic of marriage, he couldn’t help but to think about theirs. He has been for a while, but struggled to figure out if now is the perfect time.

“You said something...” he says again, but now unsure and a little disappointed that maybe he just made it up. He looks into Casey’s eyes determinedly, trying to figure out if she’s just denying it.

Like he suspected, she couldn’t easily meet his eyes. “...No.” Her answer is almost a whisper.

He starts to gently pull away from their embrace, reaching for the drawer on his side of the bed.

Casey can only widen her eyes as it looked like he was leaving. Quick thoughts flash in her mind. Was it too much? They’re very happy and content, did she just ruin everything by asking a stupid question? Did he really hear her? Is it worse that she tried to deny saying so?

Before she can speak, or more accurately, stumble over her words, Rafael opens his drawer and pulls out a pair of socks. It was bundled, and Casey watches him undo it and start pulling out something from one of it.

It’s a black velvet ring box, but she’s watching him too intently that what is happening only registers when he finally opens the box and reveals the ring.

It’s a classic with a round cut diamond. She didn’t know the precise measure, not that it mattered, but she can’t help but notice it’s big. It’s lined with smaller diamonds, and overall sophisticated and gorgeous. Then it suddenly hits her: she’s already seen this ring.

She looks up at him with recognition in her eyes. It takes all of Casey’s self-control not to be screaming in excitement. “Is that...?”

Rafael smiles shyly, cheeks flushing. “Avó’s,” he agrees. He’s also about to admit he’s asked for it since their second month of living together, but that’s probably for a different conversation.

Casey’s eyes shine. She’s only seen it in pictures, but here it was before her, offered by the person she wanted to grow old with, much like Juliana. She already can’t wait to tell her she said yes and share a much deeper bond with the older woman who’s been a good family to her as much as she is to Rafael.

He visibly swallows, nervous despite his excitement and the elation in Casey’s eyes that he sees very clearly. For months he agonized thinking about when or how to ask her. Who knew this could be simple and that dressing up in something uncharacteristically fancy should’ve been the least of his worries?

True, this moment is not the flashiest. Or one of his plans, really. He knows she only deserves the best, but this is Casey, his Casey. The love of his life who’s always loved him just as he is, simple and genuine.

That said, he’s gonna push through with one of the many special dates he planned this weekend. She deserves a great night after the week she’s had so far. But this moment, it feels right.

It’s just like how her hands fit in his like his are made to hold hers. Like how their bodies mold into each other’s whenever they embrace. It’s perfect.

Rafael borrows Casey’s words with a playful smile. “Let’s get married?”

#choices open heart #open heart #open heart fanfiction #rafael aveiro #rafael aveiro x mc #rafael x mc #playchoices #choices stories you play #choices

[fuckyeahharryhart]

PART 3 HARRY HART FAN FICTION Because they better give him a good story for the last Kingsman. In case they don’t, I wrote something myself.

PART  3

FAN FIC

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED

MULTI PART SERIES:(My version of Kingsman 3)

Harry Hart x Original Character

Warnings: Reference to violence

Word Count: 5,000

OVERVIEW: After the events of Kingsman, The Golden Circle, Harry, Eggsy and the rest of the survivors rebuild their agency to it’s former level of integrity. A new player arrives unexpectedly, carrying memories of the past that will change the future of Kingsman.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Gwendolyn, having played her last card, shares a drink with Harry and Eggsy while she tells them who she is, where she came from and why she was spying on them.

------

The Black Prince Public House stood on a quiet corner in South London’s, Kensington. The pub dated back to the early 20th century and its name referred to the road where it stood. The wall were painted a dark forest green with black trim. Its name was displayed in gold. It was the place to go, its sign stated, for FINE ALES AND STOUT, but the three patrons inside, seated at one of the booths at the rear, decided that something a little stronger was appropriate after the evening’s turn of events.

Gwendolyn decided this was a drink she was waiting for her whole life and, therefore, if she was going to “celebrate”, was not the right word, perhaps “commemorate the occasion” was a better term, she was going to do it properly. She had acquired a taste for fine scotch and chose accordingly. She was quite sure the two men were slightly taken aback when she ordered three The Macallan 25’s, neat, for the table. She was fairly certain that this warm, friendly, unassuming neighbourhood pub would not carry The Maccallan M Edition, or the Silver Jubilee, or the Dalmore 64.  so she didn’t inquire, but even the cost of the three glasses would be relatively extravagant. The price wasn’t a concern of hers and she was sure it wasn’t a concern of the Kingsman, whose coffers went deep. She wasn’t beyond offending any gentlemanly sensibilities this evening. They were beyond chivalry. And she wasn’t about to tolerate either of them possibly ordering for her.

