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kmseokjins · 5 years

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Twisted Tails (Chapter 1)

Fandom: BTS Pairing: BTS x Reader / (Future) Poly!OT7 x Reader / Hybrid!BTS x Human!Female!Reader Warnings: angst (Jimin is upset) Words: 5.5k words (GOOD LORD.)

Summary: When you meet with your later sister’s lawyer, you’re not expecting to suddenly own two hybrids. Of course, things end up being a tad more complicated than that once you get to the shelter. Upset Jimin inbound.

Hybrids: GermanShepherd!Namjoon, BirmanCat!Jimin, more to come later!

Notes: Well, looks like I’m jumping on the Hybrid!BTS train. For now, this is mostly Jimin and Namjoon centered, but the other boys will be introduced down the line (feedback depending). I hope I didn’t make Jimin too clingy or anything. I’m so excited yet incredibly nervous to post this fic tbh. I hope y’all like it! Depending on the feedback I get, we shall see if there’s future chapters on the horizon! ;) Special shoutout to @mygsii for help with this fic title! <3

Archive Of Our Own || Next Chapter

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“Your sister left her hybrids to you.”

“Wha-? I’m-I’m sorry, what?”

“Her two hybrids. She left them to you.”

“There has to be a mistake, I...I don’t know how to take care of a hybrid.”

“Her Will states it so, there is no mistake.”

You’re downright flabbergasted. When you had received the call from some lawyer’s office last week about your late sister’s estate, you hadn’t been expecting this. On top of the fact that you’d been shocked to hear that your sister had a Will; she was only four years older than you, for Pete’s sake! Leave it to your sister to give you grey hairs from beyond the grave. She’d left everything to you, including her two hybrids.

You knew about hybrids, of course. One would have to be living under a rock to not heard anything about them before. It had been a wild craze for decades now: “Own your own Hybrid! Companionship, pets, and more!” It made your stomach queasy just thinking about it. You heard the horror stories about hybrids being forced to participate in underground fighting (more often than not, to the death), subjected to hard labor, or used as sex slaves. You literally shuddered, and not in a good way.

Hybrids were half human, exhibiting the physical traits of whatever species they were crossed with in the form of tails, ears, claws, and eyes. Usually hybrids displayed one or two of those traits, although it wasn’t uncommon for them to display all those traits. In addition, hybrids also displayed the instincts of said species, some more than others.

You were somewhat familiar with your sister’s hybrids; you had met Namjoon and Jimin several times. They were both sweet and docile, and despite the fact that you had never owned a hybrid before, you were certain you had lucked out with the two. At least you weren’t bringing home two hybrids that didn’t know you..

“Where are they?” You straightened from your thoughts as you realized you hadn’t seen the hybrids yet. You hadn’t thought to ask about them last week when you’d been asked questions by the police; you had been too upset, wallowing in the grief of losing your big sister. How could you have been so heartless in not inquiring about Namjoon and Jimin? They had surely been grieving just the same as you at the loss of your sister.

The lawyer sitting at the desk in front of you glanced up at you over his thinly rimmed glasses, eyebrows furrowing slightly before he relaxed when he seemed to know what you were questioning him about.

“They’re at the shelter downtown, the police too-,”

“What!?” You shot up from the chair you had been uncomfortably perched in, barely aware of the man jolting slightly at your sudden movement and your shout. They took them to the shelter? While most shelters weren’t bad, you could only imagine the stress Namjoon and Jimin were going through right now.

You were almost to the door when the lawyer stopped you, “Wait! You have to sign some things. I have documents and folders for you from your sister. Please, Miss L/N.”

Your shoulders slumped before you whirled around and hurried back to the desk, hoping this signing wouldn’t take long.

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“It won’t take long, Miss. It’s only a few signatures and then you can be on your way.”

You grumbled sarcastically under your breath as you drove through downtown, fingers tapping impatiently on the wheel. What you thought would take ten minutes ended up taking twice that. The few documents and folders from your sister ended up being a box full. The said box, black and heavy, sat in the passenger seat of your SUV. The thin folder resting on top contained the papers for Namjoon and Jimin.

You wanted to look through the box, but you decided you could do that later after you got Namjoon and Jimin from the shelter. They didn’t need to be there any longer than they already were, it had been at least a week or so, according to the lawyer. God, what if someone had come in and adopted them!? Your sister would be rolling around in her grave if that were true. You’d seen how much she’d loved the two hybrids, if anything happened to them under your watch...she would come back to haunt your ass, you just knew it.

Your heart was fluttering in your chest as you pulled into the parking lot of the shelter and pulled into an empty parking spot, turning off your vehicle before taking a moment to survey the building. The parking lot had a few cars, which you assumed was mostly workers. The building was nice; a little too nice, if you really thought about it. The concrete walls were painted beige, the sign printed with the shelter name was big and neat, like it had just been put up to hang on the front of the building over the set of glass doors.

Taking a deep breath, you snag the folder on top of the box before sliding from your SUV and shutting the door, pressing the lock button as you made a beeline for the glass doors.

As soon as you stepped into the front lobby, you shivered slightly at the coolness. Someone apparently had the air cranked down. The lobby was a decent size with white walls, a few aesthetic paintings of flowers, and a row of chairs along one wall. The main desk was directly ahead, and you frowned at the sight of an empty chair. Clutching the folder in your hands, you approached and peered around.

“Hello?” You called out, wishing there was a bell or something you could ring. You jerked your attention towards the door behind the desk at several muffled shouts from behind it. Tilting your head curiously, you jerk back slightly when the door suddenly bursts open and a tall, blonde woman steps through.

“Oh! Hello!” She greets after a moment of silence, clearing her throat before she quickly takes a seat in the chair behind the desk. “I apologize if you’ve been waiting too long. Can I help you?” She flicks her dark eyes up to you expectantly for your answer.

“Oh, um, well,” You fumble to place the folder down on top of the desk as you also stumble for words, “I’m here to pick up two hybrids that the-,”

“You’re here for hybrids? Wonderful! Is there a certain species or gender you’re looking for? We have several prey hybrids and a few predator hybrids. We have deer, squirrels, wolves, cats, dogs…” She flips her hand around as she explains, “Most of our hybrids are males, but we have a few females if you would prefer them!”

You gape at her for several moments before you’re shaking your head, “No, no. The police brought in two hybrids last week, I think? Namjoon is a dog hybrid and Jimin is a cat hybrid. If I had known they were here sooner, I wouldn’t have let them stay so long…” You inch the folder towards her, “I have their papers right here.”

The woman tugs the folder from your grasp and flips it open, eyes scanning the documents within for a few moments before she glances up at you, “I know these two,” She offers you a look of sympathy, “They’ve had several interested parties, and they’re currently being visited by one of those parties now.”

“You can’t adopt them out, I have their papers and they belong to my sister-,” You choked on the words, clearing your throat, “I mean...I...they’re...they’re in my care now, and I have papers to prove it,” You gesture at the folder the woman still has clutched in her hands.

“We give owners 72 hours to claim their hybrids before we make them available for adoption, Miss,” She offers the folder back towards you, “If you leave your name and number, we can contact you if their adoption doesn’t go through..?”

You felt sick as soon as the words passed her lips. You couldn’t leave without Namjoon and Jimin. You didn’t know the first thing about taking care of hybrids, but you couldn’t let your sister down. She had trusted you with them. Not doing everything in your power to make things right didn’t settle well with you. You wouldn’t give up that easily.

Squaring your shoulders, you offered the secretary a beaming smile, “Actually, can I be shown some hybrids? I’m not sure what I’m looking for,” You grit the words out as sweetly and innocently as you can to the woman, who has her eyebrows raised slightly at your sudden shift in demeanor.

She must not dwell on it too long because she straightens after a moment with a smile, “Of course! Let me call Jackson and get you set up for a look around.”

You hoped you could lay eyes on Namjoon and Jimin during your tour. You wanted to make sure they were alright and that they were actually here. You didn’t want to disrespect your late sister’s wishes, but you knew that such matters could already be out of your hands. If worse came to worse, you suppose you could call your sister’s lawyer and get his help with this mess.

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“Amanda said you weren’t sure what you wanted, is that right? We usually recommend a breed of dog or cat hybrids for first time owners….you are a first time owner, right? I��m assuming you’re not interested in our more exotic hybrids? We recommend more domestic hybrids to first timers.”

Jackson, it turned out, was a very happy and excitable person. He’d been rather enthusiastic ever since he’d come barreling through the doorway five minutes prior, a wide (and rather blinding) smile plastered on the tall brunette’s face. You’d been startled enough at his entrance to not put much effort into fighting him off when he’d rounded the desk and hugged you. You had tensed up immediately at the contact, eyes wide at how little he respected personal space. The hug, thankfully, was quick and brief before he’d offered out his hand to shake. You’d stared at his outstretched hand for several moments, perplexed that he hadn’t offered his hand in the first place. You would have preferred that.

You followed him through the door he had emerged from behind the secretary (Amanda apparently), folder tucked safely away (mostly) in your purse. “Yeah, first time owner,” You answered him, looking back and forth at the various doors that lined the brightly lit hallway. All the doors were shut, but a window in the doors offered you glimpses into the rooms beyond; the beds, desks, toys, and personal items you’d seen indicated they were the hybrid’s rooms.

“Most of them are out in the social area right now.” Jackson gestures to the door that you’ve both approached as he turns the handle and pushes it open, urging you through into the room, “I can introduce you to a few if you like?”

You had been expecting to enter a room that was entirely too small and lackluster to be the social area for hybrids. You’d seen the pictures before of poor environments of shelters and adoption centers, little to no care for the enrichment of the hybrids that stayed there. You were, for lack of a better word, quite speechless at the room you stepped into.

The room was huge and brightly lit, walls painted an off white. It was filled with several tables, beanbags, and benches throughout, along with several enrichment items (including platforms that resembled trees) and toys. Hybrids of all kinds dotted around the room, most playing, sitting, or lounging around. You caught sight of several cats perched in the tree platforms. At the sound of you and Jackson entering, a few hybrids glance your way curiously before resuming what they had been doing prior.

The surprise that filters over your face as you take it in causes the man beside you to laugh, “A lot of people have walked through that door with that same look on their face. Impressive, yes?”

“Very.” You agree, “I’ve heard so many horror stories over the years about how some shelters look and treat the hybrids there. It’s...nice to see something like this.” You continue honestly, catching the slight bob of his head in agreement with you.

Over the years, you had heard countless stories on hybrid shelters: poor living environments, sick and ill hybrids, very little enrichment tools afforded to the hybrids housed there. A poorly cared for and neglected hybrid without the proper tools to keep them happy often lead to hybrids falling ill, and some cases, even brought about their death. Unhappiness really could drag them down. Of course, hybrid shelters weren’t the only ones with a bad rap: the horror stories coming out of breeding centers were even worse.

“We try to keep the hybrids in our care as stress free as we can.” Jackson urges you further into the room, earning a few more curious looks from the hybrids in the social area. “Of course, it comes with challenges, especially when hybrids are brought back.” He sighs softly at the admission, “We are strict with the hybrids that have been returned more than three times, adopting them is much more rigorous than a hybrids that’s never been adopted or only returned once. We’re rigorous regardless, but you can never be too sure…”

You’re half listening to him as you look around, desperately trying to catch sight of Namjoon and Jimin, but your shoulders slump when you don’t find them. You’re disappointed, even if the shelter did appear to be great keeping hybrids happy. You glanced sideways at Jackson, wondering if you should ask about the two hybrids and let him know that they were, legally, yours. Then again, what if they were adopted by someone nice, who was much more qualified to take care of the two rather than you? What had your sister been thinking?

Apparently she hadn’t been thinking at all.

Turning slightly to face Jackson, you opened your mouth to question him about the two hybrids when a commotion from the doorway opposite the one you’d entered caught both of your attention. There’s a muffled commotion behind the door for several seconds before it’s hastily shoved open by a short, brunette woman who looks rather stressed before her eyes land on Jackson. She immediately seems relieved, mostly.

“Jackson! Thank god, can you spare a few minutes to help?” She glances behind her down the hallway, a shriek echoing behind her before she’s jerking her head back to Jackson. All the hybrids around you are tense and looking towards the woman and the commotion behind her. “Jimin is very upset, he-,”

At the mention of Jimin, you’re immediately perking up, tilting your head as you attempt to figure out what exactly is going on behind her. She could easily be talking about another Jimin, but your gut is quite certain she’s talking about the Jimin you know. A hand pats your shoulder, muffled words reaching your ears before you take note of Jackson hurriedly moving towards the woman. He moves quickly, but it's more of a fast walk, no doubt to avoid stressing or startling the hybrids in the room more than they are now.

“I don’t want to! I can’t! You can’t!” Your eyes grow wide at the familiar voice of the cat hybrid that you’d known for the two years that your sister had owned him. Why was he so stressed out? What was going on? Unable to stop yourself, you followed after Jackson, trying to keep your strides even, barely able to catch the door he and the woman disappeared behind before it could close behind them.

You knew that you probably weren’t permitted back here with permission or an escort, but damn the consequences. You had a soft heart and you had never heard the panic and fear in Jimin’s voice like that before. Surely they weren’t hurting him.

Slipping through the door, you let it close behind you as you stopped to survey the scene further down the hallway. In addition to Jackson and the woman, four others were present, including a young woman standing near the wall directly across from three males. One of the men was obviously staff, if the uniform similar to Jackson and the woman’s was any indication. He was halfway between the woman and the other two males, hands raised slightly in surrender as he murmured softly to the males. You couldn’t make out what he was saying to them and instead focused on the two hybrids.

You instantly recognized the two hybrids: Jimin and Namjoon. The black haired cat hybrid was practically wrapped around the back of the tall, brown-haired dog hybrid. You couldn’t even see Jimin’s dark ears, no doubt laid flat enough to blend in with his hair, and his fluffy dark tail was flicking back and forth in clear agitation with the situation. The male he was clinging to was just as tense, his larger ears straight and rigid. He had one hand gripping hold of the cat’s arms around his neck.

“Jaebum, what’s going on?” Jackson asks the question you’re trying to piece together, catching the attention of the four standing further down the hallway as he approaches.

Jaebum, the staff member standing between the two parties, looks away from the two hybrids towards Jackson as he lowers his hands and gently gestures in the direction of the woman against the wall, “Miss Yeri had an appointment to meet Namjoon and Jimin today. Everything was fine until she expressed that she only wanted to adopt Jimin,” He gestures towards Jimin now, who vehemently shakes his head, “I told her that I would have to check with you before we made a decision and Jimin just freaked out.”

“You can’t separate us, please,” Jimin whines, tightening his arms around Namjoon’s neck in the process. Namjoon grunts at the tighter hold that the Birman cat hybrid grips him with, sliding his attention towards Jackson as he nears.

“No one is going to separate you two,” Jackson soothes as he nears the two hybrids, apparently ignoring the young woman by the wall at her soft noise of protest. “I promise, Jimin, we don’t do that here, okay?” He stops advancing towards the two when Namjoon shifts slightly in place, nostrils flaring as he leans forwards slightly towards Jackson, sniffing at him. Jimin makes a soft noise by his ear at the action, but follows the dog hybrid in also sniffing.

It takes only seconds for a pair of blue eyes and brown eyes to meet yours. You can’t help the small and nervous smile you offer, hand raising nervously with a wave. The last time you’d seen the two hybrids had been at least three weeks ago. You gulp as the humans turn to see what’s caught the two males’ attention.

“Y/N-,” Jackson starts, but his voice is drowned out by the cat hybrid.

“Y/N-ah!” The lithe cat hybrid detaches himself from Namjoon, easily darting past Jackson and the short woman before they can stop him. He quickly closed the distance, practically bowling you over when he reaches you and attaches himself to you.

“Jimin-,” You squeak at his tighter-than-necessary hold as he buries his face against the crook of your neck, stumbling slightly at his weight, eyes wide as you look over his shoulder at the audience down the hall. You reach up to loosely clasp your arms around the hybrid, feeling a little awkward at doing so. The humans are all wearing dumbfounded looks, not making any effort to stop Namjoon from slipping past them to follow Jimin to you. He doesn’t move hurriedly, but his longer strides cover the distance almost as quickly.

“I knew you’d come, I kept telling Joonie!” Jimin pulls back slightly to search your face, “You’re here for us, right?” He doesn’t hesitate to bury his face against your shoulder, the ears atop his head no longer flattened like they’d been before. Noises of contentment rumble from his chest as his cheek rubs against your shoulder.

“Yes, I planned on it,” You tell him truthfully, glancing over at Namjoon as the German Shepherd pauses beside you both, “But I’m not sure how easy that’s going to be.” If there was already a claim on them, you weren’t sure how things would proceed if you tried to fight it. You were certain you had a good case, but according to Amanda, the ownership rights to the two were no longer in your hands.

You had doubted whether or not the two would want to even go home with you, despite your sister’s wishes. You’d visited them enough over the years for them to be familiar with you, but you had never really been subjected to such affection, especially from Jimin. The dark-haired male with his brilliant blue eyes was a sweetheart, but his affection had mostly been reserved for your sister and Namjoon. To be smothered against the cat right now was quite shocking. Was he really happy to see you because of you, or because you were the last connection he had to your sister?

Your eyes desperately searched for Namjoon, silently begging the dog hybrid to help you. Namjoon’s lips twitched slightly at your expression before he reached out to slip an arm around Jimin and peel the male away from you, much to the male’s protesting whines at Namjoon. Just when you thought you were free from suffocating from affection, something soft wrapped around your wrist and tugged. Unprepared for the tugging, you stumbled sideways slightly, bumping into the two hybrids.

You chose to ignore the cheshire-like grin on Jimin’s face as the three staff members approached, followed hesitantly by the young woman, Yeri. She didn’t look too happy, if the stormy look on her face that she sent you was anything to go by.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Jackson apologized immediately as he approached, eyebrows raised as he took note of Jimin’s tail wrapped around your wrist and your close proximity to the two; you could barely feel the brush of Namjoon’s chest at your back. “Jimin isn’t normally like this. He usually prefers to keep his affections to Namjoon,” Jackson indicated the German Shepherd behind you.

“It’s fine,” You assure him softly, meeting Jimin’s stare before quickly focusing back on Jackson, “Actually, I’m interested in Jimin and Namjoon,” It’s another nervous smile from you, a little uneasy with all the attention focused solely on you. Jimin’s tail tightens slightly on your wrist and you can feel Namjoon’s chest crowd slightly closer to your back. Obviously they can smell your distress with the situation. You do your best to relax and shove aside your nerves.

“What?” Jackson seems taken aback, “Are you sure? You’re a first time owner and handling two hybrids is a lot of work. You hadn’t had time to look at the other hybrids..”

“Yes, I’m sure. Actually, I have their paperwork right here with me.” You reach with your free hand to pull the folder with their papers from your purse and offer it towards Jackson, “Jimin and Namjoon belonged to my sister. She signed them over to me in the event of her death in her Will. I would have gotten them sooner, but the lawyer’s office didn’t contact me until recently.” You explained as quickly as you could as Jackson flipped open the folder to look over the papers within, “Your secretary, Amanda, told me that owners only have 72 hours to claim their hybrids when their brought to the shelter, but I wasn’t informed that I was their owner until literally an hour ago.”

Jackson hummed and nodded along as he listened, “The proper paperwork is here, but...we’ll have to discuss it with the Director and see how we proceed with this from here. The two have had several interested in them, including Miss Yeri.”

The mentioned woman straightens, “She can have the dog,” She says stiffly, sliding her attention from you to Jimin, who refuses to acknowledge her, head tucked under Namjoon’s chin, his ears camouflaged in his hair once more. “I’m only interested in the cat.”

You furrow your eyebrows at her balant disinterest in Namjoon, appalled that she thought she could separate the two. They’d been together since before your sister had adopted them, at least that’s what she told you, and despite the fact that cats and dogs were notorious for not getting along, the two surprisingly had very few spats. Jimin’s display of distress at the thought of being separated from Namjoon hadn’t seemed to make the woman change her mind; how many people had been interested in them, only to want one of them? Had Jimin or Namjoon been thrown into distress more than once since they’d been here?

Had your sister been here, you had no doubt she would be threatening to throw hands with Yeri. The mental image almost made you crack a smile. You, on the other hand, bit your tongue and said nothing. At least, for now. Where your sister was quick to anger, you had a much cooler head on your shoulders.

“Like I said before Miss Yeri, we don’t separate hybrids that are bonded.” Jackson repeats, not even looking towards the woman he’s speaking to, “Doing so causes untold stress on the hybrids and diminishes their quality of life.” He closes the folder and looks at you expectantly, “Let’s go to the director and get this sorted out, yeah? This is a bit too complicated for me to deal with.” He offers a smile before turning his attention to the two hybrids, “Namjoon, Jimin. Please let Jaebum return you to your room?”

“But-,” Jimin starts to protest, reaching out to loop through yours and tug you closer. You reach over to brush your fingers over his arm in an attempt to comfort him, frowning as he trembled against Namjoon.

“Jiminie,” Namjoon’s voice was low and soothing as he speaks for the first time since you’d come across the commotion, “It’s alright,” You glanced upwards to look at him, watching curiously as he rubbed his chin against the top of Jimin’s head, the cat still tucked against him. Namjoon reached out to gently disentangle Jimin’s arm from yours and carefully unwound the younger’s tail from your wrist. “C’mon, let’s go take a nap, okay?” Jimin whined at the loss of contact, but he slowly nodded, wrapping his arms and tail around Namjoon.

