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[exquisiteserotonin]

Precious Possessions

Next Chapter

The day is here! The one I hope some of you have been waiting for, the first chapter of my first Dave York fic. I hope you love it as much as I love writing it!

Series Summary: Defense intelligence conferences are always the same informative but also always boring. You didn't expect anything different for this one, but an unexpected meeting with a man named Dave York, changes the trajectory of your conference experience and maybe even more.

Rating/Warnings: This chapter is MA, no smut yet, build up and tension are the name of the game

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: Also used this song for a little bit of inspiration -

Chapter 1: When He Sees Me

“If you have any more questions or comments, I’ve got my official contact information here,” you spoke clearly as you pointed to the screen behind you, “thank you for your time.”

You shouldn’t have been surprised with the number of attendees at your breakout session. The use of AI in defense intelligence continued to be the hot topic in the intelligence community especially for this year’s conference. You hadn’t spent years of nearly sleepless nights and exhausting mornings with development and research to not be considered one of the foremost experts on the subject.

Professionalism and a line of people eager to speak with you prevented you from leaving when you wanted. You scanned the room full of individuals in stuffy business suits and some in even stuffier medal-decorated uniforms. If you didn’t hold your breath, you’d pass out from the stench of testosterone-fueled arrogance.

“So when I think about AI, the pattern analysis and the information clusters---I kind of get how it makes our jobs easier, in theory,” you heard a voice laden with contemplation but also with condescension say.

You were crouched on the ground packing up your laptop, power cord, and briefcase eager to leave. You stretched your fingers and then closed them into tight fists before opening them again. Tension filled your shoulders, chest, and back as you zipped your briefcase. You took a deep, cooling breath through your nose, holding it in and letting it expand in your lungs until swirling notes of calm slowly began to circulate within you.

“But?” You looked up, slowly releasing the calming air from your lips. When you stood up, you were taken aback by the sight of a roguishly handsome man.

He stood before you, both hands on his hips in a posture that aimed to imbue you with intimidation at his authority. You held his brown-eyed stare with your own, always looking for an excuse to use your well-honed observation skills. He wore a well-fitting, but simultaneously well-used navy blue suit, worn just enough that you assumed he reserved it especially for conferences. You concluded that he be must upper-level management with a defense contractor, but more likely a high-level manager at an intelligence agency.

“I think AI’s shortcoming is its innate lack of understanding of human behavior,” he stated with a shrug. “A lack of human perception means you can’t analyze and decipher intent and it can’t interpret how we make decisions based on feeling, based on interpersonal communication.”

“You assume that this is a problem that’s not being taken into consideration,” the urge to defend your work was palpating in your veins. “More funding and support is needed for human analysts; how else do you think innovation would move forward?”

He took his right hand and rubbed the side of his face, while smoothing the side of his brown hair. His expression was full of collected calm paired with a confidence that you somehow suspected was well-earned. That pissed you off the most. He clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth and lips curled up into a smirk, revealing a dimple on his right cheek on his clean-shaven face.

“Hmm,” he murmured, keeping his eyes on you like it was a challenge he had to win, “your misplaced hostility speaks volumes.”

A tightness grew in your shoulders and rose to your neck from the nerve of his words. You clenched your jaw, your tongue pressing tightly at the roof of your mouth behind your teeth.

“But not quite as loud as your misogyny,” the words left your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Enjoy the rest of the conference.”

You glided away, disallowing him the chance to introduce or explain himself. You shook hands with attendees while giving away dazzling smiles as you made your escape. It was easy to weave through the crowd, as most people found ways to linger and speak to good friends and long-lost acquaintances. That was just how international conferences worked.

Fortune was in your favor as you found solace in an elevator. You backed yourself into one of the corners, continuing to people watch as more conference-attendees entered. You noted a man in his mid-to-late 50s, his graying blonde hair cut close to his head and his blue uniform filled with rows of medals and insignias. He was followed by a couple, who appeared to be trying their hardest to hide their intimacy with each other through closed-off, professional postures. But you knew better. The way they looked at each other screamed at you that they used this annual conference to conduct their long-standing affair.

A groan nearly escaped you, when you saw the same man who approached you after your presentation. His eyes were alight with intense determination and his brows knitted towards each other, creasing the space just above his nose. A tight intensity settled over your chest and neck as you backed yourself further into your corner of the elevator. The unremitting concentration that inhabited his eyes gave you the distinct feeling of being hunted. You tried as fast as you could to avert your eyes away from him. The dimple that revealed itself in the errant grin he gave you when his eyes met yours told you that you failed. 

You made every attempt to affect disinterest, placing hyper focus on your phone, examining the cuticles of every single one of your nails, even staring at the floor. You barely paid attention as the people you shared the elevator with exit at their floor. Not even the surreptitious couple, who you assumed left the elevator at the same time. Inevitably, the handsome and arrogant stranger was the only one who remained.

“I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” you heard him say.

“Hm?” You could feel your brow beginning to furrow as your attitude fought against your level-headedness to gain control. “I’m sorry?”

“You called me a misogynist,” Dave reminded you with a smirk, speaking of it as a badge he wore with honor.

“Oh yes, that’s right,” you sighed the sarcasm dripping from every word, “and I’m hostile.”

“No,” the voice he spoke with was calculating and unmoving, “I said you had hostility, and you took it upon yourself to assume that I was a misogynist.”

“Semantics,” you said your voice was quick like it was jumping from a trap.

“I’m not the kind of man stupid enough to belittle someone’s life’s work,” he raised his hands up as if he was conceding to you, “especially when she’s clearly brilliant.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as he spoke those words, trying to decipher if there was some kind of hidden meaning or intent behind them. There was an air about him that commanded your attention. Perhaps it was the dichotomy that he seemed to present the further you observed him. He was competent yet personable, casual yet professional, and guarded but disarming. You worked through these thoughts in your mind as the whirring of the elevator took over as it continued upward.