The two men regarded her if she were a new species of female. She probably was. There were female Kingsman agents, but they too, followed Kingsman protocol, regardless of gender. The behaviour, actions, mannerisms of all Kingsman were consistent, familiar, reliable, while she was under no such constraints.  If her behaviour this evening was unseemly, “unladylike”, she really couldn’t give a rat’s arse. She was here for a reason and her methods got her job done. Perhaps with less grace and finesse than she was hoping for, but she got her results.

The three short tumblrs of scotch were placed in front of them. It had been a very long time since The Black Black Prince had poured not one, but three from that particular bottle. As it was custom that the host, or hostess for this matter, make a toast and she didn’t yet make a move toward her glass, the two men waited to follow her lead. So now they decide to be polite, she thought.

“Well, then.” she began. She was slightly irritated at their seemingly perfect presentation, at least on Harry’s part. Eggsy was not beyond taking a more relaxed shape and leaned back into the booth. His tie was loosened and his suit coat unbuttoned. His hair slightly mused even though he did not participate in any of the more physical aspects of their evening, as if that was its natural state. He would have shrugged out of his jacket if it weren’t for his shoulder holster.

Harry Hart, returned back to his gentlemanly demeanour, sat straight, but comfortably, his suit and tie still perfectly in place. Even his hair had somehow returned to its initial state, smooth waves brushed back into shape. It made her feel somewhat uncomfortable to see him so poised after the physical contact they had made. She had flipped him over her head, had a knife to his throat, kicked him fairly hard in the shin, and he looked none the worse for wear. Only his expression, equal parts indignant, concerned, and vaguely offended, revealed that anything of interest had occurred.

In contrast, even turning toward him was likely to throw her off balance. A feeling she did not enjoy one bit. Just her quick glance in his direction and she could feel him behind her again, pressing against her, the long line of his legs, the broadness of his chest across her back, the sheer size of him, the smell of his wool suit and the cologne, soap or whatever made him smell so good and she felt a rush of blood rise up to her cheeks. She clenched her jaw and flushed. She was hoping that they would take it for her high emotional state after their confrontation, not the fact that she found herself neatly attracted to a man she only just met and almost twice her age.

His refined manner only made her that much more aware of her own disheveled state. Her hair, a black cloud that had been blown all over, her pedestrian attire, though not unattractive, in no way matched the elegance of their Kingsman suits. No cosmetics, no adornment, not that those elements of her outward appearance were particularly important to her, in the face of their stately masculinity, she felt decidedly unfeminine. And regardless of her feelings, she knew that her looks were as much of a tool for a spy as her words or actions. She convinced herself she wasn’t concerned just because she wanted Harry to find her attractive.

Her personal feelings seeped into her professional persona. She reeled back her thoughts and replaced them with a cool, calm, collected mindset with a specific objective. If she kept her personal feelings at bay now, she could let it all out after her mission was accomplished. She drilled into her brain, be smart now, feel later.

Until she felt differently, she approached this as she would any other meeting of an asset or target. What she needed from the relationship and how could she get them to do what she wanted was just as much about finding out what they needed, and how to make it seem she was giving them what they wanted.  Almost every relationship was based on a desire to be heard and understood. Wants and needs were always self-revealed, unwittingly or intently. She just had to listen.

Unfortunately, for this first meeting, she would be the one doing most of the talking. She knew being genuine, sincere, and honest, would be in her best interest.  The more and better we are heard and understood, she thought, the more we are willing to and want to engage and respond. The sensation of being listened to was a powerful motivator and feeling enhancer to all people, it was human nature.  It was why we befriended those that listened to us, worked for those that heard us, and fell in love with those that understood us.

——

“Well” she repeated, refocusing. She shifted her posture, drew her shoulders back, lifted her head a little higher, and held the space around her. Composing herself just as she would with any new asset would put her back on target. Remember your training.

“I’m sure you have many questions.” She opened up the table.

Harry, as direct as she, got right to the point.

“How are we to trust that you are really Merlin’s daughter? He never spoke of family.”

