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celestemagnoliathewriter · 11 months

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Sirius Black Appreciation Post

Time to celebrate Sirius Black's birthday by highlighting my favorite canon facts 🥳

Sirius is tall. We're talking at least 6'.

He's intelligent AF. He became an Animagus at 15. He charmed a Muggle motorbike to fly (Arthur couldn't do that with a car, Sirius did it in his late teens, latest at age 20). He escaped from Azkaban. He got a cat to order a racing broom. My man is brilliant, no doubt about it.

Sirius has a complicated relationship with his mother and it is *not* merely hatred. Note that he did not destroy his mother's portrait, or slash it as he did with the Fat Lady's. I'm confident that he could've figured out a way to destroy it or otherwise get rid of it, but he doesn't. His refuge is in his mother's old room with Buckbeak. There's something very complicated in his relationship with his family that can't be labeled as simple loathing. Sirius may have run away from home at 15/16, but his background 100% shaped him and left its mark on his personality and psyche.

Sirius was good friends with Lily. The letter from Lily to Sirius is great proof of that - it wasn't James who wrote that letter, but LILY. Sirius was smiling and genuinely happy at Jily's wedding.

Sirius is emotionally driven, and lashes out *with good reason.* When he goes after Wormtail the night the Potters died, it's because Harry is taken away from him. He has nothing to hold him down - and even gives his motorbike to Hagrid. When he tries to get to Wormtail in PoA, he slashes the portrait but doesn't harm a single boy in his search for the rat. When he goes to the Department of Mysteries, his focus is on Harry. These are good reasons, even if it puts him in danger.

Sirius has a great sense of humor. He puts little Santa hats on the decapitated elf heads. He chases pigeons as Padfoot just to make Harry smile. He sends a good luck note with a muddy paw print. He is scathingly funny, when he derides Peter's hero worship of James in Snape's Worst Memory. He's bitter and sarcastic. We love to see it.

Sirius is a baby boomer. He was born in 1959. "Ok, boomer," is an applicable retort.

Sirius is not misogynistic. He does not hate women. He is often kinder to women than men. He helps Ginny up in OoTP. No matter how angry he gets at Molly, he is never, ever physical with her (unlike the way Sirius is with snape, who he does get physically aggressive with). He is kind to Hermione. He had a great relationship with Lily. Even in the end, his last words to Bellatrix are 'you can do better than that.'

Sirius does not have a canonical love interest.

Sirius is willing to challenge Dumbledore. This is an important point - with so many people deferring to Dumbledore's judgment, including Remus, the Weasleys, and Harry - Sirius will challenge him and his decisions. He may not get his way, but Sirius has the personal strength and confidence to challenge one of the greatest wizards of all time.

Sirius was great with animals. Crookshanks and Buckbeak are prime examples of this.

Sirius is deeply flawed: he can get very intense. He can be rash, even if he has good reasons. He can be bitter to the point of hurting others ('the risk would've made it fun for James'). He can be cruel and condescending (my robes have enough filth without you touching them/wormail will piss himself with excitement). He can be callous (wishing it was the full moon, sending Snape on a potentially deadly adventure). He's a hurricane of deep, complex emotions.

Canon Sirius would obliterate fanon Sirius.

Happy birthday, Sirius. You would've loved James Sirius, Albus Severus, and Lily Luna. You'd have had the time of your life at Hinny's wedding. You are an absolute king.

#sirius black #sirius orion black #happy birthday sirius #tall sirius black #the marauders #marauders era #james potter #peter pettigrew #remus lupin #harry potter

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fxdizz-y · 2 years

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GHOST X GEN Z + GN!READER

A/N: Hiii first fanfic on tumblr kinda nervous😣 I'm not going to take request just yet this is all for my cravings💀🙏🙏 I'd love if you teach me scottish slang too!

Pairing: (mainly) Ghost x gn!reader || slight Task Force 141 x gn!reader

C/W: Strong language, age gap, fluff, kinda suggestive flirts, Ghost being a boomer, dark humor, no use of Y/N, your call sign is 'Spring' (the metal one), teasing, not in the same timeline as the game, they simping hard for each other

T/W: unhealthy habits (skin peeling around the nails etc)

(Don't mind the song I just listen to it while writing)

『••✎••』

Your life was dull, nothing seems to made you excited anymore. Don't get you wrong, you have an okay childhood, even though you had force yourself to grow up at some point but you didn't mind all that much.

Not like you ever did, you're that 'nice' kid that let people borrow their belongings and seems to don't hold grudges.

But in truth, you weren't that nice. No, you did hold grudges, the only reason you didn't say anything was because you knew that it'll be pointless to argue and you just over all wasn't a social kid.

When you finally hit off to high school, you instantly realized that it'll be hell.

And you weren't wrong.

You were one of those alt kids that wear band shirts and heavy eyeliners. Admittedly it was kind of fun.. But the bullying just drove you to the edge.

But those were memories in the past.

You're 23 now, fidgeting your fingers and scraping the dead skins on your nails, standing next to a woman with dirty blonde short hair.

Her icy blue eyes stare right ahead of you both. She had introduced herself earlier, her name is Kate Laswell.

You both were waiting for some dude to show up, apparently he's supposed to come and get you so you can officially be in his little group.

After what feels like years, a man finally make his way to you, or more likely, Laswell.

– "Price."

Laswell said, turning towards the man, you took a step behind Laswell, hiding yourself from the taller male.

– "Laswell."

The man greeted, before continue.

– "And where is this rookie?"

'Price' ask, his eyes scanning the room. Laswell scoff and give your back a harsh pat, making you step out of her shadow.

– "Price, this is Spring."

– "What."

Price look at you and back at Laswell, clearly hoping this was some sorts of joke.

Unluckily, Laswell eyes tell the truth.

– "For fuck sake, that's literally an INFANT! "

Price exclaim, gesturing towards you while keeping his eyes on Laswell.

You held yourself back from rolling your eyes, keeping your composure.

– "Where the fuck is your manners? You either take them or have troubles missing a skilled hacker."

Laswell snaps, glaring at Price.

The corner of your lips tug up at that, feeling happy and flustered.

Price groans and turns to you, looking at you up and down, judging you hard.

– "Oh my fuckin.. You know I can't just put a baby with the toddlers, the big boys can be mean sometimes."

– "The baby are the meanest, trust me."

Laswell sigh out, pushing you towards the captain.

Price sigh in defeat, before just nod at Laswell.

– "I'll take them"

He grumble before mentioning you to go outside, which you obeyed.

When you made it outside you wait for the captain, which come after you after a few moment.

He gesture to the car and you sat on the backseat.

He quirk a brow up but didn't question it.

The way to your new base felt like forever, especially when none of you decide to talk. So being you, you hums to yourself to MCR.

You were into your own little world and didn't noticed how Price glance at the mirror sometimes to look at you.

He didn't speak of course, just silently observing and quite enjoy this rather than painful silence.

After quite some time the car park at an unfamiliar base, well to you anyways.

