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awhitehead17 · 3 years ago

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Batfam Alphabet: J - Joker Junior (JJ)

Summary: When Dick is joined by his brother’s alter personality he struggles to complete his case work. JJ can be rather distracting especially when Dick has to keep a constant eye on him because he can’t be trusted to be on his own.

A/N: This story references to torture and self harm, nothing in graphic detail but please don't read if that makes you uncomfortable. This story is based where Tim had been kidnapped by the Joker and turned into Joker Junior.

Enjoy! :D

“Don’t. Put it back. Now.”

There’s a few beats of a silence and without looking he could tell his orders haven’t been followed. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

Seconds later there’s a clanging of metal which indicates he’s been finally listened too. Dick takes a deep breath in and slowly lets it out before turning his focus back onto the task at hand.

He’s currently re-reading old case files looking for any names, locations, alibies that could possibly be linked into the current case he’s working. It’s a tedious task but it needs to be done. That being said it would be a lot easier if current company wasn’t present. It was rather distracting having to split his focus two ways so he could try and work as well as keep an eye on the kid at the same time.

This time Dick’s read no more than a paragraph when the sound of moving metal could be heard yet again.

Sighing in resignation, he shuts the file and turns around to face the rest of the cave. His eyes instantly drift over to the weapons table where his companion currently is at. The kid is frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at Dick knowing he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. It’s like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, only in this situation the cookie is a dagger rather than an edible treat.

Opposite him the kid silently blinks owlishly, it would actually be an adorable sight if it weren’t for the creepy ass grin stretching across his face. It’s the grin that reminds Dick who he’s dealing with. It isn’t Tim who is standing in front of him but rather his alternate personality, JJ.

JJ first appeared about two years ago after Tim had been captured and tortured by the Joker. The best explanation they could come up with for his appearance is that JJ is Tim’s way of detaching himself from the traumatic experience he had. JJ is the result of the horrendous torture Tim went through.

It’s certainly taken everyone some time to adjust to this development. Even now, years later, everyone is still getting used to it. Tim is here, he’s still present and is the core identity, but JJ occasionally makes an appearance especially when Tim is feeling threatened, extremely stressed or emotionally unstable.

The whole thing has been a learning curve for everyone involved. Even Tim had to learn to deal with it. At first he understandably didn’t accept what was happening but over time he seem to concede with it and even come to some sort of agreement with JJ, apparently the two identities can communicate no matter who’s in control. Tim’s tried to explain it to him in the past but it’s pretty mind boggling so Dick simply believes what Tim is saying and doesn’t ask questions.

He can’t help but feel a little disturbed by JJ’s presence, it’s an unfair feeling because it’s not JJ’s fault – or Tim’s – but being reminded of what his little brother had to endure at the hands of an insane psychotic man is unnerving. It’s like a reminder of how he didn’t protect his little brother and how he failed him by not being good enough.

He knows the others also share similar feelings. Jason simply stays away from JJ, he doesn’t even enter the same room as him. Damian is constantly on edge when JJ is present, he often carries his katana around with him when they’re near one another. Cass happens to be the one who handles JJ the best, her calm demeanour seems to bizarrely settle JJ a little. Bruce… well Bruce has similar thoughts to him of how he failed to protect Tim, but both as a father and a mentor. He’s sat down with JJ and has had a conversation with him, they seemed to come to some sort of agreement which Dick doesn’t know the details of. Alfred, god bless him, takes it all in stride as he does with everything. Everyone else is weary of him but are civil towards him as much as they can be.

“JJ, I told you to put it down. Why did you pick it back up?” Dick questions after a long drawn out silence.

JJ plays with the dagger in his hands, twisting it this way and that with skilled precision. He blinks again and lets out a giggle. “Timmy needs to be punished.”

Dick frowns at the answer. That’s not what he had been expecting. “Why does Tim need to be punished? What has he done?”

“He failed us.”

JJ says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world but Dick has no idea what he’s on about. How has Tim failed? All Dick knows is that recently Tim’s been busy with the Titan’s and how he’s been working on his Neon Knights programme.

“What happened?”

JJ doesn’t respond and continues to play with the dagger in his hands. Seeing the sharp blade being toyed with makes Dick feel tense, he knows what kind of damage can be done with a weapon like that and he doesn’t want Tim – and by extension JJ – to get hurt.

“Timmy needs to be punished!” JJ repeats agitatedly. He stops playing with the dagger and grips it in both hands, Dick couldn’t help but wince when he sees the blade dig into the skin of his palms. “When someone fails they get punished. When they are bad they get punished! Timmy has to be punished for what he did.” JJ trails off with a high pitched giggle like the idea of punishment is hilarious.

Dick runs a hand over his face, he’s not getting anywhere here. Where’s Cass when you need her? She’s usually better at dealing with this side of JJ than he is.

“You know that physically punishing Tim also means you hurting yourself, don’t you?” Dick suggests evenly, trying a different tactic. “There are other ways than physical pain to deal with these sort of things.”

Dick has an inkling he knows what this is all about but he doesn’t want to jump to conclusions just yet.

JJ lets out an uncontrollable giggle. “Silly Big Bird, I don’t feel pain, Uncle J made sure of that. Timmy on the other hand needs to pay for what he did and physical pain is the best way to teach a lesson so he remembers not to do it again.”

As if to prove a point, that’s when a drop of blood drips from JJ’s hand and lands on the floor. JJ doesn’t even notice. Dick tries to not flinch at the sight it, he hates the idea of his little brother hurting, no matter what it is it’s always hard to witness.

“I understand that you may be frustrated JJ, but why don’t you try talking to Tim instead. Tell him how you feel about whatever it is that he did and explain why you’re upset with the situation.” Dick suggests trying to sound as reasonable as he could.

JJ violently shakes his head, he seems to be getting more riled up as the conversation continues.

“No! Talking doesn’t work! He ignores me and doesn’t listen. The mission failed and he put us in danger for no reason, we could have been killed for nothing. He needs to remember to not do that again. I’ll make sure he remembers not to.”

Dick lets out a hum in acknowledgement. Something they’ve come to notice since JJ’s appearance is how protective, and even possessive, he is of Tim. The key thing is how no one is allowed to hurt Tim in anyway whatsoever, if they do then JJ will go on a vengeful rampage against whoever was responsible for it. That includes Tim himself.

To JJ, Tim putting himself in danger is essentially Tim hurting himself and he really doesn’t like that. It’s happened a couple times in the past, so in response to Tim putting himself in danger (often during missions) JJ feels the need to punish Tim for it.

Taking a deep breath Dick stares at the kid and wonders how he should proceed. He can’t just turn around and say “no” or retaliate because JJ will only get defensive and probably go do something much worse as a result. While Dick ponders, JJ stands there opposite him still gripping the dagger tightly in his hands with a small puddle of blood forming at his feet and grins creepily at Dick. To make the scene worse JJ tilts his head to the side just a little, adding to the creepy affect even more.

Thankfully he’s saved from trying to decide what to do when another body soon joins them in the cave. Dick’s attention turns away from JJ and onto Cass who casually strolls towards them with a light bounce in her step. Dick smiles warmly at her, feeling relieved for her appearance. Then immediate guilt hits him because he really shouldn’t be thinking that, Tim is his brother and what’s happened is by no means his fault and he should try to be supportive where he can, though sometimes it can get difficult.

Cass silently comes up to them and stands next to JJ. Dick watches with amusement as JJ’s grin slowly disappears from his face and is replaced with a scowl, his eyes narrow in what he would say is a challenge as he stares at her unmoving. Cass simply raises an eyebrow, she places a hand on her side and cocks her hip while she holds out the other in silent demand.

The two stare at one another for a long time, clearly testing the other’s patience and if Dick’s being honest he has to give JJ some credit for how long he’s with standing Cass’s pointed look. However it seems like JJ can’t out last Cass because he soon drops his gaze and relaxes his grip on the dagger but doesn’t let go of it yet.

“Timmy and I just want to have some fun. Why is that wrong?” JJ pouts, actually seeming disappointed and confused for why they’re saying no to him.

Dick catches himself from saying anything at the last second. He wants to question the ‘fun’ part of punishing but thinks better of it, it’s best that he stays quiet and lets Cass handle the situation.

Still staring at JJ, Cass keeps her hand out waiting for JJ to give her the dagger. After more staring he slaps the weapon into her hand with an exaggerated huff.

“Fine.” JJ huffs with a stomp of his foot. He scowls and crosses his arms over his chest. “I guess I’ll have to find another way to punish – oops! – I mean play with Timmy.” He lets out a hysterical giggle at his own words.

Cass shakes her head and moves towards Dick. They make eyes contact and Cass sends him a soft smile, when she gets close enough with the hand not holding the bloody dagger she reaches up and cups his cheek. “Finish work and rest. I’ve got this.”

Dick places his hand over hers and sends her an appreciative look. “Thank you.”

Standing up Dick grabs the file he had abandoned earlier and makes a move to leave the desk, it’ll probably be best to head to his bedroom in the Manor where he won’t be disturbed, but when he turns around he finds JJ now over by the weapons table yet again.

“JJ!” He snaps harshly. The kid startles and looks up at Dick before a wide grin stretches across his face, he’s not even ashamed that he’s been caught with his hand hovering over another dagger. He soon retracts his hand and places them both behind his back, he sways side to side like he’s an innocent kid.

“What? I’m not doing anything.”

Dick couldn’t help but eyeroll at the blatant lie. He sends JJ a pointed look. “Behave.” JJ’s response to that was to blow him a raspberry. Sending Cass a nod he leaves the desk with his folder tucked under his arm and makes his way to the stairs.

Unfortunately it wasn’t that simple. He should have been expecting something to happen really considering that nothing is ever easy with the kid, it’s only thanks to his reflexes and instincts that he hadn’t been impaled by the dagger JJ had just been eyeing up moments ago.

The weapon is now lodged in the wall in front of him from where Dick had luckily dodged it. The situation takes a moment to process in his mind and once it does he spins back around to witness JJ giggling hysterically and a wide-eyed Cass who had a hand over her mouth in shock. She’s clearly just as caught off guard by JJ’s actions as he was. Dick takes a deep breath and steadies himself, at least it didn’t actually hit him, not that the sentiment really helps with anything.

Deciding it’s really not worth it, he continues his journey to the stairs and proceeds to climb them, but not before grabbing the dagger buried in the wall along the way. JJ is Cass’s responsibility now, one he’ll happily pass over to her.

The last thing Dick hears when he gets to the top of the stairs is JJ calling out to him in between giggles.

“Bye bye Big Bird! See you soooooon!”

#batfam alphabet #dick grayson #Tim Drake #cassandra cain #JJ #joker junior #implied torture #torture #tw: self harm #bit angsty #cass cain is the best #This is not my best work #i really struggled writing this one #I've gotten to the point where I'm done with it #here have this mess #batfam #fanfiction

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falcqns · 4 years ago

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partner in crime lll

pairing: dad!august walker x daughter!ofc

summary: Maeve joins August at work, and he find out a little more about his daughter, which in turn reveals her mothers fate.

warnings: Angst!!! graphic depictions of death, violence towards and infant mentioned but no detail, mentions of sexual assault. 18+ ONLY.

a/n: if I missed anything in the warnings, PLEASE LET ME KNOW! I hope you enjoy!

August was awoken a few hours later by his daughter screaming like someone was hurting her.

August shot up, and immediately sprung into action, looking around the room for the source of his daughter's distress, but found nothing. The only thing he saw was the little baby in her crib, wailing. Her chubby little hand was reaching out towards August, and she was screaming ‘mama.’

August took a deep breath, and scooped her up. He held her against his chest, and rocked her back and forth like he had seen Sloane do once with a little boy they had found at a crime scene.

“What happened?” He asked in the softest voice he could muster, but she only cried harder. Her hands became fists in his sleep shirt, and her tears soaked the cotton material as well. He rubbed her back, and offered her her pacifier. She took it, and her cries quieted, but didn’t cease. He tried to lay her back down, but decided against it, when she screamed again.

He sighed, and laid down with her in the bed. She settled on his chest, and he found himself enamoured by the pools of blue that were her eyes. He was able to see little specks of brown floating near her pupil. She lifted a hand, and placed it on his mouth, her middle two fingers burying themselves into his mustache hairs. August was unsure what to do, so he tried something. He kissed her hand.

Maeve smiled so big that her pacifier fell from her lips, and then she lifted her head.

“Mama?” She asked tentatively, and August paled. How do you tell a 7 month old that they can't have their Mama because she’s dead? August opened and closed his mouth like a fish, unsure what to say.

He saw her bottom lip wobble, and tears well up in her eyes. August noticed a flash of recognition behind her eyes, and she began to wail again, screaming as if she had a gun pointed to her.

Actually, as he thought about it, he realized that's the exact reaction that little boy had, the one that Sloane had held, when he had a gun pointed to his head by his parents' attacker. His heart dropped into his stomach, and made a mental note to check how exactly Maeve’s mother had died.

He pulled Maeve close to his body, and ran his hand up and down her back, occasionally traveling up to play with her soft curls.

Not long after, she settled down, and fell back asleep. August however didn’t.

Sure, it could have been a coincidence that she had the same reaction, but August didn't think it was. He grabbed his phone from where it laid atop the charger, and googled ‘PTSD symptoms in babies’.

Hypervigilance, separation anxiety, clinginess, emotional trauma when reminded of original trauma, fear or avoidance of places that remind them of event, troubles sleeping, nightmares and repetitive play were a few of the symptoms. Maeve didn’t have all of them, but he could only assume she had a nightmare, and the flash of recognition must be her remembering what happened. Was her mother killed in front of her?

The thought made August sick to his stomach, and decided to put his phone away, in favour of keeping the sleeping baby in his arms, 1) asleep, and 2), safe.

August's eyes opened, and instead of dead silence, he was greeted by his daughter babbling, and his phone ringing.

He glanced at his daughter, who was playing with one of his hands, and used his free hand to grab his phone. He saw it was Sloane calling, and swore mentally when he saw that it was 9 am, meaning he was over two hours late for work.

He answered the phone, and Sloane immediately asked where he was, and why he was late.

“I apologize. I got Maeve yesterday and she had a rough night. I overslept, but i’ll be there in less than an hour.” He assured her, and hung up.

He watched as Maeve weaved her fingers with his, and held his hand. He smiled slightly, and curled his fingers in the same way, grasping her tiny hand in his. She squealed in happiness, and August could have cried at the sweet sound.

He pushed the thought away, and pressed a kiss to her curly head before removing his hand from her grasp, and stood up.

“I have to go to work, and you’ll have to come with me. We’ll stop at the store on the way there, and get you a new outfit for you to wear. You need some new clothes.” August said, as he grabbed a diaper from the box that he had delivered yesterday. He changed her diaper, and pulled her pyjama pants back up before scooping her and her stuffy up, and placing her in the crib.

Or, tried to at least. The second he tried to set her in there, she screamed again, like she had last night.

He knew, in that moment, that whatever caused her mother to die, happened right in front of her.

He felt anger boiling up in his body, but not at Maeve. Never at Maeve. He felt a surge of love and protection over her, and he knew his first task of being her dad was to find out what happened to her mom and figure out how to help his little girl.

August had made it out of the apartment, to Walmart, and to his office, all under an hour. He had no idea how, but he had managed it. He swore he saw a smile on Sloane’s face when he walked past her office with Maeve on his hip, but couldn't be sure.

He entered his office, and had no idea where to put her. He had weapons hid all over, and didn't want her getting hurt. He couldn't put her in a crib or a playpen, she obviously had a trauma response to that. His only options were his lap, where he knew she wouldn't stay put, and underneath the desk, which seemed like the best option until he could figure something out.

He placed her under his desk, and handed her the toys he brought with him. She gurgled as she was handed her stuffy. August smiled, and got to work.

He pulled Maeve’s file out of his briefcase, and consulted it for her mothers name.

Adriana Amiens.

He barely remembered her. He glanced down at Maeve, and felt regret course through his veins as he realized if he hadn’t been so down on himself and selfish after the mission, he could have experienced everything, and could have stopped what happened to Adriana.

He went onto the CIA database, and typed in her name. Only one result came up, and he clicked on it.

August could have vomited at what appeared.

There were several pictures of the crime scene, and the actual crime. Adriana had been tied up, and the initials MA had been carved into her stomach, just above a small scar where her uterus was located. His eyebrows furrowed, and glanced at her file. His eyes found the word cesarean section, and all his questions were answered about that.

He moved the mouse over the picture, and a link popped up, attached to the scar. A link attached to the picture wasn't unusual, the database automatically linked relevant information to the pictures, so he clicked on it.

A wiki page popped up. There wasn't a lot of information, but he did note the last name. Amiens, first name Charles.

August read further. This man, named Charles Amiens, nicknamed Master, was apparently Adriana’s father. He belonged to a gang aptly named ‘The Amiens Family’. August had heard of them before. They specialized in arms dealing and murder for hire. Charles himself seemed to be responsible for over 1500 deaths in the Los Angeles area over the last 50 years, something that scared August.

August scrolled further, and found that Adriana was listed as his daughter, although there was the word ‘emancipated’ in parenthesis. August took note of the reason for emancipation being listed as ‘family differences’. August guessed that meant that Adriana wanted no part in the family business. Anais had mentioned in the original phone call that she and her family were very different, and to be wary of him, but he had no idea why, until he received the file later that day.

August clicked through the rest of the photos, his stomach churning as he looked at what the murderers had done to the poor girls body. She had bruises all over her body. She had two black eyes, a broken nose, and there was evidence of sexual assault and severe trauma to her privates.

However, the last photo is what made August throw up.

The murderers had placed Maeve, who didn't look any younger than she did now, in a crib. More specifically, they restrained her to it. There were chains attached to her wrists, bringing them straight out from her body, and attached to the crib.

The next few photos were screenshots from the security footage, and he had to shut off his computer immediately.

They had indeed pointed a gun in his daughters face.

He wanted to throw up, but also murder someone just for hurting his child like that. He felt a tear slip down his cheek, and immediately reached down for the little girl under the desk. He lifted her onto his desk, and took a good look at her arms.

He noticed that she had faint scars around her wrists, that he knew was from restraints. He stood up and took her to the bathroom. He stripped her from her outfit, except her diaper. He checked her entire body, and was thankful when he saw no other evidence of any harm on his daughters smooth skin.

He hugged her to his chest, and pressed a kiss into her hair. “I’m never going to let anyone hurt you. I promise.” She yawned in response, and August knew she was getting tired. He carried her back to his office, and by the time he had settled in his chair, she was asleep on his chest. He held her there, protecting her. He knew she wouldn’t sleep well unless she was in his arms, safe.

By the time August made it home that night, Maeve was miserable. She was exhausted, hungry, and in desperate need of a bath. He had no idea what to do with the crib situation, as it was very clear she wouldn't be able to sleep in there, and August wasn't going to force her.

He’d done some research on his lunch break, and found an alternative to the bed situation, but it wouldn’t arrive for another few days, so it looked like he’d be bed sharing until then. He wanted to get the crib out of his room, but that would entail either waiting until Maeve was asleep, or risk her seeing it and being thrown into a PTSD induced meltdown. She hadn't been diagnosed, but he recognized the symptoms. Not all missions went to plan.

Besides, he planned on getting her into a child psychiatrist as soon as possible to get her diagnosed and help her heal. He didn't want her childhood affected by this, and it was highly unlikely he’d ever tell her what truly happened to her mother.

He placed the diaper bag, his briefcase, and their dinner down on the counter before rocking her back and forth in his arms to soothe her to sleep. It didn't help that she kept crying out for her mama, the one thing August couldn't provide.

“I promise you, my sweet angel, that i will find out what happened to your mama and make sure that you never have to feel the pain you're feeling right now EVER again.” August said, tears flowing freely as his daughter wailed for her dead mother. Her dead mother that was killed in front of her.

A few minutes later, Maeve’s cries melted into whimpers, which bled into soft breaths escaping her lips. August smiled at her, and laid her down on the bed as he had done yesterday, before taking the crib out of the bedroom. He decided to hide it in the laundry room until he could sell it, because she wasn’t allowed in there.

He had managed to wheel it out into the kitchen area, and he took pictures of it. He posted them on facebook, with a price tag of $50. It was originally $270, but he wanted it gone as soon as possible. Maeve had been through enough already.

He’d gotten an offer from a lady less than an hour later, offering $100 for it, so he took that opportunity. An hour after that, the crib was gone, he was $100 richer, and Maeve was still sound asleep.

Next, he put an offer in for an apartment, and got it. He was just signing the contract as he heard Maeve waking up. He quickly finished signing his name and sending it in before going to find his baby girl.

She smiled and clapped as August walked into the room, and he gave her a smile back. “Good nap?” he asked, and she nodded and giggled. August gave her some Cheerios after she was placed in the highchair.

He warmed up the food, before giving her her plate, which she ate enthusiastically. He ate his food, and listened to Maeve babble and point to the front door. He looked out the door and saw another father walking with his son. “You wanna go for a walk?” He asked, and Maeve nodded.

August chuckled, and cleaned up. He wiped her down, and minutes later she was in the stroller and they were on their way out the door.

They made a few laps around the block, Maeve laughing and pointing at everything she saw, almost as if she was rarely outside. He made a mental note to check her file once more. Maybe there was something more to that.

They made one more lap around the block, and headed back to the apartment. He made a short pitstop at the leasing office to give his move out notice, and Maeve was asleep again by the time he made it back up to his unit.

Over the next week, August and Maeve prepared to move. August finally got Maeve on a relatively good schedule, and had the majority of her triggers figured out. Cribs, playpens, handcuffs (an unfortunate incident happened when she had gotten into his bedside drawer and found some fluffy handcuffs for some rather adult activites, and screamed bloody murder while August was prepping her bath. He also had to learn to hide his gun when he was in the office, and remind his coworkers to keep them out of sight when she was around because the sight of those also sent her into a melt down, further angering August, and making him more determined to find the people who did this to her.

Today was moving day, and August was nervous. He didn’t know how well Maeve would take the transition, but he reminded himself that she had been having a lot of abrupt transitions over the past few weeks, so whatever happened, he would deal with.

August woke her up, and carried her into the almost empty kitchen, where he sat her down into the highchair, and gave her her morning bottle and some oatmeal. August ate a protein bar, and looked around at his old apartment to see what still had to be taken to the moving truck that was still downstairs, and found it was only his mattress, and her highchair. sohosebHe had taken all of the furniture yesterday, including his bed frame.

Maeve finished up a few minutes later, and he strapped her into the baby carrier he got when he began to pack, as it was the only way he’d get any work done.

