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fordarkisthesuede · 2 months ago

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Fangs of Ouroboros - Chapter 4 - Looking into the Lion's Mouth

Whelp, the world is fucked. Now, more than ever, we need some nice distraction. And now that I’m back from my always-unscheduled-but-somehow-yearly-and-much-needed break from social media, let’s just see what I missed! …oh. Uh. Lotta ‘yikes’ around here… Lesse, people obsessed with a baby hippo… Some WolvPool… Whole lotta blog notes, though, that’s nice… (Mostly for Journal 3, go figure…) Let’s just check the ol’ mailbox…

WOAH NELLY! I’ll, uh, have to sort through all that later... First thing’s first - I gotta take care of my batjokes girlies. My sweet Telltale cheesies. My good time pals. For all those who stuck around, and for all those who will continue to walk with me through this valley of whatever-the-fuck: I hope this makes things just a tinsy bit better.

Last time, in a way better universe than this one:

Bruce followed the next step in Joker's murder game, discovering more clues to the odd mystery in the form of a man's expensive ring and maps of Gotham cemeteries. With John's strange intentions burning in the back of his mind, he met with Iman and Agent Blake at W.E. only to learn that Victor Fries has escaped and very likely sitting somewhere in Gotham...

Now, let's rejoin Tiffany and John on their way to Blackgate Prison...

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“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Tiffany muttered, trying not to look as nervous as she felt walking behind the prison escort.

John seemed too confident. But she had to admit that with the navy blue pinstripe suit, metal framed glasses, and orange bowtie, he did look like a lawyer. One who had no issue with making the visiting request, bullshitting his way through the approval process (which was made easier since Tiffany had already snuck both of their fake names into the system), and striding down the hall like he had business to attend.

Then again, she supposed he was used to this kind of thing, having been in Arkham and St. Dymphna’s. He probably knew all the red flags they would’ve looked for in a visitor, attorney or not.

“It’ll be fine,” he whispered with an encouraging smile, “We’ll give it five, ten minutes tops.”

She was more concerned about what to say. When she interrogated criminals, she was always direct, like Bruce, and sometimes had to use physical intimidation. But now she was out of her element and without her armor.

John tilted his head, and as if sensing her distress, leaned closer. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he added quietly as the door to the visiting room opened for them, “Everybody’s a victim.”

Only two other people were visiting, but for such a large prison the number of cheap, worn-down wool seats were slim. The lighting was bleak, even for the early morning, with no windows and only white LEDs here and there, making everything feel clinical. There was a strange smell, too. It reminded her of when she and Luke had once stumbled upon an old couch sitting alone on a sidewalk by the garbage cans, and they’d been young and dumb enough to pull up the cushions to see what was underneath.

John took a seat, an open seam on the bottom pushing out a wad of stuffing with the force. He patted the one next to him as if Tiffany already hadn’t thought of sitting there.

Tiffany caught sight of her reflection in the plexiglass. The makeup made her face look longer, and the fake half-moon glasses dangling from the faux-gold chain around her neck almost added a flair of sophistication. It was like looking at a sibling she never knew. One with her father’s nose, her mother’s eyes, and a stranger’s flat-ironed hair.

She held her breath as the prison entrance opened on the other side of the center with a metal squeal as Mary Dahl was guided in. Tiffany peeked at the dossiers she’d brought along from the BatCave as if it would help her nerves settle. The female guard who had removed Mary’s handcuffs added what looked like the world’s flattest pillow to the seat in an attempt to give her a boost.

She let herself breathe out as Mary sat across from her, a mere three-foot-eleven. Her blonde twin ponytails were droopy and half-heartedly held up by two different colored rubber bands. The normally baby blue eyes looked gray and dull, with dark circles underneath. Her nails looked stubby and worn as if she’d bitten them, and the orange jumpsuit sagged so much it made her look even smaller.

Mary waited until the guard left to pick up the phone on her side. The phone was heavy and worn with hundreds of hands before Tiffany’s, reminding her of her of the ancient payphone stuck out in the hall of her grandma’s old apartment. “Hello,” Mary greeted, almost making Tiffany jump in her seat. She had a surprisingly normal 30-year-old-woman’s voice. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Uhm, we haven’t,” Tiffany mangled, darting her gaze back at John’s handwriting atop the folder in her lap. “We’re from Moore & Morrison , LLP; I’m Nancy Bolton .” Mary cast a sideways glance at John. “And this is my senior colleague, Joe White .”

Mary gave a little nod, but said nothing.

“We had some questions about your case.” Tiffany flopped open the thick manila folder again, tilting her head to keep the receiver to her shoulder and being mindful not to let Mary see the load of blank paper underneath the important pieces on top. She blinked down and realized she had forgotten she was supposed to use readers. “Certain, um, evidence was recently brought to light.”

Some life came back into Mary’s round face. “Uh-huh.”

Just as Tiffany adjusted the fake glasses on her nose, the prison door squealed open a second time.

Waylon Jones was a behemoth at what was probably seven and a half feet tall and full of muscle, but unlike Bane, he carried a lightbulb-shaped silhouette. Green scale tattoos ran from the top of his head to the backs of his knuckles, barely leaving any skin below the bumpy browline untouched. Small bulbous implants were raised in rows like a mohawk in place of hair.

Tiffany had seen his picture, but to call him ‘intimidating’ in person was seriously undercutting it.

Mary turned to look, too, and her face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Crocy!” she squealed in delight.

Waylon’s shaved eyebrows rose. It kind of looked like he said her name, but Tiffany couldn’t hear.

Mary practically bounced in her seat as the guard led him next to hers. Instead of taking his handcuffs off, the guard went to the opposite corner to cross his arms and keep his eyes trained on Waylon’s back.

“How are they treating you on the other side?” Waylon asked, his voice rough and raspy. Tiffany could see that his teeth had all been filed down into points.

“I’m alright,” she answered, still talking in a higher register than before, “My cell-pal Mariam looks after me pretty good. What about you?”

Waylon shrugged and picked up the receiver for John’s side. “I’ve been better. What’s this about?”

“I was wondering the same thing! Pulling us out together after five years…” Mary shot Tiffany a look. “The old crowd stopped visiting after the first six months. Our lawyers after the first year.”

John positioned himself to still lean towards her somewhat while talking into his own phone. “As my junior was trying to explain earlier, there’s new evidence in your case,” he explained into the receiver, adjusting his fake glasses as he crossed his legs. “And we’re here on behalf of a…third party who brought it to our attention.”

Mary didn’t seem to have heard that as well.

Tiffany thought back to all the detective shows her mom would watch on summer afternoons during her childhood. Unlike in books, they usually went through the crime step by step before solving it in the climax. It felt like a good way to jog her memory.

“Yeah, as I had said earlier, your case has new evidence.” Tiffany pretended to skim over the paper in her lap. “According to your statement, you hit Mr. Uslan with a whisky decanter?”

“That’s right,” Mary answered in her normal voice.

“You claimed self-defense, but they still charged you with murder-two.” She took off the glasses. “Can you walk me through what happened?”

Mary stared at her. “Isn’t it all in there?”

It was. Attempted sexual assault, self-defense blow to the head, running for help and solace, covered up the murder the best way they knew how to preserve what they could of their lives…

She could hear John next to her: “Such a strange thing, not pleading temporary insanity for you… It’s not like there aren’t other cannibalism cases in Arkham. I’d have thought your line about ‘not wanting to waste meat’ would’ve been a cincher. I guess the media’s shock-and-awe story really pulled one over on you, huh?”

(Ah. Treating him like a victim.)

“I know what the police wrote happened,” Tiffany said, “I know what the journalists scraped together. And I know what you told the court, Mary,” she added softly, “But you also tried to take the blame for everything at first, even after Mr. Jones tried to do the same for you. I need to know exactly what happened so this new evidence makes more sense.”

Those blue doll-like eyes welled with something like hope. “Do you think,” she mumbled into the receiver, “I might…be innocent? I could get out?”

She felt bad getting her hopes up like this when there was an ultra-slim chance she could even do anything. Maybe if she got a confession out of the real perpetrator, it would mean something, but… “It’s…possible,” she answered, “Our, er, client has, uh… What you’d call a ‘reputable stance’ with the justice system.”

Mary’s eyebrows rose, and she darted her eyes over to Waylon and the guard in the corner, then at the inmates on the other side of the room. “Are you talking about The Batman?” she whispered, covering the mouthpiece with her hand.

She sure as hell wasn’t going to answer that. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

Mary searched her face, but couldn’t seem to get anything from Tiffany’s expression. “Okay,” she pouted, her ponytails almost seeming to droop, “I get it. Client confidentiality and all that. I mean, I’d be surprised if it was; he probably would’ve busted us up too, back then… Even worse than the cops. I hear all kinds of stuff about him around here.”

She didn’t really want to let Batman’s name be dragged like that. He could be rough, but she’d never seen him do anything unnecessary. “I don’t think he’s so bad. From what I hear, anyway,” she interjected as casually as possible. “At least with his track record, I think he would’ve solved your case much faster. You might not have even been here for this long. Gotten assault and battery, maybe conspiracy.”

Mary looked much more interested. “This evidence of yours… Why would my little case have something new after all these years, anyway?”

In this case, honesty is the best policy, as her mother always said. “A print that came up in your case’s evidence log showed up elsewhere recently.”

Her little blonde eyebrows rose curiously, then settled into a furrow as she stared at the table between them. Her gaze shifted to Waylon. “Will it help Croc, too?” she asked hopefully.

She doubted that. But John had evidently heard that, or else could read her lips - he nudged her calf, and when she glanced over at him, he was spelling out ‘say yes’ with his fingers under the tabletop as Waylon said something about police brutality.

“It could reduce Mr. Jones’ sentence.”

Mary smiled a fraction and jiggled like she kicked her legs in her seat. “That was his name in the circus, y’know - ‘Killer Croc’. Some southern guy called me ‘Babydoll’ once and everyone found it so funny they wouldn’t stop imitating him for weeks until it just stuck. Though,” she leaned back, smiling over at her companion, “you’re the only one who can call me that now, huh, Crocy?”

Waylon looked over at her mid-sentence, sighing with the type of mild annoyance that didn’t seem very heartfelt. “...you can’t just say ‘Croc’, can ya?”

Mary gave something of a giggle. “Cause I know you won’t stop me.”

“Only ‘cause if you were anyone else, I’d crush ya,” he rasped, making a squishing motion with his hands like he was crushing an oversized cola can, “like this, and throw ya into the bin where you belong.”

Mary beamed and giggled. It must have been some inside joke. (Though John was hiding a smile behind his hand, too.)

Tiffany really wanted to get to the point. “Um, Mary…”

“Oh, sorry - where was I? The circus! So you know I was hired on to be ‘the’ audience member. Any dangerous act - fire, electric eels, knife throwing - I was the pick a lot of the time. Crocy started before me,” she explained, her voice only going higher on the silly nickname. “Part freak show, part strong-man. He used to wrestle crocodiles in a pit.”

“Until those animal welfare assholes got involved,” Waylon grumbled distantly.

“Right. But we had our own trailers. Not much, but homey.”

“Waylon,” John interjected politely, “could you move the receiver between you two? I’d like to hear her side.”

Waylon gave a grunt that sounded a bit like an alligator’s, mouthing something like ‘fine’, his lip curling to show off the teeth filed down into points. But he moved the phone between the booths anyway.

Mary continued. “So I finish my volunteer act with the magician’s drowning trick, and I have to slink out with the audience members in case someone gets wise - and this guy follows me. At first I think it’s just some townie who’s trying to see if I’m my ‘real’ age, so I throw him off by visiting the stalls, going into the funhouse, stuff like that. But…” Her face fell. “He bumped into me on purpose. Picked up my popcorn and asked if my parents worked here. Said he liked my act and wanted to use it. I didn’t really know what to say.”

Tiffany supposed she wouldn’t, either. “Did you invite him to your trailer?”

“No,” Mary said sternly, “I ran away. I thought I lost him, but he followed me to my trailer and just strolled in like he owned the place, talking up some show he was making and how he could use a child actress who could ‘turn off the waterworks’. Said I could have a ‘great future in television’ if I played my cards right…”

Her face scrunched up into a dark, world-weary expression, and her voice had gotten quieter. “I told him what I was. Then I told him to fuck off. And then he tried to…you know.”

She understood completely. “I know. It’s okay.”

John made some gesture, and Waylon’s phone was pressed to Mary’s ear. “Had he been drinking?” he asked, seeming somewhat sympathetic.

“He’d helped himself to my whiskey.” Her voice was growing frail. “It was on my dressing table. He wasn’t the first to try it on with me… Just the first to…”

Waylon yanked the phone away from her. “You don’t have the right to ask that,” he growled, just audible over Tiffany’s line.

“Sure I do,” John said not very smoothly, “Any court-jockey fresh from the bar is going to ask her that. It doesn’t mean I think she lead him on or something,” he added with a barely disguised frown.

Mary tugged on the retractable cord, and Waylon reluctantly put it back in the middle. “He tried to pin me to the table. I wasn’t thinking about it,” she said softly, “I just grabbed what was closest and swung.”

She was silent for a moment. Tiffany felt it best not to press onto the next point.

“When I realized… I dropped the bottle and ran. I only got six trailers down when Waylon saw me.”

“I checked it out,” Waylon grunted. “He was dead alright. Bleeding right into the floor.”

“Did you see anyone else around the trailer park?” Tiffany asked as gently as possible.

Mary sighed. “I don’t think so…”

John bounced his crossed leg. “How about you, Waylon? Anybody you didn’t recognize? Or even anyone you did?”

Waylon grunted in annoyance, lip curling to show teeth, and leaned back to look at the ceiling. “It was five years ago, how am I supposed to remember?”

“Because you lived in a tight-knit community, and you know everyone – at least enough to recognize the crew and the regulars – and your friend’s just come to you in a panic,” John suggested, having leaned back and now tapping his fingers in a rhythm on the phone. “They killed a guy, and now all you can think about is making sure no one else saw it. So you race across the trailer park, panic thumping in your chest, eyes darting around each and every corner…”

Tiffany redirected her attention to Mary as Waylon screwed up his face in genuine thought. “What about before you entered your trailer that evening?” she tried. “You must’ve been looking out for that creep following you, right?”

Mary tucked her fist into her cheek. “I don’t know… I saw Stu, he runs the shooting gallery…”

Waylon sighed. “I can’t remember.”

John motioned for Tiffany to come closer. “Quick side-bar with my junior, won’t be a moment!”

Tiffany stood and followed his example of turning his back to the glass. “What? You heard them, neither of them remember.”

“Of course they don’t, we haven’t shown them the suspects yet,” John whispered, “Did you print those? I don’t have them in my little case.”

“No, I thought you said you would!”

John looked away with a low hiss as if he’d hurt himself somehow. “Oh boy. Failed on that bit of communication… But that’s okay! We can use my phone.” Tiffany bit her tongue to stop herself from asking just who had failed here. It would be dumb to argue in front of their ‘clients’. “They might get desperate and try to corroborate on the last one, so mix up the order when I pass it to you, okay?”

“Desperate?”

“They’re in prison,” he stressed with a raised eyebrow, “Around the clock monitoring, crappy living conditions, violent tension constantly boiling under everyone’s skin – and unlike Arkham, they don’t get to talk it all out with a licensed therapist. If you stayed here for several years and someone said there was a tiiiiiny chance you could leave, would you want to just let it go?”

…probably not. She didn’t want to imagine having to stay here in the visiting room much longer, let alone live there. “It certainly doesn’t seem to be doing them any good.”

“Exactly! Ok, round two,” he hushed with a smile and a little thumb’s up. “Alright, Waylon,” he said normally, pushing up the fake glasses as he resumed his seat. “I’m going to show you some pictures, and you tell me if anyone looks familiar.”

“Nope.” Swipe. “Hah, what a mug. He could be in my pit.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’...”

Swipe. “Hm… Dunno.”

Tiffany took the phone from him, careful not to touch anything to trigger it returning to home. (She didn’t care to see an almost naked Bruce like last time.) She decided to try the last picture first.

Mary’s eyes widened gradually until Tiffany was sure they would pop out of her face. “I’ve seen him before!”

But where? “In the trailer park?”

“He was in the audience,” she said with a growing excitement. She reached over and gently shook Waylon’s arm. “He sat right behind me!”

In a flash, the all-but-forgotten guard in the corner sprung into action and pushed them apart. His call of “No touching!” fell on deaf ears.

“The spotlights hit back there!” she said excitedly, her pitch rising. “I remember because he looked so bored!”

Tiffany looked back at the picture of Garfield Lynns. “Mary,” Tiffany thought aloud, “when you left the trailer, you didn’t check for a pulse, right? How did you know Ben Uslan was dead?”

Her excitement settled somewhat, but she still had the shining hope in her eyes. “He was still. Real still.”

“And he was bleeding? Was it pooling underneath him?”

“Um. I…” she trailed off, cradling her chin in the space between her thumb and index finger. “I don’t remember.”

Waylon snorted. “It’s like I said, lady, you could’ve gone swimming in it.”

“And Mary - you only struck once?”

Mary nodded.

So a calculated second strike from Garfield. Talk about tough glass… Or a lucky hit.

“Well, Nancy,” John smiled knowingly over at her, “looks like we’re going to have to make a call.”

Mary sat up and leaned towards the glass like they were friends having a private conversation at a restaurant. “Can you tell me - what’ll happen now?”

“Well, uh…” Tiffany fumbled for something. She couldn’t leave her with nothing - not when she looked like such a wreck, and she was innocent of murder - but giving her false hope felt wrong. “We’ll have to talk to our client…”

“But,” John added on his end, “we should be able to pass everything along through the system. The wheels of justice spin slow, as the saying goes! But you’ll probably get a hearing.”

He was making promises he couldn’t keep. She almost wanted to kick him. No board or judge would look at them and their rap sheet and just send them on their way!

“They do look at all records,” Tiffany stressed, closing the prop file. “They’re not exactly lenient, in our experience.”

John chuckled a little too loudly. “Ain’t that the truth! But I’m sure you kids will behave.” He glanced at his cell phone in mock-surprise. “Ooh, would you look at the time! Gotta run - people to see, cases to settle!”

Waylon didn’t bother with formalities, but Mary seemed to want to say something, so Tiffany waited.

“Thanks for seeing me about all this,” Mary said in her normal voice. “Things have never been easy for me. Especially here… But this…well, makes me think that something might turn around for once.”

Tiffany swallowed the guilt that came with Mary’s grateful smile. “You’re welcome.”

“Come on, Nance, we don’t want to be late,” John excused for her, trying to guide her away by the shoulder. The little click that came with hanging up the two-way handset felt strangely heavy. The feeling sat with her as she glanced behind her to see Mary being re-cuffed to be lead back to her cell.

John was practically vibrating with excitement, shaking her still-held shoulder the moment the visiting room door was closed. “We did it!” he squealed, pumping his fist, “We’re gonna nail this guy!”

How was he so excited? How did he deal with just lying to Mary’s face about their chances? Was it really all those years in Arkham…? Was it just experience?

John’s wide grin was not quite a face-splitter. “And you! You did great!” He slowed their stride a half step back from the guard in charge of walking them back and ducked his head down to her ear. “Bats is gonna be so proud of us,” he whispered.

Mary’s hopeful smile gnawed at her. It didn’t seem like anything to be proud of.

His arm slipped off of her. “Come on, kiddo, you just solved a five-year-old murder! Aren’t you excited?”

There wasn’t any point in lying about it, and she seriously doubted he would let the subject go. “Not really.”

“Hey, uh, is there someplace my partner and I can talk alone?” John asked the guard escorting them to the elevator.

“Yeeeah,” the guard grunted, “Outside.”

“Well, can you just give us a minute alone?”

The guard held up his card for the RFID reader by the elevator doors. “You got thirty seconds after the ‘ding’. That’s enough for you.”