Jaebum took a step towards the two, but immediately froze at the rumbling growl from Namjoon. You didn’t have the heart to blame Namjoon; Jaebum hadn’t helped the situation earlier.

Namjoon gently pulled Jimin away from you, his tail brushing you as he passed, murmuring softly to the smaller male tucked against him as they moved slowly down the hallway, Jaebum cautiously following behind.

You watched them quietly before Jackson clearing his throat brought your attention to the three humans still standing in the hallway with you.

“Shall we?” Jackson asked, gesturing towards the door behind you that lead back to the social area. You nod slowly, stepping aside to let Jackson lead the way.

“I’m coming with as well,” You turn to look at Yeri with furrowed eyebrows as she immediately stomps past you to follow after Jackson. She’d been repeatedly denied her request, but apparently she was far from giving up. You had a feeling that she was more than willing to play dirty to get what she wanted.

Surely if what Jackson said was true, this Director would shut down her request to separate Namjoon and Jimin and send her on her way. You didn’t particularly feel comfortable with even the slightest possibility of Jimin going home with her. Perhaps she would be a better owner than she appeared to be, but could you really let Jimin go home with her if it came down to it?

No, you decided. Your sister would haunt your ass. Scratch that, she would become corporeal and kick your ass.

Straightening, you sent one last look down the hallway before turning and following after Jackson and Yeri.

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You were ready to throw hands at Yeri fifteen minutes into the meeting with the Director.

Calm thoughts. Margaritas on the beach. Warm towels fresh out of the dryer. That carton of Rocky Road ice cream waiting for you at home.

“Suri will just love him, Jimin can bond with her.”

God, she was still talking. You closed your eyes, chin propped on your hand as you sighed deeply for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. After your first dramatic sigh, Yeri had taken to promptly ignoring you, focusing solely on the woman sitting behind the desk in front of you both.

Mrs. Choi, the Director, didn’t seem quite impressed with Yeri either, but she had yet to tell the woman to shut up and leave. She remained quiet, aside from the initial introductions and a soft, “Our policy states that we don’t separate bonded hybrids” directed at Yeri once the woman had started in.

Of course, Yeri was either too stubborn or too daft to even care. She started to talk about her other hybrid, a ragdoll named Suri, and how well taken care of and loved Jimin would be once she adopted him. She had everything ready for a new hybrid and you had sworn her eyes got all teary-eyed when she explained how taken she was with Jimin at first sight.

You wanted to punch her. She kept going and going and going, and even now, she hadn’t taken the hint to close her mouth.

“I’ve owned Suri for five years and she’s been my only ever since. Jimin would be so perfect for her and gosh, the cute little kittens they’d-,”

Jerking upwards in the chair, you slammed your hand on the arm rest, startling the woman beside you enough to actually make her look over at you in shock.

Satisfied you had her attention now, you fixed her with a glare, “You are not separating Jimin from Namjoon. You saw how distressed he was at the mere thought of it, but apparently you don’t care. Are you really that heartless?”

Your sister would be so proud right now. “My sister adopted them together and that’s how they’re going to stay.”

Yeri stared at you, mouth agape for almost a minute before she seemed to get over her shock on your outburst, “Well, where’s your sister? If she cared about them so much, why are they here in the first place?”

“Because she’s dead. Murdered.” You’re surprised you keep your voice steady, although you can feel the fresh burn of tears in your eyes. Tilting your chin up slightly, you force yourself not to let the tears fall, “You’re not separating them. I won’t let you or anyone else. They’ve had enough grief since losing my sister, and I sure as hell am not going to subject them to more.”

“Ms. Chae,” Mrs. Choi’s soft voice filters into the silence that falls over the room and Yeri slowly turns to look at her, “The two hybrids in question will not be separated. Either you are willing to adopt them together or not at all. That is final.”

Yeri opens her mouth and closes it several times before she huffs and abruptly stands before stomping dramatically from the room, slamming the door closed behind her.

Good riddance.

“Ms. L/N,” Turning sharply back to the woman behind the desk, you straighten in place, “There has been another party that has shown interested in both Namjoon and Jimin. They have filled out the necessary paperwork this morning to begin the adoption proceedings for the two.”

You deflate almost instantly at her words, sitting heavily back against the backrest of the chair. That was it then? You had been too late by mere hours. “I...I see.”

“However,” Mrs. Choi continued, and you glanced up at her curiously, “Since this is..a unique situation, along with the fact that you know the two hybrids in question, we’ve decided to make an exception.”

“Really!?” You perch at the edge of the chair at the prospect.

“If you fill out the adoption paperwork today, we would like for you to come back tomorrow for an interview.” She smiled ever so slightly, “In cases where more than one party is interested in a hybrid, we conduct an interview with the parties and then have them to meet with the hybrid in question and see how they interact.” Mrs. Choi paused to gauge your reaction before she continued, “Ultimately, the decision is up to the hybrid, but the interview and paperwork does help us weed out the...less-than-desirable applicants. Is that alright with you?” She prompts gently, leaning forward in her chair.

You’re nodding almost immediately in answer, “That...that would be great!” Were you really doing this? There wasn’t even a guarantee that it would work out in your favor.

“Where can I fill out the paperwork?”

TAGLIST: N/A

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#bts x reader #bts imagine #bts fan fic #bangtan sonyeondan #ot7 x reader #poly!bts x reader #hybrid!bts x reader #hybrid bts #*mine #my writing #twisted tails fic #i'm not crying over jimin's distress #it's just a twig in my eye #*DEEP BREATH* nervous as HECK

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meteora-writes · 4 years

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We Could Be Perfect One Last Night

Fandom: Hannibal Pairing: Will Graham x Hannibal Lecter Warnings: Blood, Description of Gunshot and Stab Wounds, Hypothermia, Breaking and Entering, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Injury Recovery Description: The water is freezing. Sucking the very life out of him as Hannibal swims to the surface. He sees Will close by, unconscious, and goes to him. Wraps an arm around him and begins to swim to the best of his abilities towards the shore. He's not sure he can make it. Weak from bloodless and the fight with Francis Dolarhyde. But he's going to try. Chapter: 1 - Die Like Star-crossed Lovers Authors Notes: So I finished the show and the muses popped up in my head screaming at me to write this so that’s what I did instead of sleeping the other night. Fic and Chapter titles come from the song Our Lady Of Sorrows by MCR. Read on AO3

~~~~~

Jack Crawford is the first agent on the scene.

He had expected the blood. The broken glass. The signs of a difficult struggle.

What he hadn’t expected was to find only a single corpse waiting for him when he arrived at Hannibal Lecter’s hidden little home by the sea.

Francis Dolarhyde lays torn and bloodied in the center of the little courtyard that stands between the back of the house from the cliff’s edge. Blood pooled around him like great terrible wings spread in flight. It only holds his attention for a moment before he continues his search for who he’s really interested in finding now that he knows the Dragon is dead.

“WILL! WILL CAN YOU HEAR ME?” he yells into the night, hoping the other man is still close by. The pool of blood surrounding Dolarhyde is already looking as though it’s frozen solid to the ground. It’s been a particularly cold night, and the wind off the ocean is amplifying its effects. Meaning he has no idea how long it’s been since Dolarhyde was killed. It could have been twenty minutes, or two hours ago for all he knows without more information from the forensics team.

Quick footsteps alert Jack of the other agents approaching from all sides. “Fan out! I want people searching the woods and the beaches nearby. And get an ambulance here, now. Both Graham and Lecter are likely injured and will require medical attention when we find them!” he orders as he follows thick trails of blood as well as a few bloodied shoe prints to the edge of the cliff. He looks down, shining a flashlight for a little extra illumination along with that provided by the slowly setting full moon. There’s no sign of any bodies in the water below, or on the rocks along the foot of the cliff that are peeking up from the water as the tide moves out. So that’s something at least.

“Sir, the dash-cam of the squad car was left recording this whole time,” an agent says as they approach from inside the house with cautious steps, trying not to disturb the scene of broken glass and bloody carpet.

“And?” Jack glances back at him, waiting for the agent to elaborate on the importance of that information.

“We’re pulling the footage now. The car had been positioned to get a full view of the house on camera. If they left on foot we’ll have an idea as to which way they went at the very least.” The agent looks nervous, knowing the alternative to leaving would be falling from the cliff into the freezing water below. This time of year that’s most definitely a death sentence. And with blood loss and possibly severe injuries on top of the freezing cold? A man wouldn’t stand a chance.

Jack nods his understanding and holsters his gun at last as he looks again at the blood that’s covering the ground. Streaks and pools of it cover the spacious courtyard. More than could have come from Dolarhyde alone if he had to guess. He definitely injured Will and Hannibal in their struggle. The question is, was it fatal for them as well, or only Dolarhyde?

~~~~~

Hannibal gasps for breath as he finally feels sand beneath his feet.

The water is so bitterly cold that he can barely feel his own body, let alone Will’s where he drags it with him through the churning waves of stinging saltwater.

Will went unconscious as they feel from the cliff. Maybe even before that. Hannibal isn’t quite sure. What he is sure of, is that the nearest house is still half a mile down the beach from where they’ve come ashore. And FBI agents will be arriving at his beach-side home sooner than later most likely, leaving no time to waste.

With a pained hiss, he pulls Will’s prone form onto the shore with him. Laying him out in the frigid night air a moment before mustering what strength he can in his sluggishly numb extremities and hauling him up into a carry with much more difficulty than he cares to admit to himself. Then, he walks, Will’s head tucked under his chin in a way that lets the blood still flowing from his mouth run down and be absorbed by their clothes. Keeping him from choking on it.

The waterfront homes in the area are empty along this particular stretch of the Chesapeake this time of year. It is both a boon and a curse upon their fortunes, as the odds of them getting away are contingent on what he finds in the nearest dwelling.

Turning his head, Hannibal can see the cliff that his old summer home sits upon. Sees the faint light that comes from the courtyard to cast out into the dark bluish-black of the night. The breeze picks up, sending an uncontrollable shiver through him, and he turns away to continue the difficult trudge through the sand. Will is heavy in his arms. Breathing shallowly as he too shivers almost violently from the harsh bite of winter, it’s effects no doubt amplified by blood loss.

The cottage they come to is smaller than his own. Tucked back into trees that block it from the view of his own dwelling less than a mile away. There are wooden lounge chairs set out in the back yard where it faces the water, and he rests Will on his side on one before searching for a key or some other means of entering the dwelling with as little disturbance to their surroundings as possible. He would prefer not to break anything if at all possible. Too likely to draw attention if any agents wander through searching for them.

The moonlight makes his search easier than expected, as it gleams off the shiny metal of a hidden key tucked under the rocking chair he tips over by the front door. Taking care, he rips off a piece of cloth from his ruined shirt and uses it to take the key and unlock the door.

To his surprise, the electricity is on when he tries the light switch. He grabs Will from the cold of the outside and lays him down on the sheet-covered couch before he moves to turn on just enough lights to see by without making it obvious someone is in the home to any passersby. \

He finds the door to the furnace, thankful it’s a simple electric one with a power switch. He gets that running before going to retrieve Will from where he set him on the couch.

They’re both hypothermic. Soaked to the bone with their clothes frozen to their skin in places thanks to the harsh bite of the ocean breeze. And worse yet, they’re both still bleeding sluggish from their wounds.

So, Hannibal does the rational thing to help them both warm up quickly. He finds towels and what clean clothes he can that might fit either of them. Once they’re gathered, and with increasing difficulty, he picks Will up once again and sets him in the tub before turning on the shower as hot as it will go.

Will doesn’t so much as flinch at the feel of the almost scalding spray hitting him. Body still shaking from the cold in his unconscious state. Hannibal watches him a moment before kicking off his shoes and picking him up just enough to climb into the tub behind him.

It’s uncomfortable at best. Too small a space for two men of their size to really fit together. But discomfort is worth it as the warmth quickly starts to seep into both of their extremities. It burns fiercely as it does so. Nerves flaring back to life where they had been shut down from the cold in the on-setting hypothermia.

Hannibal finds he somewhat likes the sensation. It distracts him ever so slightly from the pain in his side where the bullet went clean through him. And from his worries for Will, whom he now holds a cloth to the face of to staunch the bleeding where he had been stabbed just below his right eye. The blade clearly went in at an angle. Going through the bones and down to come out the roof of his mouth.

They stay in the all-consuming warmth of the water until Will’s shivering completely stops and the room fills with so much steam that breathing becomes almost difficult.

That’s when Hannibal finally reaches out and shuts off the spray, much to the protest of his aching body. He wants more than anything to simply close his eyes and join Will in unconsciousness. But that would be foolish. And likely deadly to one, if not both, of them.

He leaves Will in the tub, curled on his side with his head propped on the edge, and drags himself out onto the cool tiled floor. His capability for focus and rational thought is dwindling. He knows he needs to act quickly. They’ve both lost far too much blood and need more than just a few cloths pressed to the wounds to stop the flow.

There’s a sewing kit in the small linen closet next to the bathroom door. That along with the first aid kit from under the sink provide him just enough supplies for what he needs.

He strips Will of his sodden clothes first. Assessing the wound on his shoulder as well as the one in his mouth. He doesn’t have the tools needed to close that one. But he has enough gauze to pack the side of Will’s mouth for now. He does so and then stitches his cheek quickly and efficiently before moving on to his shoulder.

When he’s done he does the same with himself. The entrance wound on his back is clearly one he can’t stitch himself, the angle is just too difficult even for someone uninjured to attempt, but the exit wound on his abdomen is one he can close himself. He does his best to apply a makeshift pressure bandage to his back before wrapping an ace bandage around his waist tightly. When Will wakes later he can talk him through stitching the wound on his back, but for now, the bandage will have to do.

Glancing down at Will from his place seated on the edge of the tub, Hannibal wonders if he will try to kill him upon waking. If he’ll try to turn him over to Jack Crawford like he’s planned to in the past. Based on how the evening turned, he doesn’t see that as likely. Not after the way Will looked at him. Held him close as they both stood soaked in blood in the brilliant moonlight.

He doesn’t dwell on that train of thought long. His body feels heavy with exhaustion. So he gets changed into a dry shirt and a pair of slacks he found before hauling Will out onto a towel on the bathroom floor. He would rather take him into one of the bedrooms, give him a more comfortable place to rest, but it’s just too difficult to move him any further. So he gets Will dried off as best he can before getting him into a soft t-shit and worn jeans that are a hair too big for him.

Feeling the last of his energy leaving him quickly, Hannibal drags himself over to the linen closet once more, pulls out a thick blanket he finds there, and drags it back over to Will. He shows no sign of waking any time soon, so he might as well try to make him comfortable here. If not for Will’s take then his own.

Hannibal does his best to get Will covered in the heavy duvet, his head resting on a towel as a makeshift pillow.

With a small smile at what he’s managed to accomplish despite his own injuries dragging him down, he collapses beside Will a moment later, one hand still holding the blanket as the world goes dark and unconsciousness takes him.

Read Chapter 2

#hannibal #hannigram #hannibal x will #will x hannibal #will graham x hannibal lecter #Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham #angst #fluff #post canon #blood #hannibal lecter #will graham #murder husbands #we could be perfect one last night

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things2mustdo · 3 years

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In a previous article I discussed the possibilities of increasing your safety online by using measures such as encryption, VPN and Tor. Nonetheless I did not cover all possibilities and most importantly it was a practical discussion rather than a theoretical one. This article will be a theoretical dissection of online anonymity tools and their weaknesses.

Why do people get caught despite using Tor? Can anyone be truly anonymous online ?

This article will be a summary of the work of Tom Ritter, presented at DEFCON 21, the annual hacker conference. His video presentation can be viewed here and the printed version of his article here.

While doing a great Job, Tom’s work is heavy on tech jargon and might confuse laymen. So I will summarize his work and explain the strengths and weaknesses of modern anonymity tools. His work was published in 2013, but remains relevant today as well.

In his work Tom talks about 4 anonymity technologies : SSL, Tor, Remailers and Shared Mailboxes. Let’s discuss them one by one.

SSL

SSL stands for Secure Socket Layer and is a common online security standard used by the likes of Facebook and other major websites. The way SSL works is that it creates an encrypted tunnel of communication between 2 parties so that third parties cannot read the messages they are sending to each other. Despite being secure on paper, it can be circumvented rather easily. To understand how, first we must talk about metadata.

Metadata

Metadata is data that describes other data. For example, library cards which hold the name of the book, its publishing date and its location in the library is a form of metadata. Metadata is also used in IT.

An example of metadata is the EXIF file in photos. When you take a photo with a camera you not only register the photo, but usually your device also adds extra info such as the date the photo was taken, the GPS location, phone brand, etc. and stores it in the photo file.

Other form of metadata is not registered but can be inferred. For example, someone created a program that can discover which parts of Google maps you are looking at based on the size of map tiles you are downloading.

When you are using SSL you are unwillingly lending third parties metadata which can lead to your discovery, particularly the time the message was sent and the size of your messages.

This allows for attackers to do something called a correlation attack.

Correlation attacks are primarily of 2 types : Time-based attacks and Size-based attacks

Time-based attack

In order to perform a time-based attack a party sends a message in an encrypted stream, then it looks at who receives the message. Since SSL communication is instantaneous, you can easily infer who is behind the SSL stream. The third party sends a message at 15:59 and whoever happens to get the message right afterwards must be the person they are looking for.

This type of attack was used against the person who dumped Stratfor mailpools. The way it worked is that government analyzed the time he was logging in on the internet and noticed it coincided with the time the person they suspected logged on to a secret chat through Tor. Not only that, rumor has it the government cut electricity to his house at a certain hour and noticed that the user of the secret chat logged out at the same time. The coincidences were too much, so he got caught.

Size-based attack

In order to perform a size-based attack, the third party sends a file of an unusual size, and then whoever receives the file must be the person they are looking for. Since most people on Facebook send small messages to each other, one only needs to send a very large message and see who happens to receive a message of that size afterwards.

As you can see correlation attacks render you vulnerable if you use SSL as your only line of defense. The reason is because the Third Party can not see WHAT you are sending, but they know that you ARE sending something, WHEN you do it and HOW BIG is the file.

Ideally they should not even know you are communicating with anything at all. So, let’s see what other technologies have to offer.

Tor

Tor is a custom browser based on Firefox with extensions that works on the principle of connecting to a few nodes so that when you look at a website the only thing the website can see is the last node you traveled through and on the opposite side your ISP (Internet Service Provider ) can only see your first node, not the whole route.

This is already getting better. However it does not add that much anonymity since now third parties do not know WHO is communicating, but they can still see that it DOES happen, WHEN it happens and HOW BIG the size of messages are.

Not only that, but there are known vulnerabilities, particularly of 3 types.

You are viewing a website in the country you are in.

This allows advanced opponents calculate that it was YOU who was using Tor. It is difficult, but not impossible. This is bad news since a lot of people from US view websites stored in US. And so do dissidents from China or Iran.

Every single node you pass through is compromised

In my previous article I mentioned that the government can set up Tor nodes that they monitor. But to successfully pull an attack they would have to monitor EVERY node you go through.

This requires NWO level trickery, but again, we already have examples of this happening already with VPN agreements. Countries in the Anglosphere have an agreement to give away information regarding VPN usage by suspects from respective countries. This agreements is called Five Eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if a similar thing is organized regarding Tor nodes.

Passive traffic analysis

Although not mentioned by Ritter in his presentation, it is common knowledge that an opponent with a lot of resources, mostly governments, could analyze the whole network and correlate patterns to discover who is viewing a certain website or communicating with someone.

To give an analogy, it would be like the police heavily patrolling every single street in a city and every single car , so that even if your car had fake plates they could notice patterns and discover its owner.

The problem is, this approach can create false positives, with a 10% chance of error, which is why these analyses are not accepted in court as proof. But you can rest sure if such an analysis points to you, you will be put under further investigation and it only gets worse from there.

So what can be used to further aid us ?

Remailers

Remailers are an interesting concept. The way they work is that people pool their mail messages on a server, after which some time passes and all mails are sent simultaneously at the same time.

This is supposed to protect from Time and Size based correlation attacks.

The problem here is that it still allows third parties to see that you ARE sending a message, WHEN you sent it and HOW BIG it was. But they can’t see the other end. For the receiver, he has the same problem. Third parties can’t know WHO he got the message from, but they can still see WHEN he receives it from the remailer and HOW BIG it is.

On top of that, for Remailers to work lots of people have to use them at the same time. Otherwise if there are few users, an enemy can still use size-based correlation attacks.

It’s hard to use size-based attacks when thousands of people are sending messages of various sizes, but if only three people at one time are using a Remailer, then it is very easy to do a size-based attack.

Shared mailbox

Shared mailboxes are the most out-of-the-box anonymous solution.

The way a shared mailbox works is that users share a mailbox. They cannot delete messages from it, but can only add encrypted messages to it. And when they want to check if they received a message they download all messages and use their key and try to decrypt the header of all of them and see if any of the messages belong to him.

It is a resource-tedious process, but it offers a great payoff. For the receiver this is great because when he downloads the whole mailbox third parties can’t know if he received a message, maybe he did, or maybe he didn’t. For the sender however, the equation stays the same as before.

This is for the moment the most powerful anonymity solution out there. However it has a few issues. In order to use alt.anonymous.message (the shared inbox) you need to have some degree of technical skill, and user inexperience leads to issues.

In order to be easier to use alt.anonymous.message allows the use of nymservers. Nymservers act as regular mail addresses, which when sent to, automatically post them to alt.anonymous.message .

There are however issues with AAM and Nymservers.