Once she was strapped in and her stuffy was secure in her hand, August rolled the highchair out of the apartment. Once it was secure in the moving truck, he went back to the apartment for the mattress. Maeve was having a fun time of smacking her hands on it while August looked around the apartment for the last time. He’d never thought he’d leave this place, but when he met Maeve, he knew his life was changing for the better.

He never thought that he’d make a good father, but here he was. He had a wonderful little girl, and even though he was raising her on his own, he knew he could do it. As long as she grew up better than he did, he knew he was doing something right.

“Take a look around, Maeve. This was yours and Dada’s first home together.” He said, a smile forming on his face as he called himself Dada for the first time.

taglist:

@kpopgirlbtssvt @nerdypinupcrystal @sohoseb @bieberhoodforever

#august walker #henry cavill x you #august walker x you #august walker x ofc #august walker x reader #august walker x y/n #august walker x female reader #august walker fluff #august walker angst #daddy!august walker

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kingofkingdom-archive · 4 years ago

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Recovery [Ezra (Prospect) x Fem!Reader]

A/N: Hello all! This is my first Pedro Pascal work and the first to be posted here to this blog. If anyone has any requests, don’t hesitate to send them my way! As always, please read the tags/warnings, you are responsible for the media you choose to consume. Also posted to AO3 under the same username (kingofkingdom). I did not use “y/n” or anything similar in this story.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You were taken from your younger sister, Cee, ten years ago. When you answered a distress call from the Green, you didn’t expect to be reunited with her, and you certainly didn’t expect to meet a man like Ezra.

Warnings: mention of past violence/death, discussion of medical procedure, discussion of disability (amputation/loss of limb), family dynamics, abstract discussion of philosophy, small SW universe cameo :)

Tags: considerable amounts of fluff, size kink, daddy kink, hint of dd/lg, copious use of various pet names, p-in-v sex, some breast play/worship, some dom!ezra & sub!reader

Word count: 9552

You hadn't seen Cee since your mother died.

Her father had taken her and left you in the care of your aunt, a woman you didn't know, a woman who jumped at the chance to send you off to boarding school on the Ephrate the moment you were old enough. Most of your memories consisted of your host family there, with a younger "sister" who reminded you all too much of the one you had lost. In your mind, Cee was still a toddler, all wispy blonde hair and big blue eyes.

Cee's father had never liked you. You were the evidence of his wife's life before him, and you looked too much like your own deceased father for him to have any affection toward you. It didn't surprise you that he left you behind after your mother died, but at ten that didn't make it hurt any less.

Since then, ten years had passed. Now, your aunt was gone, and your studies on the Ephrate completed. You'd taken to a rather nomadic lifestyle, catching rides from planet to station to planet and picking up odd jobs here and there. It wasn't much, but you'd become a strong woman in your time on your own, and thoughts of your half-sister plagued you only some nights now.

Jobs you took ranged from helping the lone-wolf prospector on an excavation to ship repairs at major stations across the system. In one of your darker moments, you'd even carried out a hit against some low-level merc who'd pissed off the wrong people. Those people paid well, enough to fill your stomach for a few days and cover a ride far away from that moon. The right circles knew you could hold your own, and that's what mattered.

This particular station was on the outskirts of the system, a rough-and-tumble place frequented only by prospectors and the people that paid them. You'd taken a shift at the bar here a few weeks ago, and knew the locals pretty well. In a spot like this, people could often get more information at your humble establishment than they could from the officials. You were lying low, and you itched to get moving again, like the nomad you were.

Hence why you kept the radio channels on all the time during your shifts, quiet and unobtrusive where you stood at the bar.

You were thankful, looking back, that it had been a quiet afternoon, and that you'd been so vigilant in keeping track of job openings.

"This is Kilo-Romeo 12, calling from Green sector 608. In need of assistance pronto, rapid extraction A.S.A.P."

The voice is faint, but frantic - a masculine growl laced with an edge of panic. Your radio isn't the best, and you don't recognize the prospector's callsign, but you know he must be in deep shit. A call like this from the Green is a death sentence if someone doesn't act quickly.

As with most of your decisions, you act entirely on impulse. As you hit the button to close up the bar's doors, the radio is already in your hands.

"This is Juno B-390, responding to Kilo-Romeo 12. Do you copy?"

You're down the hall by now, rushing to your quarters to collect your meager belongings. Everything fits in a single pack, and you're just pulling your helmet onto your head when the radio crackles to life again.

"I copy, Juno B-390," the relief is evident in his voice, even through the static. "We need extraction and medical care."

Well, that wasn't in the initial signal. "We? How many are with you? And what kind of medical care are we talkin' here?"

"Just me and one other. Deep trauma to the abdomen, I'm afraid."

You swear under your breath. Nothing you can't handle, but this guy's timer's really running out. You grab the necessary supplies and dash to your small pod racer, which is just big enough with its three seats.

"Hang on, Kilo-Romeo. I'll be there as soon as I'm able. You'll need to direct me to your exact location, is that clear?"

There's a moment of silence before his voice echoes through your racer one last time.

"Clear."

You descend upon the Green as fast as the forces of physics and gravity allow you to. Sector 608, as it says on your map, is a stretch of deep woods and rolling terrain, nearly unexplored save for the last rush. You slow up as you approach, and call out to the prospector over the radio once again.

"Kilo-Romeo 12, this is Juno B-390. I am approaching your location. Do you copy?"

It's quiet. Much too quiet. You slow the racer even more, as your heart begins to race. Just as you begin to worry that you're too late, the radio awakens.

It's not the man, however, whose voice you hear.

"This is Ez-- I mean, this is Kilo-Romeo's... uh... companion. He's gotten worse."

It's a girl. A young teen, from the sound of it. Your heart clenches, thinking of how scared she must be out there.

"Okay, hey there. It's gonna be okay. Can you tell me what landmarks you see? Help me find you."

"Um, yeah. We're in a clearing, there's another ship right nearby. It's not operational, which is wh-- uh, yeah. Clearing, big ship. Also sort of a gulley nearby."

You're about to respond when she speaks again.

"Please, hurry."

"I will, kid. Just keep him alive."

It takes you longer than you would've liked to find this clearing, but once you do you see a scene that brings more questions than answers. Dead bodies litter the field and a half-blown excavation site sits in ruins. Discretion's always been a virtue of yours, though, so you file the information away in your brain and swiftly land your craft. As soon as you exit, you hear the girl's voice not too far away.

"Here! We're over here!"

You grab the field kit and run over to where she stands over a slumped figure. The man you'd spoken to is now unconscious, and not only does he have a nasty looking wound in his chest, he's missing an arm. You look up at the girl. Her brows are furrowed, eyes like steel. You like her already.

"Go to the racer and grab the stretcher that's behind the passenger seat. We'll have to move him onto that and carry him over."

She nods and runs off. Immediately, you turn to the man and take stock of his injuries. The arm has been gone for at least a little while, so that's not of immediate concern. You set to treating the chest wound, making sure to purge it and his suit of dust. Nasty stuff, that which floats around this planet. His filter is as good as gone, so you quickly connect your own.

You drain the wound with the juice the locals here produce, which is generally in stock in the station's field kits. It smells rank, but it works, and the man below you groans. Good, he's still vocal, at least. It doesn't sound like a lung's been punctured. You set up a highly temporary pocket over his wound and torn suit through which you can patch the injury. You take some foaming antiseptic and apply it to the wound before adhering a sticky bio-bandage over the top of it.

It'll do for now. He'll need further treatment at the station, but this should keep him alive, at least.

The girl returns with the stretcher then, and places it next to the man. You glance up at her, and see momentarily a young version of yourself. Eager to help. Eager to make things right.

You shake your head, collecting your thoughts. "Okay, so I'm going to tilt his body towards me, and you slide the stretcher as far as you can under him. Then we'll let him down on top of it and secure him for travel. Can you do that?"

She nods, and you give her a small smile. You hook one arm around the man's waist, the other supporting his neck and shoulder.

"On three, okay? One... two... three!"

Quickly, you roll him up onto his remaining arm as she slides the stretcher under him. As gently as possible, you let him back down, and just like that he's mostly on the stretcher. You set to arranging him properly and tying straps down.

The girl fidgets, and you look up to her.

"Do you know how to stow the back seat in a racer like that?" you ask, and she nods.

"Good, go do it."

She runs off, and is back by the time you've gotten the man secured to the stretcher.

"You take the handles at his feet and I'll take his head. We have to be careful not to tilt him too much, to keep the weight on the stretcher even. Did he suffer any head trauma?"

The girl shakes her head. "No, I don't think so."

You probably should have asked that before moving him onto the stretcher, but then again no one's ever known you for your excellence in trauma care. Your knowledge of first aid comes only from what you've picked up in the field, so sometimes the order of operations gets a bit jumbled.

Whatever. He'll be okay. You can't let yourself think otherwise.

The girl stoops to grab hold of the handles at his feet. You do the same at his head, and again you count backwards from three.

"Up!"

Together you stand, and twin groans echo from both of you. The girl huffs, clearly struggling a bit under the weight.

"Okay, let's go. Slowly, remember."

You walk backwards, feet taking cautious steps so as to keep the same pace as the young girl. Her face is screwed up in focus and concentration, hands in a vice grip on the handles.

"You're doing good, kid. Just a bit further."

Before you know it, you've reached the ship. Carefully, you set the stretcher in the racer, and then the two of you slide it in. There's just barely enough room for it. You quickly secure it, and then close the hatch.

The girl is looking at you, eyes wide and chest heaving. You reach out a gloved hand and set it on her shoulder, giving a firm squeeze.

"He'll be okay. I promise. Now go get in the passenger seat and I'll get us back up to the station."

She nods, and seems to relax a bit at that. You can't help but wonder what she's been through, out here in this rough, unforgiving environment. "Thank you."

You smile, and sincerely hope that this young girl finds a way to leave this life of prospecting behind. You don't know how she got here, but it's no place for someone so young. You know that all too well.

"Let's go, kid."

The trip was pretty quiet save for a single groan from the man in back. The girl glanced back to him when she heard that, and then looked at you, concerned.

"It's okay. He'll be in and out of consciousness until we get to the station. I'll pull up to the emergency med-bay so the doctors can start treating him properly right away."

You look over to her, and she nods.

"Does he have anyone they can contact? Any family?" you ask. "The doctors will need to know."

She shakes her head. "I'm not sure. I don't think so."

You sigh. "Okay. Well, we'll deal with that when we get there."

It's not long after that you arrive at the med-bay. It's a whirlwind of nurses and questions and forms, most of which you have to leave blank, since you don't know the guy and the girl seems not to know much more. She does, however, give you a name.

"His name's Ezra," she offers, when she sees you pause at the line on the top of the screen.

You look over at her. "Ezra? Spelled E-Z-R-A?"

She nods. "Never told me a last name though."

"That's alright. A first name's enough."

She sits next to you and helps where she can as you fill out the form. Once you're done, you go up to hand the tablet back to the receptionist. You then sit back down next to her, crossing your arms over your flight suit. The girl's fiddling with her fingers, bag tucked between her feet.

"Do you think we'll be able to see him when they're done?" she asks, clearly trying not to sound as worried as she is.

You shrug. "Probably. It might be a while, though. Do you want something to eat while we wait?"

She nods, and when you look over at her, she's smiling.

As it turns out, it does take a pretty long time for them to complete the operation. It feels like hours that you two are sitting there. You watch the people come and go from the waiting room while the girl writes in some notebook, headphones secure over her ears, absently eating a chocolate bar.

She can't be more than 13 or 14. You think back to when you were that age - in the middle of your time at the Ephrate, moody and angsty like all young teens. It makes you think of Cee. She'd be about that age by now. You look over to the girl sitting next to you, wondering what ever became of your sister. Maybe she's at the Ephrate by now, or perhaps her father has taken her to some peaceful planet with beaches and a nice home, a few pets running around.

Hopefully a better life than the one you've led. Somewhere far from thrower blasts and gemstones.

This girl seems nice enough, and you're sure she's seen her fair share of shit. It's clear this guy's not only not her father, but that they haven't known each other long at all. You can't help but wonder how they ended up traveling together.

Images of the clearing littered with bodies flashes in your mind. Something went down there, and it clearly got ugly fast. It's amazing that the girl emerged relatively unscathed. You've seen a fair share of shootouts and fights, and never did you escape completely uninjured. It takes cleverness and a strong sense of self-preservation, the latter of which you don't often have.

You're ruminating on the mystery sitting next to you when the doors to the operating rooms swing open. A nurse steps out and looks at both of you. You stand, and she follows suit.

"He's awake, and asking for you," the nurse says. You nudge the girl slightly with your elbow.

"Go on, go see hi--"

The nurse cuts in. "He's asking for both of you."

Oh. You're surprised. He doesn't even know you, so there's no reason he should be asking to see you. Despite your confusion, you follow behind the girl as she follows the nurse to his room.

The hallways are sterile and white, cleaner than anything you've seen in months. The doorway is the last on the right, and inside is a single bed, with a small window looking out to the stars.

The young girl enters first as the nurse stands to the side, and you hover in the doorway to watch, still not quite feeling entirely welcome. You can just see the man's - Ezra's - hair behind the girl, with an unusual shock of blonde in otherwise dark brown curls.

"I was wondering where you went, birdie. One minute I was on the ground and next thing I know I'm sitting here like a babe in a bassinet, right as rain," he says, voice melodic with an accent you can't quite place.

"Do you feel better, Ezra?" the girl asks, voice wavering just slightly.

"I do. Are you faring alright yourself?"

She nods, and crosses her arms. Silence fills the room for a moment, then Ezra speaks again.

"Who was so kind as to bring us here, birdie?" he asks. The girl turns to you and steps aside so Ezra can see you.

"She did," she replies, a soft look on her face.

You step forward and look at Ezra properly for the first time. You hadn't really paid much attention to his facial features back on the Green, so concerned as you were with getting him out of there.

His dark brown eyes are kind, and his lips tease at a smile. He's got stubble growing on his chin and a mustache on his lip. There's a thin white line in the shape of a crescent underneath his left eye, the silvery remnant of a deep cut sustained long ago. He's older than you, maybe 40 or so. For some reason, you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach, but you're quick to snuff those out best you can. Mirroring the girl, you cross your arms, and flip your braid over your shoulder.

"Yeah, that would be me," you say, as nonchalantly as you can manage.

"I recognize that voice from the radio," he notes, looking at you intently. "I can't hardly give you enough thanks for getting the two of us out of that... sticky situation. You really are somethin' else, sugar."

You shrug, unused to such praise, such immediate kindness. You feel your face heat up with a blush, and you clear your throat.

"Well, it sure sounded like you were in need of some help. I'm happy to see you're doing better."

Your voice is softer than you intend. Spending even three minutes with this guy seems to have thrown you off balance. You haven't met anyone that talks like him since you were in school, and it's like a breath of fresh air.

His face turns serious at your words. Ezra's gaze is as intense as it is gentle, burning into your own.

"Oh, much better," he assures you, giving you a look you can't quite decipher. A smile quickly returns to his features. "It's a shame they couldn't get my arm to grow back."

You laugh a little at that, happy to see that he's in good spirits. The nurse steps forward then, tablet in hand. The three of you turn to her.

"Ezra will likely be discharged tomorrow morning, given how much progress he's made just today. He will need somewhere to rest, however, for the next week or so. We can help to make boarding arrangeme--"

"No," you interrupt, surprising even yourself. "No, he can stay with me. I have quarters in the 4th wing." You turn to the girl. "You can stay with me too, if you'd like." You don't know what's come over yourself, but you find yourself drawn to this unlikely pair.

The girl nods once, just as Ezra speaks up. "You're too kind, sugar. Your hospitality and generosity are appreciated beyond measure. Do let us know if there's any way at all we can show our gratitude."

You shake your head immediately, waving a hand as if to wave away the notion.

"No need for that. Consider it a celebratory gift for parting with the Green."

Everyone laughs at that - even the nurse, who hides her grin behind her tablet.

The next morning, you and the girl - whose name you still don't know, and who still does not know yours - visit the med-bay first thing after breakfast. Your quarters are small, enough to fit two comfortably and three at most. The girl has decided to take the sofa, since Ezra will need to rest, and a bed is most ideal for that. It seems you both tend to rise early, so you gave her some oatmeal and a cup of coffee. She took both without hesitation, and it warmed your heart to see her eat after however long she and Ezra had been out there.

When you two arrive, Ezra is waiting in his room, dressed in clean loungewear with a bag on his lap. He is seated in a wheelchair. You and the girl greet him, happy to see that he is rested and ready to leave.

"I told the kind folks that I am more than able to walk unaided," he comments when you begin to push the chair from behind. "They insisted, however, and I am not one to ignore the advice and orders of my physicians."

You see the girl try to hide a smile. It seems as though he's grown on her, and she struggles to admit that to herself. Before you can think better of it, you give Ezra a pat on the right shoulder, a small attempt at reassurance.

"You'll be walking in no time, I'm sure," you reply.

You feel his left hand cover your own, and you nearly stumble as you push him along through the hallway. His palm is rough and callused, a signature trait of most prospectors. It's large, too, covering your own entirely. Its warmth soaks through the back of your hand and into your stomach.

"With kindness as bright as yours to guide me, that will certainly be the case."

You don't know what to say to that, so you give his shoulder a squeeze and retract your hand.

The 4th wing is not too far from the med-bay; the station itself is smaller than most, so the distance is blessedly short. Ezra does most of the talking while the three of you walk.

"It would suit me just perfectly to never see that god-forsaken moon again so long as I live," he comments just as you reach the door to your quarters. You scan your ID card and the panel slides open, revealing a small but comfortable dwelling. "Forget the gems, forget the money. Prospecting is surely the most foolish endeavor of them all."

"The lust for wealth is stronger than the fear of death," you reply, almost without thinking.

Ezra looks up at you, smiling, a curious look on his face. "Asmolea. Ruminations, chapter seven. Color me impressed, sugar."

You look back, equally surprised. "You recognize that quote?"

"Why, yes, in fact, I do," he responds, and you notice the girl watching the two of you out of the corner of your eye. "I was an admirer of the great thinkers, long ago. When I was younger, and more -- well, more curious about such things, I suppose."

You wheel him into the small sitting area, arranged around a holo-screen. The walls are bare, lack of personality belying a short-lived residence here. You engage the wheelchair's brakes and take a seat yourself, across from him on an armchair. The girl sits on the sofa, where she slept last night.

"Philosophy is the sustenance of the mind," he continues, kicking his feet up to rest on the coffee table. He winces slightly at the motion, but keeps speaking nevertheless. "Without it, we decay. We risk succumbing to trivial errors of man. It is the sharpening stone to the blade of our intellect."

"What about literature?" the girl asks, her eyes firey and brow set. "I think that's much more valuable than what some ancient guy thought about a world we don't even know anymore."

You smile, pleased at this contribution. "I think great literature can convey philosophical ideas in the form of a modern narrative. You just have to keep an eye out for it, and understand its relevance to the story."

Ezra nods along. "I agree. Where did you read Asmolea, sugar?"

"At the Ephrate," you reply, and you see the girl perk up. You smile at her, hoping the two of you will have a chance to discuss that later. She seems entirely intrigued by you now. "I studied there for seven years, until I was eighteen."

"Why did you leave?" the girl asks.

You sigh, and bring your foot up to rest on the chair, so your thigh is pressed against your front. "Life there didn't suit me. I'm much happier on my own, not surrounded by stuffy academics and pretentious businessmen. The only ones I could stand there were the monks."

Ezra laughs at that. "The Neo-Carthusians?"

You nod, grinning. "Yeah. Considered joining, for about a month or so. I admire their lives of solitude and contemplation, but I couldn't imagine staying in one place for so long."

The conversation flows between the three of you so naturally you hardly notice the time flying by. They ask questions about you, and you return the favor by inquiring about their lives. The girl is quiet when it comes to her past, but you find out her father died on the Green. Both she and Ezra are hesitant to talk about it, which tells you all that you need to know.

Night falls quickly, or at least night according to standard time - on the station, there is no night or day, just a constant darkness visible out the windows interrupted by pinpricks of light. Everyone follows the standard clock, which runs according to time on the Ephrate.

You show Ezra to his room after the three of you have eaten dinner. It's a small space, just enough for a bed and a dresser. Carefully, he stands from the wheelchair, tosses his bag on the bed, and turns to look at you.

He's much taller than you are. The butterflies return as you look up at him, and a warm feeling radiates through the area below your stomach.

"Thank you again for the hospitality, sugar," he murmurs, voice low and deep. He moves the wheelchair out from between you, so there's nothing but air separating the two of you. "As I said, don't hesitate to ask if there is anything I can do to repay you. Anything at all."

You nod, at a loss for words. His hand comes up and gently brushes a loose strand of hair away from your face and tucks it behind your ear. You positively melt. This man is going to be the death of you.

"I'm just glad to see you safe, Ezra," you reply, and your eyes flutter at the way his fingers linger over the apple of your cheek. His lips look so soft, his eyes full of promises he intends to keep. You can feel yourself falling, as if in a dream.

You blink and lean back, away from him. This is a bad idea. For what reason, you can't say, but you dart to your room as soon as you begin to doubt yourself.

You shut the door and lean against it. There's no way, your mind whispers to you. He feels indebted. That's the only reason. You're too young, he just sees you as a kid.

In your haste, you didn't see the look in his eyes as you left so suddenly, or the way he stared at the door long after you shut it.

In the night, you dream of him. Dark eyes above you, heavenly, filthy moans filling the air around you, something thick and perfect filling the empty space inside you. His musical voice murmurs sweet words in your ear, and you hear the sound of your passion just as much as you feel it. Your hands grip his hair as he thrusts, your body trembling underneath him.

Your peak startles you awake, and you find your bedsheets soaked with the evidence of your fantasy.

Your bedside clock tells you it is the early hours of the morning. With a sigh, you toss back the blankets and emerge from your room quietly.

After a quick shower in the refresher, you step out and wrap a towel around yourself. You stare into the mirror, thinking about him.

You've never felt such an instant attraction to anyone before in your life. Sure, his looks contribute quite a bit, but it's much more than that. You and he seem to have a similar intellect, his passion and aptitude for prose matching your own knowledge and understanding of philosophy and the humanities. The girl is also equally respected by him as she is by you, and you both share a common want to see her thrive. You've known them both barely a day and a half, but they already feel more like family than anyone you've ever known.

You wonder if you're imagining his affections toward you. That could just be him, his way of communicating. You desperately hope it's more than that, but you also can't get your hopes up because of a silly dream.

A silly, beautiful dream.

Water drips from your hair, down your chest, and into the towel. As you begin to shiver, you decide to return to bed and try again for some uninterrupted sleep. You'll have to change the sheets, unfortunately, but that shouldn't take more than a few minutes.

