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dauntless-gothamite · 3 years

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Prove Them Wrong [3/?]

Fandom: Divergent Pairing: Eric Coulter x Fem! Reader Summary: Y/N is a Dauntless transfer from Erudite, and she has a drive, an ambition that sets her apart--it always has, even back in Erudite. She brings her perseverance (and need to prove others wrong) to Dauntless when she transfers, and she uses her mind to make her way through the initiation process. Along the way, she makes friends and enemies, and she finds herself comfortable around the man most people in Dauntless avoid at all costs: Eric Coulter. A/N: I like what I did with the end of this one, putting a (hopefully) comedic/unique twist on a trope and adding something original :) feedback is very much appreciated, happy reading

When you walked into the training room the next morning, everyone avoided looking at your face, specifically, your neck. Instead, people looked at the ground. You knew you had bruises around your neck from where Peter had grabbed you, but you hadn’t expected a group of dauntless to be so touchy about it; bruises were common here.

“Alright, listen up!” Four yelled. “We are doing some target practice today, so line up and get throwing,” he said, pointing to the line of targets against the wall. At least you weren’t fighting today; your body could use a break. That fight with Peter really had worn you out, and since you guys had thrown knives a couple times already, you were starting to get familiar with the technique.

You walked up to a free target and looked over the knives positioned on the table before you, holding one and turning it over in your hand. “Well? Are you going to throw that knife or just stare at it all day?” the gruff, aggressive voice of Eric asked. You turned to look at him, and a part of you was pleased to notice that he was looking you in the face, not avoiding your eyes and neck like everyone else around here.

One side of your mouth quirked up in the beginning of a smile before you replied, “I’m about to throw it.”

“Then get on with it!” Without hesitation, you turned your body to the target, and you positioned your feet similar to how you would if you were throwing punches instead of knives. Gripping the handle, you drew the knife back, aimed, and twisted forward, releasing the knife as you traced an invisible arc over your head. The knife stuck to the target with a thud, but it was a little lower than you’d hoped it would be. Eric nodded and said “Get that figured out before I get back, and maybe I won’t yell at you,” before walking away to stand behind some other initiate, most likely to stress them out so much that they’d miss the target completely. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t yell at me very much, you thought to yourself. Because I don’t break under the pressure of his judgemental stare. After taking many math tests with teachers walking around the room, looking over each student’s shoulder as they frantically scribbled down answers, you were used to being watched and assessed.

Picking up the next knife, you lined yourself up just like you did before and repeated the motion, letting go of the knife a bit earlier this time. The knife landed at the height you wanted it to, but it was a little far to the side. Grabbing for the next knife, you made sure that this time you didn’t twist as much, but you did everything the same way you did before, and the third knife landed just a few millimeters from where you’d aimed, but you were satisfied. Smirking to yourself, you looked to either side before walking forward cautiously to grab the knives from the target. As you grabbed the first knife’s handle and pulled it out of the target, you heard the sound of a knife flying through the air near your head, and in an instant, said knife embedded itself just a centimeter above your head in the target.

“What the fuck!” you yelled. Whipping around to glare at whichever person’s knife had gone so far off course, you saw Eric standing where you had been standing to throw the knives with a smirk on his face.

“Just testing you,” he said nonchalantly. You scowled in response, eyeing the knife he still held in his hands. You locked eyes with him, and his smirk grew wider as you backed up against the target, knowing what would come next, right before Eric’s second knife landed between your arm and your torso. You turned back around to grab your knives, and Eric said “Grab mine too, initiate.” While you were turned around, you rolled your eyes, but you did retrieve his knives for him, passing them back to him curtly. He grabbed them out of your hands, fingers brushing ever so slightly in the process, before turning around to torment someone else.

At dinner, just as you were about to take a bite of your hamburger, Will asked, “How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Get Eric not to hate you!”

“He doesn’t like me,” you scoffed.

“At the very least, he doesn’t yell at you every five minutes,” Tris butted in, to which Will and Christina nodded fervently.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Luck, I guess?”

“No way, luck could not possibly get that man to be even a little bit nice to anybody,” Christina countered.

“Ok, maybe not, but like I said, I don’t know! Maybe it’s because I don’t crack under pressure or something.”

“Something like that,” Will conceded with a sigh before turning on Tris. “Your turn; what’s going on with you and Four?”

“Nothing!” Tris replied.

“Come on, don’t lie to us,” Christina said. You badly wanted to say something to try and get more information out of Tris, but you refrained just in case they decided to turn back on you and start asking about Eric again.

“I don’t know,” Tris said. “He’s cute, though,” she admitted with flushed cheeks.

The banter between you all went on like that for a little while as everyone ate their dinner, until Will got up and said, “I’ll see you guys back at the dorm; I want to get there early and hit the showers while everyone is still at dinner. Get a little privacy for once,” and stood up with a smile.

As soon as Will was out of earshot, you leaned across the table to Christina and said “So, when are you finally going to tell Will you like him?” you smirked.

“What? No,” Christina said.

“Come on, Tris, back me up here,” you said.

“She has a point,” Tris said with a nod.

“You guys are unbelievable!” Christina said and stood up, prompting you and Tris to do the same, and then you all headed out of the dining area together to stroll through dauntless for a little while before going back to the dorm so as to give Will some privacy.

“You know, I think I’m going to try and shower early as well,” Tris said as the three of you walked. “But don’t worry, Christina, I won’t look at Will,” she winked and laughed before peeling off towards the dorm.

“Hey!” Christina yelled after her as you stood next to her, doubled over in laughter.

“Will, can you calculate the speed at which my fist hits the punching bag? Can you--” you teased Christina.

“Stop it!” she shrieked, her blush deepening.

“Just admit that you like him, it should be easy for an ex-Candor!”

“Fuck off!” she said, but there was no malice in her tone. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, and that was the last straw before Christina gave you a hard shove, making you stumble as you laughed at her expense. Then your body collided with something solid. You heard whomever you had just crashed into growl in frustration as you stared at their black boots. Eric’s black boots. Your laughter died in your throat as you stood, taking note of the numerous pages and folders that were undoubtedly full of important files in them scattered across the floor. You made eye contact with Christina’s, who at least had the decency to look guilty as she retreated down the hallway, as Eric said “Well, initiate. I don’t know what you were doing, nor do I care, but the rest of your evening will be spent reorganizing the files you just scattered everywhere.”

You nodded as you made eye contact with him before bending over to pick up the pages on the floor. Once you had picked everything up, Eric started walking and you followed up three flights of stairs and down a hallway, eventually coming to a stop outside a door which he unlocked. You followed him inside as he turned on the lights, and looking around, you knew this was his office. “You will sort these pages by category and date, then leave them on my desk when you’re finished, understood?”

“Actually, I have a question,” you asked as an idea occurred to you. He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“What?”

“Wouldn’t something physical be a better punishment? Just because I happen to be good at sorting, this feels like it’s--”

“No,” Eric said. “I know what you’re doing. Trying to get an advantage by extra training and building it into something you already have to do. I’m not an idiot, Y/N.”

Nervous to push him any further, you decided to throw one more thing out there, and if he didn’t take it well you would shut it and sort the files. “Well, of course not, you are from Erudite originally, so--”

“Who told you that,” Eric asked, annoyed. You weren’t sure, but you thought you saw a glimpse of something else in his eyes for a moment.

“No one, it’s just that Ms. McKimmerer talked about you all the time.”

“That old math teacher? He asked incredulously”

“Yeah, she always said ‘Eric Coulter memorized more digits of pi than any other student in his year, try to be more like him’ and ‘It’s a shame he left Erudite’ when she taught us about pi.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Eric scoffed. “And don’t mention that to anyone, initiate!”

“I won’t!” you said, slightly amused. After a brief pause, you said, “But you should know, there is even a picture of you from that year on her desk, with your hair combed back and a blue collared shirt.”

Eric paused for a moment, and you did your best not to break, but eventually you howled in laughter; his wide-eyed reaction was just too funny.

Scowl in place, Eric schooled his face into a calm, if annoyed mask, and said “get to work on those files. I will check back in a bit to see if you’re done sorting them.” Then, he walked out and shut the door behind him. Chuckling to yourself, you got to work on the large stack of paper before you.

The door opened loudly and you woke up to the sound of Eric Coulter clearing his throat. “Did you finish sorting the files before falling asleep at my desk, initiate?”

Sitting up, slightly embarrassed, you nodded. “Good. Now get out of my office and go eat dinner.”

You stood from the desk, hesitating for a minute. “I actually wanted to ask you something,” you said, turning to face Eric.

“Yes?”

“Well, I noticed you have a few books in here, and I was wondering if I could borrow Mental Conditioning: Getting Your Mind and Body On the Same Page. I wasn’t looking through your stuff, it’s just on the self over there--”

“I know where my own damn book is,” he said, walking over to it and grabbing the book off the shelf. “Here,” he said, handing it to you. “Return it when you're done, and it better be in the same condition it is now when I get it back, understood?”

“Yes, thank you!” you smiled at him, pleasantly surprised that he was letting you borrow the book.

That night, when you got back to the dorm room, you read a few pages of Eric’s book before going to bed. It was a little hard to focus with all the noise--you’d find a better spot to read tomorrow--but you were happy nonetheless; while dauntless was great, you had missed all the books that were available to you at Erudite. As your eyes grew tired, you reached into your bag under your bed, which held your few belongings--every initiate got one--and pulled out a napkin you had been doodling some tattoo ideas on during lunch, placed it between the pages to act as a bookmark, and put the book away in the bag. You closed your eyes, surrounded by your friends, mind calm from reading, and for a moment, despite the lingering pain around your neck, you were completely at peace as you drifted off to sleep.

Tag List: @shykoolaid, @taina-eny, @parabatai-winchester, @marvel-ousnesss

#eric coulter #eric coulter imagine #eric coulter x reader #divergent #dauntless #erudite #amity #candor #abnegation #tris prior #tobias eaton #four divergent #peter hayes #divergent imagine #motherfxking-flannel #motherfxking flannel

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plaidbooks · 3 years

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Cabin Life - The Beginning

A/N: You all need to blame both @storiesofsvu and @berniesilvas for this! I want woodsman!Sonny to be real so fucking bad, so that he can sweep me off my feet. Anyways, this covers the Cabin in the Woods square in @storiesofsvu fall bingo!

I don’t mention it in the story, but in my mind, this takes place before he’s in SVU, even before Homicide. I have him mid-late 20s.

Tags: none, just fluff

Words: 1330

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas @reading--mermaid @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

(gif by @dailypeterscanavino)

When Sonny was a kid, his parents would take him and his sisters to their vacation home; a homey cabin nestled in the New Hampshire woods. There were multiple cabins there, spread out over the land, close enough to be considered neighbors, but far enough for privacy. They had basic appliances—a fridge/freezer, a stove/oven, a sink, a bathtub, a shower, a toilet—but everything else was wooden. Dom Sr. eventually put a tv there, just in the master bedroom, so he could keep up with news and sports while they vacationed.

Sonny always loved the little community up there. Everyone was always so nice to him and his family. Which is why, after dealing with atrocities while on the force, he decided to retreat from city life. He hated being surrounded by monsters every day; sure not everyone in New York City was a creep or predator or murderer, but after seeing so much of the city’s underbelly, he was fed up.

He asked his parents if he could move to the New Hampshire house permanently. They would still be able to vacation there, of course—it was a massive, four-bedroom cabin—but he just needed to get away. He agreed to pay for everything, and he still had his cell phone so they could contact him if needed. It didn’t take much convincing for his parents to agree.

It was definitely an adjustment going from the heart of NYC to becoming a woodsman. Sonny grew his hair and beard out and bought plaid jackets—the things he saw woodsman do on tv when he was younger. The cabin needed work, especially clearing up the outside foliage, giving him some sense of purpose. And if he needed food, there were the local markets close by and a grocery store about an hour away.

The locals all remembered the scrawny little boy who spent his summers running around the woods with his sisters, and they all gladly took him under their wings. After Sonny hacked back the overgrowth, Mr. Piper taught him how to do controlled burn piles. Mr. and Mrs. Willis came over soon after, helping him measure out, then build an elevated garden. Mrs. Willis taught him how to make nutrient soil, while Mr. Willis gave him seeds, and taught him how to care for each and every vegetable.

When Sonny got the cabin, he inherited the small apple orchard, too. His pa taught him how to care for the trees while his ma taught him recipes for apple pie, cider, tarts, jams. He noticed how much he relied on bees to pollinate, and Ms. Walters, the local honey provider, taught him which wildflowers were 1) regional to them and 2) attracted bees. Sonny built another elevated garden, this time on his own, and filled it with wildflower seeds Ms. Walters gifted him with.

There was a creek nearby, and one day, Sonny found Mr. Adams fishing in it. Sonny proposed a deal; Mr. Adams gives Sonny an old rod that he wouldn’t miss, and Sonny would teach Mr. Adams the best way to clean and cook the fish. Mr. Adams agreed and gave him a sturdy rod. As Sonny went about cleaning and deboning the fish they had caught, he complimented Mr. Adams on his herb garden.

“Herb gardens aren’t the hardest thing to manage,” he said with a smile, and gifted Sonny with starters for every herb he could think of— “as payment for this phenomenal fish recipe!”

Third elevated garden up and running, Sonny fell into woodsman life easily. His muscles grew, though he was still thin; he was lean, though, not lanky anymore. Any questions he had, the locals had answers for. He grew his own food, fished his own fish, and bought (or traded) meat from the local hunters. Soon enough, the locals were calling him, asking for help with something or other. And Sonny loved all of it.

*********************

During the weekly Autumn Farmer’s Market, Sonny rented a little booth. He had brought multiple apple pies, tarts, bottles of cider, apple chips, packages of herbs, tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, lettuce, and everything else he had in abundance…that would also fit on only two tables. When he first started harvesting, he would give most away, or trade for other goods, but he also needed to make money some way. So, the extras ended up here.

He was in the middle of chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Willis about how his gardens were coming along when he saw you. He froze halfway through a sentence, his jaw hanging open, prompting the Willis’s to turn. Mrs. Willis looked back at Sonny, a knowing smile on her face.

“She just moved back in with her parents; she had been living in New York City for a little bit, trying to make a life there, but, well, as she said herself, she’s not a city girl,” Mrs. Willis explained.

Before Sonny could respond—or tear his eyes from you—you glanced over at him. You smiled warmly, and his heart beat faster. When you started coming towards his little booth, he scrambled to clean himself up, brushing his hair back off his face, smoothing down his shirt, trying to wipe some dirt off the front. Mrs. Willis gave him a smile before looping her arm with her husband and pulling him away.

“Hello! I’m new here, but I must say, your booth is probably my favorite,” you said, still smiling at him.

It took him a moment for his brain to process your words. “O-oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“All of your food looks delicious. I mean, look at this squash! It’s bigger than my head!” you announced, giggling.

He had never heard anything more magical in his life. “Do you like pie? I can give you a slice,” he replied nervously.

“How much?” you asked. You loved both apples and pie, and his looked amazing.

He gave you a soft smile. “It’s on the house; a sweet treat for a pretty woman.”

You felt your face heat and you smiled shyly as he unwrapped a pie and cut into it. He cut off a generous piece, and you opened your mouth to complain about taking it for free, but he brushed you off, placing the piece on a plate and handing it to you. You took a bite, and you swear your taste buds were dancing; it was the most delicious thing you ever tasted before, the sweetness and the tartness balanced perfectly.

You chewed thoughtfully before swallowing it. “That is the best damn pie I’ve ever had. Ever. But please, share with me, Mr.…?”

“Call me Sonny, please. Sonny Carisi,” he replied, a goofy smile pulling across his lips.

You gave him your name, then offered him a bite. You both stood and chatted while exchanging bites of apple pie. He told you about his decision to leave the city and live a simpler life, surrounded by good people. And you told him about how you had always heard of the big city and decided to live there. But after a few months, you missed the woods too much, and you came back home.

“I feel a little silly living back at home in my adult life. I’m hoping to get my own cabin one day…maybe build it from the ground up,” you finished.

Sonny nodded in understanding. “Well, if you ever need anything, anything at all, you can always ask me. I’m not the most knowledgeable about cabin life quite yet, but I have the knowledge of who to call for advice.”

“Well, thank you, Sonny. Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” you replied, and he smiled. Then you leaned over the table of his goods and kissed his scruffy cheek before winking and walking back to your parent’s booth, giving him a little wave. The smile and look of absolute adoration in his eyes would be a fixed image in your mind for a while.

#sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fanfic #my writing #storiesofsvufallbingo

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mlmxreader · 3 years

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Games | Slade Wilson x Male!Reader

request; "Don't make me chase you." "Well, if you want it back..." with Slade Wilson please?🥺 - anon

summary; quarantine isn't any fun, especially not when you're boyfriend still goes out to work, but sometimes there's a little spot of joy in the bad times.

warnings; swearing, quarantine au

Quarantine was getting to you, as although your boyfriend Slade could go out and could do his job as usual - although he was using his sniper rifle instead of any weapons that would mean that he had to get close, you were stuck at his flat; it was spacious, sure, and he had a balcony that was practically almost the size of a garden, and there was plenty to do, but... staying inside all the time and not being able to leave the flat due to lockdown restrictions wasn't exactly your idea of a fun time. Roman Sionis' boyfriend and a friend of yours from your childhood days who had often remarked that you would be the best man if he ever got married, Victor, quite often texted you to see how you were, but beyond that, you practically had no one to talk to outside of Slade. You couldn't go anywhere to meet up with your friends, you couldn't drop by where they were living - some had moved back in with their parents, others had moved in together before quarantine, as everybody had known that it was coming; you were alone when Slade wasn't around, which was something that was far from enjoyable, something you absolutely hated.

Being alone in quarantine was awful, as whenever Slade went out to work, you worried that he would end up in a bad way or that he wasn't exactly safe; you worried for him, you really did, as even though he was more than capable of looking after himself and that he always wore his mask and he always kept more than six feet away from people with his sniper rifle, you did worry that something would happen and that he would have to end up staying in a motel until he was able to come home again. You hated the thought of something like that happening, you really did, you always worried about it happening, getting that dreaded text that said he couldn't come home for a while because he had to quarantine himself from you; fuck, even when he disinfected and scrubbed down his armour after every job, you still worried more than anything. Slade didn't worry so much, he was always careful and he always making sure that he never got too close, that he never came into contact with someone physically, that his mask was always on - he was careful, and he was thorough when he disinfected and scrubbed all of his gear and his weapons that he had used. He was careful.

Thankfully, though, today Slade was home and he had a few days off until he had to go to work all over again, and while you knew that he wanted nothing more than to prepare for his next job and to get ready, to make sure that he had a disposable mask that he could put beneath his orange and black helmet one, to make sure that his weapons were cleaned and so was his armour, to make sure that everything was safe and that he was taking those extra precautions; you did also want to play a little bit of a game, as quarantine boredom was getting to you, and although you knew that Slade would never hurt you, you did like the thrill of making your assassin boyfriend a little bit more annoyed than usual. He knew it was all in good fun, though.

Grabbing his helmet, you grinned as you hunched over slightly, swaying from side to side as you grinned. "Slade."

"I need that," he said sternly, sighing as he ran a hand through the white hair on his head. His eye patch had been washed recently, as it was still a little bit glittery from it. He frowned. "Give it here."

"I don't think I will," you mused, taking a step back and preparing to bolt at any given second. You could tell that Slade wasn't in the mood for such a childish game, but you also knew that he probably needed it on behalf of the fact that Lex Luthor had been nagging him about the Batman almost constantly, and when that stress piled on with trying to keep safe all the time when he was working... well, he probably did need to let go.

Standing up, Slade sucked in a harsh breath as he shook his head and sized you up, he could have easily snatched the helmet back without breaking a single sweat and he knew that you knew that, but even still, he knew that you were bored and that you wanted to play some silly game just to pass some time in quarantine. So, he cleared his throat, and he put on his best commanding and stern voice as he said, "don't make me chase you."