“Well, at least you’re smart enough to know when you’ve made a mistake,” you said with a nod of your head.

“Are you going to the networking social?”

You weren’t certain if he was simply curious or was inviting you.

“Oh god no,” you were quick to answer with a loud groan, almost too loud, “that’s just not my thing.”

The handsome stranger shrugged, “They’re usually filled with self-righteous assholes, anyway.”

The accuracy and the irony of his statement bubbled up laughter from your belly. A feeling made of confusion, guilt, and absurdity came over you as you felt yourself beginning to let your guard down. He wasn’t supposed to apologize. He wasn’t supposed to be interesting or intriguing. He should have just been a one-dimensional, arrogant asshole.

“Well,” you spoke, an unexpected grin forming on your lips, “looks like we might actually be on the same page this time.”

He held his hand out and offered you a smile full of purpose. “I’m Dave, Dave York, D.I.A.”

The immediacy with which you gave him your name surprised you. As he shook your hand you noted a slight awkwardness to his grip, though you could tell he was making every effort to give you a strong handshake. The skin on the inside of his palm and his fingertips were slightly weathered with scar tissue. You noticed the cold feeling of metal on his left-hand ring finger and took note of the wedding ring, trying not to frown. A corner of your brain wondered about the stories that could be found in the lines of those weathered hands.

“Hmm, D.I.A.,” you murmur to yourself. “Was following me to the elevator just your creepy way of getting me to talk shop with you?”

“You think I’d be that obvious?” His voice lowered an octave when he turned to face you and a chill tingled all over you.

“Well I don’t know you,” you replied with a shrug, “but I’d say if you were, you’d be pretty shitty at your job.”

“You’ve got a mouth on you don’t you, firefly,” he said, his brow lowering as he took one step toward you.

His hands tightened on his hips as he stepped toward you and he squared his shoulders behind him. Your brain took stock of each movement, at each attempt to make himself seem bigger and you seem smaller. A wicked little laugh brewed inside your abdomen as you accepted his challenge, moving one inch forward. You were close enough to breathe in his scent and your gaze moved from his neck, up to his lips and then to his eyes. 

“When you’re a woman in the IC, you’ve got to find ways to adapt; it’s nothing personal.”

An unremorseful apology. 

The elevator bell rang out with a loud ding.

“This is my stop,” holding your gaze to him, neither of you moved

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime this week.”  

“Maybe,” you agreed with the tilt of your head, that felt almost too flirty to you. “Enjoy the rest of your conference.

“You too,” he affirmed as he pulled his phone from his pocket, quickly becoming engrossed by a text message that you suspected was from his spouse.

Slight disappointment set in that you could not continue the conversation, but your exhaustion was quickly winning out. Your eyelids and muscles felt heavy as they screamed louder for rest. You ambled to your room and as you opened the door you immediately kicked off your high heels and shook your arms out of your blazer, tossing it on the bed. You walked back to the bathroom and reached into the shower, turning the dial towards hot. Mindlessly, you began unbuttoning your light coral blouse when you heard a knock at your room door. An audible sigh of frustration left you as you quickly turned the water off.

Who could possibly have any reason to bother me right now, you thought to yourself, using the peephole to look outside.

“Hey, it’s me,” you saw and heard your coworker from the other side of the door, “Brad.”

You took a deep breath, making your annoyance before opening the door.

“Hi, Brad,” you greeted tentatively, “everything OK?” 

“Oh yeah, everything is fine,” he replied with a grin that was too perfectly and polished. “Heard you did a good job on your presentation.”

“Heard?” You said with a raised brow.

“That’s the word from all the guys I’ve run into who attended,” he explained leaning against your doorway. “They were really impressed with you.”

A wave of exhaustion immediately took over your shoulders and you stepped back. You felt inconvenienced and nearly disgusted as you observed Brad’s eyes meet yours but travel down the length of your body. Every word that left him wrapped you in disgust.  The perfection that he displayed reeked of privilege. He was the typical aging former college frat boy and it did nothing for you. The entitlement he wore on his shoulders might as well have been a flashing, neon sign shouting out that he could get away with anything. 

“That’s cool,” you say quickly, inching closer and closer to shutting the door. “Well, I’m going to finish up some reports and turn in; I am beat.”

“What?” he stared back at you in confusion. “It’s not even 6 yet, and happy hour’s just started.”

“And you are much better at rubbing shoulders with the bigwigs, B,” you compliment hoping it would make him leave faster. “Work that magic of yours. Happy-hour it and let me know how it goes?”

You shut the door quickly hoping that you left him dumbfounded.

With him gone you were able to return to all the things you planned to bring you relaxation. You returned to the shower, the water warming quickly. The warmth of the water encompassed you, easing the tension of your neck, shoulders, and back muscles. You stepped out, wrapping yourself in a towel. The next hours were perfectly mundane. You wrapped yourself in a hotel robe, had a light dinner, read for fun, and basked in your nightly skincare routine. Before you knew it you had fallen asleep in your bathrobe with the tv on.

You woke up with a start, your brain hazy with confusion. Rolling over, you were greeted with the bright light of the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. 12:12 AM. You weren’t even sure what time you had fallen asleep. You nestled yourself back into the bed, trying to will the white noise of the air conditioner and soft fullness of the down comforter to lull you back to sleep. Instead, you found yourself tossing and turning and very much awake.

With frustration, you pull on a pair of high-waisted sweatpants and a yellow tank top, layering your navy-blue blazer over it to appear at least halfway decent. You took one last look at yourself in the mirror, brushing fingers through your hair before securing it into a messy French twist with one of your hair clips. A puff of air left from your lips as you chuckled at yourself.

Don’t be ridiculous, you thought to yourself. You’re not trying to impress anybody.

The silence of the empty halls amplified the echo of your light footsteps towards the elevator. You waited patiently, with arms crossed until you found yourself on the ground level of the hotel. Relief washed over you when you noticed that the hotel bar was less busy than you expected. The bartender attended to you quickly filling your order of a whiskey, allowing you to find a quiet corner booth to enjoy your drink.  The bar was open to the lobby and allowed you to people watch as you took slow sips of your drink. You glanced at your watch.