You open the door and tiptoe back out into the hallway, quiet as a mouse. Just as you're about to sneak back into your room, towel clutched tightly in your fingers, you're startled by the door opposite your own sliding open.

And there he is. Dressed in little more than a pair of grey shorts, hair tousled and eyes weary with sleep.

He blinks a few times, and then his eyes widen, suddenly much more awake. You see him glance down, and his mouth parts ever so slightly before his gaze returns to your face.

You are frozen in place. Somewhere in your mind, you will your feet to dart away again, but the remnants of your dream still echo in your muscles, preventing you from leaving. Your hands tighten on your towel and despite yourself, you make note of his chest, his abdomen - the wound, which is an angry red line, held together with clear stitching, and which makes your heart clench at the thought of what would've happened had you not arrived - and finally, a rapid glance at his shorts, his thighs, before you find your sense and look back up at his face.

There's that intensity again, with considerably less gentleness. You inhale sharply, and spare a glance towards the sitting area, where the girl sleeps.

"She's quite the light sleeper, I'm afraid. I'd be mightily surprised if she didn't already hear --"

His voice is low, nearly inaudible to your ears as you look back at him. The tone of it causes the insides of your thighs to tremble, and your chest to heave with silent breaths. Ezra cuts himself off, clearly not having meant to say as much as he did.

Maybe it's the early hour that makes the words escape your lips with ease. Maybe it's the dream, the visions of which you can still see in your mind's eye as you look at him. Perhaps there's just something about Ezra that makes you bold, standing there with nothing more than thin terrycloth protecting your modesty.

"Hear what, Ezra?" you whisper, and set your jaw when his eyes widen ever so slightly.

Ezra reaches out, and his hand comes up to grip the back of your neck. His thumb strokes your jawline, behind your ear, and he steps forward. He's so close that you can feel the heat from his body on your own.

His lips press softly against your forehead, a surprisingly intimate gesture that makes you shiver. The hand that isn't clutching your towel moves to rest on his waist, golden skin warm under your cold fingers.

"Hear this, sweet thing," he murmurs against your skin, lips still pressed against you. "How strongly I feel for you. How deeply I know that it was divine providence that brought you to me. The ways I want to repay you for saving my life.”

His words are like molten gold, shimmering and hot as they slip over your skin and into your heart. You shiver, and your fingers curl gently into his side.

”I don’t - I don’t want you to feel obligated to... to do anything. With me. For me,” you whisper back, eyes closed, basking in the feeling of this quiet moment.

Ezra hums in dissent against your worries. “No... no...” he says, as his fingers slowly thread their way into your hair. “It isn't like that —“

He’s interrupted by a shuffling sound from the sitting room. You both freeze, wide-eyed, and look toward the room where the girl sleeps.

A moment passes, and then two. Enough that you know she is still asleep and there isn’t any risk of her finding you two like this.

It‘s like ice water thrown over you, the reminder of where and who you are. You look back up to Ezra, whose eyes are soft and knowing as they stare at you. His hand gently caresses the back of your neck, and then he brings it back to rest at his side.

"Go to bed, sweetheart," he murmurs, and then steps around you. He enters the refresher without another word.

You do as he says, but you find yourself struggling to fall back asleep once you return to clean, cool sheets. You watch the stars inch past outside your window as your mind races at the memory of his lips.

The next morning, you wake to sounds of movement coming from outside your door. For a moment you panic, before you remember your two visitors. And then you remember your encounter with one of those visitors last night, and the hushed words exchanged between you and him.

Beside you, the clock reads barely past 06:00, which is usually the time you wake up anyway. Today you have another shift at the bar, assuming you still have a job there after you ditched it the other day. With a groan, you pull yourself out from under the warm, soft covers and dress yourself.

The noise becomes more decipherable as you make your way down the hallway. Ezra and the girl are making small talk while something sizzles. You turn the corner and see Ezra standing at the stove with the girl sitting at the counter, the pleasing aromatic smell of pork bacon wafting through the air. You lean against the wall and watch the pair with a small smile, happy to see someone making use of a space normally reserved for microwave rations and alcohol snuck from the bar.

No one's ever accused you of being a particularly good bartender, that's for sure.

Ezra turns to look at you when he hears your footsteps, a bright smile lighting up his face.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he teases, and pushes the bacon around with a spatula. "I cannot emphasize enough how divine it was to wake up with a soft cushion beneath me rather than dirt. I could much too easily let myself get used to this, and I think Cee here agrees with me on that account. Don't you, birdie?"

The girl nods, but you don't notice it. The color has drained from your face and you feel a frantic, sinking feeling in your chest.

"What did you say?" you ask, pushing yourself off the wall and looking at Ezra with wide eyes.

He looks back, brow furrowed, confused. "I believe I said that I could get used to this...?"

You turn away from him and look at the girl. She's looking at you too, now, concern evident in her eyes.

"What did he say your name is?"

She blinks. "My name's Cee."

Your hand flies up to your mouth, and you feel tears gather at the corners of your eyes. It can't be. But she's the right age, and her hair's the same, and...

"What was your father's name?"

She looks even more confused now. "Um, it was Damon."

Oh my god. "Oh my god. You're Cee."

The two of them stare at you like you've grown a second head. You laugh, realizing how foolish you look.

And then you give her your name.

Cee's eyes light up like nothing you've ever seen before, and she nearly launches herself off of the counter stool to wrap you in the tightest hug you've ever been given. You laugh again, a loud and boisterous thing, as happy tears spring unbidden and flow onto your cheeks. Her hands grip the back of your shirt as you hold her head to your chest with both hands.

"I never thought I'd see you again," you mutter through the tears, pressing your nose against her hair. It's her. It's really her. Suddenly you think Ezra was right about divine providence, that the three of you were meant to find each other, the event arranged by some mighty cosmic force.

"Dad told me you were dead," she cries, as the two of you collapse to the floor. Propriety suddenly no longer concerns you, not now that you're cradling your long-lost little sister.

"I'm so sorry, Cee. I'm so sorry."

You can't say much more than that. There are simultaneously too many and not enough things to say to the last family you have left in the universe, to this girl who was so much like you even in the first moments of knowing one another.

Above you, Ezra clears his throat.

"While this is clearly an unexpected but happy reunion that I hate to interrupt, I do have to ask how you girls know one another, so that I might not be kept in the dark about your relation?"

You look up at him as you move backwards to rest your shoulders against the wall. His dark eyes look down at you from above, and though you've never felt so small, you've also never felt happier in your life.

"She's my sister," you answer with a smile. "Same mother, different father. We were separated when our mother died. She was hardly more than a baby."

Ezra's eyes grow soft at that, and he nods. You begin to think that maybe now you both have something to thank the other for. You may have saved his life, but his radio transmission brought you Cee.

You tighten your arms around her, and place a kiss on the crown of her head. You aren't sure how long you sit there - long enough to have surely lost your job when you don't show up for your shift, but you can't find it within yourself to care. This is all that matters to you right now.

The day passes with you and Cee doing most of the talking, for once. Ezra seems content to just sit and listen, though you catch him a few times looking at you like he did in the darkened hallway last night.

After lunch, he makes a point to sit next to you on the couch, arm draped across the cushions behind you.

If Cee notices, she doesn't say anything. You still aren't sure where your relationship with Ezra stands, but in the midst of sharing stories with Cee and learning about her life, you don't find time to sort that out.

Dinner comes and goes again, and the topic of the future comes up.

"When do you think you'll be healed enough to travel again, Ezra?" you ask, as the three of you work on cleaning the dishes.

He shrugs. "I'm fit to travel right now," he answers, and you give him a look. No, he isn't. He chuckles. "Alright, sugar. Maybe another day or so. The serum they gave me to apply daily has been working wonders, I must admit."

You nod, and look over at Cee. "Where do you want to go? The Ephrate? I have no doubt you could get into the school there."

She perks up at that. "You think so? Would you bring me?"

"Why not? I'm a traveler anyway, and I think it's high time I got out of this station. Ezra?" You look over to him, but he's already looking at you.

You feel his hand ghost over the small of your back. "I would be most honored to accompany you both to the Ephrate, if you'll have me."

"Yes, of course," you reply, leaning into his touch, and you turn back to the task at hand.

Later on, when Cee is in bed listening to her music, and Ezra's in his room, you sit on your bed thinking about what's to come. In order to apply to the school, Cee will need a guardian contact, and a record of education. You hope she can pass the entrance exam and submit a writing sample, and that that will be enough. Maybe you can talk some of your former professors into considering her.

It’s a pretty long trip from the station to the Ephrate, even with a ship that can travel at hyper speed. You can’t help but wonder what will become of Ezra after you get Cee set up in school.

The man captivates you, to put it plainly. His poetic manner of speaking and the gentle fire of his passion, when directed at you, gives you a feeling unlike any other you’ve experienced before. You’ve met plenty of men in your life. None have ever made you feel such a way.

Before you can think better of it, while the desire to see his sleep-ruffled hair still sits at the forefront of your mind, you get out of bed and leave your room. Quietly, so as to not disturb Cee, you knock on his door.

”Come in!” he calls out from somewhere within.

You slide the door open, slip inside, and close the door behind you. Ezra is sitting up in bed, looking at you.

”To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing such a beautiful woman enter my chamber in the night?” The question is teasing, good-natured, but the compliment still makes your stomach swoop.

You smile, and walk to where he lies in bed, leaning against the dresses. “I wanted to thank you, Ezra. You brought my sister back to me, which is something I’ll never be able to repay you for. Can we call it even?”

He laughs at that. “Sure we can, sweet thing. You know, when I first saw you in that recovery room, I thought I recognized you from somewhere, and that my brain had done me the disservice of erasing all memory of you. I now realize it was because you and Cee are so much alike. I haven’t known her for much longer than I’ve known you, and it remains a miracle that she has given me even a modicum of trust, but I see the relation between you clear as a bell now.”

You have to smile at that. It warms your heart to know you didn’t imagine it, that someone else noticed it too.

Ezra reaches out then, in the dim light, and you step forward. Thinking he's reaching for your hand, you extend yours - but he bypasses it completely and wraps his hand around the back of your upper thigh, thumb brushing against your sleep shorts. A giggle escapes your lips as he pulls you in even closer to him. Ezra leans forward and presses his face against your midsection, nose just next to your belly button.

Confused, but certainly pleasantly surprised, you place your hands on his head and thread your fingers through his dark curls. Gently you massage his scalp, not quite understanding this sudden show of affection. It's different than last night, though you can't exactly express how.

You decide you're really enjoying seeing these different sides of Ezra when the two of you are alone.

When you happen to massage a certain spot right behind his ear, Ezra groans, a low sound that ripples through your bones. His grip tightens, and you feel his next words more than you hear them.

"Come here, little one," he murmurs into your stomach, nosing at the hem of your shirt. The pet name makes you clench, desire flooding through your center.

He pulls you closer, shifting his face away so he can guide you down onto the bed. You swing one leg over his waist just as he slides his hand up to grip your ass, turning you further so you're on your back next to him. He's on his side, propped up by his elbow, leaning over you.

You're breathless, staring up into those infinite brown eyes.

"You have consumed my every waking thought since the moment I first saw you" he says softly, his voice a low purr that awakens some unknown part of yourself. You turn into him, resting a hand on his side, and he presses his nose against your cheek.

"I must have been a saint in a previous life to have earned this sweet embrace," he continues, breath warm against your face. "I want to learn you, to study you with the same vigor the ancients studied and examined the mind. I want to know you, sweet girl, in every way possible.

"But I must be truthful with you, because I could no longer live with myself if I were not. I am not a good man. I have lived a long life of violence and amorality, and death and deceit seem to follow me hand-in-hand. You are so young, little one, full of life and vitality, future bright ahead of you. I do not deserve you, and you certainly deserve better than me."

His words are like needles piercing your heart. You slide your hand up his chest to cup his face, tenderly stroking his cheekbone. You draw him away ever so slightly so you can look him in the eye.

"You and I are not so different, Ezra," you hum, making sure that he keeps the eye contact. "I have been on that same path, of death and violence, for years. I've lived for none but myself."

You slide your thumb across his lower lip, soft and pink and tempting.

"Let me live for you."

You punctuate your whispered plea by drawing him back down and pressing your lips to his. He gasps into the kiss before returning it with passion amplified twofold. His leg slides over your midsection to stabilize himself, knees pushing in between your own so your thighs stretch open around his.

Ezra deepens the kiss almost immediately. You surrender to his lips, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other tangles again in his hair. His mouth is hot, tasting faintly of mint but mostly a sweet flavor you attribute only to him. You let out a soft moan at the feeling building in your cunt, wet and warm and yearning for him, and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Ezra licks at your teeth, seemingly in an attempt to map out every part of you that he can.

All you're able to do is moan, melting into him like a candle to a flame.

You feel Ezra shift a little, followed by profanity muttered softly against your lips. He draws away, and you open your eyes to see him clenching his jaw.

"'M still not fully adjusted to not having a kriffing arm," he grumbles, frustration evident in his eyes. You hum, hurting for him, wanting to take his pain away.

"What do you need, Ezra?" you ask. "What can I do?"

He presses his forehead against yours and sighs. "I want to see you, sweet thing. I want to touch you."

You flush, understanding the meaning of his words and feeling your panties grow wetter at the implication.

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes." You push at his shoulders, urging him to sit back. He does so, sitting back. You rearrange your legs so that yours rest outside of his, and sit up. Your thighs are tucked against his hips in a position that feels much closer than before - you can just barely feel the heat of his groin against your own. A breath stumbles its way out of your lungs, chest heaving.

Before you can think any further on your insecurities, you grasp the hem of your shirt and draw it up and over your head. Ezra's eyes light up, glance at your face, darken considerably as he looks down again, and then he's on you once more.

His arm wraps around you tightly, hand pressing firmly into your ribs, and it's then that you really take in the size difference between you and him. As his head dips to press his lips against your breasts and nipples, you can't help but shudder at the way his body curls over your own. You feel distinctly small, in a way that would usually frighten you but instead makes you shiver.

This position is clearly more comfortable for Ezra, because he becomes more vocal as he lavishes your tits with attention.

"Gods, little one," he murmurs against the top of one of your breasts, tongue darting out to taste your peaked bud, "your body is divine, the sweetest fruit in the universe." He pauses to suck at your nipple, drawing it into his mouth, and the sight of it forces a whine from your throat. Something about it is so perfect, so perverse, for a man who's always been so sweet, that you can't help but press your clothed cunt down on his cock, the shape of which you can feel burning and hard like an iron through your clothes.

Ezra lets out a choked growl at that, a deep rumbling sound that you immediately commit to memory, in case of the unfortunate event that you're not blessed to ever hear it again. He releases your teat, now spit-soaked and throbbing, and looks at you with eyes so dark you hardly recognize them. His brows are drawn together, teeth bared like a feral animal.

"That's what you do to me," he growls, moving his hand down to cup your ass, squeezing harshly. You gasp, and press into him, bare chest to bare chest. "Feel my dick against your little pussy, baby? Think it can fit?"

You nod frantically, knowing your shorts are soaked through, as his filthy words send your mind reeling. You're not capable of thoughts beyond him and this any longer.

Ezra uses his grip on your ass to press your cunt against him once more, and he rolls his hips up into you in a mimicry of what he'd like to do you. You moan, completely unashamed, and drop your head to tuck your face against his shoulder.

"Please," you whine, nearly unaware of the words coming out of your mouth. It's quiet, hushed, this next utterance, and it's passed through your lips before you can think twice about it.

"Please fuck me, daddy."

Ezra freezes. It takes you a moment too long to realize what you've said.

"What did you say?" Ezra asks, the words rumbling from somewhere in his chest.

You get a frantic feeling in your limbs, panic crawling up your throat. Great, you think, I've messed it all up. He probably thinks I'm some freak, screwed up in the head.

You're broken from your spiraling thoughts by the feeling of his lips on your neck, teeth digging into the space beneath your jawline.

"I asked you a question, sweet girl."

You tremble in his grasp. He's not going to let it go. "Daddy..." you whimper, and he groans.

"You really are a perfect little girl for me," he mutters as his hand slides around from your ass to the front of your shorts. You tighten your grip on the back of his neck and lean forward, thinking he intends to pull your remaining clothes down your legs.

Instead, he clenches his fist and tears them, both your shorts and your panties, from your pussy. You yelp as he does so, and watch as the fabric goes flying somewhere off to the side.

"There you are, sweet thing," he murmurs, leaning back to look at you, hand back in position on your bare ass. "Look at you. Filthy and perfect for daddy, aren't you? A fantasy come to life, placed in my lap by the gods themselves."

You moan once more, pressing your bare cunt against the outline of his cock in his thin sleep pants. He reaches down to pull it free, and as you keep your balance against him, you look down and see perhaps the biggest dick you've ever laid eyes on. Ezra chuckles, watching your reaction.

"You ready, baby? Want me to fill you up, fuck you like you need?"

You nod, and lean in to press your face against the crook of his neck again. "Please," you whine. "I need your big cock in my pussy."

The words are completely unlike you - something about Ezra has awoken a completely submissive, unfiltered side of yourself you didn't know existed before. Sure, you knew you wanted him, and weren't a stranger to sex, but this is an entirely new personality, focused entirely on being his. It's almost like a dream, and for a moment you feel as though you're floating, with how relaxed you are in anticipation for --

Oh.

He's guided the head of his cock to your entrance, and is using his leverage on your ass to guide you slowly, slowly down. You gasp - he's certainly the biggest you've ever had, and the stretch is delicious. Ezra's restraining himself, going slow so he doesn't hurt you, but you have no such qualms.

You drop down in one fell swoop, and the way he fills you makes your eyes roll back in your head. His hand moves from your ass to around your waist, nearly encircling it entirely. He groans, loudly and deeply.

"You'll kill me like this, little one. You're just wrapped around my cock, aren't you? Desperate for it?"

You nod frantically. "Yes, daddy. Yes!"

Ezra moans at that. His hand grips your waist, teeth biting and sucking at your neck, as you push up on your thighs to lift off of him. The drag of his dick against the walls of your cunt is incredible, the head of it catching and pushing on hidden, sensitive ridges within you.

You drop down again, and begin to fuck yourself on Ezra's cock.

His hips piston up as you do so, finding and matching your rhythm with ease. His melodic voice mutters the dirtiest things you've ever heard as he slams his hips up into you.

"...That's it, sweet thing. You were made to fit on my cock, weren't you?..."

"...Wanted to do this that night in the hallway, take you right up against the wall..."

"...My strong, sweet girl, bouncing like a whore on daddy’s cock -- gods, look at your tits..."

You feel your climax building, rising like a fire about to consume you from the inside out. Ezra is close, too, from the way his hips stutter and his breathing becomes ragged.

"Sweet thing..." he groans, slowing his thrusts. "I can't... inside you..."

You shake your head. You know he's clean, since he was tested at the med-bay when he went in for the operation. And besides...

"I've got the implant, daddy. Come in me, please."

Ezra finishes with the most beautiful moan you've ever heard, and you come nearly at the same moment. It's an ethereal, heavenly experience, like the two of you have ascended and joined the gods who so graciously brought you together.

You fall asleep tucked into his chest, warm under his blanket, with the smell of him and you and both of you lulling you into the most peaceful sleep you've had in your life.

A month later, you and Ezra and Cee sit at a mahogany wood table, filling out a holo-tablet with the form for Cee's entrance into your alma mater on the Ephrate. Your sister is already taken with the place, and you couldn't be happier for her.

"Now it wants me to put in a parent or guardian's name," she says, stylus hovering over that section. The cursor blinks as it waits.

You're about to tell her to skip it, but Ezra speaks up before you can.

"Put my name down," he offers, and she looks over at him. "Is that okay with you?"

Cee nods, a genuine smile brightening her features. She turns back to the screen with haste.

"Ezra Stallard," he adds simply.

You look over to him, pleased with this revelation.

As you watch Cee enter Ezra's full name into the blank and select Guardian, you get a chill up your spine. Despite yourself, you think back to that night, and you know Ezra's thinking the same when his hand moves over to rest on your thigh.

You can't wait to have your ship to yourselves; the joy of seeing your sister thrive in a new setting is followed only by the anticipation of what is to come. You and Ezra have made no plans for the future yet - all you know is that he will be with you, and that's the only guarantee you need.

For the first time in a very long time, your heart sings.

#ezra x you #ezra (prospect)#ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x female reader #prospect #prospect fanfiction #prospect (2018)#ezra x reader smut #pedrp pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #ezra fic #ezra prospect x reader #canon compliant #wrote this while listening exclusively to grimes #take that as you will

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heli0s-writes · 5 years ago

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i need a forest fire*

My submission for @jalapenobarnes‘s writing challenge. Congratulations on your milestone, Saran! Thank you for hosting! 🧡

Nomad Steve/Reader & the prompt is hiraeth- a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

The title is from James Blake’s song of the same name. 🧡

I'm also double-dipping in the smut prompts with talking dirty over the phone. 1.7k. Please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

“I miss you.”

“I know.”

“No… I miss you.”

He chuckles and leans his head onto the headboard of yet another motel dwelling-- their stay for the week before they continue to another city, another assignment. Can’t plant his feet anywhere yet. No roots to grow for a while. No sun to warm him.

“How’s it been?”

“Fine enough. Same as usual, gotta keep moving.”

You’re thousands of miles away—disembodied voice in his ear that reminds him of home and his bed. Reminds him of the imprint electrifying his nights—the briefness of a new thing. The wonder of a good thing. A love that sprang slow over time, caught fire overnight, burned to ashes too quick.

“How are you?”

“Mm. Fine enough.”

He hears the squeak of a door, the click of a deadbolt, and the extra chain latching on top. Then, a mattress too noisy to be yours. A familiar ritual now, when you want the little bits of him that he can afford to give. A motel some distance from the compound, always a new one with every call because you’re too careful to make mistakes. Too careful to accidentally give him away.

It makes him smile to pretend that the two of you might be in the same place, sharing the same creaky fucking bed. Maybe breaking it in—breaking it apart.

Steve grits his teeth. Hisses discreetly, but not discreet enough.

“What’s that sound for?”

“Just— in bed. In a bed.”

“Not my bed.”

“No,” he laughs, “Wish I was, though.”

“Remember the last time you were there?” Rustling as you settle down and Steve does so as well, slipping his legs beneath paper thin covers. Imitation—imagination—allowing a domestic fantasy.

He considers it-- maybe half a year ago now—and suddenly his cheeks light up. He could easily give out one of those noises again— have you catch him red-handed dreaming of splayed thighs at the edge of the mattress. Him on his knees, one hand in his lap, practically drooling and a mess from the cheek down.

“You’ve got a beard now, huh? What’ll that be like between my legs?”

Oh, hell.