John waited until the doors were closing to bite back: “I bet your wife says the same thing!” The elevator gave a tinny ding as it began to descend. “Jerk. Okay, what’s wrong?”

“I just spent ten minutes telling a prisoner they could get out of there,” she answered, hearing the bite in her own voice, “when they don’t even have a chance.”

“Sure they do,” John puzzled.

“It doesn’t matter how much evidence we have, John, we can’t submit anything and magically get them off the hook! We’re not real lawyers!”

John hit the emergency stop button with a ballpoint pen, causing the elevator to jolt and stop with a hefty clunk. “You’ve been at this longer than I have,” he said coolly, staring down at her, “Do you actually want Mary to get free?”

She knew he wasn’t going to start the elevator back up until she answered. If it even could start back up. Either way, Tiffany was stuck.

Mary was technically innocent. And incredibly pitiable. A woman in a perpetually-seven-year-old body would have an extremely limited choice of career even without the criminal record. It was unlikely that anyone even vaguely familiar with those news broadcasts covering her case would forget them, rescinded charges or not.

Unlike her. Tiffany’s very real charges had been swept under the rug, all because Batman thought her worthy of a second chance. No one knew she’d killed the Riddler outside of their little group. No one at all knew how long she’d planned it for. No one knew how she’d gotten Barbara to give a tour of her ambulance for the sole purpose of taking some of the powerful drugs they stored for the occasional Arkham escapee, how much she’d researched them to find the most lethal combination, how she’d looked at the tranquilizer gun the dark web dealer had brought to her no-questions-asked and told herself that what she was doing was right.

She could’ve so easily been put into Mary’s situation, and she would’ve gone to as much effort to cover it up.

“Yeah,” Tiffany lamented, “I guess I do. But that’s not the point.”

John finally loosened back up and put away the pen he’d been clicking away at. “Then what is? Come on, Tiffy, you’re one of the four most intelligent people in the city,” he said as if he were scolding a kitten, “Life dealt her a bad hand, just like it did me. And you would’ve had it, too, if Batman weren’t around… But since he is, and we’re here for him now, I’m sure we’ll figure something out. Besides, since when has Batman ever slept on a weird murder case?”

Hah. “Never since I’ve known him.”

Tiffany’s balance shook with the elevator as the floor rattled under her feet with a dull thudding sort of boom. She steadied herself against the metal railing, bracing for a snapping sound or sudden drop, but nothing more happened than the lights blinking.

“I hope that wasn’t what it sounded like,” John grumbled from the corner he’d half-fallen into.

The elevator hadn’t moved, but the service light had turned red. They were stuck. “There’s only one way to find out.”

“...you want to go look?”

“Well we can’t just wait around here,” Tiffany stressed, putting her hands on her hips the same way her mom did when she wanted to take charge. “Even if it wasn’t an explosion, they’re bound to find out who we really are if we stay in here.”

“Good point,” John muttered. “I’d hate to think of what sentence I’d get…”

The access panel was sitting pretty in the leftmost corner, but Tiffany was too short to reach it and there was no bar to climb on. “You think you can get me up there?”

John eyed the panel. “Yeah. You want to be lifted up, or sit on my shoulders?”

Either way sounded embarrassing. “Shoulders.”

“Aha hee hee! What, you think I’ll drop you?” he teased, squatting down and pointing uselessly to his back, “I’ve carried Batman one-handed! Dislocated my shoulder, sure,” he continued as she took her position and tried to focus on the latch, “but even if I hadn’t done it so many times before, it was worth it!”

Tiffany’s head scraped the ceiling as she pushed and jiggled the stubborn latch. It didn’t appear to be used often. If ever. She wished she had some of that spray-on oil from her bike’s trunk.

“You know, we could tower over Bruce like this. Give him a good smack-down... Or just dunk on him, ha ha!”

Now there’s a thought. She slammed her palms into the corners of the door, finally popping it open with a metal squeal. “We smacked down a door, in any case.”

She climbed up onto the dusty metal roof, John holding her legs steady and only giving an oof when her kitten heel dug into his shoulder. It was dark up there, but she could see the door for the second floor and the maintenance button panel by the door. All they had to do was climb some. And pray a trigger-happy guard wasn’t on the other side.

“So, are you going to help me up, or…?”

“Naaah. I think I’ll leave you down there, get some quiet time,” she joked, squatting on the super-dusty roof. At least these aren’t my clothes, she thought.

“Veeery funny, missy.” John propped one foot up on the slick metal wall as he grabbed her outstretched forearms, only looking mildly annoyed. “Leave the jokes to the professionals.”

She pulled, muscle straining as her shoulders and torso tried to bear the weight. She could lift quite a bit of weight for someone who was merely a computer-geek-who-occasionally-went-to-a-gym sixteen months ago, but holy shit, for such a thin guy, he sure felt heavy.

Tiffany barely managed to get him up, partially helped by John scrambling to get one of his legs through the hole. John’s landing immediately stirred up a swirl of dust.

It was easy to climb up the pole towards the door; the bolts holding them in place acted as decent footholds.

“Ugh, surrounded by dust, rat droppings, and archaic walls,” he said between coughs as he followed her up on the opposing side, “Just like the old homestead.”

“Yeah, but at least the electronics aren’t as old,” Tiffany offered, patting the access panel door. “As long as the RFID scanner is hardwired in, I can connect to it and trick it into opening the door for us.” She pulled out her spool-keychain of cable connectors, gripping the old pole on the wall with one hand. “It’s why I never leave without my master key.”

John gave an appreciative ‘ooh’. “Neat! But, uh, wouldn’t it be easier to just try and pry the door open?”

Tiffany sadly pocketed her key cable. “...yeah, I guess.”

Thankfully she could reach her half without too much of a strain on her shoulder. John seemed to have no trouble.

“On three,” she said. “One, two…pull!”

The elevator doors squealed in protest for the first two inches, then slid open with a little thunk so fast that Tiffany almost slipped.

They were back on the third floor. The rude guard was nowhere to be seen.

“Everyone must have started running towards the noise,” Tiffany noted aloud amongst the eerie quiet, checking the walls for security cameras.

“At least we know they can’t take the elevator.”

Tiffany ducked her head as they left the empty shaft, trying to keep as much of her face away from the camera positioned above the elevator. “This prison has what, five stories?”

John turned his face towards the inner wall like he knew just what he was looking for. “Yeah, and according to Bats’ notes from this morning, it’s got a weird layout - the cell blocks are five stories high! And it’s split so the women’s block was put on the opposite side. Thankfully.”

“Wait, so the cells start downstairs?” Tiffany stopped. “That’s probably where the explosion came from!”

John gave a short laugh. “I don’t know about you, bird-girl, but I heard it from above. I’d bet a cell wall got blown out. And while everyone’s trying to patch up the hole and chase whoever left,” he explained, “it leaves the front door a bit more accessible.”

“That’s stupid, they’d still have to go through the guards!”

“Unless…” John paused, stopping in the middle of the hall to look up like he could see through the ceiling. “I think the medical center is on the fourth floor.”

“What does that have to…”

It hit Tiffany, suddenly, that the majority of focus would shift to wherever the explosion took place. It wasn’t about blasting open a wall to escape.

“It’s a distraction.”

“Bingo! Nothing gets attention like a medical emergency!”

Tiffany whipped out her phone and launched the network scanner. As she had guessed, the network the nearby camera was on was under heavy security. It would take more time to chip at it directly than to crack into one of the on-network cell phones and piggy back on it. She turned on her sniffer application. “Security was on the second floor, right?” she asked, dashing towards the corner. Peeking around and seeing no one, she made a bee-line for the stairs and just turned the handle to open it a crack.

Heavy footsteps and shouts echoed down with a blaring fire alarm. No one was rushing up towards them, but it sounded like people were running downstairs as well.

“Come on,” she whispered, slipping through. They wouldn’t guard the stairs, she thought, No one would be trying to go up instead of out. It should be safe.

She peeked over the railing - one last guard, struggling to tug on a riot gear vest, was following a line of people down. They were smart enough to try and cover their bases with the cell door now, at least.

John, who had the uncanny ability to walk as quietly as Bruce, looked oddly nervous as they made their way down.

Tiffany stopped at the second-floor door. It was way too risky to go in, considering the likelihood of more guards, but the thick metal was stopping her signal.

“What are you doing?!” John hissed as she cracked open the door.

“I need to get access to the feed,” she answered in the quietest voice she could muster. “Otherwise we could walk right into them down there. And we can see who’s trying to break out.”

“We can find that part out on the news,” John muttered, unnecessarily holding onto a fistful of her jacket like she was going to try and make a break for it.

The sniffer program found a headway - someone’s cell phone was broadcasting bluetooth. Tiffany connected to it, running her script to bypass authorization and keep her own identifying addresses scrambled. Her packet sniffer hit gold: pre-saved network ID and key in the settings, ready and waiting for her to take.

Now all she had to do was login to the network and fish around for a camera’s connection. Easy enough to do in her sandbox. She closed the door and started it up; John still looked like he was listening for the slightest reason to run.

“Maybe we shouldn’t stay here,” John said in a hush.

“I doubt they’ll try and come up,” she whispered back, “And look, I got it!”

Once she had one camera’s IP, it was easy to guess the rest. They were all in sequential order, and easy to flick through the visual feeds when you knew how - and Tiffany had long since perfected this.

The fourth floor cameras showed a troupe of security personnel, guns at the ready, flowing through the floor in an effort to stop anyone from escaping. A frightened doctor and a couple of nurses could be seen planted against a wall like prisoners. Smoke was ebbing into view from the blast, which seemed to have taken out nothing more than one of the doors. A man pried open one of the elevators, flocked by more armed guards.

The first floor showed nothing at first. A quiet corner. An empty stair entry. A smeared streak of black. Nothing but three guards around B-block. Another smear of black, this time actively being sprayed on the screen.

And then chaos. Around the corner from what she presumed was another cell block was an all-out fight between several guards and prisoners, with guards’ riot shields being battered by what could’ve been a group of line-backers on a football field. Prisoners were snatching at what she could only hope were rubber-bullet guns.

Tiffany got a glimpse of the letter ‘C’ by the numbers on one of the jumpsuits. She didn’t recognize any of the faces.

Still. Two cameras being manually blacked out. That wasn’t good.

“Time to go,” John pressed, tugging her arm along.

“John!” She nearly tripped down the steps with him. “Let go! I can run!”

“Well then hurry the hell up!”

Noise hit them like a ton of bricks as soon as they entered the first floor hallway. Shouts. Gunfire. Thuds like people hitting the wall or floor.

John took the lead, uncharacteristically serious looking like he was channeling Bruce. (Or, knowing him, he was deliberately trying for Batman.) He flattened himself against a wall as Tiffany swiped between cameras trying to find themselves. “See anything?”

A guard with a completely vacant looking face was spraying something up at the camera lens to block it off. Tiffany very quickly swiped to the next one, showing the back of him just out of screen. A thin orange pant leg could be seen next to him. “These must be on the other side,” she noted aloud. “Someone is breaking out of the women’s prison!”

“Oh, great - but I meant near us!”

“I’m getting there!” She swiped again and again. “Whoever they are, they’re being helped by a guard.”

Finally, she saw the back of her own wig in view. One more swipe.

She tugged him back just as a guard smacked down on the floor, a gunshot ricocheting off the walls and ringing in her ears. It had hit them in the body armor vest, stunning them - and the very real hole left behind told Tiffany everything she needed to know about the situation.

It was her turn to pull John along, the after-burn image of the prisoner aiming the rifle sticking in her mind’s eye. She ran as fast as she could while several more shots and a smarmy ‘How do you like me NOW?’ bellowed behind them.

John let out a laugh, which he very quickly stifled. “Bad time for theatrics!” he said among what she really hoped were nervous giggles.

Tiffany stopped to peek around the corner - the A-Block door was shut tight, with the red light above the lock remaining steady and no guard placed outside.

We should be circling back around to the ‘bridge’ separating the two halves of the prison, she thought as she tugged John along into the empty hall.

The squeal of old metal hinges pierced the air, causing them both to halt in their tracks. Someone had taken the other set of stairs down.

Before she could blink John had grabbed her by the back of her collar and yanked her through the nearby bathroom door. The automatic light flickered on before John could slap his hand over the automatic sensor.

Tiffany could hear her heart pounding like a drum as the light buzzed and went dark. It felt too much like a movie where the only candle on set was blown out. Only the setting was more like one of the lockdown drills she’d gone through in school: lights out, take cover, keep quiet.

But her mind drifted to the roster of criminals in Batman’s rogue gallery. Bruce had always drilled it into her head to be prepared for anything. So she sank to the floor, pressed her ear to the wall, and very slowly opened the door a crack.

“Are you fucking kidding? We came all this way! This is our chance to really leave this piss-hole!”

Waylon. Tiffany froze. The glimpse she had showed he had broken the handcuffs’ chains from earlier and had stolen a rifle. Blood was lightly spattered on his rolled up sleeves.

“I can’t,” Mary’s voice answered slowly, not at all in her girlish pitch from when she talked to him before. “Then they’ll never let me out.”

Tiffany dared to widen the gap a little more, spotting Mary standing without so much as a bruise.

“Waylon,” she emphasized almost softly, “we finally have a real chance. One where we don’t have to think about looking over our shoulders or walking on eggshells every day. Don’t you want that?”

There was a moment of silence, peppered among distant ricocheting gunfire. Then a great sigh. “Maybe.” A short pause. “I really fucked things up, huh?”

“Just a bit. But it’s okay. I’ll just go back and pretend I was hiding.” Her voice rose into that childish pitch that matched her face: “I was soooo scared! I almost got trampled on! Waaaah!”

He laughed, deep and guttural like his nickname’s sake. “I almost forgot how good you were at that.”

Mary giggled. Tiffany wished she could see better.

“You should go,” he added. “I’ll go back up before someone sees.”

A loud shot and a thump came from further down the hall, accompanied by footsteps. “Ah, and there he is - just the man I was looking for! On your way out, eh, Waylon? Good thing I caught ya.”

Tiffany didn’t recognize the man’s voice, but Waylon said it clearly enough: “What do you want, Oz?”

“It’s not about what I want,” Oswald “The Penguin” Cobblepot said smoothly in his weird British accent, “it’s about what we all want. Liberation. And we can’t get there without a little help from the community, can we?”

Tiffany heard more muffled gunshots from somewhere.

“And I’m thinkin’ - if you’re already on the way out, why don’t we all continue this little break out together? I could use a guy like you!”

“...no thanks,” Waylon answered gruffly, “I’m not really serious about breakin’ out.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?” Oswald said in annoyance. “You’re literally armed to the teeth. Are you really just havin’ a… Oh,” he suddenly punctuated a know-it-all way, “I get it. You got that visitor earlier. You ‘n’ your little partner in crime think you can walk. Who’d you get, Matlock?”

Tiffany could see that Mary moved to stand in front of Waylon.

“Just get out of here, Oz,” the tiny woman said casually, “We’re not about to squeal on you or the goon squad, so what difference does it make?”

“All the difference, sweet-’eart, when you’re fightin’ an overgrown rodent. Though, come to think of it… You could be quite an asset, yourself,” Oswald said contemplatively. “Yeah. Yeah, we could use you.”

“I’m flattered,” Mary said coolly, “but no thanks.”

Oswald had moved; Tiffany could just see his legs in view. “Oh, that’s cute. You think I’m askin’.”

Tiffany could only see a flurry of movement as several people scrambled into a close-quarter fight. Despite the fact that Waylon easily threw two of whom she assumed were the ‘goon squad’ to the floor, he still wound up freezing in place at Mary’s shriek.

“Oh-kay, here’s the deal, Croc, ol’ boy!” Oswald said, completely out of view, “You come along nicely and I won’t give the wall a new coat of paint with her brains. Sound good?”

Tiffany acted without another thought. The door pulled open several inches.

“Don’t be stupid!” John hissed, slamming it shut with his foot. He kept it planted there.

“What am I supposed to do, let her get killed?”

“We’re not prepared for this, Tiffany!” he stressed furiously, “We’re outnumbered, out-armed, and not even supposed to be here! You’re a lawyer right now, remember?”

The truth wasn’t drowning out the instinct thrumming in her legs. “Bruce would go!”

“Just because he’s got a hero complex a mile wide- ugh, do you have any idea what he’d do if I let you get hurt?! He’d never forgive me!”

As her eyes readjusted, she could tell he was no longer looking at her. Despite his fury a moment ago, it didn’t really match the crushed tone of his voice: “And I’d never forgive myself.”

Tiffany never felt more trapped. “What…are we supposed to do, then?”

John moved, the heels of his shoes clicking past her on the tile. “Wait.”

She didn’t want to. She was practically shaking with the urge to move.

She felt like a child. She hated this whole shebang, from the pointless violence outside the bathroom door to her stupid trembling limbs in her ugly-ass suit. It didn’t help that John was running the faucet for some reason. Rush, rush, rush, like the adrenaline and guilt pumping through her veins.

It hit Tiffany that surely someone may hear the water, but there was no burst through the door. Outside of her pounding heart it was fairly quiet.

The door handle felt gross as she slowly pulled it open to peek out.

She saw drops of blood on the floor, likely from where Waylon had hit Penguin’s men. One body, not moving, but the lack of utter stillness that came with death said he was just unconscious. And bleeding a little.

The unmistakable bang of a gunshot reverberated from down the hall.

No more waiting - she darted up and out, not caring if John followed, and practically skidded to a halt on sight of the front hallway.

A guard lay over the metal detector. The bullet had penetrated through the neck where the swat armor wasn’t quite high enough to cover. Blood had pooled under him. Tiffany now knew what Waylon had meant when he said she could’ve gone swimming in it.

What was worse was that another was lying in the doorway, slumped body wedged between the metal baseboard and frame, blood actively leaking from the glaring hole in his temple. The whole place stank of copper and black powder.

There came the strange sound of splashing water from behind her - John had followed and dumped a large bucket of something all over the hallway floor, carelessly dropping the bucket before darting back up to her.

“Don’t just run off like that!” John chastised, tucking his handkerchief back in his pocket like it mattered, “You really - oof, talk about a pain in the neck.”

Tiffany was about to tell him to shut up when rapid footsteps echoed up from the opposite side. She dragged him down to the floor by his sleeve as she ducked behind the guard’s stall, trying not to breathe in.

It was a big woman with brown, straggly hair. She didn’t recognize her, but it was hard to miss the sock-and-buskin tattoo on her neck. Or the blood on her front.

The guard’s bloodstained belt was still loaded with gear.

Almost on reflex, Tiffany whipped out the nightstick and flung it at the escapee’s head.

Time seemed to slow down before it made contact with a whap. The nameless False Face fell to the ground and made no move to get up.

“Woah! That’s some throwing arm you got there, Tiff’!” John praised with an unnervingly innocent smile for a man kneeling in a pool of blood. “And here I was, thinking you were reaching for the holster.”

“What?! I wasn’t about to shoot her! She wasn’t even armed!”

John’s head tilted like a curious dog. “You mean you didn’t see the piece she was carrying? Left hip pocket, couldn’t miss it.”

Tiffany decided to ignore that. “Ok, whatever! There’s been enough death already!”

She made for the door, looking over the body stuck there. Sure enough, the guard was the same one who had been blacking out the camera lenses. The handgun, pulled from his service belt, was clutched in his fingers. As if he killed himself.

Another shot echoed from somewhere far down the hall. It wasn’t the time or place to theorize.

“John?”

John stepped away from the unconscious woman he was kneeling over, dropping the riot baton and shoving the now-bloody pocket square back into the front of his jacket. “Right, sorry!” With the officer’s blood soaked into the knees of his pants he looked like he’d committed murder. She was very glad he wasn’t his usual pale self; she’d like not to think about Ace Chemicals right now.

Tiffany had only leaned down to drag the body away from the door when he grabbed her elbow. “Tiffany,” he hissed, “fingerprints!”