1. Poor network diversity

The number one issue is there are currently two main node operators: Zax and Dizzum, which are responsible for the trafficking of messages to alt.anonymous.message. If both were to retire or be arrested it would the death of alt.anonymous.message. As you can see, network diversity is horrible.

2. Poor encryption used on messages

Another issue is the type of encryption used. Some messages used the outdated MD5 encryption standard which is easy to crack.

Also, the title of messages are encrypted less strongly in order to be able to determine quickly which belong to you and which don’t. Subjects can be encrypted using either hsubs or esubs. Esubs is an older and stronger standard, but hsubs have grown in popularity in recent years.

3. Pattern analysis due to use of same subject line and same remailers

A lot of messages use the same subject over and over, people tend to reply to a particular subject. On top of that most people also usually use the same remailer over and over, you can start noticing communication patterns :

4. Custom Remailer command errors

There are different type of remailers. The old school one was called Type 1 and lives on in the protocol of Mixmaster. It allows a lot of customizing options for the header. The users often screwed up the name of the command, which ended in the title of a message.

For example if you write “X-No-Archive Hello Friend” it would turn into “Hello Friend” and the X-No-archive would be interpreted as a command to not archive. But if you wrote “no-archive-x Hello Friend” you messed up so the title would become “no-archive-x Hello Friend”. If you do this multiple times, you would be identified as a unique user since your titles would all contain “no-archive-x” or uncapitalized “x-no-archive” or whatever other combination of mispelled commands you use.

Since most people used the same commands over and over and did the same mistakes they became quickly identifiable as unique users.

5. Imperfect Remailers

There are different types of remailers. Currently there are two types of remailers in use, MixMaster and MixMinion. MixMinion has certain advantages over MixMaster. But both suffer from certain problems.

6. Nymservers which do not protect from size-based correlation attacks

Nymservers themselves have problems. Zax’s Nymserver is instantaneous which allows for size-based correlation attacks. However even Type 1 Nymservers (older ones) which are not always instantaneous still allow for size-based correlation attacks given a bit of perspicacity.

Therefore we identified main issues with AAM (alt.anonymous.message):

1) Giving users options allows for segregation and profiling 2) Some encryption is weak 3) It can be complicated to use and allows for beginner mistakes 4) Weak network diversity

Nonetheless, Ritter identified the most secure way of using AAM :

1) Use a strong passphrase and hsub 2) Use Type 3 PGP packet (Key Stretching) 3) Use Remailers 4) Do not use extra headers or options

The issue here is that if you do it properly you will still be part of a small community of people doing so (around 500 – 1500 people), which will make you looks suspicious and will cause the government to look closer into you and maybe add you to a database.

Solutions of the future

Pynchon gate

Pynchon Gate is a project meant to replace shared mailboxes. It uses Private Information Retrieval. It exposes less meta-data, scales better and resists flooding and size-based attacks. However it is currently work in progress

Improved Remailers

MixMinion is currently the best remailer protocol and as such should be used as a basis for future improvement. Planned improvements include things such as improving TLS settings and moving to a new packet format.

What is currently lacking

As of right now, what is lacking is some tech that could be used to anonymously share large files. AAM and such are low bandwidth, which means it can only be used to share small files like text messages.

A new service needs to be created to cover this niche. In the words of Tom Ritter :

But what I keep coming back to is the fact that we have no anonymity network that is high bandwidth, high latency. We have no anonymity network that would have let someone securely share the Collateral Murder video, without Wikileaks being their proxy. You can’t take a video of corruption or police brutality, and post it anonymously.

Now I hear you arguing with me in your heads: Use Tor and upload it to Youtube. No, youtube will take it down. Use Tor and upload it to MEGA, or some site that will fight fradulent takedown notices. Okay, but now you’re relying on the good graces of some third party. A third party that is known to host the video, and can be sued. Wikileaks was the last organization that was willing to take on that legal fight, and now they are no longer in the business of hosting content for normal people.

And you can say Hidden Service and I’ll point to size-based traffic analysis and confirmation attacks that come with a low-latency network, never mind Ralf-Phillip Weinmen’s amazing work the other month that really killed Hidden Services. We can go on and on like this, but I hope you’ll at least concede the point that what you are coming up with are work-arounds for a problem that we lack a good solution to.

Conclusions

As we can see true anonymity online is non-existent. At the very least, third parties can collect meta-data on you and use correlation attacks, when ideally they shouldn’t even know you are communicating at all. Moreover, even strong anonymity tools like Tor have shown to have known vulnerabilities.

However, what matters is not whether something is vulnerable in theory, but rather does it keep you safe in practice? And so far, the tools we have at our disposal are pretty powerful.

As I have mentioned in my previous article, using TailsOS off a flash stick in a public wi-fi area with no cameras + VPN/Tor seems to be the best solution for now.

The testament to the power of anonymity tools is that pedophile rings and drug dealers have managed to escape persecution by multiple world governments to this day using them.

And that’s what I will talk about in my next article. We will analyze the electronic operational security of pedophile rings and how one infamous one managed to escape unscathed after years of being searched. Stay tuned.

Read More: 12 Ways To Increase Your Anonymity And Security Online

#tor

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emberfrostlovesloki · 4 years

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Guess who got into Criminal Minds

I realize that I’m about five years late to this fandom but here’s the first chapter of a story I’m working on. I plan on making Spencer the focus later in the story. The story starts sometime during the middle of season !. Hope you enjoy.

Warnings for chapter 1: Description of murder and mutilated bodies. Discrimination against sex workers.

To Be Held - Chapter One: Death in Seattle

Derek was the last member of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit to enter the bright room where the rest of the team was gathered. Hotch, J.J., and Gideon had already grabbed a file off of the table laden with paper and pictures. The late agent leaned over the table and swiped the file with the main information about the new case. “So, what are we working with here?” Derek asked. Gideon looked up from his file and replied, “Two murders, one victim female and one victim male. The female was assaulted before her death. The male was…” There was a pause in Gideon’s fact list and Spencer finished the sentence for his boss. “The male was castrated, after his death.” Derek looked up at Spencer with a surprised look, and let out a long sigh. “So what are the similarities? A male and female murdered could mean two different M.O. therefore indicating two unsubs?” It was Elle’s turn to give up the information she had gathered. “It looks like one unsub to me. I think the murders are very religiously symbolic. Apart from torturing the victims the unsub broke the wrists and feel of his targets and laid their bodies in the position of someone who had been crucified.” The team nodded their heads as they took in the new information. Gideon who had pulled out his phone looked up from the glowing screen. “The plane’s ready.Well fill in any other gaps of information on the flight to Seattle. Grab your stuff -- wheels up in ten. As the team filed out of the room Spencer was walking beside Derek and inquired, “So what made you late?” Derek looked at the genius and said, “I overslept.” Hotch turned and gave Derek a knowing look before dashing down the stairs to his desk.

The BAU team was in the air and in their regular seats. So far the team had found out the identities of the two victims. The male was Jefferson Pyne, 19, sophomore at Washington State University, he had been studying fashion merchandising, had good grades, and was in the BYX fraternity. The female was Sydney Grost, 31, she had worked as an escort in the greater Seattle and Washington area. Both Jefferson and Sydney’s bodies had been dragged into the woods where they were found two days apart by a hiker and cyclist.

The plane landed smoothly on the runway. As Elle stepped out onto the tarmac she turned to J.J. and said, “Man this weather is really going to get to me. If Twilight has taught me anything from my youth, it’s that in Washington it’s always raining.” Before J.J. could make a joke about how Elle had read Twilight in her youth, Spencer chimed in with, “Actually, Twilight miscalculated how much it rains in Forks. It rains about 15% of the time, not 85% like Meyer’s implied.” J.J. and Elle tried to stifle their giggles as they both turned to look back at Dr. Reid. “You’ve read Twilight?” J.J. asked incredulously to Spencer. To her it was an almost impossible idea,that Dr. Spencer Reid, a man with three degrees and a genius level IQ had read Twilight. Spencer replied with, “Of course I have. It’s part of the cultural zeitgeist of the 21st century. I couldn’t not read it, could I?” The rhetorical question was all too much for J.J. and Elle and they turned around and giggled, quietly, but still, they had to laugh at the concept. They didn’t see Dr. Reid’s reaction, but he bit his lower lip in confusion, and wondered why reading a book that was immensely popular was funny in regards to him.

As the BAU was whisked away to the East Precinct of the Seattle Police Department. Upon arriving at the glass exterior the team was greeted by the Police Chief. Gideon stepped forward in his position of authority, extending his hand and saying, “My name is Jason Gideon, head of the Behavioral Analysis unit. This is my team, agent Hotchner, agent Morgan, agent Greenaway, agent Jareau, and Dr. Reid.” The chief replied by firmly shaking Gideon’s hand, and replying with, “My name is Officer Carmen Best, it’s a pleasure to meet you, and your team. Let’s go inside and get started.”

In a secure room of the police building the team settled down and waited for Chief Carmen to give them the general briefing which she began almost immediately after they were seated. “Two days ago we were made aware of the death of two individuals from the Seattle area. At first we assumed that there could be two different killers, due to the differences in the age and sex of the victims, as well as the method of bodily mutilation. However, after examining the bodies, the similarities were too hard to ignore. The escort company that Ms. Grost worked for is called Fantasy Girls. We've had police officers in plain clothes canvas the building a few times, but nothing seems out of place. Seattle has a lot of tourists from Canada and abroad. We fear that this might be a foreign attack and the unsub might get away before we can find and convict them. That’s all we have right now apart from the evidence you have been already given. Do you have any questions or observations so far?” Chief Carmen looked around the room to see what she was working with. Morgan cleared his throat and spoke up saying, “It’s unlikely that the unsub is not a U.S. citizen. It wouldn’t fit a typical profile. Also, I think this unsub must be older, around 30 to 50 to be precise. The technique of disposing of the bodies without anyone noticing means a more experienced killer. Likely someone who has killed before.” Everyone nodded at Morgan’s assertion. After a few seconds of silence Gideon stood and laid out the plan for the rest of the day. “Agent Hotchner and I will go out to the crime scene to see what else we can deduce there. Morgan and Elle, I want you to go out to Fantasy Girls office and profile the owner, employee’s, really anyone who might know something. Also talk to the cops that are doing the surveillance. Dr. Reid, you stay here and get started on the criminology, possible motives and areas the unsub could strike next. J.J. I need you on the media scene here. Get ahold of what the news has on this case, and keep it under wraps if it looks like a story is about to break.” With the orders given each of the separate groups went to do their jobs.

Gideon and Hotch mainly remained silent as they made the thirty minute drive to the trailhead leading to the crime scene. Gideon swerved the steering wheel quickly causing the car to drift an inch on the wet pavement. Hotch let out a small laugh under his breath. Gideon looked over at him wondering what caused such a reaction in the severe man. “You drive like my wife Jason.” Stated Hotch. The statement had both men laughing until their sides hurt. By the time the two friends had caught their breath, the undercover car was pulling into the trailhead parking lot. Vita Nova was clearly printed on a metal sign next to the map of all of the trails in Olympic National Park. Hotch looked over the map and found the path they were looking for. It was titled Journey's Start. Aaron called behind him at Gideon saying, “We had better get a move on, the crime scene is about three miles from here.” Gideon replied, “You said it boss, let’s go.” As they started their walk, the world slipped away into a lush green path. Hotch fingered his gun. The forest muffled the sounds around them and it put him on edge.

Just as Gideon and Hotchner started their hike, Elle and Morgan arrived outside the building hosting the Fantasy Girls headquarters. It was surprising to Morgan and he commented, “I was frankly expecting something more, flashy?” He gave Elle a quizzical look, hoping for clarification. Elle stated, “I imagine that this is the agency for Fantasy Girls. Escorts take men to bars and clubs all over town. Companies like this aren’t brave enough to have a facade where the girls work. It’s shady, but it keeps the company less liable for situations like this. Morgan nodded and the two exited the car and entered the crumbling brick building. The FBI agents quickly scaled the two flights of stairs to find the office door marked 308 Fantasy Girls. As they walked in and an attractive, young woman walked out holding a folder in one hand and a check in the other. She paused for a moment to look Morgan up and down before sliding out of the door and making room in the office. It was empty apart from an elderly secretary. Morgan walked forward and told the secretary, “We’re from the FBI and we need to speak to Riley Yeung.” The secretary, whose name tag said Nancy, clicked her tongue. “Mr. Riley won’t be happy to see you. He already gave a statement to the police. That was yesterday, maybe you should talk to them?” Nancy retorted. Elle stepped forward, and in a warning tone said, “Speaking to Mr. Riley is imperative to making sure more innocent people aren’t killed. We must see him.” Nancy listened with apathy to Elle before picking up the phone at her desk and hitting one. “Mr. Riley, some suits form the FBI are here to talk to you.” As Nancy listened to the response on the other line she pursed her lips. After she hung up the phone and looked up to Morgan and pointed to the door to the left of her desk. “Mr. Riley’s office is at the end of the hall. He’s ready for you.” Morgan turned at the response and opened the door for Elle. As he stepped into the dirty hallway leading to the CEO’s office he overheard a comment that Nancy said under her breath, “Innocent people, all these girls are being paid to be sluts and whores. They’ll all burn in hell on day.” Morgan thought about turning around and interviewing Nancy, but he stopped himself, instead filing the comment away for another time.

Meanwhile, back at the precinct J.J. and Reid were working at the table where the whole team had been two hours ago. J.J. was on her computer researching what the both online and print news media was saying about the murders. She was also emailing her associates in CNN, MSNBC, and FoxNews, with the information she had. J.J. was also working with the police department on when a press briefing might happen. She also was asking Spencer what he had learned so far. As she got new information she added it to a general document with all of the current information. This procedure made filing the final paperwork at the end of a case much easier. So Reid, “what have you found about the illustrious Fantasy Girls website?” J.J. asked. Spencer didn’t even look up from his laptop as he replied with, “It appears that there are three models for requesting a Fantasy Girl.” He paused and swallowed at the idea of requesting a woman. He continued saying, “You can get an individual woman, or get a group of two to four women, and lastly you can host a ‘party,’ which can have up to twelve women.” Spencer breathed out, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. Looking at a screen for too long always gave him a migraine. J.J. looked up at him and asked, “So, have you found anything on Sydney Grost, or the other girls?” Spencer replied with, “Not that I can see from the Fantasy Girls website of social media. At least this company managed to keep the identities of the other workers safe. There’s hardly anything about them apart from promotional pictures and their aliases. However, there is one girl, she seems to be in a lot of pictures with Grost.” J.J. wondered if the owner of Fantasy Girls had just recently whipped the personal information about his workers. If they would be the next unwilling victims lying dead in the words. She wrote down the first part of her thought and then had an idea. “Hey Spencer, you should call Garcia. Send her the pictures with Grost and the other girl. She can find anyone, literally. I’ve seen her do it with about fifty potential Tinder dates. She even checked out a guy for me once.” J.J. smiled at the memory. Spencer raised his eyebrows at the story, but after a second he swivelled out of his chair, grabbing his phone and stepping into the hallway to call Garcia.

“Office of the Supreme Overlord, may I inquire which of my feifs is calling?” Garcia loved the thrill of answering her calls oddly. She considered it one of the most interesting parts of her job. Of course, every once in a while she got reprimanded for her behavior, but it was alway worth the risk. When she heard, “Hey Gracia, it’s Spencer.” She replied with, “Ah, my favorite genius other than myself. How may I be of assistance?” There was a pause on the line and Spencer replied with, “I’ve sent you some photos. I need one of the women identified.” Penelope pulled up her email tab on the sleek computer system. Once she opened the attachment she couldn’t help but say, “Wow, they’re hot.” Penelope thought she hadn’t said it outloud but when Spencer responded with, “What?” she knew she was screwed. She cleared her throat and continued the conversation, “I’m assuming you want me to find the identity of the girl with black hair?” To which Spencer replied, “Yes. The other woman is Sydney Grost, aka The Violet Vixen, she was killed two days ago. I’m hoping if we can identify the other woman we can get a better profile on the unsub.” Penelope nodded along with the information. Her fingers were already flying across her keyboard, uploading the photos into a software that would analyze the basic characteristics of both girls. She hoped that the software would pick up information about both women. Even if one of them wasn’t alive anymore, it would prove that the program she had created was working. As she was working she asked Spencer one more question. “So what’s the other woman’s name?” He quickly said, “Venus Rising, of course that’s an alias. Garcia, I've gotta run and give J.J. a hand with something. Please call me back when you get something.” The line suddenly went dead. Penelope smiled. She loved that Reid never questioned that she could get something done, and he had said “‘Please.’” She took a big swig of Mountain Dew and went back to typing incredibly fast, monitoring her computer screen like the tech genius she was.

Hotch and Gideon had arrived at the scene where the bodys had been found. Gideon hunched under the yellow caution tape that quarantined the area, while Hotch looked for any clues outside of the crime scene. The scene was very clean, Jason noted on his legal pad. Meanwhile, Aaron was examining a small trail that didn’t appear to be part of the larger system of the park. “Jason, I have something here.” He called out when he noticed something unique in the dirt leading out of the crime scene. Gideon walked to Aaron and squatted down to look at what his friend was looking at. When he didn’t see anything noticeable on the earth he asked, “What am I looking for?” Hotchner cleared some of the leaves off of the ground and dug some pebbles off the same area. “There’s a shoe tread, it’s faint, but look here, there's a star imprinted.” Hotch moved his pointer finger around the shape of a star. With Hotchner’s explanation the shoe tread became clear. Gideon responded with, “This unsub is good, he covered his tracks as he left the scene, and if I’m not mistaken that’s a Doc Marten tread. Good find.” Hotch replied simply with, “Thanks.” The younger man stood up and stated, “I’m going to try and follow this path and see where it leads. Also, when I get a signal I’m going to call Chief Best and get a squad out here to rope off the area where I find prints.” Gideon knew that Hotch was as good at his job, and very aware of the situation, but he could not help saying, “Be careful and stay aware.” Before Aaron walked into the overgrown woods.

Once Hotch was out of sight Gideon went back to the scene. Now that he knew that there was something to look for. He swept the blanket of leaves off the ground with his foot. First he found one print, then another, and another. It was clear to him that the unsub had been to this location many times. He had scouted the site for the bodies, but a more important piece of information that that knowledge gave, was that the unsub had scouted his victims. As Gideon processed the information, something else caught his eyes. He leaned down, on the edge of a bush was a strand of orange rope. It was exactly where Mr. Pyne’s body had been found. Jason pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. Next he pulled on some gloves and put the organe fibers into an evidence bag for further analysis.

Derek looked around the filthy office of Mr. Riley. The peeling and dated wallpaper was decorated with lewd photos of naked women. Mr. Riley appeared as repulsive as his interior design aesthetic. He was responding to a question from Elle, “Ms. Greenaway, let me clearly say again that the girls I hire are not coerced in any way.” Elle was annoyed at the response and asked in a calm voice, “Would you tell me how your hiring process works, and who the girls interact with in that process.” Riley took a second, clearly trying to find a way of not totally answering the question. After Elle cleared her throat, waiting for an answer, he responded with, “The first step in becoming a Fantasy Girl is me. I make a job opportunity available on the internet. Next prospective girls will come in for an interview and a photoshoot. If I like a girl enough and I think she offers something new, I’ll give the girl a week to try the work and see if the appeal is there. Not all women want to be a sex worker, even if they think they might like it. IF the girl does well with the clients, and she likes the job, I give her a contract. A contract which she has a right to refuse.” Elle furthered the question by asking, “Who else reads the applications apart from you. Also who gets to decide if a girl is marketable?” Riley was clearly tired of questions he didn’t want to answer but said, “Nancy processes the applications and sends potential girls to me. If a girl in a trial can make at least 15% commission I’ll sign her.” Derek was both recording and transcribing the conversation in his notes. Morgan still felt put off by Riley and asked, “From your income statements it looks like you’re doing very well for yourself. If the murder of Ms. Grost hurts your profits, how are you planning on moving forward with the company?” “Agent Morgan, I’m sure I know what you’re thinking. You see this office, these photos and you're wondering how I’m lining my pockets while screwing over the girls that work for me. Sure I make a nice profit, but in the end I’m keeping these girls off the street. They get to work somewhere safe. The bars they work at have a partnership with me. If something is going wrong there’s always someone to help them. So I’m the good guy here. You have a list of all the current clients, I can’t tell you anything else.” After Mr. Yeung had finished his speech, Elle gave Derek a look that indicated they should go. She raised from her chair and said, “Thank you for the information Mr. Yeung. We’ll email you if we have any other questions.”

Derek and Elle sat in the car for a moment before Elle had to get her thoughts out. “That man is really self centered and gross. But he really does think that he’s helping the women that work for him.” Derek nodded, “He constantly referred to them as “‘girls’” like they are younger and need protecting. I mean the oldest escort is 40, she’s not really a child anymore.” Derek stated. “I think when we meet some of the escorts we may have a better read on our friend Riley.” Elle said leaning back into the seat of the car.