“Baby…” Steve grinds his skull against the wood, shivering at prickles down his spine, “Baby… Christ. You can’t say that.”

“Are you sharing a room? Are you sharing a room?”

You fucking tease. You would like it if he was sharing a room, just so you could provoke him stupid. Jesus, Steve’s the criminal now but you’ve always been a goddamn minx if he’s ever known one. Whip fucking smart, though, and it broke his heart when you suggested that he’d need someone on the other side, that it’ll be okay, Steve, I won’t punch you too hard.

And he only loved you more when you did punch him too hard. Loved you harder when you gave him coordinates to the Raft, the codes, the blueprints lifted from Ross’ files.

He had one last night then, in your room, before it’d inevitably be ransacked and searched—bugged to hell because Ross only trusted you as far as he could throw you, even if you played all your cards right.

It’s why you catch the bus to motels with a burner phone inside the lining of your jacket. Create nonsensical rotations of locations. Schedule calls without a linear time frame. Sometimes a month, sometimes longer. It’s why he misses you so goddamn much.

“Steve…” A drawl of his name that lets him know exactly what you want of him.

“I’m not sharing a room,” he says cautiously, like a warning, “But Sam’s right next door. And it’s paper thin here.”

“You better be quiet then. You’re not Goody-Two-Shoes Cap anymore, are you? Don’t you wanna try phone sex with your girl?” His chest tightens, throat going dry at your tone, at the way you say your girl, at the possibility of phone sex—as daunting as it is exciting.

“Okay, yeah, sweetheart,” Steve shudders, reaching into his sweats because he can’t say no— he’s already half hard, anyway. Itching for it. “Yeah. You can have me. H-how do you want me?”

“Touching yourself, to start.” A sigh in your voice. He closes his eyes, swallows thickly, imagines your breath over his lips, imagines the way you pepper kisses across his chest. “I always liked watching you do that, pretty boy.”

Steve groans, stroking languidly, building himself up, focusing on the way he can just barely hear the hum in the back of your throat. “You’re pretty.”

A giggle then, snapping him out of his trance and heat overtakes the top of his head. Ugh. He’s not good at this. Being laughed at during sex—regardless of how disembodied—never a good sign. “Fuck,” He grumbles. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I like it, Steve; I like you.” Just like that, he’s breathless again. “Hm, wanna know what I’m doing, pretty boy?” And his breath may never come back.

“Remember those little satin panties I wore? Ribbon ties on the side… and you pulled them off with your teeth?”

Of course he does. Delicate lavender and shimmery soft. By the time he dropped to the floor they were already wet in the middle—pastel going rich purple. Your chest-- heaving as you leaned back on the sheets, his hands on the thin skin of your knees, stretching willing legs apart.

Steve catches his cockhead with the crook of his finger. Grunts quietly into the receiver.

“Baby, are you wearing those?”

“Uh-huh, just for you.”

“Are you touching yourself—ah—thinkin’ about me?”

“Every night.”

Fuck. Jesus Christ, you’re bad. He’s gonna blow his load and the call’s only been five minutes.

“What—” another shuddering breath when he grips a little too hard, “—what do you think about me doing?”

You sigh again, whimper like a little punctuation, sheets rustling. “I think about your tongue and how wet you make me,” and your voice is so low, so needy, “I wish you were here, Steve. Touching me all over.” And the picture in his mind of you, so pretty and open, wild at the mere memory of him—

“When you get back,” and there it is, egging his own fist on to match the pace of a subtle and steady sluiced-up rhythm, your fingers working over, inside, back out, twisting and turning. “When you get back, Steve. I’m gonna let you know just how much I miss you.”

He’s hot all over, chasing the ghost of your doting kisses, the phantom touch of your skillful hands. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

“Yeah? You gonna let me make you feel good when you get home?”

“Yes—yes.”

“Keep going. Think about me riding you, baby. Slow at first, how you like, taking you a little bit at a time. You’re always so hard.”

Always for you, yeah, he is. And as much as he loves tasting you—as much as he could spend eternity and a half blessed between your thighs, dedicated to those noises you make when his tongue slips over your clit—his fingers knuckle-deep inside—the way you move on top of him is another sacrament altogether.

Steve jams the phone between his ear and his shoulder—neck cramp tomorrow be damned—and uses both hands. Forgets for a little that you’re not quite there.

Slow, like you said, at first, listening to your recital, the chorus of his breath an applause.

“Now, faster.”

And he’s lost in the roll of your hips, one hand on his chest, the other gripped tight around his shoulder, nails carving crescents into his skin because you need an anchor. He’s lost in the way his heart pounds the sharper the cuts because it means you’ve let yourself go. How you scramble for his fingers next, lacing them through yours, squeezing him there and everywhere.

And oh, how exquisite you look with that sheen of sweat across your chest. Hovering over him like a goddess and fucking him like a wet dream.

“Baby,” red lip pulled pale between his teeth, hands working in tandem—imitation and imagination constructing a well-oiled machine in your absence. “Baby, fuck. Miss you on me—miss you fucking me. God--”

“Yeah? Gonna come?” You’re panting, too, noises high and obscene, the background echo of your hand growing more frantic and unrestrained. “Me too, pretty boy. I want to do everything with you—have all of you. Your hands, your mouth, your cock.”

“Yeah. Yes,” he babbles, “I wanna give you everything.”

“Come with me, Steve—come on, baby.”

And it’s all so fast. Your words. His words. Your hands. His hands. He’s barely finished rucking down his sweats, pulling up the hem of his shirt last minute before his eyes roll back behind his lids. He’s spilling out, over his fist, up his clenched abdomen, entire body tight, panting heavy and hard as he tugs at himself a few more times, breathing and listening, heart still clobbering against his ribcage when you whimper one last time.

The comedown is aching, then. His eyes flutter open. Heat smothered cold and lonesome like those ashes. His neck hurts. His heart hurts.

“Steve,” and he hears it in you, too—the same ache, the same want. Like at the end of every call you’ve made to him in the past six months.

“Steve,” you say again, “It’s okay. You’ll be back soon enough. You’ll have me then. Every night if you’d like.”

Of course he would, but he can’t voice it now, not in all this dark, not when the pain is bubbling up in his throat, not when he loves you so much he can’t stand to worry you with its sound.

“Look on the bright side, you lawless fugitive. Least you know how to have phone sex now. Cap would never.” He laughs at that, happiness like tinder sparking fast from a flame. “You’ll be home soon.”

Home. Home. A place with his bed and his girl. Planting his feet down safely. Growing roots in that rich, soft soil, sprinkled with ash. Tended to by the warmth of your touch.

“Yeah. I will,” he says, and the fire chases away the dark.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #reader insert #fanfiction #marvel #mcu

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kimkitsuragi · 4 years ago

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Final Cut News!

All right, so, by now most people are probably aware that we got a glut of new information about Disco Elysium: The Final Cut yesterday. However, so much content from so many sources can be a bit overwhelming, so I’m making a roundup of links to all the new articles, art, music, and videos I can find, highlighting the details that I personally find interesting.

(under a read more because this will be quite a long post!)

To start with, new official art of Harry and Kim has been released! This art was created by Anton Vill, who did the art for the in-game Thought Cabinet.

ZA/UM's Head of Publishing, Mikk Metsniit, also posted art of Martinaise in the official Disco Elysium Discord. This art has been shared in lower quality before as part of a promotional image for the collector’s edition of Disco Elysium, which will include it as an “illustrated fabric map”. The file Metsniit posted is named “Martinaise Revitalization ‘48.″ In-universe, a design studio previously made an attempt to restore Martinaise to its pre-war state, but ultimately failed. This piece appears to show the planned development of Martinaise--except it’s being swallowed up by the Pale. Fun!

Along with the first piece of art come two new songs by British Sea Power, which will be featured in the final cut:

Advesperascit, named after the city in Vesper-Messina where Dolores Dei was crowned Innocence in-universe. Apparently the name is Latin and roughly translates to “evening comes”

Ignus Nilsen Waltz, named after a prominent communist figure in-universe.

I think these songs will likely be tied to the new political vision quests, which are four new questlines that are each associated with one of the game’s four political ideologies. More information about them, along with other details, can be found in the following articles and videos:

Disco Elysium - The Final Cut Is Like Going From A Black-And-White Movie To Color, article from GameSpot’s Phil Hornshaw. In this article, voice over director Jim Ashilevi talks about adding full voice acting to the game and says that The Final Cut will feature 59 voice actors from countries around the world, chosen to reflect the backgrounds of Revachol’s diverse inhabitants. Lead artist Kaspar Tamsalu speaks about the political vision quests, saying that they will allow the player to meet new characters, learn more about the existing ones, and dive deeper into the politics, secrets, and history of Elysium. Tamsalu also says that The Final Cut will add the ability to fast travel and include Twitch integration, allowing stream viewers to vote on streamers’ decisions and even influence the build of the protagonist.

Biggest Changes In Disco Elysium - The Final Cut, video from GameSpot’s Phil Hornshaw, accompanies the above article. This is a fairly short overview of The Final Cut’s new features as detailed in GameSpot’s article. It includes samples of new voice acting, clips of new animations from the end of the game involving the protagonist and his coworkers (1:47, 2:05), a scene showing a new area added by one of the political vision quests (1:57), and a particularly funny voiced line from Kim (3:22)

‘Disco Elysium: The Final Cut’ comes out March 30. Here’s what’s new. Article from The Washington Post’s Elise Favis. Includes more details about the political vision quests. According to developer Kaspar Tamsalu, these quests may be started after one in-game day, and are mutually exclusive so that only one may be completed in each playthrough. Jim Ashilevi talks more about the challenge of recording all of the game’s dialogue--more than one million words in total--without outsourcing the work to other studios. Ashilevi also says that he sees ZA/UM as an “art collective”, and “compares his team to the Wu-Tang Clan, in that each person has other creative endeavors, both personal and professional, outside of creating video games.”

Disco Elysium: The Final Cut even gives your horrific necktie a voice. Very brief article from PCGamer’s Fraser Brown. Not much new information in this article, but there is one interesting tidbit: apparently the Horrific Necktie’s voice will be provided by Mikee Goodman, who is one of the game’s voice over directors. Goodman also provides the voices of the Ancient Reptilian Brain, the Limbic System, and several other characters.

Disco Elysium is getting even more political, a long article from PC Gamer’s Fraser Brown. Lead writer Helen Hindpere talks more about the political vision quests, which she says ZA/UM was inspired to add based on fans’ enthusiastic reception of the game’s existing political themes. Hindpere says that the new quests can change the game’s map itself, allowing the protagonist to leave his own mark on the district of Martinaise. The quests will also allow for deeper and more serious exploration of the protagonist’s political views, which were often taken to humorous extremes in the original game. Each quest is different, with some being more wordy and some more visual. The Ultraliberal quest will allow the player to “build a personal brand”, while the communist quest “inspires you to begin a movement”. One quest also adds a new urban location to the game, which Hindpere says reminds her of Berlin. The quests don’t just revolve around a single topic, though; according to Hindpere, "You'll be talking about love, sexuality, hope, ambition, and even about certain geological features specific to our worldbuilding. There's an opportunity to get close and intimate with characters who have thus far seemed unapproachable. Let's say that once you share the same ideology many barriers disappear, allowing you see a different side of many important characters." There will also be a significant amount of new dialogue with Kim Kitsuragi related to these quests.

Disco Elysium PS5 Gameplay - 5 Things You Need To Know, fairly long video from PlayStation Access’ Ash Millman. This video provides some basic information about the game’s premise for new players and shows what the game will look like on PlayStation 5, with a user interface redesigned for the console. The video also includes clips throughout that show some new content, presumably from the political vision quests. Three of these clips seems to be connected: in the first of them, wires are shown that run from the battery of the protagonist’s crashed car to radio equipment set up on and around the statue in the center of Martinaise; in the second, Soona, the radiocomputer programmer from the church questline, can been seen climbing the statue itself to set up some more equipment; and in the third, Soona, Harry, and Kim stand near the modified statue, talking about attempting to contact the flying warship Archer via radio. There are also two other clips: in one, the statue has been splashed with multicolored paints, while in the other the protagonist is seen talking to Idiot Doom Spiral, a local drunk, about hiring him for an unspecified job. Millman also talks about the three different settings that will be available for the game’s voice over: “Classic Mode” will play the same as the original game, with only a few lines voiced, while “Psychological Mode” will provide voice acting for all characters except the protagonist’s internal monologue and skills. The last option, “Fully Voiced Mode” is, well, exactly what it sounds like. There’s also a brief clip that provides a sample of the Horrific Necktie’s new voice (1:26).

DISCO ELYSIUM - The Final Cut (Cuno Voice Example), YouTube video shared by developer Mikk Metsniit. Video is age-restricted. This video includes new voice samples for Cuno, a few of the skills, and Kim. Due to COVID-19, Cuno’s original voice actor, Dot Major, was unable to return, so Cuno is now voiced by Oli Dabiri. Lenval Brown, the narrator of the English language trailers, acts as the game’s general narrator and voice of all 24 skills. Jullian Champenois remains as Kim.

#disco elysium #harry du bois #harrier du bois #kim kitsuragi #news #oh my god this took me so long to put together #so tired of looking at it lmao

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years ago

Text

Damsels, by SisterSpooky1013

Chapter Two: Assignment

Read chapter one here / Rated E

Tagging @today-in-fic

Tense. Awkward. Ambiguous. There are many words she might use to describe her relationship with Mulder at the moment, none of them particularly pleasant. As things between them become more intense, it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that their feelings for one another are beyond those of friendship, partnership, or even family. The problem is, neither of them seems willing to risk an overture bigger than a New Years kiss, an offer of wine and cheese, a night of baseball, or even a request for a sperm donor. The little gestures that say they want more pepper their interactions, but the grand gesture is yet to be seen. They’re in a standoff; guns drawn, but no one is willing to fire the first shot. Stalemate. Conundrum. Catch 22. Stuck.

An idle Tuesday afternoon spent completing case reports is both a treasure and a torture. The smell of his cologne when he leans over her desk to point out a typo makes her dizzy with desire. His boyish smile at his own cheesy jokes begs her to kiss his pouty lips. Just the shadow of his presence, his tall frame looming over her like a safe harbor, makes her ache. She wants to be near him, but being near him is a test of every shred of self control she possesses. How she has not yet climbed into his lap on his flimsy office chair is a minor miracle.

For this reason, being called into A.D. Skinner’s office for an impromptu meeting is a welcome reprieve. Mulder is perplexed as to why they only requested her but she shrugs him off, promising to fill him in on the details when she gets back if he finishes the case report he’s been toiling away at for the better part of the day. He gives her a coy smile that makes her belly do flips as she pulls the door closed behind her. Each step she takes away from the basement releases her from the pull of his nearness and she’s able to breathe easier, but knows she’ll start to miss him within the hour.

When she arrives in Skinner’s office, she’s surprised to find that A.D. Kersh is also present. A most unpleasant surprise, given their history.

“Agent Scully, please take a seat,” Skinner directs her, and she sits in the empty chair beside Kersh. This is normally a situation in which Mulder would be by her side, which adds to her discomfort.

“Agent Scully,” Skinner begins, “you’ve been requested to assist in a special investigation being handled by Kersh’s team. It’s an undercover operation.”

Scully’s eyebrows lift in surprise and confusion. “Is Agent Mulder also being requested, sir?” she asks, wondering if this would be a repeat of Arcadia. Though if they went undercover as a married couple now, things may play out a bit differently than last time.

“No,” Skinner continues, “you, and you alone, have been specifically requested. Agent Mulder will not be needed for this investigation.”

“Can I ask why?” she queries, characteristically being respectful of the authority of the men in the room, while also skeptical of Kersh’s motives.

Skinner looks to Kersh, silently signaling him to take up the explanation.

“Agent Scully, this case requires an undercover operation in search of a missing young woman,” Kersh explains in his deadpan, unfriendly demeanor. “Mila Chamberlain went missing from her New York apartment four months ago. Her parents have connections with the bureau by way of a scholarship they fund. They believe that Mila is being held against her will in Philadelphia by a man named Ricky Dean. Our investigation so far has been stalled by the fact that Mr. Dean has a very tight circle and no one is willing to talk. At this point we believe an undercover agent is our best opportunity to locate Mila and extricate her from the situation she’s in.”

Scully listens quietly with her hands folded in her lap. When Kersh finishes, she looks to Skinner to gauge his response, then back to Kersh. She has a feeling there’s something they aren’t telling her.

“What’s the assignment, sir? What is it that I can provide or do that the agents in your division can’t?”

Kersh looks at Skinner and waits.

“Agent Scully, Ricky Dean is the owner and operator of a large and very successful gentlemen’s club in Philly,” Skinner explains, forcing eye contact that clearly makes him uncomfortable.

Scully juts out her chin and looks at him expectantly. It would appear that she has to pull teeth to get the details of this case. “What is the assignment, sir?” she asks again, clear irritation in her voice.

Kersh pipes in. “We need an agent to go undercover as a dancer, Agent Scully, to get close to Ricky and the other girls who work there. To locate Mila and extract her from the club.”

Scully’s mouth falls open slightly. She has to be missing something. “A dancer? Forgive my candor, sir, but am I to understand that you’re asking me to go undercover as a stripper?” She works very hard to keep the edge out of her voice.

“That’s correct, Agent Scully,” Skinner replies. “If you recall, when you signed on as a Special Agent with the FBI you agreed to investigate and solve cases by whatever means necessary.” It seems that Skinner has rehearsed this well. He’s ready for her objections and has prepared rebuttals, though the flush on his neck gives away just how uncomfortable this conversation is for him.

“I do understand that, sir, however I can’t help but wonder why I specifically am being selected for this assignment. I’m assigned to the X Files. This is not an X File. Surely an agent in A.D. Kersh’s division can assist with this.”

Skinner shifts uncomfortably in his seat and avoids her eyes. She looks at Kersh, openly frustrated. “Sir?” she asks.

Skinner speaks, looking at his desk. “We require an agent with a certain…look. Age demographic, physical…features. They have to be able to get a job at the club without the opportunity for a plant. They have to walk in off the street with the certainty that they’ll be hired,” he raises his gaze to look at her. “There is no one on Kersh’s team who fits that description.”

Now it’s Scully who blushes. They’re assigning her to this case because they think that she, of all people, can get a job at a strip club. She swallows hard.

“Sir, with all due respect, I’m very uncomfortable with this assignment.” She looks back and forth between the two A.D.s, directing her plea to whichever she might be able to sway.

“And with all due respect, Agent Scully,” Skinner replies, pulling rank, “we are asking you as a courtesy. Need I remind you that you are not at liberty to pick and choose which assignments you take?”

That’s it. There’s no option to back out or say no. All she has hope for is to try to negotiate some of the parameters. She looks at her hands, which she hadn’t realized she was wringing in her lap. Her skin is now mottled and red.

“I understand, sir. If I may, this sounds like a very…sensitive situation. One in which other agents being aware of the assignment could compromise the case.” This is her very professional way of saying that if the guys in the bullpen get wind that Agent Scully is on assignment as a stripper, they will surely pay a recreational visit to the club. She’s been through a lot and there are many challenges she knows she can overcome, however her coworkers seeing her in such a degrading situation is not something she is capable of surviving.

“Of course, we’ve considered that as well. No one other than myself, A.D. Kersh and the lead investigator on the case, Special Agent Wiley, will be aware of your assignment. We have and will continue to go to great lengths to protect your privacy on this, Agent Scully.” Skinner has softened just a bit now that he got past showing Kersh that he can compel his agents to toe the line as well as any A.D., even unruly ones like Mulder and Scully.

“What about Agent Mulder?” she asks, lifting her gaze. “I don’t mean to be dramatic, sir, but if he finds out about this, he’ll…I’m honestly not sure what he’ll do but I don’t imagine it will be pleasant.” She pictures Mulder storming the strip club, throwing her over his shoulder and hauling her out of there like she’s a wayward teenager. That’s the only scenario even worse than the assignment itself.

Skinner nods solemnly. “Yes, I’ve considered that as well. You’ll tell Agent Mulder that I assigned you to assist with a case at Quantico and that you’ll be away for a few weeks. Tomorrow morning you’ll be transported to your temporary residence in Philly and you will cut all contact with him, and I do mean ALL contact, Agent Scully. I’ll deal with him after you’re gone.”

“Thank you, sir. Is there anything else I need to know right now?” She feels nausea creeping up her spine.

“That’s it for now, Agent Scully. Report to my office at 0400 hours tomorrow. You’re to bring nothing. Not your wallet or your service weapon, and definitely not your cell phone. Everything you need will be supplied to you.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

She stands and leaves his office, a lump forming in her throat as she blinks furiously against the tears that threaten to break loose. Once in the hall, she makes a beeline for the ladies room and spends the better part of 20 minutes calming herself down. This is a living nightmare. She can’t even begin to think about what she’ll be asked to do. What absolute depravity she’ll need to bear witness to, much less participate in. Only two people other than her doctors have seen her in anything less than a bathing suit in the last 7 years; Ed and Mulder. The idea of taking her clothes off in front of anyone, much less men there for the express purpose of ogling her, makes her physically ill. There’s a strong possibility that she’ll deliver a right hook to the first guy who lays a hand on her and get herself fired, which might actually be the best case scenario.

And Mulder. She has to lie to Mulder. Even if she gets through the initial lie, she’ll have to come clean eventually. What will he think of her? This might seal her fate with whatever is going on between them. Knowing that she has done this, that she has degraded herself so completely and defied her own morals in such a profound way, could change how he sees her irreparably. After talking herself down from quitting on the spot several times, she leaves the bathroom and heads to the basement.

Mulder has his feet propped up on his desk, the completed case file stacked neatly in the corner as he flips through a stack of photographs. When she pushes the door open, he smiles broadly and she feels a clench in her chest.

“Hey, you’re back. That was a seriously long meeting. The case file is all done, so what’s up?” he asks, bringing his feet to the floor and propping his elbows on the desk.

“Oh, nothing exciting.” She’s already unsure if she can fool him. “They need some help at Quantico, a big case with a heavy autopsy load, and Skinner is going to reassign me for a few weeks.”

He looks at her quizzically and she feels her pulse quicken. “Really? What case is that? I don’t think I’ve heard anything about it.”

“Uh, I’m honestly not sure, he didn’t give me much information, just said that I needed to report there tomorrow.” She busies herself with organizing the papers on her desk, taking mental note of the fact that she won’t be returning for quite some time.

“Scully, you were gone for like an hour, he didn’t give you any details?”

Her brain scrambles for an excuse. “Oh, yeah, I was only in Skinner’s office for about ten minutes. I ran into Agent Vincent in the hallway and chatted with him for a bit.”