Oh. She hadn’t realized until she looked, but her hands had gotten some of the other guard’s blood on them. He was right; if she touched the body, she’d leave a trace of herself.

“Keep the door open, then,” she instructed. “I don’t want the automatic locks to suddenly kick in.”

Tiffany didn’t have a pocket square. Instead the ugly yellow plaid jacket finally came in handy - she palmed the lining between the shoulders and armpits, hoping one of Jackie’s hairs had not somehow stuck in the weaves to transfer to the dead man’s legs as she gently pulled him out of the doorframe.

“Sorry,” she whispered to the poor man as she dropped his legs. She tried not to look at the bloody lump on the glass or the blood spattered on the cheap rubber mat as stepped around the crime scene.

The door shut behind them with a screech of hinges and the heavy thunk of a lock sliding into place.

The sounds of traffic in the distance was so normal. No screeching tires, no gunshots, no breaking glass - and the parking lot was quiet. Horribly, horribly quiet.

“You did good, kiddo,” John told her with a rough clap on the shoulder. “Seriously, you should’ve signed up for the Knights.”

Tiffany didn’t know how much more she could take. “Can you be serious for one goddamn minute?!”

John gave a wild kind of laugh. The kind that didn’t exactly settle her nerves. “Of course! What do you think I was doing back there, girl-wonder?” he grinned. “If it was just me, I wouldn’t have cared!”

She wanted to push him. And hug him. She did neither. “We should be running now!” she half-shouted instead, bolting for her bike as John laughed behind her.

Her legs couldn’t seem to stop shaking. Not when her feet pounded the pavement, not when the blue letters of Mad Machine shined in the sun from the motorcycle’s rear panel, not when she slammed her helmet over the wig, and not when she felt the motor rev to life between her legs.

John’s weight settled behind her. If it wasn’t for him, she knew she wouldn’t have gotten out of there.

She also wouldn’t have been in there in the first place, but they would’ve had even less evidence to go on. At least now there was something.

It was gonna be one hell of a long day.

Author Notes:

This took…so much…outta me… I had the first half done for ages and kept stumbling over the second like the world’s biggest klutz. I originally planned on having J+T’s talk in the parking lot, interrupted with the explosion, with John wearing his Reponsible Adult™ shoes trying to talk Tiffany out of rushing in. And she had the gall to listen to him, too. I tell ya, I would’ve had this baby done AGES ago if I didn’t go “but :( the audience will miss the dramaaa :(“. I love y’all too much to deprive you.

But it turned out for the better! One of the things I really wanted to do here was show the potential for Agent!Tiffany to make her return. You can only see John if both he and Tiff’ are on your side, but you can get Joker regardless of Tiffany’s allegiance. Naturally, you don’t see anything if Tiffany is imprisoned. But yes, this DOES mean you can see Tiffany interact with the villainous Joker! I tell ya, this is the only story where half of me is ITCHING to see the flipside. After all, John is always a great manipulator, isn’t he? (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Those familiar with BtAS know of Babydoll and her whopping 2 episodes. Poor gal came in with one of the best and most critically praised episodes of the series and left with a boring redesign and a lucky bare mention or two in comics since. Croc, on the other hand, has been around for a real long time and is still used today, though his design and exact origins vary a lot. I decided to give both a good ol’ Telltale refresh, with Croc’s look very heavily influenced by a Ripley’s Believe It Or Not TV segment that has stuck in my head since childhood, and Babydoll’s stepping away from the Shirley Temple thing. I have little backstories for both of them, but that isn’t relevant to the story so it’d be mere bonus character bio material in the Batcomputer. Which, willpower pending, I might put at the very end of the story. But I’ll happily just tell anyone who asks.

Y’know the prison break plotpoint has been in the works for literal years? When S2 wrapped up in ‘18 and I sat in the den with my laptop that night, thinking over where the game could go next, I pictured an opening with black helicopters flying through the city as Jack Rider’s voice-over told us about multiple escapees from the latest breakout… But I knew that the story would lead us back to Arkham, which could involve fun new villains like Dr. Crane. My thoughts of all the previous games’ baddies running amok were put on the shelf after a while, as I felt the story would be difficult to steer there without making it the size of a coffee-table and I didn’t believe that I could pull it off. Not anymore, ‘cause here we are.

And man, I can’t write without making a joke. Comic fans undoubtedly did the looking-significantly-at-the-camera thing at John’s legal group since it’s a reference to Alan Moore and Grant Morrison (who have both created iconic Batman comics like The Killing Joke, A Serious House on Serious Earth, and Batman RIP). But John chose it because it sounds funny. And for my fellow mystery-readers, Tiffany’s fake name is a mishmash of 2 fictional teen sleuths, Nancy Drew and Judy Bolton. She def read ‘em growing up. I’m partial to the Nancy Drew PC games, myself; the puzzle solving has inspired bits in this series!

And…I know I say it a lot, but I really, REALLY love each and every one of you. The kudos and comments I received during my absence spammed my brain with enough heart emoticons that it would make a twelve year old fangirl tell me I need to chill out. And finding out I had some nice messages on here in my absence...gives me warm fuzzies. 🥺 I am giving you readers the warmest, softest, most loving hug through the monitor as I possibly can. Which I was going to do regardless of this week's...upset, but y'know. It's super, super tender now.

Thank you for enjoying my work, even after all this time. We’ll persevere together. ❤️

#fangs of ouroboros #the perseverance project #batjokes #telltale batjokes #telltale batman #batman the telltale series #mary dahl #baby doll #waylon jones #Killer Croc #Tiffany Fox #John Doe #oswald cobblepot #*cues up AC/DC's Jail Break*#Oz is BACK baby!!!!#clown looks at baby bird and says 'anyone else gonna raise this?' and doesn't wait for an answer #Tiffany is a nerd who inherited my love of Bubblegum Crisis #Mad Machine is an awesome song in the og series OST

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dreamwritesimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Twisted 28 - Sunlight [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, hospitals, medicine.

Word Count: 4400

Summary: Survival makes people stronger.

Everyone’s voices were so muffled that for a moment it felt as if you were under water. It came and went just like the warmth, just like the comfort—

One moment there, the other moment far away, and anytime you tried to reach through that haze, you were pushed back into the numbness.

You could swear at some point your father was there too. You were still at the cabin, in that dress, sitting across from him by the chessboard, and then back at the weekend house where your sister was chasing you around the piano, your mother calling out for you to stop running, then someone pushing you into the lake by the cabin before it changed again and your father handed you a knife.

If this is hell, I’d like to talk to the manager.

But eventually, it all came back to you. There was this heaviness on your hand, your chest and ribs hurt terribly and your forehead kept stinging as you tried to open your eyes to meet the bright lights of the hospital room.

Ah. You weren’t in the woods anymore.

You had made it after all.

The constant beeping of the machine caught your attention for a moment before you looked down to see Spencer’s head resting on your hand, his fingers entwined with yours. Your mother was by the couch, her eyes fixed on the ceiling with a crumpled tissue in her hand and Mina was resting her head on her shoulder.

“Mom?” you rasped out and your mother’s eyes whipped to yours, Mina sat up and Spencer’s head shot up.

“Oh thank God!” your mother jumped out of her seat to come to your beside and pressed a kiss on top of your head, making you wince. “Oh thank God you’re okay…”

“Hey,” Mina wiped at her eyes and cleared her throat, “Welcome back brat.”

You smiled and turned to Spencer who was still holding your hand tight, watching you with bloodshot eyes.

“I know,” you said, “No eyeliner right?”

A small sob mixed with laughter rose from his throat and he pressed your hand to his lips, swallowing thickly.

“Hi.”

“Hey professor,” you tried to smile but you were in too much pain to do so, “Is there like…a morphine button or-?”

“I’ll go get the doctor,” Mina rushed out of the room and closed the door behind her, and your mother pulled back.

“How do you feel honey?”

“Like I crawled out of hell,” you said, “Is- is everyone okay?”

“Everyone is fine.”

“Where’s Lily?”

“With Kenzie and Nolan, outside.”

You let out a breath and turned to Spencer.

“You figured it out?” you asked, “The note?”

“Ophelia, yeah,” he sniffled and nodded fervently, “Cabin by the lake, we were on our way there when—” he stopped talking as if remembering it was way too heavy on him and you squeezed his hand.

“How did I….” you looked between them, “Survive? Erica shot me.”

“The helicopter,” your mother said, “We sent it with a medic and a sniper just in case.”

“You sent a helicopter with a medic and a sniper?” you repeated, “Mom, that sounds like a joke.”

“Well I’m glad you find it funny,” your mother wiped at her eyes again, “Because you’re grounded for the rest of your life.”

“Okay,” you shot a look at Spencer, “Ignore this.”

“No, not even your boyfriend can help you right now.”

“They still like you, no worries,” you explained and he shook his head slightly, reaching out to touch your cheek as if trying to prove to himself that you were real.

“I thought—“ he started and blinked back the tears, gritting his teeth and you rubbed your thumb over his hand.

“I’m fine,” you said and lifted your head when the thought hit you, “Wait what happened to Lincoln?”

A shadow crossed Spencer’s eyes and your mother flexed her fingers as if she wanted to throttle someone upon hearing his name.

“That monster is currently handcuffed to a hospital bed,” she said, “But not to worry, we put ten guards in front of his door, and I will make sure to ruin his life myself.”

“He survived?”

“Barely,” Spencer said through his teeth but before he could say anything else, the door opened and a doctor stepped in. Even you could hear Lily’s very loud protests, Kenzie trying to shush her and you smiled slightly before turning to the doctor who was checking the file in her hand.

“Hello Y/N,” she said cheerfully “Nice to see you awake, for a moment you had me worried we wouldn’t get to meet. So, we have head trauma, a bullet wound, broken ribs and blood loss. Were you trying to fill out a bingo of dangerous injuries or…?”

“Go big or go home doc,” you nodded and she raised her brows.

“Should I put in a psychiatric evaluation in here as well then?”

“Yes please,” your mother pinched the bridge of her nose and you heaved a sigh, making a face.

“Pain?”

“A lot.”

“Let’s see what we can do about that,” she said and Spencer stood up.

“Can I see her chart please?” he asked and she took almost taken aback before showing him the chart.

“I’d like to change these two meds,” Spencer said and started listing off his suggestions while you watched him with a smile on your face.

“Spencer,” you said, “Please let the nice and smart lady do her job.”

The doctor grinned at you, “That’s alright. Is there anything you would like to ask me?”

“Two questions. One, when can I go home?”

“We’d like to keep you under observation for a couple of days, depending on how fast your body shows progress to heal.”

“Okay. Can I smoke here?”

“Oh Jesus Christ,” your mother threw her head back, Spencer just stared at you and the doctor blinked a couple of times.

“Since this job taught me never to take any question as hypothetical,” she said, “I’m just going to answer it. No, under absolutely no circumstances are you allowed to smoke here.”

You curled your lips, “It was worth a try.”

“We’ll give you some really good painkillers, don’t worry,” she winked, “I’ll let the rest of your family in and see you later.”

She walked to the door and opened it, and soon enough Lily rushed inside but as soon as she leaped at you, Kenzie caught her mid-air like a troublesome cat.

“No, what did I say outside?”

“But mama—“

“It’s okay Kenz. Hi bug.”

Kenzie gave you a teary eyed smile and slowly set Lily down, and she hugged her teddy bear before taking a step towards you, nibbling on her lip.

“Does it hurt?” she pointed at the stitches on your forehead and you tilted your head.

“Just a little, sweetie.”

She carefully put the teddy bear beside your bed and grinned at you.

“Mr. Chocolate Chip Cookie will be your friend here,” she patted the teddy bear’s head and you let out a small laugh.

“I really appreciate it bug, thank you,” you said and held the teddy bear in your lap before you turned to Nolan. “Hey man, thanks for the helicopter.”

“Thanks for the almost heart attack,” he replied and fixed his bowtie, “You keep me young with all this panic and adrenaline. Honestly Y/N, never do that to us again, please.”

“I’ll try my best not to get kidnapped by a maniac again,” you stated, “Besides, mom already grounded me so…”

“Good! No jet for you for a while young lady.”

A nurse came in to inject the painkiller into your IV, and you smiled at the sight of your family fondly, then cleared your throat.

“Hey, not that I didn’t miss you guys,” you said, “But um…can I talk to Spencer for a moment?”

Kenzie and Mina exchanged looks and Kenzie lifted Lily up.

“We’ll be right outside,” she said and walked to the door. One by one they left the room and your jaw dropped when you saw Mina squeezing Spencer’s shoulder before she left as well.

“Well, something changed,” you commented and Spencer came to pull a chair next to the bed before he reached out to hold your hand.

“She was the first one to talk to me when we landed,” his voice still didn’t sound so strong and you frowned.

“What did she say?”

“Go there and bring my sister back.” Spencer said and ran a hand over his eyes, “Based on the profile, I thought he’d already—“ he couldn’t even finish that sentence before he kissed the back of your hand, “I thought I lost you.”

“Nah, cigarettes will kill me, not serial killers,” you reached out to push a curl out of his eyes, “I thought you knew that. All looks and no smarts, aren’t you?”

He scoffed a shaky laugh and you licked your lips.

“What happened there?” you asked, “I heard gunshots after Erica shot me, is she—“

“Dead,” Spencer nodded, “She was shot right there.”

You could feel the goosebumps on your skin, “And Lincoln?”

“I was going to kill him,” Spencer said, “If I got there first, I would’ve.”

“Spencer you don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he told you, a dangerous light gleaming in his eyes, “I do mean that.”

You heaved a sigh, now easier thanks to the painkillers, “Yeah well, I guess I know the feeling.”

“Um- the team is outside as well by the way,” he said, “Luke and Garcia has been here the whole night, and I’ve been instructed to tell you, word by word, no amount of pastries will excuse the worry you put them through.”

You grinned, the tired haze of sleep crashing on you, “Ouch, I’ll have to try harder I guess,” you said and yawned, making Spencer smile.

“Rest a little,” he said, “I’ll stay right here, okay?”

You nodded and leaned your head back to the pillows, then closed your eyes.

***

You were given the permission to go home after a week because your mother insisted on keeping you there until she was convinced you wouldn’t drop dead all of a sudden. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t raise hell when you told her you would be staying at Spencer’s place for a while, and for once, Mina agreed with you.

You really needed to ask Spencer what had happened while you were gone, in detail.

It was strange, but your sleep was much less disturbed after you had returned from the hospital. When you were in hospital you had just assumed it was because of the meds they had given you, but now, sleeping with Spencer in his bed, there was still no sign of any nightmares.

With you, that was. Spencer was a completely different story.

You still had to be careful because of your ribs and the doctor had told you to be careful with how you slept, so the moment you moved a little in your sleep and felt the pain shooting through you, you made a face and reached for Spencer’s side of the bed only to meet an empty spot. You opened your eyes, and carefully sat up in bed, trying to hear whether there was any noise to signal he was coming back to bed but there was none, so you slipped out of the bed and walked to the living room.

Of course he was there. Cradling a cup with steam coming out of it in his hands, staring into the darkness as if he was lost in his own mind.

“Spencer?” you said softly and he turned his head, snapping out of his thoughts.

“Hey,” he said, trying to smile, “Why are you up?”

“I could ask you the same question,” you tilted your head before you went to sit beside him and he ran a hand through his curls.

“It’s not important.”

“Nightmares?” you asked and he nodded silently.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe later,” he murmured, “How about you? Any pain? Do you need an ice bag?”

You shook your head, “Nah it’s fine,” you said, “It doesn’t hurt that terribly.”

“And your nightmares?”

You shrugged, “No nightmares. I mean—at least not like the earlier ones. Not where I’m turning into him.”

“Trauma works differently in everyone.”

“I don’t think it’s the trauma though,” you said, “I think it’s because…because I know now.”

He raised his brows, his whole attention on you, “What do you mean?”

“It’s not in me,” you said, “It’s just—it’s just not. I don’t think it ever was. My father killed people because it made him feel powerful. It wasn’t like that with me, back at the cabin. It was survival. For me and people I care about, that’s all. It doesn’t make me evil.”

That seemed to pull him out of his thoughts and he smiled.

“No it doesn’t,” he said, “You’ve never been evil. Even when he tried to turn you into that.”

Even your heart felt light, despite the pain in your ribs and your smile widened.

“I know he’s not dead but…”

“He’s locked away. Same difference from now on.”

You paused for a moment, “Speaking of,” you said, “I was thinking I could go and see him for the last time.”

He frowned, “Why?”

“I don’t know. I think it’ll help me put this whole thing behind me.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I want to see the look on his face when he realizes his small project failed,” you said, “Trust me. There’s no way he can get to me, not anymore.”

He rubbed his thumb over your hand and you leaned back to the back of the couch, still keeping your gaze on his handsome face.

“You don’t have to come with me,” you said, “If it’s too much.”

“It’s not that,” he rasped out, “Officially, I might not be allowed in.”

“Why not?”

“I’m leaving the BAU.”

You blinked a couple of times, gawking at him, then sat up straighter.

“What?”

“I can’t anymore,” he averted his glances from you to look into space, nibbling on his lip, “Y/N, I was out of the city when they called me to tell me you were missing, that you were most probably taken by the copycat. And for the whole time until I found you…” his voice cracked, “Lincoln’s profile, before we even knew that he was Lincoln, it all suggested that he…killed his victims without spending any time with them. I thought—“ he sniffled and cleared his throat, “I can’t do that anymore. Imagining you like all those victims…”

“Spencer, I’m fine.”

“But you weren’t,” he said, barely moving his lips, “Back there.”

Ah. The woods.

“That’s what your nightmare was about?” you asked and he heaved a shaky sigh.

“I couldn’t save you,” he said, “You died there, and I couldn’t do anything, I was too late—“

“Spencer,” you reached out to touch his cheek, “Hey, look at me.”

He turned his head so that his eyes would meet yours and you dragged your fingertips over the slight stubble on his cheek.

“You weren’t too late,” you told him, “And I didn’t die. Okay? I’m right here. Don’t leave the BAU because of me, do it only if you want to. I’ll be with you either way.”

He blinked back the tears and nodded. “I want to,” he whispered, “I can’t anymore, and I want- I want to be here. I’ll just…I’ll focus on teaching, and the team can consult me whenever they need to, but I need to be here.”

“And you’re sure about that? It’s not some…heat of the moment decision?”

“It’s not,” he said, “I’m positive.”

“Alright,” you smiled at him softly, “Okay then. I guess instead of talking about gruesome murders and copycats who were after me, we can be one of those boring, cliché couples who bicker about…I don’t know, dirty dishes in the sink, or how you forgot to put down the toilet seat or-“

“Your hair in the drain.”

“I’m going to pretend like you weren’t waiting for the opportunity to bring that up.”

He let out a teary laugh and wiped at his eyes before he pulled you closer and carefully wrapped his arms around you so as not to hurt your ribs, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You brushed your fingers through his curls, as if trying to prove to him that you were there, that you were alright.

“I love you so much,” the confession left his lips in a whisper and you could feel the burning behind your eyes as you raked your nails over the nape of his neck gently.

“I love you too,” you murmured, “God, you have no idea how much.”

***

The BAU, upon your request, fixed a meeting with your father for the next week.

And throughout that week, everyone tried to convince you to change your mind. Your mother had made a whole scene during brunch, telling you that it was as if you liked torturing yourself, but you knew deep down that you had to talk to him for the last time.

Seeing your father after what felt like a life time, especially after everything that you had been through was strange at the very least. You didn’t have any goosebumps, you didn’t have that nervousness messing with your head, you didn’t feel like you were under the threat of being attacked any time, and most of all—

You didn’t feel like he was stronger than you. At all.

You lit a cigarette in the interrogation room, then flipped the cap of the lighter and turned your head when the door opened and your father walked in, chains dangling from his handcuffs wrapped around his ankles. He stared at you for a couple of seconds as if he didn’t expect to see you there and let out a breath.

