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madeholyy · 11 months

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home & hearth ; leon kennedy / reader

nothing more leon than potentially confessing at a really unconventional moment [ confessions ]

“Hold still.” Leon breathes, warm fingertips dancing across the dips and curves of your face, ghosting over supple skin with a meticulous touch. In the dim light of the abandoned Umbrella facility hallway, he glows. You're enchanted with the way his shimmering blue eyes are focused intently on the injury you sustained above your left eyebrow. There’s a tickle from the way the blood lightly trickles down in the smallest stream, falling down the angle of your brow bone. You close your left eye, grimace at the sensation and you’re tempted to itch it. However, Leon is adamant you keep your hands on your lap while he assesses the damage. Never did you take Leon Kennedy for a medic, but you supposed it’s a skill anyone in the field should learn should the time present itself. A first aid kit was familiar to you and you’d patched him up more times than you can count, but rarely did the time come for him to do the same for you. Not as if you never were wounded, but you were self sufficient and quick.

His warm breath fans across your face as he murmurs to himself, “Won’t need stitches, but let me clean you up.”

When he pulls out an antiseptic wipe, you cringe. He doesn’t miss the way you eye him and it causes him to chuckle.

“That’s gonna sting.” You point out with a slight distressed intonation.

“Yeah, crazy how disinfecting does that.” Leon is quick with the sarcasm, leaning closer to your face and ripping the packet open to retrieve the small wet wipe. You squeeze your eyes shut. He drags it gently over the cut and you hiss in discomfort as soon as it makes contact. There were a lot of pain levels you could tolerate, but you never were able to successfully get over the sensation an antiseptic wipe brought on.

“Damnit—“ You scrunch up your nose, “That’s annoying.”

He hums in acknowledgement, finishing it up before pulling out a single butterfly bandage from his person. Prepared. It was reasonable. You carry similar items around out of necessity and you would be surprised if Leon didn’t. He carefully placed it down before taking the smallest step back to admire his handiwork.

“Call me Dr. Kennedy from now on.” He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes twinkling with amusement. You merely rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile that curled on the corners of your lips. For as long as you have known him he was always the type to make silly little jokes and witty remarks. Sometimes he was just plainly a smart ass. It was endearing most days and comforting on others. The job you both had was emotionally draining and took a huge mental toll on anyone. It was a miracle you’d managed to make it through your first mission without completely psychologically breaking down, but that wasn’t much of an achievement. You leaned back against the wall as you remained seated on the crate in the middle of the hallway. Leon took this time to check on his handgun, but you wondered if he actually suspected anything could be wrong with it or if he wasn’t sure how to carry the conversation.

“Alright, Dr. Kennedy.” You leaned back with your hands bracing your weight behind you, kicking your feet which dangled over the edge of the crate. Leon snorted, holstering his handgun and crossing his arms once more.

“Yeah, that’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” He had his mischievous little smirk on his face and you wondered if he considered himself some sort of comedian. Many of his remarks were so strange you couldn’t help but laugh. It only spurred him on to continue making them despite the small ounce of secondhand embarrassment they’d give you. And you fully had the heart to tell him they were dumb.

“Let’s get going before I die via your dumb jokes.” Sliding off the crate, you landed on your own two feet with a slight stumble. You rotated each ankle for a second to wake them up and stretched your arms straight up in the air. Breaks, no matter how short, always left your body more tired than rested.

It was only a few hours ago that you both had begun your mission to collect a very important file from the computer system inside an old Umbrella Facility. Not much information was relayed to either of you of the contents within; only that it’s important you recover it as soon as possible. However, you were not alone here. That much had been obvious from your previous encounters. Lurking within the shadows were experiments roaming outside their containment. From information gathered in your search, you’d learn this was not a planned exodus from their facility. It was a catalyst from the Raccoon City incident and subsequent trials. Getting out would not be easy for these experiments, but it didn’t seem they were in any hurry to explore the outside world above them. No, they were far more simple minded and few had any actual purpose outside of doing what parasites and viruses do; overcome and control.

You could understand why Leon had been assigned this mission, but your specialty was stealth. Close encounters were not your strong suit and you were not trained to be in the heat of combat. Instead, you were initially groomed for the shadows. Although you were equipped to handle just about any situation should the occasion arrive, you were used to covering another agent's back and sneaking about. Assassin wasn’t the word they would use, but it was how you were nonetheless viewed.

Shattered glass from the lighting fixtures above your heads crunched under the weight of your boots. The bulbs flickered, struggling to stay alight from the damage they sustained. Your finger gently tapped the side of your handgun in anxious anticipation for the next encounter. You stayed close to the left wall with Leon standing very closely behind you. The heat from his body radiated off of him and ghosted the surface of your skin with its warmth. The close proximity made it difficult to stay focused, but the paranoia creeping up along your spine did enough to keep your attention. The light faded out quickly the deeper you both went until you were left in absolute darkness. Turning in your flashlights, you glanced around. There was an eerie silence filling the air and you felt as if it were suffocating you. Sweat beaded on your forehead and cascaded down your face. No matter what you faced previously, it did nothing to ease your fear. Bioweapons were dangerous and your composure wavered despite the mask you adorned to appear neutral. It showed in your pupils as they dilated from the adrenaline response coursing through your body and in the way your shoulders tense as if you were trying to keep yourself together.

“Ease up, will ya?” He spoke in a soft voice, and you could hear the smile in his words.

“What a comfort you are…” You mumbled with an eye roll. Leon placed his hand on your shoulder blade. It was meant to actually appear comforting, but you nearly jumped out of your skin with a sharp gasp. You wanted to hiss at him to not do that again, but a low moan echoed through the darkness. Goosebumps decorated your skin as a chill ran along your spine, causing you to shiver. You wanted to turn off your light and hide in the darkness; pretend you were nothing. But Leon stepped up next to you. There was something about him at that moment. It was on the tip of your tongue, but the words were so far from your grasp you couldn’t describe it. Though you do know it made you feel guilty. It was easy for him to catch the telltale signs of your anxiety and fear. More than once did he step up to ensure you felt safe and protected despite you both being agents in the sign line of work.

“Let me lead the way.” He was firm and left no room for argument. You merely nodded. With your agreement, he aimed his handgun forward and moved along the narrow hallway. The closer you both got, the louder the moans were. They were harrowing and barely there and inhuman all the same. A luminescent glow brightened the inky blackness and you could just make out the window which allowed you to peer into a lab. Each step closer brought a near crystal clear view of an inhuman silhouette pressed against the near indestructible glass. You both paused and calculated your options. You could either move forward and risk the creature inside breaking loose and attacking, or you could find another way around it via alternative paths. Not a single bone in your body felt at ease walking right past it, but even a different hallway could lead you both to something far worse than your current predicament.

Leon turned to face you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. You chalked it up to him thinking strategy, but you wondered if he was just waiting for your call. He had told you a long time ago that he trusted your judgment back during a particularly difficult mission in Taiwan. Cautiously, you dared to speak up in hushed whispers, “Under.”

His eyes followed yours to the space beneath the window; a blind spot if it could even see. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second in surprise before relaxing into an unreadable expression. With a nod, he waited for you to take the lead. You slowly stepped closer with careful steps among the loose debris. Your descent towards the floor on your hands and knees was ever so cautious and deliberate. The shadow on the wall stayed in position to where the creature was, but nothing indicated it knew of your presence. Everything about its build was subhuman from its heavily deformed head and long, lanky arms. It was freakishly tall from what you would tell. You were thankful you did not have to look at it head on for you’d be unable to forget the image ingrained in your head due to it. It was ideal to minimize contact with as many as you could to ensure a smoother, quicker success.

After what felt like ages, you both made it past your unwelcome guest and around the corner far from its prying ears (if it could hear). You leaned up against the wall, inhaling deep breaths to steady your beating heart. Leon wiped the sweat from his brow. It seemed more of an annoyance to him than anything, but you were easy to scare in complete honesty. His eyes soften when he finally levels his gaze on you, moving closer, but not too close. His presence was meant to be soothing and not overwhelming. He affirmed his intentions by gently petting your head, sliding his hand down the side of your face in a comforting caress. You snorted, waving his hand away.

“What are you? My boyfriend?”

“I could be.” You froze, staring up at him with wide eyes. He pats your cheek, laughing softly before walking away. You hardly had any time to catch up on the conversation. Pushing yourself away from the wall, you match his pace down the hall as you both enter an ill-lit area.

“You don’t just get to walk away after that.” You hiss, bumping up against his back and causing him to lurch forward in a misstep.

“I can do whatever the hell I want.” Leon teases which only frustrates you further.

“So you want to be my boyfriend?” You attempt to turn the tables, but he only hums in thought; unfazed by your question.

“How about we talk about this after we finish up.” Was all he said before he turned your attention back to the task at hand.

Despite what Leon said, you two, in fact, did not speak more about it after. Well, at least not your idea of “after” which is directly preceding the original mission. You were impatient, sure, but you were antsy. It could have just been a bit which wouldn’t surprise you. Leon very well could have been pulling your leg and expected you to catch on immediately, but that wasn’t the case. You were confused. Confused in the long helicopter ride home and as you sat with some doctors who checked you over as protocol. The light in the room was blinding thanks to the crisp white walls and white, well, everything. It was sterile and bland as expected. Your fingers gingerly touch along the white bandage above your eyebrow. Hours ago Leon had cleaned you up as best as he could, his face dangerously close to yours in concentration. You could remember the heat rushing to your cheeks as you studied the blue of his eyes; the way they shimmered and entranced you.

The years had flown by, but your feelings for him remained the same as they always had after your excursion in Raccoon City. He kept you level-headed in the midst of terror; a light of hope in a lifeless place. He always had the resolve you did not and, for that, you envied him. Determination found a home in the marrow of his bones, leaving naught a second thought in the face of great peril. It was embedded deep within his personhood and was one of his more admirable traits. You didn’t know why you joined him in becoming an agent at the time, but now you know the reason. You had fallen for him, plain and simple. You wished to share in future victories with him, understand him like no other, and be near him as much as physically possible. He felt like home. He was your home. And you had resigned to never being with him in the way you wanted, but he lit a hope deep within the hollow cavity of your chest. A blazing fire of endless possibilities and opportunity with just a few words.

You were snapped out of your thoughts with the heavy door opening, whipping your head upward to see who came to visit. Leon peeked in, a curious look in his eyes before smiling and entering.

“I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” You tilted your head, beaming up at him.

“Nah, just an extensive check-up. They just let me leave my room.” He took a seat in the stool in front of you; the one the doctor used when he went over your file with you.

“Did you mean it?” You blurted out. You wanted to cut to the chase. If he was only joking then you needed to know immediately.

“What do you think?” Leon matches the tilt of your head. There’s a mischievous twinkle swirling in stunning blue.