"Well, if you want it back..." you chuckled, and the second Slade took one step forward, you bolted, holding onto the helmet for dear life as you made your way through the flat.

Skidding around corners and around objects, nearly crashing straight into the glass doors that lead out onto the balcony that you didn't realise were closed; you could hear Slade's footsteps on your trail, heavy and harsh like a thunderstorm, which only spurred you on more as you weaved through the flat until circling back to the glass doors. Quickly, you opened them, laughing a little to yourself as you stopped in the far corner to catch your breath.

"Are you gonna give it back, now?" He asked, tilting his head as he stood in the doorway, and although his face was dead serious, you could see in his eye that there was a sparkle of a little bit of playfulness. A little bit.

You shook your head, trying to catch him off guard as you raced to get back inside, but Slade easily caught you by sticking an arm out and letting you smash into it before he tugged your back against his chest and he snickered, taking the helmet away from you with his free hand.

"Slade!" You protested with a bitten back laugh, trying to wriggle free of his grip but not with too much effort.

Slade tutted, throwing the helmet over his shoulder so that it crashed onto the white sofa, and he kept his grip on you; it was firm, but if you wanted to, you could have easily broken free of it. "I told you to give it back, didn't I?"

You huffed, trying not to grin and laugh as you slumped against him and grumbled. "I was only playing, for fuck's sake."

"I know," he growled, retracting his arm and letting you sulk as you walked over to the far end of the balcony, leaning your forearms on the railing. Slade had enjoyed the game, chasing you down so that he could get his helmet back - but even still, he did need it, and he didn't appreciate the fact that you had taken it from him. "But you know that I have a meeting with Luthor when I go back."

You sighed heavily, frowning as you moved over a little so that he could stand beside you. You had enjoyed the game, for the few moments that it had lasted, and now you knew that it was back to the usual quarantine boredom. "I hate this."

"I know."

"No, Slade," you grumbled and growled a little as you searched for the right words to say and to explain what you were feeling, how you missed being with your friends and with your family, how you yearned to be able to hug them tightly and how quarantine was causing you to feel like a trapped animal in a cage without any enrichment. "You get to go out, I mean, yeah, it's for work, but you still get to leave, you're not... you're not stuck at home all day worrying about whether or not your boyfriend's gonna make it home, you're not watching the news every fucking day wondering if the people you love are next and if-"

"You're my boyfriend, (y/n)," Slade started, "anything that you want, I'll get it for you. You know that."

"I want things to go back to the way they were before," you grumbled, resting your forehead against your wrists. "Forget it... yeah, no, forget it - let's just... I dunno, let's just do something else, I don't wanna think about this bullshit."

"I think I have just the distraction in mind."

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darkacademicfrom2021 · 3 years

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The Dark Team (part 12)

<<Previous part Masterlist Next part>>

(Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87, @the-departed-potato, @jesuswasnotawhiteman, @idontknow296, @beksib, @spythoschei, @geekwritersworld, @whatafuckingdumbass, @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 @toe-vind-ek-jou @joscelyn02, @t00-pi, @irwxnhugsx)

Warnings: alcohol.

Disclaimer: pic not mine.

After the sun came completely down and the night bathed the city, making the flashing lights of the buildings and cars look like the sky had spat all of its stars, you gathered all your work and called it a day. Thor, Steve and Bucky were able to go through everything you told them to, and everything was in control. You had managed to solve a chaotic situation from the distance, and the pleasant feeling of doing things right gave you the last push to close your laptop and join Peter and Loki.

Opening one of the windows, you let the fresh wind hit your face and unfurrow your brows, releasing all the tensions you had been accumulating all week long. Peter sneaked up from outside the building and hung upside down from the frame. You gasped, forgetting for a brief moment he was sticky and not completely out of his mind.

“Are you joining us, older?”.

“Yes, little. I’m going”, you laughed at the comeback of the nicknames. Standing for older sibling and little sibling Tony had baptized you with, years ago. Loki chuckled.

“You two are the epitome of adorability, sometimes”.

“Oh, we can get worse”, you laughed.

You had ordered some food in, without wanting to ever touch the mess of that kitchen again, and a bottle of wine. Nobody was there, else than you three; might as well have fun. As you waited for dinner to arrive, you decided on a slide presentation night. You gave each other no more than twenty minutes to arrange it all, so the chaos would be absolute and uncontrollable.

Peter presented first, with a long powerpoint ranking things the Avengers did in “vine-vibes” ascending order. You two tried (and failed miserably) to explain to Loki what a vine was and why something would have its vibes without being actually a video.

Loki’s presentation was titled “Seven hundred reasons why you shouldn’t worship the God of Sparkly hands”. There were actually only six reasons; two of them were about mass murders he was about to commit, and most of them talked about annoying things he did as a child. There was an extra one where it was just a white background and tiny letters in the middle saying “he dyes his hair blonde, he’s actually a redhead”.

Your presentation was titled “Seven hundred and one reasons why you should worship me instead”. No need to elaborate. They all differed except for Friday; she clapped with her electronic hands.

Two board games and some chess later, the food had already arrived. Peter was famished and ate more than you could’ve imagined a boy was capable of. He got so full, so quickly, that he instantly got sleepy. Loki could not bite his tongue and had to say “just like a baby”. It did not help that you snorted, and Peter shot his webs at you two; Loki avoided them and you couldn’t, so you ended up stuck to the roof. Peter started to walk to his room, leaving you up there.

“Hey, hey! Don’t leave, I’m still here!”, you called him. But he was gone. What an avenger. Loki chuckled, and raised his hand to free you with magic, and you instantly realized you were six meters away from the floor. “Wait! I’ll fall!!”.

He didn’t stop, and dissolved the net with a simple spell. As you fell down, you closed your eyes and tried to cover your head, knowing you’d have at least a broken bone. Peter has done this before, you knew there was no way to actually leave unharmed. Loki’s arms tightened around your body, avoiding you to fall flat against the floor.

As you looked up, you met his face, closer than ever. Closer than it ever has been. Your heart skipped a beat, and you knew you had to think about something else than the feeling of his chest against yours, his hands in your back, how he was holding you so gently, how he was looking at you so dearly. You knew you had to think about something else; for he could be reading your mind. He surely was. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t stop focusing on his peach lips and how soft his cheeks looked from up close. You couldn’t see anything else than the movement of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed hard, and how his hand trembled a little in your back.

He let you down slowly, still holding eye contact, still with his arms around you. Not the threatening gaze he would hold against everyone else on the compound. Not the lustful gaze he would sometimes draw while stealing some glances at you changing on your suit (he thought you didn’t notice, you certainly did). Not the concentrated gaze he would hold still on his face while reading one of those books he always carried around.

It wasn’t any of those. You had studied them thoroughly, meticulously, every inch of his facial expressions, every inch of his being while he wasn’t aware of your eyes on him. God, how you hated to look at him this way, but how much you couldn’t avoid it. Your brain knew you shouldn’t get attached. You had no chance at all to be with him; he was a God, a criminal, and he’d go back to Asgard. And, foremost, he didn’t feel the same. He had a lover, and his mind was still there, stuck in that person, undeletable.

And, as much as you could have read him like a children’s book the entirety of the past week, right now, you had no clue what those green eyes on you meant. You had no idea why the blush on his cheeks was in there, and why he let out a tiny (the tiniest, ever so subtle) gasp. Parted lips that shone, looked so…

You shook your head, closing your eyes. He didn’t let go of his grip around you, but your feet were already on the floor. You could’ve walked away if you wanted to. And you wanted to, you definitely did not want to stay there, and sink your nose in his neck. You certainly did not want to play with his hair while staring at those pair of emeralds he couldn’t keep away from you. You couldn’t read him. He looked at you in a way you’ve never seen him before. Yet it felt so… right.

No, it wasn’t right. God, what were you thinking?

He pulled away, and the cold breeze from the window surrounded your body. You didn’t realize how much body heat he was warming you with until he left. Or maybe it was your own. Your face was still burning. You visibly cringed at your reaction, and could not play it cool at all. He chuckled, again, and walked to the kitchen.

You didn’t say anything. Your face still burned, and your chest was tight. You haven’t felt like this in a long time, why now? Why in the middle of an important mission? Why just now, that he specifically told you he would not stay, and that once he left he would not come back? Why now, that he was opening a bottle of wine in the kitchen, and pouring it in two glasses?

Opening the balcony’s doors, there were two metal chairs (those with delicate designs, that would usually belong to a grandma’s garden) and a round and tiny glass table, just waiting for you two to sit there. You needed fresh air, so you did, sinking in all the city, the active flashlights of the cars, the minute people running around, or walking.

Two glasses of wine clicked against the glass table, and Loki sat in front of you with his eyes fixed on the city, too. You observed him from the corner of your eye, and he did the same. A subtle smile drew across his tightened lips.

After a glass of wine, a refill and about an hour of small talk, he uncrossed his legs and stretched his arms and back with a yawn. The blush still remained intact on his cheeks, and it couldn’t be because of the wine. If you weren’t drunk, much less him. He looked back at you, and chuckled uncomfortably.

“What?”, he asked.

“What what?”.

“You’re staring”.

“Oh, sorry”.

“No, it’s fine”, he said, and you furrowed your brows. He specified, “I don’t mind. I wonder what you’re thinking while you stare, nothing more”.

“So you’re not reading my mind?”.

“No. You said you didn’t like that”.

“Ah”, you gave your glass of wine one last sip and emptied it. It was such a simple gesture, yet you didn’t expect him to actually have listened. Of course he would, he wasn’t actually as bad as he was portrayed by Stark, or so you have seen so far of him. “I just… I wonder about you”.

“About what?”.

“You’re difficult to read. My job here is mainly knowing how to read people”, you explained, and he nodded. “It’s almost like you’re purposely hiding. Like you’re shifting your microexpressions into whatever they are now, so nobody can see what you actually think or feel”. He let out a short chest laugh. Probably sarcastic, but how would you know.

“Who would actually want to know what goes through my mind?”.

“I do, just told you”.

He looked down and played with the empty glass in between his fingers. It looked small in comparison.

“You don’t want to, believe me”.

“Are you afraid of letting people in?”.

“No, it’s not that”, he said, trying to let you know he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You ignored it and opened your mouth, but the words died in your tongue as he added, “please, don’t”.

“I wish I knew you better”, you said after a few more minutes of silence. You swore you heard a creaking foot on the stairs, peeping in the conversation. You ignored it; if Loki was to talk to you, he would also say it in front of Peter. Not like you had some sort of special bond, or even friendship. You kind of wished for it, though.

“Why?”. His knitted eyebrows showed how actually curious he was about that. He believed you. He was certain you were telling the truth, but he simply couldn’t put his head around it. Why would anyone want to know me better? What is it about me that you care? And you wished to know the reason, too. If you knew why you were so drawn to him, maybe you could’ve stopped yourself.

“I feel like I’m missing out on something”.

“Something like what?”.

“Something great”.

“There is no greatness in me, it’s all an act”.

“I know it’s all an act”, you said, referring to his whole I’m a God and you’ll kneel before me and I’m superior. “I don't mean that kind of greatness. You’re hiding the wrong things”.

“You’re not missing out on anything”, he insisted, and not for humility, but because he wanted to brush you off. Keep you away from him.

“Don’t you think we could ever get along? Friends, even?”, you pressured. You knew you shouldn’t have, but Loki didn’t take it badly. Instead, he finally looked at you, drawing a sad smile.

“I’m going back to Asgard after the mission. I don’t intend to make new friends”, he said, but a softness in his voice hinted he wasn’t being mean; simply stating the facts. Exactly as it should be.

“Why did you come only for this mission?”, you asked. You actually wanted to ask do you even have friends back there?, but you knew better.

“I owe Stark. I messed up and wanted to fix at least something with him. He’s not taking it too kindly, but I think he understands the intentions”, he explained, sitting back up on his chair and getting his eyes back on the city.

“A peace offering?”.

“More like an apology. Redemption, even”.

“Redemption? Do you see yourself as a villain to him?”.

He didn’t answer right away. Took his time to find the words.

“I wronged. I did things I shouldn’t have”, and then you realized, he wasn’t apologizing for the New York incident. It was personal. You even wondered, maybe… was he…? Was Tony actually the...? No, imposible. “I know helping out on a mission won’t cut it, but if I can at least be a little bit of help to his planet…”.

“May I ask what did you wrong him in?”.

“I tried to take over Midgard once”, he said, and you didn’t believe him.

“If you ask me, it’s not Stark’s place to accept that apology. He doesn’t own the planet, even though he thinks that”.

“Does he?”.

“He acts like such, at least. He has a big ego, but also a big heart. He’s the closest thing I have to a father”.

“I know”, and you weren’t sure what he had said I know to.

The night was kept awake with more small talk you wouldn’t remember the next day. You saw the sun rising from behind the buildings in silence, with a bad aftertaste of wine, takeout food and unspoken words that would stay just like that.

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki x gender neutral reader #loki x you #loki of asgard #tom hiddleston #marvel #loki mcu #mcu loki #loki x y/n #loki fanfic #loki headcanon #loki fic #loki fluff #loki angst #thomas sharpe

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miracle-sham · 3 years

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Die Like the Butterfly Shoot With Their Guns.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 2, Day 7: Guns} |

Chapter 1 of Sheltered by Darkness not yet Moths to the Flame.

———

| Sometimes a family can be a gang comprised of eleven vigilantes, and their AI robot, fighting against the father of one of their own. |

| Or alternatively: after falling through the cracks, they do what they must to survive. And if that means committing crimes in order to bring down the Big Butterfly and all the other corrupt businesses in the city, then so be it. |

———

| Tonight's the night. Half of them will strike one of the Big Butterfly's warehouses that just so happens to contain some fancy new gun tech. Besides, it'll be in better hands with them than the Big Butterfly or his associates. Now all that matters, is that nothing goes wrong! |

| Word Count: 3,322. |

| Warnings/Tags: Cyberpunk/Criminal/Gang Au, Explicit Language/Swearing, Hacking, Breaking and Entering, Theft, Mentions of Bombs and Guns, Mentions of corrupt/shady businesses, Fluff, Gang/Team as family/family dynamics, Found Family. |

———

| A/N: It is Cyberpunk Au time! This is a twoshot, so have a looksy to see if you can find all the snippets of foreshadowing I've set! Also this is mostly Action/Fluff but beware of the warnings regardless. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

Rain patters against the concrete, sound mixing with the low hum and high buzz of electricity. The ground is slick with murky puddles that never seem to clean the pavement. Still just as filthy as before, permanently dyed with dried bloodstains, mud stains, electric scorch marks, and far worse. The air is heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke, ozone, and that ever underlying decay that clings to the city.

It's dark—dead of night—but the streets are awash with flickering neon lights. There are a few others haunting the street though most of them are sticking to the areas of light, avoiding the shadows.

Which is where Marinette, also known as the ruthless gang leader Fantôminou, is lurking.

Jason—Red Hood, her co-leader—snarls as he drops down onto the shadowed fire escape beside her. “We've got a rat. Someone's tipped off the big Butterfly and security has been increased around the perimeter. Most likely interior security increased too.”

Fantôminou flexes her glowing clawed gauntlets, “I suppose we should check in with our local pied piper, before we strike, hmm?”

There's a bzzt in her earpiece as the channel is hijacked by the familiar voice of their gang's hacker, Max aka Raijack. “I wouldn't worry about that if I were you, our pied piper has already been contacted. Whoever they were, they didn't reveal which location we were targeting, so it's just a general security increase.”

She hums. “Raijack, link us up with the rest of the strike force.”

“Got it, 'Minou.” He responds, and not a split second later, the earpiece makes another bzzt and there's the faint ping of the rest of the channel being alerted at someone joining.

“Look, I think you could totally pull off the—oh, who just joined the channel?” Adrien, Cheval Mallet, asks in surprise.

“Just me and our anthill tiger.” Red Hood announces, snorting at the glare Fantôminou sends him.

Silence echoes across the line before a scrabble of hushed but excited voices causes a ruckus.

Fantôminou sighs, “I know we're all excited to hit the big Butterfly hard by stealing some of their new fancy gun tech. But let's leave the yelling for when we inevitably set off the alarms!”

“Hey!” Raijack protests. “I'll have you know I have produced a new virus that has a ninety-eight per cent chance of not setting off any alarms!”

Red Hood rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, but you've still not worked out how to get your viruses to deactivate the bombs in the crates yet, huh?”

“I will one day, until then it's your job to stop the bombs from triggering the rest of the alarms!” Raijack counters with a huff.

Fantôminou sighs again, this time with an added sprinkling of are-you-kidding-me. “Red Hood, Raijack. I can and will kick your asses if you do not shut up so we can discuss final prep before we begin the pesticide protocol.”

Bumping shoulders with her, Red Hood snorts again. “I've got nothing against being beat up by someone as pretty and buff as you Minou, you know that!”

“Oh, I think we can all agree to wanting to get crushed by Minou's guns.” Cheval Mallet pipes up once more.

Fantôminou sighs very wearily. “Nevermind, are you all ready?”

Red Hood salutes at her, and despite his mouth being covered, it's easily telling that he's grinning cockily underneath. “I'm ready. My guns are ready, and I've got the bomb defusal kit at the ready.”

“I may be holding my horses but I'm saddled to giddy-up on the go!” Cheval Mallet cheerfully announces.

“This has to be one of your worst attempts at horse puns yet.” Raijack comments, “otherwise, I'm in position and ready to hack on your call, Minou.”

Red Hood exchanges a glance with Fantôminou as silence falls over the earpiece channel. “Hold up, where's Arsenal? Shouldn't he have checked in by now?”

Taking his hand gently, Fantôminou gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“He already did but because you two had your issues getting into position and avoiding the unexpected police patrol, Arsenal had to deal with another issue that popped up which would've threatened our plan,” Raijack informs, sounding nonplussed.

“Well, you don't sound concerned.” Fantôminou points out the obvious. “Has he got back up?”

There's the faint tapping of a keyboard through the earpiece channel before Raijack responds, “Chèvrapide is on her way to back him up, don't worry.”

“Then that's everyone accounted for. Let's rock and roll.” Red Hood orders, dropping from the fire escape and landing in the rain-slick alleyway with ease, conveniently right beside the hoverbike they had stashed here.

Fantôminou hops down after him, except she manages to flip and expertly land in the driver's seat. “I'm driving Jay, you're the one with the guns after all,” she all but states, putting one gauntleted hand up and flexing just to hammer in the point, “I'm close range only right now and you know it.”

Red Hood throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey! I'd never complain about getting to watch you drive this beauty of a hoverbike.”

Fantôminou snorts. “Just get on, pretty bird!”

“Well, if you say so, pretty kitty!” Red Hood teases back, vaulting onto the back of the bike behind her. He wraps an arm around her waist and rests the other hand on his sheathed-for-now gun.

She revs the engine of the hoverbike and steers out of the alleyway with practised ease. There's no directions on the hoverbike's holoscreen, but it's not like they need any—the directions to where they need to be outside the warehouse have already been memorised by each and every one of them.”

Down the left street, take the right at the T junction, pass under the flyover street, then take a further two lefts and then straight on until the block of office buildings forming a protective extra layer between the warehouse electric razor wire tipped fencing and the road. Easy.

“All networks in the office buildings have temporarily shut down. As far as the tech will be concerned, it'll look like the networks just decided to not work today.” Raijack announces through the earpiece channel, voice coming through slightly more robotic than usual.

“So no security cams?” Fantôminou checks cautiously, circling like a hawk around the small stretch of street between her and the office building she and Jason will be entering through. The rain has slowed to a drizzle but that doesn't make the circling in it any less mildly uncomfortable, at least inside it'll be dry.