12:57 am. No one interesting is going to walk through those doors at this hour.

You took another sip of your drink, letting the smokiness coat your lips, tongue, and the back of your throat with sweet burn before you looked up again, noticing a familiar, handsome face walk through the lobby doors. Dave. He was rubbing his hands from the cold December air and his brown hair was covered in a dark gray beanie. You kept your eyes on him, thinking he wouldn’t notice until he locked eyes with you and raised his right arm with a wave. He stopped, shuffling his feet beneath him with indecision until he began to walk towards the bar, towards you.

“We meet again,” you greeted, gesturing for him to take a seat across from you. “Back late, I see.”

“Ah, yeah,” he acknowledged his arrival as though it were an afterthought, “sometimes you get caught up with colleagues and you just don’t have a choice.”

“True,” you agreed, “I get it.”

“What about you?” He inquired, pointing towards your drink. “You’re up late.”

“Oh, yeah, I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, taking another sip of it, “that’s why I look like this.”

You waved your hands towards yourself, trying to emphasize how completely unimpressive your appearance was. A chill overcame you as his expression changed, his brow furrowing almost scornfully.

“I don’t know about that,” his eyes reading every inch of you from your head all the way down to your toes, “you look…good.”

Goosebumps tiptoed up and down your arms, like little finger tips tapping and teasing you. You unconsciously crossed and uncrossed your legs, feeling the fabric of your underwear rub against you, your entrance welling with your own sweet dew. Your eyes took a split-second glimpse of his wedding ring. Against your better judgment, you allowed yourself to smile at his compliment. You traced the rim of your whiskey-filled lowball glass, thinking how to respond.

“Congratulations, you have eyes,” you quipped, coaxing a low, growling laugh from him before you continued. “So, I couldn’t sleep, and I came down here to people watch.”

He leaned forward at your comment, his brown eyes round and wide as he raised his eyebrows with interest. His shoulders loosened and his newly relaxed demeanor invited more conversation.

“You like that?” He asked, his brows raised with curiosity. “People watching, I mean.”

The double entendre that left his pouted lips electrified you, feeling his electricity unexpectedly flick at your nipples and then at your core. The dim lighting of the hotel bar, the light jazz music playing over the speakers, and your hushed voices amplified the mysterious ambience around you. All of it together seemed so perfect that you couldn’t help following his lead, so you leaned in closer. Even in a beanie and wearing a thick jacket, you found him nearly irresistible.

“It’s a favorite pastime of mine,” you answered, keeping your eyes on him, “I like to think about people’s stories, people’s personal stories.”

“Is that why you were looking at me, observing me?” His tone dipped in a thin layer of accusation coupled with intense interest. “Trying to figure out my story?”

You stare back at him with a deep breath, wondering why you kept engaging when you knew you should stop.

“I’m not surprised you noticed,” you stated nonchalantly, “as unsurprised as you probably are about me wondering about your wedding ring.”

He strained his left hand open and closed, looking at his own ring as though it was a triviality. To your surprise, he leaned toward you even more, like a challenge.

“You know there’s a lot more to people’s stories than what you can piece together from a fleeting observation,” as he spoke, it felt like his charisma was vibrating off him and floating towards you. “Life, relationships are messy, complicated.”

 You read the unspoken words that uttered from the moves of his body. One hand resting open in the empty space between you in the booth. The fingers of his other hand rubbing at his chin and lips, which curled into an enticing smile. These movements and these words lingered in your brain, until you understood that they were filled with intrigue and desire. You breathed them in and mirrored them.

“So what about your story Dave,” you inquired, leaning in but making sure you kept your eyes to his, “your life, your relationship?”

You found yourself involuntarily licking your lips. The whiskey along with the heat of embarrassment flushed your cheeks and neck. It had you finally admitting to yourself that this man was really fucking attractive. He tilted his head towards you, smiled, and damn near melted you as he traced the bottom of his pouty lips with his thumb. Your eyes tracing every move of his immense, sinewy hands, as he checked the time on his gold watch.

1:47 AM.

“It’s too late right now to tell you that,” he teased, drawing a slight huff of frustration from you, “Ask me tomorrow night, here at the bar. 7:30.”

“How presumptuous of you to assume I’d be available,” you said, tipping your whiskey towards him, impressed by his ability to avoid answering a hard question.  

 “Oh firefly, you’re not the only one who’s good at reading people,” the words left his lips luring you and trapping you like a vice. “Nothing about this tells me you’ll say no.”

Dave gestured at the narrow space between you, his hand almost cutting through the warm air like a sharp blade. The innuendo of his words threatened to set you ablaze. You took another sip of whiskey, allowing it to warm and loosen your muscles, allowing it to calm you.

“Well then,” you willed yourself to hold your tongue lightly against your lips before breathing out the last word, “tomorrow.”

With a nod of confirmation, he stood up and swaggered towards the elevators. An audible gasp that had been saving itself in your lungs escaped you when you knew for sure that he was gone. You chased it with a final gulp of your whiskey, feeling its exquisite burn as it moved through you. Leaving a tip on the table, you stood up and made your way towards the elevator.

Tomorrow night. Your brain spoke to you again.

At that moment the elevator doors opened, and you entered. You returned to your room, discarding your blazer and sweat pants, before plopping into bed. You grabbed the fluffy comforter up to your chin, inviting in and surrendering to sleep.

[i-didnt-do-1t]

Oscar had been scrubbing at the same shirt for twenty minutes now, the hot water he was using having long since turned to a cold murky grey. His fingers were frozen. He knew he’d have to relent soon and waste another of his matches to strike up the fire again and boil some more water but he was tempted to just dump the shirt and say fuck it.

It was only because it was da’s that he kept it, even after it got spattered with blood earlier. Busting Jacob’s nose was satisfying for a multitude of reasons, not least because it finally got him to shut up, but the walking mouth had to spurt with blood apparently.