“Petal…”

“You should sit down,” you said, exhaling the smoke and a guard helped him sit down across from you.

“We’re right outside, miss.”

“Thank you,” you said and watched as he straightened his back, his gaze focused on you.

“You look…” he trailed off and you raised your brows,

“Hm?”

“What did they do to you?”

“Ah I guess your outside source ending up dead gets you a bit behind on the news,” you said, “Erica is dead, Lincoln is never gonna see the sunlight again, and your whole project to turn me into your legacy with the help of them failed terribly.”

“I’d never allow them to harm you like this.”

You rolled your eyes, exhaling the smoke.

“But you fought your way out, didn’t you?” he asked you, “Looks like my training helped you after all. Even if you refuse to see that.”

“Did you seriously think I’d become like you?” you asked back, “Did you think Lincoln would manage to turn me into you?”

“Honey, Lincoln was going to be your companion at best, your first kill at worst.” he said and you clicked your tongue.

“Oh, that was your plan all along?”

“Some part of it, at least. I knew they wouldn’t be able to handle you, but I thought you could decide what to do with them. Could you kill Erica at least?”

“Didn’t get the chance.”

“You should have,” he said, “You would see, Petal.”

You twirled the cigarette between your fingers, staring at him for a couple of seconds.

“I keep thinking,” you mused, “You know what I said to Mina and Kenzie when they first told me they wanted to have a baby?”

He tilted his head, “Hm? What?”

“I asked them if they lost their minds.”

Your father pulled back slightly and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Because I mean… Kenzie’s parents are assholes, and there’s you,” you motioned at him, “Not that anyone else could take the cake on being a messed up parent when you’re in the picture.”

“I take offense to that.”

“I don’t care,” you said, “But then it hit me, back at the hospital. I was looking at this whole mess from the wrong perspective.”

“Which is?”

“They had a point,” you said, “Back then- before all this I mean, I thought when someone decided to have kids, their first priority was to be the perfect parent. That’s stupid, it’s impossible to be the perfect parent, our own parents mess us up in one way or another. But I get it now.”

“You get what?”

“The first step is being better than your own parents, not starting out perfect,” you said, “That’s why every generation is different, we’re all trying to be better than our parents, and some of us actually succeed.”

“And you think you’d be a better parent than me, is that it?”

“Shouldn’t take that much of an effort to be honest.”

“Are you…?” he motioned at you and you scoffed.

“No,” you said, “No, but what happened back there made me think. I’ve been living my whole life so convinced that you messed me up beyond my own control, beyond saving, but that’s not completely true, is it? I mean, just because you’re in my past, doesn’t mean I’ll have to include you in my present.”

“But I am in your present Petal.”

You pursed your lips together, then gestured around you. “Debatable. Nolan is buying this whole place, did you know that?” you asked, “All your guards are on our paychecks, so it should be harder to…use them to contact outside. We control everything that’s happening here, and there’s nothing you can do about that.”

He blinked a couple of times, trying to catch up with your train of thought.

“And you think that will be enough to put me behind you?”

You shook your head, “No, I don’t think it’s that easy,” you confessed, “But it’s a start.”

He moved his hands on the table, the chain rattling.

“I raised you.” he said, “I’m inside your head, whether you like it or not. You’re my legacy—“

“I’m my own legacy, you fucking idiot,” you said with a small chuckle, “That’s who I am. Just because your expectations of me will not leave me, doesn’t mean I’ll let them haunt me.”

“And you think that will be enough.”

“I will never see you again,” you tilted your head, “Should make things easier, to be honest.”

He smiled, “But you already hurt people,” he said “You know how it feels now, don’t you? That fire? Now you know what you’re capable of.”

You thought for a moment.

“Yeah,” you said, “Yeah I do. Now I know that if it ever comes to that point, I’m capable of protecting myself and my family. It doesn’t make me a monster, it makes me a survivor. Me and mom have that in common, after the shit you’ve pulled.”

He stared at you and you took a last drag of your cigarette, then checked your wristwatch.

“Well I should go. You may have all the time in the world, but I actually have a life, so…”

You stubbed your cigarette and walked to the door but as soon as you opened it, he said your name, making you stop.

“You can’t escape from this,” he said, “Even if you never see me again, you still won’t escape, you know that, right? Why do you think I chose you and not your sister? Even when you were a child, you had…something in you. Something dark, something dangerous.”

The idea was very familiar to you. You had been saying the same thing to yourself for many years and hearing it from him for what felt like a hundredth time was supposed to make you feel bad, you knew that. If it were any other time before your kidnapping, before saving yourself in that cabin, before surviving everything your father and his followers had put you through, it would probably have more effect on you.

The last time he had done that, you had ended up in the stairs, shaking until Spencer had found you.

But it wasn’t that time.

It was as if something had clicked inside your head after everything, and your father’s words held no strength in them.

“Come on honey,” he told you, “Some people are just born twisted.”

A small smile pulled at your lips and you raised your brows, looking at him for a couple of seconds, etching the sight of him in chains into your memory.

“Maybe,” you said and took a step towards him, opening your cigarette case to pull out the small jasmine flower out of it, then put it on the table, eyes locked to his before you leaned in slightly.

“But I wasn’t.”

With that, you turned around and walked out of the interrogation room for the last time, ignoring the way he was yelling your name. Your smile widened as you made your way out of the building, your heels echoing in the halls before you stepped out, the fresh air filling your lungs.

“Hey,” Spencer greeted you, leaning back to your car and reached out so that you could step into his embrace as he pushed your hair out of your face, “How did it go?”

“As expected,” you stood on your tiptoes to press a kiss on his lips and he heaved a sigh.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said “Yeah I feel like…he’s gone. He’s gone, I’m here and I’m free and I know myself now. I finally woke up from that nightmare, for good.”

He smiled and brushed his lips against yours, “That’s a good start,” he commented, “What do you want to do now?”

“I’m open to suggestions,” you said and he tilted his head before he held up your keys.

“What do you say we drive away and never return here?”

You let out a small giggle and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I like that idea,” you said, “Let’s drive away and never return.”

Chapter 29

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #twisted #spencer reid imagine #spencer #reid

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lilacknights · 3 years ago

Note

Thank you for responding to my ramble hshshs. Can I ask po? What is your progress in obey me(level, cards so far, lesson you're in, etc...) and you first impressions on the characters.

Hi pi

Hellooooo <3 And thank you for sending that 😂 I can never look at Lucifer the same ever again. As for the question, I've actually started just this April of this year! April 1 to be exact and only because I gave in to my sister and @rambles-on-obey-me's persuasive ways — the said persuasive ways is the promise of lore and getting to see more of Asmo. 😔✨

So yeah, I'm still on Level 30. My cards are still baby cards and I only have like two UR+ — the Asmo card you get when you start the game (Snowy Bliss) and the Luke card where he's a cutie giving us a big smile (An Angel's Smile). The rest are SSR and lower. I checked and it's exactly 81 cards. Sksksks Yes, I'm a newbie but I'm already writing headcanons. 💀 I just got to Lesson 15 in normal levels, so I'm still waiting for Belphie to heimlich MC to unalive mode. (◕દ◕) But I'm pretty caught up on story lore though cause I'm impatient and love spoilers. (◕દ◕)

First impressions will get me rambling for AGES so I'll try to shorten them to one sentence or less. And make it SFW. ಠ◡ಠ

Lucifer: Bastard man who is actually just a brat who needs to be spanked but like the Asian parent way.

Mammon: "You're stupid. I like that in a man." <333

Leviathan: CRINGE (affectionate and derogatory) because he reminds me of myself in highschool so I wanna punch him - he's my second fave tho next to Asmo.

Satan: Why in the lord fuck is your shirt THAT shade of green and why are you wearing a yellow bowtie???

Asmodeus: I took a uquiz for what's your fav blorbo and it showed "hottest person in the room has (unresolved) issues" that they hide behind their confidence — that's Asmo for me and I freaking love him.

Beelzebub: I WILL PROTECC YOU AND GIVE YOU MY DINNER

Belphegor: He's gonna fucking betray me, I don't trust the emo bangs.

Diavolo: Himbo who just wants to be included in stuff 🥺

Barbatos: Your personality is being a butler, ain't it?

Solomon: This is the shady guy your parents warned you about.

Simeon: WHY DOES THE ANGEL HAVE THE SLUTTIEST COSTUME

Luke: He is my son now, I am adopting him and sucker punching Lucifer while I'm at it.

I haven't met the new characters but I am very, VERY gay for Thirteen. 😔💖

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itsmespicaa · 3 years ago

Photo

Miracle Mask but make it Genshin<3

(Part of the PL Genshin!AU I’m doing with @daysneezes!!)

Hershel took a small sip of the tea he brewed earlier in the day, his Vision perched securely on the velvet ribbon of his top hat.

"What about this, Professor?"

A letter was suddenly thrust in front of him, obstructing his entire view. Already used to the rather unorthodox way his assistant carried herself, he leaned back to properly assess the piece of paper that now warranted his attention, reading it as she explained its content.

"I‘m afraid this one sounds more like something the adventurers should be handling, Emmy."

He nodded to her, hoping she could see the regret in his smile. It was a rather enticing one, and he could see why it would catch her attention…but alas. He only had so much time to spare for those who required help from his...gifted abilities.

Emmy frowned, sharp eyes scanning over the words that covered the entire page once more before sighing.

"I suppose you‘re right. I‘ll see to it that the Guild is informed of this right away."

"That would be much appreciated. Should they need our further assistance, let them know we would be more than happy to lend it to them."

"But of course!"

The hour passed by in relative silence, both of them consumed by the work cut out before them. Emmy continued going through the rest of the letters he had approved for her to read, and after another bout of discussions, they agreed to divide a lot of them to the hands of the authorities and the Adventurer’s Guild, and kept the less dire ones for whenever Hershel had time to spare.

It was at that moment that Luke finally arrived, stumbling as he opened the door to his office. His leather satchel seems to be filled to the brim, his blue Vision as deep the seas hanging on for dear life on its side.

"Sorry I‘m late, Professor!" he cried, "But I had to help a family of ducks cross the road and the mailman left another batch of letters-"

"Now, now. Calm down, Luke. It‘s quite alright," Hershel chuckled. "Come sit and have tea with me. You look like you've been through quite the ordeal."

With a sheepish smile, the young boy crossed the room and handed the letters to Emmy, whining when he failed to dodge her playfully ruffling his hair.

The next hour passed by again comfortably, and Hershel was in the middle of writing back to one of his colleagues when Emmy‘s voice drew him back to the real world.

Or rather, the name she uttered.

"Professor, does the name Angela Ledore ring any bell?"

Time…stopped, for but a small moment. He inwardly shook his head, willing the memories from almost two decades ago out of his mind.

"Why yes…of course. But where did you hear that name?"

More than a little curious and caught off guard, he blinked as Emmy slowly handed the letter in her hand to him.

"It was on the letter." Something in his expression must have betrayed his inner turmoil, because the young woman continued: "It‘s not quite a name I‘m familiar with, nor is it any of the usual ones who would seek your expertise."

Luke reached in before he could grab the letter, "Oh! Let me," nimbly ripping the envelope with a letter opener and with a bright smile handed its content to him.

It was hard not to smile back at how eager the boy was to lend a helping hand. "Thank you very much, Luke," he said warmly, resting a hand briefly on top of his head before directing his focus to the writing in front of him.

When he finished, Hershel was silent. Wordlessly, he gave the letter to Emmy before walking to his open window, breathing in the fresh morning air to try and calm the anxiety creeping up his back.

I do hope you forgive me after all these years. I don‘t know who else to turn to.

We are in desperate need of your help, Hershel.

"After all these years…." he muttered, gently taking off his hat and gazing at the glowing golden Vision staring back at him. Accusing. Unforgiving. He held back a flinch. Why, Angela?

"…Professor? Is everything alright?"

Ah, how careless of him.

"Everything's fine, Luke," he returned his hat where it belonged and sauntered to where both of them crowded around the enigmatic piece of paper. "My apologies, I didn't mean to make you both worry. It‘s just…she’s an old friend of mine, and the content of her letter worries me."

The frown on Emmy‘s face deepened, but she was not his assistant for nothing, knowing well what to prioritize and when. It was moments like these that he was truly glad to have her here.

"So the Mask of Chaos…"

"What is that?" asked young Luke, wide eyes brimming with curiosity and hunger to know more. But before he could reply, Emmy seemed to have beaten him to it.

"According to Donald Rutledge in his book 'Ancient Histories', the mask bestows great power upon those who wear it. Legend says it was left by one of the old gods as a gift to humanity, but no one has been able to prove its existence thus far."

"Indeed, the allure of omnipotence is as old as the Archons themselves." He couldn‘t quite hide his surprise when he said: "You seem to know quite a lot about the mask, Emmy."

The young woman grinned, the fiery red Vision fashioned into her bowtie twinkled along with her eyes. "Well, I did take a few courses here and there before applying to be your assistant. Jumping in blind into the world of archeology doesn‘t seem like the wisest decision, wouldn't you agree?"

That…made perfect sense. "I see…"

"Did I leave something out, Professor?"

"Oh, no, no. You‘re absolutely correct."

Luke continued to ask more about the Mask, and both he and Emmy alternated in explaining it to him, with Hershel more often than not simply adding useful trivias he still remembered from Randall‘s excited chatter many, many years ago.

An old, familiar pain ached in his heart, something difficult to dismiss, but Hershel was determined to lock it away for the time being, at least until he had his answers from Angela.

"So what is your relationship with Ms. Angela, Professor? Is she one of Professor Layton’s lost loves?" Emmy‘s spirits must have been lifted for her to tease him. It wasn‘t unusual for her to do so after a year of working together, and he had come to welcome it each time, albeit with a wry smile more often than not.

This time, however, he could only shake his head, a heavy weight burdening his chest, memories of night escapades and jovial laughter with a certain redhead lost in the callous hands of time and forced distances.

"Hardly," he replied, hoping he did not sound as contrite as he felt then. "I’ve known her since my school days. Our relationship was…complicated, at best."

Despite his attempt to do otherwise, this effectively dampened Emmy‘s countenance, her head bowing slightly in a show of apology. "I see."

They agreed to set out in a few days, Luke having to ask his parents‘ permission, and Emmy freeing up both her and the Professor‘s schedules for the next few weeks and requesting approval from the Dean.

The guilt he felt at being absent from his students was something he had come to know well, and as usual, he made sure to let them know in advance, helping the substitute lecturer get up to date on his last sessions and materials.

Fontaine University had grown accustomed to its esteemed Professor‘s tendencies to conduct sudden research leaves, and this time it was no different. But the mere mention of the Mask of Chaos certainly helped in speeding up the process.

"We look forward to your findings, Hershel," said Dean Delmona, nodding at him with pride. Hershel tipped his head with a polite curve of his lips.

"I will do my very best, sir," he said. "And I do hope the agreed upon terms of confidentiality will be respected, as per usual."

"Naturally, my dear boy," he laughed, "we know how you operate. Don‘t let us get in your way."

"Many thanks, sir."

#pl genshin au #professor layton #miracle mask #genshin impact #hershel layton #emmy altava #luke triton #Spica writes #doodles #this was really fun to write so i had to share it here hehe #MORE FANFIC BABEH #but yea if u have any questions feel free to ask us!!

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whump-town · 3 years ago

Text

Counting Down The Days

The real kicker here is that I don't even like Christmas and I don't know at all why I thought of this...

Fluff, not really sad

No Pairings

Spencer has never liked Christmas.

As a child, December rolled in and cast over the city an impossible task. His thin wrist grabbed as he tucked pudding into his sweater and his ears tugged at when he bolted for the door, knowing getting caught one more time would mean child protective services would come back. And each time he picked his mother up off the floor, every time he tucked himself in the coat closet to try and hide from her wailing and shouting, he knew they would see through the veil. His mother wouldn’t survive having him taken away. No one else can get her to take her medication. No one else could read her books in their original forms. German and Arabic and Spanish. And what was the point in reading Don Quixote except to do so in the original Spanish?

But not getting caught shoplifting in December, when all of the staff of every store was watching for just that, is impossible. December met icy cold fingers dragging through his stomach and lying to his mother that he had eaten something while he made her ramen. He can go one more day but she can’t take her meds on an empty stomach.

As an adult, these things have changed drastically. Christmas is great. He really can’t complain. He loves dressing up for Dave’s fancy dinner and turning into a bragging point. The feeling of Dave’s heavy arm around his shoulders, showing him off to his friends. Finally being able to understand what it must feel like to have a parent bragging about you to other adults, even if at a certain point they’re just trying to show up to their friends. That doesn’t change the flush in his cheeks or how nice he feels smiling and stuttering around an explanation of his PhDs. Stomach twisted up and cheeks hurting when Dave finally leans in and relieves the guests with a “see? Kids so damn smart I don’t even understand what he got a degree in!”

He misses Morgan and Hotch.

They’ll come around for Christmas, he knows.

Hank is getting so big and he’s carrying on the tradition of all of Spencer’s other nephews and calling him “weed” but there’s nothing like that big baby smile when he comes in through the door. Tottling steps and an armful of baby. It just makes him want his own kids but for now, he’s content with his nephews. Jack calls him a lot. He got the ability to do math from somewhere but certainly not from his parents -- Haley was an English major and Hotch uses a calculator for basic math. So Reid is generally the only person that he knows who can talk math. Christmas will bring Henry and Jack home from college. There’s speak of a boyfriend but Emily knows only minimally about this from what she’s heard from Hotch and what Jack has told Hotch is also minimal at best. Henry is… JJ gets a lot of radio silence from him but Hotch is quick to assure her that is just typical. Jack did the same thing but now he’s a senior in college and Hotch is lucky if he goes three consecutive hours without some sort of text or call.

“Who is my doctor at home?”

“Do you think Uncle Derek can change my oil? Wait, can I go that long without checking it?”

“What year was Aunt Jessica born? Don’t tell her I asked you that.”

“How old are you again? 53? 60?”

Spencer is just excited to have everyone under one roof.

Hotch and Emily grew up under the kind of parties that Dave throws for Christmas. Tokens to be shown off by their parents and ignored under every other circumstance. Both having been shipped off at least once during their childhoods when they no longer fit a certain look. Emily was no longer young enough to attract her mother’s friends, breast a little too formed, and acne that could not be tamed. Hotch with shadows of bruises that would not heal. Dead eyes that no longer raised from the floor.

Dave’s parties bring out the worst in them. Emily is a very bad influence on Hotch and together they have considerable tolerance for alcohol, they can do some damage. But they’re not loud. Spencer loves to watch the two of them, the way they ease into the night. Hotch warm now, his edges softened to pleased little smiles and thoughtful hums. Emily is chatty, leans into touch, and stretches out like a cat bathing in the sun. The night ends with their soft arguing. Spencer could butt in at any time to the subjects that they talk about but he finds himself far more content to sit and watch. Emily’s toes tucked under Hotch’s thigh and his head turned on the sofa, lazily listening to her speak.

They always approach every subject as if it’s the simplest thing. Let it be Marx, spending the hours in front of Dave’s parlor fire speaking in hushed tones about surplus-value and what makes a commodity. About the ins and outs of Cormac Mccarthy, Hotch loves The Sunset Limited and Emily does not. Whitney Houston and how poor Hotch’s Spanish is and if that’s his fault or hers.

Garcia loves the parties even if it does create a little cognitive dissonance for her. Her parents would hate this but she feels pretty in her gown and no one lets her forget it. She keeps track of the kisses placed on her cheeks. Derek smelling of something woodsy as he leans in with a wink, “you’re very beautiful this even, mama.” And Savannah smells warm and inviting and she gives the very best hugs. “Green,” she whispers, “is very much your color.” How Hotch hums along to songs and always gives in to her request for one dance, his smile growing wild as she steps on his toes.

