Making ref pages for my Starscream design, which I plan on using for a multi-chapter fic. This Star is gonna have a pretty complex backstory! Will most likely be altering his feet, shins, and cannons but I'm pretty happy with everything else. I'll have to draw a full turnaround too ugh
He often wears a false face to make himself appear more approachable.
A/N: I’m back from the dead. Ain’t that lovely. @rayofsarkasm, you’re welcome. This is my preemptive apology for when we finish reading Ellen Hopkin’s Identical. Minor formatting and editing errors because I’m (unfortunately) posting this on my phone. I’ll fix them at a later time; I don’t have access to a desktop right now. Enjoy, loves.
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Dr. Spencer Reid × BAU Agent!Reader
Wordcount: 1,062(?) Will double-check later.
Type: One-Shot
Summary: A late-night investigation turns into a minor interrogation, and Dr. Reid is only concerned with one outcome — verbal revelation among the fires of hell.
Hot Gum
It wasn’t Spencer that caved first. It was you. Yeah, you’d seen him every so often outside of the BAU’s office when you (rarely) left Garcia’s office, and every single time, his eyes followed. He wasn’t openly staring, no. He was more respectful than that. But you could feel intrigued eyes on yours every step.
You’d asked him what his deal was; the two of you were working late one night — he was checking some information in the database, and you were… supervising? Yeah, supervising Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Reid, who had… What, three PhD’s? The excuse made even your eyes roll.
He didn’t answer.
Truth be told, you just couldn’t stand the idea of anyone being in the repository room after dark. You watched him work; he was chewing gum as he typed without looking at his hands, flames flickering between eyes and screen.
“What are you looking for?”
“The last known on-the-grid location of the unsub. An internet trail.”
No shit, Sherlock.
“What, you’re going to magic a lead out of thin air? Isn’t that usually Garcia’s thing?”
“Yes. But: ‘Chicks dig magic,’” he replied.
The reply seemed a little quippy, and you tilted your head in blatant amusement. “Who told you that?”
“Morgan.”
“Hm. What flavour of gum is that?”
“Cinnamon.”
Silence (and the sound of typing) hung in the air for a few minutes.
“What’s your problem?” You blurted out. Immediately, a hand came up to cover your mouth in shock, as if to backpedal — as if to rescind the words. “Shit, I’m—”
“My problem?” He inquired, fingertips pausing on the keys, hummingbird hands still. Why were you noticing his hands? You shook your head and tried to meet his eyes.
“I mean… I just don’t get it, Spencer.”
He blinked. His hands tensed slightly on the keyboard; maybe you’d offended him by calling him by his first name? The rest of the team called him by Reid. You barreled onward. No going back now, lines of formality crossed concerning his name or not.
“You watch me like a hawk, but you’ve not said a word to me since I joined the BAU.”
“That was intentional. I’m sorry. If it helps, I… I admire the work you do; I could never understand it.”
Now it was your turn to blink. Dr. Spencer Reid — the team-proclaimed genius, the man who could read 20,000 words per minute and had an eidetic memory — couldn’t figure out computers.
“I’m a technophobe,” he explained further, tonally dipping into a register he only used for his apparently not-so-rare (according to the team, but not in your experience) insights into random information.
“It’s not as uncommon as you might think. Even as early as the 19th century, relatively speaking, people were afraid of technology advancing. Poets William Wordsworth and William Blake believed that the technological changes taking place as a part of the industrial revolution were a pollution — a turn of circumstances that tarnished their cherished views of nature.”
His voice was reserved, even soft, as he talked about poets and progress, and, to be honest, you were only half-listening. His voice lulled you into a sort of dreamy comfort you didn’t have words for, when he did speak. His eyes never left the screen.
“You sound like an encyclopedia.”
“To the rest of the team, I am one.”
“Right. You never answered my question, Doctor.”
At that, he spun in his chair to face you, halfway, his hands flitting up off the keys, then back. A gasp escaped you — In surprise? In fear? … In excitement? — but he didn’t outwardly react.
“My problem is you.”
“What?”
“I’m curious about you.”
You scanned him, looking for something, but you didn't even know what. Your eyes trailed his hair, his eyes, the bridge of his nose, his stubbled jaw… his lips. When he spoke again, it was in a low whisper. His hands left the keyboard for a third time, hummingbird wings flitting up to brush a lock of hair out of your eyes. And then he took your glasses off.
“Hey!”
“Darling,” he murmured. Darling? “I can’t go through this again.”