You scrambled out the car and went back to fidgeting your fingers, scrapping and peeling off the skin around the nail etc.

Price glance at you and pat your shoulder, a quiet sign for you to follow.

You follow without hesitation, stuffing your hands in your camo pants pocket and let your eyes wander around the place, taking mental notes on which path leads to where since you figured you'll be staying here for awhile.

Each steps you take only make your excitement grows, something that you haven't felt this strong for ages.

Your eyes sparkle with wonders like a child again and you have a great feeling about this, despite your captain bad first impression.

You both walk into a room and the captain told you that your team would be meeting you when they arrive, so you sit on the small locker and swinging your legs, feeling nervous.

You didn't let your mind wandered for too long when the door swing open and 3 men walks in.

And good grief.

They were huge. And you didn't mean it in the dirty way.

Like literally. Especially the one in the back. Despite being behind the two other men you can clearly tell that he's the tallest and the biggest, his skull mask stands out as his eyes stare right into you, you feel absolutely fucking naked under them.

Price motion for you to get down and as you hop down you could almost feel your knees gave up.

– "Hello sailor.."

You mumbled, eyes glued to the tallest man in the room. You could tell that he's about 6'2" and a half.

Luckily Price didn't heard what you just mumbled and continue on introducing you to the team.

You smile cheapishly at all of them, deciding that it was enough eye candy.

– "Aye Rookie?"

A man with faux haircut call you, whom recently introduced himself as Soap wink at you playfully.

– "Name's Spring, sir."

You said, winking back, returning the energy.

– "What's with the name?"

Gaz ask, patting your back.

– "I can do em big jump, sir!"

You exclaim proudly.

Gaz look at you with mischief in his eyes, despite being older you can already tell this guy means good trouble.

Soap, who's probably the closest to your age sling his arm over your shoulder.

– "How 'bout yer show us hm?"

He said, letting his arm fall from your shoulder.

You nod and looking around, looking for a perfect thing you can jump on.

Before it lands on one and only Lieutenant.

Soap immediately notice and give you an unsure stare, knowing how Ghost hate physical touches.

– "Lieutenant?"

You call out, a fuzzy feeling form on your stomach.

And it explode into thousands butterflies when his eyes snaps to you, before they turns gentle.

It may look like he's glaring down at you but you both know that if you look close enough, you'd see the soft, gentleness in it. As if he's being careful to not scare you away. Or maybe it's your imagination.

You sure hope it's fucking not.

Ghost couldn't even believe it. He doesn't believe in this whole love at first sight deal. Just ridiculous.

And ironic isn't it, Lieutenant?

He wasn't listening to your chit chats before so when a soft voice calls out for him he was surprised.

And he craves more of your voice. He wanna hear you say his name.

And god you're so tiny standing in front of him.

You look so.. So fragile to him.

– "Uhm.. Sir?"

You call out again, slowly placing a hand on his arm, fucking desperate to get his attention back.

You definitely awoken something in him with that.

And you knew it when you can feel him tense up.

Ghost focus back on you again, nodding for you to do whatever you want.

Soap and Gaz was FLABBERGASTED.

L.T being soft? Man they whish they could record this right now.

But that'll be a dead wish.

You jog behind him, before running up to him and jump high. And holy shit.

You didn't lie.

You could almost jump over him.

But you didn't since there wasn't enough space, instead you land on his shoulder.

You would be concern for the neck you could broke but you weren't in your gears so you weren't heavy.

You cheers when you land on him, almost sending him to the floor.

He pause. Unsure how to feel.

#ghost call of duty #ghost riley #mw2 x reader #simon riley #call of duty x reader #x reader #gen z!reader #cod mw22 #call of duty modern warfare #task force 141 #gender neautral reader #Spotify

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miradelletarot · 3 months

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Trauma Dump Hours

Apologizing in advance. This is gonna be HEAVY FEELS. I just...need somewhere to put all of my thoughts down so feel free to scroll past this.

**This is HEAVY mental and emotional trauma with mentions of abortion within so please be mindful of the content below the cut**

I have made mentions of my parents before, but never really went into too much detail about my relationship with them because of everything else going on. But, in light of some things that have happened recently, I need to just get these thoughts out in some sort of order...which might not happen but here we are. So my relationship with my parents has been interesting to say the very least. i was raised in a very conservative catholic home. Silent gen dad, and a boomer mom. both very intolerant of anything they don't agree with. My dad is the epitome of hating everything that doesn't align with his beliefs...If you aren't white or straight especially, and do not live the traditional lifestyle that he feels one should abide by. (hopefully that paints a picture for you).

Anyway, I am the baby of my family. My brother is 50 and my sister is 49 (they are a year and 4 days apart). I arrived 12 years later. I was very well and truly an OOPS. My brother is the golden child, my sister, the problem child (former, anyway, but she was definitely more wild than they liked,) and I...well, I had to be the perfect one to do as my parents wanted 100% of the time.

my mom had no self-esteem and raised me to be the same way. never be too confident and sure of myself b/c it was unbecoming to do so. I had to always get good grades, and always follow the rules. If I ever did something wrong, i got the wrath of my father (that stern, military rage). So, as i got older, my mom would hide things from him on my behalf, but only if I did something for her. Things like keeping secrets from dad, hiding mail so she didn't get in trouble with the finances again. If i ever dared to stop doing that shit for her she would blackmail me...would threaten to tell my dad all the shit i did wrong if I stopped helping her. Basically, I was scared and brainwashed into having ZERO autonomy or individuality. If I showed any emotion other than happiness I always had "an attitude." But, I saw my mom's behavior as if she was the only one in my corner...my buddy who kept my secrets for me because no one else would.

I struggled in school, but almost always got As and Bs. I had to work my ass off for it too. Math was always a sore subject that made me and dad lock horns. He's a math wiz, and I'm not. I'm not well read because I HATE reading books. (thanks school for ruining that for me). history? forget it. i have a horrible memory. But, if i ever got a C? holy shit i was a failure in their eyes. I feel like I am so far behind everyone intellectually that it's hard for me to have conversations with people sometimes because I feel like I can't keep up. By the time I got to high school was when I finally started to see what they were doing to me, but I was too afraid to break free. Honestly? i didn't know I had a choice in the matter. When I was in college, I had to be in remedial math. When my dad found out (b/c he was paying for college,) he literally screamed at me in the financial aid office b/c he couldn't believe I was in such a low math class. His apology? "I just worry about you, and i want you to do well." What a fucking joke. Again, in college, I was big into choir. we had a huge spring performance that we NAILED and we wanted to celebrate. So, we carpooled and went to a nearby club. I was barely 20 so i had the wristbands of course. I CALLED my mom to ask if i could go. Told her who i would be with, where i was gonna be, and that it would be WAYYYY late before I get home. Said I would keep my phone in the car b/c I knew i wouldn't hear it or feel it vibrate, but i could call her when I leave even if it was like 3 am. She said no need, and let me go.