And Spencer loves that she always asks him to match her. So he’ll proudly come in with his matching bowtie or pocket square. Lending her his elbow as they step in, stepping just out of the way that the right people come to greet him and no one else. Morgan is warm and tight, always squeezing just a little too hard. JJ fussing with his hair.

But it’s only September.

He’ll have to pass through Halloween. Jack and Henry are too old these days to run through the bullpen dressed as whatever fictive hero they have grown obsessed with this fall. Coming up to his desk knowing he’s hidden the largest bowl of candy, that he’ll sneak into their pockets whole-sized candy bars to eat as they trick or treat. At best he might get some pre-game pictures from them both, neither having grown out of their love for Halloween. Jack is still very into dressing up but Henry will still throw something together.

There will be Thanksgiving, a holiday choppily shared between them all. Just showing up at Dave’s randomly or Morgan’s depending on who wins that argument this year. He’ll be lucky to see them all under the same roof. If it’s at Dave’s then he’s guaranteed warm and cozy Hotch and Emily. Both bothering Dave in the kitchen, their lost childhoods always burning the brightest around one another, and exasperating Dave. Maybe Garcia will win her favorite game and Dave will teach her to cook whatever he’s decided they’ll have this year. If it’s at Derek’s then at least he’ll get to see Hank. JJ and Savannah will be there, they’re pretty good friends. Garcia will certainly be cooking something and Derek will be manning the grill.

But it’s months out until December.

And all Spencer wants is unabashed affection.

Dave’s arm around his shoulder and his high sung praises.

Emily snagging him up to dance to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and kissing his cheek for the trouble.

To see Matt and Luke interact with the team. Dave’s attention turning to point out his other boys, “knuckleheads but they mean well”. How Tara will take up the empty space left on the couch and butt into Hotch and Emily’s argument, turning warm and comforting like the other two. And Spencer can’t wait to see how similar the three of them are-- you just have to see through the layers.

Until it’s nearly two in the morning.

Jack and Henry are missing, Luke thinks he might have seen them on the back porch.

Emily is sleeping, head in Tara’s lap and feet in Hotch’s. The other two blinking slowly into the fire, glasses of wine warm in their hands and dangerously close to falling.

Matt is sitting on the floor, children spread out around him.

There’s the buzz of conversation still coming from the kitchen. Garcia, JJ, Savannah, and Kristy giggling over wine and gossip they’re certainly not supposed to know.

Spencer looks up at the calendar sitting above his desk and crosses off the day.

He always hated December. He never got to appreciate Christmas. They represented everything he didn’t have, all the things he thought he could never have. But as mid-September leaves a crisp edge to the air, he finds himself counting down the days tell what used to be a measure of his insignificance.

Now it’s the only day that seems to matter. The only day he feels like he matters. Surrounded by the warmth of familiarity. By love.

He misses his family.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #savannah morgan #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #jack hotchner #david rossi

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julies-butterflies · 4 years ago

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style differences between ‘nothing to lose’ and ‘stand tall’? ( aka the phantoms’ magical quick change!! )

i’m not sure if anyone’s done a full costume dissection for the final episode yet, but it needs to be done, because between scenes the boys are sporting very different looks. the stand tall aesthetic is iconic, but... guys. when did you have time to change? alex, did you just rip your shirt open before poofing on stage? luke, where did your sleeves go, how did you even ---

we’re not questioning the behind-the-scenes logistics here, just observing the style choices. love him or hate him, you can’t deny : caleb’s got style. the suits he conjures for the boys match their own aesthetics well, while also showing how little caleb cares for their individuality. everything in the ‘nothing to lose’ costumes are stuffy, a complete contrast to the boys’ usual presentations. they’re visibly uneasy in the costumes --- luke even tears at the tight collar as though it’s bothering him. ( is this the only time we see him wearing a collar in the show? he appears in sleeves more frequently, but never a full suit jacket --- he’s so out of his element, no wonder he looks uncomfortable. )

there are a thousand little details to notice in the suits. the butterflies and garden embellishments on reggie’s jacket ; the golden cross on alex’s suit ; reggie’s chain ( i can’t make out what it says ), the fact that they’re allowed to keep their own instruments... alex even has a little skull next to his rose corsage. caleb’s almost saying here, “sure, you can be punk --- as a treat. but i decide how you present yourselves. i decide how you look, what you wear, and what you are.” whatever facade is being presented here, these outfits represent caleb’s utter control over the situation, and the boys.

so, when the boys finally get the chance to break free? well... each one goes about it in their own way.

alex literally just said “i’m here, i’m gay, and i do not endorse bowties”, didn’t he? i love how he’s added his own personal spin to this outfit ; he’s kept the roses and silver crosses, embellishments that actually seemed to suit him well. underneath the shrt, however ( see through? again, caleb knows what he’s doing ) he’s wearing his gold chain, the same one seen in episode one, during ‘now or never’. a distinctly alex touch. at some point, he’s thrown away the bowtie and ruffled his hair... and i’m sorry, sir, but no one made you go on stage with your entire chest out, you did that for your own damn self.

( it looks as though alex was in a hurry to modify his outfit. he doesn’t even shed the jacket, just rips his shirt open and goes for it... maybe tying into the fact that he appeared first. )

i genuinely love what reggie’s doing here! he’s still got that tragic pomade in his hair ( another reason to hate caleb ) but he’s shed his stuffy jacket, and is rocking the black - and - red embellished waistcoat. he’s clearly vibing so much more here, far more comfortable in his own skin. remembering how violated reggie looked being used as caleb’s stage - puppet... it’s good to see.

( all reggie had to do was just ditch the jacket and fluff his hair, literally. he was not being rushed. )

luke really just said ‘fuck this outfit and everything that goes with it’, huh? like... maybe the reason he took so long to appear on stage was because he was ripping at his costume like a rabid badger, “no way am i going on with julie until i look cool”. i don’t know what possessed caleb into thinking, “yes, this young man gets a cravat!” but luke’s clearly thrown it right back in his face. unlike alex, he also seems to have ditched the butterfly chain pinned to his jacket.

we can see that luke has discarded the tight collar of his suit, which was bothering him so much earlier; he’s kept the shirt, apparently only for the ruffled embellishments. added to the popped jacket collar, it actually looks pretty cool. ( side note --- that’s a jacket, right? like, luke wasn’t wearing a waistcoat, as far as i can see... he ripped the sleeves off of both his jacket and the shirt beneath. dedication. )

no wonder it took him so long to show up... luke was probably running around the hollywood ghost club looking for scissors.

also... relevant to nothing, butt...

like i said. caleb knew what he was doing.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #julie and the himbos #luke patterson #alex mercer #reggie peters #jatp meta

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iamscoby · 4 years ago

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Head in the clouds, 4/4

Luke takes a cautious peak out of the window of the black car. Just the sight of his face leaning towards to the car window has the closest people alerted and reaching over the crowd control barriers to point at his direction and shout something he cannot hear yet.

“Fuck I'm nervous... Can’t you double me for this?” Luke tries.

“You seriously think people would believe I’m you now?” Din quirks an eyebrow at him.

Luke sighs. Din’s hair is back to its dark colour and everything about him looks like – himself. With calm movements, Din turns Grogu around on his knee to face him so that he can straighten his green bowtie and scratch a dry stain out of the lapel of his tiny, light brown suit jacket.

“We’ll be right behind you”, Din says, and Grogu coos his own version of encouragement.

-------

OR: Skydalorian actor-stuntdouble AU

Read on AO3

Pairing: Din Djarin x Luke Skywalker

Rating: E

Words: 7500

#dinluke #dinluke au #dinluke fic #dinluke fanfiction #skydalorian #luke skywalker #star wars #sw ot #sw originals #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x luke skywalker #grogu #din and grogu

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rue-king · 3 years ago

Text

Family Found, Family Taken

(AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32892439)

Previous Part, Next Part

Summary: Gavin jumps right into the case that drives his brain in circles. He ignores and pushes RK900 to the side, determined to pretend he doesn't exist, but RK900 has had enough and makes a move.

Warnings: descriptions of a crime scene, cursing, kidnapping

Chapter Two:

“For someone whose handwriting is so messy you are quite organized” RK900 starts coming out of his interface trying to make conversation.

Reed rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore his attempt. Of course I’m organized, I am a fuckin good detective.

“You know partners need to actually work together” He continues on.

“You know I don’t actually give a fuck right” Reed snaps back lazily.

“Captain Fowler instructed that you cooperate”

“No he told me to accept it, not that I have to hold your fuckin hand”

“Aw you guys talking about holding hands already” Tina Chen jibes as she walks up from the direction of the break room.

“Real cute Chen”

“Haha, oh come on Gav. Anyway, move I wanna meet my new best friend. Hi I’m Tina Chen! Nice to meet you!” She says enthusiastically, putting her hand out for RK to shake.

“Hello, I am RK900.” He says, not accepting the handshake. It doesn’t seem like his ignorance is done in disdain but rather not really feeling quite comfortable enough to do that. Awkward.

Reed laughs quietly under his breath, Tina shoots him a dirty look taking back her hand.

“So new guy, you just go by RK900?”

“That is correct, I have no formal name given to me by cyberlife”

Stiff. Is he even deviant?

“Oh okay! Well it was nice seeing you!” She turns to the side to be dramatic “don't worry about this kid he’s like that to everyone.”

“I am not sure that’s a good thing” He says in a flat tone.

Gavins jaw drops a fraction, “alright, alright get out of here Chen.”

She blows a kiss and walks away with flourish. There is a moment of silence and Gavin starts to go back to work.

“There are multiple cases that are assigned to you and are marked as open.”

Gavin nods his head sarcastically, waiting for the RK unit to get to the point.

“Was that it?” Gavin asks coldly. “4 out of 5 of those cases are already closed, but our computers were down last week so paperwork is slow. I am currently assigned the string of double homicide cases.”

“We” RK corrects.

“The fuck did you say to me?”

“We- you mean, we are assigned to”

“Hah, you fuckin wish. I am assigned to the case, you are here to make the station look pretty.” Gavin bites back.

“Really? Well it seems to me that you are struggling with this case. Perhaps you need my assistance, Detective”

“I don’t need to ask you for shit”

“Well-”

“No fuck this, I’m leaving.” Gavin grabs his jacket, his luke-warm coffee and storms off.

Gavin hops in his car and starts it quickly, taking a deep breath, he pulls out of his spot and toward the latest crime scene.

As he drove he thought about the case's details. His knuckles curl around the steering wheel, stinging as he reopens the slight scabs and cuts that linger there.

Husband and wife, Christina and Mike, found dead in their home at 11:30 AM on September 21st 2039.

They are suspected to have died about 10 to 11 hours prior to their bodies being discovered.

Christina is suspected to have been killed first by strangulation and then Mike by blunt force trauma to the head. (Officers on scene noted that it may have been the corner of the coffee table).

Murder - suicide?

…...No, that's not probable men statistically are more likely to go with a quicker method.

…...Also, Christina showed no signs of defensive wounds and Mike would have shown some sign that she fought back. Regardless of relationship, when your life's on the line people normally try.

….the murderer is significantly stronger than both?

… enough for the main threat to be taken out last?

…..was the female victim used as leverage ?

There was no suspicious activity or persons around the scene reported by neighbors.

The two have a history of loud fighting, but have recently been reported as “doing well.”

The bodies were discovered by Mike’s sister, Cathy, who was supposed to come over for breakfast on the 21st.

Gavin growls under his breath and frustration creeps back up his spine. This case is relatively new but the bodies have already been moved to the morgue for a more conclusive autopsy. The CSI guys on site are shit and nothing they do is quite up to Reed’s standards, so he normally tries to get a look at the crime scene himself.

“Those fukin CSI guys and no name beat cops have probably contaminated my crime scene” Reed grumbles as pulls into the neighborhood.

The crime scene is still pretty fresh as it's a day old. Cops control the area as the press covers the story.

Reed grabs his ancient dark brown leather jacket and slings it over his worn body. He likes autumn, but he's much too grumpy right now to acknowledge it.

He’s too angry and bitter to look at the warm colored leaves that saturate his peripherals and breathe in the crisp air. He would enjoy it too, what a bummer.

Guarding the main entrance to the home is some random beat cop that Gavin has seen around the office. He passes him quickly and brushes off the press’ questions with a stern, cold shoulder.

As he enters the house the first thing he notices is the cold draft of air. The house itself is decorated in a very homey manner. With each piece of furniture and decoration being slightly mismatched, everything is brought together in a sense of warm belonging.

The cold draft makes it feel like he’s gazing into the past. Gross.

He walks further into the house, breaching the archway that separates the foyer and the living room. There he sees the blood. It spatters across the floor, centering around what would have been the back of Mike’s head. It leaks out toward the rug and stains that homey blue color into an ugly dark red.

Gavin takes a deep breath, ready to find whatever the reports left out.

He looks up and calls over to the nearest officer, “are you the only one in here?”

“No, it's me and my partner, who's out back.”

“Oh, well get out I don’t need you guys walking all over my evidence” Gavin states bluntly.

The officer is taken back. He recognises Gavin, the department asshole. He scoffs a bit and walks off to get his partner and leave anyway. Fighting with the DPD’s detectives is a losing game, everyone knows that.

It's as if a switch goes off in Gavin’s brain. He begins to analyze his crime scene.

Blood splatter on the wall and furniture suggests that Mike went down facing the inside of the house.

….he was pushed. There is no way to throw yourself backward with enough force. Murder-suicide.

....there had to been enough force for him to go down fast enough at that exact trajectory to cause a deadly blow

...Mike has a violent(-ish) history, he would have fought back.

….no defensive wounds? (Note: check autopsy reports, maybe go down to morgue?)

At this point, Christina is already dead by strangulation. Her body was found facing away from the front of the house slumped toward the coffee table.

….looking in. What were they looking at? She is used as leverage and her husband is next, why does she die looking away from him? It takes about 4 minutes for a person to die of strangulation (unless the assailant was exceptionally strong).

…. If it took so long, why did Mike not try to fight as his wife choked?

...Something is not adding up. There's a missing piece somewhere.

Reed walks around the living room languidly. He wanders over to the innermost corner of the room, from this position he can see both “bodies” perfectly, along with a view of the front window.

The two victims are facing this corner, this is where the murderer stood. That's where they were when they strangulated Christina and where they pushed Mike. Gavin hums to himself, his brain works in quick and efficient cogs. Moving from thought to thought and connecting each tidbit with a string of concentration.

Mike’s wound should have taken another 5 minutes to become critical enough for him to bleed to death. But he is still looking right here. At this corner.

...what is he looking at? What am I missing?

Reed spins around wildly, looking at the piece of the room behind him. All that lies behind him is a single arm chair and a small circular picture frame that hangs above it. This corner of the room takes up no space and is a V-shape that connects the living room entrance to the kitchen entryway.

He stares hard at the little chair. Little chair.

A door opens in his head, but he can’t quite pin it down.

A sparkle catches his eye. He bends down to get a closer look, reaching his hand under the little chair. He pulls out a dusty untied bow with a few colorful sequences hanging off.

Little chair. Bowtie.

...Child. They are staring at a child.

He breathes out a hard puff of air. He hates cases with children.

They aren’t reported to have any kids.

He walks into the kitchen with a little more energy. He spots the tall white fridge that's adorned with colorful magnets. Magnets at child height with nothing attached to them and one higher up holding an empty, unmarked envelope.

That's so fake. Rigged. Staged.

He pulls open random drawers in search of the junk drawer. He knows there is always at least one in every household.

When he finally finds it he pulls out a slightly bent piece of printer paper. It's a drawing, a child’s drawing. A tall figure drawn in light blue holds the hand of a smaller green figure in a dress who is linked to a taller purple dress clad figure.

A little cloud to the left and a big tree to the right. It’s their family.

They were hiding evidence of a child, their child. Why? They were killed unexpectedly, it wasn’t to hide from the murderer. Who then?

…”Mike’s sister, Cathy, who was supposed to come over for breakfast on the 21st.”

...hiding evidence of a daughter from the sister? Why?

Gavin’s head hurts, he doesn’t even notice he's clenching his jaw in anger. Cases with kids make him angry. He is on a roll now, he can’t stop his momentum.

He pries open the fridge.

Mostly empty. One carton of eggs, one jug of milk, and various vegetables in the drawer. Don’t kids have like snacks or something. This is the fridge of a bachelor.

He moves on, going upstairs. He figures that they can try to hide little photos, but a kid in a house of this size would have her own room.

The parents room check out, nothing special. It’s just as homey as the rest, left as if they were just out running errands.

He moves on to the door at the end of the hallway to the left, facing the street. Jack pot, it's the kids room. Though at first glance it looks like a normal neutral guest bedroom.

He takes a peak under the bed, small toys like dolls and stuffed animals are tucked in the farthest corner. The sheets are new and the bed is freshly made. (As fresh as a day old can be anyway). He walks over to the window and peaks out.

He can make out the big tree that blocks some of the view. From the drawing.

Reed can also make out the image of his freshly dubbed partner stepping out of an automated taxi. RK900’s stark white uniform shining under the overcast weather outside.

Fuckin perfect. Gavin huffs, even more determined to finish quickly. He doesn’t need some pristine plastic to walk in and ruin all his work. He can do it on his own. He doesn’t need help.

He goes to the closet and opens it up. Hangers are crooked and a few pieces of child’s clothing are sprawled on the floor.

Taken in a hurry. Fuck.

That solidifies it. Cristina and Mike had a child, or at least one living with them at the time of the murder. There is no other victim, so it is safe to assume that this double homicide has upgraded into a kidnapping.

“Fuck. FUCK”

Gavin pulls out his phone and dials Captain Fowler's number as he leaves to meet with the officers outside.

As the phone hits the second ring he is met with the face of his brand new partner.

“I will be assisting you on this case De-”

“Shut the fuck up tin can. Get out of the way” Reed rushes out. RK resists getting out of his way, determined to spit his own insults at the rude detective.

The captain doesn’t pick up. Reed moves past RK anyway.

Gavin reaches the officers outside. “Hey you, come here” he calls over the officer he sassed earlier in the house. “How many officers are on scene, right now?”

“Four. My partner and I, and Ortis and his partner as well.”

“Okay, listen up. I need you to stay here and keep the press under control and in the area, get the other three to comb through the neighborhood and alert me if they find anything. Our murderer may have kidnapped a little girl and we don’t have any other information.” Gavin commands in a low tone.

The officer's eyes widened, opening his mouth to say something.

“No, shut up. We can’t let the press know, so you stay here, stay quiet and make sure your buddies do their job. Got it?” He nods, and Reed shoos him off.

“How did you come to that conclusion, Detective?”

RK900, right, perfect.

“None of your business, RK900” he overprounances the unit’s name to be condescending, but his partner stares at him with cold, uncaring eyes. So naturally Reed continues on.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a competent detective or something? Figure it out yourself.”

“Oh I did, I just wanted to know how you got to that conclusion.”

Flames heat up Reed’s body. He is quick to anger.

“You piece of shi-”

“Oh and while you were off being an ass I already contacted Fowler about the situation and the search for the young girl continues on at the office.”

Gavin clenches his jaw again, his tongue flicking over his teeth in quiet rage. RK900 stands there with an unfeeling look on his face, peering down at Gavin.

Reed would swear that there is a hint of a smirk teetering at the corner of that bastard's mouth. The shadow RK’s high brow creates on his eyes makes the distance between them seem daunting, widening the gap between them. Further smushing Gavin’s fragile ego into the bits and pieces between the dirt.

Dramatic, he knows.

Gavin from a couple months back would have ripped forward and swung on RK900, but this Gavin is tired. Resigned from the fight against his inferiority. He takes a breath, though it does nothing to relieve him of his anger, and walks off with nothing but a dirty look.

He has to solve this case, he has to. It is his last chance.

#gavin reed #reed900 #detriot become human #ao3 fanfic #slow burn #angst #upgraded connor

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lineffability · 6 years ago

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// and the angel said unto them, do not be afraid // Luke 2:10

Aziraphale was in a good mood. Which was sort of his State Of Being, what with him being an angel and goodness incarnate and generally Holier Than Thou.