There's the familiar clack of keys once more. “Not quite, they're a little harder to crack than entering in through the backdoor via someone's unprotected webcam in the office. Thank you, Shodan.” Raijack pauses, keys continuing to clack in the background. “Unfortunately, the Big Butterfly's got tech security smart enough to keep the security system on a closed network so I can't hop from webcam to computer to network to cams. However, they didn't account for Markov, suckers!”

Red Hood snorts. “Isn't Markov a little obvious for this kinda mission?”

“Oh, did I forget to tell you?” Raijack says, in a voice that very clearly conveys he didn't forget so much as purposefully neglected to mention, “I recently upgraded Markov, outfitting him with the currently most highly advanced cloaking system. Thanks to some help from Fantôminou's knowledge of cloaking and camouflage fashion.”

Red Hood leans his head onto Fantôminou's shoulder. “I'm hurt, you knew and didn't tell me? I want cloaking guns! Think of how much cooler I'd look with them!”

Fantôminou merely hums in an unamused response. “Raijack wanted it to be a surprise.”

He huffs. “I see who your favourite person in our gang is then!”

“You're right! It's me!” Cheval Mallet cheers, jumping into the conversation.

“Fucking 'ell!” Red Hood curses under his breath. “I thought you were gonna mute whilst getting in position.”

Cheval Mallet's laugh cuts in and out across the earpiece channel. “And when did I hay that!”

“Hacker voice, I'm in!” Raijack interrupts. “Looks like the security system was perfectly untouched by whatever minor error caused the main networks to crash, how lucky. Which is to say, looping is in process, and we now have free entry.”

“Got us a place to park yet, though?” Red Hood asks.

Raijack doesn't immediately respond, but the sound of the garage door connected to the office building opening, is answer enough. “I might.”

Fantôminou snorts. “Thanks, Raijack. Hood and I need to split here right, just until we get past the fencing right?”

“That's right.” Raijack responds, “good luck, and Markov and I will see you all on the other side.”

“Break a leg, or three!” Red Hood calls over the earpiece. “Preferably some else's though!”

Fantôminou pulls the hoverbike into the garage, keeping her gaze ahead. “If I could elbow you without fucking up my parking, I would.”

Red Hood cackles quietly in response, trying to at least keep to the stealth part of the mission plan.

In the blink of an eye, the hoverbike is securely parked. Perfectly hidden in plain sight but easily accessible for a quick and clean getaway should nothing go wrong. And well, if something were to go wrong, there's not going to be any hoverbike left for evidence. Though, that's not to say a small part of Fantôminou's brain doesn't anxiously hate how they're practically sitting on top of bombs ready to blow up at the slightest hint of things going wrong. However, they've been through enough strikes like this for the concern to be mostly easily ignored.

———

With the hoverbike parked, Fantôminou and Red Hood part ways.

Fantôminou heads up through the internal stairwell connected to the garage, whilst Red Hood takes one of the external doors leading to the office building next door.

The stairwell is like any other maintenance stairwell. Grey concrete walls, metal railings and steps. Even Fantôminou's light footsteps clang loudly against the ridged metal stairs. It's cold, just as cold as the garage was and barely warmer than it is outside in the rain. The air is stuffy but at least the respirator hidden beneath the bandana wrapped around her mouth makes it bearable to breathe. Other than the aforementioned clanging of steps, and her breathing, Fantôminou is alone with the ominous silence of a liminal space.

The stairs stretch on upwards for what seems far longer than it should, but eventually, Fantôminou reaches the final steps to the roof entrance door.

The door is unlocked, and so Fantôminou opens it as quietly as possible. She walks out into the rain once more and scrunches up her nose. A quick glance of the roof yields no immediate signs of danger or anything of note, so she continues to the edge of the roof.

Fantôminou rests one foot on the lip of the roof and flexes her gauntlets, lights switching off for stealth. Carefully, she turns around and crouches on the lip, gauntlets gripping the edge and toes of her boots braced against the wall. Bit by bit she descends, gauntlets making it more than easy to stay attached to the wall.

Two-thirds of the way down, Fantôminou climbs onto a window sill. The fence is only a metre below, with a further four-metre drop. No security drones in sight, yet—but no alarms have been triggered yet either.

A shadow drops down the building and over the fence on the other side of the compound. Not a second later is the double buzz of the earpiece signalling that someone is in position.

Fantôminou smirks beneath her face coverings, not one to be so quickly outdone she leaps forwards in a dive—spinning midair as she begins to plummet. Clearing the razor wire fence with room to spare.

She hits the ground in another diving roll, and immediately uses the momentum to throw herself up and run towards the nearest warehouse building. As soon as she reaches the wall, she double-taps her earpiece to send the double buzz signal to others.

A moment later comes the third double buzz, soon followed by the fourth and final signal.

“Markov is covering our air support.” Raijack's voice clips across the earpiece channel, “Fantôminou, you and Red Hood are on opposite ends of the same warehouse. I've unlocked the doors for you. You know the drill.”

“Thank you, Raijack. Entering now.” Fantôminou responds, she slinks over to the warehouse doors and cautiously pries open the now unlocked door.

Fantôminou heads straight for the terminal, and knows Red Hood is doing the same. Slipping Raijack's new and improved virus into one of the terminal's ports. Seconds pass.

“Interface secured,” Raijack informs.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Red Hood prowling over to her. She nods to him and taps into the terminal with her gauntlet.

Red Hood readies his bomb defusal kit as she instructs the internal warehouse drones into delivering the goods to them.

The drone, blinking yellow—a sure sign of Raijack's virus in effect—hovers over and drops a large black cased crate before them.

As soon as the claws of the drone release the crate, Red Hood is immediately on it, pulling it open and weeding out the bomb.

They wait with bated breath. Red Hood tinkers away. The earpiece channel is silent as the team focuses.

He hisses through his teeth, and Fantôminou tenses—ready to grab him and run, in the worst case—but he only packs the kit back away and sighs in relief.

He taps the earpiece thrice—signalling success.

Raijack and Cheval Mallet don't respond, so Fantôminou and Red Hood stuff their haul into Fantôminou's Miraculous, for ease of transport, and begin making their way towards the warehouse the other two were hitting.

By the time they reach the nearest warehouse doors, the earpiece triple buzzes. Success, again.

They pause only to exchange a nod between the two before continuing to meet up with Cheval Mallet and Raijack—no rendezvous needed this time so far.

It takes forty seconds to cross halfway to the other warehouse, where they meet the other two along with Markov in the middle.

Cheval Mallet waves a hand and the five of them skulk over to a small shed off the side of another warehouse. He raises his horseshoe weapon and calls out, “Bon Voyage!”

The portal forms and Markov flies through first. The remaining four exchange glances then bolt forwards, racing to see who can get through first.

The blue light blinds them all for a second, despite how used to the power they are.

“Mission success!” Fantôminou cheers breathlessly once the blue fades, throwing her hands up in celebration.

“WOOH!” Cheval Mallet yells, jumping up and punching the air.

Red Hood snorts, “but more importantly I so won!”

Raijack hums, “let's see what Markov has to say about that.”

Markov makes a series of boops and beeps, yellow LEDs flickering. “Red Hood is correct, he won the portal race.”

“YES!” Red Hood crows.

“Oh come on!” Raijack grumbles.

Footsteps and clapping approaches. “Well done,” Félix praises, “but perhaps leave the celebration until after you've all gotten into jammies.”

Cheval Mallet giggles, “Flicks, I can't believe you can somehow still sound pretentious whilst saying something as childish sounding as "jammies"!”

Félix raises an eyebrow, “you say this every time I call pyjamas that. Now come on, I've ordered pizza and Roy, Alix, Luka, Artemis, Kori, and Bizarro are already waiting for you lot, in the lounge, so we can get the party started.” He turns on his heel and walks out of the utility-changing room.

Markov, as the only one not needing to change, shows the tongue-sticking-out emoji on his LED screen and zooms after Félix.

Jason, Marinette, Adrien, and Max all start changing out of their gear as quickly as possible.

“Oh no!” Adrien gasps, half undressed, suddenly remembering something. “We forgot to take the motorbikes back!”

Marinette groans, “I knew I was forgetting something!"

Facepalming, Jason sighs. “We were all too caught up in everything going well for once.”

Max snorts. “Oh don't worry! I anticipated this, all it took was a little hacking into our hoverbikes and now they're on autopilot to one of our empty storage bases.”

“Oh. Well, that's good then.” Adrien says, looking a little embarrassed.

“Yeah… anyway come on, we don't want to keep your cousin and the others waiting any longer! They'll eat all the pizza!” Marinette exclaims.

They all finish changing into loungewear and pyjamas just as music starts to play from the lounge and so frantically, they all dash towards it, trying to shove each other out of the way and laughing playfully as they do so.

They've won a battle, they've successfully gotten in and out with a good haul of gun tech. No alarms tripped, nothing went wrong. Hoverbikes undamaged and on the route home. For once, everything went smoothly. And that, is cause for an evening of celebration.

Leaving the worries of the rat for tomorrow.

———

In a dark observatory with a closed butterfly window, a folder is tossed across a desk.

Papillon glances down at the folder with indifference. He rests his elbows on the expensive polished wood and steeples his fingers. “You said you had acquired information that you believe will interest me?”

The man in a black suit sitting opposite Papillon, smiles patiently. “My informant went through quite the lengths to acquire this. Why not take a look inside.”

Papillon purses his lips, “this better not be a waste of my precious time, Lex.”

Lex Luthor raises an eyebrow in amusement. “I assure you, Gabriel, you will find what is inside most interesting.”

There's a moment's pause as Gabriel waits. Nothing happens. He nods and then opens the folder. He spreads the papers inside in arc across the desk. In the middle of the papers, is the photo of a smiling teenage girl with bright blue eyes, and blue-dyed hair. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” He reads out, lips curling into a contemplative frown.

“Poor little girl,” Lex croons mockingly, “missing—presumed dead—after her parents' bakery was destroyed in an Akuma attack. Her name should be familiar to you though, won your one-day derby hat competition at her school.”

Gabriel's fingers still mid-steeple, and he moves one hand up to his chin in thought. “Ah yes, I remember that designer. The one with the feather derby whose design was stolen and copied. That signature embroidery was impressive work.” He recounts.

Lex grins, “yes, however most distressingly, it would seem this up and coming star of a designer has lost her glow.”

“How so?” Gabriel responds, furrowing his brows.

“Well you see, my informant has found… evidence, that our poor little designer here fell through the cracks into the shadows after the loss of her parents and bakery. It's rather obvious that the larvae have taken her as their own, some of their masks and clothes fit perfectly with what we know of her unique incorporation of her signature, as well as stitch work.” Lex explains, waving a hand towards the rest of the photographs and documents spread from the folder.

Gabriel frowns and eyes a few of the other papers with interest. “I see, that is most unfortunate.”

“But.” Lex cuts in before Gabriel can say anything more. “I'm well aware you're plenty familiar with fixing larvae with damaged wings and frayed wires. As such, a strange little cold case brimming with potential for your program, would do quite nicely for your collection, wouldn't you say?” Lex insinuates, rising from his seat as he continues, “rescue the poor larvae, craft it a chrysalis, and nurture the Pupa into something radiant. Not unlike what you did with the Macrothylacia Rubi, and your replacement wife.” With that, Lex smiles smugly down at Gabriel and then strides out of the observatory, not giving Gabriel a chance to respond.

And leaving Papillon to the folder and his musings.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| Behind the Names: Fantôminou is a portmanteau of Fantôme (Ghost/Phantom) and Minou (Kitty). And she's called that because I thought the Black Footed cat fit her, and they're nicknamed Anthill Tigers. They also have the highest successful hunting rate! |

| Raijack is a portmanteau of Raiju (lightning dragon) and jack plug (the connect-y bit on headphones into a phone for example) but is also a play on the word Hijack. |

| Cheval Mallet is an evil horse spirit that offers rides to weary travellers and kidnaps them. Yes, there is a reason behind this. It's covered in Chap 2 |

| Chèvrapide is a portmanteau of Chèvre (Goat) and Rapide (Fast). |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I’ll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

20 notes · View notes

douxspider · 4 years

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— 𝐩𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. (2)

‘ARVIN RUSSELL x READER INSERT’

( spoilers for “the devil all the time” ) — After befriending the bloodied blue-capped boy in the cafe Reader works at, a friendship blossoms between the two. However, unfortunate circumstances occur, and no one’s really sure how to feel about anything anymore.

+ this is the second part to peachy keen! (ao3 link)

warnings: implied/referenced suicide, hurt/comfort, grieving word count: 3,575 published: 9/21/20 ao3 link — part 1, 3

— — • — —

“Ellie, sweetie, don’t touch that.”

You were working behind the counter, rubbing raw dough and flour off on your apron, rushing around the shop to tend to the various customers. While specializing in baked treats, you were the main mistress, while Marilyn focused on baking and cooking up breakfast and lunch for eager customers.

Elaine Beck, a sweet girl of eight years, had recently been fostered by Marilyn. Marilyn, when not focusing on Elaine’s schoolwork, would bring her to the shop to watch over her.

You loved children, dearly, but it was difficult having a sweet-obsessed child in a bakery where the goods could easily be yanked. You find yourself aging more and more every time you told Elaine to keep her hands to herself.

Eyeing the clock, you rolled your bottom lip with your teeth, staring out the window before Marilyn caught your attention, pulling out crepes for a frequent suit-clad visitor. “Time goes slower when you’re staring at the hands, sweetpea.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, shaking your head as you organized dollar bills into the register. “I didn’t mean to seem like I’m impatient for my lunch off… I’m just…”

A hand caressed your shoulder, and Marilyn pulled you in to kiss your head, you groaning shortly after and wiping the back of your wrist against your forehead. “Mary! Your red lipstick never gets off!”

Marilyn gave a hearty laugh, ruffling your done-up hair. “Y’er a sweet thing, sunshine. He’s gonna be here, and you two are gonna have fun on your lil’ church date.”

“It’s not a date,” you emphasized, crouching to pull out the baked muffins, “No one goes to church for a date. I asked to come with to hear about that strange preacher.”

The older woman placed a hot coffee in front of a woman, who doused it in sugar, returning to you with a conflicted expression. “Well, I don’t want you stirrin’ up trouble, sweetpea. You’re important around here. You’re important to me.” She smiled at you, hazel eyes shiny with worry. “Don’t want you getting involved in shady business ‘cause of some boy…”

You stared at her, cocking your head idly towards the back, and she sighed and you both made your way there. “What’s your problem with Russell?” You could not imagine Arvin having bad intentions for you. It had been about a month or so since he had come in that rainy afternoon, and since then being in Ohio hasn’t seemed that bad. He had made no moves or adjustments towards you that were defined as uncomfortable.

“Nothin’, nothin’, he’s a sweet boy. Conflicted, but sweet,” she continued, “Y’ain’t wanna be caught up with those who be unsure of themselves…” Marilyn trailed off, wiping her hands with a cloth that had pies stitched onto it, “Goin’ to church ain’t like you, darling, I don’t want you to be changin’ yourself. You’re good just the way you are and don’t let no fool of a man or lass tell ‘ya otherwise. If this boy makes you happy—”

Interrupting, you said, “It has nothing to do with… with romantics, ma’am. I want to have faith,” you mumbled as you turned away from her, pretending to be busy with cleaning silverware. “I want to believe. I want to have a friend.”

Silence fell, and Marilyn gave you a smile with the fruit red lips of hers. “M’kay, darling. You won me over.”

Grinning at her, the bell jingled, and you peered over to see Arvin walking in, tipping a hat to Elaine, who was bouncing in her booth and talking to him excitedly.

Marilyn moved forward, and you leaned back, holding your hands up. “No kisses.”

She sighed, amused, and gave you a bear hug instead.

You pulled your apron off and hung it up before exiting the backroom and curving around the corner, smiling at Arvin, who met your eye and returned the gesture.

“Nice to see ‘ya on this beautiful Sunday,” you spoke up, swiping the sleeves of your dress.

Arvin’s expression softened, and he moved his hand up to your forehead, catching you by surprise. His thumb rolled over your forehead, wiping at it twice before raising his eyebrows, “I’m guessing sweet ol’ Marilyn McCann didn’t let’cha go without a cherrybomb kiss of hers.” He revealed the red stain on his thumb, and you whipped your head back to see Marilyn giving a knowing smirk at you before fixing up dishes. You looked back to him.

“Thank you for that… I would’ve been so embarrassed walking into a church with that on my face,” you sighed.

“Not a problem.”

“Don’t be gone too long, sissy!” You both looked over to see Elaine pouting at you, “I wan’ my icecream. You promised.”

“I did. I will do just that for you, baby,” you said, poking her nose. “If Mary says you behaved, you’ll get an extra scoop with any topping you want. How’s that?”

“Good!”

Exiting the premises, him holding the door open for you politely. Thanking him under your breath, you walked down the sidewalk towards his car.

“New dress?” He gestured to your fit and you looked down at it before smiling.

“Indeed. You give me such hefty tips,” you pointed out, bumping your shoulder with his, his ears turning pinker while avoiding eye contact with you purposefully. “I also needed to dress nice for church.”

Arvin rubbed the back of his neck as he opened the front door for you. “Well, I don’t really want much. Mind as well give the favor onto someone else.”

Once you both settled into the car, Arvin opened with another conversation. “How’s lil’ Elaine holding up? She seemed chipper than ever in there.”

The car started, and you pondered about the sweet girl. She was only fostered because both of her parents managed to go missing, dropping the young thing at Marilyn’s to be babysat and vanishing. “I don’t know. She hardly ever mentions her parents. I don’t think she remembers them at all, she calls me ‘sissy’ and Mary ‘mama.’ I don’t even live with them.”

“You seem to be the kinda sis that spoils,” Arvin pointed out with a grin, causing a feigned offended gasp from you. “Two scoops of icecream for such a tiny thing? She’ll explode. Poor girl.”

You shrugged. “Keeps her little fingers out of the pies.”

The radio played a sweet Paul Anka song, Puppy Love. You swayed to the beat very slightly.

—You'll be back (you'll be back)...

“So uh… why church, Y/N?”

...in my arms (in my arms)...

Glancing at him, you shrugged. “Why not? I want to see what the rage about that preacher is about.” Arvin winced at this.

Once again...

Arvin licked his lips very slightly, eyeing the rearview mirror before returning his eyes to the road. “Y’told me you’re no girl of faith. No loony preacher is worth that.”

Someone help me, help me please. Is the answer, is it up above?

“I also said I’d do it if God brought me something good,” you pointed out, leaning towards him with a finger up. You then leaned your shoulder against the door, staring out the window, saying carefully, “And he did. I keep my promises.”

How can I, oh how can I ever tell them?

“This is not a puppy love…” you sang under your breath, turning your head to look at Arvin, whose glance quickly skewed back to the road. “Do you like this song?” You asked.

Arvin shrugged, quirking his lips up. “I uh… I’m not really a music guy.”

You blinked, raising your eyebrows. “Not a music guy? Hm, that’s fair.”

“Can’t really relate with all they sing about,” Arvin explained, “usually ‘bout God or a lover leavin’ them. Not my interest.”

Now, some backstory. You wouldn’t let this opportunity go to waste.

“Are you implying the one and only Arvin Russell has never had an inamorata?” You grinned, placing your cheek against your palm.

Arvin rolled his eyes. “Nah, don’t be actin’ like that, Y/N.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a ‘I’ve been too busy carin’ for my family to even think about messin’ around with a pretty face,’” he corrected, tilting his head at you. “That’s all.”

You felt yourself grow concerned and conflicted instead of amused. Biting the inside of your cheek, you don’t know if this man had any hobbies that didn’t include beating up assholes that hurt his poor sister. You scratched at the nape of your neck before deciding to speak up, plopping your hand in your lap. “Arvin, is there anything you’ve done just for fun and not just because your family compelled you to? Anything for yourself?”