He folded his hands together, looking stern with a slight narrowing of his eyes, his brow with just a hint of a furrow.

Harry’s eyes roved over her, her posture, hands, the angles of her face. He listened to the inflections of her voice, searching for any tells that might indicate she was being less than honest. He looked for any hint of the tall Scotsman in this young woman. The loss of Merlin was still a wound that was raw. For both he and Eggsy. He wouldn’t tolerate anyone using his death as an excuse, no matter the reason, but especially if it was a false one.

“He wouldn’t have.” She replied bluntly. “

“ How much did you know of Hamish?” She asked.

She emphasised the pronunciation of his given name. Hay-mish.

“That is, before he came to Kingsman.”

The two men glanced at each other, but did not speak. Admittedly, they did not know of Merlin’s past. He never offered, and as gentleman, they never asked. They both knew that spies usually became spies because of something dark and fucked up from their past, and Harry had no doubt this was the same for Merlin. Hence, he never questioned his unwillingness to disclose his life prior to Kingsman. Harry was the same, just as unwilling to divulge his own personal information.

Eggsy, “That doesn’t mean anything. Anyone can say that.”

Harry leaned forward slightly, emphasising the importance of his words. They were low and sharp.

“If you really are who you say you are, then you know that his loss is one that we still feel every day.”

He shot a glance toward Eggsy, who more than anyone, felt the weight of his death.

“We will not condone anyone using his name for their own motives. Have you proof?”

She surveyed them for a moment. She considered her words and chose them with care. Her words were all she had and they carried a heavy weight. They had to be strong enough to deliver the message she was about to send. He eyes moved to her drink, still untouched.  Mindfulness was key. As was paying attention to their responses, observing them with the intent to understand. Through her words, she would see how they felt, what they were thinking, and most of all, what they wanted or needed.

She cleared her throat. She met one pair of eyes and then the other.  She poised herself to say something that, to her, held the utmost honour and importance. She took a deep breath in. At the end of her exhalation, she spoke. Her voice was low as well. Her words were even more powerful for her lack of emotion.

“My father’s favorite song was ‘Country Roads.’ by John Denver.”

The entire room seemed to suddenly quiet with stupefaction.

“My father was singing it, when he stepped off of a land mine to save both of your lives. And to save your mission. For my father, the mission always came first.”

For the two men, this was an impossible statement. No one, set aside Eggsy and himself had that knowledge. Not even other Kingsman.

Harry spoke, this time with frank disbelief. He wasn’t even questioning her. He was asking himself. Out loud. Without his familiar strength and surety.

“That is impossible. There is no possible way you could know that.”

With the same poise, the same simplicity, she explained.

“I was there when he died.” Observing their state of bewilderment, she clarified. “Via satellite and reconnaissance drones.” Which didn’t ease their confusion.

“If you worked with my father, you knew he was a brilliant strategist. He wasn’t merely good, he was gifted. He had the talent of an artist. Some of that talent filtered down to me. I’ll never be as good as he was, but I was good enough to hack the communication band that Statesman had in place for reconnaissance and I had access to audio and visual of the events that led to, and after his death.”

Impossible would never have the same meaning for them again. Because this young woman’s story was utterly impossible. Yet, here it was, an impossible situation.  

She turned slightly toward Eggsy and held his blue eyes with her grey. Her voice took on an undefinable emotion, “I know that he took your place on a land mine, Eggsy.”

And with that confession, he was forced to drop his gaze. Is this how Harry felt when he had to tell him that it was due to Harry’s own mistake that Eggy’s father died? Guilt was physical. It was a crushing weight on his chest that made it hard to breathe.

“I know that he died in the way that he wanted.”

She added with a note of empathy and understanding to slightly ease their guilt and their shock.  

“He was able to give his life for those close to him.”

Neither of the men could think of anything to say. Harry Hart, who was never at a loss for words, found himself unable to find a single word that would be appropriate for a time and situation like this.

Gwendolyn sighed internally. At least now she had their full attention. She was quite certain that she would not be interrupted this time around.

“Perhaps,”  she said. Her voice now carried a softer note. It was not the voice of an agent. It was the voice of a daughter.

“Perhaps, I should start at the beginning”.

“But first.” she paused and picked up her glass, holding her arm out toward the men, the glass in her hand.