That was the way he liked to think of himself, anyways. He didn’t like to look past that thin, fragile layer into the burning depths out of which he had been forged. His goodness was the crust of the earth, the protective layer that made life possible on the surface.

What lay beneath was both life-giving and deeply destructive. Like God herself, in that way. Shaped in Her image.

Hellfire was not the most cataclysmic force around.

Like most angels, it was a part of him he kept under lock and had mostly forgotten (denied). Aziraphale had worked hard to shape himself into who he wanted himself to be. Who he had consciously chosen to be.

He was a being of love, at the end of it all.

And the things he loved and surrounded himself with were like the homemade, cross-stitched fabric of his soul: food and books and warm colours; softness and fondness and contentment; and Crowley.

(Woe betide the fool who might try and rip a hole into this fabric, to snatch a thread and force it to unravel--to reveal what lay neatly tucked away underneath.)

Currently, Aziraphale was in particularly high spirits, because he had struck a most pleasing book deal, and was on his way back to his shop with a pack of chocolates under his arm, and was also very much looking forward to Crowley returning tonight from his little trip over to Wales where he was wreaking some Moderate Inconvenience for old time’s sake.

He entered his shop with a smile on his face: a smile that died when he saw the tall, broad man clad in a perfectly-fitting grey suit standing right there in the centre of the room, waiting for him on the carpet that he knew hid a rather occult chalk sketch.

“Gabriel.” Aziraphale fixed his bowtie, smiling a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This is a... surprise?”

Behind the angel, Aziraphale could see the answering machine blinking at him from under a pile of books--an ugly device, really, but Crowley had pestered him to get one set up so much he had to give in at some point, that wily old serpent--and his thoughts involuntarily wandered off to the demon. Not exactly an appropriate moment.

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel smiled his business smile, play-punching Aziraphale on his shoulder as he came up to him. The angels had kept their distance ever since The Hellfire Incident; this was the first time Aziraphale had seen the Archangel since that day, a few months ago now. “Old boy! Just dropped by to update you on some stuff; keep in touch, right? Well, anyways, about the demon Crowley--”

Aziraphale straightened, lips parting slightly.

“--well, about him, you’ll have to manage without him for a bit, nothing serious. No harm done, right? Well, no permanent harm, anyways.” He laughed, as if he’d made a little joke. He had, only Aziraphale was not in on it yet.

“What?” Aziraphale’s voice sounded weak to his own ears.

“Oh, come on! You know we’re big on vengeance!” Gabriel beamed. “Of course, we honour our agreements, but a well-placed little discorporation has never hurt anyone, now, has it? Actually, scratch that, it hurts a little. Anyways, we acquired some fine murderers--aren’t humans just great? Murder by purchase, hilarious! They should be on their way to eliminate his earthly shell as we speak, just wanted to let you know.”

Aziraphale was barely listening anymore. The red light of the answering machine glowered at him from the depths of his consciousness like beastly eyes in the dark, its happy promise turned to bone-deep, spine-chilling dread.

Crowley, discorporated? His knees felt weak.

"Oh don’t look so upset, now. He’ll be back in no time, the paperwork only takes a few years down there. Anyways, I gotta run, duty calls, and--”

He stopped dead when he caught the look in Aziraphale’s eyes.

Aziraphale had never looked at him like that. Perhaps Aziraphale had never looked at anyone like that. Gone was the pudgy little man with eyes so blue they must’ve been taken right from the perfect sky of a picture book. He looked like rainclouds, like a cold desert, like a stormy sea about to come crashing down to drown the entire world. He looked like The Fury Of God, and Gabriel took a step backwards, involuntarily.

But just as suddenly as it had come on, the wave subsided (but oh, the dark sea remained). “It has not happened yet, you say?” His voice sounded strained.

“Oh, no,” Gabriel started, but Aziraphale, staring at the floor, merely snapped his fingers, and the Archangel disappeared as the carpet below him incinerated and the chalk beneath glowed white.

Another snap, and the answering machine started playing by itself.

“Aziraphale!” A chipper voice piped up, and the angel suddenly felt so scared he wanted to sink down onto the floor. “So, I was wondering, since I can’t quite recall--was Wales one of yours or ours? I mean,” and here he laughed, “I do know who’s responsible for Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch--still proud of that one. Anyways, come over to my place tonight at 7, I’ve brought you some bara brith and a bottle blanc de blancs.”

The rest of the tape ran empty. “Dammit, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, trying to convince himself that he was not about to cry. He rushed to the phone, and picked up the receiver. The right number started dialing by itself.

The clock showed 6.

“Angel? I know you miss me, but--”

“Crowley! Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale closed his eyes, the relief was so big.

“--really, gotta be patient only a little while longer.” Crowley’s voice was mischievous, a sentiment that currently went right over the angel’s head. “I still got some business to attend to in Hackney.”

“Wait, are you back in London?!”

“Oh yeah, just about to meet up with some shady people, y’know, my favourite kind, they wanted to strike some sorta deal and--oh, gotta go!”

“Crowley, wait!”

“Toodeloo!”

The line went dead, and Aziraphale, aggravated, threw the receiver down. It fell to the ground, so he picked it back up and put it on the holder, angrily. He felt like swearing.

He had to get to Crowley. Before they did.

Crowley was expecting nothing. If they really were trained assassins, and if they acted fast enough, there was a real chance his demon was in serious trouble.

It took half an hour to get from Soho to Hackney by cab or public transport. For a human.

Aziraphale had been out of shape for six thousand years, but right now he didn’t have time to acknowledge that fact. Reality would just have to deal with it. So he ran. He ran as if the devil was on his heels, even though it was in fact quite the opposite. After a few steps he was barely touching the ground anymore, while an Old power deep inside him reared its tired head. Nobody took notice of him, nor of the flash of white feathers that flickered in and out of existence around him as he moved, ever faster, dragging his body along for the ride.

Ten minutes later he stood in a dark alley, gasping for breath as he tried to put himself back together: literally; rearranging his atoms and reattaching the patches of Soul that had spilled over like water out of an overflowing cup, like cotton out of a crude and frayed doll.

He was close enough now, to feel him. Could sense the demonic aura.

(That was good, right? That meant he still had an aura.)

It didn’t take long to track him down.

Through a broken fence and along a wall full of horrendous graffiti and towards the entrance of an abandoned warehouse. It was a truly sinister place; no person in their right mind would meet up with strangers here. Except Crowley was no person (and quite possibly never in his right mind.)

(I don’t have a right mind, angel, Aziraphale could almost hear him say, I have a wrong mind. And I’m very much in it. Duh.)

The doors crumbled before him, evaporated into thin air that he could feel against his wings. He hadn’t bothered putting them away.

“Crowley?” he called.

And Crowley turned around, surprise on his face, and as if they had been waiting for this moment the two people he was now facing away from drew their guns.

Two shots echoed through the empty hall.

They never reached their target. Aziraphale lifted his hand, and for a moment everything stopped. The wave of his righteous fury came crashing down all over again, and this time there was no stopping it. When reality resumed, the bullets had found new targets.

With twin screams, the two henchpeople went down and writhed on the ground, their kneecaps shattered. When they looked up, they wished they hadn’t.

All they saw was bright white blinding fury, a vast nothingness so incomprehensible to the human mind that it burned their eyes and their souls, and inside that nothingness a million eyes staring right through them. There were whispers, in that place, echoes and ghosts and memories of worlds, and as the angel spread its wings they started screaming.

They stopped, abruptly, when the demon Crowley let them fall into merciful unconsciousness.

“Angel, that’s enough.”

The sound of Crowley’s voice reached him through a haze, and Aziraphale faltered. He turned towards the demon, and saw shock and worry on his face.

Crowley saw something else entirely: He saw Both. There was Aziraphale, tired and dishevelled and unbearably horrified and so very Human; and there was Aziraphale, blinding and manifold and unbearably Holy, and not human at all.

“Aziraphale,” he murmured, “it’s enough, now. It’s okay.”

And Aziraphale closed his eyes, and stood there as the light receded, and when he opened his eyes he was One again. And he looked terrified.

“Oh, Crowley,” he said, and his voice almost broke, it sounded so feeble. “You’re, you’re alright.”

Crowley, on the other hand--now that he had his angel back, he knew it, saw it--looked at him... almost a little smitten. He stepped closer, steadying the angel before he could ask. Though he tried to look Casual, he still scanned the angel’s face intently, until Aziraphale looked away.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he finally said, and after another moment: “Should I thank you?”

“Better not,” Aziraphale answered with a weak smile. “I could get into all sorts of trouble...”

Crowley smiled: faintly, softly. (Almost, very almost, he touched a hand to the angel’s cheek.)

“So, care to tell me what this is all about?” he asked instead, carefully circling around Aziraphale, his touch never quite leaving him.

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a fine line. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Silence settled around them, and both their gazes landed on the poor unconscious souls lying in a heap on the ground.

“Well uhhh, alright, then,” Crowley spoke up, “So... Let’s get you home? I still have that sparkling wine in my Bentley, y’know the one.”

“Wait.” Aziraphale sighed, taking a few exhausted steps towards the two murderers acquired by Gabriel. “Do not be afraid,” he murmured as he took to healing their knees, “ When you wake up, you migth want to re-evaluate your choice of profession. And try not to believe what you saw.”

(Forgetting, he knew, was impossible. They would have to carry this burden for life. As did he.)

Crowley stood waiting, and then wordlessly walked by his side (his arm brushing against Aziraphale’s now and again, close enough to offer comfort with his presence, but keeping to himself.) He wasn’t quite sure what to make of this situation, wasn’t sure what it all meant, but he knew Aziraphale well enough to give him time.

He’d always needed time.

As they stepped outside, someone was waiting for them.

He was Gabriel--but not quite. A few inches smaller, a little lop-sided, with less of his perfect hair on his head. He looked like he’d been run through a pastry machine. And he looked pissed.

“You’ve really done it now, Aziraphale,” he snapped. “Discorporating an Archangel! Look at the fucking body they gave me!”

“You what?!” Crowley wheezed, incredulous and, not to his credit, looking absolutely delighted.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, and straightened his shoulders, and suddenly looked like his old self. Like his softness was his armour.

“I thought, despite everything, that you were still one of us... but I must have been wrong.” Cold anger sat deep in Gabriel’s eyes, and behind that, hidden, something like disappointment.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, instinctively, ready to go No, no, of course I still am, but then he glanced sideways at Crowley. And that was that. He knew.

They were still His Side... but right now, though he would never say the words out loud despite it all, there was only one thought burning inside him and it was:

Fuck My Side.

“No, I don’t suppose I am.” He said it as if he was realizing it only as he spoke, and a part of him did. Another part had known it for a long, long time. He looked Gabriel right in the eyes, holding his furious gaze with his own.

Beside him, he saw (felt) Crowley’s head snap around, just impercetibly, a motion so small that Gabriel would never notice, but Aziraphale did. Behind his sunglasses, Crowley’s eyes had gone wide.

So this was it. The moment he had been so very scared of for so very long, but now that it was happening he suddenly was not scared anymore at all. Determined, he took a step forward, positioning himself slightly closer and slightly in front of Crowley. He thought he saw the demon smile softly, for just a second, a little unsure twitch in his cheek.

“I would appreciate it if you never did that again,” Aziraphale said, and somehow it sounded both like a polite request and a Threat.

And Gabriel, The Trial still present in his mind--the image of Azirapahle standing in Hellfire and basking in it--thought he saw that same Aziraphale again now. The Archangel smiled, a short and humourless smile that was mere acknowledgement, and then he snapped his fingers and was gone.

Crowley waved after him, a little wiggle of his fingers that he very much enjoyed.

Aziraphale felt all his strength leave him, yet at the same time he’d never felt stronger in his life. He exhaled, trying to wrap his mind around all that had happened. He had truly chosen his allegiance once and for all, and he knew it was the only decision he ever could have made.

The power that had so forcefully reminded him of its existence, never quite forgotten, still tingled beneath his skin, but it was only a soft stream now, and Aziraphale gently led it back down. The fabric of Himself was still intact. With a little smile, and an even littler glance to the demon by his side, he clasped his hands contentedly in front of his stomach.

Aziraphale knew who he had to thank for that. Wily old serpent, always meddling in his affairs. He’d better never stop.

“He’s a real jerk, that one, isn’t he?”

Aziraphale gasped, looking scandalized, and completely missed the irony of that. Then he grinned, and laughed, and looked at the ground and then back up into Crowley’s face, a little unsure.

“I guess you might, on occasion, have a point,” he conceded.

He smiled broadly, warmly, one of his best smiles, and Crowley, a little stricken, reciprocated. Suddenly nervous, he took off his sunglasses and tried to clean them with the hem of his shirt, before giving up and slipping them into his pocket, as had been his (very secret) intention all along.

They locked eyes, in the twilight, and almost seemed like bashful teenagers, ready to come of age but feeling very shy about it.

“What’s this horrible feeling all around here?” the demon asked suddenly, looking around. “It’s making my stomach all upset.”

“That would be love, my dear.” Unadulterated.

“Oh.” Crowley said nothing more.

But his hand brushed against the back of Aziraphale’s, just lightly grazing it, and the angel, as if by serendipity, turned his hand to face his--not quite taking it, but letting their fingers touch, and not pulling away.

_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_

tagging the people in the OP who sounded like they would want to be tagged:

@idinink @aangelphale @ohblessit @armoredavengers @e3105eb @ineffable-bisexual @cake-cow @snake-in-the-bookshop @crowleysscaredplants @the-best-pilot-in-the-resistance @crowleys--angel @qfantasydragon @aduckwithears @jesuisfabulous @azirafuck @snakecrowleyy @foolish-principalitee @crowleyraejepsen @azfellandco @on-our-own-side @imlowercasemad

#good omens #ineffable husbands #a/c #aziraphale x crowley #my omens #my writing #inefficable #why do i hurt the ones i love #the one in which aziraphale has had Enough

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pixiegrl · 4 years ago

Note

I have another angst prompt for you when the time to write it comes: “It’s not that easy.” for lashton

Apparently. This weekend was the time for it. I was not in a good headspace, I looped It’s all so incredibly loud by glass animals and I wrote this. In many ways, it’s the spiritual sequel to “and when I said i was an old cardigan”. Please enjoy it!

On ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27444352

Luke’s been off kilter all week. He’s had a good few weeks, learning to cook with Ashton, laughing wildly when Ashton started spinning him around the kitchen, dancing, writing music, playing guitar. He’s gotten to take Petunia for walks with Ashton, holding hands and stealing kisses on the sidewalk. He’s been freeing, getting to live with this kind of abandon and carefree attitude to life, joyful and excited for each morning. It was inevitable that it would come crashing down.

Luke got stuck on a song on Monday. In the grand scheme of things, getting stuck on one song wasn’t the end of the world. He had the melody, he had a theme, he just...can’t find the words for feelings he has, the ideas swirling around in his head. He keeps telling himself to put the song down, think on it, come back to it, but each day that passes the song nags at him. Reminds him that he’s not working on it as he tries to make lunch or watch a movie with Ashton or play in the background with Petunia. Reminds him that he’s a failure who can’t write, can’t finish a song, is wasting his time. He’s been on edge the whole time since, constantly thinking about the song, anxious that he’s not working on it and anxious that he can’t think of how to work on it and just...anxious. Eventually, the tension had built up in his lungs, squeezed at them, until it felt like he couldn't breathe.

He and Ashton got into a fight that morning. Luke woke up and felt wrong. If pressed, he couldn’t explain what was wrong just that it felt like he was crawling out of his skin, itchy and uncomfortable in his body, in his mind. Ashton hadn’t done anything wrong, just asked Luke if he wanted to get lunch with Michael and Calum and kept pushing and pushing until Luke snapped, shouted out some nasty words before storming off to the his room (even though he’s been staying in Ash’s since the night on the patio) and slammed the door. He’d flopped down the bed, bitter and angry, hot tears streaming from the corner of his eyes until he couldn’t cry anymore, emotions ran out, lifeless and doll-like. He’s been listening to the static of his brain since, telling him he’s worthless and a burden and why does anyone put up with him anyway if he’s such an awful, terrible person.

That’s how Ashton finds Luke when he gets home. Luke’s not sure how long he’s been like this, just knows that he’s been there for a while. The day has passed in a hazy blur, the early light of day fading to sunsetting in the afternoon and Luke hasn’t moved. He’s fuzzily aware of the fact that he has to have left the bed at some point, gotten up to get water or food or to feed Petunia, but he’s also not sure. Luke’s been laying in bed, watching the ceiling fan spin, phone playing music he’s not listening to on a loop. Luke’s been telling himself he’ll get up soon, but if Ashton’s home, he clearly has missed his chance to get up, pretend he’s fine, pretend he’s normal.

Ashton pokes his head into the bedroom, frowning when he sees Luke on the bed. Luke’s vaguely aware of the fact that Ashton’s got his disappointed face on now, knows he should be upset that he’s upset Ashton but Luke just doesn’t care. He can’t muster the energy to care, to have an emotion, to feel something. He’s burned through all his anger and upset earlier in their fight and now he just feels dull and void.

Ashton crosses the room, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. Cautiously, he puts a hand on Luke’s head, running his fingers through Luke’s curls.

“I’m not upset Luke,” Ashton says. Luke opens his mouth to speak and finds that even the idea of talking tires him out, all the energy drained from his body. Instead he just shrugs, shifting his gaze from Ashton back to the ceiling.

“Luke?”

“Hm?” Luke hums, finding that even making that noise is too much for him.

Ashton huffs, “What’s gotten into you?”

“Life,” Luke mumbles, shrugging. It’s barely louder than a whisper, voice quiet and scratchy from lack of use.

Ashton makes a sympathetic noise, “You were doing so well Lu.”

“It’s not that easy Ashton. I can’t predict how I’m going to feel or what’s going to happen. I just feel off. I don’t feel right. I can’t get the voices to stop. It’s like something is crawling at me, trying to get out, except I can’t bring myself to care,” Luke says in a rush, drained from the sudden need to speak, the words spilling out of him. He pulls away from Ashton, curling up on his side as he feels the tears prickly at the corner of his eyes.

Ashton makes another sad sound, leaning over to brush on Luke’s hair again, tries to press a kiss to his head. Luke shys away from the touch, curling further in on himself. He’s not even sure why he’s crying, thinks he’s body’s just drained and tired. His brain is still playing its broken record loop of words and static that Luke can’t pick apart right now.

He feels Ashton stand, hears him leave the room. Luke can feel the tears spilling from his eyes. He must really be broken, defective if even Ashton is leaving.

A soft thump lands on the bed and Luke startles when he feels Petunia start licking his face, hears her snuffling. She lets out a heavy sigh and flops down, resting her head under Luke’s chin and sighing again.

“She missed you. Was whining at the bedroom door when I got home. I’m going to go get you some food okay?” Ashton says. Luke nods, still startled by the fact that Petunia keeps snuffling against him, wriggling around while she gets comfortable. Ashton leans over, pressing a kiss to Luke’s cheek, brushing a curl out of the way.

He keeps petting Petunia, a solid weight in the world. He can hear Ashton in the kitchen, banging around loudly. Ashton isn’t usually loud in the kitchen when he cooks, prefers to sing quietly to the radio. It’s comforting, knowing that Ashton’s right downstairs, making as much noise as he can, so Luke knows he’s there. That he’s not going anywhere.

Eventually, Ashton comes back upstairs, holding out a glass of water and a bowl of what smells like pasta.

“Come on, you have to sit up,” Ashton says, placing the dishes on the nightstand and nudging at Luke. Reluctantly, Luke lets go of Petunia, sitting up and fighting against the rush he gets from being upright for the first time in hours. Petunia huffs her frustration and flops down in Luke’s lap, staring up at him with wide eyes. Luke rubs her ears until she closes her eyes, letting out a deep sigh and snoring. Ashton chuckles.