Arvin looked at you, his eyes round, tightening his grip on the wheel. “I’ve… ah…” he pondered before his face turned more red, and you started to wonder what exactly was going on in his head. Was it something… illegal? Or shameful in the eyes of the town’s Lord? “...I go to the bakery to see you. For myself.”

...Well. You pinched your dress, clenching your teeth together and looking at the road.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, if— if you are, I just—”

“You were the good thing God gave me,” you spoke up suddenly, squeezing your eyes shut, “That’s why I’m going to church. You… you’re the good thing that makes me want to have faith,” you explained, catching him from the corner of his eye, seeing a distant look on his face.

You gave a laugh and half-heartedly shrugged your shoulders. “Now we evened each other’s uncomfortable comments out,” you playfully spoke. “So… no worries.”

Arvin pulled into a long yard while the car slowed into a long drawl. With this, he looked at you, and gave a smile that showed his white teeth.

“I think you’re a funny girl, Y/N.”

—

The preaching was over, and everyone was left outside, mostly indulging in conversation. It was a nice day out— sunny, clouds dotting the skyline, a sweet breeze to ease the baring sun. You were currently trapped in a conversation with a rather old lady who was very prominent in getting to know the citygirl.

You mentioned Manhattan and purposefully avoided your roots regarding wealth and your orphan status. Luckily, you didn’t need to speak much, the lady named Darla was more than eager to give her thoughts on everything.

“The new pastor, Teagardin, he’s a sweet man ain’t he?” She smiled, wringing her hands together, “If I were younger…”

You paled at the implication, giving a nervous smile. “He seems like a sweet man.”

“I’d sure hope so.” You turned around to see Preston Teagardin approach you with a smile. “How do you do, miss? Haven’t seen you here before.”

You nodded. “It’s my first time going to this church.”

Preston tilted his head only slightly. “Is that so? Can I catch your name?”

“Y/N.”

He licked his lips, looking at the old lady and raising his brows to give a friendly, polite expression. “Y/N, ain’t that a pretty name, Darla?” Darla nodded. “Well, Y/N, I wanna see you around here more often. Having a fresh face other than mine in this church is sure nice.”

“Regardless of my city heritage?” You decided to tease. While the comment was meant to be lighthearted, a growing resentment was laced behind your words, exhausted from the odd treatment from townspeople.

Preston gave a small laugh underneath his breath. “Nothin’ wrong with being born urban.” He looked at you, and you heard your name. Glancing to your side, Arvin was approaching, a ginger girl at his side.

The ginger girl made eye contact with Preston, and she quickly shied away from it. You paid it no mind, but it was definitely something that would become relevant later on, you’re sure.

“This is my sister, Lenora,” Arvin spoke up, and you watched his eyes lock onto the priest’s for a moment. Preston walked away.

Lenora looked at you and gave a simper. “Hi, Y/N. Arvin’s talked about you…”

Arvin pursed his lips. “Lenora—”

“No, it’s okay,” you said, amused at the sister-brother banter. “He’s mentioned you before Lenora. I hear you like to read, care to give me a checklist of books sometime?”

Lenora lit up. “That… yeah, I can do just that. Right when I get home, I will.”

You smiled. Arvin cleared his throat, placing his hands in his pockets as he spoke to his sister, “Lenora, why don’t you check on grandma?” Lenora scurried off. When the two of you were alone, Arvin then murmured to you, “Y’don’t have to do anythin’ you don’t want to, Y/N. I know Lenora ain’t the most bright in the bunch, but—”

“I’ve been where she was,” you murmured to him, watching his gaze slowly fall from Lenora’s retreating figure to yours, brown eyes suffused golden beneath the luminous sun. “It’s all right. I actually do like reading, Arvin.” Arvin’s lips moved to the side of his face. Taking in his features, you felt your heart race a bit at what you were contemplating on doing, but you did it regardless. Your hand moved from your side to bury your fingers in his hair, grinning while feeling the slick strands against your skin. “It’s weird seeing you without that hat on.”

Arvin slumped a bit, attempting to swat your hand away. “Alright, alright, I get it,” he sighed. Though, from the look on his face, he was heavily entertained. “I know. I’ll put the cap back on.”

“No,” you spoke up. Your hand survived Arvin’s waving and ruffled the hair, loose strands cascading the frame of his face. “I like it.”

The boy you were endlessly teasing gawked at you while a bashful expression crossed his features. He sucked on his tongue before murmuring, “...That’s… ah, thank you.”

Glancing at your clock, your eyebrows raised. “I have to go. Lunch break is over… was over two minutes ago.”

Arvin gave a sheepish curve of his lips. “I’ll drive ‘ya home.”

The drive back was lighter than the drive there, until the new priest was mentioned. “Y’don’t trust that preacher guy, do you?” Arvin’s voice was bitter.

“...He seems…” you started, wincing, “I’m not sure. He’s a confident man, I’ll say that. I don’t know much about him to make a judgement.”

Arvin stopped the car in front of the diner. It was abrupt, sudden, and it took you by surprise. Your eyes traveled over to your friend who seemed to be seething underneath his skin. “Arvin?” You asked quietly.

A few glances towards you and he finally decided to face you with a lack of a smile. “S’all fine. You’re late, go do your work.”

Unable to correlate words with your sudden concern over his state of mind, you didn’t bother to acknowledge anything. “Okay…” you murmured, stepping out of the car, giving a wave to Arvin who only nodded his head towards you and drove off.

You watched his car vanish into the distance of the town. Wind blew past you, petting at your bare shins, and you rubbed your upper arm before hearing muffled crashing within the shop and a very harsh command of ‘Ellie!”.

—

The day Lenora died was quiet.

People weren’t rushing to the church, rushing to the Russell household, rushing down the streets, no one was rushing anywhere. It was a quiet day. The streets were more bare than usual, but perhaps it was only a lazy Sunday where nothing really mattered aside from church, the one day Lenora had not gone.

Watching her body fade into the ground wrapped snug in a casket, you felt the paper in your dress shuffle with the wind, scribbles of book titles Lenora suggested you before her untimely death.

Brave enough to glance in Arvin’s direction, too shy to cock your head, you noticed his mouth fit into a tight line, eyes swollen but with no sign of tears. It seems like he has already cried his fair share. Grandma Emma was weeping, her shoulders shaking as her brother held them.

The sun had gone dark, and you sat on a bench with Arvin, who had shared little to no words with you the entire day. Cars would woosh past and it seemed like the entire world was rotating just the same without the dear, sweet step-sister of Russell. The story had been tense, a little too much for you, the superstition that she was pregnant with the priest’s baby and had been encouraged to take it out, even at the cost of her life.

You gave a shaky exhale while the night’s frozen air pricked at your bare skin.

“You don’t need to be with me, Y/N,” Arvin’s accent-heavy voice murmured from the right of you, “I’m alright.”

That’s a load of bullshit. You knew that. You knew nothing about this was okay. You’d heard about Arvin’s parents before, you didn’t need anything more to know that this was opening some deep wounds the boy had thought he had stitched closed a long time ago.

“No, you’re not,” you replied.

There was nothing said after that. Arvin didn’t even look at you with an incredulous expression or open his mouth to disagree. There was no movement, no anything, as the world continued to turn, the stars continuing to move above the two of you.

It seemed unfair. It was unfair that the world kept moving.

You pulled out the list of books she had recommended you. Her handwriting was surely girlish, curly with hearts for dots, but it was perfect for her type of character. Lenora was a good girl. You felt your thumb trail against the ink stains. You didn’t know her too well, you’d be exaggerating your pain if you said this was the worst thing to happen to you, but it was definitely a loss on the town’s behalf, and most importantly, Arvin’s behalf.

“She was lonely.” Looking over, you saw Arvin staring down at your lap where the somewhat crinkled paper was. “She never defied her faith, Y/N. She was just lonely.”

Her fidelity was admirable. Some part of you knew Arvin wasn’t talking to you, though, more so at. You gave a nod at him, his sad eyes meeting up with yours, and you knew at that moment his heart had been broken into a million pieces. You heard him sniffle and the street lamps reflected the water building at the top of his lower eyelids. He moved his bruised knuckles underneath his nose and you were a witness to his throat closing on itself.

This wasn’t bold. This was a peace offering. You moved to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close to you in a hug.

Arvin was frozen still, tense underneath your hold, halting in his breath. You didn’t care if you were breaking boundaries. You didn’t care if this was something he said he didn’t need. You needed it, too, you needed to see him recover.

Unbeknownst to you, he would actually consider all the little possibilities with this hug. His arms wrapped around your waist as he buried his face against the crook of your neck. You could hear quiet struggling exhales and wetness seeping into your dress. You didn’t care for the dress.

This wasn’t a grown man crying, you noticed. This was a little boy. The way he squeezed against you, lightly rubbing his nose against your skin and giving off quiet whimpers of defeat. The world had wronged him too much. You didn’t know everything, but it felt like the tears falling from his face had infinite knowledge that you didn’t need to be told. This wasn’t the first tragedy for Arvin. For him, he most likely believed it was just another dot on the list of infinite sadness.

“Arvin,” you were quiet to say, “come to my place. It’s quiet. Let me drive.”

Arvin had no disagreements. He was in no mindset to put on his tough façade. You drove the two of you to your apartment, never leaving Arvin’s side as you both stepped up the stairs and unlocked the door.

You didn’t really know what to do from there. You both watched television on your cheap furniture, and as the night went on and mindless conversations passed between the both of you, Arvin had gotten closer. His eyes were sore and at the most random moments you could see a tear roll down his cheek. He gave no reaction to it.

“I’m tired,” Arvin breathed from beside you.

You stared at the television while leaning against the couch’s arm. “That’s fine. I can show you to my room, if you’d like to lay on the bed—”

A presence was prominent beside you. You felt Arvin lean against you and rest his head on your shoulder. “The couch is fine,” he whispered. “This is fine.”

In any other circumstance, you know Arvin would’ve never put you in this position. Though, you didn’t mind this, not at all, keeping in mind you knew he just needed a comforting presence after Lenora. You were more than eager to be his anchor however.

Moving your hand up to his capless head, finding your fingers carding through his smooth hair, you continued to watch the television in silence. This is fine, you repeated in your head. It’s going to be fine.

#arvin russell x reader #arvin russell #you #reader insert #the devil all the time #peachy keen #puppy love #3k #sui tw #my writing #douxdamian #sfw #T #multichap

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pinkesthoney · 4 years

Text

Idiots in Love

Summary: Eddie and you have been friends for almost a year now. He’s been waiting for the perfect opportunity to show you how he really feels. Will he finally make a move when you both end up snuggled at the top of a ferris wheel?

Relationship: Eddie x Reader

Word Count: appx. 2000

You came into Eddie’s apartment with a knock. Eddie was sitting at his desk, finishing an article. He greeted you over his shoulder before returning to his work. He could hear you moving around behind him. He couldn’t help the smile that took over his face when he heard you making yourself some tea. He never drank anything besides pitch black coffee, but he kept a tea kettle and boxes of all your favorite teas, just for you. He peeked over his shoulder to see you pouring hot water into a light pink mug with a pastel rainbow on it, also something that was only for you. The warm smell of vanilla chai made him smile.

Sometimes Eddie would look around his apartment and feel like the only thing missing was you. It’s been almost a year now since y’all started hanging out, and Eddie felt like he either had to make a move or risk losing you. And he didn’t want to lose you. Eddie had never met anyone like you. You were so...alive. He loved seeing you happy and excited, loved how it lit up your eyes and the way your chin ducked when you laughed deeply. But you weren’t a ‘good vibes only’ type person; Eddie loved how when you were furious or heartbroken you weren’t afraid to feel it. From the first time he met you he’d felt immediately drawn to you. He couldn’t get enough of you and how vibrant you were. He’d never thought he was missing anything in his life–he loved his job and he had great guy friends who got together regularly for sports or cards. He was happy.

But then he met you; you were soft and funny, and you didn’t care what anyone else thought of you because you liked you. You were kind and loving and you shared your feelings so easily. You brought something so new to his life. He’d become nearly obsessed with your softness, your smiles. And that’s why he had to make a move, let you know how he felt and tonight was the night.

He shook himself out of his thoughts, closing out his word editor and swiveling around to see you relaxed, laid out on his couch sipping tea, absorbed in a thick black and gold book. He tried not to look too lovesick. He had to ask you out, he had to know if you felt the same as he did. He knew if you gave him the chance he would spend the rest of his life making you smile. And he had a plan.

You could see Eddie from the corner of your eye, but you just relaxed even more into the couch, sipping your tea, letting the warmth soothe you into a dreamy state. The book you were reading was getting good and you couldn’t wait to see where the author took it. You had read for a few more pages before you noticed Eddie stand, stretch, then plop down on the other end of the couch. It wasn’t quite long enough for you to not touch, spread out as you were, so you let your feet rest on Eddie’s thigh, which he pretended to huff at while he channel surfed.

Eddie cleared his throat before breaking the comfortable silence “..hey so I, ah, I mean I wanted to ask if you were doing anything later?” you peeked over your book and gave your head a small shake, eyes crinkling at the hesitation in his voice “good, yeah, cause I was gonna say I could take you out to that carnival that’s in town? You know, I saw they have some cool shows going on..” he trailed off, chuckling at himself and you nudged him with your foot so he would meet your eyes.

“hey, I can’t wait. I love carnivals. What time do you want to pick me up?” you asked, a bit of teasing in your voice, but warm and sunny nonetheless.

“oh I’m picking you up am I?” Eddie teases back with a wink “how’s 6:30 work for you?”

“that’s perfect” you respond with a bright smile.

You both lapse back into a comfy silence, with you hiding behind your book so Eddie can’t see your blush or your excited grin–which also meant you couldn’t see Eddie’s ears turn red or the way he had to fight to keep his own smile at a normal level. Around 4 you headed back to your own place to get ready.

***

You heard a knock at your door and dog-eared your page before skipping into your hall and yanking open the door. Eddie stood there, nose a little red from the chill that was just creeping in. You noticed he’d changed his clothes and smiled to yourself about it. “Hey!” you said brightly “Just give me one moment to put on some shoes, c’mon in.” you left to find a well-loved pair of baby blue and cream vans, pulling them on and tying the laces. You could see Eddie shuffling in the doorway and grinned at him. “will I be cold?” you asked him.

“You? Always. but, yeah, it’s gonna get a little chilly. I could always lend you my coat if you got cold though.” Eddie added on that last bit a little quieter. You were already in your favorite sweatshirt and Eddie ran hot anyway so you decided to take him up on his offer “you wouldn’t mind?” you checked, grabbing your keys. Eddie grunted an affirmative, and you trusted him to know his own mind so you motioned for him to lead the way.

Eddie walked a little ahead of you, which seemed odd until he stopped by your car door first to open it for you. You smiled and thanked him, sliding into the still-warm interior. Eddie kept his car neat (well, aside from the different papers and writings), just another thing you loved about him. Eddie got in too and y’all were on your way.

outside it was getting dark, but the sky was still a cobalt blue and there was plenty of light to see by. Soon you pulled into a parking space outside the carnival, which was glowing against the dark blue sky like a magical forest of light. Your eyes were huge with wonder and you couldn’t stop the smile taking over your face,

Eddie knew he’d made the right choice asking you here. You experienced each new joy like you might die from its intensity. He loved you. He loved you and tonight he was going to tell you.

Eddie got out of the car, quickly coming around to your side and helping you out. You felt the brisk air on your skin and grinned even brighter. You could see your breath coming out in white wisps. You grabbed Eddie’s arm and pulled him towards the glowing entrance, him pretending to resist only so you would hook your arm fully in his and pull harder. He chuckled, following you happily.

When you got to the ticket booth, Eddie got both your tickets and handed you the classically shaped stub. You tucked it in your pocket–you always held on to sentimental little tidbits, especially with Eddie.

When you got inside the gate it was a wonderland of color and lights and smells. There was the heady smell of frying foods and a grassy smell like summer. There was a hum of happy chatter and music that would be creepy in a horror movie. You were torn on what to look at from the brightly colored tents to the glowing signs and rides. Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off you, the way your face glowed in the multicolor lights. Eddie was just asking you where to start when your stomach grumbled loudly. You giggled and Eddie chuckled. He let you pick what booth to get food from then shooed you away to find a picnic table. A few minutes later Eddie waltzed up, arms laden with frito pies and funnel cake. They were delicious and warm, and you couldn’t help the moan you let out at the first satisfying mouthful. You noticed Eddies ears turning pink and gave him the benefit of the doubt that it was because of the chill.

You knew Eddie and you had chemistry. You’d known it since you first met. But he’d never made a move to be more than friends, so you just enjoyed the moment. When you finished eating, you grabbed Eddie’s hand and pulled him to the games booths. You weren’t the best shot, but you managed to win a sparkly pink bracelet, which Eddie immediately put on when you gifted it to him. Eddie was much better with hand-eye coordination and even managed to win a respectably sized stuffed bumblebee, which handed to you with a blush. Your squeal of glee wiped away any momentary embarrassment he felt.

You linked hands again as you strolled through the carnival, giggling at the performances and gasping when a fire-eater blew a stream of flame over the crowd’s head. As soon as you passed him though you noticed how cold it had gotten, even with Eddie’s warmth at your side. Before you could even say anything, Eddie was shrugging out of his thick leather jacket draping it over your shoulders. “what?” he said defensively “I was getting too warm anyway.” You pulled his jacket around you tighter and hummed in satisfaction with the warmth. You let Eddie pull you close to him, pretending he was pulling you out of the way of a juggler, but you noticed he kept his arm wrapped around your shoulders even after you’d passed.

“How about that next?” he asked, bending to talk in your ear. You shivered and saw him pointing to the glowing ferris wheel. You nodded, letting your glee light up your face and giving the bumblebee an extra squeeze. Eddie grinned and steered you towards the huge wheel, pulling you closer to his side.

The line was surprisingly short, so before too long Eddie handed over some tickets to the ride operator, mumbling something to him, and y’all took a seat in the swinging cart. The bench fit but didn’t leave any wiggle room, so you ended up plastered to Eddie, who once again wrapped an arm around you.

By now the sun had set so the lights of the city glowed bright in the darkness. From the top of the wheel it looked like you and Eddie were floating in space with stars all around. “Eddie...I feel, so full. it’s almost too much, it’s so beautiful I feel like I might burst!” you looked over and saw that Eddie wasn’t looking at the view around you, he was staring at...you.

“iloveyou” his low voice came out in a rush, followed by a very dark blush, but he never broke eye contact. And that’s when you started crying. At first he looked horrified, but you squeezed his hand.

“I love you too, I have since I met you.” You whispered, not trusting your voice. Eddie breathed a sigh of relief and the hand that had been draped over your arm moved to the back of your head, slipping through your hair to pull you into the best kiss you’d ever had. His lips were soft, contrasted by his rough stubble. You couldn’t help a small moan from escaping, but judging by his responding moan, Eddie didn’t seem to mind. You melted into the kiss, losing sense of everything else around you.

When you pulled back, all you could see was Eddie’s blue-green eyes glowing from the lights below, and you noticed that the corners of his eyes were just a little wet with tears. “hi” you whispered, “hi you” he whispered back. You felt so perfectly happy. You both knew this was where you would end up, from the first second you met.

“haven’t we been at the top of this for a while? I’m not complaining but...” you asked, a little confused

“oh, yeah, I tipped the operator to give us a bit of extra alone time.” Eddie says with a wink.

You giggle, snuggling closer in to his side, just enjoying this feeling.

#eddie brock x reader #or #eddy brock x reader #depending?#lol was this southern enough for y'all #venom fic #venom #fluff #venom fluff #i write sometimes

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

feel free not to take this but it is still technically march so. vampire sternclay nsfw, a hungry submissive vampire being so, so good in the hope that their human will let them have a taste?