His voice carried a smoky rasp that sent distant coppery desire through you. He inspected your glasses. You stared at him, staring at them, through mildly blurry vision.
“You’re near-sighted. To a severe degree.”
“Your point, Doctor?” He wasn’t an optometrist, too… was he? That’d be the cherry on top of the super-genius sundae.
“My point,” he started, looking up at you with somber, doe-like brown eyes, “is that you won’t need these. May I?” He asked, inclining his head toward your glasses.
“Excuse me? Doctor—“
He pulled you in, with gentle insistence; despite that, it was sudden and you let out a tiny yelp.
“May I?” He repeated, voice now merely a breath. “I promise I’ll explain myself.”
You only nodded, unsure of what exactly you were agreeing to, but dumbfounded and mute from shock. You watched as he put your glasses on, pulling you closer, and when that was done, he moved Garcia’s keyboard.
“Spencer—” You tried again.
“You know, you’re the only one besides J.J. to not call me Reid all the time?”
You fell mute again, as he lifted you up like a doll, placing your left, then right, leg on each respective shoulder.
“R-Reid,” you whimpered.
“Are you scared? Please don’t be. Do you want to know why you’re my problem?”
Unconsciously, you bit your lip. “There’s cameras in here,” you replied lamely. “Garcia will—”
“Yeah. I know.”
“You don’t care?”
“I’ll disinfect everything. Please don’t worry,” he replied. Pleaded. And as you stared into those big, brown, mournful eyes, you realised two things:
One. You didn’t have an answer to that. You only knew that you felt the coppery desire becoming a hot chill as he spoke. He had slid your panties off, down your legs, as you’d questioned him.
Two. You knew you were okay with being both the solution and the problem in his life. Now he was kissing the bridge of your nose, your lips. His hot gum was in your mouth. He was sharing his fever.
“W-Why?”
“I have to warn you; you’re my problem because… my last two relationships? Both girls ended up dead.”
Before you could formulate an answer, he lowered his head as if in repentance, falling to his knees in front of you. He confessed with his tongue, and as he spoke sin, you tasted cinnamon.
so like...... i posted my first fic on ao3 abt my agent ocs, give it a read if you'd like! it's primarily 24 focused but it'll be eventual agent 96 (all queerplatonic) enjoy! :3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
So this was a sort of supernatural piece of writing I did for Far Cry 5 a few years ago which I found recently, I still kind of like the concept so I cleaned it up a bit and here it is!
Word Count: 2.1k
Warnings: Mention of abuse, Mention of drug use, Mention of a dead bird
┕ Masterlist
┕ Add Yourself To The Tag List
First came War.
Contrary to common belief, this time War was the first to arrive when Jacob Seed was born. Humans were odd-looking things when they were born, all lumpy and wiggly and squealing, and yet to War they were the least irritating at this age. They could not speak, could barely move, and they couldn’t think enough to come up with any stupid or abhorrent ideas that humans tended to come up with.
Jacob Seed was not War’s first Herald, and he would not be their last; he was just another one of many. Nothing more and nothing less. No one special. And yet they returned to that decrepit street in Rome, Georgia, bleeding red all over. Every bit like the warrior that they tempt with their violence. The warrior of all warriors, the guiding hand of wrath.
Second came Conquest.
They appeared in a haze of blinding white: bright, pure, yet a harbinger of human impurity nevertheless. Whenever Conquest lifts their hand, Heaven weeps and Hell cowers before them. But Conquest was curious about Joseph Seed and his life, and they were rather surprised to see War still around years on from their Herald’s birth.
‘This one holds your interest?’ War just scoffed as they leaned against the door frame, Jacob’s childish talking being heard in the background. They weren’t particularly pleased to see Conquest, but they were not unhappy to see them either. Conquest did not appear on this mortal plane often, but when they did it was usually close to where War resided. Conquest and War tended to go hand in hand.
‘Don’t flatter it, I only came back here when I felt your presence.’ Conquest just hummed noncommittally as they peered into the cot that baby Joseph was laying in, he appeared to be sleeping. It was hard to believe that these little things could be such vessels of destruction, but babies did grow up after all, and humans were probably the most destructive creatures Conquest had ever witnessed.
‘It is unusual for two of us to be from the same household, but it is not unheard of.’ Although both could barely remember the last time this had happened, a wispy memory that had become a product of time marching ever on in their minds.
Third came Famine.
War and Conquest both knew when they had arrived, they could feel it in the air when John Seed was born. The black of their energy flowed around them as they walked up the overgrown path to the house, but if the sunlight hit them right, sometimes they shined a beautiful blue. Such a slow and insidious creature, Famine could rip out the hope of any mortal they came across.