So, in I walk at 330 am to both my parents in the living room, and my dad SCREAMING at me that I am just like my sister. out partying at all hours doing "god knows what." I was dumbfounded. My mom didn't even look at me...just sat there as I got ripped into. Wanna know why that happened?? Because SHE PRETENDED SHE NEVER GAVE HER PERMISSION. She told me later that her and dad had to have a "united front" and I had "no right to be mad" at her. When I tell you I leveled my room into an absolute mess that night and cried myself to sleep. the betrayal I felt...as a 20 yr old, a legal fucking adult, and I had no voice. no independence. My relationship with them has gone south ever since.

Of course, several things have happened between now and then. Their relationship is very transactional, and always comes out with me needing to serve THEM for them to be happy. for them to see me as worthy. But, my mom likes to throw it in my face whenever she can about how great my brother is. How stable he is. that bitch is single and has no kids. fuck him. he's an incel anyway.

Mother's day this year was the last straw for me. I called my mom out of obligation. in that 15 minutes she gushed about my brother's financial stability knowing how hard i have been struggling since I left my husband. I told her how proud I was of myself, that I was doing all these things with very little help, and making so much progress in such a short time. her response? As deadpan as possible "Congratulations. You're finally adulting." Finally? FINALLY? Not like I had been trying FOR YEARS when my irresponsible idiot of a husband was the one who had the control. I left my childhood home and walked into another relationship with a person who was just like my parents. A transactional, mentally and emotionally abusive relationship. I was his shadow because i felt like i HAD to be. When he wanted to leave me in 2021 for that very reason i thought i would literally die. That's when I found my spiritual practice. when i started to really change and try to find myself. and yet, he STILL didn't like who I was. Hence, why i finally found the strength in me to leave him back in December. I got no support from my parents. They wanted me to move in with them....ACROSS THE STREET FROM MY EX...just so i could be close to my children. I'm only 15 mins away from them. I see them when I can with the 2 jobs I work for shit pay. I'm busting my ass to pay off my car. Have they ever called in the 6 months I have been gone to ask me how I am??? If I need help?? NO. And why would they?? Between my mom and dad both, I was told on three separate occasions that they wanted to abort me. But I SHOULD BE GRATEFUL THAT THEY DIDN'T. Why would I? I have lived my life feeling like I was never good enough, that i was a worthless burden to the world. All because i was conditioned to believe as such. Thankfully for my sister, she saw through their shit a long time ago, and left home when she turned 18. i wish I understood why back then...but I was a kid. All i knew was how hurt my parents were, or how they seemed to be, and I believed that if I did anything to hurt them i was a bad person. I couldn't be like my sister. because that was a bad thing. But...nothing makes you feel more unloved and unwanted than your parents telling you they didn't want you. Then act surprised when you block them and don't want to speak to them. I can't go thru 38 years worth of shit they did, but this was some of the bigger/more recent stuff. It's amazing i never blocked them sooner (though, being across the street from them at the time was certainly a factor...)

It's why my identity means so fucking much to me. i felt like my name is not my own, my existence isn't my own. Why I want all the labels that I feel make up who I am so i can have some fucking semblance of understanding about what makes me "me."

Aside from spanking as a kid (which was normal back then sadly,) i was never physically abused. i had a roof over my head, I had food when i needed it, I was clean, had nice (not name brand) clothes...all the necessities, but I never *ever* had a healthy grasp on my mental health. never had healthy coping mechanisms for my emotions, and I never felt truly loved by my parents. better seen than heard, and if i was seen it was always to do something that made my parents proud so they could brag about me. I was a trophy. A puppet.

And today, as i sit here, wondering how tf to deal with my parents...I am anxious and scared. i feel like a child all over again, trembling like I am about to be scolded. All because i was conditioned to believe that my feelings were worthless and wrong. I have gotten 2 voicemails today from my dad, telling me I "need" to call them. To explain what's going on. Suddenly, they are worried. Suddenly, they care. But I know it's only for their satisfaction. part of me wants to pour my soul out and light it on fire so they can see how much they hurt me over the years. Part of me wants to pretend they are dead and forget they exist. I am not sure what to do.

So, if anyone ever wonders why Gale means so much to me...why i have such a mental and emotional attachment to his character. this is why. because aside from my 2 bffs, he was the only other entity that made me feel loved and worthy, and it breaks my heart that he isn't real. For now, though, he's a beautiful escape.

idk if I need anything rn...I'm not sure where to go from here. I have no idea what will make me feel better. getting some of it out helps. Being in therapy definitely helps. If you read this then you're a damn trooper...or a glutton for punishment, idk. Either way, thank you for listening to me.

I really don't expect anyone to say anything or even read this. It really isn't necessary. But please know that for the many of you whom I have befriend on here since I joined tumblr...I am grateful for you all. Just being in this space has been so healing for me. thank you.

#mira maunders #mira rants #txt: personal #cw: mental health #cw: mental abuse #cw: emotional abuse #cw: mention of abortion #parent trauma #my stomach is in knots rn #i'm sorry for any missed tags #idk what else to mark this with #childhood trauma #trauma dump

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theclairvoyage · 5 months

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Chapter 1: Boomer Sooner

Part of Bloody Knuckles series

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x AUSA!f!reader

Javier's first day in OKC is nothing short of stressful-though that changes when he meets you.

Chapter warnings: alcohol consumption, smoking, adult language, mentions of violence, mentions of human trafficking, reader is able-bodied, has long hair and is roughly the same height as Javi (no other descriptors), Spanish usage (translations at the end)

WC: 3.2k

Fall 1992

Corpus Christi, Texas

Sweat drips from Javier’s forehead and temples as he pulls stubborn weeds from the dry dirt at his mother’s house in Corpus Christi. The air is heavy and humid, compressing his chest like a thick heated blanket. Mamá insisted she could do it herself, stubborn as the weeds. Mijo, puedo hacerlo. No necesito ayuda. He’d waved her off and stepped out the front door, Tecovas boots clomping the wooden steps.

The screen door flies open with a screech, and out comes his mother, pitcher of vibrant red agua fresca in tow, garnished with fresh spearmint and strawberries. In the fall, she loves to make Agua de Jamaica with the beautiful hibiscus flowers that bloom in late summer. Her backyard garden is a utopia compared to the disaster of a front yard, filled with a smorgasbord of gorgeous flowers, vegetables, fruits, and bird feeders.

“Tómate un descanso, Javier. Por favor,” she urges him. He nods, tearing the sweaty gardening gloves from his hands, and tossing them on the porch. He wipes his brow with the back of his dirt-covered forearm, no longer caring about how he looks or smells. Only a cold shower would resurrect this mess.

“Gracias, Mamá. Se parece muy bien,” he compliments her, relishing the sweet smile that stretches her freckled, weathered cheeks. Her long, silvery mane is curled into a tight bun, wispy baby hairs fallen prey to the humidity in Corpus Christi. She is a true Mexican mother—hardworking, resourceful, strong-willed, and unequivocally dedicated to her family. It’s nice to see the softer side of her once in a blue moon—a refreshing break from the wooden spoon or chancla.