Here it is! I guess it’s april now but eh, on this blog it’s always monster time.

Content Notes: Mentions of blood, since we’re dealing with vampires. The roleplay in this could read as dubcon, since Stern has something Barclay needs, but aftercare is shown and even in the scene it’s clear Barclay feels safe and happy.

“I thought we could act out that, um, request you had for me tomorrow night”

“The one where you let me…”

“Yes, big guy, that one.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay waits in Mt. Sterns study, clock on the mantle reading three minutes to six. Lamps are being lit up and down the street as the citizens of London flock out into the first warm night of the year. Barclay will not be joining them; Mr.Stern has other plans for him, and the crosses over the windows and doors to the street ensure Barclay doesn’t go anywhere without his permission.

It could be worse. Much worse.

Mr. Stern frequents the gentleman's club where Barclay is (was) a cook, is polite and charming when he discusses the latest evidence of monsters in the Himalayas or the depths of the sea. He’s American, like Barclay, which meant someone appreciated the pies he made for dessert. Every visit, he stopped by the kitchen to compliment Barclays food, insisting was the best in the city.

So imagine Barclays’ horror when, half-starved and foggy-brained, the man he pounced on in an alley turned out to be none other than Joseph Stern. The fear intensified when the human easily overpowered and pinned him, revealing that he was an agent of the crown, a member of the Royal Order of Vampire Hunters.

“I can’t let you free, not in good conscience given you attacked me and could attack someone else. But I don’t want to hurt you, Barclay.”

The agents solution was to bring the vampire home with him, lock him in the safety of the cellar (so he wouldn’t get burnt), and use him as a subject for his research. Mr. Stern prides himself on being the preeminent scholar on the subject of vampirism (“Dr. Helsing’s research is sorely lacking, but everyone goes to him because of the Harker Affair”), and couldn’t pass up the chance to make use of his live-in vampire. Generally, he peppers Barclay with questions or submits him to minor medical tests, always giving him a glass of blood to drink while they work. That glass is conspicuously absent tonight, as was the note Mr. Stern usually leaves him detailing what to expect.

Barclay bounces his knee as his stomach growls; they ran out of blood last night and a new supply has yet to arrive. Then the door opens, and he perks up like a bloodhound offered a bone.

“Hello, Barclay, thank you for being so prompt.” Mr.Stern is in his full suit, hair styled as if he just returned from the office.

“Of course, sir. I, uh, I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” He smiles, licks his lips as the human removes his jacket, revealing more of his throat in the process.

“You like being my research assistant?”

“Very much sir.”

Mr. Stern rolls up his shirtsleeves, “I think you’ll like tonight's experiment quite a bit. On the desk.” He pats the strangely empty hardwood and Barclay sits on the edge, tall enough that his feet still touch the floor. The human opens his dictograph, stops before turning it on, “lie down.”

Barclay does as he’s told, jolts in confusion as Stern pulls three leafs of wood from the desk; one on either side of Barclay and one at his feet, meaning that his whole body is on the table with a few inches of room to spare on all sides.

“This isn’t your normal desk, is it sir?”

“No, I had it made just for us.” The dictograph clicks on, “April 14th, experiment twenty-nine; determining the relationship between sexual arousal and bloodlust in vampires.”

“Wait, what?” Barclay bolts upright, starts climbing off the desk only for Stern to firmly cup his cheek.

“Barclay, you want to be a good specimen, don’t you?” Something sharp and wicked as a scalpel glints behind the clinical curiosity in his blue eyes.

“Yes, sir.” He does, he really does, but he’s so hungry. Hungry and terrified that whatever Stern is planning will cause Barclay to admit the feelings he has to keep reburying in his chest thanks to their reemerging whenever Stern smiles at him.

“Then do as you’re told.” He takes his hand away, Barclay mourning the loss of contact as the reclines back onto the desk.

“Much better.” Stern walks around the desk, patting Barclay’s head along the way, “If you’re good tonight, I’ll give you a special reward. One you’ve never had before.”

Barclay resolves to be better than he’s ever been. Stern's rewards are well planned and generous, leaving Barclay positively spoiled when he’s done. He buys him the expensive draught that lets vampires consume non-blood foods without illness, then takes him to dinner. Brings him rare teas and books to read while he sips them. When he learned Barclay liked theater and opera, evenings out in finery became part of the rotation. He can’t imagine what the extra special reward will be, but he hopes it involves more of Sterns gentle touches on his skin.

“I’m starting the experiment now. To establish our baseline, how aroused are you?”

“Like, a little?”

“Are you craving blood?”

“Yeah, I’m kinda hungry, but not like, crazed or anything.”

“Good. I’ll keep checking in with the subject throughout the process.” He pulls a notebook from his shelf, and Barclay can see a checklist running down the page, “I’ll start by relaxing the subject.”

The detached manner in which Stern refers to him should aggravate him; instead, his cock twitches in his pants and he squirms, hoping the human will say it again.

Stern rolls Barclays pants up to his knees, picks up his right foot and kneads his thumb along the arch. He finds all the sore spots with ease (almost as if he’s done this before), Barclay moaning softly as he works his way up one leg and then other. The vampire is so relaxed by the end he almost misses Stern guiding his wrists into the cuffs on either side of him.

“Sir?”

“It’s for your safety and mine; you may get agitated later on, and I don’t want you injuring yourself. Arousal level?”

“About the same.”

Stern raises his eyebrow.

“Uh, I mean, about the same, sir.”

“Hunger?”

“The same, sir.”

The agent turns back to the dictaphone, “Subject is now restrained. Proceeding to step twoOW, shit.” He sets the notebook down and shoves his right pointer finger into his mouth.

It’s only a small paper-cut, bleeding a bead of red when he pulls it out to examine it. To Barclay, it’s like someone cracked open a fine wine and is taking their sweet time pouring.

Stern notices his interest immediately, “Is this what you want, Barclay? To taste me?”

He whines, nodding his head. Stern’s hand hovers over his face; he could reach it with his tongue, but if he takes it without permission the human will no doubt revoke his reward.

The cut finger strokes his neck, leaving a faint trail of red that he can smell but neither see nor reach.

“Then I guess it’s convenient that’s your reward for tonight.”

“Ohfuckyes, sir, thank you sir.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, we’re only through step one. Where was I” he flips to the same page in his notes, “Oh, right. Addition of even a faint trace of blood lead to increased arousal in the subject. Testing the reverse pathway now.”

“Ohhhhhhfuck” Barclay bucks his hips as Joseph palms his cock through his pants. The warmth and pressure are enough to tease, to coax his cock up, but too little for him to do anything but rut like a needy dog on his hand.

“It looks like stronger stimulation is required.”

“AHahgodOWfuck” tears prick his eyes and he wishes, not for the first time, that he’d been less prone to taking the lords name in vain when he was human. The habit is hard to break and the word burns his tongue whenever it’s uttered.

Sterns eyes flick up to his face just long enough for him to see Barclay isn’t hurt, then they return to his cock. His hand moves in calculated, steady strokes, his voice calm even as Barclays grunts of pleasure fill the room.

“Good boy, Barclay. Let’s see what happens if I…”

“Fuck, ohfucksir.” He jerks his hips as Stern quickens his hand, pre-cum slicking the shaft.

“Subjects fangs are emerging, salivary glands seem more active, eyes-Barclay, be quiet, you’re going to drown out my notes.”

This statement does not have the desired effect, as the thought of the device picking up his moans, of Stern playing them back with a clinical ear or fucking himself to them or letting other hunters listen to just what a vampire will do in order to feed, makes him moan louder.

Stern stops entirely, his tone a warning, “Barclay.”

“S-sorry sir, it, it just, it feels so good, wanted you to, to know I like it. It’s, it’s an honor to feel your hands on me.”

“That’s very sweet. So sweet that I’ll make you a deal; if you can be quiet until after you cum, you can make as much noise as you want afterwards. Understood?”

“Yes sir.” He clamps his jaw shut, fangs pricking the inside of his mouth. Stern works his cock relentlessly, smiling as Barclay’s legs begin jerking and twitching with his impending orgasm.

“That’s much better.”

Barclay smiles, proud, swallows down a moan, and cums all over Sterns waistcoat.

“Messy boy.” Stern wipes himself off, then covers Barclay’s mouth with a cum-streaked hand, “clean it up.”

He obeys, ambivalent to the bitterness of his own spend and elated by the taste of Sterns skin on his tongue. When he’s done the human ruffles his hair with his other hand, smiling down at him.

“I’ll be right back.” Stern leaves his view and Barclay only just keeps himself from whining at his absence. The agent returns with a case which, when opened, reveals a vibrator.

“I’m not hysterical, sir.”

“Not yet.” Rather than hold it himself, Stern straps the device so it rests against Barclays cock and switches it on.

“AHFUCK, sir, it’s, how many times-” His cock, which was soft only a moment ago, perks back up even as the nerves in it scream for it to stop.

“As many as it takes to complete my study. Let’s see.” The human turns Barclays face this way and that, frowns, and digs his finger and thumb into his jaw to keep his mouth open as he moans, “subjects fangs are now fully out and he” Stern snickers as Barclay’s beard tickles his wrists, the vampire licking and nuzzling at his inner arm, “he’s increasingly submissive and blood focused.”

“N-no, I’m you focused sir, want you, be so good for youAHannn” he cums, cuffs clanking on the table as he arches off it. Stern drags a chair over, sitting near Barclay’s head and leaning with his elbows on the desk to watch as his cock continues leaking and shuddering under the onslaught of sensations.

Barclay recalls a myth, Greek he thinks, where a man is punished in the afterlife with intense hunger and thirst. He doesn’t remember why it happens, he tends to skim tragic stories. The part that stuck with him was the man being trapped with food and water just out of reach. With Joseph so close and Barclay so aroused and hungry, he can see the veins in his neck, can almost crane his neck to reach them.

Then he cums a third time and his vision whites out, taking away the temptation for a few moments of mercy. His brain gives up on coherent thoughts after that, and all he can do is moan and sob as Stern forces two more orgasms out of him. His feet and legs go from kicking and thrashing to laying so limp he’s not sure he’ll be able to walk when they’re through.

“I think I have what you need.” Stern shuts off the vibrator, removing bringing a water basin and pitcher over to the vampire. He dips a handkerchief into the warm water, guiding it along Barclays forehead, “you’re doing well, Barclay. I’m so proud.”

“Thank you sir.

“I have one more test to run, okay?” His voice is so gentle, his touch so soothing, and Barclay would do anything for him like this, all he wants is to serve him, to make him happy so he’ll keep looking at him like he’s something precious instead of dangerous.

The agent checks the dictaphone, clears his throat, “Final test: role of discomfort in the arousal-bloodlust dynamic.”

Barclay swallows, so turned on he couldn’t be scared if he tried. The agent pulls a loose page from the notebook, mischief in his eyes and menace on his fingertips. Only Stern could make the snap of a freshly inked piece of paper erotic, and Barclay adores him for it.

“I will now have the subject read a passage and record my observations.”

Letters fill his view and it takes his eyes a second to focus on them. His tongue, likely out of self-preservation, fights to stay behind his teeth.

“We don’t have all night, Barclay.”

The vampire takes a deep breath, “O God, accept me in penitence. O God, l- leave me not. O Lord, lead me not into temptation” his tongue flinches even as his chest burns with pleasure “O God, grant me good thoughts. O God, grant me humility and obedience.”

“I’d say you’re doing well on that front already,” Stern murmurs, saying more clearly, “the subject responds positively to pain associated with holy words, and looks increasingly thirsty.” He gives Barclay a pointed look, “subject should continue if he wants his reward.”

“O Lord, grant me patience, courage and meekness. O God, grant me to love Thee with all my mind and soul.” Tears run down his cheeks; the pain is right on the edge of what he can take, and even in his submissive haze he’s certain this alone is deserving of a reward, “Sir, please, please, I’ve been so good, please say you’re satisfied so I can, I can-”

Stern sets the paper aside, “can what? Specificity is important, Barclay.”

A dozen types of hunger well up in his throat as he whimpers, “please say I can taste you.”

An indulgent smile, “Of course. Give me a second to prepare.”

The vampire closes his eyes, breathes as slowly as he can manage as his tongue ceases tingling. There’s a scuff and thud of Stern touching the desk, and Barclay assumes he’s being freed until warmth straddles his chest and a shadow blocks the lamplight from his face.

“Ohfuck.” He opens his eyes, finds Stern--naked from the waist down--bracketing his ears with his knees.

“Is this the taste you wanted?” Stern guides his head up and Barclay eagerly kisses his cock.

“N-no I wanted to feed but, but this is so, so perfect sir.”

“You think you deserve to feed from me?”

Barclay nods, too busy teasing his tongue along his folds to respond further. The hunter is wet, and the thought of him soaking his tailored trousers just by watching Barclay cum is almost as heady as the scent of the blood beneath his skin.

“Well, I think this is what you deserve, for being so careless as to attack me, and for having to rely on my hospitality to survive.”

“Uhhummm” Barclay closes his lips around his cock and Stern moans, a sound Barclay would gladly swallow holy water to hear again.

“Nnn, oh lord, that’s it, you’re doing so well big guy.”

He purrs at the praise, mouth watering as Stern’s body sends more blood south. The skins so sensitive here, so thin, he can practically taste iron through it. He grazes his teeth along Sterns thigh, hoping for the smallest of scrapes, yelps when the agent pulls his hair hard enough to slam his head back against the desk.

“If you bite without permission, I will leave you here, like this, with that vibrator strapped to your cock, until the morning.”

Barclay whimpers, licks plaintively at his cock to show he’s sorry. Stern’s voice softens, “That’s better. I know it’s hard to restrain yourself, but you--oh lord--you must. I hate having to discipline you my sweet boy, I’d much, much rather-” his hips gain speed, smearing slick across Barclays mouth, “fuck, I’d rather spoil you and then do whatever I want to this perfect body, oh, ohlord, ohyes.” He tenses, gasping, and Barclay wishes his hands were free so he could hold him, keep him safe and steady while he takes his pleasure.

The hunter eases off of him, undoes the cuffs and helps him upright. They move on equally shaky legs to the settee, the human undoing the top buttons of his shirt once they do.

“Barclay…”

“Yes, sir?” He grips the edge of the cushions to keep from pinning the agent to their deep blue surface.

“You can have your reward now.” Stern tips his head sideways, revealing a welcoming patch of throat. Barclay growls, lunges forward as Stern makes no attempt to stop him. His teeth pierce willing skin and hot, sinfully delicious blood flows across his tongue. Stern goes rigid in his arms, voice cracking in a moan. Then he relaxes, clinging to Barclays shoulders as the vampire pushes him down, licking and sucking and smearing crimson kisses across his neck.

Nothing in the world compares to fresh blood, freely offered, swallowed down while the most handsome man you’ve ever seen lets out softer and softer moans of ecstasy.

Two taps register on his shoulder and he pulls away, lapping at the wounds so they’ll stop bleeding and be protected from infection. Joseph groans, gingerly shaking his head to clear it.

“You feeling okay, big guy?”

“Y’know how pythons will eat a cow once a month and then sleep for days? That sounds really fucking good right about now.” Barclay knows some vampires feel energized after feeding, but for him it’s always followed by the need for a nap.

“Let’s go upstairs first, the bed is better than the couch for that. Last time I fell asleep here my back hurt the whole next day.”

“Someone feeling being in his thirties?”

“Barclay, you’re three hundred.”

“And I don’t feel a day over two hundred and fifty.” He smiles as Joseph chuckles and kisses his cheek.

They make it up the stairs, Barclay easing his way under the covers and trying not to let them touch his sore cock. Joseph brings two water glasses and a damp cloth. Barclay uses the latter to clean the last traces of blood from his skin, patching over the punctures with the bandages they keep in the bedside table.

“Fun as it is to pretend to be your, like, pet vampire, I really glad you decided you just needed a roommate after I was stupid enough to attack you.”

Joseph polishes off his water, “You were starving, not stupid. Most vampires who go after humans are. It did put a damper on my plans to proposition you in the club kitchen the next night, but it worked out in the end.”

“They did warn me the clientele might try to bribe me into earning a few extra pounds with uh, ‘special services.’”

“A few pounds is barely a fair price for a kiss from you.” The human kisses him, somehow more sincere and loving than the equally tender kiss he gave him before leaving for work. Then he rubs his leg through the blankets, “do you want some tea? Indrid dropped off a new one he found while traveling with Duck, and it smells amazing.”

“Sounds great, blue eyes.”

“I’ll go make a pot of it while you rest; you did so well tonight I’m inclined to spoil all weekend.”

“No complaints here. You take such good care of me, Joseph.”

“You deserve it, big guy. Don’t go anywhere.” He kisses his brow and leaves the bed, whirling on his dressing gown as he goes towards the stairs.

Barclay watches him with all the love his unbeaten heart can muster and murmurs, “I won’t. Not when everything I need is right here.”

#sternclay #agent stern/barclay #vampire au #victorian au #reader requests #TAZ amnesty

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geeks-universe · 3 years

Text

& To All a Goodnight.

Dean Winchester x Reader

Request: For requests could you do a dean x reader where they spend Christmas together and it's a lot of fluff?😳😳

Requested by: Anonymous

Holidays were never really celebrated at the bunker.

If you were being honest, most of the time you weren’t even sure what day it was, let alone preparing for festivities regarding some day that was probably tied to some horrible historical event.

But, if you were being more honest, you really did love Christmas.

It wasn’t so much the religious connotations- which had grown considerably more complicated when you considered your relationship with angels- but more so the idea of holiday cheer, and an unexplainable magic in the air. As a kid, you had loved Christmas. You celebrated from the beginning of November, right up until the day itself, baking cookies, watching cheesy holiday movies, and decorating every square inch of the house.

After losing your parents, and the subsequent descent into the life of a hunter, you hadn’t really been able to celebrate. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, though it was considerably a difficult time for the first couple years, but you hadn’t had a chance. You were constantly on the go. The closest thing to a home you had was the warm embrace of Dean Winchester and the backseat of the Impala, which Sam had argued he was too big for. (He was, but you liked sitting shotgun.)

With the bunker though, you had an opportunity to celebrate like you hadn’t in years.

And you did.

Sam and Dean had left for the week. Well, five days maximum, if Dean were to be trusted, but you knew him well enough to know that meant seven days minimum. You had cracked a couple of ribs on the last hunt, and with Castiel MIA, you were stuck healing the old-fashioned way.

Never one to be cooped up for an excessive amount of time, you had gone all out with the decorations. Every room had an overwhelming amount of Christmas cheer, save Dean and Sam’s room.

And the tree!

Oh my goodness, the tree!

You had gone out and got a fresh tree, straight from a Christmas tree farm. Red and gold adorned the green needles, creating a homey atmosphere among the living room typically used to unwind after rough cases. You decided on a star to put atop the tree, as opposed to an angel. (It was bad enough you had them popping up in real time, you didn’t want them to ruin the Christmas cheer.)

You hadn’t stopped there, either. You bought and wrapped both Sam and Dean enough gifts to fill out the empty base of the tree. Dean had confided in you once that he couldn’t even remember what a normal Christmas was like, so you were determined to give the boys the best one yet.

And, when four whole days had passed of decorating, you moved onto baking. Chocolates, cookies, pies- you name it. You had gone slightly overboard, but the boys still weren’t back yet, and Christmas was slowly creeping closer.

Would they be back in time?

You certainly hoped so. They hadn’t given you an update in nearly a full day, but you had a 48 hour rule- 48 hours before any of you unleashed hell upon whatever case the one who hadn’t contacted was working on.

Though, after putting away all of the goodies, you’d snuggled up on the couch and put on a cheesy, and wholly predictable, Christmas romantic comedy while waiting for your boys. You were worried, and it took three and a half movies before you were able to fall asleep, but eventually, to the gentle lull of Christmas music, your eyes slipped shut on Christmas Eve.