Mulder narrows his eyes while she does absolutely everything other than look at him. “Agent Vincent? I thought you hated that guy. You called him, and I quote, ‘dumber than a bag of hair.’”

Her fight or flight response kicks in and she whirls to face him, irritation bubbling to the surface. “I said I talked to the guy, Mulder, not went on a date with him. He asked for some help with a case he’s working on. Am I not supposed to speak to anyone but you?”

He puts up his hands in defense. “No, I didn’t say that. Sorry. Forget about it.”

“I’m gonna head out early, I don’t feel all that well. Can you make sure these reports get submitted with yours?” she asks, setting her four completed reports on top of the one he’d finished in the same timeframe.

“Uh, yeah, of course. Are you getting sick?” Concern clouds his features; he’s always so worried for her health.

“I’m fine, Mulder, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She collects her briefcase and coat and makes for the door.

“No you won’t,” he says as her fingers grasp the handle.

She freezes, thinking she’s been caught. She turns to look at him, but his expression is neutral.

“You’ll be at Quantico, right?” he offers.

She exhales deeply. “Right. Yes, I’ll be at Quantico.”

“Maybe we can get lunch. Email me when you know what time you can sneak away,” he says, leaning back in his chair and picking up a baseball from the surface of his desk.

“Okay, I will. Goodbye, Mulder.” She takes a long look at him, not sure when she’ll see him again.

“Later, Gator,” he replies nonchalantly, tossing the ball in the air and catching it as she pulls the door closed behind her.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #msr #x files #x files fanfic #case fic

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anightflower · 4 years ago

Text

Come and Find Me Chapter 4: The Andrew Curtis Case

Guys I am so sorry this took so long. On top of school kicking my ass, I had to rewrite and reedit this chapter several times until I got to one that I deemed worthy. I am going to try and post Chapter Five early for you guys if I can.

Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Violence, Rape, Abuse

Masterlist

Spencer glanced around the room at all the police officers assembled. He cleared his throat.

“The Unsub is a white male in his late 20s to mid-30s. He is a man with an average build and a friendly face, someone who women would not pose as a threat.”

“Since there were no signs of forced entry, we believe he’s posing as someone who women would let into their house. Classic cases of this include maintenance men there to check up on things, someone who needs help after their car broke down, or a similar case like that.” Emily explained. “This is a man who fakes confidence, but in reality views himself as inadequate in some way, he knows he can’t fight off another man, so he chooses women who live alone and are essentially defenseless.”

“Yet, he hates that they are successful enough to support themselves or that they have any sort of power.” Morgan chimed in.

“He clearly was cheated on or had some sort of marital issue that caused him to spiral into this spree. He is a sexual sadist projecting his partner onto the women he attacks, that’s why he chokes them, watching the life drain from their eyes sparks something in him and gives him a sense of power. That is also why he rapes his victims, he loves the idea that he is all powerful and they are helpless.” Hotch explained.

Spencer swallowed, “Comparing his last four victims it seems his type is 20-30 year old females with (Y/C/H) and (Y/C/E).”

Which coincidentally looks like the love of my life. Spencer thought, repressing a shudder.

________________________________________________________________

Spencer starred in shock at the scene around him. He was just finishing up the geographical profile, when they had received a call about yet another body.

Her empty bulking eyes stared up at the ceiling, her body was beaten, cut, and bruised.

“Strangulation marks on her neck, multiple stab wounds and injuries, this looks like our unsub.” Emily resisted the urge to shudder.

“Man, whoever cheated on this guy, must have really broken him.” Morgan mused, looking around at the bloody scribblings on the wall.

Spencer knew that if they tested the blood on the wall, it would match the victims. He looked at the frames on the wall, trying to ignore the blood that seemed to coat everything. The victim had her diploma hung up and multiple pictures of her smiling with family or friends. Spencer stared hard at the name on the diploma; Adria Winston.

It scared Spencer how easily he could see you in this woman’s place. Injured, dying, pleading for him, for anyone to save you-

“Reid. Reid, are you alright?” Morgan clapped a hand on Spencer's shoulder, drawing him back to the present.

Spencer shook himself out of his dazed state. “Yeah, uh I just need to step out for a second.” He said, pushing past Morgan and making his way outside Adria’s house. He pulled out his phone and dialed your number, it was late, so you would most likely be asleep, but-

You picked up on the third ring. “Hi baby, are you alright?” Spencer bit back a smile at the sleepiness in your voice.

“Not really, but I just really needed to hear your voice. How is Ohio?” Spencer asked, trying to distract himself from what he just saw. You could tell, but you played along with it.

“Not too bad, whoever designed the Google lounge has nothing on me.” You joked.

“Well, we already knew that.” Spencer smiled.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t believe some of the cool stuff I found, I’m telling you if the employees complain about these amazing comfy chairs I got for their break room, I am totally coming back and stealing all 22 of them for my apartment.” You said enthusiastically. “They're perfect for reading in Spence, I’m telling you, you would love them.”

Spencer let out a little laugh, “I’m sure they are. We will have to see if we can find some, but I don’t think 22 will fit in either of our apartments.”

“I suppose you’re right” You sighed dramatically, but then took a more serious tone of voice. “Are you alright baby?”

Spencer’s chest tightened at your worried tone of voice. “There’s a sick selfish part of me that is so glad that you aren’t here (Y/N). All of these girls look so much like you-” Spencer paused, swallowing back tears. “I just am so glad you are safe, I don’t think I could focus as well on this case if I knew you could possibly be in danger.”

“Aw Spencer, I am so sorry baby. You aren’t sick or selfish for wanting me to be safe, everyone focuses on the safety of those they love, it’s only human. I know you are going to catch this guy, you are the most brilliant man and agent I have ever met. Just don’t tell your team I said that, I don’t want a bad reputation before they even meet me.” You teased, trying to lighten his dark mood.

Spencer let out a small laugh and sniffled. “Trust me the team is going to love you. We will have to figure out when you can meet them, but I definitely want to wait until things settle down a bit here.”

There was silence on your end for a second. “Listen Spence, I can stay here a bit longer if it will help you focus, but when I come home I am taking self-defense classes and such. I want you to have a sane mind knowing that your girlfriend actually can handle herself. I honestly think it will help me keep sane too, after hearing everything about this case.”

Spencer heart skipped a beat, as much as he wanted you safe and sound, he also needed to hold you in his arms to keep his sanity. But ultimately you were the one who should lead your life, not Spencer. “I appreciate you considering me, but I want the ultimate decision to be made by you Princess, I trust your judgement and I don’t want you living your life based on my fear.”

You breath caught in your throat at the sentiment. “I love you Spencer Reid.”

Spencer could have sworn his heart stopped. The two of you hadn’t said I love you yet. Part of him wished it was in person, but just hearing you say it, meant the world to him. “I love you more (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

So help him god, Spencer would catch whoever this unsub was and put him away, so you could come home to a safer city.

________________________________________________________________

“You know what strikes me as funny?” Emily asked, looking at the crime scene photos.

The room was silent, waiting to hear what she had to say.

“Each of these unsubs reported strange gifts and letters being sent to their home. The police had thought it was nothing, but now I am thinking that maybe this could be a connection. I mean think about it, didn’t you guys notice that each victim received a gift box wrapped the exact same way?”

Morgan nodded. “Yeah they had the white box with the red bow-”

Spencer chimed in, “Red typically symbolizes love and infatuation, but in this case it was the unsub’s warning, red meant war or violence was about to come upon this victim.”

“Reid and JJ I want you to talk to the officers and get the reports these women filed for harassment, I think we are missing a connection.” Hotch ordered.

An hour or so later they had that connection.

“All of the victims received their gifts from a delivery service called ‘Special Delivery.’” JJ explained to everyone.

“Well it seems we have to pay them a visit.” Hotch said.

________________________________________________________________

Special Delivery was a small Ma and Pa store, located just a couple blocks from Ava’s coffee shop. Spencer debated on stopping in to check in with her and maybe grab the team coffee.

Spencer had quickly taken a liking to Ava, not only because he had called him your “sexy superhero boyfriend,” but because she was a reliable friend to you, one who always managed to bring a smile to your face. She reminded Spencer of a more wild Emily, in the best way possible.

Emily stopped outside the storefront window, glancing at the display of chocolates, gift baskets, and jewelry. “Why is it always the cute small places that get ruined? Can’t it be one of those big corporate offices that fuck over their employees instead?”

Spencer huffed a laugh.

As they entered the store, the bell let out a delicate twinkle. Causing a silver-streaked brunette to pop out from the back of the store. Her round face held a warm smile as she approached them.

“Hello dears! What can I do for you?” She asked as she excitedly clasped her hands together.

“Hello Mrs. Ellison, my name is SSA Prentiss and this is Dr. Reid, we had a few questions for you.” Emily said gently, flashing her badge to the woman.

The woman's smile dimmed a bit, “Oh, uh of course, is everything alright?”

“Mrs. Ellison I am sure you’ve heard of the recent tragedies-” Emily began,

“Oh yes, I’ve been keeping up with the news, it’s just dreadful that something so horrible could happen so close to home. You see these things in movies or in other places, but you just never expect them to happen right near you.” Mrs. Ellison said sorrowfully, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Mrs. Ellison, I am afraid everyone of these victims received several deliveries from your shop. Each was wrapped exactly the same, white box, red bow, does this ring any bells for you?” Spencer asked, cutting to the chase.

“Well dear, it is Valentine season, red, pink, and white are the typical go to colors.” She shrugged.

“Do you have any regulars? He would have each gift he bought wrapped the exact same way? He would seem friendly, but would be on the quieter side?” Emily asked, attempting to prod the older woman’s memory.

“I’m afraid none of that is ringing any bells dear, I am so sorry.” Mrs. Ellison said apologetically.

“Do you have any other employees? Or do you run this place all by yourself?” Spencer asked.

Mrs. Ellison, let out a small laugh, “Oh goodness me, no. I get so many orders, I could never do it by myself. I previously had three employees, Jess, Remy, and Andrew, but I had to fire Andrew when I found him stealing from our stock. It was a shame too, he was a hardworking boy, but I’m afraid he just fell apart after his wife left him.”

Emily and Spencer exchanged a quick glance. “Do you happen to know why his wife left him?” Spencer asked, his heart picking up speed.

“Oh it's not my business to share-” Mrs. Ellison hesitated.

“Please Mrs. Ellison, this could be crucial information.” Emily urged her.

Mrs. Ellison let out a sigh. “That horrible girl cheated on him. I just couldn’t understand it either, Drew was such a doting gentleman to her, it simply didn’t make sense.”

“Do you still have his contact information? His address?”

“Why of course, but you couldn’t possibly think he has anything to do with this-” Mrs. Ellison began, making her way to behind the counter to grab a binder. She looked up worried when Spencer and Emily didn’t answer right away. “Do you?” She urged.

“It’s quite possible he had nothing to do with it, we just need to follow through with every angle.” Emily quickly explained.

“Of course.” Mrs. Ellison said, but her hands slightly shook as she opened up her binder to get Andrew’s address.

________________________________________________________________

“Andrew Curtis, this is the FBI, open up.” Hotch hollered from outside the door. There was no response. Hotch looked to his team to make sure they were ready, then kicked in the door.

As the team checked different rooms, several calls of “Clear!” echoed throughout the house. Curtis was not there.

Morgan made his way to the basement and swallowed back a gag. “Hotch! You better come see this.”

Guns at the ready, Spencer, Hotch, Rossi, and Emily, made their way down to Morgan.

“What the hell.” Emily huffed as they all beheld the horrific sight before them.

It was a girl, for sure. She had the same mutilated marks as far as they could tell, but her body was decently decayed.

“He’s displaying her like a trophy.” Spencer observed. “He props her up naked and makes sure her wounds are fully on display to remind him what he did.”

“There’s more trophies over here.” Rossi said in disgust, gesturing to a shelf full of different valuables.

“He’s sick.” Morgan hissed.

“We need a med team down here to remove a body. As soon as it’s IDed we need to know and alert any next of kin.” Hotch ordered into his earpiece.

Rossi put on a glove and began to go through the other trophies for evidence. “I’ll talk to the victims families and see if any of them recognize these items.”

Morgan dialed up Garcia.

“Speak and be heard, the all-knowing goddess listens.”

“Hey baby girl, I need you to look up any missing person’s reports from around this area. The victim has (y/c/h) and (y/c/e). She fits our victimology to a t, but we need to figure out who she is.”

“I’m on it.” Garcia said.

“And Garcia,” Hotch said, stopping her before she hung up. “I need you to find a license plate for Andrew Curtis. Also check to see if he rents or owns any other property, he’s currently not at his home and it is too close to other buildings for his victims to not be heard.”

“You got it. Talk soon.” She said, hanging up.

About half an hour later Garcia got back to them. “Curtis drives a 2003 silver sedan with the license plate 637-IRT. I also found that he rents a small storage unit that’s a 20 minute drive in a more secluded part of town. I am sending the address to you guys now.”

“Thanks Garcia.” Hotch said. He turned to JJ “I need you to get an APB on Curtis. I want you to warn the public to keep an eye out for him.”

JJ nodded and rushed off with her phone. Hotch looked to the rest of the team. “Everyone else, vests on, we are heading to that storage unit.”

________________________________________________________________

“Fuck Drew, what are we going to do?” The boy asked as he looked at the screen projecting a news report on Andrew Curtis.

“Well, it might be the end for me, little brother, but I have you as my legacy. They don’t have a clue that you are even involved, so I need you to get out of here.”

“No, no, no. I am not going to leave you!” The Boy cried, tears streaming down his face.

Drew huffed a laugh. “Now, now, little bro. It isn’t the time for tears. I’ve taught you everything you need to know. You need to get your girl from that Doctor remember?”

“How am I supposed to do this without you?” The Boy asked, fear filled his voice.

“Your time will come. You have to be a man about this. You have the skills now and you have our little videos to watch. Your own little tutorial to pluck that girl right out of Dr. Reid’s hands. You need to hide those and hide them well. Promise me you won’t fuck up your chance.” Drew growled.

The Boy whimpered and Drew smacked him. “Promise me!” He yelled.

“I promise.” The Boy sobbed, grabbing at his pained cheek.

Drew’s face softened and he gave the boy a smile. “Good, now get out of here legacy and make me proud. I expect to see you on the news someday.” He winked. “You remember our code right?”

The boy nodded.

“Then this isn’t the last time we will speak to each other. Now get the fuck out of here, I already fucked with the security footage, so they won’t even know you were here.” Drew explained, pushing the boy out towards the parking lot.

The Boy’s heart broke as he rushed from his mentor, not only because he knew he would never be able to see Drew in person after this, but because he knew that he would never be able to ruin the 6th victim. The sixth whore that was tied up in the trunk of Drew’s car.

________________________________________________________________

The girl sobs were muffled by her gag. Drew pulled on her hair harder as he dragged her to the storage unit. He knew he didn’t have much time left, so he might as well let every moment count huh?

The girl’s sobs turned into terrified screams as she beheld the bloodied storage room and the various knives and devices within it.

“Shut up you stupid bitch.” He growled in her ear.

The girl whimpered something and Drew ripped away her gag.

“Please.” She begged and Drew simply laughed as he lugged her limp body towards the table in the center of the room.

“Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I have a family who cares about me-” She pleaded.

“Whores don’t have families. Whores have nothing. They just cheat and lie and move onto the next guy. Huh Madelyn?” He growled as he threw her up onto the table.

“My name isn’t Madelyn, please it’s Emily-” The girl sobbed.

“Enough of your lies Madelyn. You stupid slut. You couldn’t stay loyal could you?” Drew snarled, hitting the girl’s head hard against the table.

She sobbed harder. “My name is Emily, my name isn’t Madelyn, please it’s Emily.” She babbled.

“SHUT UP.” He said, hitting her again.

Suddenly a shout rose up from outside the storage unit door. “Andrew Curtis, this is the FBI, come out with your hands raised.”

The smile that crept across Drew’s face was wicked. He grabbed a knife and pulled Emily against him. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?” He whispered in her ear.

“Andrew Curtis, this is your last warning. We will come in armed and ready.” Hotch’s voice shouted again.

Drew remained where he was, the sick smile on his face, as tears streamed down Emily’s face.

When the door burst open and several agents poured in, he did not flinch or cower away.

“Drop the weapon.” Hotch boomed, his voice echoing in the space.

“Now, now, now, where would the fun be in that?” Drew mocked.

“Put down the weapon, Curtis and let the girl go.” Rossi ordered.

Drew’s eyes looked past all of them and fell on Spencer, he bit back a smile.

“Come any closer and I’ll slice her throat.” Drew threatened, pressing the knife harder to Emily’s throat, a few drops of crimson blossomed and crept down her neck.

“If you don’t let Miss Bloise go, then we will be forced to take action Mr. Curtis.” Rossi explained.

Drew’s hand shook, god he wanted them to come at him, but then he thought of his mentee, how lost he would be without him.

He lowered the knife and let the girl go. She ran towards one of the agents, tears mixing with the blood that ran down her neck. JJ wrapped an arm around the girl and guided her out.

Morgan rushed to Curtis, pinning him down against the floor and putting cuffs around his wrists.

Though they had caught him, Hotch felt uneasy. Curtis had given in too quickly. The greasy smile across Curtis’s face as Morgan led him away only heightened his suspicions.

________________________________________________________________

The team sat outside the interrogation room, watching as Hotch tried to get a rise out of Andrew Curtis. He and JJ had gone in; Hotch to be the intimidator, JJ to be the trigger as she looked a bit similar to the victims. So far the man had just sat in the chair, his arms crossed, silent and smirking. It had been almost an hour and they had gotten nothing out of him.

Spencer felt as though Curtis could see him through the two-way mirror.

“You know Agent,” Curtis began. “I know you’re trying to be the big bad wolf, but it’s not going to work, I’ve dealt with worse than you.”

Morgan looked about ready to kick in the door and beat the confession out of Andrew.

“Send me in, I’ll get an answer out of him” Morgan growled, cracking his knuckles.

“Unfortunately, the confession won’t stand up in court if they found out you beat the shit out of Curtis to get it” Emily smirked, trying to lighten the mood.

“The Court doesn’t have to know” Morgan argued, making Emily scoff.

“Focus kids.” Rossi ordered sternly, but Spencer could tell he was fighting back a small smile.

Hotch and JJ came out of the room. Hotch looked to Spencer, his expression grim. “He wants to talk with you.”

Spencer looked at Hotch confused, “Why me?”

“He’s ‘fascinated by you’” Hotch explained. “I know it’s not ideal and you don’t have to go in their Reid, but-”

“But, we could get the confession out of him. We have the charges for Miss Bloise, but we want to pin him for the other girls he attacked. I understand and I will do it.” Spencer said.

“I’ll stick with you Spence” JJ reassured, putting a hand on his arm. “You won’t be alone.”

Spencer nodded, sending a grateful look JJ’s way as they made their way into the interrogation room.

“Ah the elusive doctor. So glad you could join us.” Drew purred.

Spencer said nothing as he moved to sit down across from Curtis.

“-your wife left you Mr. Curtis, is that correct?” JJ asked.

“Please doll, a pretty thing like you can call me Drew” Drew said, looking JJ up and down.

Spencer’s fists clenched in anger as he felt JJ tense next to him.

“The file says she left you after she cheated on you. Did you have medical issues Mr. Curtis?” Reid asked, drawing Curtis’s attention to him. “Did you struggle to please your own wife?”

Curtis growled. “That stupid whore has nothing to do with this.”

“Ah so you couldn’t and when she left you for a man that could, you projected your anger for her onto these women. You were angry at them for being confident and independent, much like your wife who knew what she wanted.” Spencer said, sitting back in his chair with a faint smirk.

“These women were nothing but whores, willing to let men in like me. They wanted someone so badly they let a stranger into their house.” Curtis hissed.

“Mr. Curtis, you were a delivery man. They didn’t let you in, you forced your way into their homes didn’t you?”

“If a man needs a glass of water, can’t he let himself in?” Curtis purred. “They turned their backs on a predator and got what was coming to them.”

“Did you attack them in their homes?” JJ asked.

“Only to make them quiet, couldn’t have the neighbors hear them scream.” Curtis laughed and Spencer resisted the urge to choke out the man across from him.

They placed images of all of his supposed victim’s before him. “Do you recognize these women?” JJ asked, her voice harsh and cold.

Curtis looked over all of them, silent for a couple minutes. Spencer’s patience thinned. “Well?”

Curtis pointed to an image of Lila Jennings, the third victim of this case. “She screamed the loudest.” He pointed to another image. “She was a hot piece of ass, it was fun breaking her.”

“Enough.” Spencer hissed.

“In short Doctor, yes I do recognize these women. Every single one of them and no I do not regret a single one.”

Without saying another word, JJ and Spencer got up, taking the files with them. Curtis’s laughter rang out behind them as they shut the door.

________________________________________________________________

TAGLIST

@andiebeaword @haylaansmi @parkastoria @possessedjoker @amronsparty @generaltheoristexpert @sierraraeck @coniumalces @tamedbyafox @anotherr-fine-mess @adoregin @rainsong01 @canyonnmoonn @mggshoe @boxofsparklingmuses @richardpapensmuse @deanlenaz @rainsong01 @goldentournesol @annesauriol @itsametaphorbriansblog @secretpickleprofessordean @shameleswhorehourstm @stepsofthefbi @iifloweringnightsii @mggsprettygirl @bravegirl221 @messyhairday-me @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @abbeypaw7 @findmedontlooseme @hiiwouldlikesomesleepplease @sarcasticsagittarius1998

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer x y/n #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #Come and Find Me #anightflowerwrites #anightflower writes

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rumor-imbris · 3 years ago

Note

Hello, Lady Connor! I want to ask out of unbearable, suffocating curiosity in my heart, even though in the previous post you already said to not mention "that certain comic". Could you please enlighten me about your view on that comic and what you despise about it? I would love to read your detailed thoughts about it even if just once. But if this is too triggering for you, I'm truly sorry for your discomfort and you don't need to answer it.

Hello, dear Anon and welcome ^-^ It's weird you naturally called me Lady Connor, as usually only my little fairy @giuliettaluce does. Well, I guess her magic put a spell on everybody here!!

If you really care to know, I'll answer, but brace yourself, it's going to be very long, almost an essay, because I can be very detailed about that comic being a failure in its every part. There's so much to say. You're right, as I mentioned before, it can trigger me, but I have attentively analized it and I know it makes not a single atom of sense. So nothing can actually bother me that much, don't worry ^_-

First of all, my general consideration of the AC Reflections comic issue #4, (yeah, that thing -.-) is that of a mere attempt to desperately make Bayek's remote vision through Senu's eyes a canon feature. It was created and published in 2017, the same year AC Origins was released and yes, they needed an excuse to make believe Connor's alleged daughter inherited a skill someone (who isn't even their direct ancestor!!) that lived 1700 years ago in ancient Egypt had! OMG, this should be funny enough, but I'll go on. Also, I think it was likely a carelessly arranged way to satisfy those AC3 fans demanding a "happy ending" for unlucky Connor (quite 5 years later, of course).