“I think you were, but you weren’t either. Honestly I’m confused. I want to believe it wasn’t a joke, but you’re so hard to read.” Pausing, you gauged his reaction before continuing, “It was just so…sudden and out of nowhere. I can’t have you playing with me like that.”

There it was. The slight tremble in your voice towards the end of your sentence. It was embarrassing, but unavoidable as your feelings welled up inside you. Everything you had hidden within you all these years was bubbling up the surface at an uncontrollable rate. You had spent so much time meticulously calculating your every move and response to him to avoid this, but the dam broke. You were vulnerable, you were naked.

“I don’t know why I said it either. I mean, I do, but I don’t know why I said it at that moment.” He looked down at his hands as he gestured to express something he couldn’t quite put into words.

“I want you to mean it. Like, a lot. I never wanted someone more in my life, Leon.” Now it was your turn to look down at your hands, but you were picking the skin around your fingernails nervously. The sound of him standing on his feet redirected your attention back to him. He stepped forward, leaning down at eye level with you.

“I mean it. I don’t know if we’re gonna have a happily ever after, but I don’t need one. I just want to know I got to love you.” There it was. That word stole the air right out of your lungs. You could hardly breathe under his intense gaze. His eyes looked down at your lips then back up to your own. There was a question in his eyes.

Can I?

You inhaled, leaning up to bump your nose against his. He takes the opportunity to close the gap and it leaves you breathless. His lips against your soft, plump ones. The way they fit so well together as if you were made for each other. It’s so soft and gentle and warm; it leaves no room for uncertainty. He only pulled away a millimeter, resting his forehead up against yours.

“I’m kind of a mess by the way.” He murmurs, hot breath fanning your face, “I’m scared of commitment and I won’t always believe how you feel about me.”

It was honest. Unequivocally honest and real.

“I’m the same way, don’t worry.” Your fingertips graze along his cheekbone, the most sincere and genuine smile he had ever seen gracing your face. It was unadulterated joy. It was infectious, too, as he found himself grinning from ear to ear right back before leaning in for another kiss.

#leon kennedy headcanons #leon s kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fanfic #my works

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plumpedxprincess · 1 year

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The Breeding Facility (Part 1)

reader insert | accelerated pregnancy

this has been in my drafts for so long… part 2 and 3 coming soon

~~~

You arrived at the facility around noon. What used to be an old college dormitory was now the home to a breeding facility, where people of all different backgrounds could come to help the population crisis currently plaguing the world.

You had heard about these places before, where people come to constantly be reproducing. You had never expected yourself to want to come to a place like this.

You were a bit scared to see the changes that would occur to your body. You weren’t the tallest person ever and your flat chest and thin stature didn’t boast well for breeding. But the facility had accepted your application almost immediately.

The lady at the check in desk was heavily pregnant with more than one child. You wondered how many children she was carrying, how far along she was. She gave you a friendly smile before she ordered another women, also heavily pregnant, to guide you to your room.

All you had was a small bag of personal items, since clothing and other necessities were provided for you. You followed the waddling lady, finally coming upon your own room.

It was bare inside besides a nice bed, a desk, and a couch. There was a bathroom next to the door, and a window near the bed.

“Thank you,” you tell the woman.

She rubs her stomach as she reads your file. “Looks like your first appointment is in an hour. Take the hallway down to the end and turn left. Look for Dr. Ambrosia’s room.”

She waddles off and you set to placing your belongings throughout your room. After an hour, you follow her directions to your new doctor.

On your way there, you see various pregnant people on a walk together, waddling as fast as they can through the corridors. You peek into a few of the other dorm windows to see people of all different stages of pregnancy.

“Welcome,” your doctor says as she situates you on a chair with stirrups on it. She is the only person you have seen who isn’t pregnant, which makes sense, you suppose, since she and the other doctors need to care for the other pregnancies.

“Now, you’ve never been pregnant before, correct?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you smile at her, “I feel like it’s kind of obvious.” You gesture to your flat stomach.

She grins back, “Well, we can fix that.”

She shuffled through a few papers, “Now, we start everyone out with one baby, but since this is a breeding facility, these pregnancies are accelerated. Typically, for solo pregnancies, we narrow down 9 months to 9 days. You will give birth in just over a week.”

You feel surprised at the fast pace, but you also feel yourself growing eager to get started.

“From there, we determine if you are more suited for an even quicker 5 day solo or a 10 day with multiples. We go from case to case, so you’ll be able to choose what exactly you want to do. After each pregnancy you have a rest period as well.”

She goes over some medications to take to reduce stretch marks, nausea, and growing pains, since everything happens so fast.

“Sound like you’re up for it?”

You nod eagerly at her.

“Great! Then we will can start with your insemination.”

~~~

The first three days were fine. Mild morning sickness and a little back pain as your body got used to taking the accelerator medication along with finally being pregnant.

You were starting to love the facility. There was green space to spend time outside, there were three buffet style dining halls, and you could pretty much do anything you wanted. Your only job was to grow.

You finally had a nervous burst of excitement on your fourth day, when you woke up to a noticeable bump. Along with your new belly, your breasts were larger, and your hips a bit wider. Your nipples were sensitive to the touch, but not in a bad way. It wasn’t a super big change, but it made you eager for the following days.

With so much access to food finally, you gained more weight with each meal.

On your fifth and sixth day, the changes to your body had you running down to the little mini mart near the check-in office to buy a vibrator. You hadn’t realized how turned on you would get from your new body, constantly rubbing your new belly and ample curves.

Day seven came and you finally went back to the doctor’s wing, for a check up with Dr. Ambrosia.

“My, you are taking to this pregnancy very well! Have there been any issues at all?”

“Not that I can tell,” you say, absentmindedly caressing your bump. You had seen many others doing that, and now you realized it was just something that happened unconsciously. You loved feeling your protruding midsection.

The doctor ran a few tests to make sure everything was going well. By the end of the visit, she suggested bed rest for the next few days since it was your first pregnancy.

You mostly snoozed through the next few days, transitioning between eating food that was sent to your door, napping, and getting off. Your full belly was bigger than you had expected, but you loved the feeling.

You felt kicks occasionally, knowing your child was restless to leave your womb.

Late in the evening on the ninth day, you headed to a dining hall before you were scheduled for labor. Your belly was huge, leaving you waddling down the hall like the other women you had seen. Your back ached and you had noticed your butt had gotten bigger too.

Your clothes weren’t fitting entirely well, but since it was the last day, you didn’t seem to mind all that much. The shorts you wore left little to the imagination, showing off your larger thighs and hips. You loved your thighs and how soft they were, gently rubbing them when you sat to eat.

Your shirt stopped around your belly button, leaving your stomach exposed beneath your navel. You noticed a few of the ladies you sat with were the same.

You feasted on a burger and fries, drinking a large soda along with it. The carbonation and greasy food filled you up well, making you feel full.

It was just about time for you to head to the birthing wing, and like clockwork, you felt your water break. A part of you was nervous and anxious to get the first birth over with. But you were sad to see your belly go. You liked it a lot.

As you struggled a bit to get up to begin the walk to the labor rooms, you smiled to yourself. This was only the first pregnancy. There was sure to be more in the future, bigger and better than this one.