Harry and Eggsy, first exchanging a look in the other’s direction, followed suit. Each man took a glass and waited, with the warm golden liquid breaking up the lines of dim light that hovered over their table.

She suddenly felt overcome once more, as she had been when she first stepped off the train and onto the concourse on her arrival. She channeled that emotion into her toast, which was brief and heartbreaking in its simplicity.

Holding up her glass, “To my father, Hamish Mycroft.” She paused. “And to Merlin.”

Each of them held the gaze of the other two as their glasses touched with a light, crisp ring. Each drank back its contents.

——

As three glasses hit the hardwood of the table. Gwendolyn began to speak. Her story was a long and complicated one. And unfortunately, the two men could tell, it would be a sad one. An unknown daughter of a colleague that you’ve known for most of your adult life doesn’t suddenly appear after his death with good news.

“My father, whose given name was Hamish Mycroft, was married. He had three children. Two boys and a girl. I was the youngest.”

The slightly blank, yet confused faces made it seem like she had already given them more information than they could process. She paused, gestured to the barkeep for another round. The scotch would do good to kick in soon, because her story was not going to get any easier.

“Before he had a family, he worked with far east intelligence, recruited after his time in the army, where he had been stationed in Tibet, Bhutan, and other East Asian territories.”

She nodded her thanks to the barman, who delivered their second round of drinks. The scotch should have been savoured, but she felt at the time, a tip back for her father was right, even though he would have been horrified to see her shoot back a scotch of such high quality. This one however, she would sip.

“While he was working as a field operative at the station in Bhutan, he met a very beautiful Bhutanese woman, Evelyn, my mother, who was also working intelligence, but as a handler. Based on their skill assessment, they were assigned to work as a team. They would run missions together. My father as the operative. My mother, his handler. Hence, I myself am half Scottish, half Bhutanese. If you’ve had difficulty pinpointing my ethnicity. It’s not a common pairing.”

“Even though the agency opposed ‘close and continuing’, inter-agency relationships and relationships in general, Hamish believed that he could live a normal life. That he could have a wife and family despite working in intelligence. They were an example of having a successful home life in addition to a successful career and they were very happy for a long time.”

Merlin as a husband and father were the farthest roles that Harry and Eggsy could imagine him in. The brusk, often testy, disagreeable scotsman, with all the warmth of a potato, with a wife and children.

Gwendolyn continued with her story. Pausing after a long stretch for a sip of her scotch, but for the most part, continuously and without any interruption from the two men. They were both a bit stupefied that one of their closest, most respected and trusted colleagues had an entire past of which they had no knowledge.

—

Hamish was smitten at first glance. On Evelyn’s side, it was more appropriate to say that she tolerated his presence . And even that was putting things kindly. Eventually, he was able to win her over with his rough Scottish brogue, his biting sense of humour and dry wit. Underneath the sarcasm and abrupt, even gruff personality, she sensed a very kind soul who possessed a good heart. It was simply being protected by a shield designed to keep people at arms length.

Though as handler and operative, there could be no shields. There could not be even a hairs breadth distance between a team, let alone an arms length. The operative’s life was literally in the hands of the handler. If they weren’t working, existing, breathing as one, it would be only a matter of time until the operative would find himself in a position where he needed his handler, but the handler wouldn’t be able to provide. Or the agent, not fully trusting his handler, withheld crucial information, therefore setting up his handler to fail in the case where he needs life threatening assistance. These relationships often ended in the death of the operative, as he had to fully entrust not only the capability of his handler, but also fully trust the person behind his earpiece. The relationship had to be based, on not only on professional compatibility, but on a personal and emotional connection as well.  Whatever jesting nature, or standoffish front either of them first presented to each other dissolved when they were on mission. The trust was profound. It was scary to know the circumstances they had been through together and how much each of them put their lives in the hands of the other.

Their relationship was highly personal, intense, and emotional. The nature of their relationship was a powerful force behind their choice to be together and to devote their loyalties to a single agency, with a singular mission, to preserve life and to protect the innocent. However, this often resulted in taking out some very bad, very large, very powerful players off the world’s stage. When they both proved themselves more than capable individually, and even beyond exceptional as a team, they were brought on to the Maximum Threat, Maximum Risk Special Operations Division, or MTMR.