The stain wasn’t coming out.

Oscar didn’t consider himself particularly sentimental, especially not in relation to his old man, an asshole and a neglectful fucking excuse of a da, but there was a clawing in him still; to make him proud. It’s what the shirt was.

It was too big on him back on the farm when da had shoved it at him and told him to get dressed up all nice and proper cause they had a contractor coming to look at the land, but Oscar had put it on and buttoned it up and da had rolled up the sleeves to his elbows and fixed the collar and tried to make it look like it fit.

He’d slapped Oscar on the shoulder then, and told him he looked real smart and if Oscar flinched then neither of them acknowledged it. He remembered da’s expression, something actually hopeful for once and different from the cruel indifference or tense anger he was used to being directed at him. ‘If he buys the farm’ da had said, ‘we can move to the city. Your ma, and Mo an’ us. And we can get jobs. Somethin’ proper. Look after ‘em.’

The contractor hadn’t bought the land.

And even when da had whacked him round the head and told him it was his fuckin’ fault, Oscar hadn’t bled on the shirt.

He pulled it out of the basin and scrubbed at the stain.

He didn’t care. He didn’t give a shit that it was da’s or that it was given to him or that he could fucking remember the feeling of pride that had thrummed through him when da had said he wanted him at his side showing this man around and ultimately fucking it up-

He drowned the shirt in the water again.

He didn’t give a shit. He just needed a clean shirt for the morning, for work. That was it.

And if it was all he ever gave Oscar aside from his eyes and a temper he couldn’t stomach, then fuck that too.

[108garys]

Manny Sherman dialogue transcribed

I really enjoyed transcribing the little hope puritan dialogue a bit ago despite it being one heck of an undertaking and I've always wanted to do a similar thing on a much smaller scale(this time) so as an afternoon task I pulled up a video of the four Sherman tapes and typed out his on screen dialogue, it'll be good for writing him and better understanding his vocabulary and maybe some time around I'll do something a little more substantial like Randolph Hodgson's journal but that aside I feel Sherman's dialogue flows really well and does a great job with characterisation, can you believe there's barely more than a thousand words from him all up? Regardless I've tried to follow the in game captions on the video which can be a little hard at times due to white text on a grey background with the occasional white detail obscuring stuff but I believe I got it at least 99% accurate and beyond that I added in places in brackets that he laughed but not the uncaptioned sounds of him getting his ass kicked because I thought one added something and the other wouldn't(and here's the video I used)

(interrogation - tape 1)

Manny Sherman. Born January one. Nineteen fifty-six.

Come on, you already know all this. What do you want?

What's this?… Huh… You've been doing your research, haven't you Special Agent Munday?

What are my favorite television programs?

Describe my first pet.

What were your friends like as a child?

What is this?!

You taking a survey or you trying to learn something?

Would it kill you to be direct?

You wanted to know what inspired me? As if I wasn't an original?

Well… maybe there was one man I found myself a little fascinated by.

Henry. Howard. Holmes.

Why? Because he was numero uno.

America's first. The guy invented the trade. He set the benchmark, you know?

Learn your history, Munday. Read a book.

You think because I stuck a blade in some people and get off on it I'm not smart?

I, heh… 'allegedly'… killed 13 people before you got smart enough to find me…

__

(interrogation - tape 2)

…had to build my own little castle, just like Holmes did.

Most people like me do their business where their target lives. That's just asking to get caught.

Holmes had the right idea. It was all about the honeytrap.

You bring me some smokes? Like I asked?

Lucky Reds? Yes! These are like gold in here. Damn that's good. So yeah, the honey pot.

Holmes built a hotel about a mile from the World's Fair and CALLED it the World's Fair Hotel and bought ad space in the papers alongside ads for the expo.

Rubes from far and wide assumed it was the official hotel!

Ma and Pa Kettle take a train in from Nebraska, takes three days, they roll up into that joint ready to rest, get to their room… and whoops- what do ya know… Holmes had a gas pipe hidden under the bed and poisons them.

Or maybe he pulls a trap door on them.

Maybe he separates them and makes one watch through a window while he slits the other's throat.

That's the advantage of a honey pot: no shortage of targets.

That's why I picked all those houses north of the airport.

That whole neighborhood was scheduled for demolition and yet…

All those lovely realtor ladies must not have gotten the memo.

Call up as a contractor, tell them I'm flipping, have them meet me out there… and look at that… we're the only two people for miles.

The first couple times I'd wait for a plane to fly over, just to hide their screams, but…

after a while I realized they could scream as loud as they wanted.

No one was gonna hear a thing.

That's what I remember most.

Those screams.

You can try to understand why I am the way I am. You can forensic science up all the data you want.

But you'll never know… You'll never know, Munday… You'll never really know how it feels when you watch the fire burn out of somebody.

__

(interrogation - tape 3)

(laughter)

A whole carton this time? You trying to get on my good side or something?

Think I'll save them.

What? No questions? What's going on with you, Munday?

You seem different.

(laughter) I see that that glimmer in your eye, you little devil.

I can keep secrets, man… we all have them.

That prosecutor is trying to get numbers out of me. Know that?

Of course you know that. Numbers. They got Holmes for 27… but we know he was closer to 200, right?

Can you imagine that? I wish I'd had the time to try and beat that.

Sure they know about those nice realtor ladies… they got families after all.

But the numbers the D.A. is asking me about… I think he knows there's some people out there- rejects… misfits… the kind of people that when you see them coming you look the other way.

Does anyone notice if they go missing?

My father always told me to leave my mark on the world.

I never knew what he meant by that- not until I watched that first girl bleed out.

I call it art. That's my signature on society.

It's not murder, it's an aesthetic response to what this has world made me.

Ask people to list killers, and they'll drop five, ten on you before they can't think of any more.

Ask them to name the detectives that caught those killers- no one is going to say a damn thing.

No one knows them. No one cares.