‘You two as well? Hm, this is quite a family event.’ They drawled out while running their fingers over a dusty windowpane. In the many years that the Horsemen had been on this Earth, of all the years in fact, they could safely say that not many things shocked them. It was hard to be surprised when you witnessed the worst things possible, when you were the worst things possible.
‘Very unusual indeed.’ Conquest mused as the three of them faced each other in the Seed House, War looking the least thrilled particularly since Famine had showed up. Always the killer of their best work. But three Heralds in one family in the same generation had never happened before, and if they kept returning for visits, they would all be seeing so much more of each other.
‘Do you think they’ll have another one and then Death will come and join us?’ War paused in dragging the whetstone down their sword at Famine’s words, looking up from their seated position at the figure leaning against the cot. John was inside and his constant screaming had become the backdrop to their afternoon, it was driving War crazy.
‘I hope not, it’s bad enough that I’ve had to deal with you two all this time.’ Famine scowled in response.
‘Well, no one is making you stay here. Isn’t there some war you have to go and start far away from here?’
‘Aren’t there some poor people for you to go and starve?’
‘Are you two quite finished?’ Conquest hissed from the doorway; newly fletched arrows clenched in their hand.
‘There is enough noise in this house with that incessant wailing, I do not need you two adding to it!’ War and Famine just bristled as Conquest left the room, the audacity to think they had the authority to tell them off. But to keep what frail peace there was in the house, they both silently went back to what they were doing.
Famine rubbed their temples with their fingers before letting out a frustrated noise. ‘If you’re going to procreate then look after your offspring, don’t just leave it to scream its lungs out!’ But John’s brothers were not back from school yet to soothe his tears and his parents weren’t around either.
‘That’s it,” War stood up suddenly, sliding their sword back onto their hip. ‘I need to go somewhere more peaceful than here, like a conflict zone.’ The clinking of their armour and the sudden evaporation of their stifling energy in the house was all that signalled them disappearing.
Famine turned back to John, his little arms and legs kicking and moving as he cried, his face red from all the screaming he had been doing. Famine poked his little chest with their finger, face scrunched up as if they were touching something like rotting garbage.
‘Stop it.’ He didn’t stop crying, so they poked his chest again. ‘I said stop it.’ When Famine went back with their finger to poke him again, John’s chubby hands grabbed it when it was near his chest. They froze at the contact. John shouldn’t be able to touch them, yet here he was waving their finger around with both his hands like it was the best toy he’d ever had. He must have been able to see them, because instead of opening his mouth to cry like he had been doing all afternoon, John let out a little giggle as his blue eyes were focused on the black slowly engulfing his hands.
A creaking floorboard was heard, and Famine quickly pulled their finger away from John just as Conquest came in.
‘Its stopped crying.’ Famine lightly traced the finger John had been holding and hummed.
‘Hm, seems he finally ran out of air to spare.’
It quickly became evident to them how these three children would become Heralds of three Horsemen fated to bring the evil that comes with the apocalypse. Wrath made humans do terrible things to one another, including those that they shared blood with. So, War and Conquest and Famine just watched as every beat of a fist bled war, and every crack of a belt carved conquest, and every fracture of a bone forged famine. Every day there was a last resort, a final straw, today's was a Spider-man comic.
Joseph had resigned himself to his fate, kneeling on the ground outside his house with his back bared to his father. The street conveniently empty of people to witness the deed being done, and yet he swore he could see someone across the street watching him. A figure of some kind all in white that was very clearly looking at him. Joseph’s child mind could only think them one thing, for only an angel would be here with him now in his time of pain when it seemed his father could not see them. It comforted him, knowing that an angel watched over him, to imagine their face in his time of suffering. To picture them soothing him softly with gentle touches as they made all the hurts from his father disappear. It made Joseph feel special, like God still loved him enough to send one of his celestials down to watch over him. He was not damned.
The day the Seed family was split up was the day War rejoiced. They did not have to see as much of Conquest and Famine as they did while in that house. Death would be around, but Death was always around, and War did not mind their company so much. They were a particular side effect of War’s brand of earthly evil anyway, especially where Jacob was going. For where else could an ex-criminal go but to war? The belly of their particular kind of beast.
Their mere presence could bring out the worst aspects of human nature, uncover their primal instincts, their will to survive. It’s what led to Jacob murdering his friend and then eating him, that burning word in the back of his head pounding with every shaky step he took: survive, survive, survive. But he was only human. And carrying around a physical and psychological heaviness would weigh him down, even make him fall to the ground. Jacob briefly wondered about not getting back up.