She pours him a hefty glass of the hibiscus drink before returning to the house, ice cubes crashing into glass with little clinks. Javi plops himself on the old porch, sipping and observing the scene in front of him. Fuck, that’s good, he thinks, licking his lips to savor the taste and the liquid that has seeped up into his mustache. She knows this drink was his favorite, and boy, did she make it perfectly.

The yard, on the other hand, was not even close to perfection. Javier’s dad passed away a couple years ago, and with Javi posted in Colombia, she had limited assistance. Sure, family came around to help, and he knew she dabbled in some landscaping herself, but the weeds grew too quickly.

She was too proud to let any landscaping service come help her—he remembered the day a landscaping company tucked a pamphlet between her screen and front doors, and she called him enraged, smirking to himself at the memory. “¡Pendejos estúpidos, déjame sola!”

At least he had made decent progress. The weeds were plucked, but the grass was patchy and scarce. He’d need to find some grass seed and plant it or convince her to buy sod—fat chance. Chugging the last few gulps of his agua fresca, he stands and enters the house. His mother takes the glass from him, patting his shoulder affectionately.

“Mijo, algún hombre te llamó. No dio un nombre, solamente un número. Está aquí,” she says, pointing a wrinkled finger at an old utility bill envelope with a phone number scribbled in blue pen. The fuck, he thinks. Who the fuck has my mom’s home number? Better not be some girl.

“Gracias, Mamá. Perdóname, por favor,” he says, grabbing the envelope and returning to the front porch to punch in the number on his giant mobile phone. It rings twice before a male voice responds.

“About time, Peña. Ready to get back to work?” The voice echoes—cocky, smug.

“If this is DEA, you can go fuck yourself. Already gave y’all my letter of resignation,” Javi spits. The voice returns a few whoa, whoa, whoas, like he’s trying to rein in a wild horse.

“Got a great opportunity for you here in Oklahoma City. Need you here by next week. Already got an apartment and a desk saved for you.” Javi scratches his head in confusion.

“Opportunity for what?” Javi bites back, fucking irritated at this no-namer.

“FBI.”

“Goddammit.”

The next week, Javier finds himself squinting and cursing on the sidewalk of the FBI Building on West Memorial Road in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, wondering how the fuck he got here. He can’t remember the last time he craved a cigarette so badly. It felt sacrilege, living in Sooner country—he was an Aggie through and through. He pulls the rumpled utility bill envelope from his mother’s house out of his already-sweaty tan blazer pocket and re-reads the instructions for the 300th time.

-Enter parking lot via security gate and use code 584323, give them name

-Enter building on west side and go through security

-Someone will be waiting for me?

Shaking his head, he wipes sweat from his mustache and trudges toward the west entrance, straining to pull one of the doors open. The heavy metal doors threaten to shove him back into the outside world—something he would welcome, at this point.

Walking through a maze to get to the metal detectors, he gazes up at the highly vaulted atrium, observing the boring taupe-colored walls, and stopping at a black and white photo of J. Edgar Hoover. Two armored guards with solemn, stony faces wipe their gaze up and down Javier’s figure as he stops just before the metal detector.

“Come through,” one of them barks, beckoning to him to step through. He obliges, before the other stone soldier puts a palm up in Javier’s face. “Need ID.” Javi fishes his wallet out, instinctively reaching for his phantom DEA badge. The guard scans his Texas Driver’s License before handing it to the other guard.

“Any weapons?” One asks, as the other walks behind Javier.

“Nope,” Javi replies, assuming the familiar position of a search, hands posted up high and legs spread. The gruff men pat him down and excavate his pockets, finding nothing but his phone, keys, wallet, and the rumpled envelope with instructions.

“Come this way, Peña.” He follows one to the round front desk to a tall, blue suit, leaning against the counter with a smirk on his face. Javi doesn’t recognize him. Blue Suit stands and holds out a manicured hand to Javier.

“Nice to meet you, Peña,” Blue Suit croons. Javi recognizes the voice as the one that called his mother’s house in Corpus Christi. Javi clasps his hand and shakes it a few times, grunting in approval.

“I’m Eddie Penn, supervisory special agent. You’ll be with me for today—likely for a while,” he says with a grin. Javi raises one eyebrow at him, suspicious. Eddie trots toward some elevator doors, flashing ID at two more armored guards posted up next to them. Javi follows him into the elevator and watches him press a yellow-stained 3.

“How’s the apartment?” Eddie asks as the elevator ascends noisily. Javi shrugs.

“Honestly, I threw all my shit in there last night and haven’t had much of a chance to get any furniture,” he replies, studying the elevator inspection form above the floor number buttons. Eddie chuckles.

“Sorry about that—I was pretty limited on the timeframe and places we could put you. We’ll get you a car and help with furniture,” he apologizes, hands twitching in his pockets. Javi shakes his head, long hair swishing back and forth.

“No worries. I’m assuming this is important,” he says, turning to look at Eddie, eyes narrowing for a millisecond.

“Yes. We’ll discuss everything in my office—the Assistant Director is waiting on the phone for us,” he says as the elevator screeches to a halt, doors opening slowly. The two step out and Eddie leads Javi through a floor of gray cubicles, sounds of telephones ringing and keyboards clacking filling the air.

It’s not too different from DEA offices, Javi thinks. There are more people, more suits and skirts, but the blueprint is the same. Eddie nods his head at several people staring at the pair as they traverse the floor. Javi tries to keep his eyes from meeting anyone’s—he needs to know why he’s here before he starts familiarizing himself with these people.

Eddie opens the door to an office, contents invisible to the floor, save for a narrow window above the handle. There are two chairs facing a small wooden desk, with a giant computer monitor in one corner and a telephone in the other. There’s a small window behind the desk overlooking the city. Eddie gestures to one of the chairs as he steps behind the desk.

Javi sits into one of the stiff, unforgiving cushions as Eddie presses a few buttons and puts the phone on speaker. Javi drums his fingers on the arm of the chair as he stares out the window, somewhat covered by stray hairs of Eddie’s combover. Eddie clears his throat.

“Assistant Director, I’ve got Javier Peña here with me. Glad to have you on the phone.” Great, so Eddie’s a kiss-ass. A muffled, adenoidal voice replies on the other end.

“Thanks, Agent Penn. Javier—it’s great to have you. I read up on your work in Colombia—you’re somewhat of a hero here in the States. What made you leave the DEA?” The Assistant Director asks. Javi leans forward, elbows on his thighs and fingers smoothing his mustache hairs as he recounts his experience in South America.

“Well, sir—to be frank, it’s a shit ton of work trying to catch a drug lord. The time I put in was enough,” Javi says honestly. Eddie snaps his head up to glare at Javier—presumably for the cursing. The Assistant Director laughs, voice even more nasally than before.

“Well, I do appreciate the honesty. When I heard you’d quit DEA I jumped on the opportunity to have you join here,” the AD spouts. Javi raises an eyebrow as he listens.