The MTMR, only dealt with the worst of the worst, and then the unthinkable of the worst. These were the terrorists, the warlords, those with enough power and influence to bypass almost any law, any treaty and any world decree. Those who would violate human rights and the rules of engagement. They were the worst of the worst, but also the lowest of the low. In their eyes, life was a commodity to be traded, abused or without value and discarded at will. This is what happened when psychopaths achieved power. Without empathy, without a conscious, without a sense of right or wrong or any moral accountability, without any value of life. These were the most dangerous and most difficult enemies to engage. Not only could they commit the most horrible atrocities, they were usually narcissists as well, dynamic, charismatic, even charming. Therefore, their inner circle was comprised of sycophants who provided his narcissistic supply. They eliminated those that were either immune to their charms, or were beginning to understand the true nature of their personality, which was that of a very highly functioning psychopath.

In this division, Hamish did not operate in the field, but joined Evelyn in strategic planning and outcomes. They worked as a team. Hamish, with his knowledge of the field as a Special Operations Officer, possessed the skills to operate weapons and explosives, to take on missions to gather intelligence and destroy targets in hostile environments. He knew the dangers, the variables, the best strategies.

Evelyn provided critical thinking.  She had the ability to predict outcomes, to make the most difficult life and death decisions without hesitation and be a leader to her team . The pair became an invaluable asset to the division. It was proof to them, when the agency acknowledged their value, not as separate agents, not as a handler and operative, but as a team, that they could be in the world of espionage as husband and wife with a family. The agency saw that their success was based on not only their expertise, but BECAUSE of, not despite their relationship. The closeness, the sheer absolute trust that they had in each other, and their love kept them committed to each other and their work. They experienced both a fulfilling family life and successful professional life for longer than anyone could hope for in their line of work.

During their successful tenure in the MTMR Special Ops, one operation took precedence over all others. They were both actively involved, not only in gathering intel, but in the entire intelligence cycle.  First, with planning, identifying possible threats and what they needed to know about the threat with world leaders and decision makers. Collection, which was the division they both began in, the physical collection of target information through operations. Analysis, examining the new information, looking for connections, key points, new developments, and combining it with what they already knew, creating useful and actionable intelligence. Lastly, was Dissemination, where the new intelligence was discussed with politicians and decision makers who then decided whether to take action or if more information was needed.

It was during one of these cycles, where Evelyn and Hamish were assigned as head officers of a mission. It was a mission that resulted from intel that their team had collected, analysed and produced. The target was an international underground world leader, not of any established or recognised government. He threatened to destabilise society. Not through government or any means of authority. He wasn’t targeting positions of leadership. He wasn’t engaging in the trickle down theory. He was starting at the bottom. First, was taking out crops, tainting water supplies, poisoning livestock. He did not bother with small areas. He targeted the largest ones. Locations with the most impact and the widest effect.  Civil unrest was next. Which turned into peaceful demonstrations. Then came active protest. Followed by violent protest. Then it was rioting, looting. And when fear took hold, it was domestic terrorism. He was using the countries own people to destabilise the structure, the foundation of civilisation, which was based on people working together.

Apparently, he was not one to follow the saying, “The fish rots from the head down.” Meaning that without sound leadership, the people will eventually turn bad and die off. When in actuality, the guts, the contents of the fish begins to rot first. Perhaps the warlord followed this philosophy. Corrupt the innovators, the providers, the creators of sustenance, essentially the life givers, and civilised society will begin to rot from, not the head down, but from the inside out.

In conjunction with the US, the British Armed Forces and other key international allies, they were able to coordinate an airstrike. It was successful in so much that they destroyed their enemies home base, their world HQ and well as almost all of their high level leadership. However, they missed their main target. Also on the strike list, was the home of Azal Aamon, which was where he was supposed to be at the time of the strike. His family, wife and two children were to be collateral damage. Unfortunate, but sometimes unavoidable in times of war. But after reviewing the DNA evidence to confirm the targets as deceased, his family was identified, but Aamon’s DNA was not found. No one had knowledge of how he was able to avoid or survive the attack. The last piece of intel that they had verified, was his location at the time of fire.