You couldn’t wait.

~~~

#pregnant #pregnancy #pregnancy kink #accelerated pregnancy #pregblr #fpreg #rapid pregnancy #writing #breeding facility

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theprettynosferatu · 9 months

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The gigantic metal beast landed with a thud. Not the most graceful of homecomings, thought the handler. It didn’t matter, of course. No damage to the mech, four enemies down, a few needless but thrilling maneuvers for the video drone capturing every moment. A successful mission any way one cut it. The handler looked up from the screens, towards the solid, tangible reality of his ward.

Even after years together, even after a hundred missions, the sight never failed to impress. Himiko emerged from the cockpit drenched in sweat, every curve of her body glistening under the hangar lights. She stretched. This was a performance too, even if she didn’t know it. Her booty shorts and miniscule top were as much a necessity as an asset, and her “dismounts” were something of a phenomenon among the viewers.

Every second in the cockpit was filmed, every motion in combat captured from several angles, every landing documented to be masterfully edited and broadcast to the population. She was a soldier on two fronts: fighting the rebellion while also being someone the company could parade in front of everyone, someone people could root for, someone they could obsess over. Better to have them focused on her skin, those shorts, her beautiful face. Even her mech, the Enkidu, was part of her brand: it was an older model, a classic -or a relic, depending on one’s point of view- that tended to be particularly punishing for pilots. The goddamn thing was an oven, relying on overheating systems for sudden bursts of enhanced performance with minimal heat dispersal to spare the operator. Hence, booty shorts and top. The effect was simple, eloquent: she was a warrior, an underdog willing to do whatever it took to destroy a more advanced enemy. Underdogs were good. People cheered for them.

The handler shuddered. If Himiko knew he had been the one to suggest her brand…

Well, there were many things Himiko didn’t know, and every asset needed a brand, a simple phrase that could be marketed, displayed, sold. “Sexy, rebellious underdog”. Everything orbited that one concept. Her clothing, her public appearances, even her fighting style. She was as artificial as her mech and didn’t even know it. Damn it.

The handler chased the feeling away. Things would be worse for Himiko without him. He was good to her. Hell, compared to other handlers he was downright angelic, if the stories were true. Even the whole “underdog” gimmick was… mild, next to what other pilots were saddled with. The company had to cater to many tastes, after all. “Ruthless, cold bombshell”. “Cheery, optimistic angel”. “Seductive, psychotic killer”. A pilot for every desire, and joint missions were true events, advertised and promoted with taglines like “...But can they work together?”, or “Angel and Demon together!”. The strategic purpose of such missions was a secondary priority, if it was a priority at all.

Yes, “rebellious underdog” wasn’t that bad, all things considered. The handler went down to the launching bay.

“I fucked up with that second mech”

“It still went down, didn’t it?”

“Messed up my aim. I Could have downed him quicker. Fuck!”

Himiko was one of the few pilots allowed to swear. It fit her brand. Well, truth was Himiko was one of the few pilots able to swear, but that wasn’t something the handler liked to think about.

“May I shower?”, she asked.

“You may”, he replied.

Himiko flashed him a quick smile and headed for her quarters. The handler watched her leave. He wondered, as he had done so many times before, if he was the only one that could see something between sadness and rage in her eyes.

“We were going with something like… ‘Guts and Glamour’, when the op was just Himiko and Adrian, but now that Ruby’s part of the whole thing…”, said the handler.

“‘Guts and Glamour’? Really?”, scoffed Mark.

“You know them marketing boys like their alliteration, Mark. We work with what we got”, added Katrina, a bit offended.

‘Guts and Glamour’ had been her idea, in fact. A bit on the facile side, but the handler had to admit his partner had nailed it on the head. Katrina was rough, but one of the best, after all: that was why she had been saddled with Adrian. “Vain, cocksure prettyboy”, had been the concept and the pilot delivered in spades, which was a blessing and a curse. He was easy to hate as much as he was easy to desire. The company liked to try some “hate that you love them” concepts every now and then. They thought it was a complex character. A pain in the ass for a handler, that’s what it was. Sometimes the public saw their skills and were won over. Other times…

Well, tragic deaths were quite moving too.

Ruby, on the other hand, was a tried and true idea. Fiery, sexy redhead. Not much to do with that, but her genetics did the heavy lifting. Something for the basic teen boys.

“Right, right. Well, Maybe we can keep it. Ruby’s glamorous too”, said Mark.

“Nah. Won’t work. Three pilots, ain’t it? We need three keywords, short, punchy. And I don’t think we have a third ‘G’ word to throw in there. And Ruby has… no offense, but I wouldn’t call it glamour, exactly. I mean, not your fault, bud. But…”, trailed off Katrina.

“No offense taken. We aren’t shooting for high class with Ruby. What you see is what you get, pretty much. And she loves to let people see”, replied Mark.

“You sure got lucky with the whole heat gimmick, right? Himiko can show off and still come across as tough”

It took a moment for the handler to realize Katrina was talking to him. He poured himself another drink, and saw the other two handlers onscreen joining him in a toast across space.

“I guess”, mumbled the handler.

“You know, I don’t know what’s better: fucking the hot redhead everyone thinks is slutty, or being the only one that knows how freaky the rebel girl can get”, giggled Mark.

“Come on, man. That’s the kind of joke that gives handlers a bad rep”, said the handler.

Silence stretched, infinite, plastic.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, man. You tapped that, and you know it”, retorted Mark.

“Say what you will about Adrian, but he makes up for his preening with some stamina”, said Katrina.

“Stop it. It’s not funny”, muttered the handler, shifting in his seat.

“We’re not being funny. This shit ain’t for broadcast, pal. Save the PC shit for official events. It’s just us shooting the shit, here”, said Katrina.

“Wait. You don’t really… you know…”

“Fuck my pilot? Eight days a week, cowboy. Jesus, are you bullshitting me right now? It’s like, the one benefit we have. Sure, it’s not on the fucking brochures, but come on! We have genetically enhanced clones that are programmed to obey and designed to be hot! You think the company doesn’t know what’s bound to happen? Nature’s gonna nature, I say. And it’s not like they’re… people-people, you know?” said the woman on the screen.

“They’re clones, sure, but… they’re still people”, said the handler.

“You mean to say you never thought about it?”, asked Mark.

“Think about it… I mean, I guess. Like… you can have fantasies about anyone, right? But fantasies are one thing and… doing shit is another”, said the handler.

Katrina laughed.

“So let me get this straight: you’re all alone in your compartment, jerkin’ it to a girl that’s right fucking there, next door over, and who would do whatever you told her to do if only you had the balls to command her? God, that’s pathetic. You have a feast in front of ya and keep eating those saltine crackers from ration packs, honey. Okay, real talk: are you gay, or ace, or…”

“No. Bi, actually”, said the handler in anger. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t wrong to…”

“See, I think I get the issue. I’ve seen it a couple of times. Clones are not like you and me. Clones obey. And they don’t feel bad about it, because they can’t not obey, feel me? It’s just the way they’re made, you know? She wouldn’t feel violated or… I don’t know, used. Not in any degree above what happens whenever you send her on a mission. She’s designed for it. It’s all she knows and all she can know. And if we are being honest… let me ask you a question: are you scared for her when it looks like a mission is gonna go tits up? Are you anxious when you give her a combat plan and don’t know if it’s the best course of action?”, asked Mark.

“Of course”

“Me too. Every single time Ruby goes inside that mech I’m sweating bullets. I care about her. It’s my job to make her thrive, man. That’s what we do. You know who’s never scared going into combat? Ruby, or Adrian, or Himiko. Can you imagine that? Climbing into a big ass combat mech and not being terrified? But they’re not like us, and you know what? I kinda envy them. They are at peace. They have their missions, and the complete, unshakable focus to do their best every time. Combat, a photoshoot, an ad… same to them. Just missions. They don’t have to make choices, or suffer the pangs of uncertainty. There’s something beautiful there. A purity. They are what they are, do what they’re assigned to do, and those two things are the same thing. They have clarity of purpose. They’re not burped into existence like the rest of us. And when I tell Ruby to wrap her huge tits around my cock and get me off, it’s another mission to her. Nothing more, nothing else. You ask me, they’re the lucky ones. So, word of advice: care for your pilot. But don’t fall for her. ‘Cause you’d be falling for a shadow”. Said Mark between drinks.

The meeting went on. The handler didn’t really pay attention to whatever title they had decided to give their joint mission in the end.

III

The mission had been a success. In the end the marketing people had decided to play up the “one guy, two girls” angle. Would love blossom on the battlefield? The people saw Ruby saving Adrian from a cowardly sneak attack. The flirting had been heavy and constant. Of course, Ruby had made no such heroic save, but editing could perform miracles.

The handler was glad Himiko hadn’t been picked to move the romance plot forward. Sure, affairs between pilots existed only for the cameras, in parades and interviews, but still. Himiko’s brand wasn’t appropriate for such things. But if he was being honest, it wasn’t the sanctity of the image that bothered him. He had been with Himiko from the beginning. He had designed her brand, advised on her fighting style, added flair and soul to the character. Himiko belonged to the company, sure, but in a creative way, Himiko was his. The strong girl in the posters and vids, the firebrand adored by millions… he had created that, as much as the geeks at the genetic farms. Perhaps even more.

The handler couldn’t say when he had gotten out of bed and walked out of his room. He found himself in the hallway, steps away from the pilot’s compartment. She -it- would be there. His creation. His product. Hours of work, gallons of sweat and tears and anxiety and effort put into her… into making her a phenomenon, beloved by millions. And what did he get? He was anonymous. He was a shadow- worse, a shadow of a shadow, unrecognized, unrewarded.

The door slid shut and Himiko went instantly to her feet. Pilots were light sleepers by design, always ready. They slept in the nude, so they could get into their outfits instantly. Shame was not something they felt, less of all in front of their handlers.

“Do we have a mission?”, she asked.

The handler paused, entranced by the soft curves of her pilot. It didn't matter how much he saw of her, it always made an impact somewhere primal, deep inside his soul. No, not her. The product, he reminded himself. The word escaped his lips before he could stop it.

“Kneel”

There was a moment there, barely longer than a lightning strike. Himiko’s eyes flashed with confusion, a hint of outrage, and then set on complete, focused determination as she went down on her knees. She looked up at the handler, ready to obey. The handler felt almost drunk, giddy. So many men and women looked up to this girl, adored her, saw her as a role model and object of desire… and now she looked up at him. It was intoxicating.

“Remove my underwear”

She did so with the efficiency of a close quarters combat expert. He barely had to shift to let her cast the fabric aside. One part of him couldn’t believe it was this easy, even as inside him a quieter, stifled side of himself screamed. It was too late to go back.

“Suck my cock”

What followed was akin to vertigo, beyond anything he had ever felt before. He couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes. The handler wasn’t a virgin, but he might as well have been. Himiko took to her mission with the zeal and determination of a true warrior, changing speeds, pressure, angle, using her tongue, her lips, her throat. The handler felt something in the base of his spine, an orgasm building from somewhere deeper than anything he had experienced in his life. Overcome by the maelstrom of sensation, he had for a moment forgotten what was happening, sent hurling away from reality by the pilot’s skills. His eyes snapped open.

He saw Himiko. Strong, fierce Himiko. Her expression was one he had seen a thousand times in the cockpit, the focus of an operator in that special zone where only the mission existed, where only her objective mattered. He saw a programmed response, and a reminder of what she really was. Of what he was doing.

“Stop”, he muttered. She instantly did. He caught his breath.

“Could you… could you pretend to enjoy it? Like… like you… want me?” God, he felt pathetic. The feeling, however, lasted only a second. Himiko smiled, a smile no one had ever seen before, a smile that didn’t fit any poster or propaganda piece. It was mischievous, flirty, like they were accomplices in a secret, loving affair. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t real. She made it feel real to him.

She made him feel special.