I'll better go step by step to figure out where to start from, seriously.

1) In the comic, when Otso Berg opens the file related to Connor, the scene is set in "1796: Upstate New York." Now this is chronologically and spacially incoherent and illogical. We see Connor still wears his assassin outfit in it, right? According to AC Initiates (2012) in 1804 Connor invites the Dominican assassin Eseosa at the Davenport homestead to provide him some advices and further training as he's involved in the leading of the Haitian Revolution. That's a really cool character, read about him, if you want!

So, until then Connor is still an assassin, probably the mentor (by now) of the Colonial Brotherhood. He still runs the homestead and he still commands the Aquila, I guess, he's the captain still. I calculated the distance between the homestead and the then upper NY frontier territories is approximately 260 miles (quite far nowadays with cars and planes as well). Then, why the hell should he have a family located in the forest upstate NY? It sounds very unconfortable to run back and forth to reach them and go back to take care of all the Brotherhood matters, doesn't it? Unless he knew about teleportation!!! Also, wow, he lives all alone in a nice massive villa with all the comforts of that time while his children and wife still live in a Native village constantly menaced by settlers wanting to steal their land? Beside the fact that Connor, at least in my point of view, seemed at last very familiar with european way of living by the end of the game, this leads us to the next point.

2) By the time the game and the comic are set (second half of 18th century), most of the East Coast Native tribes were facing the tragic and forced migration to western and northern territories (mostly towards Canada, protected by the British) because of all the consequences of the Revolutionary War (lost territories, failed alliances, settlers advancing and buying their lands and so on). So tells us history, unfortunately. It's a fact. And this is wisely showed to us in the AC3 main game when, after all the Kanien'kehá:ka tribes had left the territory around Connor's village (yes, even those near New York, to be clear) even Connor's own tribe at last migrates west, leaving an empty ghost village. They had remained all along to protect the secret temple, but in the end they as well were forced to leave. So, to me it's highly improbable that in upstate NY, one could still find a tribe and even if so, that Connor would let his family live there and risk their safety everyday.

3) The whole comic plot revolves around the fact that Io:nhiòte has a "special gift"... She inexplicably knows how to read the ground and find animal traces, she also can perform a perfect twisted acrobatic flip in the air and land unharmed to the ground. Do we know why? No, don't ask! xD She simply knows U.U, even if right after the next scene she slips and falls miserably down a cliff xD, but... ok!! Beside that, when Connor is far away to search for some water and is about to be attacked by a wolf hidden in the grass nearby, she sees the whole scene from the eyes of an eagle flying in the sky above her. As I said before, this reminds us of Bayek's (never clearly explained) ability to see through his eagle Senu's eyes and spot dangers and enemies. Now can you tell me why the hell this little girl has super powers and a skill Bayek had? As I said, they are not even directely related, as Bayek is not one of Desmond Miles' ancestor, we know him simply because Layla's new Animus is magical and can inexplicably read fragmented DNA from people who died a thousand years ago (it can also prepair coffee, I think!). So, where did she get that from? Magic? Mysteries of life? Convenient improbable connections for marketing's sake? We'll never know and you should simply accept that and ask no question!

4) From her height, way of speaking/moving/running, I assume Io:nhiòte is at least 8 years old, 8 - 9 minimum. She's the youngest of three siblings, who must be at least two years older than her and than each other (according to a human woman pregnancy timing!). If the comic events are set 12 years after the main game ending (1784, when Connor also starts to train the young ex-slave Patience Gibbs, arriving at the Davenport homestead with Aveline De Grandpré, according to AC IV Black Flag bonus mission with Aveline), so, this means that in that same year Connor must have found hastily the love of his life in a Native village (as if he was easy to open himself with other people after all he's been through), married her, impregnated her and seen her give birth to their first child, all in the same year when (let's not foget! xD) he still is the leader of the Colonial Assassin Brotherhood at the Davenport homestead training novices. Now, this may even be possible humanly speaking, (well, if you force the things a bit and hurry up!) but highly unlikely to happen!! xD

These are the main problems affecting the logic of the comic in my opinion, the points making its foundations crumble apart. Though I'm sure there are many little others to point out, such as Otso Berg "opening" Connor's files... like what? Where did those data come out from? I remember playing AC IV Black Flag and uncovering a file where Abstergo researchers themselves closed access to his memories as there was "nothing appealing to this character anymore"! So, if no more researches were conducted on him since 2013, where did Mr Berg magically or conveniently discovered such data in 2017?

Or... do we want to talk about the cover? It shows Connor in the spirit outfit from the Tyranny of King Washington DLC, which has apparently nothing to do with the comic, since it is set in his present day and he wears his assassin standard robe. Now, I think that can be either a simple marketing choice to make the comic more appealing, as... well, that cover is so cool, let's admit that, or maybe the subtle suggestion that the events told in it are just a parallel Disney-like reality and are not to be considered true at all! xD i don't know, maybe both explanations are right.

I'm sure that the deeper i dig, the more nothing rational I'll find!

If you played the old games, if you know well the franchise and its lore, the true, good, old AC lore, you definitely realize by yourself how that comic is useless and senseless.

This doesn't mean I do not wish an "happy ending" for Connor. But I'd rather accept something coherent with the main game events and AC chronology. Also, it doesn't necessarily needs to be a "happy" ending, as they conveniently created to please complaining fans. I wished for something real... coherent with his personality, acquired life-style and endless sense of duty and values.

Maybe that's what pushed me to write my FanFic novel in the first place, after all... To give him MY OWN cohesive ending, including my love, for love is always needed, I guess.

I'm so sorry if the answer took this long in time and words, but you were warned! ^w^

Though, thank you... Seriously, thank you so much for asking. You made me reflect once more about this matter.

Come visit me again, if you want. Take care

- Rumor Imbris 🦋

P.S. Oh, and if you're interested, this is my "jelousy song", for when things like this trigger my inner witch!! xD

#ask #ask me anything #I Am the Storm!!!!#AC3 Reflections #why it sucks #why it makes no sense #thanks for asking #anon ask

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airplanned · 4 years ago

Text

Zelda Advent Calendar Story

Chapter 1...Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Link started his day as he did every day, by kneeling at the Goddess statue’s feet and praying for the courage to not just give up and let the temple go under. It was peaceful in the sanctuary before anyone else arrived. The space echoed with soft sounds he couldn’t locate, and the winter chill eased from his fingers. The Goddess’ smile reminded him why he was doing all this.

But that morning, his prayers were interrupted by the squeak of wheels on the tile floor, and he turned to see Kass hauling what looked like a wheeled luggage rack down the side aisle.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Link waved him off and stood.

“I can wait if you want to finish,” the Rito said.

Link shook his head. “I’m about done. What’s that?”

“These,” Kass said proudly, “Are the bells for the Candle Service.” Link stepped closer to see a full set of hand bells attached to the top bar of the luggage cart with zip ties. It did not look elegant enough to be allowed in the temple. Kass removed a pair of soft mallets from his back pocket and held them up to show them off as if he were about to do a magic trick.

And then he did a magic trick.

He struck the bells in a quick flurry, and a rolling arpeggio burst against the ceiling, piercing through the silent air around them, bringing the room to life. The stained glass seemed to glow brighter, as if clearing sleepy eyes. The Goddess statue seemed to perk to attention.

Kass played a carol that Link knew, but hearing it like this, full of magic and confidence, was like hearing it for the first time. Kass played through the first and second verse, then seemed to know that Link didn’t know the third verse and brought the song to an end. The final notes vibrated through his bones as if all his insecurities, all his cowardice were reverberating out of him.

Kass sighed. “I know it isn’t much. One day I hope for a hand bell choir, but for now we’ll have to make do with just me. Maybe next year I can get my daughters to perform.”

“There are designated funds for bells,” Link said.

“That’s for a carillon. Church bells. Much bigger than these. We have one bell up in the tower.” He pointed towards the ceiling at the temple entrance. “You should go see it if you haven’t. But a carillon is at least twenty-three bells, and the tower we have isn’t large enough for any of the designs we looked at. They’re also heavy instruments and the tower is too weak to support it.”

“So we’d need a bigger tower?”

“Yes. And the bells and the keyboard to play them.” Kass sighed. “I have dreams of people coming up from Gate Town to sit on the grass in summer and listen to carillon concerts. I could teach lessons.” He shot Link a sideways look. “It could bring in some income.”

Link laughed under his breath. “Thanks for playing for me.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Back in his office, Link spent the morning finding all the check stubs from payroll. They were mixed in with the miscellaneous payments made over the year—payments for pest control and piano tunings and the electric bills (which should really have their own folders). He collected them all and compared with the bookkeeping software and made a new file that he kept in the empty locked cabinet. He had trouble matching the bookkeeping software and had to bust out the the bank statements, discovering that the books hadn’t been reconciled in...oh, Goddess help him. He figured out everyone's pay rate, then wrote up memos on official letterhead saying as much and started a new folder labeled “Personnel.” He cut checks for the next day’s payday as he was not ready to get set up with the payroll service. He did the math on what taxes they owed for the year and groaned, but at least he knew the figure. After lunch, he called the bank and talked about options for the endowment, opened a new account where the money would ecru interest, and sent an s-mail to Rauru and the High Priestess and the board explaining what he was doing and asking for a second signer who wasn't the High Priestess or Rauru. He s-mailed the High Priestess for details on the roof, then s-mailed the roofer for even more information. He pulled all the utility bills for the year and sorted them into their own files. Then he did the first of thirty-nine months that need to be reconciled.

At the end of the day, he looked at the bejeweled cat statue on his desk. “Not a bad day, huh?” The cat didn't seem to care. He picked it up and tossed it into an empty cardboard box. He replaced it with the star from the High Priestess’ headdress.

That night he watched videos of carillons.

Chapter 14

#Zelda #My fic #Zelda Advent Calendar Story

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organabanana · 4 years ago

Text

you're not saved until you leave this place | harley/ivy

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: DCU (Comics)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Relationships: Pamela Isley & Harleen Quinzel

Characters: Pamela Isley, Harleen Quinzel

Additional Tags: Past Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, Abusive Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, Mild Blood

Series: Part 1 of the 2021 Writing Challenge series

Summary: Harley Quinn - she's not Harleen Quinzel anymore - has just been saved by Poison Ivy. The problem is Poison Ivy doesn't think Harley can really be saved. I just finished reading Harleen by Stjepan Sejic and I'm feeling A Certain Way. Reading it first is encouraged (and recommended because it's amazing) but not necessary to know what's going on.

Notes: This is not meant to be particularly true to any canonical storyline beyond using Harleen (the comic) as a starting point. I took the liberty of taking bits and pieces from different storylines because I could.Written for the prompt "I should be in pain . . . . . why am I not in pain?” for week 4 of the 2021 writing challenge made by @butterbee-writes.

[ao3 link]

Harley regains her consciousness slowly, as if she was struggling to emerge from an ocean of molasses. What a strange image, an ocean of molasses. That’s what it feels like, though. Thick and sticky and dark. As her senses begin to work once again, though, Harley realizes wherever she is smells nothing like molasses at all. It smells both fresh and damp somehow. Like she imagines a rainforest might smell like. Green and thick with life. And then there’s something else. Lighter. Floral, even. Jasmine, maybe?

“Doctor Quinzel.”

The woman’s voice doesn’t immediately ring a bell, but it feels familiar somehow. Under different circumstances, she’s sure she could figure it out. But Harley’s tired of fighting the not-really-molasses threatening to swallow her brain whole. She can’t play detective right now.

“Doctor Quinz—“

“It’s Harley,” she interrupts, her voice hoarse like she’s using it for the first time after a night of hard liquor. This doesn’t feel like a hangover, though. And she doesn’t feel like Doctor Quinzel anymore.

“Open your eyes.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” This may not be a hangover, but her head still feels like it’s balancing precariously on the edge of the kind of headache that drives people to insanity.

Heh.

Like she needs a headache for that.

“Your eyes might be damaged. I don’t have all day.”

The woman’s tone is hard to read. Somewhere between annoyed and caring, somehow. Like she wishes she didn’t care, but she does anyway. Harley can sympathize.

“Damaged by what?” Harley asks, already opening her eyes and struggling to focus. All she sees is varying shades of green. “What happened?”

The woman doesn’t speak. Harley sees a blurred light among the greens and feels that flowery smell grow stronger when the woman leans closer to her face. It reminds her of her time as Arkham’s psychiatrist, asking questions and being ignored. And that’s when it clicks. Arkham. Of course.

“Ms. Isley?”

“Ivy.”

Under different circumstances, Harley might have taken offense at the sharp tone of Pamela Isley’s correction. But she’s not exactly in a position to pick a fight with a supervillain, and - if she’s being perfectly honest - this may be the third or fourth time Ivy’s corrected her since they first met. No wonder she’s annoyed.

“What happened?”

“Your eyes are fine. Your vision may be blurry for a while. I assume your glasses are still in the acid. What’s left of them, anyway.”

“Acid? What aci—“

Harley’s eyes widen even if she still can’t quite see. The acid. The vat of acid, and Jay’s hands around Harley’s wrists, and his smile… and then the searing pain. She brings her hands up with some effort, and even with her limited vision she can see they look bleached white. And yet…

“I should be in pain… Why am I not in pain?” She should also be in some major emotional distress, given the circumstances, but she’s more or less given up on her own mental stability these days.

“My abilities aren’t limited to toxins, Harley. You’re enjoying a very good, very potent, all-natural anesthetic.”

“You saved me?” Harley wonders, briefly, whether she has any right to sound this surprised when this is the second time Pamela Isley has done just that. Save her. “Thank you.”

“Like I told you last time, don’t thank me yet,” Ivy says, and there’s a certain emotion in her tone (Dr. Quinzel might have been able to define it, but she’s not around anymore) that makes her sound nearly human, “you’re only truly saved—“

“If I leave Arkham. I remember.” Those words haunted Harley’s nightmares for weeks. “But I left. This isn’t Arkham, is it?”

There’s a moment of silence that stretches for longer than it should, somehow. Like Ivy’s having to really think to figure out whether they are in Arkham or they aren’t.

“This isn’t Arkham,” Ivy finally says, “but you haven’t left.”

“What do you mean, I haven’t le—“

“I really don’t have all day, Harley.” That emotion — that near humanity — is completely gone from Ivy’s voice now. “Do you have a place to stay while you recover?”

“Yeah. I can- I can stay at Jay’s.” What does it say about her, that she doesn’t even hesitate to name the man who threw her in a vat of acid as her emergency contact of sorts?

If she was still working, she’d write a thesis on herself.

Pamela Isley doesn’t say anything else, and for a moment Harley wonders if she’s been alone all this time and her admittedly off-kilter brain simply hallucinated a beautiful, jasmine-scented supervillain for her to talk to. It wouldn’t surprise her. Nothing does anymore.

With some effort, Harley sits up and notices where she’s been laying all this time. It’s not a bed — not a normal one, anyway — but it’s soft and comfortable. It’s somehow both cool and cozy, and… alive, somehow. Like moss, but not quite. Which fits, because Pamela Isley happens to be human, almost, but not quite.

Harley doesn’t necessarily mean that in a bad way.

“What did you mean?” Harley says, looking at the blurry outline of Ms. Isley’s — Ivy’s — back. Her eyes are getting used to the light, and she’s pretty sure the current lack of focus is mostly due to her glasses being gone. “When you said I haven’t left?”

“You shouldn’t get up yet. You’ll faint, and pheromones won’t fix a cracked skull.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Do you want to call him to come pick you up?” Ivy pauses for a second, like she’s reconsidering her own words. “Does he even have a phone?”

“I—“

Harley clamps her mouth shut. She doesn’t know if Jay has a phone. She knows the exact location of every scar on his body. She knows exactly what to say and do to make him smile. She knows she can help him — fix him doesn’t sound nearly as good — and she knows she belongs with him. In his world. But she doesn’t know if he has a phone.

The giggles come before she can stop them. It’s not funny, but she’s laughing. She can’t stop. It feels almost like… like in a different life she’d be sobbing instead, but all she can do is laugh.

And it’s cathartic. Like a good, loud, heart-shattering crying session. Like a night of binge-drinking to quiet her thoughts. The laughter grows louder, shriller and more unhinged as she thinks about Dr. Harleen Quinzel no longer existing. Not just because Harley says so, but because she melted along with her glasses when Mr. Jay shoved Harley into that vat. She thinks about a job and a life she’ll never go back to. About the fact that she doesn’t know if Jay has a phone, but she knows the exact sound a skull makes when a mallet cracks it open.

It’s not funny, but she’s laughing. And when she stops, she feels different somehow. Like she’s laughed whatever was left of Harleen Quinzel away.

“Are you done?”

Pamela Isley isn’t laughing. She’s not even smiling. She’s just staring, in silence, like she either doesn’t know or doesn’t care that being in silence is a recipe for thinking. And thinking… well. There’s nothing fun about that. Can you blame her for trying to entertain herself somehow?

“So. Pam.”

“What did you just call me?”

Pamela Isley is suddenly dangerously close. It may not be jasmine after all. It’s something… earthier. She’s so close Harley doesn’t need her glasses to see the dangerous glint in bright green eyes.

Harley could push it. She tilts her head to one side, smiling faintly as she ponders what would happen if she said it again. Would Pamela Isley kill her, if Harley called her Pam again? And, more importantly, would that be so bad, all things considered?

“Sorry,” she finally says, making sure the mocking tone is audible in her voice, “I figured saving my life twice would’ve kinda put us on a first name basis.”

“Not quite.”

“Right. Well, Ms. Isley—”

“It’s Ivy!”

Pamela Isley — Poison Ivy — raises her voice. Harley swears the plants around them grow, like they’re getting ready to attack her the second Ivy orders them to.

Except she doesn’t.

Does this count as saving Harley’s life a third time? Choosing not to off her when she could’ve?

“Why do you keep saving me?”

“Excuse me?” Ivy takes one step back, and it’s like the greenery deflates just so. Like it’s all lost steam all of a sudden.

“You heard me,” Harley shrugs, carefully standing up and noticing the oversized t-shirt she’s wearing for the first time, “why do you keep doing it? Not too super-villainy of you, if you ask me.”

The more time she spends with her eyes open, the better she seems to see. Can acid burn somehow fix someone’s vision? She’ll have to tell Mr. Jay about the potential untapped marked in back-alley lasik surgery.

“I wouldn’t call myself a super-villain.”

“Your file at Arkham sure would.”

“Would it? And what does his file say?”

Harley stops staring at an exotic-looking flower to glare at Ivy instead. His file is wrong. His file is the result of a series of biased psychiatrists with questionable methods. They didn’t know him like she does. Nobody does. She’s the only one who understands.

He needs her. She can help.

“And what will yours say, Harley Quinzel?”

“I don’t have a—“

“Oh,” Ivy lets out a chuckle and it kind of feels like Harley figures being hit with her mallet might, “but you will.”

Harley licks her lips. Will she? Will she have a file at Arkham? Have a shrink sit across from her, on the other side of a bulletproof glass, and ask her what went wrong and when? Will she have to talk about Jay’s smile and his scars and the way he pressed her up against the padded wall of the interrogation room?

Will they call her call her a sociopath, too?

Probably. They’ll be wrong, though. She does feel remorse when she kills. It’s just she’d rather feel that than the absence of him.

“So don’t thank me, Harley. I never saved you.”

~*~

Harley doesn’t remember what she used to look like anymore. Harleen Quinzel may as well have never existed. It’s been three years since she fell into that vat of acid — it sounds better than saying someone threw her in, doesn’t it? — and so much has happened in her life that she can’t remember anything from before she was Harley Quinn anymore.

She’s been in Arkham… a number of times. Let’s leave it at that. She’s still with Jay. Mostly. On and off. Mostly on, though, other than that nine-month break she took for personal reasons when she went to stay with her sister Delia.

Mostly, though. Mostly, they’re on. And they’re so good when they are. Mostly. Mostly good.

You wouldn’t get it. Only she gets it. Only she gets him.

“Hey, Red?”

Ivy doesn’t even look up from whatever science-y stuff she’s working on, and Harley doesn’t really mind. They’re best pals. They don’t need eye contact to communicate.

“Why d’ya hate him?” Jay finds her new accent cute, like her higher-pitched voice and her red-and-black leotard.

“Huh?” Harley can feel Ivy’s frown even if she’s currently looking at the back of her head. “Who are we talking about?”

“Mistah Jay.”

She can feel the sour expression on Ivy’s face without seeing it, too.

“I don’t remember having said I hate him.”

“Ya don’t need to. I can just tell, y’know.”

“Can you.” Sometimes Ivy does that thing when she asks a question but her tone isn’t really question-y. Kinda cute, if you ask Harley. Over the years she’s grown to see many of the things about Ivy most people find intimidating are actually pretty dang cute.

“Yeah,” Harley stands up from her favorite moss-covered pouf (Ivy took offense last time Harley called it a beanbag chair) and sits on the edge of Ivy’s desk instead, “kinda like how ya don’t have to say it for me to know ya love me, Red.”

Ivy doesn’t smile, but her skin does. It turns this vibrant green and Harley knows it means Ivy’s smiling on the inside. It’s a whole thing. Just trust her, all right? She knows her Red.

“So. Why d’ya hate him?”

Ivy looks up from whatever botanical gibberish she’s been writing and stares into Harley’s eyes like she’s trying to read her mind.

Good thing her Puddin’s right when he says it’s mostly empty space in there, right?

Heh.

“You should’ve paid more attention when you worked at Arkham, Harley.”

Ivy stands up and leaves Harley there, dumbfounded and confused, because what does that even mean? She doesn’t even remember those months. She didn’t even think Ivy remembered. Had they ever even interacted back then? All she remembers are her… sessions, with Jay.

“Hey, wait! Come on, don’t be mean!”

Ivy rolls her eyes at Harley like she’s being overly dramatic (she isn’t), and starts collecting samples from this pots and plants.

“Why won’t you just tell me? Come on, it’s been forever, I don’t rem—“

The happy sound of a circus fanfare comes from outside Ivy’s lair, and Harley knows exactly what it means.

“Saved by the… honk, Red.” Harley winks, grabbing her mallet and putting on her hat. She can drop the subject for now. There’ll be more times. “I’ll bring ya somethin’ pretty from the heist, yeah?”

“Be safe.”

Harley’s already skipping towards the exit, but she turns around just to blow Ivy a kiss. “See? I knew ya loved me, Red.”