‘Come now soldier, you can do better than that.’ He was hallucinating, it was the only explanation. Why else would there be someone looking down at him in the middle of nowhere? Their face wasn’t particularly clear, and he couldn’t even tell if they were a man or a woman, but Jacob could see red that much he did know. Or it was at least what he felt he could see. But their voice was pleasing to his ear, even if their tone wasn’t particularly kind. The soft hands that grabbed his own to pull him up were his next indication that they were obviously a hallucination, no one out here was going to have hands that soft. His exhausted brain couldn’t even cook up someone concrete.
‘Do not disappoint me again.’ When Jacob was hauled up to his feet he lost sight of them for a moment, but by the time he had straightened up they were gone anyway. Clearly this was his bodies way of telling him to keep moving, to keep going forward. And so, he did, coming out of the other side of his war into the waiting arms of nihilism and the loving embrace of madness. Yet a perfect soldier through and through.
Fourth came Death.
Black eyes. Soulless and inhuman, contrasted against the rest of their pale visage. Piercing through the mortal barriers of skin and bone as they plucked out your soul with nimble fingers, as life fled from your body faster than it was given to you. No matter where you were, if you looked hard enough, you could always find Death lurking in the corner of your eye.
Rachel Jessop used to have an imaginary friend as a child. They were so odd-looking that Rachel thought they must be some Fae creature, but Rachel didn’t mind that, in fact she liked it. They didn’t speak often, but Rachel liked talking to them and watching as they traced the scythe they wore on their belt with their long, black, fingernails. But when they did speak, young Rachel found that she liked their voice although she couldn’t place how to describe it, which she thought suited a creature of the Fae. She would even idly wonder if they would let her touch their silky looking hair, but Rachel never asked.
Soon Rachel grew up and started to only find comfort when she was in a drug-induced stupor, she hadn’t seen her imaginary friend in a long time. But sometimes when Rachel was so high she could barely move, she swore out of the corner of her eye she could see a flash of pale fabric or the feeling of a long nail gently running down her cheek. But what use was Rachel’s imaginary friend when Rachel no longer existed in this world? For now Faith was all that remained. Her imaginary friend felt clearer to her now.
Death stood atop a hill that offered them a large view of Hope County. Skies were blue, the wind was gentle, and the air was peaceful. They could see where Eden’s Gate was establishing themselves for what was to come, for what other reason would the four of them be here in one place, at the same time together, except to be here for this ending? Death looked to their left to see Famine, War, and Conquest standing next to them in a line looking out at the County as well. Their black eyes traced over their chosen faces before returning to the calm scene laid out in front of them. Bare and waiting, paused in apprehension, as if this land knew what was coming to it. Death lifted the Rook they were cradling to their lips and whispered:
‘Come and see.’
Throwing the Rook into the air the four figures watched it fly high for a few moments before it stuttered, twitched, and then plummeted back to the Earth before landing with a splat in a pile of bloodied feathers and crushed cartilage, right on the steps of the church.
Death looked back over to their left to find their brethren now looking at them, Conquest tilted their head slightly. Their civility truly a paradoxical mockery of this world.
The pale hand then pulled the scythe from their own belt, and as they moved the handle grew until it was longer than their form, the curved blade large as it stood above their head. With long nails they reached up and flicked the metal of it, it sounded like thunder.
When pictures of a private dinner between Lewis Hamilton and George Russell circulate, the internet bursts with speculation and assumptions of the status of their relationship together.
Can two Formula 1 drivers handle media pressure outside of the track?
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here's the first chapter of the fake dating au that won the poll!! enjoy!!
tagging @crimsonicarus it's here!! ❤️ and thank you to @autumn816 for the support and inspiration and @tyremanagementsupremacy for being so lovely! biggest thanks to @russilton for all their gewis posts that i will be referencing through my fic (ice bath mentioned in like the first chapter lol)—i may have stalked your blog for inspo, sorry... and THANK YOU to all my mutuals in general for liking my writing, i literally made this for you—sending you all my love!! ❤️❤️❤️
The bar was heavy with smoke when she entered it, the lighting dim against dark wooden floors and muted green wallpaper.
What caught her eye wasn't the people smoking cigarettes or the men parading around the pool table, it was a woman dressed in red.
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the yuri gewis propaganda got to me
sorry for any typos or mistakes, the muse would not stop haunting me and i wrote this in a rush