By the time the team had reconvened at the station the sun had set and it started raining. The pitter-patter of the storm outside could be heard above the debrief the team was going through. Hotch stated the conversation with, “I found a pair of boot imprints at the crime scene.” He tossed the picture of the tracks on the table for the team to see, “From analysing how far apart his gait is, plus the large size of the shoe, we can safely assume that the unsub is male and stands about six feel tall. The scene was very clean, too clean. I’ve requested a meeting with the coroner that performed the paperwork detailing his examination of the bodies.” Next Gideon jumped in, saying, “I also found some unique fibers at the scene.” He produced the bag of evidence. “I’ll leave these here, an analysis team is on it’s way.” Spencer took the chance to interject, “Hopefully the fibers will produce some elements we can trace back to where the unsub tortures his victims. I’ve sent some analysis out to Garcia. I’m hoping to identify a potential victim and coworker of Ms. Grost. I think she can tell me a lot about what happened.” Because J.J. had also spent the day with Spencer she went next, stating, “The media is surprisingly informed, but hasn’t really reported anything yet. There was an obituary for Mr. Pyne, but the press certainly hasn’t made the connection between the two cases yet. Probably because of the link between a sex worker and a teenager. It could look bad in a paper. I’ve contacted Mr. and Ms. Pyne and set up an interview at their house tomorrow. So far I've had no luck finding relatives of Ms. Grost. ” Lastly Elle filled in the team explaining, “Mr. Yeung is making a lot of money from his business. He may be coercing the women who work for him and he sees himself as a savior to them. He’s a misogynist, but from what I saw today he’s, nor anyone in his office would have the motive to murder one of their own employees.” The team took in the information. Spencer was writing down notes when Gideon cleared his throat saying, “This might have been a slow day, but we’ve made good progress before. If the unsub stays consistent then there will be another missing person by tomorrow. We must prevent this if we can. Let’s go get some rest and hit the ground running tomorrow. The team headed out to the cars, getting wet as they ran to the vehicles in the rain.

Across town a figure clutched a necklace. He was mumbling the same phrase over and over, it was drowned out by the sound of the wind. He became silent when a car pulled into the driveway. He waited till the man in the car got out and went into the house. The man dropped the necklace and pulled out a gun from the waistband of his pants. He moved from behind the bushes and moved with confidence toward the house. If the rain wasn’t beating down so hard a neighbor might have heard the single shot from a gun that rang out into the night.

#ciminal minds #spencer reid #dr. spencer reid #j.j.#agent hotchner #derek morgan #elle greenaway #fanfic

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pleasantpartyathletepsychic · 3 years

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preface:

More than 300 million people on earth suffer from depression, accounting for about4.3% of the earth's population. What I want to express is:human beings do not have the socalled depression, but human beings live on the earth of hatred, enslavement, doubt and war. Some people can not accept and can not change. They are at a loss and choose to escape.

Human beings have never been freed from slavery and never had love. There is no right on earth, but human beings have created it,. In the political system, the government has the right to control the army, the police, the media, the courts, education, hospitals and land (according to the national conditions of each country). Therefore, the military, police, media, education and hospitals do not have independent management, but are subject to the government. Taking off the mask of power, the political system is enslaved.

I want to put forward the earth, the new economic system, the new political system, the new land system, the new trust system, the new land system

1.political system

Abandon the enslavement of the political system and let every political structure, army, police, media, court, education and hospital have independent management. Let every province, state, city, county, town and village have their own management and give up regional slavery completely.

Suppose the State100 million people: This is a country made up of100 million people, and the final choice of the state (law, constitution, important matters of the state) is decided by100 million people (in the case of dissatisfaction with the choice of the government).

The president (governor, governor, mayor, county head, town head, village head) is not a leader. Instead, he chooses a trusted person to replace100 million people. When someone questions the president (governor, governor, mayor, county head, town head, village head), a vote can be launched to let the president (governor, governor, mayor, county head, town head, village head) step down

2.economic system

In the modern economic system, some enterprises gradually grow up through monopoly, acquisition, and shareholding.the90%money falls into the hands of0.1%people, and the99.9%people have less and less money.99.9% people don't have enough money to buy goods, while enterprises own goods but can't sell them. Lead to a large amount of money, commodity accumulation. More and more enterprises are closing down, more and more people are losing their jobs, and they are gradually circulating. Gradually expand inflation (currency devaluation), and finally the economy collapses.

I want to propose a new economic system, combined with the above political system

For example, the upper limit of personal currency is set at100million US dollars (plus cars, houses, precious goods, etc.), and the government sends2000US dollars to everyone every week.

Statement: how can the government get so much money to realize2000US dollars per person per week without bankruptcy? National currency needs to be corresponding to commodities. Food, electronic products, daily necessities and houses in the country are commodities. Print the currency corresponding to the commodity and send the corresponding currency (per person2000US dollars per week). The upper limit of personal currency is set at10 million US dollars, the consumption currency flows into the government, and then the government sends money in turn (per person per week2000 US dollars). Gradually cycle.

The new economic system can provide enough living needs for human beings, not worry about survival, and effectively reduce crime. The new economic system forms a good currency circulation, adjusts the upper limit of personal currency, and sends money every week. This will be a very healthy economic system.

Statement:in a country of 100 million people, there is not much work really needed.There is a lot of room to go up from US $2000 to US $10 million, and some people will choose to work.

3、 Education

After using the new economic system, human beings have many choices

1. From birth to death, they do not receive any education, or know some words or languages. After human beings are born, they will understand the way people around them express (speak), so they don't even need to learn words and languages

Table tennis, chemistry, dance, etc

4、 Land

This is a country of100 million people, land is owned by100 million people. The government plundered the common land and sold the land to the developers (private individuals). The developers built houses with the land and sold them to the people of the country. A house with a total cost of100000US dollars has been sold for500000US dollars,1million US dollars or even higher through speculation. Buyers work10years,20years, or even longerfor a $100000 home.

Common land cannot be sold. The correct way is for the government to build houses in a unified way, which is divided into individual rooms and husband and wife rooms. Before13years old, no one issues a personal room, but takes back the personal room and issues a couple's house after becoming a husband and wife. The cost of building houses is paid by the government. After using the new economic system, it is easy to realize free housing, free medical care and free education

5.written words

The text corresponds to the real object to express. But the adjective has no corresponding object, and the object corresponding to the adjective does not exist. Adjectives define human thinking and behavior as interesting, mature, high IQ, success, respect, etc. Human beings aspire to be interesting, successful and have dreams. Human thinking and behavior are gradually bound by interesting, success and dream, and will not make thinking and behavior beyond interesting, success and dream. (this is one of the causes of human depression)

Human beings need to delete adjectives to untie the shackles. There are hundreds to thousands of adjectives

Brave, cowardly, good, evil, interesting, dream, ordinary, worship, success, failure, respect, discrimination, quality, insult, home, education, interest, like, hate, happy, sad, happy, pain, selfconfidence, inferiority, right, wrong, IQ, EQ, intelligence, stupidity, truth, hypocrisy, honesty, cheating, culture, rights, leadership, optimism, pessimism , complain, great, weak and all Titles: teacher, student, parent, husband and wife, father, mother, child, policeman, criminal, you, we, doctor, nurse, citizen, all these are adjectives.

Statement: the video content needs adjectives to express clearly.

This is a choice to change the fate of mankind, and mankind needs to make a choice. The key to reform is the army. The army should give up its power and do what you think is right. Love, hate, you need to make a choice

Before the video was published, I didn't tell anyone that I needed to be safe and make sure to send the video. After publishing the video, I may be assassinated or punished by Chinese law. My life is in danger or I may be safe. I don't know what I will face. I need the help of the United Nations.

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cycat4077 · 4 years

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Changes: Chapter 4

Ch. 4 is done. I was writing while waiting for the mid-season premier and am trying to get this thing written before my PhD life gets hectic again. As always, AO3 will have the most recent updates in terms of minor edits.

Title: Changes Ship: Sonny x Reader (OC female character)

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | AO3 | Chapter List |

Chapter 4: His Heart’s In the Right Place - You witness how Sonny interacts with victims and children and you come to understand why he does what he does.

Notes: There's some sensitive issues mentioned in this chapter, but nothing close to what they go into on the show.

Time continues to pass at SVU and, not only do you notice Carisi's dedication, but he is also quite compassionate. He often puts up a tough-guy front but underneath all that you suspect is someone a lot softer. Your first clue should have been that protective hand on your back as he walked you home a couple weeks ago. But over and over again, he lets that side of himself shine through, especially when he deals with victims. He speaks to them in a considerate voice, always making sure that they feel safe and that they can trust him. He'll ask questions, probing for information but never in a way that comes across like he's pressuring them. You find it incredible. It's as if he is the perfect match for this job.

One afternoon in particular will always stay with you.

You look up from your work, spotting a woman cautiously make her way into the squad room. She has a little boy in tow. At first glance, nothing strikes you as unordinary but then you notice her appearance. Her makeup is smudged around her eyes, her reddish-brown hair is messy and some of her clothing is ripped at the seams. She’s here for a reason, but before you can speak up to notify anyone, Sonny is already by her side. You can’t make out what he’s saying to her, although you see her nodding and Sonny wrapping his suit jacket around her shoulders. He leads her to his desk where she takes a seat. He kneels in front of her as a sign that she can trust him, while her son fiddles with something shyly by her side.

You then see Benson come over and Sonny give her a knowing look. The woman is holding back tears as she apologetically states that she would have come in sooner, but she had to pick her son up from daycare. Both Benson and Carisi reassure her that it’s alright. Benson however, tells the woman that they need to speak privately and that it’s best that her son stays out in the squad room. The woman nods, reassures her son that she’ll be right back and then the sergeant leads her into the statement room.

The boy, probably no older than four, starts to cry as his mom walks away. You’re fixated on the situation as Sonny gently says: “Hey champ. It’s ok. Your mom has to talk to my friend for a while but don’t worry, she’s a nice lady. And that means I get to talk to you!” Sonny playfully points a finger at the boy. “My name is Sonny. What’s yours?” The boy looks away shyly, clutching a toy car tightly in his tiny hand. Carisi takes a quick look at the child’s backpack beside him, finding his name printed on it. “Is your name Connor?” he asks and the boy then looks up, giving a small nod. “That’s a cool name!” Sonny remarks enthusiastically before drawing his attention to the toy. “So, Connor, do you like cool cars? ‘Cause I do. Especially the ones that go real fast! Zooom!” Sonny runs his hand in front of Connor in a zig-zag pattern, animating a car speeding by. Finally, the little boy giggles and presents his toy car to Sonny. “Come on then, buddy. Let’s go sit down and play cars.”

Sonny stands up and takes the boy by the hand, leading him through the squad room towards the break area. Your heart goes out to the little boy as you watch the scene. From your desk you can just barely see Carisi sitting with Connor. Sonny certainly has a kind heart. Not everyone could be so calming and gentle towards children. It’s truly nice to witness and, every so often, you are able make out the vroom sounds the two make as they drive toy cars over the tabletop.

Eventually your day is over. The mother and boy have been taken care of and sent home, while their case remains open on the bulletin board. You make your way to the lockers and find Carisi leaning against the wall checking his phone. He immediately pockets it when he sees you arrive. “Hey,” he says, his voice tired.

“Hey,” you smile as you approach your locker for your belongings. Your pulse picks up a beat as you decide to acknowledge him for earlier. “You were really great today…with that boy who came in.”

“Thanks,” he responds. Sonny’s ears turn a slightly darker shade of pink. “I have a niece. Well, she’s 15 now but I used to have lots of practice being Uncle Sonny,” he fumbles.

“Well, it shows,” you say encouragingly and Sonny blushes again. Then you think about Connor and the state of his mother: “That little boy is going to have to be very strong for his momma for the next little while.”

“Yeah, he is,” agrees Sonny solemnly. “Y’know, it’s always so sad. Whether the kid is the victim or just collateral, they always end up sufferin’ the most. Those two,” he nods in the direction of the door, “their lives are changed forever. His mom is changed forever and all of that is inevitably gonna take a toll on him, no matter how hard she tries to hide it.”

You consider this for a moment. All the cases you’ve sifted through thus far and all the ones that have come through the squad room in your short time here; you only really see the immediate damage. The actual crime. Except you’ve never really considered the “after”; how these victims’ lives and the lives of their families are permanently altered. Suddenly you want to take nothing for granted.

Sonny must recognise the affliction in your features because he softly adds, “that’s why I wanna be a lawyer, you know. I wanna do everything in my power to make sure that these vics get justice. Being a cop is rewarding when you catch the bad guy and all, but it’s so frustratin’ when all your hard work gets squashed in court.”

You look up at Sonny with a furrowed brow. He’s right. None of it really ends when they slap cuffs on the perp. Not for the victims and not in terms of the justice system. Your features soften. “You’ll make a great lawyer, Sonny,” you reassure him. “You know what it’s like to be on the investigation-side of things, but you also have the compassion. There’s not enough of that in the world today.” It’s the best compliment you can think of because it’s true, and you want nothing more than for Sonny to know that you believe in him.

“Thanks, that means a lot,” he says your name as the corner of his lips turn up to form a genuine smile.

You both turn back to your lockers but you feel like you truly understand Sonny now. You know what drives him to not only be a great detective, but also to overwork himself at night school. His heart really is in the right place.

Chapter 5 here

#Changes #Sonny Carisi x Reader #my fanfic #Sonny Carisi #Sonnyshine of my life #law and order svu #svu fanfic

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marsupials-of-mars · 4 years

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It Surfaces on the First Freeze of Winter (Pt 1)

Pairs: Logince, Intrulogical(?) angst TW: Drowning, Remus, body horror(?) Out of what must be pity (and a deal that Roman must look for a job), Logan decides to accompany his eccentric roommate Roman out on a quest to find an elusive, cephalopod-seeming cryptid. Though as unforeseen events unfold, he finds his own future becoming murkier and murkier, not unlike the waters he finds himself wading through more often than he'd first anticipated.

secret santa for @dorkoverse

Logan paged through the large hardcover book on his lap. Despite its formidable construction, it clearly wasn't as old or rare as Roman was making it out to be. Artistic, sure, but fake nonetheless. He examined picture after picture. Fascinating specimens. True affronts to science and known physics, but extremely detailed and well designed. "Stop flipping through! I bookmarked it for a reason!" Roman swatted Logan's hands away and forcefully reopened the book to the page marked with a sticky note. "SEE?!" He pointed to a series of dates down the side of the page. "It's tonight! Perfect half moon, first freeze of winter!" "Anyone could calculate the date of a half moon." Logan looked up at his roommate in relative disinterest. "Not everyone can calculate the first freeze of the year from centuries proir! And in FLORIDA no less! This is SPECIFIC!" Logan rolled his eyes. "For the last time, I highly doubt this Barnes and Noble book is centuries old." Roman's face flared red. "I did NOT get it at BARNES AND NOBLE! I told you, I found it on a quest through dangerous and unknown territory!" "A trip to the library would be unknown territory to you I suppose..." Logan mumbled and continued to examine the creature's design. Clearly cephalopod inspired, a writhing mass of tentacles erupting from a swamp-like environment and separate studies of suction cup markings, a beak, bite marks and digestive fluids on partially eaten fish. Nothing about the page portrayed the author's credibility, their art style was clearly not that of a scientific mind; more of a fascinated and creative artist, An "adventurer" like Roman it seemed. A true researcher would take time to map known proportions of the creature, analyze the bite marks to determine jaw shape and hunting behaviors, observe and develop an objective understanding of the creature as a species. They wouldn't treat the find as some legend or campfire story and leave little hints and dates to intrigue their readers, they wouldn't spend valuable time drawing cattails and algae in the moonlight if they had proper view of their specimen. That was why Logan didn't read the book with any form of sincerity, or believe Roman's stories about an adventuring scientist who sounded suspiciously like the author of Journey to the Center of the Earth, and/or Stanford Pines. He was starting to believe that Roman had printed out pages off those cryptid conspiracy forums he often explored with Virgil to illustrate and bind them as if they were an ancient book, in order to make Logan more susceptible to the suggestion as well as quell his skepticism. Logan paused. He looked back at the drawings. They did look more like Roman's art style now that the thought had crossed his mind. A knowing smile stretched across his face. He looked back up at Roman. "Wow... I'm impressed, this was quite the project, and it turned out so well!" Roman raised a brow. "What are you on about now?" "That's why we were out of coffee wasn't it?!" Logan brought the book to his nose. Sure enough; "You coffee stained each page by hand... incredible." Roman flushed and grabbed the book to hug it to his chest. "I did not! This is a very important real book and was written by one real person!" Logan rested his chin on clasped hands and raised his eyebrows in smug victory. Roman pouted. "FINE! But I'll have you know that all of those drawings are based on real captured footage!" "Uh huh. How long did this take you?" Roman sighed. "A year or so. Not in a row. Just whenever I saw something important." "Have you thought of a career in bookbinding? This is truly impressive." Roman seemed to forget his disappointment and puffed out his chest. "Oh, I know. A career like that would be too easy for me though..." "Clearly, I often fail to remember that you prefer doing magnificent and perilous tasks sin payment upon your odd aversion toward tangible profit." "I'll find a job eventually, quit with the pressure!" "Are you pressured? You certainly don't seem to be too stressed or apologetic regarding your half of the rent." "I need a job that speaks to me okay?! A friend would understand that." Logan rolled his eyes but decided to let it slide for the moment. He was still curious about the general point of everything. "So what was your purpose of showing me this?" Roman lit up with excitement. "Oh yeah! Because we, you and me Logan..." "That is what the pronoun 'we' would situationally entail." "Shush! WE are going on a-" "Please, for the love of Charles Darwin, do NOT say quest!" "QUEST!" Roman produced two pairs of galoshes from seemingly nowhere. "Why?!" "I told you Sir Issac No-fun, it surfaces tonight! And it's hardly far, it's a floridian legend! We need to be there! So I can prove to you that this stuff is real! And finally make a discovery!" "Well by definition you wouldn't be making a discovery if true footage and accounts of this creature already exist." "You know what I mean, I want to see it with my own eyes as clear as day, earn my title as a great adventurer, have my name in history books!" "Articles and textbooks most likely, not many history books state species discoveries." "Can you maybe like? Not correct me for one moment? And let me have this?" Roman stubbornly pulled on his galoshes. Logan rolled his eyes. He looked at his watch, then pulled out his planner. Unfortunately, he had nothing scheduled for that night or early the next morning, giving him no truthful excuse for refusing, and without that he couldn't morally decline when faced with such excitement from his roommate. He sighed. "If you promise to at least get an interview for a job by the end of the month, I will acquiesce to your request." Roman thought a moment. He nodded. "Deal." "Fantastic. Give me a moment to get my coat." Within a few minutes to get ready, and a few more minutes to pinpoint a location, they were in the car. It was a little further than Logan would have preferred to drive that night, but surprisingly close considering the rest of the sprawling legends in Roman's book of fantastic beasts, a mere forty-five minutes. It was already six, so Logan prepared himself for a late night considering the potential time they'd spend searching for the specimen. After all, according to the page, the creature had been first reported twenty years prior and had only had four sightings since, and no specific directions were given to sighting locations other than the mention of a forest containing multiple acres of swampland. And of course, Logan wasn't really concerned about how much time it would take to FIND the alleged beast; he was more dreading how long Roman would persist in trekking through swamps before giving up. "Just to be clear, I'm setting a time limit of midnight. At midnight we turn back and go home no matter what." "But-!" "No buts, I'm entertaining this far past my comfort level already. If you deny me that I'm driving back myself and leaving you there." Roman groaned. "Fine. Just wait until I get my license, then you'll be sorry..." "Falsehood, I think I'll rather enjoy the free time I'll gain not having to taxi you from place to place." "You can just say you hate me." Roman huffed dramatically. "Alright. I hate you." Logan drawled as he turned onto the highway. Roman gasped. "Wow... I thought you were a friend." "I'm a monster who pays your rent, cooks you food, and drives you to parties. I clearly despise you." Roman pouted. He pulled out his phone and plugged it into the dash. Beyonce started to shake the car. Logan yanked the cord out and plugged in his own phone, resuming his podcast on the fascinating reverse evolution of whales. Roman whined. "Hush. I'm spending my night wading through a poorly lit swamp for you, you're going to let me have this." Roman was relatively quiet the rest of the drive, which would have made Logan feel the slightest bit bad about his behavior if not factoring in how exhausted he was with Roman already. As it stood he relished the silence. As he drove down down the highway, he watched the sun touch down on the horizon, the sky flaring a warm dandelion yellow in a matter of minutes. As beautiful as it was, it meant the dark was coming fast. Logan was already dreading the glare on his glasses from the reflection of his LED flashlight off the swamp. He began to regret agreeing to this escapade. "Woah..." a breathy exclamation from the passengers seat brought Logan out of his frustration. "The sky is so pretty." Roman spoke for the first time in twenty minutes. Logan looked over. His neck was craned out the window, soft golden light bathing his face and flitting through his hair. His eyes were closed and his lips were slightly upturned in pure bliss. For a moment he looked much less obnoxious than he did twenty minutes prior. "Yeah..." Logan agreed. "It'll be gone in a few minutes, and then the dark will be exceedingly frustrating to navigate." Except, he didn't say that second part. His prior pessimism seemed to have quickly dissipated, and he no longer felt the need to. It confused him, but it was a welcome development that carried him through the rest of the drive.

#remus sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides #thomas sanders

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slowpocalypsecooking · 4 years

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the top 8 tracks on folklore from least to most embarrassing to enjoy

Hi I’m Anthony Fantano and welcome to the needle drop. I don’t know if he says that, because I don’t watch him—if I wanted to listen to a repulsive white man talk about music, I could just go on a date. (just kidding, covid!)

Forgoing any further introduction, here are the top eight tracks from Taylor Swift’s new album, low-caps “folklore,” ranked from least embarrassing to most embarrassing to enjoy, according to me. The whole album is 16 tracks long, but I’m only doing the most noteworthy half because 16 is too many. You’re welcome for that decision.