No one makes movies about them.

No one puts their faces on t-shirts.

No one gives a shit.

(quiet chuckle)

I've left my mark on the world…

…have you?

__

(interrogation - tape 4)

You want to know what it means to be a killer?

You ever been to the art museum downtown?

They got this painting by a guy… forgot his name. Famous painter.

He did portraits of slaughtered cows hanging on hooks.

You take a normal person to a slaughterhouse and they will puke their guts out.

You make it into a painting and suddenly it's art.

There's no difference between the two. Not really.

Don't look at me like that. You know I'm right.

You get it. I know you get it.

You got to do something that matters. Make people feel something they've never felt before.

Shatter the illusion that any of us are really in control.

Think of the most profound thing you've ever done… the most beautiful thing you've ever created… and I promise you… it's nothing compared to watching the life bleed out of someone.

To see the fear in their eyes, to feel them pawing at you for release, to hear them pleading- begging…

That moment when someone realizes they are at their end…

That's when you feel it. That's true art.

That's what you have to be- an artist… a sculptor… an architect.

I see the gleam in your eye, Agent Munday, You're not fooling me.

Oh, look at you now, huh?

Am I going to be your first?

Well come on then- I'm right here.

This room is soundproof- you don't even have to wait for a plane to fly overhead.

There… There you are… I see you now.

Not bad… not bad at all.

Bare hands can feel good, huh?

But the blade makes for such a prettier picture.

You've got potential. Agent Munday…

If you truly want to be an artist.

__

@kassiekole22 @delurkr @ctrvpani @aydeenchan

@tinynightmarewoman @kindheartedgummybears @mybrainrotforreal (Know idea as ever with this character on who'd be interested in this but it was a good exercise at any rate)

[latoyalestrange]

IT’S NEVER OVER

Joel Miller x F!OC

Summary: Jessie tries to return to normal life after Joel fixed her car the night before, and subsequently, took over a portion of her mind since the moment she drove home. In an attempt to bury herself in her work to distract herself, she found out she needed Joel much sooner than she anticipated.

Words: idk yet

Warnings: not edited, oblivious mutual pining, fluff, friends to lovers

CHAPTER THREE -- RED LIGHT, GREEN LIGHT

MAY 2, 2002

Butterflies. Huh. Jessie hadn't felt like that in a long time. He was just being nice, right? An established contractor, a very handsome one at that, could be interested in her? To Jessie, he was entirely out of her legue, especially when compared to the men she'd wasted her time on before. That's not what Jessie wanted to do this time around. She couldn't bare to be toyed with anymore, so she needed to be cautious. Either he was the one or love simply didn’t exist. She came to realize over the years that this was true, just for different reasons.

She had a hard time falling asleep that night. She found herself smiling as her mind wandered every time she closed her eyes. She didn’t dream of him once she finally drifted off, in fact she didn’t dream at all. When she opened her eyes, it was suddenly morning but she didnt feel like she slept at all. After a few moments, something felt off. It was much too bright in her room for her usual wake up time for her sunday brunch shift.

“Shit!” She was on her feet in a split second, rushing around to get ready. She fixed the long braid she put her hair in before bed, threw on her uniform, and took the extra few seconds to put a glittery pink gloss on her lips. she raced down the creaky stairs, passing her brother who sat on the couch watching the news.

“Morning! Mom made—“

“I can’t, Leo, I’m late!” She called back as she made it to the back door in the kitchen. She quickly grabbed her dingy tennis shoes and sat down at the table to put them on. The smell of garlic, tomatoes, fresh bread and eggs made her stomach rumble.

“At least take some toast, honey,” her mother, still in her bathrobe and pajamas, emerged from her room off of the kitchen. She took a peice of the perfectly buttered bread she staged next to the pan on the stove and handed it to her daughter.

“Thanks, Ma.” Jessie took the bread after tieing off her second shoe and took a grateful bite. She gave her mother a hug, towering over her petite frame while being average height herself.

“You work too hard, my love.” Her mother squeezed her for as long as she let her. Once her brother entered the room as well, she kissed her on the cheek.

“I love you, Ma,” She avoided the comment, still chewing her bread. She turned to hug her brother as well, who pecked her forehead.

“You’ll be home before dinner?” The girl nodded, taking another bite. They separated and she slung her purse over her shoulder, grabbing her keys off the table. They said their final goodbyes as she walked out the door, a little less flustered and more put together than before.

Her drive to work started out normal. Her car was a little squeaky on a good day and was a bit of an eyesore, but it got her to work and back. That’s all she needed, and frankly, all she and her family could afford. It was her brothers car before he got a new one after getting the factory job. Everything was going to plan, she would be later than she normally was, but if she hussled, she’d be there with a few minutes to spare. But as she could see the stoplight, her halfway point to the diner, she felt a slight jolt in the car. Then, before she could process what was happening, she could hear her car sputtering out in the middle of the road. She tried to accelerate, but it was no use. She thought quickly enough to pull over to the side, in utter disbelief as she put the car in park.

“You have to be kidding…” She sat there for a moment, stunned at her unluckiness as cars honked and drove around her. She rummaged through her purse after a moment, looking for her phone. Sitting on top of it was a sharp index card with “Miller Construction” plastered on the front. She could just call her brother but she’d have to tow her car, and that was money she couldn’t afford to spend. She fought back in forth with herself for a few moments. Time was ticking and the sun was beating down on her in the hot car. Before she knew it, she was dialing the number on the card, her heart pounding as she listened to it ring.

“Miller Construction.” He answered casually.

“I- um—“ Jessie quickly realized how ridiculous this all was. Why would she bother a stranger with this? “It’s Jessie, from the diner…”

He didn’t respond for a beat, so she continued. “Listen, I’m broke down on the side of the road and I’m gonna be late—“

“Where are you?” She was almost caught off guard by his willingness to help her. He hardly knew her. She took a second to look around for street sings.