Ivy doesn’t just smile with her skin this time.

~*~

Harley watches the trial from the couch in the apartment she shares with Ivy and their (Ivy will deny it, but Harley knows she loves them) hyenas. It’s a happy little life. After so many years of super-villainy, switching sides has been kind of weird.

Well.

They haven’t switched completely. Just ask Batman. But they’re cool with the Batfolk now. Mostly. They promise to keep casualties to a minimum (she vaguely remembers Batman insisting on zero, but that’s a ballpark number, she’s sure) and help them catch the really bad guys, and in exchange they’re mostly free to do as they please.

It’s kind of weird, watching a trial on TV. A real trial, she means. But she figures when the person being judged is famous enough — and hated enough — it makes sense. And Gotham doesn’t hate anyone as much as they hate Jay.

He doesn’t look scared or nervous at all. Maybe he figures he’ll get out again whenever he pleases. But Bats said that’s not happening this time. Not with all the evidence Harley provided. Having bested it a dozen times herself, Harley can’t say she trusts Arkham’s security system that much. But it doesn’t really matter. She doesn’t really care.

“Ugh, commercial break. Can ya believe it?” Harley scritches Lou’s ear and nudges Bud off the couch so she can stand up. “They can call it a recess all they like, we all know the judge needed to pee.”

She chuckles to herself on the way to the kitchen for a glass of water, and on her way back her gaze lands on the carton box Bats gave her when they made their deal. The one full to the brim with everything that used to be in her and Ivy’s files at Arkham.

And she’s about to flop back onto the couch when a little tape recorder catches her attention instead. Her old tape recorder, from about two lifetimes ago, when she still wore a white coat and was called Dr. Quinzel.

“Let’s see who’s in this tape,” she says out loud as she presses the rewind button, and the two hyenas sit at her feet like they’re waiting for the best kind of treat, “maybe it’ll be Uncle Swamp Thing!”

But when the tape begins to play, the voice that fills the room is Ivy’s instead.

“Oh, jackpot!” Harley grins, muting the television to put her full focus on the preserved moment from over ten years ago. She kinda knows how the trial ends, anyway. Bats spoilered her.

“I do appreciate it, you know… the fact that you’re using a recorder instead of paper.”

Ivy sounds so different. Harley wishes she could remember the conversation, but all she has from those months are snippets of moments with him.

“Others before you had different methods. One of my previous doctors, he brought a potted plant.”

“Well, that’s nice of him, right boys? Mama loves a plant.”

“Watered it with bleach in front of me.”

Harley gasps, both at the cruelty of what she’s hearing and the fact that she suddenly has the answer to the question she asked so many times over the years. Why did Ivy hate Jay so much?

Harley looks at her bleached skin and can’t help but grin. She’s the one thing Pam loves as much as she loves her plants.

“…Doctor, your hormones are elevated. Every time you smile, you blush. Usually, I have to kiss a person to elicit such a response…”

If she could still blush, she would. She feels her cheeks burn anyway, because back then it wasn’t her girlfriend making her hormones get elevated (or whatever the Ivy from the past just said) but now… well. Now she elevates them plenty.

But more than that, she realizes, suddenly, exactly what Ivy meant when she insisted Harley could not be saved until she left Arkham. How could she really leave when Jay still owned most of her heart?

“They didn’t have double decker poptarts, Peanut. Are you sure they even exist?” Ivy interrupts Harley’s moment of reflection by walking into the apartment carrying several grocery bags and sending the boys into a flurry of excitement. “The lady at the register looked at me like I’d just asked for dragon eggs, so— wait. What are you listening to? Is that me?”

Harley nods, even if she knows Ivy can’t see her while she’s bent over leaving all the grocery bags on the counter.

“What is it? Is that from— oh.”

“Mhmm,” Harley grins, stopping the recording for now. She has the real life version of Ivy right here, so she doesn’t need the past at all. “Ya liked me already back then, huh, Pammy?”

Ivy rolls her eyes, but Harley knows. She knows she did.

“Where’d you get the tape?”

“Bats brought all that over,” Harley points in the general direction of the box, “said we can have it since we’re no longer the baddies.”

Ivy looks in the box and seems genuinely surprised when her gaze returns to Harley once again. “Our files?”

“Mhmm. All of it. Gone.”

It’s only when she tells Ivy that it fully registers for Harley, too. Their files are gone. No more Arkham.

Somewhere in her peripheral vision, she can see the trial’s back on the air. He’s going back in, and she… she wouldn’t say she doesn’t care at all. But she’s not going in with him. Her heart’s not his anymore.

She’s left.

“Pammy?”

Pam doesn’t look up from her hands as they rummage through the contents of the box, but she doesn’t need to. Harley knows she’s listening.

“Thank you.”

“Why?” Ivy looks at Harley then, frowning slightly in confusion. “I wasn’t the one who negotiated with Wayne.”

“No, I know.” Harley smiles and walks over, just to be closer. To smell the jasmine on her girlfriend’s skin. “But you saved me. A couple times. So thank you.”

And for the very first time, Harley’s pretty sure she’s figured something out before her (very smart, super quick-on-her-feet) girlfriend. Because Ivy looks at the box again, and at the muted TV where the trial is still happening, and then at Harley… and she smiles.

“You’re welcome, Harls.”

#fic #harlivy #harley x ivy #fanfic #2021 writing challenge

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captainchocolatesstuff · 5 years ago

Text

The Dolphin Plush

Alpha!Jotaro Kujo x Omega!Reader

You really love your plushies, but one, in particular, was most special to you. It was a white Dolphin plush that you named Echo, given to you by your parents on your birthday when you turned six. Even now as a growing teen you loved the soft Dolphin to bits, but you had to stop carrying it with you once you presented as an omega since you had a small habit of cuddling it, which also caused you to accidentally scent the plush toy.

Now, here you were in class, scribbling doodles in your notebook as your ghostly companion, Ace of Spades, stood next to you by your desk looking around the still slightly new environment of your classroom as you distracted yourself. But sometimes you occasionally listened in on the occasional gossip of the girls nearby, one conversation caught your attention though, “Hey, did you hear Jojo is back!”, one excitedly squealed.

“Yes actually! Did you see his red-haired friend with him too? I thought Jojo didn’t have friends”, the other hummed.

“I know right, he always had this lone wolf vibe to him, still though I wonder how long they’ve known one another”, the third one in the group pondered out loud.

“Jojo? Must be a popular guy”, you quietly thought as the bell rung then all of a sudden you hear loud squeals of “JoJo!” outside the classroom before a booming voice suddenly yelled, “Shut the hell up!!”. There was a moment of silence before there was a wave of more squealing and, if anything, you began to feel bad for the guy as you sat there taking a moment to look over your doodles before closing your notebook as soon as the classroom door was slammed open. Looking up you saw the tall male that was called “Jojo”, he looked to be around 6’4 or 6’5, he had a modified uniform (along with the hat), jet black hair and seemingly green eyes. He looked very bothered with his narrowed eyes and near-permanent frown, but you were sure anyone would be if they were hounded by a group or crowd of people.

Though there was something else too, by his looks alone anyone could tell that he was an alpha, but by the faint whiff of his scent you caught on to the fact that he was an apex alpha. It kind of surprised you really, apex alphas weren’t common but they weren’t rare either, shrugging it off you failed to notice how his eyes immediately landed on your stand once he entered the room. You also failed to notice how his eyes narrowed at you once the stand went behind you to rest her head on your own nonchalantly, you didn’t look familiar to Jotaro at all so he concluded that you entered this school when he was on his journey to Egypt with company.

You sat in the desk that was to the left of him, it was previously empty when he was around but now that he was back he wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that he now had to sit next to a girl that apparently had a stand as well. When he approached his seat he finally smelled the fragrance you had around you, “An omega?”, Jotaro’s brow furrowed more as the corner of his lip twitched, the stand users he faced off against back in Egypt were commonly Betas and Alphas, but he couldn’t help but be slightly surprised that there was an Omega Stand User right there in the desk next too his. He sat down as other students filed into the classroom one by one, he looked at you through his peripherals as you spun your pencil in your hand, your stand was still out laying her head on your own with her top hat tipped to the side.

Observing the stand more, Jotaro found the stand to be similar to something that came from a western of sorts with it’s ‘apparel’, the tar-like substance on its head nearly reminded him of a flappers’ hairstyle, the stand definitely had a mouth, but the slanted slits of its “eyes” seemingly made an ‘A’ with the near triangle like print on its face. You looked to be dosing off as your stand cooed while she nuzzled into your hair, the action made Jotaro curious as Star Platinum made his appearance without Jotaro’s influence, “Ora?”, the noise made you jolt slightly as your stand suddenly retracted itself from you to look at Star Platinum in regard to his sudden occupancy. Jotaro himself was caught off guard with his stand’s sudden behavior, looking back at Star Platinum he saw the stand nearing your own stand and her behavior nearly mirrored the stand’s actions, when Jotaro looked over at you he saw how you also looked at your stands’ interactions with wonder and bewilderment.

Then you looked at Jotaro, with a slight head tilt you blinked owlishly as his eyes narrowed at you, calling back Star Platinum he tipped his hat whilst looking away from you, as you looked at him for a moment longer you swore you almost heard him mumble something that sounded like “Yare Yare Daze”.

You both eventually caught onto each others’ names once roll call started, and neither of you could concentrate much on the subject that was being taught once you both saw each others’ stands. You were genuinely curious about how many other users there were now that you found something that you had in common with Jotaro Kujo, Jotaro, on the other hand, was still somewhat taking caution to the fact that you were another stand user.

Once class was done and lunchtime rolled around, Jotaro was quick to leave his seat as you grabbed your lunch, you bit your lip softly as you watched him leave since you really wanted to ask him about his ghostly companion. You looked at the ground before your sound made a cooing noise catching your attention, looking at Ace of Spades you noticed how she was looking at a bento box that Jotaro seemingly forgot. You smiled at your stand as you picked up the box and quickly speed out of the classroom after taking a quick sniff of Jotaro’s bento to track his location faster, with several turns and occasionally bumping into dead ends you finally were able to trace his scent to the rooftop of the school. Going up the stairs you opened the door and saw Jotaro with a red-haired male that you couldn’t tell was another alpha or beta -if you recalled correctly from what you recently overheard, he was Jotaro’s supposed friend- their attention landed on you as soon as your omega scent was within their radius.

“You”, Jotaro huffed out was Kakyoin looked over at his friend before looking over at you.

“Was she the one you were talking about Jotaro?”, he asked.

“Uh, well, I am actually here to bring your lunch you forgot back in the classroom, did -uh- did I interrupt something?”, you sheepishly ask as you lightly swing your lunch from beside you.

“Not really, well actually - Jotaro did bring you up in the conversation we were having, he mentioned have a stand too (L/n)”, Kakyoin explained. You were left confused as to what he meant when he said stand, and it showed through your facial expression when you furrowed your brows in puzzlement.

“I’m sorry, but what is a “Stand”?”, you ask.

Jotaro huffed as he summoned Star Platinum, “This is Star Platinum, he is my stand”, he briefed.

Jotaro and Kakyoin watched you as your mind seemingly clicked when you understood what they meant after a moment of your silent confusion, “Oh, so that is what they were called, I’ve known her as my “Ghost Companion” all this time”, you explain as you summoned your stand.

She appeared beside you within an instant as both Jotaro and Kakyoin took in her full appearance, Jotaro noted the few things that he had missed when he first saw the stand. For one, it seemingly had braids shaped like spades, and on her abdomen, there was a large spade print, and she didn’t really have fingertips, they looked to be cut off in a way and they almost reminded Jotaro of gun muzzles.

~ ~

“A Ghost Comanpion you say? That’s one way to call a stand I guess”, Kakyoin chuckled as he summoned Hierophant Green.

Jotaro huffed recalling the time he called Star Platinum an “evil spirit” before he came to know them as stands.

“Ah, well anyway, here’s your lunch Kujo”, you lift his lunch towards him, he rose a brow but didn’t say much as he took it back from you. There was a brief brush of skin to skin contact but it didn’t bother either of you too much as you hummed before stepping back. “Anyways, I’ll be heading out now, see you guys around I guess”, you wave before turning to leave.

“Why not eat lunch with us then, that is unless you have somewhere to be right now...”, Kakyoin trailed off as he looked at you.

You looked back at the two as Jotaro opened his bento and began to eat his meal while you briefly considered the offer, “Ah well, if that’s okay, I hope I am not intruding or anything…”, you look to the side as Kakyoin smiled.

“Don’t worry, we were mainly talking about you anyway since Jotaro was surprised to find another stand user here while we were away”, Kakyoin clarified, a mild pink hue spread onto your cheeks as you let out a breathy laugh.

Sitting with them you decided to ask, “So why are they called stands anyway?”, you look at Kakyoin as he swallowed some of his food down.

“Well for one, a Stand is a manifestation of one’s fighting spirit, they are called Stands because they stand by its user ready to act when needed”, he explains, you noded at the information as you summoned Ace of Spades before you while you chewed on your food.

“That makes sense, Ace of Spades is usually nearby whenever I call her”, you absentmindedly say.

“You named it after a playing card”, Jotaro rose a brow at you, you only nod your head sheepishly as you smiled.

“Yeah, my dad really liked playing cards on his spare time when he was young, that and well, my mom had an affinity towards western movies, so her appearance, in general, reminded me of what my parents enjoy”, you say, Kakyoin couldn’t help but smile at your words while Jotaro studied you.

“Ah~ Where are my manners, I forgot to introduce my self, my name is Noriaki Kakyoin”, Kakyoin stretches his hand out towards you, you smile as you take his hand giving a light shake.

“It’s nice to meet you Kakyoin”, you chirp, Jotaro shifted slightly when he smelled your fragrance, the hormones with it told both males that you were happy and content as a small purr rumbled from your chest. Jotaro felt that his inner Alpha was also content with the situation at hand, with a slight twitch of his brow Jotaro tried to ignore his Alpha as he listened to you and Kakyoin chat, and while reluctant Jotaro was mildly surprised that he actually tolerated your presence.

Jotaro huffed as he left the school, annoyed at the bothersome beta and omega girls that had tried to scent him when he was leaving school ground. He momentarily saw you jogging, and only watched as you did, carefully observing you as you left before he eventually went on home by himself since Kakyoin apparently had some after school going on for him.

Once Jotaro reached home he slightly grimaced at his grandfather’s boastful laughter as his mom came to greet him, “Jotaro! Welcome home~!”, Holly chirps as loud purrs erupted from her chest. He let his mother hug him, and while he opposed the display of affection he let it slide after the duration of time that she laid sick in bed.

“Hm? Jotaro did you meet someone new?”, Holly asked, with curious eyes, Jotaro furrowed his brows and lightly sniffed himself.

The scent of the girls that tailed after him should’ve worn off since he usually took semi-long walks to get rid of their scents, his Alpha was often irritated by their combined fragrance and would often growl in agitation when they let their scent glands rub upon him. But their scent was non-existent, his uniform smelled of his own Alpha musk, so with a small huff he tried to smell his back to see if one of the (irritating) girls from school scented his bag without his notice. Then he caught the faint smell of your fragrance, with furrowed brows Jotaro opened his bag and pulled out the rag that his bento was previously wrapped in, carefully bringing it to his nose he took a light sniff and sure enough, he smelled your fragrance on the rag it was very faint but it was still there.

Jotaro didn’t immediately pull away though after he sniffed it, but he did lower it after his eyes narrowed, “How could you smell that? It was very faint…”.

“When you become a parent you’ll understand~”, Holly cooed at her soon as he huffed, before she continued, “So who are they? Are they a new friend of yours now?”, she asked excitedly. Jotaro grumbled a bit as he removed his shoes before walking past his mother.

“They’re...new”, he simply said.

You hummed contently as you rested within your nest, hugging your Dolphin plush as you looked over the at the other plushies that surrounded you. Snuggling into your Dolphin plush you caught the faint whiff of Jotaro’s scent making you pause, slowly sitting up you sniffed lightly and traced it to your hand that lightly brushed against Jotaro’s hand, you weren’t too bothered by the smell but went to wash your hands anyway in case your younger sister got too curious.

Going to your restroom you washed your hands but as you did your omega whined at doing so, and once you dried them you rose your hand to your face with furrowed brows, mildly confused as to why your omega would whine at what you did.

As days went on you, Jotaro and Kakyoin fell into a sort of daily ritual that lead to Jotaro learning more about you and you learning more about him. You never took Jotaro’s brooding demeanor as something to look down on, it actually made his character more interesting to you and getting to know him a bit more personally, you also caught yourself occasionally purring whenever you were around Jotaro. Jotaro also occasionally caught onto your purrs and his alpha couldn’t help but respond with a churr of his own, while this didn’t happen too often it oddly didn’t bother Jotaro like it usually would when other girls purred at him (he’d growl in response when they did).

Getting to know Jotaro and Kakyoin made your world change in a way you couldn’t describe, but it was a pleasant one, maybe it was because of the fact that you all were stand users. You couldn’t really tell but you didn’t dwell too much on the subject. Jotaro always acted nonchalant around you, but you never really minded as you walked with him out the gates beside Kakyoin, talking about where you were hoping to go once you left school.

~ ~

“I forgot to mention it, but my mom wanted me to invite you two over to dinner today”, Jotaro says.

“Really? Well, I have nothing to do, I am not sure about you though (Y/n), are you available?”, Kakyoin turns his attention to you as you smile.

“I’m able, my sister is having a sleepover with friends, I’d just need to call my parents though”, you explain.

They both nod in understanding as you all made your way to Jotaro’s house, and once you arrive you couldn’t help but ogle at the building until a woman (who you assumed must be Jotaro’s mom) appeared at the front door.

“Jotaro you’re home! And you brought Kakyoin with you too~ Oh?”, she suddenly tilts her head when she spots you. With a smile, you introduce yourself to Jotaro’s mom,

“Hello Mrs. Kujo, I’m (Y/n) (L/n), a -uh- friend of Jotaro’s”, you smile, Holly couldn’t help but let out loud chirrups as she approached you, it mildly surprised you as she suddenly held your hands and gave you a radiant smile.

“Oh my, you’re an omega too dear? And a friend of my son no less! You seem like a sweet girl (Y/n)”, Holly cooed, a dark blush spread onto your face as purrs rumbled from your chest.

“A-ah~ Thank you Mrs. Kujo”, you sheepishly say.

“Please, call me Seiko dear”, she chirps.

Kakyoin couldn’t help but smile as you and Holly got along, the two omegas producing fragrances that signified how happy Holly was and how comfortable you were getting, Jotaro closed his eyes as he took the chance to really take in your aroma, it smelled like peach, vanilla, and had a soft hint of pine. Holly lead you inside and looking in the nice house you almost missed the two elderly people that were getting the table ready.

“Hm, oh it’s Kakyoin! I also see that Jotaro has a new friend now”, the elder alpha chuckled heartily as Jotaro growled in annoyance, you also smelled that he was another apex.

“Don’t tease him, Joseph, you wouldn’t want to scare the poor girl away now do you?’, the elderly woman scolded, you were mutely surprised that she was a beta since her scent was so faint, but it didn’t bother you at all since the aura of the room was nice and comforting.

“Well, anyway, hello little miss, I am Jotaro’s grandfather Joseph Joestar”, he smiles as he stuck his hand out for you to shake.

“Hello sir I’m (Y/n) (L/n)”, you greet as you shook his hand.

“And I am his grandmother Suzie Jostar~!”, she chirps.

Dinner went well, and you found Jotaro’s family to be quite extraordinary, as you spoke with them Jotaro let a ghost of a smile form on his lips as he ate. Kakyoin left once dinner was over, Mr. and Mrs. Joestar left to their bedroom while Holly went to pick up the phone that rung as you offered to help pick up and clean the dishes with Jotaro. As you did there was a comfortable silence that surrounded you two as you took the chance to rally pick out Jotaro’s scent; there was a faint smell of cigarettes, but the salt and homey scent he had on him helped balance out his unique scent.

“Hey, Jotaro”, you call to him.

“Hmn”, he hums back, acknowledging your call.

“Thanks for inviting me, and… letting me be your friend”, you smile up at him.

Jotaro took a moment to really take in your image, he looked away with the tip of his hat as he purred, you responded with your own purr as you both finished with the dishes.

With a huff, you pouted when you looked down at your dolphin plush, you didn’t mean to bring it to school and accidentally packed it with you. You then paused in a mild panic as your actions signified that your heat was nearing, sometimes omegas brought an item that is close to them for someone to scent it, or to bring a form of comfort for them when out in public. Hugging Echo you let out a small whimper as you tried to stuff your lovable plush in your bag.

“(Y/n), what are you doing?”, Jotaro’s voice made you jolt as you turned to look at him.

“Ah! Jotaro -um- good morning! I was just -er- just…”, your voice softened as you looked down at your plush, for some reason you felt shameful as you stood there with your head hung low, “I- brought Echo with me because I am nearing my heat”, you clarify.

“.....Do you need someone to scent it?”, Jotaro asked.

You look up at him suddenly as you stare at him wide-eyed, “Not really, I just- well- I wanted something to bring as a comforter since, you know, I just wanted something to hug but the plush is obvious and everyone would know”, you say, a small pouty frown forming on your lips.

“Don’t feel bad about what your body is naturally doing (Y/n)”, Jotaro says, his attempt at comforting somehow let you relax a bit as he stood next to you, “Let’s go, we might be late to class”, he gestures as you nod and follow him to the class by his side.

Jotaro kept an eye out for you the entire time throughout the school day as you hugged your dolphin plush, he stared down anyone who tried making a comment about your plush that you had with you as you went about your day, but this time when lunch came around you decided to go to the courtyard since the rooftop of the school didn’t seem too appealing at the moment.

So Jotaro went to get Kakyoin as you ate your lunch with Echo on your lap, then you scrunched your nose when a sour musky scent entered your nose.

“My, my, what is an omega doing alone out here”, turning your head you saw an alpha approaching you as his friends stayed back watching you two.

You frowned as you gripped your meal.

“That is none of your concern”, you snap as you glared at the male.

“Ooo~ Fiesty~ I see you brought something with you, is Mr. Dolphin giving you enough company ‘mega”, he purred, your omega hissed as you scooted away from him once he sat down.

“Better company than you it would seem”, you glare as he continued to near you.

“You’re nearing your heat are you not? Why not let me scent it, you can have a part of me in that little nest of yours as you enter your heat, better yet why not met me into your nest so that your heat can go easier on ya”, he smirks, your jaw dropped at his appalling words.

When he tried to reach for your plush you immediately retaliated with a loud hiss escaping your omega as you scratched him.