“Drink first, then food,” Ashton says, handing the glass to Luke. He takes it, sipping at the water. He hasn’t realized how thirsty he is, till he’s gulped down the whole glass, blushing when Ashton laughs at him.

“Better?”

Luke nods, handing the glass back to Ashton in exchange for the bowl. Ashton stands, going to the bathroom. Luke can hear the water running. Luke takes a bite of the pasta. He glances down, softening when he realizes that Ashton used the bowtie shape that Luke likes the most.

Ashton comes back, full glass in hand. He curls up next to Luke, resting his head on Luke’s shoulder as he chews and swallows. Luke doesn’t feel better exactly, but he feels less like a ghost and more like a person now.

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Putting up with me. When I’m like...this,” Luke says, gesturing vaguely. When he’s a ghost haunting their home, lifeless and too exhausted to do much more than lay in bed and listen to his broken record of a brain.

“It’s not putting up with you. I love you. You care about the people you love,” Ashton says. He leans over, pressing a soft kiss to Luke’s lips. Luke blushes, like he isn’t used to his boyfriend kissing him.

“I love you,” Luke mumbles. He rests his hand on top of Ashton’s, linking their pinkies together. Ashton smiles softly.

“Pinky promise to always take care of you,” Ashton says.

“Pinky promise,” Luke says back. Ashton smiles, lifting up Luke’s hand and kissing their pinkies. Luke thinks his face is permanently red now.

“Do you want to lay here and watch a movie?”

Luke nods. It already feels like he’s used up too much energy as it is between eating and talking to Ashton. Ashton nods back, taking the bowl from Luke and manuerving them till they’re laying back in bed among the pillows. He finds the remote, flipping through their recordings until he finds the version of Legally Blonde he knows Luke loves.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” Luke says, burrowing his face into Ashton’s chest.

“I love you. I’ll keep telling that over and over again till you believe me.”

Luke smiles. He’s still too drained and the world is still too much, but at least he has Ashton. He’s always got Ashton.

#5 seconds of summer #lashton #luke hemmings #ashton irwin #its my turn on the emo lashton #my writing

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brooke0297 · 4 years ago

Text

Never Let You Go (A Julie and the Phantoms Fic)

Masterlist

Here it is! This came to me as I watched the show for the umpteenth time and wondered how the boys really got loose from Caleb. Plus, I'm a total sucker for Sad Boi Luke.

They didn’t disappear.

Luke fully expected to poof out like normal, be back in the studio dissecting the performance with the guys as they waited for Julie to make her human way back and join them. He expected to miss the thunderous applause like always.

They didn’t.

The constricting bow tie at his neck felt like it would cut off his airway but he didn’t poof away. The club goers cheered and applauded and they were still there.

He hated it.

His eyes caught Reggie, clutching his bass like a lifeline. The blood red of his suit jacket made his blanched cheeks stand out and his eyes, usually so mischievous and innocent were filled with absolute terror. They both instinctively turned to Alex, who was so far away from them. He’d never been more than a foot away, his platform an ideal jam area during performances. Now he was separate and scared. He caught their eyes and his mouth parted in confusion. Luke knew him well enough to read his thoughts: why aren’t we gone?

Suddenly there was a firm arm wrapped dangerously around his shoulders and Caleb was there, turning him and Reggie away from the drummer and back to the audience.

“Thank you! Let’s hear it for my new house band!” Then there was the back bending force that Luke had fought the entire song and he grunted as it forced him into a bow. Reggie panted beyond Caleb, feeling it’s effects as well. When they straightened, Caleb caught his eye and smiled evilly.

“Well done, Luke. I think we’ll make a great team…” And then he was poofed out of the ballroom.

He landed harshly on the ground in what appeared to be a large dressing room. There were couches and side tables along one wall and another had a large makeup mirror. Luke scrambled to his feet as he caught sight of the door and he rushed towards it, attempting to open it.

It wouldn’t budge.

“Luke!” Reggie’s voice came from behind him and he turned to see him and Alex appearing near the couch.

“Guys we gotta get out of here!” Luke spat, trying the door again. It still refused to open and he roared in frustration, He couldn’t let Julie down again. Not after everything they’d been through.

He could picture her sitting in the dressing room at the Orpheum, maybe even the same one he and the boys had sat in all those years ago. She would probably be talking to Flynn, worrying about them. God, he prayed she didn’t think they were standing her up again.

No, it was more horrific than that. They were trapped. They couldn’t get out.

“Wait, Luke. We can poof out of here. C’mon!” Reggie encouraged. He shut his eyes and concentrated, but nothing happened and the bassist remained in his spot.

“Reg…” Alex began.

“How are we going to make it? Julie’s waiting on us!” Reggie cried, opening his eyes.

“Reggie. It’s too late. She’s probably already going on.”

Luke wanted to scream. Why did Alex have to be such a pessimist? They could do it. They had to get to Julie. She was waiting for them.

“Luke…”

He was still pounding at the door.

“Luke! Stop it won’t help!” Alex tried.

“It has to. We cannot leave Julie like this!” he bellowed, turning on his friend. God it felt like he was suffocating. The suit was too hot and the room was too bright and his mind was racing.

He kicked at the door before collapsing in front of it, feeling the tell tale lump in his throat growing. He didn’t want to lose it now. He wouldn’t give Caleb the satisfaction. He rested his head on the wood of the door and let a few hot tears escape.

He’d broken his promise. Again. It seemed that was all he was good at. He’d caused his parents so much hurt when he’d left his mother screaming for him in their driveway that December night. He’d left them grieving for him when he’d died after eating a stupid tainted hot dog. He’d disappointed Julie by ditching her at the dance. And now, he’d break both their hearts by leaving her once again.

And the words I most regret

Are the ones I never meant to leave…

The boys sat in silence as the gravity of the situation settled in. Reggie peeled off his suit jacket and threw it across the room in a huff, holding back his own tears. Alex had unbuttoned his shirt and mussed his hair. Luke remembered how his parents had always made him slick it back like that when they were going to church. He’d always come home and destroy the perfectly swept strands before he’d head to the studio to whale on the drum kit.

Luke himself pulled his jacket off and tossed it away, flinging the bowtie in a corner somewhere. Now he felt like he could breathe. He took a gasp of air as his fingers ripped through the buttons on his shirt and pulled it open. Tearing apart the pristine suit made him feel only a fraction of relief. There was still no way out and Julie was waiting for them.

“What will we do now?” Reggie asked quietly from his corner. Alex shook his head and glanced at Luke’s heartbroken face.

“I don’t know, Reg…” he said. Luke hung his head. He’d let his brothers down too.

Luke had a pretty good idea of what would happen next. He and his brothers would be forced to play Caleb’s club music for the rest of eternity. They would be nothing more than his puppets. No more songwriting, no more impromptu gigs, no more Julie…

Julie. God his heart hurt when he thought of their fearless, superstar, frontwoman. She would be terrified for them if she knew where they were. Maybe it was a blessing that she had left before Caleb had appeared in their studio. No, it definitely was. He had no idea what he would have done if Caleb and Julie had been in the same room. The thought of that monster anywhere near her made a phantom shot of adrenaline shoot through his veins.

I’m so sorry Julie.

“Guys...do you hear that?” Reggie asked suddenly, standing up. Alex looked at him in confusion.

“It's probably the fifth encore. Caleb loves his encores.” he said drily. Reggie shook his head.

“No! Listen! It’s getting louder!”

By this time, Alex and Luke had stood and moved in towards each other. Suddenly, Luke could hear the sound of a keyboard amongst the hustle and bustle of the club. It was faint, but he would recognize it anywhere.

Don't blink, no, I don't want to miss it

One thing, and it's back to the beginning

'Cause everything is rushing in fast

Keep going on, never look back.

“Is that…?” Alex asked.

“Julie.” Luke breathed, a smile breaking on his face.

And it's one, two, three, four times

That I'll try for one more night

Light a fire in my eyes

I'm going out of my mind.

“How is that possible?” Alex asked, looking at Luke. But Luke just shook his head.

“I don’t know, but there might be a way out of here after all.” He looked over at Reggie and motioned him in.

He was thinking about his birthday: the day he’d been with his parents. He’d just watched them finish the cake meant for him and his father had offered to do the dishes. He’d been about to follow his mom into the living room when there was an incessant tugging in his chest. It had been different than the jolts they’d experienced thus far. It was almost like a line in his chest being pulled. It was insistent and he allowed himself to poof into the unknown and let the tugging pull him…

Straight into the studio.

As he’d flopped into the chair, he realized Julie was sitting at her keyboard and Alex and Reggie were in their respective spots. He jumped out of the chair.

“Woah, Julie.”

Julie had simply looked up at him with the hint of a smile on her face.

“Grab your guitar. We’ve got work to do.”

As they practiced for their gig that night, Luke hadn’t given much thought to the pulling sensation in his chest. But now, trapped in Caleb’s club and hearing Julie sing from beyond, he could feel it again. Getting stronger.

Whatever happens, even if I'm the last standing

I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall!

“Do you guys feel that?” he asked his bandmates, “The pulling?” Alex’s eyes widened and Reggie gasped.

“What is that?” the bassist asked. Luke shook his head and laughed.

“I don’t know, but I think it’s gonna get us to Julie.”

Whatever happens, even when everything's down

I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall!

“Focus on that feeling. Let it start to pull you in. Focus on Julie. We’re doing it for Julie.” Luke encouraged. The others nodded and closed their eyes.

I gotta keep on dreaming

'Cause I gotta catch that feeling.

“For Julie.” Alex vowed.

“For Julie.” Reggie echoed.

Whatever happens, even if I'm the last standing

I'ma stand tall...

“Julie.” Luke whispered.

I'ma stand tall!

They felt Alex go first. Suddenly in a flash of light, his energy was gone from beside them and then Luke and Reggie could hear the drums kick up. Reggie let out a whoop and then he was suddenly gone. The bass line began as Julie began singing again.

Right now, I'm loving every minute

Hands down, can't let myself forget it, no.

Luke could feel her voice, strong and confident, and he knew the boys were there. They hadn’t let her down. He hoped she knew he was on his way. He closed his eyes and focused on the music, feeling the beat where his guitar would come in. It was suddenly in his hands again and he tapped his foot to the beat.

'Cause everything is rushing in fast

Keep holding on, never look back!

He kicked his guitar in and he was almost there. But...no. He was back in...and out.

Damn it he was flickering.

And it's one, two, three, four times

That I'll try for one more night!

He was back in the club for a moment, trying to regain his balance. He kept playing, getting flashes of the club and then the Orpheum. He caught the worried look on Alex’s face and Reggie trying to play harder, as if he could bring Luke in himself. Luke looked at Reggie for a split second before his gaze moved to the person he’d been waiting for all night.

Light a fire in my eyes...

Julie met his gaze and past the worry and wonder of how he was going to make it, he saw relief. He knew she’d been worried for him. For all of them. But he’d kept his promise. He hadn’t let her down yet.

And now, with as much strength as he could muster, he pushed himself into the flicker and sang.

I'm going out of my mind!

Julie ripped her mic out of it’s holder as Luke finally--finally--pushed past Caleb’s magic and she bounded to the center of the stage. Luke felt the adrenaline and exhilaration at having escaped Caleb run through his body and he threw all the energy he had into the song.

Whatever happens, even if I'm the last standing

I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall

Whatever happens, even when everything's down

I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall

I gotta keep on dreaming, 'cause I gotta catch that feeling

Whatever happens, even if I'm the last standing

I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall

His and Julie’s voices weaved together in perfect harmony. This was how he was supposed to play music. Not forced into it by a malicious club owner who tried to steal their souls...and lost. There was no point in even playing music if Julie wasn’t in the equation. It was Julie and the Phantoms. Take it or leave it.

Julie and Reggie pranced down the catwalk for the next part. As he played, he couldn’t help but watch her shine. She was radiant. The brightest star.

Like I'm glowing in the dark

I keep on going when it's all falling apart

Yeah, I know with all my heart, ooh, ooh

Never look back!

Alex stood and spared a glance at Luke. The guitarist nodded as the drummer sang with vindication.

Whatever happens, even if I'm the last standing

I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall!

Reggie made his way back to his mic and he shared a look with the others. The smile on his face was back and had no intention of leaving.

Whatever happens, even if I'm the last standing

I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall!

Julie knelt down and braced herself for the note.

Stand tall!

Luke and Alex belted with them.

Stand tall!

The four of them began singing together once again, letting the music flow through them. Luke wanted to leave everything he could on that stage. The dream of playing the Orpheum with his best friends finally coming true.

Whatever happens, even if I'm the last standing

I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall!

Whatever happens, even when everything's down

I'ma stand tall, I'ma stand tall!

Julie approached him with her mic and he smiled. This was them. Their chemistry. Their friendship. A partnership. He followed her as she led him down the catwalk, his eyes never leaving hers as they sang their hearts out together.

I gotta keep on dreaming, 'cause I gotta catch that feeling.

Whatever happens, even if I'm the last standing,

I'ma stand tall,

The drums cut out and suddenly Alex and Reggie were there. The four of them soaking in the end of the song.

I'ma stand tall!

It was Julie who held the note the longest. Reggie and Alex were breathing heavily and taking in the audience. But Luke only had eyes for Julie.

You’re a star, Julie.

His words from the studio came to his mind. He realized this would be the last time they would share a stage and he felt the pang in his chest that was almost worse than the jolts. He’d never wanted to leave Julie now that they had the band. But he knew this was it.

He reached out and took Alex’s hand, feeling the familiar warmth in his palm. He hoped that when they crossed over, it would be together. He didn’t know if he could stomach losing Julie and the others all in one night. Julie smiled and nodded, a gentle nod of assurance. It said all she needed to.

It'll be okay. I’ll be okay.

With his phantom heart in his throat, the band raised their arms and took their final bow.

The sudden poof left Julie by herself on the stage. They had done it.

******

Luke wasn’t exactly sure what the crossover would feel like. Would it be painful? He didn’t think so. Back when he was little and his mom had tried to explain his grandfather’s death to him, she had made it seem like a beautiful nirvana where pain would be wiped away. Would he still have Reggie and Alex? Would he see Julie’s mom? Would he be able to watch over Julie from the beyond? He knew that if it was an option, he would volunteer as soon as he could to be her guardian angel. If that was even a thing. He’d seen a lot of movies that said it was.

What he didn’t expect was for him and the boys to drop back into the studio.

They landed gracefully, still in their performance attire and looked around.

“Wait...is this what it’s supposed to look like?” Reggie asked. Luke had no answer as he looked around.

He expected to see something to make it real. Something ethereal and beautiful. Maybe their heaven was the studio. Music had brought them back to earth. Maybe they had caught a break and music would be their afterlife as well.

“Luke? Do you…?”

Alex was cut off by the sudden, violent jolt as all three boys cried out in agony. As the pain faded, a new horror filled Luke’s body.

No. NO. It hadn’t worked!

The devastation in Luke’s expression was mirrored on Reggie and Alex’s faces. They’d escaped Caleb’s clutches and played the Orpheum...only to be dropped back in the studio at square one. They had run out of options.

“I--I thought… I thought we did it…” Reggie whimpered. Alex stumbled to lean against the piano and he bowed his head. Luke just wanted to throw something. Caleb’s words from the club, before the performance, rang in his ear.

“You don’t know that playing the Orpheum is your unfinished business…”

“We were wrong,” Luke murmured. “The Orpheum was never our unfinished business.”

Another jolt and Luke barely bit back the scream.

“We’re out of time.”

He could feel his energy draining. Alex and Reggie were more pale than they had been before the Orpheum. He knew he was probably the same.

“What do we do?” Reggie asked. Luke shook his head, a deja vu of the club. Alex wordlessly held out his hand and Luke took it, seeking that same warmth from the Orpheum. He extended his other to Reggie and the bassist took it, linking with Alex after that.

“Together?” Luke asked. Alex and Reggie nodded.

“Together.”

The three of them wordlessly slid to the floor and collapsed in a heap in front of the piano. Alex curled himself around Luke’s amp while Reggie spread himself out between Alex and the cushioned arm chair. Luke had slid down and rested underneath the piano. If he was going to disappear, he wanted to be as close to Julie’s favorite instrument as he could. It was an extension of her soul, like his guitar was his.

Another jolt rolled through them and they groaned. They were getting stronger and closer together. Luke could feel the end nearing.

“What about Julie? I don’t want her to see us like this.” Alex murmured, his voice weak.

“Maybe she’ll just go to bed. She might be tired after the show.” Reggie reasoned.

“I doubt it.” Alex scoffed.

Luke agreed with Alex. There was no way Julie wouldn’t come to the studio to say goodbye to them and thank her mother. He knew her too well. But a part of him hoped and prayed that Reggie was right. He didn’t know if he could handle Julie watching them fade away.

As the jolts came and went, Luke let himself think about his life before and after Julie. He’d made some stupid choices in life: running out on his parents, dropping out of school, eating those damn hot dogs. But meeting Reggie and Alex, forming Sunset Curve, digging in hard to make their dreams come true? Those were the times he wanted to dwell on.

And Julie. God, Julie was everything.

She had taken them in and turned them into a real band. Her powerful voice and her golden heart. She’d cared about him enough to help him find the courage to mend fences with his parents even in death. She’d pulled them from their misery and roused them enough to pull off their half baked plan to play the Orpheum.

She had taken three ghosts and shown them how to live again.

As he lay on the floor with his weakening bandmates, he began to do something he hadn’t done since he was a child.

He prayed.

He prayed that Julie’s mother would look after her and keep her safe when they couldn’t. He prayed that Julie continued to play music without them and found her voice again. He prayed Carlos and Ray and Flynn would be enough to take care of her after they were gone. And he prayed that Julie would have a long and happy life, even if he didn’t get to be in it anymore. He just wanted her to live.

“I love you guys,” he whispered into the darkness, his words getting caught in the lump in his throat. He felt Alex grab his shoulder and Reggie grab his knee.

“Love you,” Alex said simply.

“Ditto” Reggie responded.

Suddenly, they heard the sounds of Ray’s car pull up and park. Then the sounds of Ray, Carlos and Julie singing “Stand Tall” at the top of their lungs filled the air.

“Luke…” Reggie whispered.

“Don’t, Reg. Please” Luke sniffled. He felt the weak squeeze of his knee in acknowledgement. The sound faded after a moment and Luke wondered if he could feel both disappointment and relief in the same breath. Julie really had gone to bed. She would live her life thinking they had crossed over.

Until the footsteps came closer.

No. Julie, please go to bed… Luke thought vehemently. Please don’t make me say goodbye to you…

Julie pulled open the doors and stepped tentatively inside. He could feel Alex holding his breath and he found himself doing the same. She glanced around for a moment.

“I...I know I already said this but...thank you guys.”

Luke relished in her voice. He could disappear now, with it ringing in his ears until…

“You’re welcome!”

Oh he was going to kill Reggie. Again.

Alex sighed and Luke groaned out a “Dude!” Julie moved towards the lightswitch as Luke tried to sit up and the blinding studio lights illuminated the scene. Julie blinked in shock, taking it in.

“Why...why are you here? I…I thought…”

Another jolt, the worst one yet ripped through them and they groaned in pain, coughing. Luke just wanted it to be over. They’d already caused Julie enough pain.

“No. No!” Julie cried. “I thought you crossed over! Why didn’t you cross over?”

“I guess playing the Orpheum wasn’t our unfinished business,” Alex grunted as the three of them were able to sit up.

“Point Caleb,” Reggie spat from his place on the arm of the chair.

“We wanted you to think that we crossed over, so we pretended to.” Luke explained. Julie’s tearful gaze met his and he hated himself for hurting her so much. “We just…” He trailed off, shaking his head as the truth slipped from his lips.

“We had nowhere else to go.” A barely contained sob escaped and Julie’s face fell even further.

“We thought you’d go straight to bed…” Reggie whispered.