“I’m on St. Claire and 13th, right next to the Shell—“

“I know where that is, stay put. I’ll be right there.” And with that, he hung up. Somehow, Jessie was left even more confused and flustered than before. She instantly called her boss afterward despite how she was feeling. No matter what, she could not lose this job. Thankfully, her southern-bell waitress was more than understanding.

She waited for what felt like forever, tapping her foot nervously on the floorboard. She recognized their truck as soon as it pulled onto the road, seeing the brothers smiling faces in the front. Tommy pulled it right up next to her, and she couldn’t help but smile as Joel leaned out the window.

“Hi, darlin’. Got a flat?” She shook her head, hoping he didn’t notice her blushing.

“No, she just died on me while I was driving.” Joel climbed out of the truck, the sun forcing him to squint as he looked down at her. Tommy pulled the truck around to align the bed with the front of the car as Joel opened the driver-side door. She gazed up expenctantly for a moment, making his own stomach flutter.

“Scoot over.” He nodded to the passenger seat. She glanced ahead as Tommy hooked something under her car and understood.

“Right, sorry.” She climbed over the center console and almost fell into the passenger seat. Joel attempted to sit down, but quickly realized he couldn’t fit without drawing the seat back first. She stifled a chuckle as he struggled to adjust the seat. He finally settled in with the seat all the way back and tilted just a bit. She could smell his musky cologne instantly.

“Much better.” He sighed before putting the car in neutral. Tommy stuck his hand out the window, giving him brother a thumbs up, which he mirrored.

“Thank you. Really. I would’ve had to pay to get it towed.” Her eyes scanned him as she spoke, taking in the sight of him. God, even the way he sat was so nonchalant yet tempting.

“It’s no problem. I hate to say it but even I get bored on Sundays. My only day off.” He chuckled a bit, leaning on the center console with his muscular arm.

“Let me repay you. Next time you come in, it’s on me.” Their body language was saying everything they didn’t want to say. Turned towards eachother, shoulders relaxed, and it was a good thing Tommy was leading because Joel couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. He knew how much she hated that uniform but it was so damned cute on her.

“Fine. You’re still getting tipped though.”

Jessie spoke too soon, though. Once the brothers got her car to Joel’s garage, she quickly realized a free dinner wasn’t nearly enough. Joel couldn’t find a problem under the hood, so he tried looking underneath her car as Tommy held a flashlight. It was at this point that Sarah emerged from the front door, three waters in hand.

“Hi!” She said cheerfully. “Thought you might be thirsty.” She handed the first one to Jessie.

“Thank you! Your dad’s just looking at my car for me.” She’d heard loads about Sarah. What a good kid she was, how much she took after her father, and some of the things she liked.

“Yeah.” She chuckled knowingly. “He was talking about you last night.” As if it were a reflex, Joel sprang to his feet to meet his daughter.

“Thank you, Sarah. You can go back inside, it’s hot.” He took the last two water bottles and shooed her away. She gave Jessie a pointed look before turning to leave. She glanced at Tommy, who was smiling and holding back laughter.

“Looks like your fuel filter needs changed.” Joel changed the subject, hands stained with oil and sweat beading on his forehead. Fuck. She could hardly focus on what he was saying but it sounded expensive.

“I’ll have to go to the auto shop later. I’ll take you to work on the way so you’re not more late than you already are.” He set one bottle aside for Tommy and opened the other one, drinking selfishly and letting it dribble down his chin.

“Um, sure!” She could hardly speak, let alone know what to say. “But that sounds like a lot of work, no? And money?”

“Don’t worry about it, darlin’. I’ll get it taken care of.” He placed a strong yet comforting hand on her arm, that familiar smoulder on his face.

“Then let me babysit. It takes a village. Maybe I could give her some guidance.” It was the perfect solution. He’d fix her car in exchange for a few weeks of free babysitting and she’d get to keep seeing him. She saw the same realization hit him as a smile tugged on his lips.

“Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He let his hand fall, passing by her to get in his truck that was now parked behind her car. He gestured to the passenger seat again. She quickly followed, having to hoist herself up into the cabin. Once she closed the door, they were locked in again, their own little bubble.

“Thank you, again. For everything.” She repeated sincerily. He was silent for a moment, reading the expression on her face as he pulled away from his house. Her smile was almost inviting.

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart.” His sultry voice sent a shiver down her spine. She turned and blushed, her eyes glued to her purse that sat in her lap. “I might just take you up on that babysitting offer.” He added, smirking over at her.

“I’ll show up and force you out if I have to, Miller. I mean it. I’m making up for every cent you put into my car.” Her voice was stern now, which just made her seem more adorable to him.

“Yes, ma’am.” He complied.

“Good.” He chuckled at her intensity. She rolled her eyes, and she was smiling as she did so.

After a few moments of comfortable silence passed before Joel pulled into the patchy parking lot of the diner.

“Don’t work too hard.” He teased as she unbuckled. She bit her lip, and he could see something in her eyes and the way she looked at him. She inched closer to him, hesitating before kissing his cheek. She smiled as she quickly turned to open the door, avoiding eye contact.

“When should I pick you up?” She hopped out of the truck, holding onto the door for support. She planted her feet on the ground, facing him as she propped the door open. She hadn’t thought of how she would get home tonight, so she answered, “Is ten okay?”

The man nodded almost too eagerly, “Yeah, that’s fine. See you at ten.”

“See you at ten.” And with that, she used most of her upper body strength to push the hefty passenger door closed and turned to walk away. She let her face express her true excitement out of his sight as she hear the truck drive away.

Maybe she asked to babysit Sarah out of the kindness of her heart and to repay her debts. Or maybe, and more likely, she used it as an excuse to see Joel more often. Either way, it was a win for the both of them.

[howdydarling]

MANNY SHERMAN TAPES

TAPE ONE

[Bored] Manny Sherman. Born January one. Nineteen fifty-six. Come on, you know all this. What do you want?

What’s this?

Huh… You’ve been doing your research, haven’t you Special Agent Munday?