Sam and Dean were practically dragging themselves into the bunker by the time they made it home. It was a long haul back, and they hadn’t even managed to check in with you.

Dean had been adamant about making it back before Christmas. He had been holding onto a special gift for you for months, and maybe it was a little cheesy, but he couldn’t wait to see your face when you opened it.

“Wow.”

Sam had been the first to step back into the bunker, and Dean couldn’t see over his giraffe of a younger brother, so he was left to wonder what “wow” meant. He wasn’t left waiting for long though, because as soon as he got through the door, he saw the decorations all placed precariously throughout the room, making the bunker feel a little more like a home.

“So much for rest,” Dean muttered, already preparing his worried, yet heartfelt speech about why injuries were not to be taken lightly.

“That’s exactly what I need,” Sam hid a yawn behind his hand. “I’m heading to bed, I’ll see you both in the morning.”

Dean waved him off, following the string of multi-colored lights to the living room. You had a habit of waiting on the couch for him when he was gone, like you thought you could stay awake a few extra hours just in case he made it home early. It brought a smile to his face.

As expected, you were stretched out of the couch, clothed in an old, oversized t-shirt of his. His blanket was wrapped snugly around your body, and the corner of your lips were pulled up like you were having a good dream.

Unable to help himself, he slipped his phone from his pocket and snapped a quick photo of you. He had an album in his camera roll, labeled with just a heart, that consisted solely of the photos that made him fall a little more in love with you.

It was created the day after he met you, and there were already several hundred photos in it.

“(Y/N),” Dean called softly, careful rousing you. As a hunter, you were sometimes a little too aggressive if you were suddenly woken up.

“Dean,” you whispered back, your eyes still shut, but the beginnings of consciousness seeping in.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he replied, dropping down onto his knees to get closer to you.

By the time you opened your eyes, he was right there, running his thumb along your cheek.

“How’d the hunt go?” You inquired, leaning into his touch.

His lips quirked up.

“A few bruises, Sammy’s hair got a little messed up, nothing serious.”

You breathed a laugh, reaching up to cradle his head with your hands. He kissed your wrist as you did so.

“Looks like Santa got here early,” Dean commented after a moment, nodding his head in the direction of the tree.

“Guess so,” you stated, failing to keep the smile off your lips. “Hope you’ve been good this year.”

His brows raised, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Darling,” he drawled, “You and I both know I haven’t.”

You giggled at his silly joke, moving to sit up so you could embrace him a little better. He took the sudden vacancy as an opportunity to slip into the spot beside you. His arms wrapped more firmly around your waist, tugging you onto his lap.

“I missed you,” you hummed, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

“Of course you did,” he teased, pressing his lips to your cheek. He stayed there for a moment, letting the warmth of your skin seep into the cold whispers the days without you had brought.

“I’ve got a present for you,” he said suddenly, shifting a bit to pull the gift from his pocket.

“I think you’re supposed to open gifts on Christmas,” you reminded him, listening to the strong beat of his heart against your head.

“I mean, it’s passed midnight,” he argued, holding a small box out in the palm of his hand.

It was made of wood, and had a symbol you didn’t quite understand carved into the smooth mahogany, but you took it with a smile nonetheless.

“You didn’t have to get me a gift,” you stated. You had meant for this Christmas to be all about him and Sam.

“Open it,” he urged, ignoring your objection without hesitation.

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, popping the box open with a soft click.

It was a necklace. The chain and pendant were both a shiny silver, though the pendant was shaped like a compass. You gasped, reaching out to run a finger along the craftsmanship.

“It’s beautiful,” you told him. “Why the compass?”

Even in the dim light provided by the Christmas decorations, you could see the red on his cheeks.

“So you’ll always find your way home to me.”

It was very much an un-Dean thing to say. He had, in recent months, been exceedingly comfortable with you, and had allowed himself to say some of what he had hidden under his gruff, macho exterior.

It was endearing.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth.

“It’s made from the knife you stabbed me with.”

While that sentence would sound totally bonkers from anyone else, and honestly make you question whether you should be in jail, the story wasn’t quite as cut and dry as Dean made it seem.

You and Sam had to perform a ritual to force the creature possessing Dean out of his body. In order to do so, you’d had to get some amount of blood. However, the creature had made it nearly impossible, and in the end you’d sent the blade through his hand.

Cas had been there to heal him up, but Dean hadn’t let you live that one down ever since. It had been used in one too many guilt trips.

“I was-”

“Saving my life, I know, I know,” he interrupted with a laugh.

You lightly pushed against his shoulder.

“You’re a jerk,” you claimed, admiring the gift. It was really pretty, and the details were immaculate.

“But you love me,” he sing-songed.

“I do,” you agreed, leaning up to kiss his jaw. His eyes slipped shut as you did so. “Somehow.”

“Funny,” he retorted dryly. “Now let’s get you to bed, since you obviously didn’t rest while we were gone.”

Yeah, you were definitely expecting some sort of a lecture on your inability to rest, despite being injured. At least he’d let you cuddle some before launching into it.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester imagine #supernatural imagine #supernatural x reader

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themonstrousarchives · 3 years

Text

Hunt: Missing Maidens, Muddy Mementos, and Mad Mothmen

Maya Xiangling Zhou [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] HP, Armor: 1

Description: A search and rescue for a special waitress at the hunters’ favorite diner exposes so much more than what they bargained for originally. Maya is following a trail of cobwebs, determined to stomp out another Web presence.

Hook, Session goals: Rescue some NPCs, complete their metamorphoses. Foreshadow a large disaster impending with the reintroduction of Mothman.

“Maya” Xiangling Zhou ( 周翔灵 )

Monster Type: Executioner- Maya has a profound bias against Web-aligned beings and items, due to the time she spent suffering the whims of one such avatar.

Powers: Flight, precognition, sight in the dark, inky tendrils which form attacks, a red eyed gaze attack that causes everyone who sees her eyes to scatter in fear. A large bug-stompin’ shoe.

Attacks:

Inky Death Tendril I: 3-harm close restraining magic

Inky Death Tendril II: 2-harm close magic life-drain ignore-armor weakening

Weakening tag: -1 forward

Inky Death Tendril III: 2-harm area barrier magic restraining

Red-Eyed Gaze: 0-harm area forceful magic

Act Under Pressure to avoid running away from her. On a mixed success, the PC may continue to carry their items or keep performing a Big Magic if applicable.

Bug-Stompin’ Shoe: 3-harm hand forceful heavy holy-Web

Holy-[Entity]: Deal double damage to items or beings aligned with said entity.

Weaknesses: Spiral-aligned beings or artifacts would be very good at misdirecting her or making her misinterpret information she comes to know. Maya takes 1-harm extra from fire, but takes steps to avoid it when possible.

Minions:

Pyotr Yefimovich Ivanov: he took to her because his first impression of her (that he remembers) is a witch who explained every confusing thing that happened to him clearly and without bullshit. He is working with her to find Shiro as well.

HP: [] [] [] [] [] [] [] Armor: 3

Weapon: Huge Sword (3-harm, hand, heavy)

Shiro Kamada: Once he is freed from his capture, he will absolutely aid Maya in her work. He’s used to getting dirty. He has been tested by the operatives here and is not good condition but he puts on a stoic face. Blood to blood contact makes whoever comes in contact with his “battle-crazed” and hostile.

HP: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [] [] [] [] [] Armor: 1

Weapon: Katana (2-harm ignore-armor life-drain holy-Flesh)

Weapon: Wakizashi (2-harm life-drain holy-Flesh)

Countdown:

Maya finds cobwebs throughout the city that don’t bode well. Webs built over pigeon nests, increasing in concentration around a diner in Samoa.

Pyotr interrogates Enusat about the last time the mask saw Shiro, and the mask insists Pyotr come along for a hunt. Pyotr murders a witness to the mask’s ‘feeding’

It takes them longer than it would take them if they collaborated with the Hunters, but they find the clandestine site that Diana Rice has been operating out of.

Pyotr and Maya raid the site, and their plan goes pear-shaped quick. Pyotr gets away, but Shiro and Maya remain in the government’s custody to be rigorously tested and tortured.

Rather than allow himself to be subject to more government experimentation, Shiro makes Maya kill him when she next gets the chance.

Maya is ‘locked in’ as Diana Rice’s End subject.

Maya successfully predicts Emerson’s plot and the government tracks him down.

Bystanders:

Marcela- the waitress used the huge tip the hunters left for them to hire a PI to find Susan. She's too busy to be directly involved but will provide contact info and clue the group in.

Elliot Yuhara- he moonlights as a private eye as a way to investigate supernatural elements and earn a little money on the side. He got a witness statement from Susan's neighbor saying she saw Susan be ushered into a black car with tinted windows. He was going to follow that car and get plates but had a different thread he was following up with first. He's tracking Pyotr.

Heidi Buckner- Susan's neighbor who saw the pickup. She can describe the person who picked her up, and a few snippets of the conversation he and Susan had.

Marissa Greene- the officer who is being groomed next to replace Mercer. She's been pushed into his responsibilities in his absence and she is coping with the fact that she feels the pull to inflict on her lowers what he did to her. Gritting her teeth because she has ambitions and Diana Rice is dangling a very promising career in front of her nose.

Susan- the elder waitress that the hunters are most familiar with, she has been unconsciously attuning to the Web for the past two decades she has worked at this diner. Only recently has she made noticeable moves- her power has manifested in making the diner she works at strongly resilient against economic downturn and drawing the supernatural (including the hunters, if that fits) to it. Now, she is consciously able to make people better at doing things that she specifically wants them to do (hunters gain a +1 ongoing to perform acts she thinks are beneficial to herself), send out web probes (Precious Moments figurines manifest in areas she is sentimental about, though they may drift), and soften hostile moods (much like the Divine playbook move Soothe).

Locations:

Diner: Spiderwebs have really taken root here, making the whole place dustier and harder to clean. Marcela is currently available as waitress.

Some of the cobwebs have a slight bluish tint; a deep investigation can show that this blue pigment is eyeshadow and is part of the web.

The wait staff used the Divine’s money to hire a PI (Elliot Yuhara) to track her down. He found her home and a bingo parlor she frequented. Yuhara didn’t get the sense that there was anything up at the bingo parlor so he instead investigated the

Susan’s Home: Dusty and cobwebbed, she lives in an apartment with two cats who have been eating bugs and small mammals. Little animal guts pepper the entryway in front of her door. A water bowl sits just outside and is full of water, though it’s a little gross. As the hunters investigate her home, Precious Moments figurines start manifesting when they’re not looking, surrounded by a parachute web tinged with blue eyeliner.

The cats have not been eating the spiders

A neighbor (Heidi Buckner) has been feeding them, and saw that she was taken away in a black car with tinted windows and an american flag on the radio antenna.

The figurines are not sentient or any more malicious than Susan. They do not move or act beyond floating into windows or landing where they can. They could be used in Big Magic perhaps as a material to tie to Susan or in other creative ways, but are primarily a manifestation of Susan’s want to be found and rescued.

Coast Guard Station: Things have changed since the hunters who’ve been to the station were last here. It’s dusty and the building looks like it’s aged another decade, the wood feels softer. Downstairs has hallways and a foyer to fight in should it come to that. Upstairs would be inaccessible to the party without hostilities and further has security measures in place (locked gates etc) that have to be bypassed. Coordinating with Maya would bypass the need to investigate upstairs for information so long as the hunters kept the station occupied with them.

Marissa has been purging Mercer’s presence, still haunted by his memory. Last to go are the black boxes as they’re the heaviest.

Rice has been here in person, using it as a sort of halfway house or transition point in her quest to collect avatars and artefacts.

Soldier x15 (3-5 waves of 2-5 soldiers)

HP: [] [] [] [] [] [] [] Armor: 2

Weapon: Assault Rifle (3-harm far area loud reload)

Weapon: 9mm (2-harm close loud)

Weapon: Combat Knife (1-harm hand)

Protector Class Ship: Marissa is on the 90′ ship with an open back for an inflatable boat to slot in. The boat itself is mostly fine, but there are inconveniently not enough safety provisions for everyone. The railing is liable to give out if someone gets rocked too hard.

Vast powers are stronger and more intense on the ship, where a former Vast avatar practiced. Vast characters get a +1 ongoing while on the ship.

Marissa has successfully pushed one black box back into the water and is working on getting the other off the boat as the hunters meet her. She can be talked to, and may reveal more about Rice or the hell that the station has been since they last met her.

Secondary Location: A fenced up Cold War era bunker with an innocuous looking house on the surface has been utilized for Diana Rice’s purposes- for holding artefacts and avatars that they’re trying to extract fear from. There are five storeys- (mundane) Storage, Barracks & Mess, Laboratory, the War Room, and the Holding Cells. They have captured an avatar or artefact of almost every Entity, though no Vast avatar as Mercer has not been replaced after his discorporation, and no End avatar as well. Additionally, they do not call them by the common names and instead have their own:

Subsumption (Buried), Decomposition (Corruption), Caliginosity (Dark), Devastation (Desolation), Terminus (End), Observation (Eye), Corporal (Flesh), Interrogation (Hunt), Isolation (Lonely), Hostilities (Slaughter), Misdirection (Spiral), Penumbra (Stranger), Abyssal (Vast), Coordination (Web), and Transmutation (Extinction)

Shiro (Hostilities) and Susan (Coordination) are in their own solitary cells. Shiro’s looks like a bloodbath and he himself has been chained up and restrained. Susan has been sitting in the same spot for days, terrified and sobbing, attempting to send out distress signals.

This base is very hard to infiltrate unless Big (Vast) Magic is used. That said, there is a 60% chance of getting captured.

Soldier

HP: [] [] [] [] [] [] [] Armor: 2 Weapon: Assault Rifle (3-harm far area loud reload) Weapon: 9mm (2-harm close loud) Weapon: Combat Knife (1-harm hand)

One combat, one soldier has a Grenade Launcher (4-harm area messy loud reload)

The War Room

The double doors on this floor are heavy and locked, especially before the hunters find the cells. There’s an impressively thick concrete wall surrounding most of this floor, without doing something to crack the metal vaultlike door, the only area available to the players is a long spiraling hallway that extends all the way around. Inside the chamber, there are large desks and a sunken area for papers, desks, and a cage. Large storage cabinets stand against the walls on the left and right, and on the back wall is a cold war era console and three flatscreen TVs displaying security feeds. Hanging in the center of the room, Maya has been captured and cocooned in spider silk with Shiro’s katana and wakizashi, taken captive after she split off from the hunters. She is currently unrecognizable as she looks almost fully mothman/moth but we can assume the hunters are smart about this. Diana Rice is waiting for an opening or for one of the hunters to split off to pick the party off.

The cocoon may be broken open by anyone but fire and cutting force Maya to respond poorly, lashing out with her own powers in reaction.

The desks work well as cover, mitigating harm taken by the hunters or NPCs by 1-harm if they dive behind them

However, the drawers of the desks are connected to Rice’s pocket dimensions and she can pop an arm out to stab someone if they get too comfortable

The pit has messy papers strewn about, as if those who work here only just got up to run. Upon physical contact, it is quickly revealed to be a lure- all the papers are garbled and are made of incredibly sticky webbing, sticking the person’s hand down and refusing to let them leave the tether.

The cabinets on the left and right side can be used by Rice either as ambush spots for her to exact attacks or to fling open and let loose the puppeteered corpses of her men, assuming that most of them have been killed on the way down. They are unable to be killed but can be destroyed or have their strings cut.

A vent directly above the center of the room goes unnoticed unless a PC looks up or Investigates a Mystery > What is being concealed here? Diana Rice may use this to gain elevation, become hard to hit, and rain bullets and grenades down.

Diana Rice: An ambitious Naval officer and avatar of the Web, she has been collecting other avatars and artefacts to weaponize. She wields a sniper rifle when she can, and uses her tunnels to ambush, move impossible speeds, and ambush. If the Hunters have a Vast, End, or Lonely entity, she will try to capture them nonlethally, but will not hold back otherwise.

HP: [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] Armor: 2

Sneaky: Attacking from ambush or behind inflicts +2 extra harm

Puppets: felled soldiers have been pulled to the war room, bursting out of cabinet doors or desk drawers to surprise the hunters and provide Rice cover. They can be dealt with by severing the strings or destroying the body.

Weapon: Assault Rifle (3-harm far area loud reload)

Grenades x2 (4-harm close area messy loud)

SMG (3-harm close area loud reload)

Weapon: Sniper Rifle (4-harm far) can only be used from above unless completely opposite the hunters in the room.

Upon her death, the bunker will begin to melt and be crushed by the earth surrounding it. The party will have to escape quickly to avoid damage.

#the magnus archives #tma motw #monster of the week #pbta #the monstrous archives #Hunt Module Missing Maidens Muddy Mementos and Mad Mothmen #mothman

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mycrofts-sword-gunbrella · 3 years

Text

The Syncode

CH. 6: Plans, Relationships and Shopping

It was nearly midnight and Mycroft was still at his desk, pouring over files and reports. Nothing of seeming importance stood out, and the search was leading nowhere. About to call it a night, his private cell rang:

Julian.

He prayed there was a lead on that end of things, and quickly answered it. Mycroft's eyes widened in disbelief as his cousin relayed the brief communique he'd received from the Cryptology department. He poured himself another scotch from the cut crystal decanter set on his desk.

"It's more than likely the scientists on that island were working on a separate project not related to the atomic testing there," Julian explained, referring to the nuclear tests conducted in the Marshall Islands at the end of WW2. "In fact," he continued, "one of them was a British - Australian. I'm sure you've heard the name: Ernest Titterton?"

"He lived until the early '90's, I believe," Mycroft said.

"Correct. He was involved in the Manhattan Project before the Americans severed their collaboration with the British Tube Alloy project," Julian replied. "After the war Titterton was selected to advise the Naval Research Laboratories in Washington, D.C. on the Operation Crossroads nuclear tests. He was asked to stay due to his expertise in timing measurements, and performed the countdown for both tests at Bikini Atoll. I believe he was also involved with the tests performed on this other island nearby."

The Australian SIS had intercepted messages between Andrena's contacts, learning of movement of her people to and from one of the Bikini Atoll islands. The two main players were the same ones in both Macau and Majuro. Julian had at once focused his research on the history of the islands, as well as the covert projects performed there that had escaped the history books. It was possible everything was tied together.

"And this other project at the Bikini Atolls had nothing to do with nuclear physics? Titterton was a nuclear physicist. Remember, it was a race against the Germans at that time to develop that technology," said Mycroft.

"From what little I can find on it, no, it had nothing to do with it. Yet Titterton worked closely with Vannevar Bush, who was also head of the U.S. Office of Scientific Research and Development and oversaw the Manhattan Project. Most likely it was in part for the war effort. The sheer isolation alone would have made the Atolls the perfect spot to conduct their experiments. Operating under the guise of the Crossroads project gave them an additional cover."

Mycroft rapidly put together all the facts, trying to find a common denominator:

Present - A lone island in the Bikini Atolls and a shadowy person named 'Andrena' who seemed to have top government connections.

Past - Operation Crossroads nuclear tests post WW2, most likely overseen in some way by Vannevar Bush, who was also the head of the Manhattan Project some years earlier. An American engineer and inventor, he had joined the Department of Electrical Engineering at Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) in 1919. Bush was also a science administrator, who during World War II headed the U.S. Office of Scientific Research and Development the initiation and early administration of the Manhattan Project. Emphasizing the importance of scientific research to national security, he was chiefly responsible for the creation of the National Science Foundation. It appeared Bush had his hands in a multitude of pies, and top secret ones at that. So much fell under this man's umbrella that he was more than likely indirectly involved in the Crossroads tests. Mycroft smiled. Vannevar Bush was not unlike himself, and had very much been his American counterpart, answering also to the leader of that country. And what did Titterton, a British-Australian nuclear physicist also involved in the atomic explosions have to do with this secret project at Bikini?