Methodology: To get on this list, songs had to be both embarrassing and enjoyable. There will be natural fluctuation between tracks, but as we go down the list, assume that the songs are getting increasingly better to listen to and worse to think about, like this:

The rankings:

8. cardigan

This is a song about feeling at times like an unloved trash bag, as we all do, and then being warmly reminded that you matter because you are in fact someone’s fallback. The hook goes:

and when i felt like i was an old cardigan under someone’s bed you put me on and said i was your favorite.

Beyond reveling in this pathetic status, this song serves as an admission that the speaker a. uses the word “cardigan” and b. thinks of those bland, preppy sweaters as a comforting thing to wear. In a cooler universe, this song would be called “flannel.” It is just okay to listen to.

7. mad woman

This song has big Ophelia vibes, big Handmaid’s Tale vibes, big “daughter of the witches you couldn’t burn” vibes. One of the verses contains the line “and women like hunting witches too,” because, hey, woman-on-woman misogyny is bad, didn’t you know. Strong reminder that if being called crazy is the worst form of oppression you’ve experienced, you still have it pretty good. Sometimes sounds decent, sometimes too croony.

6. invisible string

This one uses a pretty lazy, commonplace device: She opens couplets within verses by just naming colors, and uses these to create a simple repetitive structure for introducing random, useless details:

green was the color of the grass where i used to read at centennial park i used to think i would meet somebody there teal was the color of your shirt when you were sixteen at the yogurt shop you used to work at to make a little money

Sure this device is tired, but that’s only the surface of what’s embarrassing here. More embarrassing is the image I’ve conjured of a teal-shirted teenage boy smiling through his braces behind the toppings station at one of those blindingly lit American-kawaii froyo stores. I don’t know who needs to hear this but don’t fuck the froyo boy. Song is pretty catchy.

5. illicit affairs

Title says it all here: This song is about how thrilling and fun and ultimately horrible it is to be involved in a romantic situation you’re not supposed to be in, and how that forbidden sheen can get you totally enthralled with a crappy garbage man. Not a whole lot going on below the surface. This song is both very enjoyable and very embarrassing because it is very relatable.

4. seven

We are back to the aggressive levels of white woman previously seen in “mad woman,” only the case has gotten much more severe. Here’s this song’s final chorus:

Sweet tea in the summer Cross my heart, won’t tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Pack your dolls and a sweater We'll move to India forever Passed down like folk songs Our love lasts so long

Okay let’s just skate past the part where a presumed adult is telling a fellow adult (I sure hope!) to bring their dolls when they run away together. That in itself is too big a can of worms to crack open. What I want to talk about is the line “We’ll move to India forever,” which pretty obviously uses an Orientalist fantasy of India as some nebulous, ethereal image of the East. Real people don’t live there; it’s the exotic dreamland where sweet-tea drinking southern belles bring their adult toys when they elope. This song is very catchy.

3. betty

Let me start by saying that now that we’re in the top three, all of the remaining songs are vying for the #1 slot. I could very easily see this and the next as the Most Embarrassing to Enjoy. But “betty” is clocking in at number three today.

This is a song about a teenage romance gone bad, in which a speaker named James (who is “only seventeen, I don’t know anything”) has cheated on a girlfriend (Betty) and is now considering showing up at her party, begging for forgiveness, and hoping for a kiss in the garden. We get the backstory in the bridge:

I was walking home on broken cobblestones Just thinking of you when she pulled up like A figment of my worst intentions She said "James, get in, let's drive" Those days turned into nights Slept next to her, but I dreamt of you all summer long

First of all, “figment” of “intentions” is not really a phrase? But secondly, and more importantly: Excited bloggers all over the internet have posted a smattering of theories detailing why this song is Taylor Swift’s coded revelation that she actually maybe fucks girls, too, y’know, and hey, maybe the object of this song is the supermodel Karlie Kloss, whose middle name is Elizabeth. Apparently Taylor Swift is named after James Taylor, so she could be James, or at the very least James could be a woman. I’m going to allow for the possibility that the speaker “James” is a woman, because why not; it does not change the narrative. But said narrative doesn’t make sense: who is this woman pulling up next to James and picking them up on the cobblestone? Did James really spend all summer with her, and if so, why? James is only seventeen by the time they get back to ask Betty’s forgiveness, so like, where the hell are James’s parents? Do they not care that their child has gone off for the whole summer with a person I can only picture as a cheetah-print-and-goggles-wearing divorcee driving a convertible?

Furthermore, the Karlie Kloss/Taylor Swift fan theories are gross for the simple reason that these two tall skinny white women look pretty much exactly the same. What is it with the internet’s obsession with wanting practically identical people to hook up? There might be an incest thing going on there that you guys could stand to reflect on. And on the more cynical conspiracy-theorizing side, couldn’t this just be some convenient queerbaiting? Didn’t Taylor Swift get criticized for appropriating gay rhetoric and imagery for “You Need to Calm Down,” like, 20 minutes ago? If she were going to come out, wouldn’t it have been an ideal moment to do so when she was under fire for that? I’m not saying all celebrities are shallow opportunists, but, you know, maybe.

This song is infectious. You will need to lobotomize me to get it out of my head.

2. exile

I know I originally said this was gonna be number one but I lied. It is pretty rough, though. This track features Bon Iver, and it’s not the high-pitched sad boy of “Skinny Love” renown. This Bon Iver is deep-voiced and country, like Bon Iver playing Tim McGraw in an uncomfortable SNL parody. Also, the whole song is centered around the tired and overused metaphor that a person is a place, and the person the speaker is pining after is home, and the speaker is in exile because they can’t go home to the person they love. It’s a heartache-ballad, cry-sing in your car, absolute jam.

1. the last great american dynasty

I really tried not to let this be number one. I really didn’t want it to be, which is precisely why it is. This was the track that first alerted me to the entire album’s release, because Ed Markey supporters on Twitter seized on it and decided it was about the downfall of the Kennedy family. It is not. The opening verse goes:

Rebekah rode up on the afternoon train, it was sunny Her saltbox house on the coast took her mind off St. Louis Bill was the heir to the Standard Oil name and money And the town said, "How did a middle-class divorcée do it?" The wedding was charming, if a little gauche There's only so far new money goes They picked out a home and called it "Holiday House"

This is very obviously about a real couple, Rebekah and William (Bill) Hale Harkness, who had a real mansion in Rhode Island that they called “Holiday House.” The Harkness name is on basically every building in Connecticut and a lot of the Northeast because Stephen Harkness, Bill Hale Harkness’s great uncle, was a founder of Standard Oil along with John D. Rockefeller. In 2013, Taylor Swift bought the property known as “Holiday House,” as she says in the song:

Fifty years is a long time Holiday House sat quietly on that beach Free of women with madness, their men and bad habits And then it was bought by me

The cool, fun, left-ish internet reading of this song is that it’s a revolutionary tale about toppling class hierarchy—getting a hold of wealth and bringing the institution that created it to its knees by… “fill[ing] the pool with champagne”? How much would that amount of champagne even cost? This is not a song about revolution. Taylor Swift didn’t storm into the Standard Oil house and burn it down or take it over; she bought it. It is not a song about destabilizing the ruling class. It’s a song about joining it.

It absolutely fucking slaps, unfortunately.

#taylor swift #folklore #i am putting this in the tumblr tags in lowkey hopes that a rabid taylor swift fan will see and come after me #come on that would be funny

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thejoeisthejoe · 4 years

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Complete (OLD Story Idea): S1 EP 1 Rewrite Joe Sick

Title: Haunted House rewrite where Joe is sick the entire time Author: Robin Gurl Episode: Season 1, Ep 1 Mystery of the Haunted house Notes: yes I’m aware if he’s that sick he should be in bed. But you can’t and won’t convince me otherwise that he’d actually listen and do it. He’s going out there whether we want him to or not.

Disclaimer: I own no one

“You know, you really shouldn’t be out here.” Frank whispered leaning forward on his bike to get a closer look at the door to the hotel. “You’re already sick as it is.”

“I’m not letting you do this alone, Frank.” Came the hoarse reply. “Besides if I hadn’t gone with you Aunt Gertrude would have never believed our story.”

“She shouldn’t have believed it in the first place, we have plenty of cold medicine in the cabinet.” The eldest Hardy didn’t like how he could hear his brother’s teeth chattering slightly. “It’s too cold out here for you, Joe. Let’s just go back home and call dad on the phone.” Frank offered.

“Frank, there is no way either of us would get any sleep if we did that. Something is going on here and we need to find out what.”

Frank sighed and looked over at Joe not liking how pale his brother looked in the moonlight. “Just stay zipped up for me, alright?”

Joe made a face but zipped up his navy blue jacket and glared at Frank playfully, “Happy mom?”

Frank only rolled his eyes. If they did go home now neither of them would get any sleep. In the long run Joe would get worse because he’d worry causing Frank to only fret more. He’d just have to stay here and make sure Joe at least tried to keep warm. “That’s fine.”

“Frank, look – is that dad?” “Coming out of the Black Hawk hotel.” Both boys glanced at each other and Frank let out another frustrated sigh, “Alright Joe, you were right. Something is up with dad.”

“So lets follow him.”

“No way! There is no way I’m backing down on this one. One you’re sick as a dog and two I don’t feel right following my own father.”

“You can sit here and fret, I’m following him.” Joe started his motorcycle and sped off towards his father.

Frank sighed and muttered ‘Brothers’ before starting up his own bike and followed Joe.

*~*

Joe’s vision was blurring and he knew why too. His fever had risen sending chills down his spine. Frank was right, he really should be in bed. He found it hard to press down on the accelerator, his joints screamed with aching pain as he tried to go faster.

He squinted and tried to focus on his dads car. He had to find out what was wrong with Dad, he just had too. He heard Frank’s cycle join his and glanced over giving Frank a weary look. He was wearing out quickly. He mouthed the word stop and pulled his bike over on the side of the road into the ditch.

Frank joined him and was off his bike in seconds running over towards Joe. “Joe? What is it?”

“I can’t see straight, it’s all blurry.”

“I told you, you’re too sick to be out here.” Frank took off one of his gloves and placed the back of his hand against Joe’s forehead, “You’re hotter than you were before.”

“I know, I know…” Joe started as he let Frank help him off his bike and on to a sitting position on the grassy shoulder off the main road. “I just, I need to know what’s going on with Dad.”

“If you crash your bike it won’t matter what is wrong with Dad.”

Why did Frank always have to be right? He hated that. “So, what do we do?”

“Well I think it’s quite obvious you’re not driving until further notice. Think you could hold on to me and I’ll drive us both?” Frank asked eying his bike.

“You’re going to still follow Dad?”

“I think I know where he is heading, so let’s find out.” Frank stood and bent down slightly pulling Joe to his feet. His brother staggered unsteadily and almost fell back over.

“Frank, I really can’t see right..”

“Take it easy, I’ve got you. Let me lead.” Frank commanded.

Carefully he led his brother towards the bike and let go of Joe except for one hand and climbed on the bike. Then he twisted slightly and helped Joe sit on the seat. “Lean forwards and wrap your arms around me- perfect just like that.”

In response Frank heard a strangled sigh and felt Joe’s feverish face lean against his back. He could feel the heat from the fever through his two heavy layers. Patting the intertwined hands that were sitting in front of him he shouted, “Alright, hang on!”

Frank’s suspicion had been correct; their father was going to grave. Why he was here, Frank didn’t know.

“Joe?” Frank shouted over the cycle’s engine. “You still with me?” Getting no response he noticed his brother’s embrace had gone limp and Frank knew Joe was out.

Cursing silently he rode on keeping an eye on his brother’s form. He knew one bump could throw Joe off and onto the pavement.

Finally coming to the entrance of the cemetery, Frank killed the engine and slowly stopped the bike. Joe didn’t move when Frank tried to get off the bike and almost fell head first into the dashboard.

“Joe?” Frank started softly, he shook Joe’s shoulder a few times rousing his brother from his sleep. “That’s it.”

“Frank?” Tousled blonde hair stuck out from the red helmet and glazed brown eyes answered Frank.

“Where are we?”“Shh, come on.” Frank whispered. “I found Dad.”

He wrapped one arm around Joe’s shoulders and helped him off the bike then wrapped the same arm around Joe’s waist keeping him up right. He felt Joe lay his head on his shoulder. “Frank, that other car is here.” Joe whispered weakly.

“So Dad was being followed.” Frank said aloud. “Come on, let’s go see what he’s doing in there.”

Even sick Joe put up a fight and gave his brother an incredulous look, “In there? In a cemetery?”

“How else are we going to find out what’s going on with dad?”

“I don’t think I want to know what is going on in a cemetery in the middle of the night.”

“You can sit here if you want to and wait on me.”

“No way. Let’s go.”

“Thought not.” Frank smiled and almost laughed until he remembered just how ill Joe was.

*~*

“Frank, he’s coming. Let’s get out of here.” Joe hoarsely whispered grabbing onto Frank’s arm for support.

Frank responded by almost lifting Joe to his feet and pulling him by his arm. The youngest Hardy stumbled forward almost fall over. As he tried his best to follow Frank he saw the mystery man’s car.

“Frank, stop.”

“What is it?”

“Let me go.” Frank let go unsure of what exactly Joe was going to do unable to stand on his own feet at the moment. To his surprise Joe staggered over to the car and pulled the door open sitting in the drivers seat. “Joe, he’s right behind us.”

He couldn’t tell if his brother was seriously delirious or what. “Joe!” He hissed.

Then he saw his brother take a box of cough drops from the glove compartment. “What a fine time to be stealing cough drops.”

“I’m not stealing a cough drop I’m lifting a finger print.”

“Joe, I hear him, let’s get out of sight.” Joe stood and wavered unsteadily letting Frank take control again.

*~*

After a quick stop to the 24 hour grocery store near the house, Frank drove up to their house, Joe fast asleep behind him on one motorcycle.

The other was hidden in the bushes for Frank to pick up in the morning after he got Joe fast asleep in bed. He shook his brother’s shoulder slightly getting Joe to stir and then helped his little brother into the house and into his father’s study where Callie was.

She looked quite startled when he produced the bag of cold medicine and his sick brother in one trip. “Frank, where have you two been? Aunt Gertrude has been pacing since you left.” “Callie, do you know what case Dad was working on?”

“Frank Hardy don’t ignore me, where have you two been and why does Joe look so pale? Don’t tell me you dragged him out there with his fever like it is..”

At Frank’s look, Callie groaned. “Frank, seriously, Joe gets sick easily as it is, he doesn’t need your help.”

“He wouldn’t listen to me and stay in bed. Besides, if he hadn’t come he would have been driving you crazy as well.” Frank tried to reason sitting his brother into the leather chair behind his dad’s desk.

“So your excuse was to get cold medicine?” She asked dryly. “The stuff he can’t even take without knocking him unconscious for 2 days?” Frank laughed nervously shrugging, “Aunt Gertrude didn’t question it.”

“You could have at least gotten the medication he could take.” Frank glanced over to his brother who had fallen asleep as soon as he’d been sat down in the chair. “Knocking him out for 2 days may not be such a bad idea.” Callie rolled her eyes before putting more files into the file cabinet. “Now what were you going on about with your father?” “Has he been acting weird or strange?” “No? He went fishing to the lake, Frank. There is nothing suspicious about that. I made the reservations myself.” She crossed her arms glaring tiredly at him.

“I don’t think he did. Herby Stallmaster saw dad coming out of the county seat yesterday.”

“What?” Her glare lessened, her eyes widening.

“Yeah we went to the Black Hawk hotel, he was registered there, Callie. We saw him walking out of the hotel ourselves.”

“Well it’s obviously none of our business or at least not mine. Now look, I’m tired and I just finished typing up the notes for your father. I’d like to lock up and go home.” She begged glancing to Joe. “And you need to get him upstairs and in bed properly. He needs to rest.”

Frank sighed as he stopped his pacing, he nodded running a hand through his hair. “I just... Callie, something is up. I know it is.”

Callie walked over to him and kissed him gently, “Frank, stop trying to be detective for once. I admire that instinct of yours but sometimes it only makes it worse for you. You’re going to keep yourself up tonight if you don’t calm down. Now get Joe to bed and you go to bed, understand? We’ll worry about your father tomorrow, I promise.”

Frank kissed her back, he looked defeated as he nodded. “Ok Callie.”

“And Frank?”

“Yeah?”

She pulled away and glared at him angerily. “You EVER pull a stunt like this again, I’ll be telling Aunt Gertrude what you did with all the details. Got it?”

He holds up his hands nodding again. “Got it. Thanks Callie.”

“See you tomorrow then. Good night.”

Frank watched her leave and heard the front door close. He sat on the edge of the desk still deep in thought, he gazed over at his little brother watching him sleep. Joe’s face was pale but cheeks flushed with fever. Callie was right, he really shouldn’t have done that.

It had felt strange to talk and halfway flirt with Callie and not have Joe making some sort of joke or quip about the two of them. He should have enjoyed the precious time he got alone but he didn’t.

He stood up and walked over to the chair, he knelt down and pulled his brother’s navy coat off placing it on the desk. He would take care of it later.

Thankfully, Joe was light and weighed hardly nothing. Picking his little brother up was a breeze. Frank easily gathered his brother into his arms, turning off the lights and heading upstairs.

End Part 1(?)

If people want this one continued let me know!

#hardy boys #1970s hardy boys #season 1 fic #joe torture #my writing

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jamesbucksiclebarnes · 5 years

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Rating: Mature: Language, violence.

Chapter List: [1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5] | [6] | [7] | [8] | [9] | [10] | [11] | [12] | [13] | [14] | [15] | [16]

[AO3 Link] | [Fic Page]

Tag List: @crossbowking

SERIES SUMMARY:

"Not human. She was not human. They all knew it. Could almost feel it, but couldn't make sense of it. That was why they were afraid. Not because of what she used to be Before. But because of what she was now."

Having found herself serving as the right-hand to the Governor for too long, Synnove le Jacques does her best to make things right with the people of the Prison. Stuck beside her partner in crime, her irritatingly obnoxious and hideously problematic best friend, Merle, she does her best to fight back against the monster she has let the Governor become.

CHAPTER TITLE: A Melody of Chaos.

It went almost exactly as I’d predicted.

Ruled by anger and not much else, the Governor thought little of his plan. He barrelled in through the front gate, the truck with the mounted machine gun at the head. The spikes in the yard got the tires almost immediately, sending the truck careening off the dirt path and onto the grass, where it would remain. I heard the grenade launcher go off a handful of times as they took out the watch towers. Daryl flinched with each explosion, the grip on his rifle tightening with each passing moment the M2 Browning fired upon the wooden pallets pushed up against the overpass fence.

I kept control of my breathing, gripping one of the smoke grenades in each hand.

The gate was next. I heard them crashing through it, their trucks coming to a stop in the courtyard before one of them was used to pull the door to the fenced in walkway to the cellblock’s entrance from its hinges.

Footsteps upon concrete echoed down the hallway. I straightened my back.

They made their way through the cellblock to the door down the corridor from where we stood.

Daryl and I shared a look. I gave him a confident nod.

The door was pulled open. Footsteps made their way down the hall.

With one more deep, calming breath, I pulled the safety cap from the smoke grenades and tossed them around the corner. Exclamations of surprise were drowned out by gunfire as they opened fire on the empty hallway, decorating the wall across from Daryl and I with bullet holes.

Daryl pulled the alarm whilst I waited a second longer for the smoke to fully envelop the corridor, drawing my knives and dashing around the corner.

Keeping low, I pivoted from side to side until I was close enough to make my first strike, driving one of my knives upwards into the jaw of the closest man. Beside him, someone made a sound of surprise that I silenced with one quick slash across the throat, using the momentum of that blow to pull the other knife free and spin to face my next victim. The barrel of a gun was pointed in my direction, but they were too close. I smacked it away with my forearm, easily stepping into their guard and driving my blade into their chest whilst kicking out to the side, catching another beneath the chin with my foot and sending them careening into the wall of the corridor.

A handful of them began to turn and run, trying to escape through the door they had entered through. Those that were too slow met my knife.

Daryl didn’t even fire a shot.

When the retreating group re-entered the cellblock, Carol and Rick both opened fire on them from the doorway to the side corridor.

The gunfire continued outside as Glenn and Maggie did the same, laying fire upon those left in the open. Whoever wasn’t hit by a bullet continued their retreat and I heard the trucks starting along with the Governor’s angered cries.

I made my way out of the cellblock, knowing full well I was likely covered in the blood of those I had once called friends, to find Rick and Carol descending the metal staircase in the centre.

The sounds of gunfire subsided surprisingly quick as we all ran through the front door and into the courtyard, watching as they drove off down the dirt road beyond the gate.

Maggie let out a yell of excitement, as did Glenn. Michonne met us by the gate, sword drawn but bare of blood.

“We did it!” Maggie yelled again, her voice disappearing inside.

“We should go after them,” Michonne suggested, looking to Rick.

I glanced at both of them over my shoulder, not missing their looks of mild surprise at the blood splattered across my skin. “If we don’t, he’ll just come back. Again and again.”

Carol nodded her agreement. “She’s right. He won’t stop.”

“Not ‘till we’re all dead,” Daryl put in.

Rick relented and began to turn back toward the cellblock. “Alright. Get back inside. We regroup first. Jacques, give us a rundown.”

I blinked at him. “A rundown of what? The last Star Wars movie? The Silmarillion? I mean, I can do both, but a little more specification would be nice.”

Rick slowly turned back to me with a blank look. “Woodbury.”

“Rick, I need you to articulate here.”

“Blue-prints. Loose panels. Blind spots,” Rick listed with a huff.