What are my favorite television programs? Describe my first *pet?* [Mocking] What were your friends like as a child? [Annoyed] What is this?!

You taking a survey, or you trying to learn something?

Would it kill you to be direct?

You wanted to know what inspired me? As if *I* wasn’t an original?

Well…maybe there was one man I found myself a little fascinated by.

Henry. Howard. Holmes.

*Why?* Because he was numero uno.

America’s *first.* The guy invented the trade. He set the benchmark, you know?

Learn your history, Munday. Read a book.

You think because I stuck a blade in some people and get off on it, I’m not smart?

I, heh… ‘allegedly’…killed 13 people before you got smart enough to find me…

END TAPE

TAPE TWO

…had to build my own little castle, just like Holmes did.

Most people like me do their business where their target lives. That’s just *asking* to get caught.

Holmes had the right idea. It’s all about the honeytrap.

You bring me some smokes? Like I asked? *Lucky Reds.*

*Yes!* These are like *gold* in here.

[Sherman lights a cigarette and inhales] *Damn,* that’s good.

So yeah. The honeypot.

Holmes built a hotel about a mile from the World’s Fair and CALLED it the World’s Fair Hotel, and bought ad space in the papers alongside ads for the expo. Rubes from far and wide assumed it was the official hotel!

Ma and Pa Kettle take a train in from *Nebraska*, takes three days, they roll up into that joint ready to rest, get to their room…and *whoops*—what do ya know…Holmes had a gas pipe hidden under the bed and poisons them.

Or maybe he pulls a trap door on them.

Maybe he separates them and makes one watch through a window while he slits the other’s throat.

That’s the advantage of a honeypot: no shortage of targets. Heh…

That’s why I picked all those houses north of the airport. That whole neighborhood was scheduled for demolition, and yet…all those lovely realtor ladies must not have gotten the memo.

Call up as a contractor, tell them I’m flipping, have them meet me out there…and look at that…we’re the only two people for miles.

The first couple times, I’d wait for a plane to fly over, just to hide their screams, but…after a while I realized, they could scream as loud as they wanted. No one was gonna hear a thing.

That’s what I remember most. Those *screams.*

You can try to understand why I am the way I am. You can forensic science up all the data you want. But you’ll never know…

You’ll never know, Munday…

You’ll never really know how it feels when you watch the fire *burn* out of somebody.

END TAPE

TAPE THREE

[Sherman laughing] A whole carton this time? You trying to get on my good side or something?

Yeah, I uh…I think I’ll save them.

What? No questions? What’s going on with you, Munday?

You seem different.

Oh…[Sherman laughing] I see that glimmer in your eye, you little devil.

I can keep secrets, man…we all have them.

That prosecutor is trying to get numbers out of me. Know that?

Of *course* you know that. *Numbers.*

They got Holmes for 27…but we know he was closer to 200, right?

Can you imagine that? I wish I’d had the time to try and beat that.

Sure, they know about those nice realtor ladies…they got families, after all.

But the numbers the D.A. is asking me about…I think he knows there’s some people out there—rejects…misfits…the kind of people that when you see them coming, you look the other way. Does anyone notice if they go missing?

My father always told me to leave my mark on the world.

I never know what he meant by that — not until I watched that first girl bleed out.

*I* call it *art.* That’s my signature on society.

It’s not murder, it’s an aesthetic response to what this world has made me.

Ask people to list serial killers, and they’ll drop five, ten on you before they can’t think of any more.

Ask them to name the detectives that caught those killers — no one is going to say a damn thing. No one knows. No one *cares.*

No one makes movies about *them.*

No one puts their faces on t-shirts.

No one gives a shit.

[Sherman laughing]

[Sherman sighs, pleased] I’ve left my mark on the world…have *you?*

END TAPE

TAPE FOUR

You want to know what it means to be a killer? You ever been to the art museum downtown?

They got this painting by a guy…I forget his name. Famous painter.

He did portraits of slaughtered cows hanging on hooks.

You take a normal person to a slaughterhouse and they will puke their guts out.

You make it into a painting, and suddenly it’s *art.*

There’s no difference between the two. [Sherman grunts] Not really.

Don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right.

You get it. I *know* you get it.

You got to do something that matters. Make people feel something they’ve never felt before.

Shatter the illusion that any of us are really in control.

Think of the most profound thing you’ve ever done…the most beautiful thing you’ve ever created…and I promise you…it’s *nothing* compared to watching the life bleed out of someone.

To see the fear in their eyes, to feel them pawing at you for release, to hear them pleading — *begging*…

That *moment*, when someone realizes they are at their end…that’s when you *feel* it. That’s true art.

That’s what you have to be — an artist…a sculptor…an architect.

[Sherman exhales smoke] I see the gleam in your eye, Agent Munday. You’re not fooling me.

[Sound of a chair scraping, Hector exclaiming as he punches Sherman]

Oh, look at you now, huh?!

[Hector breathing heavily in background]

Am I going to be your first?

[Sherman yelling] Well come on then — I’m right here! This room is soundproof — you don’t even have to wait for a plane to fly overhead.

[Hector exclaiming, sounds of a struggle, Sherman grunts and groans in pain, more aggressive sounds of Hector beating Sherman]

[Sherman breathing heavily] There…there you are…I see you now.

[Hector punches him again]

Not bad…not bad at all. Bare hands can feel good, huh?

But the blade makes for such a prettier picture.

[Sherman panting quietly] You’ve got potential, Agent Munday…if you truly want to be an artist.