"Do we have any clue as to who the other four scientists were that worked on this secret project?" Mycroft asked.

"Only very few sketchy details, I'm afraid, " Julian replied. "They were masters in their fields, but none involved atomic principles. In fact, their expertise lay in electromagnetism!"

Vannevar Bush also happened to be an electrical engineer. Mycroft shook his head. Each piece of information yielded only more questions. "What could that possibly have to do with the tests conducted on those islands?" he exclaimed.

"It's a mystery, cousin," Julian answered. "All records of it have been scrubbed and destroyed. My contacts within the FBI, CIA and Research and Development have come up with nothing extra that was going on there. The only connection outside involved Titterton, who assisted in the nuclear testing in Australia later on in the fifties and the Manhattan Project earlier. Whatever this Andrena is involved in is obviously more dangerous that what we previously surmised," he concluded.

"Indeed. We were of the opinion they were involved with the Spratly islands, due to what little we could glean from the intercepted messages of their Macau contact," Mycroft sighed.

"This is much bigger and far reaching, I'm afraid," Julian said. He paused. "How is Joanne?"

Mycroft smiled. "She is doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances."

"Good to hear it. I worry about that one," Julian said fondly. "It was my fault," he said, sadly shaking his head. If only he hadn't fallen for the enemy's ploy and called her..

"Possibly," Mycroft agreed, "but what's done is done. We would not have secured Soleimani had it not happened," he said pragmatically. Interrogated with the harshest of Mycroft's tactics, the Albanian had still refused to talk. Learning nothing from him, he was incarcerated in a top security institution for life.

Try as he might, Julian worried constantly about her, even though he knew she was safe with his cousins. "You saw the jewelry I sent with her?" he asked, referring to the writing inscribed inside.

"I did," answered Mycroft. "You think a great deal of this woman."

"I would trust her with my life, yes. She means a great deal to me."

"And yet you sent her to me," Mycroft stated. He had known almost instantly the reason for sending her, and no one else.

"Joanne will be good for you, cousin. Since she will be with you until this business is over, I suggest you get to know her. Take her out a bit, show her the sights. I dare say she would especially appreciate the quieter parks and countryside," Julian added.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "I am afraid you are mistaken, cousin mine. As you have so often told me, caring is not an advantage, especially in our family. A polite host I will be, but nothing more, I assure you. "

Julian's voice hardened immediately. "You are treating her well, I trust?"

Words lodged in his throat as Mycroft realized his cousin hadn't yet learned of the film room incident, nor that the attack at the hotel was exacerbated due to a miscalculation on his part. Most likely even his brother had thought that maximum security had been put around the hotel. Assigning only the bare minimum for protection, Mycroft was glad that Sherlock had been there - the alternative was unthinkable. He hadn't expected their adversary to consider Joanne a threat, much less even know about her.

The small pause was all it took.

A blistering tirade proceeded over the line as Julian swore up a storm, searing his cousin's ears a hot shade of pink. In no great detail, Mycroft described his embarrassing lack of oversight and severe underestimation of their enemy's resolve, as well as the scene in the film room and Joanne's calm reaction. He didn't mention the tears in her eyes.

"Bloody hell Mycroft!! I gave her my word that she would be safe you, that she could trust you!" Julian paused, catching his breath. "What were you thinking?!"

Not one to be stuck for words, Mycroft was speechless in the face of his elder cousin's anger. What could he say? Julian was right.

Julian went on. "Of course she would appear steady considering her condition, look at the practice she's had of hiding emotions all these years." The anger subsided as he realized that he had also snapped at her on occasion. "I am sorry cousin. The Holmes temper does nothing to help our relationships, does it?"

"And what exactly is your relationship with Miss Hartwell?" Mycroft asked.

"I.." It was now Julian's turn to be at a loss for words. "She is a good friend of mine, nothing more," he said, his composure and steely reserve intact once again. "I mean for you to get acquainted and become friends; and in time, possibly something more," he announced. "I am adamant on this cousin, and will hear no argument."

"And what is her opinion on the matter? Have you asked her?"

Julian sighed. "No I have not, nor do I intend to. What she thinks at the moment is of no consequence. As for the earlier incident - make it up to her. Take her out for a meal. Make her happy, Mycroft. For me. That's all I ask."

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Why is this so important to you? We do have slightly more pressing matters to hand, cousin mine. This new threat and their involvement in the Pacific islands?"

Julian wasn't to be dissuaded. "I am only looking out for your welfare and Joanne's, Mycroft, especially that of your happiness."

"I am happy enough, thank you," Mycroft replied coldly. "If Miss Hartwell is not, then I am afraid there is nothing I can do to remedy that."

"You are content enough at work, I'm sure; but I meant in all aspects of your life. Admit it cousin, you are lonely, as is Joanne. And yes, you can indeed remedy that. For the both of you."

Mycroft was more than a bit irritated that he had in fact felt an almost kindred connection with Joanne Hartwell - and something else that he didn't care to examine too closely. He'd known her only one day, after all. This wasn't something he would admit to Julian, however. Bringing the topic back to their current problem, he said "Relationships notwithstanding, I believe a trip to the Marshall Islands is in order."

There was silence as Julian considered this. Joanne would of course have to accompany them, and he said as much. After the events at the Lanesborough, there was no way she could be left alone in London. Although they had nabbed the assassin, Julian had no doubt their adversary had more lined up to finish the job.

"You do realize we would be going right into enemy territory, cousin. Andrena will no doubt have operatives waiting. Miss Hartwell will be, I believe, in even more danger there," Mycroft stated.

"She will be with yourself and Sherlock," Julian intonated. Hearing the surprised silence at the other end, he added "I recommend that your brother go along as well. Both of you will be needed on this, I'm afraid."

"And no doubt as extra protection for Miss Hartwell," replied an amused Mycroft.

"Quite so, cousin. Handpicked agents will of course be sent as a vanguard to scout for any danger before your arrival, of course," Julian said.

"Naturally, though no doubt Sherlock will beat them to it," Mycroft replied. "He does love his legwork," he said as he tried unsuccessfully to withhold a giant yawn.

"Ah, it's well after midnight there. We will continue this conversation once we have more information. In the mean time, surveillance will be maintained on the known contacts out here in the Pacific." A note of questioning disbelief crept into Julian's voice. "How the blazes can they only trace her contacts' side of the conversation?" he wondered. "They were pinned down easily enough!"

"We believe it to be some kind of new technology unknown to the government at the moment," Mycroft answered. "From the one ended dialogue we have heard so far, it would appear that she knows a great deal regarding it. They are interested in acquiring the data that was being experimented with, after all."

Something else occurred to Mycroft. "Since the only things we know of the scientists are their shared background in electromagnetics, I will conduct a search of my own in regards to this person. It is quite possible she also has a similar background."

"That make sense. Again, it depends if she is working for someone, in which case it is they who have that knowledge. Either way, it's a place to start."

They hung up, with a date set for one last communication to discuss in detail the logistics of the Holmes brother's pending trip to the Marshall Islands. It would be done entirely in Syncode, sent as Morse code in the Latin alphabet on a predetermined shortwave frequency. Both owned HAM radio receivers, and due to their positions within the government, needed no official license to operate them. This would provide extra layers of protection for communiqué between the three Holmes men, wherever they happened to be. If all went to plan, they would be on their way to the Marshall Islands in two weeks time.

***

Bright sunlight filled the room as Joanne slowly opened her eyes. The large four poster had proven quite comfortable. She realized for the first time that she'd managed to sleep the whole night without once waking up. Perhaps it was the new surroundings that did not have the memory of a traumatic event attached to it, unlike her apartment. Most nights were spent only half sleep, as though her body was determined not to shut all the way down in case another fire should break out. It didn't help that her neighbors would literally run down the stairs in the middle of the night. There were times when Joanne wanted to call out from her window and ask them this. Why did they run? Where were they going in such a hurry at that late hour? For a brief moment, Joanne wondered where she was before remembering the attack at the hotel and Mycroft's offer to bring her home, albeit temporarily while the flat next to his brother's was being prepared.

Pulling the last change of clothes from her duffel, an unpleasant thrill of anxiety raced through her. Mycroft had told her to be ready early for a shopping excursion with his assistant. A 'missed alarm' alert appeared at the top of her phone screen. Oh no. And he had given her the phone back just for that purpose with a promise not to use it to make phone calls. Not that she had anyone in her contacts list except work, her parents and the fish sitters. She was surprised no one had awakened her. The sun was already making its way toward the midmorning point in the sky. Joanne hurriedly finished dressing and made her way downstairs, pausing at the landing. Where would she find Mycroft? More than likely in his study she thought, remembering Olivia's earlier words. Apparently he never went into the kitchen. Finding the solid door shut, she gently knocked.

"Enter," came the muffled command.

She found Mycroft at his customary place behind the desk. "You're finally up," he said drily.

"I'm so sorry, Mycroft! I know you said to be up early. I didn't hear the alarm. Guess I was more tired than I thought," Joanne said sheepishly. "I'm sorry about the shopping thing.."

"Pardon? Did I say that it was canceled?" He indicated a chair in front of the desk. "It's just as well, actually. Sherlock's contact had something come up last night, and was only able to finish the security on it an hour ago. Anyway, I expect you needed the extra sleep, considering yesterday's events."

"Ah, well that's good. You said we were going to stop by his place to get it before Anthea takes me out." Just thinking of the endless hours trying on of clothes made her exhausted. She was glad for the simple leggings and t-shirt that could easily be shed in the dressing rooms.

Again, Mycroft had the uncanny habit of reading a person's micro expressions. "Have you eaten? I expect you will need your energy for it."

Joanne got up to go. "I'll have a gander in the kitchen. Maybe there's some leftovers."

"You will do no such thing," he said as she reluctantly sat back down. "I will be ready in five minutes. Do you have the phone with you?" he asked, extending a hand to retrieve it from her.

"Yeah, here," she said, handing it to him. "I did use it for reading my commentaries, though. Hey! I got your message, too - I accept your apology," she said, referring to the poem he had told her to read the night before.

Though the usual unassailable composure remained intact, she noted a faint blush to the tips of his ears. Joanne hid a smile as she looked down at her lap. It was obvious to her that this man loved, no, craved, compliments and statements of appreciation. Remembering his parent's lack of attention to him as a child, it was no wonder. She vowed to do so often. As important as Mycroft Holmes was in his work world, he was still very much undervalued as a person, especially by his family. Joanne vowed to make up for it in some way, however small.

"Yes, I thought you might discern the meaning behind it. My methods are not always understood by most people, goldfish that they are," he stated loftily.

That they are, Joanne mused. Did he not consider her a goldfish, then? It was her turn to color a light shade of pink.

"Did you read any more of the poems?" he asked. "As I said, you may borrow them from the library anytime you wish," he reminded her.

"Of course, and thank you," she said. Her dad was especially fond of poetry, though Joanne had never gotten into it. This wasn't something Mycroft needed to know, however; she wanted to build a rapport and find some kind of common ground with him. Perhaps she would browse through a few and hopefully take a liking to one of the authors. She was glad they shared an interest in film noir at least, though Joanne wasn't keen to visit that room again any time soon. "I did not read any more afterwards, I'm afraid. Strangely enough, it was in your voice that I heard the narrator! I fell asleep right after the last line."

"I am glad that my voice has an anesthetic effect on you," Mycroft stated mildly.

"Hardly. It is calming though." Joanne closed her eyes. "Very soft and soothing, and not unpleasant."

If anyone else had said this, Mycroft would have known instantly they were lying, or more likely, bribing him with flattery. Remembering the effects that audio and other stimuli had with Miss Hartwell during their first encounter, he had no doubt that she was telling the truth. A little more than his ears suffused with color as he lowered his head to study a file that lay open on the desk, hoping she didn't notice.

Joanne did, however. Her medical background had trained her to notice the slightest change in a patient, which worked for her in any situation. The extreme polarities of this man were astounding, whose character vacillated between cold, formidable and downright sinister to sweet, vulnerable and at the moment, somewhat bashful. Mycroft Holmes was like a multi faceted diamond, reflecting a full spectrum of colors from every angle. Joanne was drawn to him, and wanted to explore each plane and prism of this jewel that sat before her. She shook her head at the direction of her thoughts. Haven't had my coffee yet, she reasoned pragmatically.

She walked over to the windows that overlooked both the front and side of the house. The place is perfect for bird watching, she thought. It was a pity she would only be here one more night before moving into the flat next to Sherlock's. Shrubbery, trees and hedgerows grew in thick abundance here. Even from where she stood, Joanne could see various birds flitting in and out among them. They were different here, and there were no hummingbirds in this part of the world. Still, there were a few she could name, having watched bird cams that were scattered about England, as well as British nature shows. The Blue and Great Tits were here favorites. Sighing wistfully, she wondered what her own birds were up to.

Mycroft mistook the sound as a sigh of impatience. "In a hurry, Miss Hartwell?" he asked, looking up from the laptop.

"Huh? What do you mean?" she responded, a look of confusion on her face. Brightening, Joanne realized Julian had had a similar reaction to her body language when she was deep in thought. "No, not at all. I was just watching the birds outside, and wondering what mine are doing. They do have nice ones here, though. Your yard is perfect for it. Bird watching, I mean. Should put up a few feeders."

"Hardly. They make a mess," he said dispassionately. "The seeds would attract rodents, no doubt." Mycroft resumed his typing.

"They don't at my place. I keep it swept up. Then again, I live on the 2nd floor, so the rodents can't climb up. Did have a pesky squirrel for a while, when the old neighbors were there. They had a bamboo screen it would climb up.." She trailed off, assuming he'd stopped listening, and turned back to the windows and stuffed her hands into the large front pocket of her hoodie.

Unbeknownst to her, Mycroft heard every word, and filed away those little facts for later.

Finished, Mycroft stood up and closed the laptop. "Are you ready?"

"Yep. Going to Sherlock's first?" she asked.

"No. Since we both have not eaten yet, might I suggest a stop along the way? There is a nice little bakery that I frequent near Vauxhall in East Kensington. It is on the way to my brother's. It will have to be take away, I am afraid," he said apologetically.

"Ahh nice! I assume they have coffee? Would go great with a donut." Her stomach growled at the thought.

A pained look crossed Mycroft's face at Joanne's choice of words. "They are not donuts," he said with a sniff. "Maitre Choux serves éclairs, buns, profiteroles and other assorted pastries. Donuts, I assure you, are not one of them," he finished imperiously.

"Well, they sound good, whatever they are. Only thing I recognized were the éclairs. Love those!"

"Yes, well. Let's go, shall we? I daresay my assistant is waiting impatiently to show you the shops. She spends a great deal of time there when not on duty."

Oh no, Joanne thought. Remembering the smart outfit Anthea had worn the day prior, it stood to reason that she had an eye for tailoring, as did her employer. Unfortunately, it probably wouldn't be the grab and go kind of shopping she was used to. She hoped the coffee at that bakery was strong.

Wilson had brought the Bentley around to the front where he greeted them, opening the door for them both. He and Joanne made the usual small talk, while Mycroft made a few mundane business calls along the way. Texting a reply to his brother, he appeared withdrawn, almost apprehensive.

"What?" Joanne asked.

"Nothing really," he said vaguely. "I only ask that you not be surprised by anything you may find in my brother's flat."

"That bad? Welp, he can't be any worse than my neighbor. He's a bit of a hoarder, and not the best housekeeper."

"Sherlock's housekeeping skills are sadly lacking, yes, though that's not exactly what I meant," Mycroft said enigmatically.

Joanne's eyebrows raised in surprise, but said nothing.

Wilson soon brought the car up snugly along the curb in front of the Maitre Choux, a chic looking upscale bakery with rows of brightly colored pastries displayed in the window. Joanne had never seen them decorated in such a fancy way before. Most likely there would be sticker shock at the prices.

The Maitre Choux didn't disappoint. She couldn't afford even the cheapest offering. Not on a regular basis, anyway.

Mycroft ordered his usual. Joanne couldn't decide, and finally settled on a rich looking éclair and the strongest brew of coffee available. Mycroft of course insisted that the box looked quite empty with only the two items. He instructed the man behind the counter to fill it full. Back in the car, she had to admit it was indeed one of the best she had tasted. "Oh man! These cream puffs are awesome!" she exclaimed indelicately around a mouthful of cream.

"It is an éclair, not a cream puff, as you so eloquently put it," he said, biting fastidiously into a brightly colored cake.

"Eloquence was never one of my strong points," she retorted with a laugh, thoroughly enjoying it. "Mmmmm..."

Mycroft looked sidelong at her. "Obviously."

Though the rest of the ride was short, Joanne couldn't help but notice the poorly concealed covert glances he cast her way. "What?" she asked.

"You, have, um.." For the second time that he could remember, Mycroft was at a loss for words, and not sure what to do. He settled on taking the handkerchief from his pocket and holding it up to her.

"Oh! I have some on my face. Where is it?" she asked, dabbing everywhere and not finding it.

"Here, let me," he offered.

Joanne held still, watching wide eyed as he gently removed the bit of custard from her cheek. For one hot moment, Mycroft envisioned that it was his tongue and not the kerchief brushing the cream away. Unconsciously, he licked his lips with a hunger that had nothing to do with food. Shocked, he drew back as though scalded, surprised at the myriad of thoughts and images that seared his mind. A warm, though not unpleasant sensation spread throughout his lower belly and went straight to the groin. Mycroft's face burned as he looked away from her out the window in sheer embarrassment and frustration. What was it about this woman that upset and bewildered him so?

Joanne was mesmerized at the range of raw emotions that passed in rapid succession across his face. At first almost comically focused, the look on Mycroft's face as he went to remove the offending article changed abruptly into an intense, almost greedy longing as she watched the sensuous lips part, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick his dry lips. She wondered if he could read the same need that was reflected in her own eyes. By the way he rapidly shrank from her, it was clear that he had, and was ashamed at the brief but embarrassing lapse of control on his part.

Joanne glanced up at Wilson, who's expression remained inscrutable, his eyes straight ahead on the road. She wondered exactly how many other women had occupied the space in which she now sat. How experienced was Mycroft Holmes in romantic encounters and, dare she ask, love? A bitter wave of jealousy washed over her that she quickly quashed. It was none of her damn business, and in a few months time she would be back home, alone again with her geese. Still, the resentment lingered as she pictured Mycroft with a woman of his own class and refinement together in the back of the Bentley, sipping Dom Pérignon from the crystal champagne flutes.

Neither had a chance to speak again as they arrived just then at Sherlock's flat. Unsure of what to say, Mycroft decided it was better to move on and not bring it up. "As I mentioned earlier," he reiterated, having now fully regained his unassailable demeanor, "do not be surprised by what you may find inside."

No more surprised than by your ravenous expression just now, she thought silently.

"A dead body?" she joked instead. Anything to distract her from the memory of that penetrating gaze a moment ago.

From the solemn look he gave her, she wondered...

The stairs to Sherlock's apartment were dark and steep. Joanne made sure to hold the railing all the way up as she followed behind Mycroft. Her thoughts still on that silent but heated exchange in the Bentley, she couldn't help noting the firm outline of his posterior in the tailored pinstripe trousers. The material stretched taught around firm thighs, outlining every muscle as he climbed the steps in front of her. His light fragrance of cologne and aftershave trailed behind him, as well as the subtle scent of the man himself. It was all she could do to clear her head and face Sherlock Holmes, who stood at the top of the landing watching them both with silent bemusement. Joanne knew at once he could read the expression that was clearly written on her face; she could only imagine what his brother saw on Mycroft's.

The bare minimum of greetings were dispensed as Sherlock walked over to his laptop and resumed typing, apparently in the middle of writing an article for his blog. He noncommittally indicated the phone on the table that his brother and Joanne had come for. Mycroft at once picked it up and began ascertaining and testing the various security functions while peppering his brother with questions regarding the specs.