Suddenly there was a sense of fun, of warmth to her actions. She moaned and purred with every lick, teasing him, smiling and biting her lips, making him feel as if for that moment his pleasure was her pleasure, that he was all that existed, that his cock was the most beautiful, most entrancing thing in the universe. His moans mixed with hers as she worshiped him with her mouth, her hands, her breasts. It was sex and devotion, fun and partnership, lust and love. It was too easy to believe it all, too perfect to resist. The handler wanted the moment to last, forever if at all possible. When he told Himiko to get on the bed, she leaped in joy and looked at him as she stretched on the mattress, eyes full of anticipation, a teasing challenge to her lover.

He dove into her arms. He kissed her stomach, her perfect thighs, her neck. He wanted her, wanted to devour her, to be with her and for her to be his, totally and completely. He wanted them to belong to each other, to seal a partnership that had, in his mind, been growing for years. Her shallow breathing, her whimpers and soft moans begged him to do it, to take what was rightfully his. His hand softly caressed the inside of her thigh, barely touching it, moving upwards slowly, savoring every second. When he felt the wetness between her legs, he couldn’t help but wonder if that too was a conditioned response. He pushed the thought aside and let himself drown in her lips.

She was tight, and he managed to stop himself, teasing her clit. He didn’t want to hurt her. It occurred to him that Himiko was, in fact, a virgin. He would be careful. He would be gentle. He would take it slow.

But she was a warrior on a mission.

“Do it”, she said, panting. “Take me. Fuck me. Use me! I’ve seen you looking at me… my ass, my tits, my face… they’re all yours. Yours. Stop being a pussy and fucking ram that big cock inside me! I want it… I want you to treat me like your whore, your toy, whatever the fuck you want… just give me that cock! Please!”

The handler didn’t know if Himiko had been studying him, gathering information for precisely such an event, but it didn’t really matter. She knew exactly what to say, exactly how to say it, with a mixture of begging and demanding, commanding and submissive at the same time. She knew what to say to blow away any lingering hesitation, to obliterate any morality that might be holding him back. He entered her with fury, with anger, with lust, with the strength of years of repressed emotions and confused feelings behind him. Her legs surrounded him, brought him closer as she came with a melody of moans and tiny screams. Her nails dig into his back. The pain was the one thing that kept him from cumming. Had that been luck or a calculated move on her part?

With all her martial skill, she reversed positions and got on top.

“My turn”, she smiled.

He had fantasized about this moment for years. Himiko showed him just how limited his imagination was. She was mercurial, flowing from one position to another, from one attitude to another. She was whimpering and fighting against her own pleasure one moment, pinning him down and riding him with a wicked smile the next; she feigned innocence on second and then delivered babbling, perverted barrages of dirty talk without missing a beat. She made the bed feel like a playground where everything went, everything was allowed. She made him feel safe. Wanted.

Eventually, exhaustion got the better of him. Unlike Himiko, he was a simple handler, not a trained fighter. He fell asleep in her arms, postponing the inevitable reckoning with what he had done for a handful of peaceful, perfect hours.

The handler called in every favor he had. Burned a few bridges, too. It was necessary, he told himself. It was for Himiko, he told himself. It was the right thing to do, he told himself. Anything to make the voice inside his head shut up for a few seconds.

As a handler he had access to general genetic records: after all, he needed to know what his pilot was capable of, what enhancements had been made to her. There were other bits of information, however, that only the people at the genetic farms had and guarded jealously. But after a solid two weeks of begging, threatening and cajoling, he had managed to get a copy of what he needed, an answer to the question that had been tormenting him- and now he lingered, too scared to open the files.

Himiko was a clone. But somewhere out there there was an original. Or maybe there had been one, long ago. Whoever Himiko was made from was probably an old woman living in secluded luxury. That was the standard deal: a comfortable life of complete anonymity for the donors. They were usually athletes, sometimes models or soldiers, sometimes people with very specific characteristics that might appeal in a pilot, given a few adjustments. The handler didn’t know what would be worse: to find out the original was out in the world, or to find out Himiko’s genes had been taken from an old blueprint and the original had passed away. He just knew he needed to know, because Himiko deserved to know. Not that the pilot had asked, of course. But he needed to… do something for her. Yes, do something big for Himiko. That would make the voice shut the hell up.

He opened the files and started reading, a terrible dread growing in his chest.

Sample obtained through Rebirth Protocol.

It was there in black and white: a rumor discarded by almost everyone, embraced only by the most fringe of lunatics. And it was real. The Rebirth Protocol. Forced acquisition of samples from captured rebels before their executions.

Himiko’s original had never lived a life of peace and comfort. She had been a rebel. A fighter, like her clone. One battling the company at every turn, transformed into an obedient asset in an act of perverted, vengeful poetry. And he had been complicit. He had made Himiko one of the most recognizable faces of the company, a key pillar in its efforts in the battlefield and in the war on the minds of the people.

The handler threw up. He copied the files to his personal device, shaking. He could feel his determination wavering. No. He had to show her, and he had to show her immediately.

Himiko smiled as he entered. The handler felt terrible for issuing that particular order. Knowing what he knew, the smile felt like a dagger.

“Himiko, look at this”, he said, pulling up the files on the screen. It was all there. Himiko’s original name. Pictures taken during captivity. Video of her flying a rebel mech. He looked at the pilot. Something was stirring inside her, he knew it.

“She looks like me”, muttered Himiko.

“She is you. In a manner of speaking. But… you were…”

“I was a rebel. I… Permission to speak freely?”

“Granted! Fucking granted!”

“I feel… something. Anger… no, not anger. It’s more… righteous. A fire. We… I… refused. Refused to be under the boot of the company… we… there was more to life. More to being a person than just working and consuming and… Why? Why do I remember these things?”

“I’m not sure. If you were a rebel pilot, it’s possible they copied not just your DNA but some of your neural pathway patterns, to transfer combat experience into… your new self. Maybe she… you, the real you… is still in there somewhere. Kei. Your name was Kei”

Himiko was crying without moving a muscle. Tears rolled down her perfect face.

“Kei…” she muttered.

“You are Kei”

“I am…”

An eternal pause.

“I am Himiko, pilot for the company”, came the emotionless response.

“No! You don’t have to be! You were a proud fighter and can be that again! We can… we can leave. We can escape, together. Disappear. Go to some forgotten corner of the galaxy, and…”

“Pilots are not allowed to travel without company authorization”

The handler stormed out of the room.

Sleepless nights on unauthorized communication channels, places where the company couldn’t snoop. Editors uploaded outtakes of pilots messing up, or candid footage of pilots in showers and locker rooms. Handlers shared the… art they had compelled their pilots to make, a notion he would have refused to believe not long before. Gene freaks debated new techniques, mulled over the possibilities of more extreme genetic modification. And the handler read it all, looking for the answer to a singular question: was there a way to break the conditioning?

He wasn’t the first handler to wonder that, he discovered. A few before him had been shouted down, accused of being potential rebels. Some had gotten tidbits of information, ways in which perhaps, in theory, the compulsions could be lessened, if not erased entirely.

He tried them all. Flashing lights. Shock diet. Memory regression. Hypnosis. More and more Himiko was becoming like her other self, like Kei. And yet, after every attempt, he issued a single command.

“Slap yourself”

She did so. Every single time.

“I’m sorry”, she said.

He was on his knees, his head on her lap, sobbing. It was pointless. The company had her, and by having her, they had him. There would be no escaping, no happy ending in their own secluded corner of the world. Only dreaming.

Maybe dreaming wasn’t so bad. One could get lost in a beautiful dream. Perhaps even forget it was a dream, every now and then. That was the best they could hope for: to steal small moments of counterfeit happiness from a world too miserly, too cruel to allow the real thing to thrive. Didn’t Himiko deserve those moments, that respite? Didn’t he deserve them too?

Defeated, he rose to his feet. The handler looked at the pilot’s sad eyes.

“Himiko… love me”, he commanded.

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spicerackofblorbos · 3 months

Text

Chapter 2: December

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x fem!mute!Reader (she/her pronouns), set in a modern semi-fictional world

☾ Summary ➼ Due to childhood trauma, you find yourself an adult without the ability to speak. After years of working on it, you have found ways to live without a voice. Now here in your late 20s, you are 5 months in getting used to a new town. On a fateful day in late November, you and your adopted sister visit a local bookstore-café, unaware of the friendships about to blossom. Throughout the months, one friendship in particular develops into something more.

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ fluff, slowburn, oblivious feelings, angst, mention of minor character deaths, trauma, illness, adoption, mentions of fire, disabilities, alcohol use, very light nsfw mentions (to be continued as writing is ongoing)

☾ Author's note ➼ Hey guys! Here's the next chapter, I hope you like it. If you missed the first chapter, you can check it out here! The last one was pretty long but that's because it had to set up a lot of stuff, so this one is a little shorter. The interactions with Levi are short (heh) but I promise the next chapter will have a lot more. Buckle up buttercups.

☾ Word Count ➼ ~5.6k

The town of Jinae started out as a cute crossroads village of sorts. It held only the bare necessities for those traveling from one major city to the next. That meant that small motels, dinky diners, and two-pump gas stations peppered the main road going in and out. A modest residential zone paired with an all-in-one school rounded out the town. Jinae’s purpose was clear; providing the needs to those just passing through.

However, Jinae saw an enormous growth in just the span of 25 years. A pharmaceutical company called Titan LLC sought to place roots in this small village, building a research facility in the hills 10 minutes away from the downtown area. With the prospect of new jobs came more people and more people meant an inevitable expansion to create space for them. Thus, the little village turned into a quaint, bustling town. It was also this company that brought you and Hange into small-town life.

Hange often joked about making zombies, but part of you wondered how much of her statement was a joke and how much of it was wishful thinking. But then she had been given a promotion to head-researcher and they requested that she be relocated to the facility in Jinae. Hange was quick to accept.

Unfortunately for you, their new position is the reason why you found yourself cursing at the intricate filigree mask that dug into your face. It made any attempt to look down at the spread of auction items before you difficult. You glide your fingers across an informational plaque pertaining to an art piece that sat behind it, not really minding what the art piece really was. Your mind wandered to the argument you and your sister had a couple weeks ago.

For context, Jinae hosts a winter gala every year as a way to boost community through the networking of big and small businesses alike. All proceeds from the gala’s events, tickets included, would go into improving the town. But, in more recent years Titan had become one of the town’s biggest benefactors and subsequently the gala’s biggest sponsor. Hange was pretty wishy-washy with the details, but they mentioned that part of the proceeds now goes into Titan as funds for their future projects. Of course, it made you suspicious, but it was not the reason why you were so upset at the time.

This was the first Christmas Eve that you were not home with your family. Generally, by this time you would be lounging around with your other siblings, drinking hot cocoa and watching silly little holiday movies. Hange was upset about that too but with her new position, their attendance at the gala was mandatory. Titan had mentioned something about making the company personable and being a part of the community. You understood for the most part, but you were still frustrated that you were not wearing soft pajamas and were instead tripping over a dark, floor length evening gown.

The thought of the previous conversation makes you huff as you continuously make your way through the auction items, again not really taking note of the piece before moving on to the next. You’ve heard of silent auctions before but have never seen one in person. It was quite strange to you, but you quickly find it’s an interesting concept as no one really had to interact with anyone else. After about the 20th display, your eyes start to glaze over. You think maybe your time would be better spent elsewhere, but then your eyes catch a familiar donor’s name on a plaque card.