“OW! You bitch, you’re gonna pay for that!”, he roared making you jolt as his pheromones radiated anger, panicked chirps escaped you as you tried to lean back to escape him, but he caught you by your caller and tugged you towards him.

You dug your nails in his wrist to make him let go, but then a hand grabbed his before throwing it off you, you felt yourself be pulled in close to Jotaro as his scent entered your nose. Looking up at him you heard low warning growls rumble from his throat, teeth bared, and pheromones radiating promised aggression.

“Stay away from my omega, knotthead”, Jotaro growled, the other alpha tried to appear dominant as he growled back at him.

“Your Omega, ha! Then you must suck at scenting her since I can’t smell you on her”, he mocked. Jotaro leaned down to your ear as he nuzzled into your head.

“Don’t get too mad”, was all he whispered as he began to scent you in front of the offending alpha boldly, his scent gland rubbed on you as you let several purrs slip. The offending alpha growled in frustration but stomped away as you and Jotaro stood there.

“Thanks, Jotaro, I’m sorry that I caused you trouble”, you say softly, Jotaro huffed as he let you go slowly.

“Yare Yare Daze, you didn’t do anything, I should be apologizing since I scented you without consent”, Jotaro mumbled but you caught his words and smiled shyly.

“Actually, um, Jotaro…”, you call to him as you pick up Echo and walk over to him, you offer the plush over to him as you looked away, “...can you scent this, you don’t really have to… you did more than enough for me and-”, you cut yourself off as Jotaro’s eyes momentarily widened.

Courting. You wanted to court him, after all the time you spent together, and admittedly he couldn’t help but be pleased with that.

“I’ll do it sheesh, I like you too… (Y/n)”, he says softly as he takes the plush from you, making you look up at him, Jotaro couldn’t help but let his eyes soften as a smile spread onto your lips.

“Thank you Jotaro!”, your omega purrs as Jotaro huffed but let his alpha churr in response as he leaned down to peck your forehead.

When Jotaro reached his home, he went straight to his bedroom and started scenting the plush Dolphin before pulling back to study it, a chuckle escaped him at the slightly coincidental thing. Looking at his desk, he looked at the nearly finished bracelet he was working on for you. With a small smile, he went over to the desk to finish the courting gift with the help of Star Platinum.

#JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #JJBA #jjba x reader #jotaro cujoh #jotaro headcanons #jotaro kujo x reader #omegaverse #alpha!jotaro #omega!reader #a/b/o dynamics #warning for mild harasment #I also have this on my ao3 account

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jamaiskookie · 4 years ago

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mutuals (pjmxreader) [bonus:celibacy]

~mutuals~ [youtuber!reader x idol!jimin] social media AU

synopsis: park jimin is a (slightly problematic) idol singer, and he becomes completely smitten with a youtuber after stumbling upon her dance cover to his own song.

genre: fluff, a good dosing of cracK, literally two seconds of angst blink and u miss it

word count: 2.3k

[A/N]: thank you for all the love you’ve given mutuals! can’t believe it’s only been like one week since this blog has been up hehE enjoy this drabble of thirsty!jimin after he found your video. if you have no idea what i’m talking about gO READ THE FIRST CHAPTER

series masterlist

<< prev

When JinHit first hit record sales with the success of Jimin’s mini album, and RAPLINE’s first title single a couple years ago, Jin finally gave in to Jimin’s begging and gave all the artists their own personalised studio in the JinHit building. It’s where all the greatest hits on the charts are written. It’s practically the modern eighth wonder of the world, considering the names and talent that have graced the walls.

Jimin, Yoongi, and Namjoon all have their separate studios to write, produce, and record in, and all three of the small rooms are located next to each other. Partially because of design and common sense, but also so all three friends can conveniently annoy each other when needed. Jin’s office isn’t too far away either, just across the floor. Usually, if they’re all working in the studio, they’ll walk over to Jin’s office during lunch hour and leech off his amazing personal pantry in his office. The office is much, much bigger than their studios, and Jimin never fails to remind Jin that.

All three artists have grown a little attached to their studios. It’s where they do what they all love most, after all. Yoongi barely lets anyone into his ‘Genius Lab’, and ever since a staff member accidentally messed with his coffee machine, he hasn’t let anyone step foot in. Nobody’s even allowed to come inside Namjoon’s studio during what he calls his ‘namjoon talent time’ which is basically just a period of time before comeback season where he locks himself in the studio, writing music 24/7.

He occasionally asks Jimin to listen to his unreleased files for suggestions, but other than that, noone except Yoongi goes inside his studio during ‘namjoon talent time’, and Namjoon only reluctantly lets him in as his bandmate. Not that Jimin minds, he hasn’t been let inside since he accidentally mistook Joon’s studio for his own and brought one of his one-night-stands over. Joonie was horrified, and made Jimin sanitise, wash and clean every part of the room, all while he cried about how his ‘baby was molested’. It was traumatising for both parties.

Out of the three, Jimin’s the least protective over his studio, even though he’s the one who put the most effort into it. He’s spent years perfecting it, making it the best place for inspiration and writing music. Everything in the studio has been personally chosen and thought out by him. The snacks and custom mini fridge, the wall of his entire discography, trophies, music awards, and his personal favourite, the official JIMIN logo sign above the couch.

It lights up in purple.

Despite being a pretty stereotypical assholey partying douche idol, Jimin’s likes to think he’s actually quite talented. He’s been named ‘Most professional idol’ on every single online survey he can find (He’s also always voted for ‘Most handsome’, but that’s besides the point), and it’s true. Jimin never sells himself short. He is a professional musician, singer, and producer. He writes his own music, choreographs his own dancing, and uses his platform to spread positive, meaningful messages. There’s a reason he’s so internationally successful, and it’s because he’s talented.

Maybe right now isn’t a great example of his talent. Jimin was in his studio, holding his head in his hands. Sure, he’s a globally recognised and accomplished songwriter, but to be honest, he hadn’t written a single piece of original JIMIN music since he wrote ‘Filter’ with Namjoon months ago. He was in the biggest creative slump in his entire career. He had tried almost everything, co-writing, exercise, music samples, playing around on instruments. Hell he even tried music therapy. Whatever melody he tried to create, whatever lyrics he tried to write, it all came out sounding like garbage.

Yesterday was a little bit of a blow to Jimin’s ego. It was three in the morning, and he’d been in the studio for seven hours, with only one verse written.

I love to let loose,

Have you ever tried eating moose?

It’s all so bananas,

Tony fucking Montana.

Yeah, it’s pretty embarrassing. It’s not even a verse, it looks more like a kindergartener’s attempt to write poetry. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t really feel like writing music or putting his thoughts in a song. Jimin is just plain out of ideas. He has nothing to write about. And if he doesn’t have good content to put out, he’d rather not put anything out at all.

But he still hates it. All his life, he’s coped by writing, singing and dancing. This writer’s block has been too frustrating. Too many sleepless nights and crumpled papers have been wasted over it, with no progress or music in result. Plus, Jin might be one of his closest friends, but Jin was also a boss, and he still needed more tracks for Jimin’s big comeback, happening end of the year.

He can’t help it. Jimin has nothing left to write about. He opened one eye when he heard the distant ding of his phone coming from somewhere in the studio. Grumbling incoherently, he opened the notification, to find… you.

Jimin’s mouth was hanging open the entire video. His eyes twitched the tiniest bit and he almost dropped the phone when you said his face was “decent”, but he had to watch it again, because the first time around, he didn’t hear a word that came out your damn mouth. He was otherwise… preoccupied. No matter how much he tried, he just couldn’t tear his damn eyes off the screen. Curse Min Yoongi for sending him this.

He even cringed when he had to bring his sleeve up to wipe the tiniest bit of drool off his face. Practically salivating. What the fuck? How old was he? He was Park Jimin, why was he popping a boner from watching some stranger on the internet dance to his songs? He’s been in the industry for way too long now, he was practically immune to scantily clad women prancing around him. So why he completed concentrated on your stupid little crop top? Not to mention, you were practically insulting him at this point. What was so special?

For one moment, Jimin forced his eyes off the screen, wondering if the sleep deprivation had really affected him that much, or if this was another side effect of the writer’s block he’s been having. It’s the partying ‘clean act’ ban Jin’s been forcing me to go on, he thought, even though Jimin wasn’t totally convinced of that. (Despite swearing not to, he looked straight back to down at his phone afterwards to reply the video.)

He was so fixated on the screen, he didn’t even notice when Yoongi flung the door open and walked inside. Jimin only lifted his head when he heard Yoongi’s obnoxiously loud groan.

“What- When did you get here?” Yoongi recently went back to a fan-favourite hair colour of his, and Jimin was still not used to seeing him with bright mint coloured hair. In his opinion, he looked like a highlighter, but Yoongi seemed to not mind it.

“I’ve been standing here for the past two minutes, drinking my coffee. The fuck you watching on your phone that’s got you drooling?”

“NOTHING.” Yoongi narrowed his eyes, and before Jimin could even move away, he managed to snatch the phone away from Jimin’s hands.

“What the fuck- how? You know, this is why your fanbase thinks you’re a cat.” Yoongi ignored his words with ease. “Oh my god,” He said. “Are you watching the video I sent you? I didn’t expect you to actually watch it.”

“I always watch my fan’s videos after a comeback!” Jimin insisted, clawing upwards to steal his own phone back, but Yoongi kept slapping his hands away.

“Yeah, but this isn’t a fan. This is just like, one of your fanboys and a girl roasting you.” Yoongi stared back at Jimin suspiciously when he tried to defend himself. “Why were you watching this girl dance like a starving man, Chim?”

“Just, because- what- I was nOT watching her like a starving man. Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of a pervert!” Jimin finally managed to grab ahold of his phone again, and he threw it behind him on the couch, away from Yoongi.

“Hyung,” He sighed. “I think maybe it’s Jin’s new ‘clean, good boy’ rule. Along with this stupid fucking slump I’ve been having these days, I just don’t feel great, okay? So don’t be so fussy with me. I can’t write, I can’t party… If I want to ogle over some random girl on the internet, I will.” Jimin cringed once the words came out of his mouth, but Yoongi slowly nodded, sitting down on the couch.

Min Yoongi may be a little too gay to understand Jimin’s womaniser ways, but the frustration behind not being able to write music, that, he understood. “You’re trying to justify being a perv by using your mental problems, but I’ll talk to you about that later on.”

“Chim, we all have our slumps. It’s honestly a wonder that this is your first serious creative block. Me and Joon, and every single artist in the world, is bound to go through that at some point. It’s not the end. You’ll still be able to write good music soon, you’re a good writer.” Jimin refused to meet Yoongi’s eyes, even if what he was saying did make a little sense. He just chose to stay silent.

“You just have nothing left to write about. You can’t keep living like this though, Chimmy. It’s unhealthy.”

“What do you mean, unhealthy? I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

Yoongi stared at him deadpan, gesturing to the entire state of his studio. “It’s a complete mess in here,” He said. “Plus, I don’t think you’ve left this studio for days. The others may not want to say it to your face, but we’re all a bit worried about you. Stop forcing yourself to ingest all these redbulls to try to keep writing.”

“When inspiration comes, it’ll come. You can’t force it, it doesn’t work that way. What you need, is a break. Go back home for once, maybe visit your mom. And for god’s sakes, take a shower please. Trust me, okay?”

Yoongi doesn’t like admitting it, but he’s the most caring one out of their friend group. Anyone can tell from the look in his eyes right now, that he’s genuinely concerned about his friend. He’s also the one with most sense, but Jimin will never tell him that, because his advice, no matter how sensible, is useless.

All he’s known is singing, writing, and throwing himself in work. To just stop? Even if it’s to take a short break, it doesn’t feel right to Jimin. Instead of telling Yoongi his problems, he just poked his tongue in his cheek. If lightbulbs actually popped up above people’s heads when they had a good idea, a massive one would’ve appeared on top of Jimin’s.

“I’ve got it!” He said, excitedly. Yoongi sat up straight. “You’re going to take my advice for once?”

“No, of course not, Hyung. Don’t be silly.” Yoongi slouched his back again, closing his eyes.

“I’ll just hit this girl up!” Yoongi’s eyes snapped open.

“What.”

“Yeah! Who knows, y’know? Maybe I’ve been keeping myself to Jin’s rules a little too well. It won’t hurt the company if I let myself go just once. Blow off some steam, come back fresh and recharged.” Jimin rubbed his hands together like a bad Disney villain.

“It’s too early for this.” Yoongi whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s three in the afternoon.” Yoongi ignored him.

“You really aren’t going to take my advice, huh.”

“Nope!” Jimin said, popping the ‘p’ annoyingly.

“You promised Jin you’d go celibate.”

“I said I’d clean up the partying act. I don’t recall taking a vow of celibacy.” Yoongi just sighed, and fell back down on the sofa, mindlessly sipping at his coffee.

Jimin hesitated. “You’re not going to… tell me not to? Or give me another one of your eco-feminist speeches again?” Yoongi shrugged.

“You’ve heard it too many times. Plus, I have a feeling this is going to be funny.”

“Funny? Hyung, what part of this could possible be funny to you?” There was a brief pause filled with awkward silence, before Yoongi blinked slowly.

“When she rejects you, of course.” Jimin threw his jacket, aimed straight for Yoongi’s head. His stupidly fast cat-like reflexes managed to dodge it, but Jimin scowled at him nonetheless.

“She’s not going to reject me.” Jimin walked over, picking up the very same jacket he threw at Yoongi, before plopping his sunglasses back on his face. “No woman has ever managed to reject me before, and I intend on adding her to that list.” He pursed his lips.

“Plus, she’s super hot. Great ass. Attractive people attract attractive people.” Jimin turned his phone back on once more to sneak one last peek at you in the thumbnail of the video, before stuffing his phone into his back pocket. “I just need to get it out of my system. This might be what I need to get me out of this creative rut!”

He could’ve sworn Yoongi muttered something under his breath, something along the lines of ‘fucking asshole’, but he chose to ignore it.

“Alright, well, see you, Yoons!” Jimin practically skipped out of the studio, startling the producer’s assistant outside with his slightly disturbing enlarged grin.

“Don’t come crying to me when she refuses to get in your pants, you fucking diva!”

Jimin continued walking towards the elevator, but he threw up his middle finger behind him.

“DON’T RUIN MY EXIT, BITCH!”

[taglist:] @notmontae97 @lucedelsole97

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justjessame · 4 years ago

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Babysitting Butcher Chapter 52

I was sitting with Frenchie, Kimiko was going over the footage from the drones with Billy, helping him edit it with more precision and a better eye than most people would think to give her credit to have, and I was explaining the issue that I had after my chat with Grace about the chips.

“So what you’re saying,” he was squinting at me, but I could tell he wasn’t seeing ME. “Is that Ryan has trios chips, but Mallory doesn’t believe that they were placed there to track him?” I nodded, still not quite sure he was paying attention to my image. “What would be l’ objet then?” His eyes narrowed, as though it would help him grasp the answer to the same problem I had issues finding the solution for. “Chips, they are used to track, to listen, to -” his eyes widened, and then he refocused on me. “Is there someone here, in the building,” he clarified, “that knows more about tech?”

“Yes,” I’d looked up our in-house technology guru, wanting to know their name, just in case I had to tap their shoulder next. “Carrie Stavos.” I grabbed my desk phone and hit the extension I’d memorized that morning. “Stavos? Yes, this is Dr. Taylor, could you come to my office? Of course, finish that up and come up after.” I signed off with the young sounding woman and hung up. “She has to finish up with -” It was my turn to squint. “I’m sure you’d understand what she’d explained,” my lips quirked and Frenchie smirked in answer. “She’ll be here when she finishes up, in about ten minutes.” I checked my watch. “That gives me a chance to go through some emails, and you can check on those two -” I nodded toward Billy’s desk where he and Kimiko were working in almost complete silence, but their heads were close and they were both taking turns clicking and moving the mouse.

While Frenchie slid over to Billy’s side, I clicked through emails, finding one from an unknown source with a video file included. Great, fabulous, just what my day needed, more shit. First I put the email through the handy dandy backward trace, thinking that my new fan would need to learn quickly who they were dealing with and what type of fun resources I had at my fingertips. The video I sent to the security systems, they could look to see where it originated, who saved it, and then hopefully who forwarded it to me.

While those systems were running, I answered the more mundane of my correspondences. The yeses and the nos, the requests, and the denials. I had to imagine that I wouldn’t have the answers to my mystery email by the end of the day, normally anonymous emails took anywhere from forty-eight hours upward to backtrack, so I was shocked when I got the telltale ping that signaled they’d run it through the available programs and they had my answers.

Clicking open the report, I sat back as I read it. The email had originated from our office, from one of the mailroom email accounts. This account is utilized by anyone who can access the mailroom, which means literally anyone who can gain entrance into the building. The mailroom computer isn’t secure. It holds nothing classified, so needs no password to log on. Great, that’s fun.

The video, I read on, was also from our building. My office, it went on to be more precise, on the date of my hemmorage. When I nearly went nuclear and wiped out EVERYTHING. It was time stamped from the moment I swiped in that morning until an hour after I’d been rushed to the undisclosed clinic. The security person who had backtracked the feed and written this piece of the report said that only our people should have access to the feed, and only the people with security clearance of those in the video storage and above should be able to clip, edit, and share it through our systems. The clearance numbers used, however, match nothing they could find.

I sighed and sat back, somewhat surprised that Billy didn’t hightail it to my desk, but he was muttering with Frenchie about something in their footage. Why this video, I wondered? Why now?

Putting the headset on that I kept on hand, just in case I needed it for something as tasteless as this, I took a deep breath to fortify myself and clicked play.

Have you ever watched yourself nearly die? I don’t mean figuratively, but literally see a video of you come within inches of death? There are films, entire movie series that have that trope. Escaping death, only for it to continue to come for you, wanting nothing more than to make sure the balance is kept even.

As I watched the video of the day I walked into our office, so full of certainty that I’d fixed it, I’d fixed the massive fucking disaster of a personal invasion that Homelander forced on me I felt bile start to rise in my throat because of the surreal quality of it. Hearing my voice say the words that I barely recalled saying to Billy come out of my mouth. Seeing me do things that I still take for granted, the mundane day to day shit, things that I knew within moments would become things I’d pray I could do again.

Seeing Billy go for our lunch, the rolling in my stomach grew, a pain reminiscent of what I’d felt before. I knew what was coming, but to see it from THIS angle? It was as if I HAD died, and this would have been my view - what I would have seen while people rushed inside. Wait-- How had they rushed in?

I clicked back, the rush of the blood down my legs my starting point. I hadn’t made a sound, but Billy mentioned that my temperature had gotten so high that I’d set off an alarm, which alerted security. Why didn’t I hear it on the video? The alarm didn’t start until the first three people came in, faces I didn’t recognize, and none of whom should have been able to enter, since only Billy, Mallory, and I had access aside from Security override. None of this trio had security markers on, and they didn’t look all that rushed. I couldn’t hear their conversation, another redflag, since I heard every other sound, and after a gesture, the alarm FINALLY sounded and then things moved the way they should have.

“Billy?” Calm, that’s how I sounded, which would have shocked me, but by this point nothing was all that surprising. “Could you take a look at something for me?”

Getting Billy calmed down after HE watched the video wasn’t as simple. Frenchie’s eyes were wide enough to see every divot on the moon, and I was contemplating cancelling everything for the rest of the day to distract him the best way I knew how.

“Those three fuckin’ -” how his nostrils could either get so thin that NO air could possibly pass through or so wide that he could inhale ALL of the air in the free world was beyond me, but the true power was how he could do either and make me want to climb him like Mount Everest and - Damn it, Ronnie, get your head in the game. “You coulda died, and they were doin’ fuck all.”

“Actually, they were wasting time,” Frenchie offered, and I could tell he wished he hadn’t. “I meant they were possibly looking for a way to -”

“See how long it would actually take for my self destruct button to engage,” I nodded, why bother fucking lying? “Who are they?” Important question, since clearly that mattered most. “I couldn’t really see their faces, but they don’t look familiar.”

“Knew where the cameras were,” Billy grunted, pulling me onto his lap as he sat in his own chair. “Knew where they were and kept their heads down. Not amateurs. Knew they’d have to raise the alarm too, cause sooner or later, your temperature would and no one could cover that mess up.”

We were considering this newest blip in our nest of blips when the knock came to the door. Kimiko raised her eyebrow at me in question, but I just sighed. “That would be Stavos. The techie guru we asked to consult.” Pulling free of Billy, but not before giving in to a steadying kiss, just to remind one another that at least ONE part of our world was steadfast, I walked to the door to let in what I could only imagine would be MORE bad fucking news.

Carrie Stavos didn’t look like I thought she would. I had a thought that she’d be spiky haired and edgy. Instead she looked more librarian with a hint of a kindergarten teacher tossed in for fun. Glasses perched on her nose, she took in her surroundings with the ease of someone who was used to blending in with the wallpaper. Unfortunately for Carrie, I needed her to be the center of attention.

Once I had her situated in my chair, my laptop out of sight out of mind, I started with the soft balls. First with the types of chips that might be implanted in people, then on to the reasons for the chips. From there we went to more nefarious reasons for chipping people, superbeings for instance.

“Superbeings?” Her eyes widened. “You want to chip supes?”

I shook my head emphatically. “No, I most certainly do NOT want to chip supes.” Couldn’t be further from the truth. “I’m simply asking, if I found out that a particular supe was, in fact, chipped multiple times, what would the purpose aside from GPS be for those chips?”

From wide to narrow slits, thinking hard, I could tell, Carrie was working out the question I’d posed her. “I know that the Seven are chipped, for location, of course.” A tilt of confirmation and understanding on my part kept her going. “If you found that other supes were chipped, and if they had more than one?” Another tilt, and she sighed, her head shaking. “I can only think of one reason and it’s terrible.”

“Terrible?” It was Billy, leaning forward and eager, because while Ryan was his responsibility if something was terrible for a supe, he would like to hear about it.

“Yes, terrible.” Carrie looked a little green around the gills. “I’ve heard of a type of chip, I thought they were like Urban Legends, but maybe not.” A tiny sigh escaped ever as she blanched a bit. “Inhibitors.”

Now my eyes turned to slits as I tried to process this reality. That a chip could be implanted to - no, they wouldn’t have, would they? “Inhibitor?”

“If there’s more than one?” I nodded, barely seeing Carrie as I ran through the list of Ryan’s powers like a scroll. “Each chip could be specific for ONE power, in place to stop that one, hold it at bay. Inhibit the supe from accessing it.” Not training him to use his powers responsibly or control them, but to literally neuter him. I felt like throwing up. “Terrible.” She whispered and I had to concur.

#billy butcher x ofc #the boys #alternative universe #mention of smut

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