“Okay.” I let out a breath and began to follow him inside. “Don’t know about the blue-prints and Martinez knows which panels are loose, same as me, so they’re out. As for blind spots… There are windows to the right of the gate, but they’re boarded. It’s an easy fix, but not exactly a stealthy point of entry. If someone very gentlemanly –” I bat my eyelids at Rick with a grin “– would, perhaps, draw fire to the left, I could get in through the window and take out the guards. Then we could just walk in the front door.”

Rick’s lips twitched ever-so-slightly up at the corners, but he quickly pursed them before nodding.

We spent the next few minutes informing everyone of our plans before gearing up and heading out.

The car was tensely silent as we drove. Rick stared pensively out the front window, his grip on the wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white. He and his son had been talking before we’d left and, though I hadn’t heard the entirety of the conversation, I’d known it had been nothing good. It had set the sheriff even further on edge than he’d already been.

Behind me, in the back on the passenger’s side, Michonne sat near ramrod straight, her sword lying across her lap, two rifles sitting upright in the seat beside her.

I had my arm partially hanging out the window, leaning against the sill on my forearm as I stared out in front of us at Daryl’s back. He rode barely a car-length ahead of us, the wind ripping at his leather vest.

We had left almost half an hour after the Governor and his soldiers had peeled out of the prison gate and already the sun was beginning to set along the edge of the horizon. Beneath the scent of exhaust from Daryl’s bike, I could smell the diesel from the trucks mixed with the distinct odour of gunpowder. At first, I didn’t think anything of it. The M2 Browning used an obscene amount of gunpowder, therefore the fact I could still smell it lingering wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility. What made me second guess the scent was the fact that, instead of dissipating or remaining constant as we followed their trail back to Woodbury… it was getting stronger.

When we crested the hill, I suddenly understood why.

Down the road a-ways, amongst a group of mingling biters, were the Governor’s trucks. They sat abandoned by the roadside, marred by bullet holes, some of them still running.

Daryl slowed, coming to a stop behind one of the trucks and indicating with his hand for us to do the same.

In a confused daze, I pushed open the passenger side door and climbed out of the car. The smell was almost overwhelming now. A mixture of gunpowder, gasoline, and blood. With a kind of trepidation I hadn’t felt in a long while, I cautiously walked forwards. I forced myself to thoroughly inspect each biter, every body scattered upon the road. None of the undead creatures brought about a sense of recognition. The bodies they were feasting upon did.

Daryl walked in front of me, crossbow raised as he surveyed the area with narrowed, suspicious eyes. I kept pace behind him. He, Michonne, and Rick kept the biters from me, for which I was thankful, as I walked between the abandoned vehicles with a rapidly growing sense of dread forming in the pit of my stomach.

One of the trucks were missing. The Governor’s one, his favourite.

Something sharp stuck in my throat as I took it all in. The few scattered bodies upon the road belonged to people I knew. They had been torn apart by biters.

Had a horde moved through here and caught them off guard? Is that why they had been forced to leave the trucks? Did that explain the bullet holes puncturing the bodies of the cars on either side?

Daryl’s sudden intake of breath made me jump. The way he turned, immediately looking to me, reaching out with one of his hands as if he were about to stop me from stepping forwards, made something cold settle at the base of my stomach.

He met my gaze, shoulders tense as he shook his head at my look of questioning confusion.

“What?”

“Just stay there,” he said, gaze sliding over to Rick as he jerked his head toward the roadside. The view of whatever he was gesturing to was blocked from me by one of the abandoned cars and Daryl himself.

Rick, reaching out to touch my shoulder gently as he passed, met Daryl by the front of the abandoned vehicle beside me. He, too, seemed to take in a sharp breath at the sight of whatever lay beyond.

“Oh, for fuck sake,” I hissed, making a move to step past the both of them.

Daryl closed the distance between us before I could, grabbing my shoulder with his free hand and pushing me back. “Don’t,” he advised, putting his crossbow on the ground in order to better subdue my attempts to push past him.

We wrestled like that for a brief moment until I snapped a harsh, “Just let me fucking see.”

Daryl’s brows furrowed in a deep frown as he removed his hands from my shoulders and stepped slightly back, allowing me to pass.

The three of them watched me as I stepped around the bonnet of the car, looking out into the field that lay beyond the road. At first, I didn’t even register what I was seeing. The grass was long, partially obscuring my view, but I could see the vibrant red that stood out in stark contrast against the dusty brown of the dry foliage.

Bodies. A dozen or so, scattered across the field, lying face-down as if they had been retreating from something. I didn’t need to see their faces to know who they were.

My breath left me in a pained exhale, so violently it was if someone had struck me in the gut. I suddenly felt light-headed, stumbling back a step before regaining my balance. Still, I was forced to rest my hands against my thighs, barely able to support my own weight, as I looked out over the bodies of those I had once called friends.

The smell of gunfire and blood. It made sense now.

“What the fuck?” I asked, breathless, not really directing the question at anyone in particular.

My chest felt as if I’d just taken a direct hit from a wrecking ball. I knew these people. I cared about these people. It had been my job to protect them. I’d let them all down. I’d left them with that man. Why had I left Woodbury? I should have stayed. Fought Phil from the inside instead of fighting against him, and the people he had manipulated into fighting his battles for him. I was a fucking failure.

From behind me, Daryl’s presence was a warm comfort as he reached out to gently place a hand on my shoulder. He stepped up so he was standing beside me, leaning partially to the side in order catch my gaze.

I couldn’t take my eyes from the bodies. From the blood splattered across the grass and the holes in the backs of each of their heads.

Was this a fucking execution site?

“Jacques?” Daryl asked softly.

I barely heard his voice. Every sound that reached me seemed to come through some kind of tunnel.

That was likely why I hadn’t heard her.

Rick had, though. I barely even registered his call for our attention. Likely would have missed it entirely if Daryl hadn’t suddenly disappeared from my side, prompting me to turn around and follow him with my gaze.

Rick was standing beside one of the trucks, his revolver drawn and pointed at the passenger’s side window.

When I saw her face, I legitimately almost burst into tears. Somehow, I managed to swallow them back, pushing that along with the near crippling sense of guilt and sorrow down as I ran forwards.

I shoved Rick’s gun away, pushing in front of him and pulling the door of the truck open without any concern whatsoever.

Karen, bloodied and shaking, almost knocked us both over with the way she flew out of the seat and into my arms. We shared a tight, shaken embrace for a brief moment before I pulled away, looking at her scared face with wide eyes.

“What the fuck happened?” I asked, keeping my hands tightly gripped upon her upper arms.

She held my own, too, as she shook her head and swallowed back tears. “He gunned them down. All of them.”

I felt something cold clutch my heart, followed quite suddenly by a burning sensation in my veins. Unable to fully contemplate my own sorrow, I did what I usually did and allowed the emotion to fester and distort into anger. Pulling away from Karen, I allowed my hands to clench into fists with enough force that my nails drew blood from my palms.

“I’ll kill him,” I growled, lip curling up over my teeth in a snarl.

Karen, still shaken, reached out to grab my shoulder once again but I pulled away, knowing the force of my anger had likely heated my skin to the point of burning. Magic was like that, sometimes. Spurred by uncontrollable emotion.

Without turning to look at any of them, I began to walk down the road toward Woodbury. Each step was purposeful, composed. My assassin mask had well and truly snapped into place. All I could see was blood, an image of Philip lying dead by my feet. The fantasy overtook my mind, pushing everything else away until the world before me was little more than background noise.

I’d made it a decent distance before Rick caught up with me. His breath was coming out in heavy pants, as if he’d had to run in order to reach me. From behind us, I could hear the sound of Daryl’s bike starting, along with the low rumble of the car.

“Jacques!” Rick yelled. “Jacques, stop!”

I didn’t listen. Every instinct in my body was screaming at me to keep moving, to follow the road, to allow nothing to get in my way.

“Synnove!”

The sound of my first name broke through the barrier encasing my mind and I stuttered slightly in my step, partially turning my head to glance at Rick over my shoulder. If he noticed the coldness of my gaze, he didn’t let on, jogging a few steps further in order to reach out and grab my arm.

He pulled me to a stop. I, against my every urge, let him.

“Syn, we do this together,” Rick stated clearly. His expression was hard, his jaw set tightly in anger, but I could see the empathy in his gaze as he looked down at me.

I looked up at him, feeling myself crumbling as the primal need for revenge warred with my emotions. The sorrow, the guilt, the grief, the anger. They all fought one another inside me, contorting my expression into a mix of indecision and pain. My body shook with the force of it all, jaw clenching and unclenching as I shook my head, trying to clear my mind, to think rationally over all the noise within.

Rick stood patiently beside me, his hand still holding a firm grip on my arm. The presence of his touch soothed me somewhat, but it wasn’t until Daryl pulled up beside me on his bike that I truly broke free of the cold-hearted assassin vying to take hold of me.

Michonne rolled to a stop beside him, looking down at me from the driver’s side window with a sad frown. In the seat behind her sat Karen, her blood-spattered face peering through the glass, eyes wet with tears.

“Together?” I echoed, partially in question, partially in disbelief.

Could I truly hold on to the hope that these people would stand beside me, fight beside me, after everything I’d done? Those people lying in the field had relied on me. How could Rick or Daryl or Michonne think that I was anything other than a failure? A killer and a failure?

Rick reached out with his other hand, holding both of my arms and lifting them to his chest. “Together,” he promised with a nod.

I realised in that moment how tense my body had been. Slowly, almost muscle-by-muscle, I felt myself loosening. When my gaze slid across to Daryl, who gave me a sad smile and a nod once our gazes met, my entire body relaxed.

“Alright,” I whispered. “Okay. But no one else gets hurt. Just him.”

Rick nodded. “No one else.”

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sandythereadingcafe · 5 years

Photo

COVER REVEAL

PARK AVENUE PLAYER by Penelope Ward and Vi Keeland

Release date September 23, 2019

A Standalone Contemporary Romance

New York Times Bestselling Authors Penelope Ward & Vi Keeland

BLURB

It started out like any normal day.

Then the fender bender happened.

The guy I collided with drove an expensive car and was drop-dead gorgeous. Too bad he was also a total jerk. We argued over whose fault it was and any other thing that came out of his condescending mouth.

Eventually, the police came and we went our separate ways. The insurance companies would have to figure things out. I had a job interview to get to anyway—one I was excited about.

Though that excitement changed to disappointment the moment the person interviewing me walked in. The guy from the accident.

Whoops!

Yeah, so I didn’t get the position.

The problem was, I really wanted it. No, I needed it. Anything to get me out of my current career and back into working with kids.

So, even though Hollis LaCroix was as intimidating as he was devastatingly handsome, I went back to see him and begged for a chance.

To my surprise, he gave me a shot taking care of his troubled niece.

At least my attraction to him wouldn’t be able to go anywhere. I wasn’t about to jeopardize my job or the strong bond Hailey and I formed.

But resisting the magnetic pull between us wasn’t that simple. (Then there was our little underwear game—don’t ask.)

We continued to flirt without crossing the line—until it finally happened.

This is the part of the story where we fall in love and live happily ever after, right?

Well, life has a way of throwing some major curveballs.

Ours was one I didn’t see coming.

PURCHASE LINKS:

Goodreads ➜ https://fave.co/30h7VNf

Audio ➜ https://adbl.co/2KGXyx

Amazon print ➜ https://amzn.to/320bUy7

Sign up for Penelope & Vi’s mailing list now and be the first one notified when it goes live! ➜ https://www.subscribepage.com/2FreeBooks

COVER CREDITS:

Photographer: Hudson Taylor

Cover designer: Letitia Hasser, RBA designs

•••••••••••••••

ABOUT THE AUTHORS:

PENELOPE WARD:

Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author of contemporary romance.

She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor. Penelope resides in Rhode Island with her husband, son, and beautiful daughter with autism.

With over two million books sold, she is a 21-time New York Times bestseller and the author of over twenty novels. Her books have been translated into over a dozen languages and can be found in bookstores around the world.

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

Facebook

https://www.facebook.com/penelopewardauthor

Facebook Private Fan Group:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/PenelopesPeeps/

Instagram

@penelopewardauthor

http://instagram.com/PenelopeWardAuthor/

Twitter

https://twitter.com/PenelopeAuthor

••••••••••••••

VI KEELAND

Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles have appeared in over a hundred Bestseller lists and are currently translated in twenty-five languages. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.

Facebook Fan Group:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/ViKeelandFanGroup/

Facebook

https://www.facebook.com/vi.keeland

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Vi-Keeland/435952616513958

Website

http://www.vikeeland.com

Twitter

@vikeeland

https://twitter.com/ViKeeland

Instagram

@Vi_Keeland

http://instagram.com/Vi_Keeland/

Goodreads

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6887119.Vi_Keeland

#Cover Reveal #Park Avenue Player #Vi Keeland #Penelope Ward

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ill-skillsgard · 5 years

Text

Phoenix Rising, Part 3 - Valter Skarsgård

Title: Phoenix Rising

Description: The struggle for domination is paved with deceit and destructive lust as two enemies battle it out for control night after night.

Warning: 18+ swearing/mentions of rape/violence/femdom/DDLG leanings

Part 1 Part 2

Three losses and two wins put me up another rank to number five. When I saw my name rise up one more slot on the board, two slots below Vscars I cheered rather enthusiastically only because I was by myself. It took me over three hours to get there and by the time it happened my opponent told me that he was signing off for the night. Really I had nobody to celebrate with but myself.

Going to work the next day, I felt confident and eager to stand around and talk video games but when I got there the only people in the store were Riley and Valter. There were no customers at all. It was ten AM on a weekday but even at that, I thought maybe at least a few people would wander in.

Riley greeted us with a little less heart than he had on our first day. Valter was there before me again and the both of them were at the front counter counting out the cash register for the day.

"Good morning, Nix. You ready for a day of cleaning?" Riley asked.

"Sure. What will you have of me?" I asked.

"Well, one of you are going to have to sweep the floor and the other will have to mop after so you guys can rock, paper, scissors for who has to do what. I could delegate the tasks but... You can battle it out."

Valter simpered at me and it was the first time I noticed the magnitude of his pout. He was undoubtedly tall and maybe just a little intimidating by the way his blue eyes never seemed to give you a break. But he had a soft face and a wholesome smile that betrayed any notion of ominousness when he flashed it. He held out his fist and prepared to play me at Rock, Paper, Scissors, looking down at me with the corner of his mouth drawn up.

"All right, let's do this," he rolled up the sleeves of the grey hoodie he wore over his black work shirt.

"Okay."

"Rock, paper, scissors!" We cast our choices and I chose rock.

Valter's hand grabbed my clench fist and squeezed gently as he had chosen paper. His smirk only intensified.

"All right, Valter, you get to choose," Riley announced.

"Good game," Valter said, holding up his fist for me to bump knuckles with him.

I did so and without being a sore loser either. There was something nice about him that I could gather just by how he carried himself around others. He seemed like a sweet guy and it didn't bug me that he had won. Either way, I was prepared for a graveyard day dedicated solely to cleaning the store.

"I'll be a gentleman and take the harder job. You can sweep, how about that?" He offered.

I shrugged my shoulders but there was a smile on my face. "Sure, whatever you want, V."

"V?" He cocked his head. "Nicknames already?"

"Sorry," I said. "Old habits. Nicknames for everyone."

"What about me? Don't I get a nickname?" Riley asked.

"I'll probably just end up calling you Rye. Like the bread," I laughed.

"Well... Bread is the best so I guess that's fine. Totally uncreative but, it will do."

"Nah, I think V is much better," Valter joked.

"Isn't it? Who doesn't love a good V?" I asked rhetorically.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Riley said, raising his hands as if that would dismiss him of all responsibility to our borderline inappropriate morning talk. "So guys, keep your heads up for customers. Work on getting the floor nice and clean and overall don't have too much fun, all right? I'm going to set up your payroll accounts so I'll be in the back. You're confident you can work the register and all that?"

Both of us looked at each other and nodded back at Riley.

"Good. If you need me just come and find me in the back. I'll check up on you periodically but try to give it a go on your own. You guys seem pretty capable. Cleaning supplies are in the closet beside the staff bathroom."

The three of us disbanded to set off on our tasks. I found a large push broom in the supply closet and started sweeping the aisles as best as I could, taking a moment here and there to look at all of the games from all the different generations of consoles. There were so many games that it was overwhelming and more than tempting, to say the least. I could perfectly envision myself spending the majority of my paychecks just filling up my collections even though I didn't have the room for it in my apartment.

"You missed a spot," I heard Valter say from behind me.

When I turned around he was smirking at me and resting his chin on clasped hands at the top of the mop handle. I knew by the way he grinned that he was just trying to pull my strings. It had been a quiet day and I had started to feel a little awkward since there were no customers and the music playing was too low to make out any words.

"Be my guest," I offered him the broom but he held up one finger and wagged it at me.

"Ah, ah. I mop, you sweep. That was the deal."

"Well if you can do so much better than me, go ahead," I bantered with him.

"I'm just kidding. You did a fine job. Now if you would be so kind as to get out of my way so I can mop this bitch, that'd be great."

The way he pronounced words was endearingly tinted with his Swedish accent and I wanted to ask him more questions about his background but I didn't know him well enough to feel comfortable prying. I resorted to smiling and allowing him to pass me so he could start his portion of our joint task.

When the first customer of the day came in through the front door I greeted him with a smile. He stared at me for longer than what was casual and stopped in front of me.

"You new here?" He asked.

"Yeah. My second day on the job."

"That explains why I don't know you," he replied with an uppity tone that told me he was probably a regular customer and was used to being served by certain people.

"I'm Nix. Now you know me," I said with a smile.

"Can you look up to see if you have a certain game?" The customer requested, unmoved by my attempt at friendliness.

"Sure."

That's how it was for most of the week. I would show up to work every day and Valter would already be there talking to Riley. We would have our tasks assigned to us alongside regular supervision of the customers and that was mostly it. The guys joked around a lot and I kept to myself unless my commentary was warranted.

One night at closing, Riley and Valter were chattering and goofing off while I counted the cash register and hung up my cabinet keys. The both of them had formed a buddy-buddy relationship that I had been somewhat left out of. Not that it bothered me all that much since I had gotten used to going home and wasting my free time playing Agents of Carnage. When they both noticed me they straightened up and tossed me glances like they had something to say.

"What's up, guys?" I greeted them.

"You coming to game night, Nix?" Riley asked me.

"Oh, that's tonight? Uh, I don't know. I kind of had plans for later," I lied.

"Cancel them. We're going to Kyle's. He has an insane setup. Like his basement is wall-to-wall screens and he has every system set up to it."

I tossed a glance in Valter's direction and he nodded along with what Riley had to say. "I'm going to be there."

"Oh, now I definitely don't want to go," I teased.

"Well, I for one, think you should come! We'll chalk it up as a team-building exercise. Unpaid, of course," Riley claimed.

"Hm," I pondered. "What are you guys playing?"

"Well we were going to play classic Nintendo tonight but Valter suggested we play Agents of Carnage. You play on all platforms, right?"

I lit up at the mention of my favourite game. The one that I was ranked fifth in the world in. The prospect of blowing the guys away by my nearly unparalleled skills tickled a bone in me that helped to shift my attitude totally.

"I love AOC!" I beamed.

"So, you'll come then?" Riley verified.

"I guess I have to so I can show you boys how it's done!" I accepted.

Valter smiled sincerely and so did Riley.

"Give me your number so I can send you Kyle's address?"

After we exchanged all the information needed, we locked up the store and went our separate ways until reconvention later on that night. I still had my reservations about going to hang out with a bunch of guys in a basement but the temptation to showcase my gaming prowess in front of them was stronger than my need for social isolation.

When I got home I got three text messages in a row from Riley.

It's BYOB by the way but if you don't have anything I'm bringing beer.

Unless you don't like beer. I can bring something else for you?

Or if you don't drink at all that's fine too. I'm not sure!

I gave a light scoff as I read his messages. I wondered if Riley was eager to have me over for game night or if he had different intentions. His concern about bringing drinks for me was a little flag that waved, warning me that an impending crush may have been on the horizon. I texted him back.

I'll be okay. I have some things I can bring. Thanks though, Rye.

At home, I showered and changed into some denim shorts and a plain red tank top to wear underneath a black knit cardigan. I grabbed up a couple of beers that had been inhabiting my fridge for days and put them into a backpack to carry along with me.

My nerves started to get to me as I pulled up in front of the address that Riley had sent to my phone. It was one of those eye-poppingly modern and lavish houses that were tucked away in a new suburb up on a hill. There were half a dozen cars parked out front so I wasn't sure just how many people would be there to participate in game night. I hoped and prayed that I wasn't the only female there.

There was a sign printed in black ink on standard paper that had been taped to the front door that read 'Side Door for Game Night' with a big arrow pointing right. Adjusting the straps on my backpack, I prepared myself to make an awkward entry into a place I had never been before.

Through a door and down a flight of stairs, I descended into a fully finished basement with dark carpet and bright white walls. There was a projector in the middle of the room pointed at a huge white screen and it was split up into eight squares. Two consoles and four controllers were lit up, eight pairs of headsets on the heads of a group of guys of whom I only knew three and even that trio I wouldn't consider good friends of mine. Riley took notice of me and lit up when he saw me at the second to last step clutching the straps of my backpack.

"Hey, Nix is here!" He announced and suddenly sixteen eyes were on me.

Some of them smiled and some of them took long swigs of energy drinks or beers. I tried to smile charmingly but I felt like I was failing because almost nobody gave me much more than a nod of their head. Except for Riley and Valter.

I made my way over to them and Valter took off his headset, letting it rest around his neck. "Hey, Nix. Ready to slaughter some noobs with us on AOC?"