END TAPE

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[laresearchette]

Tuesday, July 16, 2024 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES? DEAD RINGERS (Paramount+ Canada) DEEP IMPACT (Paramount+ Canada) MAFIA SPIES (Paramount+ Canada) JUDGE STEVE HARVEY (City TV) 10:00pm WELCOME TO PLATHVILLE (TLC Canada) 10:00pm SASHA REID & THE MIDNIGHT ORDER (ABC Spark) 10:00pm

WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT DARK SIDE OF THE 90s (TBD)

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME CANADA/CBC GEM/CRAVE TV/DISNEY + STAR/NETFLIX CANADA:

AMAZON PRIME CANADA THE AMERICAN SOCIETY OF MAGICAL NEGROES THE CONNERS (Seasons 1-5) WALLACE & GROMIT: THE CURSE OF THE WERERABBIT WNBA: CONNECTICUT SUN AT NEW YORK LIBERTY

CRAVE TV SNOWPIERCER

DISNEY + STAR PETER THE GREAT: GREATER THAN EVER (Pedro El Escamoso: Mas Escamoso Que Nunca) (all episodes)

NETFLIX CANADA CHAD DANIELS: EMPTY NESTER HOMICIDE: LOS ANGELES

NBA SUMMER LEAGUE (SN Now) 4:30pm: Knicks vs. Nets (TSN5) 6:00pm: Hornets vs. Nuggets (SN1) 6:30pm: Bulls vs. Pistons (TSN4/TSN5) 8:00pm: 76ers vs. Timberwolves (SN1) 8:30pm: Wizards vs. Trailblazers (SN1) 10:30pm: Pelicans vs. Spurs (TSN4/TSN5) 10:00pm: Clippers vs. Bucks

MLB BASEBALL (SN) 7:30pm: 2024 MLB All-Star Game

POW WOW CHOW (APTN) 7:30pm: As the Chippewas of Rama First Nation powwow comes to an end, propane and food supplies dwindle; meanwhile, Shawn and Art participate in an ancient ritual known as the snake dance.

HOLMES FAMILY RESCUE (CTV Life) 8:00pm: Homeowners Tom and Estrella almost got their forever home. Unfortunately, weeks turned to months of contractor drama and incompetence.

THE AMAZING RACE CANADA (CTV) 9:00pm: Plot Twist It's a U-Turn Vote

BEARS' LAIR (APTN) 9:00pm: In round one, three of six semi-finalists are mentored by Dean Montgomery, helping them strengthen their business pitches; after their mentoring session, the contestants are ready to face the Bears and compete for a spot in the season's finale.

SNOWPIERCER (CTV Sci-Fi) 9:00pm: The Snowpiercer crew marvel as a rocket shoots through the sky, crashing nearby; Melanie sends Till and Ben to investigate; nine months later, New Eden blooms.

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[ehud1564]

This is really Knawing at my head right now. I wanted to make a numbered list of all the things I don't like or find wrong about master of the heveanly yard. And one of the things that I constantly think about is Michelle. I was going to give it a jokie title like "who the f*** is Michelle?".

Because Michelle is a bizarre random choice. She is less than a side character, she's just a motivation. We have like less than one episode of her being alive and that's it. She feels like such a bizarre random choice to be the Sleep prince.

Why? Why dose she have the so called "highest compatibility with sloth"? Why would she be a part of MA's perfect shell?? When did she get here? When did Gallerian and her have time to meet and plan all this?

Also. Galerian would not sacrifice Michelle for the world. I think that's just a given honestly. Considering all this time and all the things he did for her.

The only possible reason to choose her, is that she looks like Eve. So Mothy could do the whole "Is she Eve? Where is Eve?" Setup. I think this choice is wrong.

I found three options I prefer for the Sleep princess.

The most reasonable one I think is Bruno.

He's a main character we know well. From both "Judgment of Corruption" and "Muzzle of Nemesis". He's been loyal to Gallerian. He has a strong sense of justice, so I can see him potentially sacrificing himself, if Gallerian tells him it will save the world.

The connection to sloth is not as "out of touch" (that's probably not the right word. I'm thinking of the right one, but I just can't remember it.) as it seems.

Bruno is loyal to Gallerian for a long time, even after he becomes evil. Which I think is kind of connected to sloth because. It's a sort of refusal to look at things objectively. And just kind of doing what feels right. A laziness, a sort of refusal to face the truth.

There should probably be a better explanation for that.

He stays loyal to Gallerian even after he trials Bindi Innocent. Fighting against the Freezis foundation was once his main goal. So galerian in a way made him abandoned his life mission.

I think that makes sense.

This analysis doesn't really take into account the actions Bruno did after Galerian died well. And having Bruno work under Gallerian again will definitely not help with the racism. Of having Bruno serve Gallerian with this loyalty in the first place.

And also, he's quite recognizable and he does not look like Eve at all. So you can't really do the whole Eve thing.

But I think Bruno is the most "non-random" choice there could be. Vast majority of characters are either from The pride arc, or from the recently over Greed Earth arc, he fits right in. It's almost weird to me we haven't seen him. I think pretty much any other character will take will feel extremely detached from everything. Which will make it feel extremely random.

Second option is Mikualia

She looks like Eve, so you could do the whole Eve thing. She also would not really be recognizable to anyone, so you could use it as a sort of element of mystery

She was (kind of) an actual contractor of sloth.

She's extremely naive, and treats her life as a fairy tale. So it makes sense for her to jump at the chance to be a hero.

And it would be nice to get some more characters that aren't in the afformentioned "Greed and Wrath" arc. It feels like the choices of characters is very limited. I can't really think of any more characters that should be added (except maybe Pere Noel), but it's really weird these are the only arcs with characters in the story. Kind of feel like the rest of the arcs were completely forgotten.

I can't really see how Galerian and Gammon would find her though? Gallerian and Gammon know about Kayo, so maybe just the same source as that knowledge.

And I can't really see her fighting someone, and using the gift and such.

My last choice would be Gammon

Not much more than the fact that he's just there, and he doesn't really do all that much more.

Something could be said about how he leads his army to do his dirty work for him while he stays in the theater. That could somehow be connected to sloth. It can also kind of signal Gammon turning from an avid fighter of Justice to being stuck in the theater. And also the simplistic thinking of the contractors as pure evil.

Maybe there's a little bit more to this than I initially thought. But still not much.

Also he does not look like Eve.