“Might I ask why?” Javi tests, glancing at the carpeted ground as he waits for a response.

“There’s a large-scale intelligence task force here dedicated to stopping arms and human trafficking in Oklahoma—funny enough, we know Escobar has done some dealings here, but that won’t be your focus.” Javi raises the other eyebrow in surprise.

“In Oklahoma? Interesting—figured he was only invested in Miami and other coastal cities,” Javi ponders. The AD chuckles.

“He was—but he’s learned to be more discreet in his business operations. No thanks to the great work of the DEA.” Javi snorts.

“Anyway, Javier,” the AD continues, “Human trafficking in this part of the country has worsened in recent years. The DEA doesn’t have enough manpower to tackle a problem of this magnitude. So, the FBI has made it a priority.” Javi listens, eyes scanning the room. He leans back in the chair, crossing an ankle over his knee and pursing his lips.

“So, we are going to fast-track you to supervisory special agent, like Agent Penn here—we think your experience with the DEA has more than warranted that role, and your supervisor recommended you for this task force. Sounds like you’ve got some great leadership abilities, Peña. This job will pay well, a bit better than what you were making with the DEA,” the Assistant Director rambles, sounding impressed. Javi widens his eyes.

“Penn here will train you once you pass the field tests—marksmanship, physical, drug tests—you know the drill. Then you’ll hit the ground running with the task force. Any questions?” Javi furrows his brow, thinking.

“Don’t think so,” Javi replies. He knows he can’t back out of this one—it’s a great opportunity, a pay raise—even if it’s in shitty Oklahoma.

“Great. I’ll be in the Oklahoma Office in the next few weeks for a status report. Looking forward to monitoring your progress.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Javi replies. Eddie hangs up the phone and rummages through some manila case files on his desk, handing a thick one to Javi.

“This is what we’ve been working on as of late,” Eddie says. Javi flips open the case file and pulls out some large pictures from the front. Javi glances through photos of suspects, victims, crime scenes, and camera footage. Some are brutal—young girls with brandings and tattoos, bruises and scrapes—some deceased, some barely alive. Javi swallows loudly.

“Some fucking pieces of work that do this shit,” he seethes quietly, jaw ticking. Penn nods.

“It’s tough,” Eddie says, “But we’ve made some great strides here. Sadly, we can’t do everything.”

Javier continues flipping through the case files, now reading field reports. Some are from the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs in Oklahoma, some from OKCPD and other neighboring police departments.

“I’m assuming we work mostly with local LEO departments?” Javi questions, snapping the case file shut. Eddie nods.

“Yep. We try to work cases in conjunction, whenever possible. We also work closely with an AUSA who has taken a liking to this task force.”

“Oh yeah? He tough on crime?” Javi questions, plopping the case file back on Penn’s desk.

“She is,” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows. “Real spitfire, that one. Smart as hell. And between you and me, she’s a sight for sore eyes.” Javi nods, rolling his eyes. He pictures a petite blonde in a pencil skirt. He’s had plenty of those.

“Interesting,” he says.

“You’ll meet her sometime this week, she’s here at least two to three times a week working on cases. Sometimes she’ll go out in the field with us, though she’s not supposed to,” Eddie says. Javi tilts his head at Eddie.

“Why’s that? Likes to keep tabs on the team?” Eddie shakes his head.

“Likes to talk to the victims, meet them, see everything firsthand. Wait ‘til you see her in the courtroom—it’s something else,” Eddie says, reminiscing your powerful opening and closing arguments and connection with members of the jury. Javi is unimpressed.

“Seen enough lawyers to know it’s all a show,” he scoffs. Eddie shrugs. Javi would be in for a real surprise when he finally gets the chance to meet you.

Later that evening, after filling out dozens of forms and answering questions, Javier finds himself at a local tavern, The Dark Horseman, a few minutes from his apartment. The inside lives up to the name—dark and hazy, filled with lots of dark-stained wooden walls, tables, and chairs, with random horse paraphernalia lining the walls.

He’s the only one sitting at the bar, slowly sipping a glass of some cheap whiskey the bartender poured. There’s an old, old jukebox adjacent to the bar blaring some sad Hank Williams ballad. Some people are playing pool at the other end, filling the space with the smacks of billiard balls and random cheers.

The bartender steps in front of Javier, nodding at his soon-to-be empty glass. Javi shakes his head.

“I’m good after this.” The bartender nods again and steps away to wipe down some tables. Javi sets the glass down and pinches the bridge of his nose, craving a cigarette. He’d been trying to quit—but the move and the stress of a new job he knew nothing about had forced him to capitulate in the last few days. He stands, letting the bartender know he’s going for a smoke. As he goes to push the bar door open, someone pulls it from the other side.

There you stand, frozen in place as Javier almost slams into you. Still holding the door, you step back a bit so he can leave. He stares at you for a moment, entranced.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” you apologize, small smile on your face. Javi’s eyes drop to your lips momentarily before hovering at your eyes.

“Not a problem, s’my bad. Excuse me,” he says, mirroring your smile. You’re taken aback at how handsome this stranger is—but you really need a drink after today. He steps out, pulling the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and smacking them against his hand as he watches you walk inside.

You’re tall, probably as tall as him, confident, and elegant, though you’re wearing ratty jeans and a tee shirt. Your eyes are what captivated him the most—beautiful, emotive, weary, yet still glowing. And your scent was unlike any he’d smelled before—earthy, musky, and slightly spicy. He shakes his head as he lights a cigarette, taking a long draw and leaning up against the wall of the tavern.

He doesn’t need to fuck a random stranger his first big day here. What he needs is some food, a shower, perhaps another cigarette, and a long night of tossing and turning. He finishes the cigarette and returns to the brooding bar, noticing you sitting a few chairs down from his glass of whiskey and his tab that the bartender slapped on the wood while he was smoking.

“Come here often?” he asks, almost involuntarily. He winces at how corny he sounds, and you probably think he’s hitting on you. He’s not trying to pick you up, but he is curious. You turn to him as you finish a sip of some amber liquid—whiskey, maybe?

“I try not to, unless I’ve had a bad day,” you say, smiling at him as you set your glass down. Fuck, you’re beautiful. His breath stalls in his lungs for a moment.

“So, if I see you in here again, it won’t be for a good reason,” he says, fighting the urge to wink at you as he signs his tab. He settles for a half smile, one side of his mustache twitching up.

You laugh and half-shrug. He likes the sound of it—breathy, melodious, somewhat subdued. You must be tired.

“There’s a good chance of that, though you look like you’re here for the same reason,” you say, studying him as he turns to you, stuffing his wallet in the pocket of his tan slacks. He snorts.

“Something like that,” he says, eyeing you. You turn to take another sip, and he takes the opportunity to study your features again.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Stranger That Also Had a Bad Day,” you tell him, pulling a chortle from him. You’re witty—he likes that. He better leave before he sits in the chair next to you.

“Same to you. See you around?” he says, raising a brow at you.