Were they here?

You lean over to take a closer look at the small text on the card.

“To You, 2000 Years From Now: A History of Ymir” - First Edition - Author: Frieda Reiss Graciously donated by No Regrets Café

You peek at the item behind it. It’s a light blue hardcover book, no more than maybe 300 pages. The cover was canvas with gilded text. In the center sat an embossed trunk with several branches shooting off in a myriad of directions. It reminded you of a leafless tree. You were not very familiar with the goddess Ymir due to the lack of religious background your home had growing up. But you did pick up bits and pieces as you got older, so you at least recognized the name.

Lost in thought, you straighten up and take a step back. As you do, you’re knocked forward as you collide with something behind you. A cold liquid splashes down your exposed back making you gasp in surprise. When you turn around, you’re faced with a very angry man dabbing a cloth at his wine-stained dress shirt. He stares at you furiously and you feel your face heat up in embarrassment.

“Can you watch where you’re going?! This is a very expensive shirt!” He screeches at you. His sudden volume startles you, causing you to flinch. Hands shaking, you attempt to unclasp your clutch to reach for your phone.

“I don’t want your money! I want an apology! Do you know how long this will take to get out?!” His round spectacles flash at you as he scowls. He jerks towards you with his hand up in an accusatory point at your chest.

You manage to fish out your phone but your tremoring, sweaty hands cause your phone to slip out and hit the ground with a loud ‘thwap’. At this point, everyone around is staring at the loud scene and whispering to each other. You look back up at the man, frustrated tears threatening to brim over. With no way to communicate, you’re reminded of the times when you were a child. You ball your fists in an effort to hold yourself together, nails digging into your skin.

Suddenly you see someone bending down in front of you and picking up your phone. Standing up, they peer up at you with familiar sharp, gray eyes. A breath hitches in your throat as you immediately recognize him. He wore a half mask covering his scarred side, but you knew instantly it was him. He observes your face intently and you’re not certain if he recognizes you.

“Excuse me, sir. I’m in the middle of something. Would you kindly move?” The man sneers. Levi narrows his eyes at the voice and spins around to face the tall stranger.

“No, I don’t think I will. Apologize to the lady.” Levi’s voice is dry and devoid of emotion.

“I beg your pardon?” The man’s face contorts in bewilderment.

“Then beg.” Levi folds his arms across his chest and glowers hard. When he’s only given a shocked silence in return, he continues, “Apologize to the lady, I won’t ask again.” His voice is now icy.

“Well, I never...” Blanching, the man mumbles a ‘sorry’ before stumbling away.

“Oi! Hydrogen peroxide and cold water on that stain immediately!” Levi calls out to the man. Without checking to see if the man heard him, he rounds on you. Your mouth sat agape as you stared down at him. His gaze is still hard as he inspects your face. When your tears start spilling over and you choke on a sob, his eyes widen in surprise. He steps forward right as you pull back, holding your arms up to stop him.

Through blurry eyes, you spot the French doors separating the ballroom from the rest of the convention center and rush towards them for a quick escape. You run through and down a few hallways, a loud bang resonating behind you as the heavy doors close. You almost don’t notice the hurried heavy set of footsteps following you.

You slump down on the first bench you see, curling up on yourself against the wall. You notice how badly you're shaking, and your tears come even faster. Clenching your dress in fists, you attempt to take deep breaths as you hang your head low, staring at the floor. The bench shifts as Levi sits next to you. He hands out your phone as well as a white handkerchief for you to take. You do so without giving him a second glance, taking the cloth to dab the wetness from your eyes before shoving it right back into his hand. You note the black coloration staining the white from your makeup.

How unbelievably embarrassing this is for you. You’re not able to speak up for yourself, then you’re humiliated by all the criticizing stares. And now you’re practically falling apart in front of someone you still hardly know. You didn’t want Levi to see you like this and it made you angry at how pathetic you felt. You open your notes app and type out a quick message.

‘I didn’t need your help.’ You don’t even look up as you hand him your phone. He quietly scoffs at you.

“Huh? What do you mean you didn’t need help? You were visibly distressed. And that asshole would not leave you alone.” He places your phone back in your open, awaiting hand. You snatch the phone from his grip before he lets go of it, your fingertips brushing across his causing him to flinch.

‘I’m not some damsel in distress for you to save. It wasn’t your place, and you don’t get to decide what you think I need or want.’ Frustration flares in your chest as hot tears threatened to fall yet again. You turn your head away in case they do. He digests your message in silence, the only things heard were the muffled sounds of the orchestra and your sniffles. What you don’t notice is the shot of pain that flashes across his face before falling back into his neutral expression.

“Tch, I don’t know why you’re acting so defensive; I was just trying to help. Maybe show some gratitude, brat.” He snaps back.

Your head whips up to glare at him. Levi’s posture was much more closed off and defensive than before. His hair is slicked back, and he wore a simple black suit with a white cravat in place of the usual bowtie. He's scowling at you, unamused. The audacity makes that same frustration in your chest bloom into a fiery blaze.

‘Are you being serious right now?’ You practically throw your phone at him, your anger now evident on your face.

“As a matter of fact, I am. I’m not the one who can’t communicate. Why are you even here?” His eyebrows furrow into a knot to match your furious expression, voice icy again. He shoves your phone back into your palms and you’re already typing away.

‘I can communicate just fine, asshole. I’m not about to thank you for something I did not need. And for the record, I didn’t even want to be here!’

“Why did you even come then?!”

‘Why did you?’ Your phone skids across the floor from the excessive throwing of your phone, you’re not sure who threw it.

You bolt to your feet at the same time as him, frosty expressions aimed at each other. The tension is so thick it could be cut with a knife. You hear waves crashing in your ears as your pulse races from the heated argument, chests rise and fall with heavy breathing. The past month, you two had gotten along, but now it felt as if you wanted to strangle him.

“My little strawberry!! Where oh where did you run off to??” the shrill voice of your sister comes echoing down the hallway. Without giving Levi a second thought, you turn on your heel and start heading towards where the voice came from, picking your phone up from the floor as you go. You clutch your dress in both hands and pull it up to keep yourself from tripping on it, not caring that your worn-out combat boots were peeking out. There were definitely a few tears escaping from your eyes, rolling down your face and onto the floor as you stalked through the halls.

Who did Levi think he was, scolding you like that. You two barely knew each other, so how could he assume that you needed help. He never took time to ask anything about you, save for those few questions at the bar a few weeks ago. You’ve only seen him a handful of times since then; It became the new normal to see you and Hange hanging out with the co-owners of the ‘No Regrets’ café after hours. Even then, Levi continued to be the man of few words. He’d offer grunts or scoffs in return for conversation in between sips of tea. And truly it never bothered you. But that also meant you and Levi had never had a real conversation. You knew nothing about him, and he knew nothing about you.

You almost run headlong into a wall of a human as you round the corner, completely lost in thought. They catch you before you tumble backwards and fueled by the argument mere moments ago, you slap their hand away. You stare up at sky-blue eyes boring into yours and instantly regret it. You sign a quick apology, looking away from Erwin’s piercing gaze. He only examines you with silent consideration.

‘If you’re looking for your ass of a friend, he’s back there.’ You sign to him stiffly.

“Oh, well, I was actually looking for you. Hange needs you for something... are you okay?” Erwin asks softly. You wipe at your tears with the back of your hand, continuing to avert your gaze. As if that was answer enough, he says nothing else. Leading the way, he starts walking in what you could assume to be Hange’s direction. You follow close behind, staring at the back of his shoes as you went. You both walk in silence, and you mentally thank him for it. Once you step back into the ballroom, you spot a familiar frazzled brunette conversing with one of her coworkers.

“Hange!” Erwin waves them over and they hold up a finger. After a few minutes they bound over and wrap you in a tight hug.

“Oh my lovely, I heard about what happened and when I tried to find you, I couldn’t! Where were you?” She pulls away from the hug and studies your face. Their look of relief is suddenly replaced with a look of deep concern.

‘Can we go home now?’ You sign to them before they can say anything, pleading with your eyes.

“Well, I need to make a few more rounds but, I suppose we can leave. Give me about 15 minutes and then we can head out, okay?” They grab your hand and squeeze it reassuringly. With a reluctant nod they run off, leaving you with Erwin. You wrap your arms around yourself, and a heavy sigh escapes your lips. A couple moments of silence pass until his deep voice breaks it.

“I don’t know what happened but try not to be too harsh on Levi.” You glance up at him but he’s not facing you, instead he’s surveying the crowd. He continues, “Levi has a rough demeanor. He may not always know how to handle emotions properly, his included, so I would caution you not to take it personally. In truth, he did not want to be here. I’m the one who dragged him out to make pleasantries with other businesses.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, so you don’t. You still felt inklings of anger lingering in your body; you weren’t ready to let it go. To be and feel so humiliated in front of Levi was too much and you hadn’t had time to process it. Your heart squeezes as you remember the way Levi looked at you before you ran out of the ballroom. Something had startled him. Did your emotional reactions disturb him in a way he wasn't expecting? It could explain why he was so brusque with you.

You glance up at him as he turns to you. You explore his face while you attempt to figure out what it is you wanted to say. Erwin’s eyes were bright and inquisitive, and it struck you how much of an antithesis he was to Levi. Erwin’s warm, soft nature clashed heavily with Levi’s cool, blunt personality. While Erwin was a summer breeze, Levi was a brewing storm. Whereas Erwin felt like a radiant sun warming you through the bone, Levi felt like a raging bonfire with flames threatening to lick at your skin and leave burns. Levi was not welcoming in any capacity and yet you were drawn to him like a magnet.

‘He’s very stubborn, isn’t he?’ You sign at him finally. The blonde man chortles at your deadpan expression.

“He very much is and based off what I know about you in the short time I’ve known you, I would say you’re the same.” He winks at you with a grin. You huff as you fold your arms across your chest in defiance.

You wonder if that was an insult or compliment. You haven’t given much thought to the possible similarities and differences you both had, though you didn’t expect to be so explosive together. Whether it was just bad timing or you two just didn't get along as well as you thought, you didn't know. But what you did know was that you wanted to be home as soon as possible and out of this suffocating gown. Your eyes wander around the ballroom to try and find where your sister went off to. The only sights you see are people mingling and laughing, the dancing all but forgotten. Levi hadn't come back yet, and you felt your heart tug at the thought of him again. How frustrating he was to you.

Finally, you spot Hange coming towards you with a wide smile, her jacket already pulled on with yours in hand. She must have stopped by the dinner table to grab yours on the way back. You step in to meet them halfway, shrugging on your coat the second she hands it off to you.

"Well Erwin, I'm afraid we must part ways again. Keep me updated on your travels tomorrow, yes? I'd hate to find out you went out in blaze of glory by sliding off the highway." Your sister jokes as she walks past to give Erwin a playful punch on the arm.

Travels?

You spin around and raise your eyebrows at him as you sign, 'You're going out of town too?'

"I am, I'm going to visit my family for the holidays. I hear you will be doing the same as well. So, you," Erwin pats Hange's head with fondness and continues, "better let me know when you both arrive safely to your destination. And I will do my best to do the same." He flashes you one of his glittering smiles.

'What does Levi have planned for tomorrow?' You can't help but ask. You internally kick yourself for your curiosity.

"As usual, he's planning to open the cafe for a little bit in the morning and then he's going to visit his - someone close to him." Erwin shoots you an inquisitive glance, the corners of his mouth twitching as he responds.