I cocked my head at him after be said that. The way that he uttered those words made me feel strange. I couldn't quite put my finger on why all of a sudden I was having the weirdest sense of déja-vu.

"We're going to set up another console in a second because a couple of people will be here. Then we're going to run a Game Night Battle Royale and the winner takes all."

"What is all?" I asked.

"We do a pool. Everyone throws in twenty bucks. Right now there's one hundred sixty," Kyle explained.

"Soon to be one-eighty if you decide to throw in, Nix. Or I can throw in for you if you don't have the cash on you?" Riley added

When I looked up at the split screens and saw everyone logged into their accounts my eyes were drawn to Valter's screen- the top left-hand square. I felt my gut squirm uncomfortably when I saw his username at the top right of his corner. Vscars.

All at once I felt like I wanted to vomit, scream and piss myself. I looked at the blond who had focused his attention back on the screen without having replaced his headset.

Pussycat... Come play with me!

I swallowed hard and felt my apprehension turn from tolerable to pure anxiety attack in the amount of time it took for me to realize the user I had been playing Agents of Carnage with for the last few weeks was the same guy I was spending nearly every day with at work.

The accent I should have put together right away but it didn't occur to me even once to associate the two.

Aw, come here pussycat. I'll fuck you real gentle, promise.

All of the messages I had received from him were vulgar in nature or just plain rude but when I talked to Valter at work he seemed very nice and even a little shy. I couldn't imagine such obscenities falling from those lips when I looked at his face. He replaced his headset and looked back up on the screen. Some of the guys were in the lobby on the leaderboard and I could see my username in the fifth slot hovering just below Valter's.

"Oh shit, Valter. You dropped to fourth!" Someone pointed at the screen.

Valter's facial expression didn't change much as he shrugged. "I lost a couple times."

"He lost to a girl!"

I felt my face turn red with anticipation of how he was going to react but he didn't say anything until he adjusted his microphone in front of his mouth. "She's actually really good."

"Who? The user in fifth?"

"Yeah. She kicked my ass a couple of times."

"Hey, Nix, you gonna sit down and play or what?" Riley asked me.

"I... Um. I have to go get something from my car. Be right back," I claimed,

Once more, sixteen eyes watched me go back up the stairs and out the side door of the house. I fished my keys out of my pocket to unlock my car. After throwing my backpack into the passenger seat, I got in, closed the door and ran my hands over the material of the steering wheel, feeling all the bumps and rivets from the stitching as I tried to regain my composure. Certainly, I wasn't going back down there. Especially not now. Not after the discovery that the person that had been maliciously flirting with me on AOC was Valter.

I drove home quickly. It was only a ten-minute stint so I had enough time to park, take the elevator up and get into my apartment to catch Valter in the Agents of Carnage lobby. My phone buzzed to life with a message from Riley but I chose to ignore it and instead, put my headset on.

My heart was pounding as I waited. My phone lit up with an incoming call but I ignored it again. I knew I would have to come up with an elaborate lie to cover my ass at work for bailing but I couldn't face Valter knowing that he was the Swedish pain-in-my-ass whose voice was really starting to settle into me like a warm liquid.

I'm going to pound that cunt when I find you hiding, slut.

The only reason he had said that during our sessions was because I had told him that I was going to rip his dick off and use it to fuck his throat with. We had both laughed. Our banter had even become a highlight in some of the multiplayer battle royales we had played together.

My heart did a small dance when an invitation to a multiplayer battle showed up on my screen from Vscars and once I accepted I was put into the waiting room where I could hear everyone in the challenge who were using mics. Riley was in it, Kyle was in it, all those other guys that I didn't know were in and so was Valter.

"Phoenix, good to see you," Valter's voice came through over my headset like he was still in the same room as me, talking directly into my ears.

I stammered at first because I was convinced that if I spoke he would be able to piece together who I was. The chances of him making the connection were slim but I didn't want to risk it. I lowered my voice and replied with an easy, "What's up?"

Some of them were talking and I was sure that nobody had heard me say anything. I could hear Kyle talking about massively nerdy stuff to one of the other guys involving anime and cosplayers and then something transpired that was completely eye-opening to everyone.

"Fuck... I guess Nix isn't coming back?" Riley said.

"Shit... Well... Oh well. Let's just play. She probably got like, her period or something," replied Valter, his cocky gaming persona starting to show through.

"Girls don't just get their periods that suddenly. Maybe she just came down here and realized what a sausage-fest this place is and booked it," somebody else said in the group waiting room.

My mouth dropped open and the longing I had to respond to their outrageous claims was so strong I had to bite my tongue. Although, it was incredibly amusing to hear what they had to say at the same time and I wondered how far it would go.

"Fuck. I was hoping to like... I don't know. Hang out with her?" Riley admitted.

There was a chorus of booing from some of the guys before Valter spoke up, "Dude, I don't think she likes you at all. She's a little above your pay grade if you know what I'm saying."

"No, she's not! She's... She was texting me all night!"

"Then realized the horrible mistake she had made coming here," Valter laughed.

"Man, I don't know. I think I might have to demote myself from manager just so I can date her," Riley said.

"She would never," Valter reiterated. "She's probably one of those hot lesbian girls that are really cool but completely unattainable. Probably has a cute girlfriend too."

"What! She's not a lesbian! Wait... Is she?" Riley asked.

"I don't know, man. I never get the chance to flirt with her because you're always there trying to talk to her."

"You like her too?"

"I'm just playing! Anyway... She would definitely fuck me before you."

"Yeah," somebody else chimed in. "I'd fuck Valter before you. Sorry, Riley. It's the hair. And the lips... Yo, Valter... What are you doing later, cutie?"

"Man, Nix was right. This place is a gay old sausage-fest."

Laughs were shared all around and I felt like I was backed up into a corner being forced to listen to all of these things; the assumptions of my sexuality, how I was a topic of conversation in and out of work and that Valter admitted to wanting to flirt with me. It was all so much information I hardly knew what to do with it.

There was one thing I was absolutely sure of though and that was that I was going to make Valter my bitch in every single way imaginable.

#valter skarsgård fanfiction #valter skarsgard fanfiction #valter skarsgård smut #valter skarsgard smut #fanfiction

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boogiewrites · 6 years

Text

Choking On Sapphires 51

Title & Song: She’s Gone

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Word Count: 3800+

Summary: How do Alfie and Genevieve stand being apart on Fridays? It used to be their special day together every week, but now it’s their least favorite.

Warnings/Tags: Language. Angst.

**Chapter song is She’s Gone by Hall & Oates.*

A/N: I finished editing it so here, have it a few hours early. <3

Positive feedback is MUCH appreciated! Reblogs, likes, asks and comments feed me to write more! Let me know if you’d like tagged in my work.

My Masterlist. (Includes Parts 1-50)

Alfie walks into his new home after dark the same evening he moves out. To say his words before he left were regrettable would be an understatement. He was always so intentional with his words, how could he have let himself come off to cold and uncaring? This continues to haunt him for weeks to come.

The house is lovely and pristine and decorated. But it's silent, cold and lifeless. There's fire burning within it, the lack of warmth not coming from anything real, it was more a feeling that had crept into his bones after he drove away from your house that morning.

"Dinner is ready." the maternal older woman, his maid says in her black and white dress and apron as she bows her head and returns to the kitchen after he nods solemnly and grunts. He trudges to his study, throwing papers onto the new dark wood desk. Only half the bookshelves full at this point, a physical manifestation of his emptiness he thought.

He eats, but it isn't made with love and he can now taste the difference. He drags his tired, aching body to bed, the not yet broken in wooden stairs creaking under his feet, interrupting his thoughts. He misses the silence of the stone of your house, it let him wander and think in peace at night. He'd wake his staff up if he tried to wander his own halls, but the much, much smaller townhome, three stories of new wood and stone wouldn't let his misery not be known to anyone but himself now. Even though the gaunt sadness that had sat on his face all day, only masked by the anger, that never wavering expression now fading as the moon rose and he found himself alone was giving his true feelings away. He didn't have to wander and make the house moan and groan with the weight of his heavy feet and even heavier consciousness to let anyone around him know he wasn't happy.

He'd not shared a bed with you in weeks, but it was as if it were the first night he was truly sleeping alone. He lay in bed, heavy blankets up to his chest as he looked around the room. The bed sat in the middle, a desk to one side, an armoire to the other and a fireplace next to the door. The window by the armoire was covered with thick curtains and not a beam of light was making its way in. The red and blue coloring of the room, seemed appropriate for his emotions, running hot and cold simultaneously. He wonders if he should've gotten a smaller bed, his hand reaching out to where your body would've been had he been brave enough to face his own damned principles and just let himself give you both what you wanted. He lays back, the fire dying, rolling to his side and closing his eyes, imagining you were there, hearing your breathing, that warm sensation of being near someone who wanted to be near you he tries to conjure to help him sleep. He thought he missed you at night before, but it was nothing compared to how he felt miles and miles away now.

Your first Friday night apart he works. He works all weekend and tries to drown out his heart calling out for you in piles of paperwork. His men already growing tired of this foul mood that clouded his every word and action. The fast pace, the noise, and smog of the city were his only portrait to stare out blankly as he took the short drive home. He missed watching the stone fade to grass, the quiet and calm of the countryside at night as if nature was telling him to calm down, he'd be where he wanted to be most soon. But there was no escape in the city, lampposts seemed to spotlight couples arm in arm with their happy faces as he sat in his car. Even in the garden at his home you still couldn't fully see the stars at night, the horns and shouts and metallic banging of the city a constant buzz in his ears. He misses the quiet, he misses the breeze on his face, he misses you.

He finally comes home and collapses, waking to an empty bed once again. No smell of lavender that radiated from your skin and no warmth to be had. No soft murmurs or tea by the bed, no veil of hair around your sleeping form like a halo, he feels so depressingly alone. He hadn't realized how alone, and having been on his own so long before you came into his life, he could now feel the gaping wound the absence of such companionship left within him. He can see now the importance you'd held in his life, not believing how he could've grown to take it for granted.

As he wakes, the hurt in his back having grown to the rest of his body, seeping into his mind and heart he longs for your healing touch. To feel the comforting weight of you, to listen to your calm breathing as you work the evil out of him somehow. He deserves the misery, he concludes.

That next Friday, he comes home and performs the Shabbat ritual with his small staff, a few close friends to show the house to before he turned it into a dusty and cluttered cave like he had the last. Afterward, he sits in his study with a glass of wine, his new dog in front of the fireplace. All he can hear is the crackle of wood. No music, no singing or humming or even the feminine voices of maids he'd grown accustomed to. The house felt so quiet, so empty, so lifeless. He thought it proper his home was a reflection of the state he was in himself.

"Cyril," he calls out to the dog, it opens its eyes. "C'mere you mutt," he says with affection. "You're supposed to be for company, yeah?" he asks patting the seat next to him and the dog comes as called and puts it's head on his lap and falls back asleep as he strokes his back. "Not nearly as soft as her I'm afraid, old boy. Not to insult you or anyfin'." the dog licks his lips. "At least you do make the bed warmer. I'll give ya that." he pauses "Not as good at that as her either though." he sits in silence, pushing the wine away. It wasn't any fun to drink without you. He missed your cold toes wiggling under his thigh as you read or sketched. The soft hums of interest, the chuckles, and yawns. Although very adorable, Cyril's head resting on his lap was no match for yours. His fingers stroking through your hair as he'd read to you in different languages. He remembers you admitting it didn't matter if you understood him, you just liked the sound of his voice. How could he be so bloody blind. So fucking stupid, he thinks, grunting in annoyance at himself as his brow furrows low enough to touch his pursed lips it seemed. God, he missed you. But what would he say if he reached out to you? I miss you would be misleading, and just cause more problems and every time he feels the need to connect with you he pulls back because he doesn't know where the fuck to even begin when it comes to you.

Your third Friday apart, he sits in his study with Cyril on the couch next to him as he reads the paper. He'd taken to reading the arts section, something he hadn't done while living with you as you'd always tell him if there was anything worth noting as it was the section you read first. But in his search of something to remind him of you, he finds more than he bargains for as he finds you. A big picture of you holding an award, a huge painting behind you, title reading ''London business woman honored for artistic achievement." You'd been volunteering at a Jewish children's home, teaching art classes the article says, and through your sizable donations they'd set up a scholarship fund as the fine print continued to sing your praises. So much charity work you'd been doing.

The award was for your impressionist painting of Dionysus in an unrelated contest to your charitable works. He sees the crown of laurel, the familiar face and he now knows what you'd been working on that you wouldn't show him, saying you wanted to wait until it was finished. It was him, surely, as Dionysus. Submerged in a dark pool of water, flora and fauna and grapes in his hands and that laurel he'd worn around his head.

He feels his heart warm at the sight of you smiling proudly, clutching the statue to your chest, and by it, he sees the Star of David necklace he'd bought you. You were still wearing it. He feels a strange surge of...hope, was it? It felt so long since he'd experienced anything positive he couldn't pinpoint the emotion. He cuts out the picture of you and places it in a book of yours that had been mistakenly put into his belongings as they were moved out of your home.

He keeps it in his bedside table and looks at it before he goes to bed sometimes. Some nights it helps, thinking he'll reach out to you tomorrow, falling asleep and piecing together things he might say. Some nights it makes sleep hard to come by as you spew all the nasty things he deserved to hear you say to him in his dreams.

The fourth Friday you're apart, he laments alone. He'd sent you flowers to celebrate your award and heard nothing in return. But then again, what should he expect? You to show up on his doorstep like he had yours almost a year ago? Telling him your forgive his unforgivable behavior and you can't stand the thought of being without him? Ridiculous. He knew he was at fault, he felt so far buried in the hole he'd dug that he didn't know how to get out at this point. Every day that passed that he didn't reach out to you he knew was a mistake. He still thought about you. Often. Anytime he saw a woman on the street that resembled you his stomach would jump. Any downtime he had at work he'd imagine you sitting across from him at tea, eating the round sweet cakes you loved as you'd laugh and tell him about the moronic things men had said to you in your meetings for that day. What he'd give to see you besides in a picture, to hear your voice not just from memory.

Your fifth Friday apart he'd had to hear about you again today. Ollie tells him you're making a name for yourself in the Jewish community of London. Your money catching attention, then your volunteer work, and your artistic talents. Ollie treads lightly, speaking of how many men were talking about how you were unwed, and their wishes to change that fact. He wants Alfie to go back to you, he's been insufferable since he left. He understands the idea behind not finding himself worthy of a Jewish woman, but who else was his boss supposed to end up with? Poor Ollie took most of the brunt of that abuse from Alfie's stubbornness that he was putting out as he would grow tired of only abusing himself.

Alfie sits in bed, the sounds of the city outside his windows grating at his ears, he hadn't missed the noise out in the country with you. He holds the picture of you, now curling at the edges from wear. He had put in a call for a gentile woman to come and help ease his troubles as he'd felt rather desperate, but he'd canceled as soon as he'd gotten home. It was like the picture of you scolded him from its place in his nightstand, scoffing at the notion that he'd sleep with someone else. "If you think I won't forgive you now, what would happen if I knew you slept with someone else?" you say in his head. He wouldn't have to worry about only you forgiving him but him forgiving himself if he went through with it. As long as he still had you in his heart and mind, he wouldn't sleep with anyone else, not if there was still that urge to be with you, that hope he liked to smother that maybe he would be with you again someday. He didn't want to share his bed with anyone truly, the moment of deep desperation passing as he looked at your image, he didn't even know if he could've slept with the woman he realizes. His thoughts turn to you, your soft voice and skin, the delicate touch of your fingertips, the swells of your feminine curves as he let his mind wander, his hand his only bed mate as he once again imagines it's you. ------ Your first Friday apart you couldn't get yourself together enough for Shabbat. Instead, you opt to get black out drunk in your studio. You take two bottles of his rum, the paints he'd gotten you for Hanukkah and the sweets from his bakery you'd had Joseph get you. You don't emerge for three days straight, having the same rum and sweets delivered to you with more paint and canvas.

You do everything with reckless abandon. You sling paint onto canvases from every angle, your hyper-realism portraits of his face, some only of an eye, his lips, his hands, you paint them so you won't forget them. Some of the work you do of him is half tears and half paint by the time you finish. You cover yourself in paint and throw yourself against a canvas mounted to the wall. You use your hair as a brush, you paint with your feet instead of your hands and put paint and his rum into your mouth and spit it out at the canvas. You purge every bit of hurt you have that you can.

As the sun rose on the 3rd day, the canvas you'd been beating yourself against, painting with your bare hands that were bleeding at this point from overuse, the hard handles of brushes and the punches and scraping of nails and knuckles against rough canvas surfaces as had taken its toll. You stop for a moment, the chaos in your mind clearing as the sun rises over the grey hills in the distance. Your body was abused, broken in some places and bruising and pale. You drag yourself to your room, not bothering to take a bath and you crash for almost two days.

Your second Friday apart you lead Shabbat for the home. You have a nice party for everyone and you busy yourself and share stories with the other women that you employ. You feel like you have support, you feel like maybe you can do this without him. You don't want to but you can entertain it as a possibility most days. Most nights you still cry, but you know that's okay, it's all part of heartbreak. It'll pass you lie to yourself.

You find sleep to be elusive, only giving you more time alone with your thoughts that led to more tears. Your bare feet, frozen from the cold the stone holds onto into the night as they keep moving aimlessly around your estate. Your fingers, as cold as your toes drag across the decorated walls you pass. Sometimes you think you feel him there, he'll appear around the next corner, you tell yourself. You stand in the doorway of his room, the bed still not touched. Sometimes you sleep there, his smell fading after days spent in it so you try not to linger too long. You sigh heavily, dragging your hands across the different textured surfaces of the room. You'd found some paper with his handwriting on it in a drawer, just notes, nothing of real importance or meaning to you.

You close your eyes and imagine those strong hands with the pen, the agile bejeweled fingers and the lean forearm attached, tensing as he wrote. You try to remember how it felt to run your hand down that forearm to make him stop working. You didn't want to one day wake and find you'd forgotten something about him, and you torture yourself with reliving the intimate moments. He'd turn his head, face pretending to be annoyed before you'd capture his true feelings as you kissed the tension out of him. How you'd straddled him in the chair you sat in now, hands on the ends of the armrest, squeezing and recalling them digging into your naked thighs as you rode him.

You sigh and let out a loud groan into the darkness of the room, your head falling back and eyes closing. It was as if you could feel that he was thinking the same thing some nights. Not all the time, but on occasion, a memory would pop into your head out of nowhere, followed by a strong pain in your stomach. You lay awake at night wondering if it was him thinking about you. Was he laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling in pain in every way imaginable at the cold and empty feeling you had in your chest that came when you realized your bed was the same without his warm body in it? You couldn't help but want to know if he was as lost without you as you were without him.

The third Friday you're apart you have a lovely Shabbat meal you host. But you let yourself have too much wine. The wine turns on you. At first, it makes you painfully aware of your sexual frustrations, and after you've taken care of that, it makes you sad and you cry. You go to his room, still not being touched as you lay in the bed and reach your arm out as if he was there. You have one-sided conversations with him about all the things you wish you'd said. All the things you wished he'd say. You think about reaching out to him. But he'd left, not you. If he wanted to talk to you he would, wouldn't he? You feel used and alone. You cry silently and fall asleep, pretending the heat from the fireplace was coming from him being back in bed with you where he belonged. It felt like the hurt was never going to go away at this point. You were almost ready to give up on trying to pull yourself out of it.

On the fourth Friday you're apart you're looking at letters, gifts, and flowers as you walk into your office. After the award ceremony and your picture in the paper, there had been a great interest in you by what felt like all the eligible Jewish men in London. It was all a bit much. None of these men knew you. They had maybe met you in passing, none of them you remembered, which was the important factor to take in. You weren't going to be with someone again so soon, it felt like you never would be as you read the hollow feeling letters of congratulations and praise.

You see a grand bouquet, having set behind your desk so you hadn't noticed it at first. It's full of lavender and iris's. With a stutter of your heart and a lump in your throat, you move to sit in front of it. Your fingers gently touching the soft petals, leaning in to breathe it in deep. French lavender. French iris's. You take the card and your suspicions are confirmed.

'Congratulations, Genevieve. The world deserves to know how talented you are, and I'm pleased that they aren't as daft as they would seem. Perhaps they have good taste after all. Yours Truly, Alfie Solomons.'

"Yours truly," you huff out a laugh and sigh heavily. "Mine? Really?" you say aloud. "If I were yours you wouldn't just be sending me flowers, Fie." you sigh, your face falling as you rise to stand, looking at his swooping signature. You pick up the flowers and take them to your room, leaving all the others in your office, and there's where they stay. You use the card as a bookmark and put it in your nightstand. You stare at them as you lay in the bed with eyes burning from crying again, why would he send these? Knowing what you were up to but wouldn't contact you? Was this some sort of game he was playing? You admit you weren't very experienced with heartbreak, as no one had gotten into yours so deeply before. You felt lost all over again.

The fifth Friday you're apart you lead the Shabbat ritual. It's becoming easier, you don't have to think about it much now, it's more second nature. You sat and reflected in your study, looking at the award that sat on your shelf, sipping wine in a controlled way, no worry you'd overindulge this time.