While they were otherwise occupied, Joanne was left to her own devices as she took in her surroundings. Mycroft was right. The place reflected an air of neglect as dust motes swirled about the room. Stacks of papers and miscellaneous objects lay scattered on the floor in old wrinkled boxes, while books and magazines sat haphazardly in their dusty bookcases. Joanne noted a scientific and yet macabre theme to the décor that lined the walls, shelves and mantle. There was no doubt that the skull perched above the fireplace was real, as were the framed insect specimens. She found the detailed prints of the plants interesting; they reminded her of those in the nearly 200 year old natural medicine books she had acquired from EBay, describing all sorts of herbs and plants, accompanied with hand painted drawings of each. Joanne smiled, thinking how much they had in common in that respect: Both were lovers of the eclectic and obscure.

"... from the ice box."

Joanne looked up from the row of books she was currently inspecting to find the Holmes brothers watching her. "What? Sorry, wasn't listening," she apologized.

Sherlock motioned impatiently towards the kitchen. "Patches. In the ice box."

Huh? What patches? Joanne looked inquiringly at Mycroft, who appeared more than a little apprehensive, though he said nothing and looked down at his feet. Ah. Another character assessment, then. Very well, she thought gamely and headed towards the fridge. She opened the top door of the unit.

A severed male head stared sightlessly out at her on it's tray between a bag of frozen tamales and a roll of sausages. Next to the latter lay the pack of nicotine patches. The head resembled an uncanny likeness to the long dead Italian opera singer. Raised in a medical family and having worked most of her adult life around gruesome sights, the surprise of finding it there was less disconcerting than the possibility of cross-contamination with the food. Still, Mycroft had warned her.

"What's Pavarotti doing in the fridge?" she asked evenly.

"I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death," replied Sherlock in a bored tone. "Who is Pavarotti?" he asked, looking up only briefly from his typing, gauging her reaction. Mycroft had put a hand over his mouth to stifle a small smile as he looked up at her. Apparently Joanne had passed the shock test.

She tossed the patches over to Sherlock. "He was an opera singer. Guy in there looks just like him. You really don't know who he was?!" she said, shaking her head in disbelief. Sherlock merely rolled his eyes as he applied a patch to his arm.

Medical curiosity won out as a thought occurred to her. "The head's in the freezer. How do you expect to get an accurate measurement if the saliva's frozen?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"As long as the mouth remains closed, the process will continue unaffected."

"You're not worried about cross-contamination? You got food in there."

"You do have a penchant for stating the obvious. Where else was I supposed to put it?"

Mycroft watched with mild amusement as the two discussed the finer points of the experiment and the intended possible outcomes. A calculating gleam appeared in his eye. Here was someone who was unfazed by Sherlock's unorthodox way of living, and in fact, seemed quite comfortable with it. He was glad she would soon be moving next door to his brother. With John gone and happily married, Miss Hartwell would be the ideal person to look out for him when Mycroft was occupied with other things. As long as they didn't become anything more than friends, that is. An unfamiliar knot of jealousy rose up from somewhere inside of him - Mycroft dismissed it as nothing more than heartburn. He glanced at his brother. Although Sherlock showed no overly friendly inclination toward her whatsoever, he had suddenly become animated as they discussed his various experiments. Joanne for her part showed only the interest of a working colleague. She appeared to be as nearly scientifically minded as Sherlock. Their heads bent over the laptop, his brother explained to her in detail the aspects of some prior experiment involving a case he had completed a week ago. Joanne listened intently, adding her input on the medical parts that she was familiar with. The dull burning flared, becoming uncomfortably acute. Although he considered himself the greater intellect over his brother, medicine was a topic that Mycroft grudgingly admitted his brother excelled at more so than he.

A forceful sigh that was half resentment, half impatience escaped him. Neither looked up from the screen. "I am sorry to interrupt your terribly engaging conversation," he said caustically, gripping hard the umbrella handle, "but I believe Miss Hartwell has somewhere else that she needs to be." His tone indicated that he wasn't sorry in the least.

Sherlock cast his brother a look of annoyance. Joanne instantly realized the source of Mycroft's irritation and felt a deep stab of guilt. The man stood off by himself near the empty fireplace, left out of their conversation, and one that Joanne had no doubt he knew little about. Engrossed as they were in the details of the case, the reason she was there had totally slipped her mind. That reason now stood across the room glaring silently at them.

Pictures from Julian's photo album flashed before her: A lonely and forgotten chubby red haired boy with freckles, yearning for his parent's attention as they coddled his baby brother. In another, it was Mycroft's fourteenth birthday, but the focus of his parents was Sherlock, who had immediately begun assembling the telescope that was his brother's present. It appeared they were encouraging him in his endless quest for knowledge. It wasn't the telescope that Mycroft dismayed over, but the love that their parents lavished instead on his brother. In yet another and possibly the saddest, the Holmes family were at the beach, where Mycroft had placed a pudgy hand on either parent's arm, silently begging to be noticed as he looked earnestly up at them. Once again, both were aware of only Sherlock as he engaged in one of his antics. Both gazed over the top of their eldest son's head, as though he weren't there at all.

And here she was, repeating the same with the adult Mycroft. She couldn't blame him for sounding rude. His expression and body language told her everything: underneath that acerbic veneer was the same lonely little boy in the photographs. As much as she was warming to Sherlock in a fraternal sort of way, Mycroft came first. Joanne wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day with him. Shopping was the last thing she wanted to do.

The umbrella tapped impatiently on the hardwood floor.

Finished with the laptop, Sherlock stood up. "Take a look at my blog sometime," he said as he flopped down lazily on the couch. "Bored," he murmured.

Mycroft showed no pity for his brother as he looked pointedly at Joanne. "Let's go. Anthea's waiting for us next door."

Joanne cast one last look at Sherlock, who had petulantly turned on his side toward the wall , ignoring them both. It seemed his childhood habits had not entirely disappeared. Smiling, she followed Mycroft back down the stairs who took them two at a time, anxious to be out of his brother's apartment.

Outside, they turned and entered an almost identical entrance right beside Sherlock's. The numbers above this door read 223B. Apparently they were on the odd numbered side of the street which seemed fitting, somehow. This time, it was Mycroft who ushered Joanne up the stairs as he followed closely behind. She had no doubt he was probably ogling her backside in the same way she had his. Joanne was thankful for the miles put in around the large neighborhood block and park. Though she couldn't say the same about her large chest and not so firm belly, the legs were possibly her best attribute.

Following close behind, Mycroft agreed as he appreciated the long supple limbs encased in the tight cotton material in front of him. Every detail of each movement was outlined as his eyes traveled from the slender calves to the shapely but well defined muscle of her thighs. Her bottom was no less appealing, as were the soft curves of her hips which deepened at the waist. Mycroft inhaled the lingering scent of her jasmine soap, resolving to ask her later about the brand and where she had procured it. A sudden image of them engaged in the shower surrounded by that scent rose unbidden in his minds eye. It wasn't altogether unpleasant.

On reaching the landing, Mycroft opened the already unlocked door. "This will be your new 'home from home', as it were. There are of course a few minor details to attend to, and it should be ready within two days."

Anthea rose from the couch with her ever present blackberry. "Have a look around," she said. "It's amazing what they have done with the place in so short a time."

They quickly toured the rooms. Joanne wasn't sure what details Mycroft was referring to. The flat looked ready to move in as it was. Possibly the only jarring thing was the unsightly garden area just outside the French doors of the bedroom; it looked more like a vacant lot. No matter, as she had spotted a garden center only a few blocks down the street on the drive over. It would give her something to do, at any rate. She looked forward to adding bird feeders and houses. Possibly even a fountain bath. Remembering his earlier distaste of the things, Joanne didn't mention this to Mycroft. In a large city like this, she had no doubt there would be rodents, and not the grey, fuzzy tailed kind. She'd just have to make sure to keep the space below the feeders swept more frequently than was done at home.

Anthea was finishing up a text as they came down the stairs. "Ready?" she asked as they headed back outside. No doubt she had more important things to do than take Jo shopping. She and her employer had a country to run, after all.

Mycroft walked toward the Jag that was parked behind the Bentley as Anthea climbed into the latter. "Don't have too much fun, now," Mycroft said as the suited driver closed the door behind him.

Still feeling bad for neglecting him at Sherlock's, Joanne walked over to his door. The tinted window rolled down. "Yes?"

"Mycroft," she began. An apology had been on the tip of her tongue, but looking into those questioning, clear blue eyes wiped her mind completely blank. "I just want to say thank you. For everything."

The fair brows shot up in mild surprise. "Whatever for? As I stated earlier, the British government and our nation are deeply indebted to you. It is a mere formality, and I daresay, a necessity," he said, taking in her faded hoodie and worn sneakers with a critical eye. "Now. Off with you!" he said gruffly as the window rolled silently back up.

Joanne caught the hint of a smile as he looked away, as well as a light flush around the tips of his ears. She watched her reflection move across the dark, highly polished window as the Jag pulled away from the curb and carried him away, most likely back to Whitehall.

"Where to, ladies?" Wilson asked as Joanne climbed in beside Anthea.

It was Anthea who answered. "The Burlington Arcade, please," she said excitedly. Gone was the demure professional agent/assistant. Instead, a new sparkle appeared in Anthea's eyes as she excitedly began describing the various boutiques there. This was a side of her that only close friends and family got to see. It was clear Anthea had planned their excursion down to the last detail as she ticked off on her fingers a list of each shop they would visit, with a break somewhere in between for lunch, or possibly dinner depending on when they finished. It was obvious from her exuberance that she rarely had the time to get out and do this. Most likely Anthea ordered her things online. To get out and about like this with another woman was probably quite a treat for her, Joanne thought. .

The streets were bumper to bumper with traffic, as were the sidewalks with pedestrians jostling each other for the limited space. "I hope there's no long lines at the stores," Joanne said doubtfully as she observed a few store fronts that indeed had customers trailing out their doors.

Anthea smiled almost gleefully. "I don't think that will be a problem. We are to meet the Head Beadle, Mark Lord in front of the Arcade. It has been arranged for him to accompany us for any questions you may have."

"Beetle?!" Joanne exclaimed. "Can't wait to hear the history behind that one!"

Anthea laughed, which sounded like the tinkling of little golden bells. It was the first time that Joanne could recall her doing so since they'd met the previous day.

"Beadle!" she said, still giggling. "The Beadles are a police force. In fact, they are the smallest in the world! I will let Mr. Lord explain all of the history. It really is quite fascinating. Ah! Here we are."

The Bentley pulled up in front of a large stone building with a long open hall traversing the length of it. Sunlight streamed through the glass ceiling supported by steel girders. Shops and boutiques lined both sides with a red carpet laid out along the entire length. This brought back the memory of the small red carpet at the foot of Julian's Gulfstream back in Washington. She wondered if this was just a coincidence. Although somewhat modernized, it retained most of its Victorian air - it was like stepping back in time. A tall portly man dressed in Victorian guardsman attire stood at the entrance beside a wrought iron gate. Smiling jovially, he beckoned them inside.

The first thing Joanne realized immediately was the absence of shoppers. It appeared totally deserted save for the staff in front of their shops and some serious looking security. They had the entire arcade to themselves.

Again she was reminded of Julian, how on their first outing he had made sure that the entire section of the upstairs floor of the restaurant was empty so that they could speak in private. This was obviously Mycroft's doing judging by the extra police that were present. These were not the Victorian dressed beadles, but armed formidable looking military type, as well as a few plain clothes secret servicemen. It appeared that he was taking the threat to her safety seriously now, though Joanne thought it was a bit over the top. Anthea had been right - there was no need to worry about lines, or 'queues' as the English called it.

He enthusiastically waved a uniformed arm toward the long hall. "Come in, come in!"

Joanne looked from the man to Anthea who followed a step behind her. "How did Mycroft manage to clear out the public? This must be costing the shop owners big time."

Anthea smiled knowingly. "He has his ways. They are well compensated, I am told. But you're right. Our time is limited to three hours, though I think we can finish well before then. The arcade is merely our first stop." Anthea looked more than enthusiastic about this.

Joanne groaned inwardly and wondered how they would make it out of this huge place in under three hours. It would take that long just trying on each outfit.

Before they got down to business, Mr. Lord gave them a quick tour as they walked, explaining the history of the place. No doubt Anthea was more than familiar with every shop they passed. Joanne figured this was Mycroft's way of introducing her to the city that was so close to his heart. Her ears perked up when the Head Beadle mentioned the threat of crime.

"In the late 1800s, however, the Beadles were in a constant battle against ne'er do wells. This is why whistling is banned from the arcade – because it was used as code between pickpockets."

This was good to know, she thought. It was probably still true out on the streets.

"Clucking is also disallowed," he continued, "after prostitutes rented the rooms overhead and used the sound as they waved red handkerchiefs to attract the attention of men below. Singing, or any kind of 'merriment' – that is, drunkenness – was and still is a definite no-no."

Joanne grinned. "Wow. Sounds like a colorful history for sure!"

Mr. Lord rattled off other various tidbits regarding the arcade: "Notice the marble floor has a slight incline - this was so the ladies didn't need to raise their long skirts. And did you know that hurrying, opening umbrellas and singing are banned? Officially, the only person allowed to whistle in the arcade is Sir Paul McCartney!"

Anthea reluctantly apologized for the short time they would have to spend here. "Unfortunately, there are a few other places that we need to stop at. However, I promise you we will enjoy every minute of our stay here!" Anthea made good on that promise, as she purchased several items for herself, as well. The jolly man beamed.

It turned out that Mycroft had sent Joanne's measurements to the managers of select shops at both the arcade and the other department stores they would be visiting that day, saving them the time of having her try on each garment. Like his cousin, he had somehow judged her numbers exactly. How did they do that? Joanne silently shook her head, not sure she really wanted to know.

Luckily, there was no need to browse each shop. Anthea had a predetermined list of them that she meticulously checked off once they had left. All Joanne had to do was select the piece of clothing or outfit that appealed to her, and it was a done deal. If she liked something that they did not have in her size, it was ordered and would be sent directly to Mycroft's home. She tried to find only the cheapest, but like the pastries at the Maitre Choux, even the least expensive item would break her bank. It wasn't that she couldn't afford one or two good shirts, having built up a small nest egg over the years. Joanne just didn't see the point of spending in what she thought was a reckless manner. It was too much. She was glad Anthea allowed her to buy multiple mix and match items to cut down on the overall cost, though it wasn't by much.

Even though she wasn't allowed to pay for anything, it still went against the grain. Only a few outfits were needed for her extended stay here, but it felt like she was purchasing a wardrobe for the entire year. It was early summer, but Anthea had her buying winter clothes as well.

"Did Mycroft tell you to get me a whole years worth of clothes?!" Joanne asked, shaking her head at the prices. Even the cheapest piece was in the triple digits. She couldn't imagine this kind of lifestyle on a daily basis, and more than felt like Julia Robert's character in 'Pretty Woman'.

"He told me to use my judgment, so naturally I calculated for your stay here in the foreseeable future. Oh, we can't forget the accoutrements, can we?" she said, heading over to the jewelers across the plaza.

"No! Anthea, I'm serious. No jewelry. His cousin Julian got me an entire set from Cartier. Anyway, I don't wear the stuff. I hate things around my neck. I'm sorry, I have to put my foot down on this one."

She looked about to argue, but changed her mind at the look of determination set on Joanne's face. "My employer will be most displeased."

"I'm sorry about that, but I can't. If he wants me to wear anything like that, it will have to be what I already have." Joanne shook her head. "Clothes are one thing, but that.. uh uh."

Changing tactics, Anthea led her over to the perfumeries. This was more doable, Joanne thought. Perfume and scented soaps were her particular weakness. Though she tried to be careful and buy only a couple, Anthea insisted on selecting more than she would ever use in a year. They were only finishing up at the arcade, and still had more to go.

Meeting Wilson outside in the Bentley, Anthea directed him to various other shops and department stores. At times, she would look around while the sales staff were busy with Joanne and acquire a few more pieces for herself. Anthea couldn't remember having this much fun in a long time. It was refreshing.

They had a quick lunch at a small but pricey café in Mayfair. Joanne was beginning to have a fondness for the little finger sandwiches. Although small, they really were quite filling.

The next stop was The Royal Exchange, where Anthea encouraged Joanne to purchase even more scents and soaps, among other things.

Joanne was shocked when she was led to the lingerie department at Harrods's.

What on earth would she need that for?

Anthea smiled. "You never know," she said elusively as she picked out a few risqué numbers for Joanne.

"Anthea! I can't wear those!"

"Of course you can. See, she has your exact size!" Anthea said, indicating the staffer who was helping them.

"Wait. I understand that Mycroft gave my measurements to the managers of the shop's we went to. He sent them to the lingerie department as well??" Joanne blushed a furious red.

Anthea smirked. "Oh no, that was me! Mr. Holmes wouldn't know anything about these particular kinds of garments."

"Dark colors look good on you," said the floor assistant who held up striking blue silk piece edged in black lace. It was followed by a similar one in red. Other more modest nightwear and underthings were also purchased.

The Royal Exchange was the last stop, and had also been temporarily emptied of customers. Unlike Harrods's which had been crowded with people Anthea explained, these type of open spaces like the arcade were not as densely packed, and therefore made it easier for a shooter. Joanne noted the same amount of security here, too.

More accessories and shoes were purchased at a leather shop, including a new wallet to replace her tattered one and a few leather handbags at Anthea's prodding. Joanne didn't tell her that she would more than likely stick with her backpack when not wearing the trendy clothes. Leggings and a T-shirt were more her style, as she preferred comfort over fashion. While Anthea examined the leather belts a few shelves away, a pair of calf length Italian suede boots caught Joanne's eye, which she immediately put back on seeing the price. Nearly 2,000 pounds! For one pair of shoes!

It was only when she unpacked everything back at Mycroft's that she found them in the bag. Who knew Anthea could be so sneaky?! The sharp eyed agent missed nothing.

One boutique owner had made ready a small table with champagne and pretty little cakes in their honor. Joanne felt like royalty indeed, and wondered what Mycroft must have told them to cause this kind of deferential treatment. He had either threatened or paid them well. Joanne suspected a combination of both.

A knife lay beside the plate. Why on earth would anyone use a knife for a little thing like this? Each one was barely the size of her palm. Picking one up, Joanne was about to bite into it, when Anthea lightly slapped her hand, causing her to drop it.

"Hey! What'd you do that for?!" For a brief moment, she wondered if the cake was poisoned in a way only Anthea could see.

"No. That is not how tarts are eaten in public. Use the knife," Anthea said as she demonstrated cutting her own into four sections.

The pieces barely fit on the fork, Joanne thought. "Really? They're tiny! Why not?"

Anthea delicately nibbled the nearly invisible morsel. "This is London, dear. What you do inside the home is one thing. When you are out in public, one uses utensils, no matter the size of the food."

A small frown appeared between Joanne's brows. "Was this yours or Mycroft's idea? This is a lesson in etiquette, isn't it?"

"You catch on fast. I understand what my employer sees in you" she said, taking a sip of champagne. "You're in our world now, so I suggest you get well used to it," she said as the Blackberry buzzed.

Jo sat back and resumed cutting the micro cakes. "Well, when in Rome I guess. But if it were up to me, I'd hold the dang things! Much easier, and faster."

Anthea looked up from the phone. "There is one more stop we need to make before I take you back to Mr. Holmes."

The look on her face didn't bode well for Joanne. "Where to?"

"I've just been informed you will be in need of clothes more suited to a tropical climate," Anthea said, reading the rest of the message on the Blackberry. A mix of fear and disbelief furrowed her brow.

"The timetable has been moved up. It appears you will be on your way to the Pacific Islands before the end of the week."

#fanfic #bbc sherlock #Mycroft Holmes

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