Levi working on Christmas seemed a little excessive to you and you speculate that those dark circles under his eyes were due to a workaholic nature. But the last part bothered you more than you cared to let on; Who is it that he had plans to see?

"I know it's only been a month but that sounds like such a Levi thing to do. I think since the cafe will be open, we'll stop in to get a boost of caffeine before heading out. What do you say, my darling?" Hange wraps her arm around your shoulders and pulls you close. The thought of being near Levi again after what just transpired makes your stomach flip. In an effort to conceal your discomfort at the idea, you just roll your eyes and nudge your sister with your elbow.

"It won't be a long stop I promise, then we can get to mom and dads in no time!" It seemed to work on Hange because she took your annoyance as taking too long to get home.

After quick goodbyes and safe travel wishes, you find yourself staring out in the winter night as Hange drives down well-lit streets. The lamps flash on your face every other second as you pass them, your arm is propped up against the door’s console with your hand cradling your chin while you stare out. It's silent between the two of you for a while until Hange pipes up at a red light.

"So, what happened between you and Levi?"

Your head whips around so fast that you hit it against the window and your sister guffaws. You wince as you rub at the sore spot. She's staring straight at you with a sparkle in their eyes. Their enthusiasm makes you think she's looking for a specific answer, but you won't play that game. Turning to face them so they can see you clearly, you do the biggest eye roll you can muster.

'It's nothing.'

"It doesn't seem like nothing. You were crying before Erwin brought you to me. Plus, Erwin texted me what he thought happened. I just want to know your side."

'It's nothing.' You repeat more forcefully.

"Well alright then, missy." Hange teases, dropping the conversation. The light turns green, and the car starts off again on the wet pavement. You notice it had started to snow, that big fluffy kind of snow that stuck to the windows where you could see the little snowflakes if you looked close enough before they melted away.

You turn back in your seat and huff. You were not as angry as you were before, but irritation still scratched at you. You were tired of thinking about Levi tonight. The only thing you wanted on your mind was the warm bed waiting for you just 20 minutes away. But you should have known that getting that silver-eyed man out of your brain was futile. It didn't matter that other people kept bringing him up, all you could see was him.

"Erwin told me it's his birthday tomorrow." Hange mumbles quietly, causing your ears to twitch as they pick up what was being said.

You only glance at them through a side eye, afraid your face would give away any indication of that statement bothering you. You bite your cheek and look back out the window at the passing assortment of buildings. Would he be alone on not only Christmas but on his birthday as well? You then remember Erwin mentioning something about him going to see someone close to him; was it a girlfriend? At least he wouldn't be alone. But that just bothered you even more.

'God, he is so frustrating.' You think. You press your forehead against the cool glass, relishing how it felt against your warm skin.

When what felt like the 100th customer had asked him why he was working today instead of spending time with his loved ones, Levi's eye twitched. Like with all the others, he slid their order to them and turned around without so much of a scoff. Today's traffic was busier than he anticipated, and it made him antsy. He only planned to be open for a couple of hours but with him being the only one in the shop he didn't have a chance to flip the signs off quick enough. Luckily the clientele didn't stick around, opting to take their orders to go before they travelled wherever the hell they were going to.

He was in the middle of steaming milk when Hange walked in with a small box and a huge smile. For once there wasn't a line, so they leant up against the register while he worked on the lattes for the couple waiting at the end of the bar. Not a single word was said as she just stared holes into his skull.

"If you're just going to sit there and say nothing, will you at least go unplug the open sign for me. I'm closing." Levi requests as he shoves the cups to the couple. They mumble a ‘happy holidays’ to Levi before shuffling out the door, Hange locking it behind them.

"Well Merry Christmas to you too, Shorty." They tease as they slide up to the register again. Their eyes were shining brightly behind their glasses as they beamed a smile down to him.

"What do you want, Four Eyes?"

"Well for starters, I'd like a sugary English breakfast tea latte and the boldest coffee you have. Both mediums please! Aaaaand," she pulls out the small box she came in with out from behind her in a dramatic flourish. "This is for you." She places the box gently out on the counter and slides it forward.

"What the hell is that?" he asks unamused as he rings up the orders. Breakfast Tea? Does that mean you're out in the car right now?

"It's a box!"

"Well obviously, why is it here?"

"It's for you, dumbass. And before you say anything, no it's not from me."

There's a deafening silence as Levi processes what Hange says. ‘Not from them’ meant logically it would have had to come from you. That very thought makes his stomach somersault. Hange starts rifling through their bag as Levi takes the box and places it behind him on another counter.

"Don't worry about it, it's on the house." Levi mutters as he walks away to start on the drinks, his mind wandering as he went into autopilot again. If this box was really from you, did that mean you weren't mad at him anymore? Especially after last night, you bestowing him a gift was the last thing Levi expected. He felt a pang of guilt, not a lot but enough to make him regret some of the words he chose to spit at you. But then he remembers that defiant stubbornness of yours. It really grated on him, and it made him want to fly out of that door to confront you right then and there. He shakes his head at the thought.

Levi finishes pouring a heap of sugar in the tea in front of him, making sure to be precise with the amount. His mind flits to the memory of your first visit to the café so long ago. Sliding on the heat guard, he then places it next to Hange’s steaming coffee.

“Thanks, Shorty.” Hange picks up both cups and gives Levi a wink.

“Tch, just get out of my café, will you? I have somewhere to be.” Levi pulls off his apron and hangs it up on the hook by the back wall. With his back turned, he hears Hange shuffling behind him. “What now?”

“Nothing. It’s just,” they pause. “You two are just so alike, it’s scary. Stubborn and too proud to ask for help.” When Levi doesn’t say anything back, the doorbell rings then he’s left with silence again.

After stepping over quickly to lock the door, he wipes his hands on a towel and saunters over to the box shining in the afternoon sun. It was a navy-blue rectangular container, about 6 inches in height. Golden constellations wrap around the whole thing, ones he could make out easily. On top sat a tule bow and a note.

Thanks.

Nothing else.

Levi clicks his tongue and pops the lid off carefully. Inside sat something small and metal. He gently pulls it out with just his fingertips and upon a closer inspection, he’s shocked to find it’s a can of loose-leaf tea. Specifically, an herbal blend that’s supposed to help with relaxation and sleep. A sudden explosion of emotions came crashing down on him. Levi places the can back into the box and sets it back down before leaning against the counter behind him to steady himself. Something you had said to him a month ago reverberates in his head.

‘Words are not always needed to convey intent.’

What was your intention with this, Levi contemplates to himself.

He wonders if you like the tea.

Half an hour later, Levi pulls up in the parking lot of the town’s general hospital. The lot was sparse, so he was able to get a good spot right at the front. He grabs the bouquet that rested gently in the passenger seat then sets out into the cold wind, heading for the visitor entrance.

“Ah, Mr. Ackerman, welcome back and Merry Christmas.” the receptionist calls out to Levi as he steps in the sliding doors. Levi just nods in acknowledgment as he approaches the counter, doing his usual routine of signing in and taking a visitor tag.

“How is she doing today?”

“She’s coherent and very much looking forward to seeing you.” She smiles up at him. Levi just hums and starts in the direction he’s traveled many times before. An elevator and a maze of hallways later, he stops in front of a familiar door and raps softly against the wood.

“Come in!” an airy voice calls out. With that, he opens the door gently and enters the room. The curtains were wide open which let in warm rays of sunshine. The whites in the room were illuminated by it, giving a very angelic glow to everything. A pallid woman sat in a bed, propped up with many pillows, and she stares lovingly to the raven-haired man standing with her favorite flowers.

“Levi.”

“Hi mom, Merry Christmas.” He shuts the door behind him and limps over to the chair by her bed. He places the bouquet on her lap in which she scoops them up right away to sniff them. She sighs in contentment at the sweet smell. She places them on the table next to her, promising to get a vase for them when he leaves. Then she turns back to her son and pulls one of his hands into her own and cradles it softly.

“It’s good to see you. How are you doing today?” She squeezes his hand gently, and he stares up into eyes that match his own.

“I’m fine. I just saw you a couple days ago, you know.” Levi rolls his eyes at her, but a genuine smile breaks out on his face. “But how are you?”

“It’s a good day today, I think. Your uncle came by earlier but had to run off for something work related.” She waves her hand towards a large stuffed dog that sat in the corner. It had a red hat flopping in its smiling face.

“Tch, of course he did.”

“Don’t be so hard on him, Levi. Besides, he helped me get this for you.” She pulls away from Levi’s hand then reaches for one of her bedside tables. She pulls out a small, gift-wrapped package from a drawer and hands it to her exasperated son.

“Mom, I said I didn’t want anything.”

“I know but it’s your birthday and I’m your mom, so open it.”

Levi rolls his eyes again and unwraps the paper with precision, opting to pull at the tape instead of ripping it off in one go. It’s a silver metal frame with sparrows flying around the border, a picture of his mom and him when he was just a toddler inlaid in the middle. A moment of them laughing with each other as she squeezed him in a bear hug, frozen in time. He grips the frame in both hands with care.

“Kenny helped you with this, huh?” Levi swallows down his feelings, holding the frame close.

“Well, the picture is mine, but he helped with the frame. Who knew that man had taste?” she chuckles softly.

“Thanks mom, I’ll put it somewhere special.” Levi unzips his messenger bag and carefully places it in a secure pocket. Then he grabs a thermos he prepared before leaving the café, full of fresh black tea. He pulls out two teacups as well and pours the tea in each before handing them off.

“You’re too sweet to this old lady.”

“Tch, you’re not that old.”

“Either way, I love you, my little Levi.” She takes a delicate sip from her cup as she settles back into her pillows.

“Yeah, yeah.” Levi does the same with his teacup, staring out into the winter landscape through the window. It had started snowing again. He didn’t realize it, but his eyebrows furrowed as his mind wandered back to you. Were you safe?

“Did something happen?” Her question breaks Levi out his reverie. He almost chokes on his tea, but he straightens himself up and clears his throat.

“No. Not really. Just trying to figure someone out. They remind me of her.” Kuchel just hums in response. He continues quickly, “I brought some books, but I also have a couple of movies with me too. What do you want to do tonight?”

Kuchel places the now empty teacup on her lap and thinks for a minute before relaxing back into the bed with her eyes closed.

“Will you read to me?”

Levi nods and reaches down to pull out a book about a mystical land with complex creatures and a band of misfits finding a family in one another. A small smile tugs at Levi’s lips as he curls up in the chair and starts reading, feeling at home.

☾ Previous Chapter: November ☾ Next Chapter: January

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paper-gold-theories · 5 months

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I always thought that Goldheart was going to use Miss Heed's imprisonment to kick her out but looking as PEACE is covering up her actions further he so can't do that and has to keep her in Golden Rule.

I thought so too, but now I think it makes sense as P.E.A.C.E. needed to keep a neutral stance so that they still look like the hero in the situation:

The people who were mind controlled by her want to see her behind bars, so they arrested her to make them look like the hero.

However, P.E.A.C.E. still needed to cover up a scandle that an acclamied heroine was mind controlling people for her own selfish reasons and P.E.A.C.E's involvement against it. So they just said she was locked up for kissing a villain in order to manipulate public opinion, such as those not involved in the mind control and rely on the news to get their "credible" source of information so they still look like the hero

So GoldHeart can't kick her out for a small reason as kissing a villain. As people won't believe she would be kicked out, which is a serious punishment, for that small reason like that, hence making them them suspect that she did something so horrible that she deserved the of kicked out and confirm people's suspicion that the rumour that she was mind controlling people for her own selfish reasons and P.E.A.C.E's involvement was true.