“Good chance of that, too,” you say, giving him a close-lipped smile. He nods at you and exits the bar. He sure hopes so.

Spanish glossary:

Mijo, puedo hacerlo. No necesito ayuda. = My son, I can do it. I don’t need help.

Tómate un descanso, Javier. Por favor. = Take a break, Javier. Please.

Gracias, Mamá. Se parece muy bien. = Thank you, Mom. It looks great.

¡Pendejos estúpidos, déjame sola! = Stupid assholes, leave me alone!

Mijo, algún hombre te llamó. No dio un nombre, solamente un número. Está aquí. = My son, some man called for you. He didn’t give a name, just a number. It’s here.

Gracias, Mamá. Perdóname, por favor. = Thanks, Mom. Excuse me a minute, please.

Chapter 2 (coming soon-ETA 05/23/24)

Taglist: @burntheedges

#javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier pena x reader #bloody knuckles

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 1 year

Note

OMG i get to talk about khamgalai ive been dying to talk about khamgalai im so fucking mad at khamgalai

i have said stuff about it on this post (sorry im only putting it here cause i started looking for it on my blog and couldnt find it until i went through a post sorter site and i got so upset about it fhdglh so ill have it here just in case i guess) https://www.tumblr.com/tetsuooooooooooo/710065228547866624/anyway-anyone-wanna-hear-about-my-muriel-tired-of?source=share

aaaand liike i started replaying the route recently partially cause i wanted to find anything that would prove me wrong in this matter and i am only halfway through but its Not going GREAT

because it wouldve all been perfectly fine if they didnt choose to establish that she apparently knew the whole time where muriel was and what he was doing. i dont know how much she saw but like. she saw it.

cause this bitch really saw muriel. child muriel. baby. possibly last of her kin. fucking living out on the streets homeless starving getting kicked around god knows what happening to him

and went aw lemme get a snapshot for the family album and just LEFT HIM THERE

AND IM LIKE BITCH I THOUGHT YOU LIKE CARED ABOUT HIM OR SOMETHING I MEAN SHE FOOLED ME WITH ALL THAT CRYING AND THE THINGS SHE SAID WHEN WE MET HER THE FIRST TIME BUT GODDAMN I GUESS SHES JUST AS MUCH OF A "PAIN BUILDS CHARACTER" BOOMER AS MORGA

cause okay even if it was like future visions n shit like thats their magic thing theN LIKE YOU STILL KNOW MORE THAN YOU DID BEFORE YOU KNOW THERES A CITY IN THE NORTH NOW YOU KNOW WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE AND WHERE HE CAN BE AND ITS A COUPLE WEEKS AWAY BUT YOURE A FUCKING NOMAD AND NOT THAT OLD YET

like WHAT is the reason she absolutely would not even attempt to come get him other than The Story Needs To Happen this is spiderverse all over again except now im on miles side i hate this hichjgs and like yeah ok the story needs to happen he needs to be the way he is and destiny and whatever but like when were in a story where we know theres a whole 5 other ways to go about solving this problem and its all choice oriented and stuff it kinda just. ya know. it doesnt glass my onions very much vnxviydy i dont know how to put it but u get it

and like

YOU THOUGHT WHAT?? WHAT THE SIGNAL CUT AFTER HE GOT OUT OF THE FUCKING CAGE HE WAS LIVING IN AND YOU COULDNT SEE HIM ANYMORE AND YOU THOUGHT WHAT THAT HE DIED??? girl dont FUCK with me you aint give a shit if he lived or died ok that was harsh im getting really heated this is so messy lol

its probably gonna turn out in a minute that she said something in the ghost realm that makes it make sense but i dont remember that all i recall is us hangin out and her calling me out for being a furry and them being all "u saw me over there and u still like me?" " aw of course i like u come give ghost grandma a hug" thats how i remember that going down fhxhyietfh so yeah ill find out soon enough

Ooh, I think I remember wondering about that when I last played Muriel's route! I'll leave it to other Muriel fans to share their thoughts on it too, since my memory is a bit fuzzy at the moment XD

@tetsuooooooooooo that makes total sense to be upset about though, especially when you're seeing all of this from Muriel's side! T~T I'll be curious to hear what you think as you keep playing the route! ^.^

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #muriel the arcana #muriel of the kokhuri #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game

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handeaux · 17 days

Text

Dorelle Heisel Plumbed Brain Mysteries And Psychedelicized Cincinnati’s Social Circles

Dorelle Markley Heisel called Cincinnati her home for several decades, but her mind was in another dimension. She was known as “Cincinnati’s Brain Lady” and held college faculty positions in literature, psychology and fine art. She pioneered biofeedback techniques to control mental and bodily functions while introducing Cincinnati’s strait-laced society to the psychedelic subculture of the Sixties.

Virginia Dorelle Markley was born in 1917 in Danville, Illinois but spent her childhood shuttling between her father’s Palm Beach restaurant and her mother’s St. Louis hotel. At DePauw University in Greencastle, Indiana, she was student royalty – literally – voted May Queen in her senior year.

It was at DePauw that she met and became engaged to W. Donald Heisel, a Cincinnati native and Western Hills High School alumnus. At the time of his 1940 marriage to Dorelle, Heisel was assistant secretary to Cincinnati’s Civil Service Commission and was, according to the Cincinnati Enquirer [21 May 1940] “one of the city’s youngest executives.” The Heisels built a new house on a quiet cul de sac in Westwood, where they raised two daughters.

Don Heisel earned a reputation as the “godfather of public administration in the Tristate” [Cincinnati Enquirer 6 March 1988] because of the many governmental officials he mentored at the University of Cincinnati and at Xavier University. Dorelle, who had earned a degree in English from DePauw, added a bachelor’s (1952) and master’s (1965) in education from UC while also taking classes at the Cincinnati Art Academy.

Dorelle taught English for several years in Cincinnati high schools and at the Ohio Mechanics Institute. During the summers she was a fixture at Pogue’s Department Store. Hundreds of Queen City baby boomers likely display pastel portraits of themselves, sketched by Dorelle at her stand in the Pogue’s children’s department. She hated the drab institutional brown walls in her husband’s office, so one day she hauled her pastels over to City Hall and executed a large mural of the Cincinnati skyline, drawn from memory.

UC’s University College recruited Dorelle in the mid-1960s and she flourished there, teaching literature, art appreciation and psychology. With assistance from the Procter & Gamble company, she brought innovative technology into her classrooms with a push-button feedback device that allowed students to register immediate opinions regarding class content. She told the Cincinnati Post [14 March 1968]:

“When students become frustrated with a lecture or feel lost or just plain bored, they can indicate their anxiety by signaling me on the monitor.”

Dorelle’s interest in media and their effects on human communication led her to Canadian theorist Marshall McLuhan, known for his books “Understanding Media” and “The Medium Is The Massage.” Among the earliest mentions of McLuhan in Cincinnati newspapers is a reference to a 1966 Evening College class taught by Dorelle to introduce the Canadian theorist’s ideas to Cincinnati.