———

Inside the Black Prince, Gwendolyn paused. She reached for her drink, lifted the glass to her lips, and took a small sip. Harry saw her jaw working as she let the scotch rest on her palate, allowing it to reach all the areas of her tongue so she could appreciate its aromatic notes before she swallowed.  It was a gesture he was familiar with, one that he made every time he enjoyed his own drink, but it was especially interesting to see this decidedly, he was not a sexist in any way, shape or form, but this particularly male gesture take shape on her extremely feminine and delicate face. He felt decidedly uncomfortable. So he simply took her lead and followed suit with a swallow of his own. As did Eggsy, who was leaning forward at this point, his elbows on the table and his tie even more undone, as were the few top buttons of his shirt. Harry as always, remained properly attired.

She looked at both of them, her eyes inquiring, silently asking if they had any questions, if they needed any clarifications, to see if they understood. To confirm that they believed her.

Harry was particularly intrigued. Out of all the coincidences that seemed to be happening, he knew precisely, the mission she was referring to. The British Armed Forces did take part in the Aamon mission and he knew this because he was part of the BAF at that time.  He had been directly involved in the operations side of the mission. How was it possible that he had this experience in common with Merlin and it never came up in conversation? He thought back to the rare times where they would share stories, sometimes while waiting out a mission, or after a successful one, over a drink just like this. He recalled sharing a few stories from his time in the military, but thinking back, could not recall a single instance that Merlin even mentioned his time in the army, or anything really prior his employment with Kingsman. Harry only knew that he had been military. Out of all the possible connections that they had, one of the biggest ones that they shared remained unknown until after his death.

Gwendoyn was regarding him thoughtfully, knowing that he had made some kind of connection or realisation, but she didn’t mention it and he was grateful. He tipped his head, asking her to please continue.

“As you can imagine, this was seen as a failed mission on paper, since they did not terminate their main target. But in many ways it was a huge success. An operation of this scale, with multiple targets on the board, with international military and intelligence coordination, with minimal collateral damage, is typically unheard of, and my parents were honoured to have lead their intelligence division. I’m not sure if Kingsman participates in this particular tradition, but after high risk missions of this nature, officers and operatives, if it is feasible, are offered time off, mostly to decompress. The agency is aware that if their officers and operatives work at that level of intensity for prolonged periods of time, they will burn out. It’s not possible to sustain that level of stress at length without a chance to wind down.”

It was quiet. Gwendolyn has stopped speaking. Harry could see that she was taking time to collect her thoughts again. He wasn’t sure why she needed to. She was recalling a very complicated and personal story with an eloquence, a clarity and a dignity that he respected very much. She wasn’t just reminiscing about a story, reciting history, or a past event. Their comprehension was important to her. This wasn’t about her “getting something off of her chest”. He had the feeling that she could be very happy never having to say any of these words ever again. She wasn’t looking for support or understanding. She was making sure that THEY understood her story. It wasn’t sympathy for her that she wanted. She was looking for absorbtion  Particularly from Harry. Most likely because he had the longest relationship with Merlin. But she was fixing him with a very intense gaze that he was not quite sure what to do with.

Harry already felt a particular sadness. He knew where this story was heading. He might not know the specifics yet, but you didn’t need to be a spy to know there was no happy ending for her. Out of a family that was once a mother, a father, and two brothers, this woman was the only one sitting in front of them. His respect for her was growing with each moment. He was feeling quite sorry now, for treating her so roughly.

She picked up her story, dusted it a little, found where she left off and resumed. Her voice became detached once again, but her words never faltered.

“We were all on break. Because they both got time off, that meant the whole family was on break. It was very rare for us. For the family, for me, those times were very special.  I don’t remember many other times we had that kind of chance. Of course, outings were still agency outings. I was really too small at the time, six, but that was our life. I didn’t know any different then. But my parents, because of their positions, were at high risk for retaliation and we always had protection with us. My brothers and I had protocol, even back then. No speaking to strangers, at all. Never speaking about my parents, never offering any personal information. Never giving out my name. If we were ever to get lost, we were never to ask for them or speak their names. We had one number to call and it was not even theirs. It was the agency’s number, created just for us to have in case of an emergency. There was actually a person whose job it was to be prepared if they ever received a call from us. Very few people, and only those with high security clearance, had information about our family. We were referred to as assets. Not by our names.”

As she continued, The more emotion left her voice, the more matter of fact she became, as she became more composed, more stoic, Harry felt his sadness slowly turn into inevitable dread. He was also aware of the second mission that followed up the first air strike. He was also assigned operations support for the BAF’s involvement. He had heard stories about what had happened at intelligence HQ, but never anything confirmed. If she had been involved in that, it was worse than he thought.

------

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