However I believe that GoldHeart had no intention of clearing her name and was fine with leaving her in the facility because she had no villains under her control which prevented them from doing crime, she was making no progress with the formula, was involved in a scandal that took months for him and P.E.A.C.E. to fix, much to his frustration, (I kinda imagine GoldHeart is frustrated here not only because Flug put a wrench in his plan, but he is also thinking about how much work he has to do clean up this scandal 😂)

And after the scandal, working with her would be considered a brand risk that would furthur damage The Golden Rule and more importantly his reputation.

Evidence to support this was when "Miss Heed is confident that GoldHeart will come after Flug, and seemed deluded when she hoped that GoldHeart will come from her"

Having the same deluded reaction that GoldHeart will love her if she becomes the most beloved heroine after Flug perfects her perfume.

So I believe that GoldHeart probably made it abundantly clear that he is not interested in her and she is only in his team out of necessity to make the perfect formula for his plan to end Villainy.

Also, to save their reputations he and the other Golden Rule Members probably just posted an insincere post on their social media account "wishing her a speedy recovery in rehab" and say the same thing when people asked them what they think about her during an interview after the scandal in Cosmopolis. Acting similar to when a news reporter asked GoldHeart about SunBlast.

However I believe that GoldHeart would go with the flow of the situation.

Porccini mentioned in Chapter 12 of The Risky Heist that "heroism can be bought" and that's what Miss Heed's father did by making a deal with P.E.A.C.E. and using his villan connections in order to clear his daughter's name and restore her position as hero.

After Miss Heed's reputation was cleared after giving "evidence" that she was wrongly "imprisoned", GoldHeart and The Golden Rule would have no choice but to work with her again and side with her story, because of the deal with P.E.A.C.E and also because it would not make sense if he doesn't.

Afterwards she will probably be reinstated as a heroine and get her city back from the "Justice Guardian Friends" who was sent by P.E.A.C.E. to look over Cosmopolis while she was locked up.

#villainous #villanos #dr flug #dr kenning flugslys #goldheart #gold heart #herbert leth #flug #villainous missheed #villainous miss heed #cecilia amanda kelly #villainous theory #villainous headcannon #villainous theories #villainous headcanon

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boundinparchment · 1 year

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Dream a Little Dream of Me - XXIX

Celestia has a cruel sense of humor. He’s always known this, ever since his days as a student. But a soulmate? Really? Dottore/Female Reader Soulmate AU. Lore speculation, interpretations, etc. On AO3 here.

Assessing damages to neural networks…structural integrity…Initiating self-repair sequence…

Not that Prime did much damage to begin with, Omega noted. He held back on purpose. Prime may have intervened but he would not ruin the chance to get the necessary events back on schedule.

All for her.

Did the fool even understand what he was doing?

He’d set up the perfect experiment to deal with her. Omega wove memories together as one would a tapestry, assembled a life with her without the need for an archaic system such as soulmates, and kept her shut away from everything. She couldn’t interfere with anything; she was too busy sleeping. And if her mind was occupied in another space in the Akasha, she couldn’t dream with Zandik, with the Prime segment that could not afford distractions.

Besides, hadn’t he proven himself to be better, more efficient? Emotions had no place in his synapses; the only value worth considering was the potential outcome, if the benefits outweighed the costs.

Something Omega, inorganic and playing at being human, would never feel. He had the notion of it, had his own priorities and drives and processes that dictated his existence. But the gap between human and machine…Prime was close to sealing it but even then…he never truly got it just right.

All the while, circuitry fixed itself, wires corrected their positions, his repairs as easy as breathing. Omega rose from the floor slowly, testing joints and limbs and sensing for areas in need of further repair. Steam hissed through the pipes, and the floor gave a low rumble beneath the Segment’s feet, the energy making its way elsewhere as it powered the facility.

He would be better than any human in every capacity, not bogged down by emotions, by the necessity of constant maintenance.

Fundamentally, that meant he would never truly exist as Prime did. He was not driven by insatiable curiosity, by a need to ask the questions people were too afraid to, only by the selfish desire to meet his goals as dictated by his parameters.

Omega was as alive as anyone else, deserving of recognition, of adoration. Wasn’t he?

Why did Prime get everything?

He was the better Zandik in all but organic matter and name.

And therefore just as deserving of…

Of what, precisely?

If soulmates were nothing but divinity pulling its strings, why did Omega want it at all? That would be taking several steps backwards; he had no use for such trivial sentiments and yet…

Yet he could only think in circles.

His inorganic systems did their best to process the raw data and emotions that Prime flooded his system with. One moment, it felt as if he were undergoing maintenance, his circuitry on a table before him while his physical form lay empty, hollow.

Another, as if he’d absorbed Electro energy and the only places it could go were his own wiring, the energy jolting through his systems.

Notes played through his memory banks and his artificial heart pumped so out of rhythm that he thought it would burst at their mere sound.

No, as if it was trying to imitate the rhythm, to sync up to them. He only ever followed his own beat and his own melody but every part of him… yearned…

Hoped.

Had Omega not also been hopeful? That the cellist would have provided some kind of insight into the workings of Celestia, how soulmates were chosen and tied together? That perhaps, like Delusions did for Visions, the Celestial Bond could have been subverted entirely and no one without such a connection needed to suffer in solitude.

Prime clearly hoped for something different, however.

Omega felt what he could only frame as a steady fire in his stomach that undercut everything else; passion never dying, never stopping.

A different perspective that still understood, fundamentally, what it was to have this sensation inside oneself that fueled everything. A Segment would never meet that need, Omega rationalized. How could it? After all, he was only a branching path off of Zandik himself.

He was Zandik but he also was not.

So then, who was he? What was he, Omega, if not Zandik? Why did he suffer as Prime did, if they were not the same?

Were they not both monsters? What monster deserved happiness?

With every segmentation, all Prime ever seemed to do was further give credence to the notion that he was never going to be accepted, fulfilled, loved by anything other than his creations, than himself. It drove Omega to the brink time and again when the hivemind began to quietly chatter and then tear one another down. Jealousy was not uncommon, especially among the older Segments who longed for the years of the Younger ones, uninhibited by all but experience.

Peace. Hope. All things that supposedly soulmates helped with.

But there was none to be found inside Zandik, deep in the bowels of the wretched organ that was considered to be his heart. Or at least, there hadn’t been.

A flash of white crossed Omega’s vision, not unlike a refresh reboot of his operating systems, obscuring the corridor in front of him. Instead of his interface, Omega saw her , unafraid, a gloved hand brushing away a strand of unruly hair, felt a hand in his as fingers flexed in response to her touch, awed not only by beauty but by the sheer unwavering steadiness of it all. Something inside his chest cavity gave a small ‘pop’ and the sensations stopped, the scene disappearing in an instant and replaced by a slightly blurry view of the metal grating and pipes.

His ocular sockets felt damp.

Omega adjusted the mask across his eyes and then brought a hand up to his hair, shaking slightly as he laughed to himself.

No, no segment would ever be able to provide that .

Prime was such a fool.

#dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #il dottore x female reader #dottore x female reader #soulmate au #fic: dream a little dream of me #dottore soulmate au

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protege-not-protagonist · 25 days

Text

Criminal Minds: The Protégé Chapter 10

Ch 10: The Mountain King- Pt. 3 or alt title: Trivia Night

Blurb: While the team works on the case in the Appalachian Mountains establishing theories and defining a profile, Spencer throws himself into working the victimology of this new Unsub killer. But it is not enough to distract him from the emptiness he feels in his life, especially after his mother's recent episode. rather than stay at home and face a night of quiet reflection, Spencer reluctantly decides to attend trivia night... who knew it would be the first and last time he would be hesitant to go.

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Audience: 16+ mature audience for depictions of violence and sexual references

Author's Note: if you see a trigger warning that concerns you, you can scroll to end and I'll have a brief description what happens. And how to read around it. TW: violence, crime scene depiction, This case mentions sexual assault, kidnapping, decapitation, Necrophilia, slight body horror (as previous chapter)

Spencer's Appartment, Arlington, VA, 7:50PM

Spencer rubbed the bridge of his nose and inhaled. Done. He had gone through them. All 562 profiles of the unsubs. He just focused on their status in the past 5 years, since that was when Grace had noticed the upward trend. Of those, 32 had died in that period. A few had died of old age, been executed, or died in prison fights. But disturbingly, 19 of those deaths had suicide by overdose or heart complications listed as cause of death in the last.

And even more concerning was that there was a starkly clear victimology. All were unsubs that had been killing and caught when they were adolescents or very early twenties. All had antisocial personality disorder, or Dissociative Identity Disorder, or both. All were having medical treatment administered to them in either psychiatric facilities or prisons. And, they were all people who shouldn't have died in care, all under 30 and not profiled as self destructive.

Spencer wished it was hard to believe that someone could've gotten away with it for that long. But he knew they weren’t exactly people that would be missed. People would think that no one would care or even that they deserved it, and that is why this killer had been so successful. It was why 19 had died before one person had thought twice about a 20th. One random FBI agent who answered a phone call meant for him.

Now they had a base number of victims, they needed to further narrow down the remaining living unsubs with the victim profile. It would help them figure out who was likely to be next. They also had to correlate employee records with the facilities these unsubs, well actually, victims, had died in. If there was a common person, they had to be the killer.

He shuffled the papers back into the neat stacks on his coffee table. Squinting around at the rest of his room, reached for a floor lamp's switch; it was starting to get hard to see. He stood up from his armchair and felt his legs protest. The light level in the room told him it was a later than he thought it was. How long had he been working on this? He looked out his window at the park outside. It only had a few joggers and dog walkers trailing around the pathways.

Spencer enjoyed the new view and the convenience of the location. He had been in his new apartment for 1 year, 8 months, and four days. But it still wasn’t the same. He missed his old home.

He had left it out of necessity, is what he told himself. It was practical. Now he was home a lot more, he needed the spare room as an office space. He also originally needed the two-bedroom apartment if his mother wanted to stay with him on day releases. Not that she could now.

But no matter how he reasoned it away, it didn’t change the fact that the real reason he moved was because he didn't like the fact that Cat Adams knew where he lived. It was the fact that she and had used his apartment and neighbours in her plans twice now. Max had pointed that out to him. And once she had; he hadn't felt safe there anymore.

Spencer never used to worry for his safety, if anything, his job proved that there was no point in worrying; if someone was determined enough, nothing could stop them. But with her it was different. For the first time, he could not shut the worry out. His home had felt... tainted.

It was a shame. He had spent longer in that apartment than anywhere else in his life. But perhaps the change was good. He was leaving that life behind; a new environment would help him separate himself from his past.

Much to his disappointment though, the walls here were still white. He hadn't got permission to paint them yet. Spencer appreciated that in design theory, the lighter coloured walls help reflect light and make the place feel spacious and airy. But other than a vitamin D boost, for him, there were no more benefits. He needed the comfort of a dark, cosy place to retreat to at the end of long days. Surveying space he nodded with contentment. He had done his best to dampen the impersonal-ness of the ‘clean chic’ aesthetic. His bookshelves lined the walls of the living space. Framed yellowed schematics and watercolour botanical prints cluttered the walls. His dark wooden furniture added the illusion of a comfortable age. Dark curtains and earthy tone rugs tied it all together. It was impressive how similar it was to the old the place.