Simultaneously with her investigations of media and biofeedback, Dorelle dove into what was then known as the human potential movement. She presided over a multi-week UC Evening College class titled “Actualizing Your Potential: A Group Happening.” Enquirer reporter Jo Thomas sat in on the course and reported [21 August 1969] a most unusual classroom experience.

“I will not lecture,” Heisel said. “You will live out experiences, and I will ask you questions. Answer them in your head without verbalizing them. Writing is so slow and the mind works at such speed.”

Dorelle invited the students to form themselves into trains of about nine “cars,” kindergarten-style and take turns being the “engine” or the “caboose.”

“Elderly women hung on to 20-year-olds. Bald men chugged in front of bearded men. Around and around the room the trains went, gathering momentum and enthusiasm. One train burst out of the classroom door into the bright hall, chugging with gusto.”

The explosion of new ideas generated by the psychedelic Sixties energized Dorelle and she launched a series of public lectures to share her excitement. One wonders how her Cincinnati audiences, among such mainline organizations such as the Federation of Jewish Organizations and the Kiwanis Club, reacted to her exposition titled “Turn On, Tune In, Find Out!”

An early adopter of technology, Dorelle acquired a variety of devices to assist her research into altering thought patterns via biofeedback. Among these contraptions were the electromyograph and the alphaphone that made brainwaves audible or visual. She claimed that biofeedback, in addition to curing a variety of conditions from depression to migraines, transported users into a new state of being that she called the Kairos Dimension.

"The Kairos Dimension is nature taking its electronic course through you by providing strategies for amplifying your sensory range,” she announced in her 1974 book, “The Kairos Dimension.”

The titles of Dorelle’s non-credit classes and community lectures indicate the paths her biofeedback research led her down: “Brainfun: Steering Minds In New Directions,” “The Holographic Mind,” “How Biofeedback Opens Social Spaces,” and “How Biofeedback Supports Excitement And Growth.” Here is the course catalog description for one of these classes:

“Feelings of stress, tension and pressure take place only in muscles, never in the chemical-electrical brain that sends out orders. New research gives us a more accurate model of how we guide and control our range of ‘body sculptures.’ Small group exploration of the latest technologies.”

As the Human Potential movement evolved into various New Age philosophies, Dorelle’s biofeedback strategies caught on among that crowd. When the Montreal Star compiled a list of 50 important New Age books in 1975, Dorelle’s “Biofeedback Exercise Book” was featured along with books on transcendental meditation, herbal remedies, gestalt therapy and “The Joy of Sex.”

The nationally syndicated television show, P.M. Magazine, hosted Dorelle in November 1983 as “Cincinnati’s Brain Lady who enables you to see your brain on a television screen.” For a brief period, UC’s radio station WGUC aired a show devoted to Dorelle’s “Kairos Dimension.”

The Heisels divorced in 1977 and throughout the 1980s Dorelle’s public appearances waned. A Body/Mind/Spirit Festival at Avondale’s Unitarian Church in 1988 found her discussing biofeedback along with proponents of shamanism, tarot cards, crystals, chelation therapy and psychic powers.

Dorelle retired from UC and relocated to Plano, Texas where one of her daughters lived. In retirement, she played bridge and painted portraits. She died, aged 79, in November 1996.

#dorelle heisel #dorelle markley heisel #biofeedback #new age

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julesthequirky · 1 year

Text

Beautiful Trauma - A Soldier Boy Miniseries: Chapter 4

Pairings: F!Reader x Ben/Soldier Boy

Summary: The reader is the real widower of Ben/Soldier Boy and loved their life together before the incident. In 1983 she took Compound V, so she could be with Ben forever, but in 1984 her life crashes to the ground, and she’s stuck in a world without him. In 2022 a knock at the door changes her life, and when she’s told that Ben is alive she hopes that there can be a forever after all.

Chapter Warnings: Antiquated views, traditional gender values, smut (p in v), SB lewdness, SB boomer mentality, language, repressed memories.

Chapter W/C: 1922

This work is unbeta’d so all mistakes are mine. If you like it, heart, and reblog it. All feedback is gold.

Ben emerged from the apartment building covered in dust but otherwise unscathed. You stood in the alley beside his fallen shield with your mouth agape. No way. No, there’s just no way.

Your husband jumped down and sauntered towards you, arms outstretched, a big shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

“I knew it, baby!” He punched the air. “I fucking knew it!”

He picked you up, gripping your thighs, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist. Your hands cradled his face, thumbs stroked his cheeks, and a big dumb grin spread across your face as he spun you around.

“Look at you, with powers. Got me rock fuckin’ hard, baby.” Ben commented and ground his hard-on against your core.

A small smirk tugged your lips. Ben’s lewdness always got you going. It was ridiculous, really.

“Fuck me against the wall, Ben.”

He chuckled darkly, his hungry eyes eating you up. “Yes, ma’am.”

Arms wrapped around his neck, his plump lips drew yours in, sucking your full bottom lip. His hands squeezed your ass, pulling you against his tented sweats, and Ben pushed you against the bricks harshly. The wall cratered and crumbled beneath you.

The first time should have been at home in your marital bed or even on the couch. Definitely not against a brick wall in some seedy New York back alley. But that was Ben. He wasn’t prudish about his exploits.

Ben fished himself out of his sweats and yanked your leggings down, along with your panties, and mumbled something about loving elastic.

The very first punch of his cock knocked the breath outta you and had your walls stretching to accommodate his girth. The first slide home had you moaning into the air, gripping his blue Giants jersey, and Ben’s guttural grunt landed in your ear.

“Fuck, you’re tight. Relax that pretty pussy for me.”

At his words, your pussy fluttered, easing the grip you had on him.

“There you go. Gonna be better than that dumb fucking toy in your drawer.”

Ohhhh fuck.

“Fuck me, Ben. Please, just fuck me,”

“Woah, look who’s got a filthy mouth now?”

A moan elicited from you as he pulled back and bottomed out. His hips snapped into you, setting a hard and fast pace.

“Fuck. So wet, you’re coating my cock.” His forehead dropped on your shoulder.

With every thrust, he filled you completely. He was so warm, and hard. You could feel the beat of his heart in your core as he pulsed. Every ridge, every vein, with every slide and stroke he sparked sensitive nerve endings, and you held on as that familiar heat gathered in the pit of your belly.

“Oh, God, Ben.”

“Oh, yes, baby. Fucking gush all over my cock”

Ben fucked into you harder. A few more thrusts, and he had you exploding around him. He had you calling his name, worshipping him as he fucked you through your orgasm, and once it subsided, you sagged against him, desperate to catch your breath.

Ben’s cock lazily stroked inside you as you rested your head against the crumbling bricks.

“You really needed that, huh?”

Sated, with a dopey smile on your face, your fingers trailed through his hair.

“You bet, Sunny.”

Ben stared at you, and you feared you’d said something wrong as his ministrations had paused.