You'd found a peace in giving back recently. You'd been to a synagogue and spoken with a Rabbi and you were on your way to becoming a true member of the Jewish community now. Working with the kids was more rewarding than you could've imagined. Seeing your money going to something to benefit others felt right. You'd been faced with the loss of the future you thought you had laid before you. You want something to be around after you're gone. If that wasn't a family then you'd leave your legacy some other way. You'd gotten this far without a man, a husband or children, and you could keep going without it. It hurt deep down still when you'd let it. A taste of romance that was just out of your grasp and you'd let it slip like sand through your fingers.

You still want to call him from time to time. You miss his touch, your own just not living up to the fire he lit inside you. But once again you refrain. You didn't know why this feeling wouldn't go away. It persisted through your triumphs and your failures. But every night you came home to an empty bed, your voice echoing off the walls as you speak aloud alone, having no one else to tell your torturous thoughts to so late. You had good days, but all the nights were bad by the time you were alone. He was persistent, never leaving you alone for long and you weren't sure if you were angry or sad. Perhaps both. If he wanted you, he'd tell you. Wouldn't he?

Pt. 52 Pale Blue Eyes

@fangirlfreakingout @jaegeeeeer @cosettewinchester @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog @brianaisasongbird @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @iliveonchocolateandnetflix @jess2464 @hardygal69 @thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons @pootle @negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night @wtf-is-wrong-with-this @shine-dont-shadow @inkinterrupted @vale0413 @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @sxlomons @aphnxrising @emerald-bijou @elaenom

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artemisegeria · 5 years

Text

Love by Design (Chapter 7/?)

Title: Love by Design (Chapter 7/?)

Rating: T

Word count: 4356

Warnings: None for this chapter.

Summary: Vision makes elaborate foam art as a barista at the coffee shop that his brother owns. One day a new customer comes in, and he completely loses his cool. As she keeps coming back, they grow closer. A casual acquaintance becomes something much more.

Chapter Summary: Vision and Wanda spend a gratuitous amount of time smiling at each other and struggling with their feelings before they finally get their act together.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16272371

A/N: Excerpted lyrics from “I Want to Know What Love Is,” written by Mick Jones, appear in italicized print.

I struggled a bit with this chapter and rewrote the last couple of sections several times, but hopefully it worked out. It also kept growing and is the longest chapter so far. I hope you enjoy!

Vision dropped his bag in his bedroom, taking a moment to collapse on his bed after a long day of traveling home from his university. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at his text messages to find one from Wanda. How was your trip? Did you make it back ok?

Yes, thank you. It’s good to be home.

Are you too tired to come out with us tonight?

He didn’t waste a second before replying. His exhaustion was rapidly falling away. No, I’ll be there. She gave him the location and told him they’d all be there at ten. Fortunately, Ultron was not in, so Vision did not have to come up with an excuse for where he was going.

Vision immediately saw the group. He ducked under the rope to join them. Wanda smiled at him, and the others greeted him jovially. He couldn’t help but notice that Wanda’s dress covered substantially less skin than what she usually wore. It was a deep red color with a deep vee. It was covered in delicate sequins that seemed to glow under the lights outside the club. Her soft curves were aesthetically appealing, but he worked to keep his focus on her face as she asked about his trip.

Inside the club, the lights were low and strobe lights were making a mesmerizing pattern on the bodies dancing close together. It was not an environment that Vision typically felt comfortable in, but Wanda standing close to him and the familiar jokes of the others kept him grounded. It allowed him to enjoy the beat of the music. They managed to find a corner booth that fit all of them. Wanda and Vision ended up in the center where the two sides of bench joined. Sam and Natasha immediately sped off to the bar to get drinks for the table.

When they returned with several pitchers of beer for the table, Vision accepted a cup. Now that Vision was sitting down again, his tiredness started to creep back up on him. The chatter around him turned into meaningless droning. He felt as if he just blinked once, but suddenly he and Wanda were the only ones in the booth. She smiled up at his confusion. “Hey there. I thought someone who was awake should stay to guard the stuff.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He could feel the flush of embarrassment and slight intoxication burning through him. “If you want to go dance, I’m awake now.”

She shook her head, a faint blush that was barely visible in the low light touching her cheeks as well. “No, I’m fine, but if you’re tired, I can call you a car.”

“No, no.” The sensible part of him urged him to follow her suggestion, so that he could function tomorrow, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to meet her smile and let the atmosphere of the club create a bubble around them.

Until he felt a tug on his arm, drawing him away from Wanda’s gaze. He looked up to see Natasha grinning at him while Clint pulled on Wanda’s arm. Natasha said, “Clint and I have to have a little chat. We’ll stay with the stuff. You two go have fun.” Wanda and Vision glanced at each other, but there was no arguing with Natasha.

They joined the rest of the group on the dancefloor. Wanda seemed to glow even more brightly under the strobe lights. His eyes were continually drawn to her, even as their positions within the group changed. Not only her body, but also her completely carefree air as she swayed to the music. They all bounced along to the upbeat music that was currently playing, and oddly enough Vision had rarely felt so at peace himself, despite the noise and the crowds. It was one in the morning before they all piled into a few cars and made their way to their homes.

But Vision did not catch a wink of sleep, pondering the new intensity of his feelings.

***

Wanda entered the shop a little later than usual. Now that school was out, there wasn’t quite as much pressure to wake up on time. The space behind the counter was empty, but Wanda noticed a large bound manuscript was sitting in front of her seat. She smiled as she flipped through a few pages.

A few minutes later, Vision emerged from the back room. His beaming smile encouraged one to form on her own face. She had never seen him so happy. “You finished it?”

“Yes, I did.” He came around the counter and ran his fingers lovingly over the cover page.

“Congratulations!” She wrapped her arms around him, and he returned her embrace much less hesitantly than the last time she had hugged him. Since she wasn’t falling apart this time, she able to focus much better on the way his arms felt around her. It was lovely, though she still wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

He pulled back slightly, but he kept his hands on her back. “I still have to go through a final round of edits with my advisor and complete my dissertation defense, but the worst is done.”

“Vizh! That’s so great. I’m really happy for you.” After a few more moments, they realized they were still holding onto each other, backing away simultaneously. He returned behind the counter.

“What would you like this morning?”

“Since we’re celebrating, I’ll have a scone with my iced coffee.” Vision made her order and leaned on the counter across from her. Wanda smiled at him. He seemed more relaxed than she had ever seen him, with the weight of his dissertation no longer so heavily hanging over his head. “So, will I have to start calling you ‘Doctor’ now?”

“Certainly not. Well, not yet at any rate. Maybe in a few months.” His boyish smile infused her with the powerful desire to close the distance between them and kiss him. She’d not felt such a strong wish in years, but she held herself back. This was not the time or place. Vision was her best friend; taking that step was not a choice that should be made lightly.

***

The lights went down as the emcee went up on the stage. “Our first group tonight is Tony, Thor, and Steve.”

Tony and Thor bounded onto the stage, with Steve following more calmly after them. The rest of the group, which had monopolized several small tables, watched them, with some whooping and others heckling. Wanda merely shook her head, but Vision could see the slight upward curve of her lips. They were sharing a table with Natasha, Mantis, and Mantis’s girlfriend Nebula. Bucky, who was smiling softly at Steve on stage, was sitting at a neighboring table with Sam and Clint.

The music started, the opening notes encouraging much bouncing of feet and bobbing of heads. The instantly recognizable opening notes of “Stayin’ Alive” filled the room. Tony stood in the middle of the group, hamming it up for the crowd and making the most exaggerated disco dancing motions, stretching his arm high into the air. Thor and Steve flanked him, gradually leaning into the movements as the song progressed.

As the night wore on, the others’ singing grew louder and sloppier. Natasha, Thor’s friend Val, and Jane’s friend Darcy sang “It’s Raining Men.” Sam and Clint belted out “You Are the Wind Beneath My Wings,” exaggeratedly waving their arms and staring into each other’s eyes. Scott and Hope performed a sincere rendition of “I Will Always Love You.”

Vision and Wanda both rebuffed repeated attempts to get them to sign up. People from other tables took the next few spots. Out of the corner of his eye, Vision saw Tony, Natasha, and Mantis whispering. When Tony and Natasha walked over to the sign-up sheet a few minutes later, Vision thought nothing of it. Until the emcee announced, “Next up is Wanda and Vision.” Wanda immediately glared at Tony, but he only started a chant encouraging them to go on stage.

They took a second to look at each other and then at their friends, who were still egging them on, but finally complied.

The emcee queued up their music, noting it was “I Want to Know What Love Is.” Vision was grateful that he was at least somewhat familiar with the song. As the opening lyrics scrolled across the screen, he tried not to think too hard about their meaning.

I gotta take a little time, a little time to think things over I better read between the lines, in case I need it when I'm older

Their voices were not too steady, and the crowd urged them to sing louder. Vision had a sinking feeling that this would only be the first of many heavy-handed attempts to manipulate his friendship with Wanda. But, despite their discomfort, they began to warm up to the singing. They focused on each other more than the crowd. It was not as terrifying as he might have thought, given the subject of the song.

In my life there's been heartache and pain I don't know if I can face it again Can't stop now, I've traveled so far, to change this lonely life

They had certainly both experienced heartache and pain. Vision was struck again by how much meeting her had brightened his life. Meeting her had opened a whole new horizon for him.

I want to know what love is, I want you to show me I want to feel what love is, I know you can show me

By the time they reached the first chorus, Vision let himself melt into the song. He smiled at Wanda, encouraged when she smiled back.

I want to feel it too, and I know and I know, I know you can show me Show me love is real, yeah, I want to know what love is

When they reached the end of the song, Vision and Wanda just looked at each other briefly before their friends started screaming and applauding wildly.

As they gratefully left the stage, Wanda spoke lowly to Tony, “I hope that was fun for you because I will get you for it. I haven’t decided how yet, but you don’t know either. I promise you that you won’t see it coming.” Vision didn’t think Tony’s look of trepidation was at all feigned, and Wanda grinned savagely as she walked away. Mantis, Nebula, and Natasha were not at their table when they sat down. Wanda’s manner immediately turned softer and more apologetic. “Sorry about my friends.” She paused and glanced up at him. “Well, they’re your friends now too. Anyway, you know they can be idiots.”

“Oh, a little teasing among friends never hurt anyone.” He attempted an easy smile back at her. “I hope the song didn’t make you too uncomfortable.” Vision could dream that she had a rather more positive opinion of their falling in love.

“Uh, it’s fine.” Wanda flushed more deeply, but Vision tried not to take it too much to heart. It was embarrassing to be called on stage with no warning, and they had never discussed shifting from a platonic to a romantic relationship. After a moment, she smiled more fully at him before turning to scowl at the back of Tony’s head. “I just need to plot some good revenge for Tony, and Natasha, too, for putting us in that situation. Death is far too kind for them.”

“Might I suggest putting them in a room of angry parents and locking the door behind them.”

Wanda chuckled. “I like the way you think.”

***

Wanda smoothed her skirt when she heard Vision’s knock on her front door. It was her turn to host everybody for game night, but she had invited him over early. Suddenly feeling a bit nervous, she let him in. He had never come to her home before. “Would you like something to eat, Vizh?”

“Yes, that would be nice. And highly advisable if Natasha is mixing the drinks tonight.”

“Sorry everything’s a bit of a mess.” She looked around at the knickknacks that cluttered her walls and coffee table. “And I don’t have much in the kitchen right now.”

“Not at all. I enjoy seeing the pieces of your life.”

She cringed as she opened her refrigerator to show him what was available. There were a few eggs, some cheese, a little bit of wilted spinach, condiments, and not much else. “I could make omelets if you like.”

“Sounds great.” She showed him where her pans, utensils, and oil were kept. When he had all the ingredients in place, Wanda watched Vision cooking unabashedly. She took advantage of all his focus being exerted on the pan in front of him. He flipped the omelet perfectly and handed her a plate when it was done.

“Feel free to eat while it’s hot. Mine will be done momentarily.” He was true to his word, and they both finished their meals and cleaned up quickly. When they were done, Wanda gestured to her couch, and they sat side by side.

“Did you hear that Clint’s wife is pregnant with their first child?” Wanda asked.

“No, but that’s wonderful news.”

“I know. Nat’s so excited to be an aunt, and Clint doesn’t show it as much, but he seems thrilled.” She had nearly cried when Clint had pulled her aside to tell her, love and excitement practically shining out of him. Wanda was happy for them, but she did feel a pang of jealousy go through her every time the subject came up. She wanted to be a mother someday, but she didn’t know how she would achieve it. She supposed there was always in vitro fertilization or adoption, but there were severe hurdles to get over both of those. And she didn’t relish the idea of being a single mother. She wanted a stable partnership to support her child or children, but she would have to meet a suitable partner first.

Vision’s thoughts had apparently wandered down similar paths. “I have always wanted to be a father.” His eyes were wistful and far away. She shouldn’t have been surprised, given what she already knew about Vision, but Wanda was still a little taken aback at such a decisive statement about having kids. It was rare in her experience to see a man think that way.

“I’ve always wanted to be a mother, too.” Wanda’s heart jumped a bit at her admission. They were getting deeper into the only subject they never really discussed, even after they learned more about each other’s histories.

“I am only afraid that I will wait too long to find someone to start a family with.” She ached for the sadness in his voice. A perfect image of Vision gazing adoringly at a tightly wrapped newborn resting in his arms filled Wanda’s mind.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m in the same boat.”

Vision looked at her sadly, eyes never wavering. “No, Wanda, it doesn’t. You deserve to have everything you want.”

“So do you,” she breathed. Her heartrate sped up as a result of the tender look in his eyes. Neither of them spoke, both unwilling to break the moment. But something in Wanda forced her to make one last attempt to cover everything she was feeling with a flippant comment. “But it’s hard to imagine creating a family with someone when I haven’t made it past a second date in years.”

She was beginning to imagine it now though. The image she had formed earlier was supplemented by a picture of herself coming up to Vision’s side and gazing with equal awe at the bundle in his arms. She shook her head to clear it of the extremely premature image.

“Yes, I have only ever met one person with whom I could imagine starting a family.” There was no mistaking how the smile in his eyes was all for her. Wanda just hoped that she was not letting wishful thinking deceive her. “It does make it all the more special when you find a person like that.”

Silence reigned again, but it was charged with expectation. There was suddenly poorly concealed terror in Vision’s eyes. She was about to ask what was wrong when he rushed forward. “Wanda, may I kiss you?”

She nodded, and he brought his hands to cup her face, staring into her eyes briefly before pressing his lips to hers. Warmth spread through her from the place where their lips met. She rested her hands on his shoulders. When they finally separated, Wanda noted that Vision was blushing. “I hope that was satisfactory. It has been a very long time.”

She nodded, just a bit dazed. “For me too,” she whispered. Wanda regained control of her words as she calmed down from the surprise of her best friend kissing her. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while. Um, thanks for beating me to it.”

“You have?” Wanda smiled at his starry-eyed expression and nodded in confirmation. “I have as well.”

However, reality was setting in. The others would arrive in about fifteen minutes. “If we want to keep doing this, it will be an adjustment though.”

Vision nodded seriously. “Yes, I would never want to jeopardize our friendship.”

“Me, neither.” Except for Pietro, Vision was the most important person in the world to her. Wonderful as this feeling was, she couldn’t mess that up out of carelessness. “So, we, uh, should probably keep this to ourselves until we can talk through some things.”

“Agreed. Are you free tomorrow night?”

“For you, absolutely.” She grinned at the deepening blush that spread across his cheeks. She was very tempted to kiss him again. But she didn’t want to get too carried away before their friends arrived. A few minutes later another knock sounded at her door, drawing them out of their own new private world.

***

Vision’s feelings had not changed overnight, and he had not expected them to. But there was the matter of disclosing his sexuality. Kissing Wanda had been wonderful, but it did not change his fundamental feelings about sex. It had been so long since he had kissed someone that he sometimes thought his feelings would change if he met the right person. But that was clearly not the case because he had never met anyone he cared as deeply about as he did Wanda.

His stomach tied itself in knots as he considered the best way to word his speech. He had never gotten to the point of revealing it to another person, but he wanted to be completely honest with Wanda from the beginning.

His anxiety was amplified by the fact that he had forgotten to ask Wanda if she was coming by this morning. He had been so distracted by the dramatic shift in their relationship and trying not to act too oddly in front of their friends. His question was answered when the bell at the front door rang at the usual time. “Hey, Vizh,” she said more softly than was her wont.

“Good morning, Wanda. How was the rest of your night?”

“Good. Yours?”

“Very good.” He smiled at her tentatively. “What will you have?”

“Hot chocolate today, please.” He made her drink and handed her the can of whipped cream, shaking his head fondly at the excessive amount she added to her mug.

“We should buy bigger mugs just so you have more room for your whipped cream.” She stuck her tongue out at him and he chuckled, relieved that they could maintain the same rapport that they always had.

“That sounds like a great idea.” She took a large sip, and Vision found himself mesmerized by the bit of whipped cream that stuck on her upper lip.

He leaned forward unconsciously, reaching out with his thumb. “Wanda, you have a bit, uh…May I?”

“Oh.” She was blushing furiously now. “Sure.” Vision gently wiped his thumb over her lip. They remained still, both breathing faster than usual, until Wanda closed the distance between them. The kiss was short and sweet, but Vision felt the weight of all their feelings behind it. “So, I, um, have to go practice my cello now before our group practice later. I’m still not up to the level I used to play at. But you’re still coming over to mine tonight, right?”

He smiled at her. “Yes, I look forward to it.” She smiled back and rushed out, throwing one last wave over her shoulder. It took some hours for Vision’s anxiety to overpower the bright glow of contentment that she left him with. He comforted himself with the thought that whatever her reaction she would be kind about it, but the afternoon hours still seemed to ooze by like thick molasses.

Wanda welcomed him warmly into her apartment at the appointed time. After a few pleasantries, she offered to make tea, and he accepted, eager to have a few more moments to center himself. While he waited, Vision drifted over to examine her pictures more closely. There were several of a man, a woman, and two children. Then, a number of just her and Pietro. One in particular caught his eye; Vision didn’t think he had seen it the day before. It showed the two siblings outside on a sunny day, surrounded by other people sporting all colors of the rainbow, with Wanda in a shirt with purple, white, gray, and black stripes. He was still considering how to ask her about the picture when a quiet “Tea’s ready” came from behind him. Vision turned to her and walked back toward the couch. Wanda played with her rings when she saw what he had been looking at, and they prepared their tea in silence.

Her fingers tapped loudly against the cup as they sipped. Her eyes drifted back and forth between Vision and the picture. There was no denying the nervousness in her expression. Vision took a breath and steeled himself to say what he needed to. “After last night, there is something that I wish to tell you, but may I ask you about the picture first?”

“Okay.” Wanda set her cup down and drew her limbs into herself, watching him warily. With the way she tensed up, Vision felt he may have begun the wrong way.

“Is that you and Pietro at Pride?”

“Yeah, he convinced me to go when I visited him last year.”

“And you’re wearing the asexual pride flag?”

“Mm-hmm.” Her defensive posture did not shift, but her expression grew more open. “You’re familiar with it?”

“Yes.” He strove to speak with all the authority and matter-of-factness with which he would deliver an academic conclusion that he had reached after much study and thought. “I am intimately familiar with it, actually. I am asexual.”

Wanda just blinked at him for a minute, and Vision’s heart plummeted. He tried to think of how he could explain himself differently if the shirt was just a coincidence and she had no idea what he was talking about when she whispered, “You’re ace?” To hear her use the familiar slang term at least assured him that she did at least know the term.

“Yes.”

She looked at him as if she had never seen him before, a wide smile slowly breaking across her face. “When you said you didn’t usually date, I never would have imagined that was the reason.” Her body relaxed somewhat. “I am, too, like the shirt indicates. I’ve never met anyone who identifies as asexual in person before.”

“Neither have I. I did not want to presume; I thought perhaps you were wearing the shirt in support of someone else.” Wanda shook her head, still smiling softly at him. “I have rehearsed this for years, but I’d begun to imagine that I would never have the opportunity to say it out loud.”

“I only ever told Pietro.” Her excited tone faded at the end of the sentence, and her face set into a scowl. “And one boyfriend in college who promptly offered to ‘fix’ me. He was the last semi-serious boyfriend I had.”

Vision tentatively reached for her hand. “I’m sorry.” He had heard many similar stories and it broke his heart every time.

Wanda only shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Besides I should consider myself lucky. My friends kept telling me that he was a jerk, but I couldn’t see it until he said that.” But she turned her eyes up at him hopefully. “So, I guess you wouldn’t be bothered by the fact that I’ve never had sex?”

“Not at all. I have not either.” Vision had never thought that his inexperience was a cause for shame, but it was still a rarity at his age. It was a relief to admit that to someone who felt the same way. “Part of me did not even believe it was something real people did outside of fiction for a long time. I knew it intellectually, but I could not quite wrap my head around it.”

Wanda laughed with absolute delight and leaned toward him, listening eagerly. “Me neither. I was so confused when Pietro started dating.”

They began to interrogate each other, finally having the opportunity to discuss a number of subjects with someone who understood. When their initial stream of excited questions cooled, they rested back against the couch cushions and absorbed this new information. Vision smiled at her, overcome with relief at how she received what he had never dared tell another person before. “So,” Wanda teased, gracing him with a small, intimate smile, “any other deep, dark secrets you have to reveal before we start a new relationship?”

“No, that was all. You?”

“Nope.” She raised their joined hands to his cheek and pressed forward slightly.

Vision caught her open, inviting gaze and tilted his head closer to hers. There was only one item remaining on his agenda. “And would you like to proceed?”

“Yes.” Wanda sealed the answer by pulling him in for another kiss.

#alternateuniversescarletvision #fanfiction #au #wanda x vision #scarlet vision

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