“Yeah, well…” Alex pulled himself up to lean against the amp, “I knew she was gonna come out here, but nobody ever listens to me-”

The most painful jolt hit them and they collapsed back to the floor. Julie rushed forward, frantically waving her arms at them.

“You have to save yourselves right now! Go join Caleb’s club. Please!” she moved beside Luke and he could hear the pain in her voice. “It’s better than not existing at all! Please just go. Go! Poof out! Do something please! Do it for me!” She gestured wildly to the doors as she begged and Luke wanted nothing more than to do what she asked. To spare her the pain of knowing they would never exist in any universe again.

“We’re not going back there,” Reggie shook his head.

Luke mustered as much strength as he could and climbed to his feet. He steeled himself to walk towards Julie, knowing he had to convince her to let them go.

“No music is worth making, Julie, if we’re not making it with you.”

He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks. He felt like his chest would crack open. If the jolts were painful, then breaking Julie’s heart was worse than the most painful death he could imagine.

He wondered if it were anyone else, would it be as hard to leave? If it had been his mother and father standing before him, would he have accepted his fate for what it was? The answer, he knew, was no. Because it was Julie. The bright, radiant girl on the edge of great. The one who put meaning to his songs.

“No regrets.”

Julie seemed to absorb his words before she closed her eyes and flung herself into his arms. Luke clasped his around her back and held her as tight as he could. Maybe now, after the roller coaster of a night they were having, he could finally slip into oblivion with the feeling of Julie Molina safe in his arms. She would have one last memory of him to hold her. He buried his nose in her shoulder and tried to memorize how she felt and smelled.

“I love you guys.” she whimpered into his shoulder.

We love you too, Julie…

Suddenly, Julie began to pull away and Luke was sorely tempted to pull her back. But then he realized there was a soft, golden glow illuminating his skin. Julie’s hands ran down the flesh of his arm and he suddenly registered-

Julie was touching him! He could feel her soft skin against his arm for the first time. He briefly thought back to when they’d tried to touch each other’s hands after seeing his parents, when she’d phased right through him.

Now, though, her small palm landed in his and it was warm and soft.

“How can I feel you?” she asked, looking up at him.

“I...I...I don’t know.” he stuttered.

Julie gasped and her hand left his to gently cup his face. The same warmth caressed his cheek and he reached up to place his own palm against her face. As he looked into her eyes, he felt the supple skin of her cheek in his calloused hands and he let his thumb trace the curve of her cheekbone. He felt his lips draw up in a smile on the realization that he really could feel her and she could feel him. He chuckled as her other hand came to his other cheek and his face was framed in her hold.

There was an unparalleled sense of joy in her gaze as her hands gently fell to his neck and shoulders. His hands pulled away from her face to grasp hers and hold them against his chest. He gently folded her fingers over his and held tightly. He wasn’t sure when or if he would become intangible again, so he didn’t want to waste a moment. But he could feel the strange glow filling him with energy. Maybe more energy than before the first visit to Caleb’s club. It was as if he’d been recharged.

He turned to the boys to see their looks of wonder.

“I feel stronger.” he murmured, still holding onto Julie’s hand. When he turned back, Julie glanced around him.

“Alex, Reggie, come.” she said. As the others came over, Julie and Luke reluctantly separated and pulled them into a tight hug. Luke rested his head against Reggie and Alex’s, feeling the warm glow begin to expand and cover the other two. It was brighter and seemed to fill every corner of the studio in radiance. As they pulled apart, Luke was astounded to see Reggie and Alex glowing as brightly as he was.

“Woah…” Reggie gasped, taking in the light, “I...I...I don’t feel as weak anymore.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Alex added and Luke felt his heart swell. “Not that, you know, I was ever that weak…”

They laughed gently until a stinging sensation made them grunt and hold their wrists up. They watched in fascination as a small beacon of light illuminated their wrists and the purple club stamp from Caleb rose from them and disappeared into the air.

“What do you think that means?” Julie asked, looking back at the boys. They glanced down and around at each other, their hope growing tenfold. Luke grinned before meeting Julie’s eye. There was a promise in them that Luke hadn’t allowed himself to see since finding out about Caleb and the jolts and he knew there would be a lot more time and music coming with Julie and the guys. So, to put it simply:

“I think the band’s back.”

******

Thanks for reading everyone! Let me know what you think!

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms fanfiction #julie and the himbos #jatp #jatp fanfic #julie molina #luke patterson #julie x luke #alex mercer #reggie peters #b’s fanfics

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theyaskedmeto · 5 years ago

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all the multi-chapter fics i’ve ever read: a review (i guess)

but like... only positive vibes because there is literally not a fault in any of this amazing writing

so when i started reading klaine fics i was very sensible and wrote them all down so if i wanted to go back to one i could find it easily. so i guess this a fic rec kinda thing by me. (elsie) btw this is in chronological order of when i read them NOT a ranking i’m not mean. i’m also aware that i’m new to the fandom so the things i’ve read are probably very well known already but like don’t judge me pls I’M DISCOVERING STUFF 😎

1. where there’s smoke by stoney - this is hands down the cutest little fic i’ve ever read. it’s got the fluff, it’s got the angst AND it’s got the smut. PLUS it was the first fic i’ve ever read so it has a special place in my heart and it makes me weep. fucking READ IT

2. syrup and honey by LauGS - this fic made me so emotional. i was a wreck. but like in a good way. KURT AND BLAINE ARE SO CUTE AND JUST MEANT FOR EACH OTHER BUT ALSO I WOULD LIKE TO BONK BLAINE’S DAD BECAUSE HE MADE ME WANT TO PHYSICALLY THROW UP BUT LIKE IT MADE THE WHOLE STORY EVEN MORE RIVETING. i just really love broken!blaine and the ANGST was delicious and kurt owning a bakery and fixing blaine with his amazing cheesecakes is a whole ass vibe so in conclusion i would definitely read it again!!

3. a fresh start by pickingviolets - firstly. daddies!klaine !!!! i was a little hesitiant to start reading it because of this but then when i started i was like fuck yeah this is actually amazing. plus their kids are so cute and i love kurt and blaine’s chemistry throughout the whole thing, like their love is so obvious and fluffy and REAL (although i wouldn’t know i’ve never been in a relationship) and also i love nurse!blaine and doctor!kurt also the drama is so like,,,,,, damn. also the sequel (all we ever wanted, which i read after this one) is equally amazing and beautiful so READ IT NOW!!!! also i discovered the whole ‘read a fanfic as an epub’ thing through this fic because you had to download it so it looked like i was reading a normal ebook so you can hide the fact you’re reading fanfiction and when someone asks what you’re reading you can be like ‘oh just an ebook haha’ which is always a bonus. definitely one of my faves for sure

4. sotto voce by GSJwrites - THIS IS SO FUCKING AMAZING. THE CLASS. THE ANGST. THE WINE. being underage and having an incessant fear of alcohol because it scared me what it does to you i really really really hate wine but... the CLASS of this whole story makes me want to live in the hills of sonoma drinking wine and falling in love. I WAS NOT EMOTIONALLY PREPARED FOR THIS STORY and the ending makes me sob but in a cool way, and when i finished it i was so lost because it was honestly one of the best fanfic’s i’ve read and it was so hard to find one that was even better. i highly highly highly recommend this especially if you like blaine without bowties and hair gel and just generally being hot and mysterious.

5. heteroflexible by pickingviolets - i have discovered (after reading a fresh start) that i love pickingviolets’ writing so i read this one and WOAH it was a rollercoater. the oc’s in this are so cute and i love luke so much. also this one is hella long and the smut is hot like just generally a really happy fic with such a cute ending and you really see how kurt and blaine’s love story progresses and its so :’))

6. crema verse by twobirdsonesong - this is such a cute little fic. FLUFF CENTRAL!!!! the ending is so sweet and the first date and the first i love you and all the firsts really are so sweet. it’s basically like a whole load of oneshots but in the same au where blaine is a barista and kurt works for vogue. normally i don’t like cooper in fanfics but i think that’s actually a lie because every time i’ve read him in one i love it.

7. in my place by LauGS - omg i didn’t realise until now that this is by the same writer as syrup and honey??? must be why i love it so much!! firstly, wbk i love damaged characters and we get a lot of that here. also kurt’s character development is just.... chef’s fucking KISS and blaine is so in love with him and he goes through so much and like... the whole fic breaks my heart but in the best way and i fully believe it should be made into a movie. ALSO!!!! NERDY!BOOKWORM!BLAINE FUCKING HITS ME IN THE FEELS IN A WAY I DIDN’T THINK WAS HUMANELY POSSIBLE AND THIS WHOLE FIC MADE ME SOB. it’s so fucking miserable and also uplifting but in a good way that just makes your heart ache for the characters because you care about them so much. a masterpiece !!!

8. (currently reading) all the other ghosts by rainjoy - i mean???? i know that this might be a quite famous fic (i think?? it seems v well known) and i’m only 7 chapters in at the mo but wow. THIS NEEDS TO BE MADE INTO A FUCKING MOVIE STAT and i’m not even into the heartbreaking bit yet so i’m not gonna say much on this because i don’t know enough yet and i am fully aware that this will probably hurt me and i’m not ready but i’m also so ready like gimme that angst pls. overall its fucking amazing and if you haven’t read it then pls do because the writing is so fucking beautiful too and it deserves EVERYTHING GOOD!!!!

and yeah that’s it!!! by listing these i’ve kinda realised how involved in this fandom i am now because i only started reading fics in january and 5 months later i’m now on my 8th fic.... but it’s a lifestyle luv x

yours sincerely, elsie (idk how to end it so i’m ending it like you would in an email)

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alexthepartyman · 4 years ago

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When I’m Saved (Part 2)

“The press looks horrendous,” Agent Jareau says, looking out towards the front of the hotel as the team exits their SUVs. “Ah, Lieutenant Kim.”

“Agent Jareau. Rossi, Reid, Prentiss. Where are Hotchner and Morgan?”

“They retired. These are Agents Simmons, Alvez, and Section Chief Cruz. We have an Agent in Peyton with Dmitri’s father,” Agent Prentiss answers. “How is the group coping?”

“We should get inside.” The lieutenant says, escorting the team into the hotel’s back entrance. “The hotel has been placed on lockdown, only law enforcement is coming and going. We’ve questioned all of the kids and the chaperones. Some of the kids are devastated, some are pleased that Dmitri is gone. The kids are in their respective rooms, and the chaperones are in the Monterey ballroom. The girls are in Room 407 with the colour guard staff and two chaperones, officers have been stationed outside the room.”

“Pleased?”

“Dmitri isn’t so well accepted outside of his friends. One of the kids in his grade claims Dmitri broke his nose, and other kids have backed up the story. Dmitri has also been the subject of a few harassment incidents in school. Here is a list of people that know Dmitri the best.” Section Chief Cruz takes the list and scans over it.

“How is Mr and Mrs Tremblay taking this?”

“Mrs Tremblay hasn’t had much of a reaction. Mr Tremblay is angry about everything, but has cooperated. The colour guard staff, Dmitri’s direct coaches, are taking it very hard.”

“How is the colour guard taking it?”

“Most are sad, confused, angry. Some of them don’t see Dmitri favourably. One is exclusively regarding to Dmitri as Rhys.”

“One of them was a next-door neighbour?”

“Yes, LeAnne Owens. Dmitri was a friend of hers before they moved away into a neighbourhood that suited their Mormon beliefs more.”

“Religion? Peyton’s separated by religion?” Agent Prentiss asks.

“The town is mostly Mormon, a church on nearly every block in the downtown area. Those who aren’t Mormon aren’t treated very well once the others find out, apparently. Dmitri has been shunned for a few years, most kids only interact with him during group projects.”

“They probably took advantage of him because of his intellect,” Dr Reid comments. “Dmitri’s IQ is apparently one hundred and eighty seven. Autistic individuals tend to be more excluded by their peers and have troubles relating to neurotypical peers. The other kids would likely not understand how he functions and behaves, and he would struggle to maintain friendships. He would likely just think they were being his friends and not be able to see that other people were manipulating him to get what they wanted.”

“Our command center is in the La Paz ballroom. We have five officers monitoring the tip lines, and the media has been running broadcasts since one am.”

“What have the media been saying?” Agent Jareau asks.

“We told them that Dmitri disappeared, and that anyone who might have seen what happened to him should call the hotline. We haven’t confirmed or denied that Dmitri was abducted, but it’s starting to look like that’s what happened. Park search came up empty, we issued an Amber Alert for Los Angeles and the neighbouring counties around three am, stressing that Dmitri’s health is fragile. Free coffee in the lobby, but warning, it’s as bad as our station coffee.”

“Matt, Reid, go up to Room 407,” Agent Prentiss says. “Ask very specifically about what happened last night and our unsubs. Ask them if Diego or Jacob could have taken Dmitri. The adults may not know about what happened, so tread carefully. Luke, you and Rossi should go to the Monterey ballroom and talk with the Tremblays, Mrs Mellencamp, Mrs Kilburn, and any other chaperones that interacted with Dmitri yesterday. JJ, Cruz, and I will set up in the command center, touch bases with PG and Tara. We’ll text you any new information that comes in. Mobiles on. Head out.”

“Sanchez. Escort Agent Simmons and Dr Reid up to Room 407,” Lieutenant Kim says, stopping a passing officer in his tracks. “BAU. They’re going to question the kids.”

“Of course. There’s only one functioning elevator in this hotel, but staircases in every corner. Come with me.” The buff Asian and the pipe cleaner with eyes break off from the group, heading back towards the nearest staircase.

“Only one elevator?” Agent Jareau asks as the team follows the lieutenant towards the lobby.

“Yes, only one. If they couldn’t grab the elevator, the kids would drag their things up the staircases. There wasn’t much comment on Dmitri’s mobility, but Mrs Kilburn did share with us a picture of Dmitri in the Main Street USA parade.” Agent Prentiss squints at the picture and takes a picture of it with her phone. “What is it?”

“Look at the way his left hand grabs the pole vs how the others in the picture are holding the pole, and how his smile droops on the left side of his face.”

“What does that mean?”

“The right side of the brain controls the left side of the body, it looks like that’s where he took the most damage. Look at those transition lenses.” Agent Alvez points to the glasses in the picture. “Those would hide a drooping left eye.”

“This is the Monterey ballroom,” Lieutenant Kim announces, pushing the door to the conference room open. Agents Alvez and Rossi nod and pass through the door, closing it behind them.

“Excuse me,” Agent Rossi asks, approaching another officer. “We’re with the FBI, and we’re looking for John and Amy Tremblay.” The officer points towards an older, balding man and an older woman with red hair holding his hand at a table. “Thank you.” The Italian Stallion and the buff, steaming mug of hot cocoa then head to the table, Agent Rossi sitting across from the couple. “Mr and Mrs Tremblay, we’re Agents Rossi and Alvez with the FBI. We’re a few of the agents helping to find Dmitri.”

“FBI?” A woman with dark curly hair asks, ending her hushed conversation with a woman with red curly hair.

“Yes, ma’am, FBI. We have a few questions about Dmitri. The more we can understand about his behaviour, the more we can figure out what happened to him and how to help him. Who might you be, ma’am?”

“I’m Jill Mellencamp. I assist with band finances and keep all the records. This is Connie Hiratsu, she’s one of the chaperones.”

“When did you last see Dmitri?”

“Nine pm. He was with his friends, leaving Splash Mountain,” Mr Tremblay answers.

“What was he wearing?”

“Our grey shirts we gave the kids, rainbow shoes. A rainbow bowtie, rainbow ears.”

“Interesting attire. Do you know of anybody Dmitri would know here in Los Angeles? Did he tell you he was meeting up with anybody?”

“No,” Mr Tremblay answers, his piecing blue eyes beaming through the agent in front of him.

“Has he ever been caught speaking to strangers?”

“This one time, last year, I had found him after our halftime performance, and a tall man was holding him while he was crying. I separated them and had our drum major and seniors watch over Dmitri. He did not tell me why he was upset or who the man was.”

“He knows better than to talk to strangers. He’s in high school, he knows the rules,” Connie argues.

“Connie. He’s hurting right now. Arguing about it isn’t going to help him.”

“Are you guys going to tell them how much trouble he is?” She retorts.

“Connie-”

“He threw a water bottle, had a tantrum, and screamed at me, like he was a toddler. Was I supposed to just let him represent our school and organisation poorly? Other people might think we’re snobs if they saw that-”

“Mrs Hiratsu. What exactly was happening?”

“He was upset, and he threw a water bottle at the ground, and I told him that high schoolers don’t throw things, and he wouldn’t calm down or tell me what was going on. He was throwing a tantrum-”

“Connie. Loud noises and crowds stress Dmitri out. He was freaking out because he didn’t have his ticket into the park and he couldn’t find Ressa Kilburn, so I had him go through the security checkpoint with me and my family, and afterwards, he ran away, but he came back to the group after a few minutes. Mrs Anderson told us she went to talk to him.”

“He aimed it at the ground or at someone?” Agent Alvez asks.

“At the ground, but it shouldn’t matter. He was acting out of line.”

“Mrs Hiratsu, Dmitri has autism, and he gets overwhelmed and shuts down. Now when he shuts down, he might be aggressive or defensive, throwing things or screaming,” Agent Alvez replies. “Him aiming the bottle at the ground is better than if he aimed it at a person. It means that he is semi-aware of his surroundings in his state, and he is empathetic and doesn’t want to disrupt things.”

“Then why would he do that?”

“He doesn’t want to do it, but he just does. He probably feels embarrassed that he reacts like that.”

“He is rather empathetic. If you raise your voice at him, he’ll think you’re mad at him, and then it takes forever for him to get that you’re not mad at him. He always thinks Jill and I are mad at him.”

“How is he, socially? Does he get along well with the other kids?”

“No, he’s always closed off from the others. Most people don’t even realise he’s there.”

“If he had his way, he’d be in the corner with his music and his notebook,” Mrs Tremblay adds.

“We try to get him to participate with others, but he always just does his own thing. Jill, you’re also involved with the musical theatre program, and you interact with Dmitri there.”

“Yes, I do, but he’s practically the same way. He gets really embarrassed to have to talk in front of other kids, just almost shuts down, he starts stammering and stuttering and panicking.”

“He wouldn’t tell anyone if there was something wrong.”

“Exactly. Nick, Lily, and Arthur have better luck getting him out of his shell, but he still doesn’t ask for help unless you start the conversation. I can see it when it’s just the guard, but I don’t know how to explain it. He laughs more, smiles more with them. Nick and Lily tell me that he actually reaches out to the new guard kids, which is unheard of.”

“Could any of you tell us how Dmitri changed after his last concussion, three weeks ago?” Agent Alvez asks.

“He smiles more, laughs more, asks more questions. He’s definitely more outspoken, but he falls asleep everywhere. I don’t know how he falls asleep on the school bus seats, but he does.”

“I caught him sleeping in the doorway one morning during musical theatre class. He’ll just take little naps during class. He seems to be a lot dizzier, falls a lot more.”

“Yes. He falls when he laughs, and since he laughs at everything now, he always falls. He’s been walking around with hoods up, headphones on, using the walls as supports.”

“Do his eyes glaze over? Does he eat enough to compensate for the high activity levels? We noticed he’s smaller than most.”

“The nosebleed. Do you think that was anything serious?”

“He acted like it was,” Connie asks.

“A nosebleed?”

“He bled out all over the boys’ bathroom once, and it took half an hour to get him to stop bleeding. He was accepting the sugar we provided him, but he freaked out once we mentioned afrin, wouldn’t let us give it to him, he thought we were going to give him aspirin. He couldn’t figure out what was happening to him, and he was texting his grandparents.”

“Okay, okay.” The four adults fall silent, appearing to hold a lifetime back. “Thank you. We’ll come back if we have any more questions.”

#jennifer jareau #tara lewis #Luke Alvez #Matt Simmons #mateo cruz #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #spencer reid #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #DavidRossi

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