“The first time you called me that was after consummating our marriage.”

You nodded. “I remember. Short for sunlight. Seemed appropriate. Even more so now…” You trailed off, fingers circling his chest.

He snapped up into you, and your hand pressed hard against the centre of his chest, fingers gripping his shirt, your eyes fluttering shut, and a soft groan slipped from your lips. Ben hauled you against his chest and fucked you once more against the brick wall.

He made you cum, and his sweet nickname fell from your lips, eliciting his own release. Hot streams spurted inside you, painting your walls white.

“Fuck, woman, I’m gonna stuff you so full of my babies. Just you wait.”

When Ben’s old manager opened PH4, the repressed emotions flooded back. You had called and called, desperate for an answer, desperate for the news not to be true, and each time you were prompted to leave a voicemail. You begged and pleaded down the answering machine but you never received a call back.

The Legend took in the soot on your cheeks, dust covering your hair and the torn clothes and you both sported, and his eyes widened in response.

“Fuck happened?”

“Building exploded.” Was all Ben said.

“Fucking hell. You both look like shit.”

“Nice to see you too.” Ben huffed and barged in.

You followed Ben, marvelling at the space and oppulence of the place.

“You got your suit. What more do you want?”

“A place to stay.”

The door closed as you wandered around the penthouse, viewing all the photos of him with famous people. This fuck cared more about his appearance than anybody else. He pretended to give a shit about the normal and mundane people he encountered – like you – but you understood better than anybody else what a lying sack of shit he was when he left you empty-handed, screaming into the void for answers.

“Sure, sure. I’ll hook you up. What happened to your apartment?”

“It exploded.”

“Well, shit.”

Ben sat down and waved you over, but you couldn’t sit. You stood there staring at the wall of photos, thoughts plaguing your mind. You had questions you wanted – no, deserved answers to. Mainly why he ignored all your calls and where your daughter was. If there was anybody that knew, it would be him.

You heard the ice clink into the tumblers and the snapping of fingers to grab your attention.

“Y/N, sit the fuck down. Get her a drink, would ya.”

“The fuck do I look like to you? A waiter?”

“Just do it.”

Of course, this was the first place Ben thought of. This guy used to be the VP at Vought when Ben was in his prime superhero days in Payback.

“Why didn’t you answer any of my calls?” You asked out of nowhere, eyes still fixed on the wall of photos.

“Calls?”

That familiar churning of rage burned in your chest, and you spun around to confront him directly.

“Don’t you play fucking dumb with me. I called you, desperate for answers, but you never answered. You left me in the dust. And I had to go on knowing nothing. Do you have any idea what it was like living day to day with the knowledge that Ben was dead?”

You waited for an answer but got nothing.

“I’ll tell you. It’s fucking awful. It’s like permanently being in one of Mindstorms fucking nightmares.”

Sensing danger, Ben stood, moving towards you.

“You chose to ignore me. You purposefully let me believe because you didn’t want to deal with a hysterical grieving woman.”

“I had no idea! I knew just as much as you did!”

You doubted that.

“You’re a lying sack of shit! A coward whose nose is jammed so far up Vought’s asshole. You couldn’t care less about anyone but your damn self!”

“Babe, another time.” Ben urged calmly. He tugged at your shirt for you to follow him, but you smacked his hand away.

“You let Payback take my baby. Didn’t you?”

Ben stilled beside you and turned to face the old VP.

“No! I had no idea about that.”

“You’re lying!”

His eyes flicked to Ben, who stood beside you. “You need to control your girl.”

“Fuck you!” You spat.

“I don’t have to listen to this. Ben, get her out of my sight.”

You weren’t going anywhere, not without getting answers first. And before Ben could pull you back, you stormed up to The Legend, demanding, “Where’s my daughter!”

He blanched. Here was this short lady getting in his face, challenging him.

“I don’t know.”

You grabbed his shirt and pulled him down, pushing your face into his.

“Where the fuck is my daughter?”

“Y/N. Stop.” Ben urged again.

He made the mistake of putting his hand on your shoulder, but you held him off, hand on his chest. Ben stood puzzled, but when he looked down, he deadpanned.

You watched The Legend watch Ben attempt to pull you away with no success.

“I won’t ask again, so why don’t you tell me what you know.”

He sighed in defeat. “I only heard down the grapevine after Payback disbanded. That’s the truth. I heard she was staying with Mallory.”

“Mallory? Who the fuck is that?”

“Fucking Captain Lesbo.” Ben huffed behind you.

You turned to Ben, loosening your grip on The Legend. He managed to pull himself free, muttering something about “keeping his woman in line.”

“Tell me who she is.”

“Worked with her in Nicaragua. Can you believe it, they put a woman in charge? Probably why everything went to utter shit. Last I heard, she worked for the CIA – Hey!!”

You walked out of The Legend’s penthouse, intent on finding this Mallory woman.

“Get back here, woman!”

A hand pulled you back inside and slammed you against the shut door. Ben rested his hands on either side of your head, trapping you.

“If you’re wanting to find Mallory, you’re gonna need a plan. You can’t just go out there with no fucking clue, hoping to get lucky. What were you planning on? Storming the CIA?”

“I just want to find our daughter, Ben.”

His expression softened. “I know. And I have a feeling Butcher knows just where to find her, but that’s a job for tomorrow. Today, I wanna chill with my girl.”

“You soppy bastard.” You said, a smile forming as your fingers trailed through his hair.

“You guys make me puke.” The Legend grunted.

Head resting on Ben’s shoulder cuddled up to him, he had the remote in hand, legs spread as you both sat on the fancy sofa watching daytime tv on The Legends huge screen. A loud noise coming from your pocket interrupted the cosy atmosphere.

You pulled the phone from your pocket. It was just an old Nokia. Simple enough for your needs. The tiny thing blared at you, the screen bright with MEDS unblinking at you. Beside you, Ben reached for the phone.

“The fuck is that? Jesus, turn it off.”

You silenced the phone, and his large hand snatched the device from you. Ben turned it over and over in his hands, pressing buttons. His brow furrowing, creases deepening the further annoyed he got.

“It’s a phone.”

“A phone? That ain’t no phone. Looks like something I’ve seen in your sock drawer. What’s this meds thing? Are you a pill-popper now?”

You reached for the device, but he held it out of reach.

“Chronic depression is—”

“Depression? You don’t need pills for a little bit of sadness.”

You’d expected this reaction from Ben, but it stung nonetheless.

“Please, Ben, I need them. We have to go to the pharmacy.”

He waved his hand dismissively.

“I’m here now. Whatcha gotta be depressed about?” He turned to you and gripped your chin, fingers spreading your lips. “Where’s your smile, baby. Show it to me. That’s all you need.”

Without your medication, you were likely to deteriorate. Later, tomorrow… you couldn’t say how you’d be feeling. But you smiled weakly for him. Perhaps he was right, and you didn’t need them? Maybe it was just him you needed, but deep down, you weren’t so sure.

Tags: @spnfamily-j2

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