But now there was the spare room. The room with a plainly dressed bed and his spotless work desk. The empty room.

He would have brought his own house if he had someone to share it with. But that hadn’t worked out and the more empty rooms he had in his life, the more lonely he supposed it would feel. Max was great, but when they finally had that third date, and then a fourth, and then a 15th, they both found that they were great, but just as friends.

Opposites did attract, but ultimately there was just too much difference between their worldviews. He had baggage. A lot of it. And it was not that she didn’t care. No, it was the opposite; she cared a lot, but she was too confrontational. She saw his baggage, and she wanted it gone; she wanted to free him from it. Max saw it as if all of that trauma really was just bags and suitcases that she could toss away from him like a commercial airline baggage handler, if she tried hard enough. But she didn’t understand that some things can’t be fixed. Some things can’t be undone. Some things, in the end, you just had to live with and learn to live around.

He also felt that they wanted different things out of life. Max wanted to live a life filled with excitement. She was eager to explore the world, but Spencer craved stability. He had had enough adventure. He wanted to settle down, take life slowly, and savour it. And so that was how it ended. They followed their respective paths. Max found herself in bustling New York, working at the MET. Meanwhile, Spencer settled into a cozy apartment, its walls filled with books and the gentle hum of a fish tank, finding solace in teaching. Or, he was trying to.

Spencer padded across the room and flicked the light switch on, and stared back at the pile of papers on the coffee table. He couldn’t do much more work without Agent Matthews or Garcia now. He needed something to do. Staying here looking at the spare room was only reminding him that there were people missing from his life. He needed to get out. Staying in and reading was nice. But lonely. And he didn’t want to feel alone tonight. Not after the weekend, he just had.

He checked his watch; 7:52pm.

If he left now, he could still make it to the trivia night his colleagues had openly invited him to months ago. He didn't usually like bars, or competitions, or beer. But they had tried multiple times to convince him he would enjoy himself. The concerned smile that Grace had given him earlier that morning flicked to his mind. He recalled her subtle encouragement to try a new experiences; new people and new hobbies. Was trivia a hobby?

Surprisingly, he felt himself move towards his keys, as if his subconscious was urging him to go. If there were empty rooms in his life, he supposed they would stay empty unless he took the initiative to meet new people and tried new things. He grabbed his wallet and phone and walked to the door while he still had the courage. He turned the doorknob and stepped out into the hallway, pulling up the navigation app on his phone. Trivia. He was going to trivia night, a social event, and he was going to meet people. And if the past week was any indicator; meeting new people wasn’t too bad.

Central Police Station, Harrisburg, PA, 7:00 PM

Rossi walked down the halls to of the police station with Dective Garner following close behind the meeting room. Simmons was pinning up the map on the case board. Luke was scribing down points on the whiteboard as Tara told him what they had learned from their interviews. JJ was in the corner examining the sheets the victims were wrapped in from the boxes of evidence. Grace was missing. He looked down at his watch. She was late for the debriefing. He sighed, but knew she would be in soon; she would be late cause she had found something.

‘Well, what have we got, cause victimology is not really giving us anything other than young, female and in the forest? Not too picky as far as I can tell. We’re going to have focus more on the Unsub. What did the scene tell us?’ Rossi asked.

Simmons shook his head, ‘Well he is knowledgeable of local area, looking at these sites this active zone where the bodies are being dumped placed is 1.38 square kilometres, that’s not even a square mile but the comfort zone, is a lot bigger, here-‘ he drew a circle around the three points.’-As Detective Garner and Ranger Debraun noted this active zone was not accounting for the terrain. If we adjust to account for the mountain right in the middle of the whole thing, the active zone is more like 13 square miles. If he had to walk there using the trails from access points near roads while carrying a body… it’s just unlikely.

‘So there’s two possibilities, theory one, is that he lives somewhere in this comfort zone and uses a shallow boat to travel the waterways after killing them. Theory two, he lives in the forest, and has multiple secluded areas to hold and kill victims and then dumps them in sites closest to the area he killed and held them in.’

Tara stepped up to the map and added a point to the board. ‘Our interview found that Hope was abducted from the surrounding forest on this road. Now that we know for sure the stretch of trail that Hope was abducted from and the disposal site, we can narrow down that range that this hideout might be in.’

Rossi nodded. ‘Good, good, tomorrow morning we can get out there with some of your men, Garner, and search the abduction site.’

‘Absolutely,’ the detective nodded.

Rossi paused and furrowed his brow. ‘Detective Garner, does the phrase “your friend trips under the hill” mean anything to you?’

The detective frowned. ‘No, sorry, should it?’

‘When we interviewed Jenny, she said sometimes in the days after the abduction she heard a man call her name and sometimes she would hear that phrase.’ Tara explained.

‘The Unsub returned to taunt her?’ Luke questioned.

Rossi shook his head stoically. ‘No, we believe he was trying to lure her too.’

‘She didn’t tell us that,’ the detective frowned.

‘She thought she was imagining it,’ Tara explained. ‘She thought people would think she was crazy.

‘Are we sure that it was the unsub?’ JJ asked Tara. ‘I don’t know who would even speak like that. It sounds… theatrical.’

‘I’m convinced it wasn’t a hallucination that she heard. She would still be experiencing them if they weren’t real, conditions that cause those symptoms are long term and don’t go away without treatment.’ Dr Lewis explained.

‘I’ve got Garcia researching that phrase as we speak. Hopefully, we can find what it’s referencing.’ Rossi nodded and moved on. ‘What about the morgue JJ? Where’s Grace?’

JJ let out a little huff and shook her head, still unable to believe how the interaction had gone. ‘Oh boy, the morgue was something. Grace got in a verbal sparring match with the M.E. It was like watching a high school debate club, but there were no real arguments, just intellectual snark. I had to break it up, but Grace is still there. She’s hovering over the M.E. while they do a dissection.’

‘Grace, verbally sparring?’ Dr Lewis frowned.

JJ shrugged, ‘I don’t know. Something got into her. M.E. made a comment about how she does that talking thing… And she went straight for the metaphorical jugular. Anyway, I got a lot of information I wish I could erase from my brain.’ she paced across the room to the board and wrote, “Necrophiliac” on the board.

‘Oh, gross.’ Luke groaned.

‘So this guy, still waiting on DNA to confirm it’s the same one, seems to keep the victims for three to five days before killing them and then keeps them for one to three days after death and that’s when the sexual assault occurs. Then he washes and wraps the victims before disposing of them. As far as we can tell, only superficial wounds from scuffles are sustained while they are alive. But the newest victims, Grace believes, show a deviation. She seems to think they were killed before decapitation and then drained of their blood. And this is where things get weird.’

‘You mean it wasn’t already weird? Simmons asked.

JJ grimaced before continuing. ‘One of the new victims had a needle mark from where the Unsub externally filled their bladder-‘

‘-What?’ Rossi asked out loud. The room was filled with confused and disgusted faces.

‘Jesus.’ Detective Garner shook his head. ‘Who even does this?’

‘Well, I’m not sure about the whole bladder thing, but I know that there is some familiar behaviour,’ JJ also wrote: Remorse? ‘I’ve been looking at the evidence here in the meantime. The sheets, the way he wraps up the victims, it’s like a shroud, it’s not just spread over the body, it’s properly done. The way he wraps up the victims and places them somewhere scenic, at the creek. That’s an indication of remorse, it’s shows an amount of care, an amount of shame. It’s a burial ritual.’

‘Yeah, as much as care someone who chops of heads and desecrates bodies can have.’ Detective Garner scoffed.

There was a short tap on the door. Grace's smiling face met them as she opened the door. ‘Did I hear someone say burial ritual?’

Stern faces met her and Rossi raised an eyebrow. Her face dropped a little, assuming a more neutral expression. ‘Right, well sorry I’m late, but I have some great news, some perplexing news and some details for Garcia to look up for our victim IDs when the briefing’s over.’

‘Start with the great news.’ Rossi waved her in.

She nodded and skittered over to the map. ‘I know where the victims are most likely being held and killed.’ She held out her hand for JJ to pass her the marker. ‘So, I called around to see if we could get our lab results flagged as a priority, and well, mainly DNA, to confirm it’s the same guy. Toxicology is still slow, entomology also not finished and the sample we took from the bladder has only just been sent-’

He held up his hand gently stopping her. ‘Grace… What do we have?’ Rossi prompted.

‘Oh um, particulates from the fingernails. The samples were tested before, but only for the DNA of the attacker. I asked a friend of mine back on the second floor to look at the preliminary mass spec, but for grit. He found pure Anthracite Coal in all victims’ samples.’ She grinned widely, clearly proud of herself as she used the marker to draw some dotted lines on the map.

Rossi watched her with interest. He had talked to her about convoluted answers. To Grace’s credit, she had gotten better in the past few months. He knew if she was drawing; she was taking time to gather an explanation with a visual aid. But he supposed he knew of her diagnosis, so he understood. The rest of the team had not quite figured it out yet.

‘So, they were killed in a forge or factory or what… what is Anthracite Coal mean? Are there different types of coal?’ JJ asked.

Grace turned to answer, but surprisingly, Detective Garner cleared his throat.

‘Ya girl here is saying the victims were killed in a Pennsylvanian coal mine. Anthracite is the highest grade coal there is, highest carbon content, rare as well. In America, it is only found in this state.’ The team looked at him with puzzled looks. ‘What? I thought everyone knew that? Anyway There is a problem though, it doesn’t fit the geoprofile. All the mines are further North East of here, quite a ways actually.’

‘Yes exactly, but those are currently operating mines,’ Grace enthused. ‘I suspect this one is old and abandoned. I’m not an expert geologist, but as an archaeologist, I know a thing or two about stratigraphy. The Appalachian mountains, although separated by rivers and valleys nowadays, were once a continuous range before the ice age. Because of this we can look at known deposit on the other side of the river in Dauphin county and assume the layer that was compressed into coal was one deposit before the river separated it-‘ she drew a dotted line over the river and along the mountain and straight through the unsubs active zone. ‘-Theoretically, the coal that ended up in our victims’ fingernails should be at the same elevation as the Dauphin county mine. Which places the abandoned mine on this ridge and within the unsubs’ active zone.’

Detective Garner paused briefly before stating, ‘Considering Jenny's testimony, we can place the abduction right on the outskirts of the active zone. But we found her on the other side of the mountain, which disproves the theory of his lair being in that zone. You cannot abduct someone without a vehicle and drag them either fighting or unconscious up a mountain for two miles. Hold them captive in a mine for five days. Then carry their body three miles down the other side of the mountain. It’s not physically possible. The bodies would suffer more damage from being dragged and manhandled.’

Grace nodded. ‘You are right, detective, I would normally agree. The average distance someone can carry a body is 300 meters or a hundred yards. And if we think he is probably using the river to transport the bodies away from his lair, the place he kills them must be closer than 300 meters from where he keeps a boat. As you said, it looks impossible since the river is on the other side of the mountain. But it is actually possible if the unsub isn’t going over the mountain at all.’

‘There has to be a tunnel under the mountain.’ Rossi realised. It was the only thing that made sense.

‘Exactly, modern mines in the area are open cut, but prior to the 60’s mines were underground. And if this mine is old enough to be forgotten about. It’s got to be Civil War era or before. I also read that this area has a lot of history with the Underground Railroad, which I know was not actually an underground railroad, but it involved a lot of secret passages through the mountains, and also the logging industry sometime would help smuggle people out on rafts through the river systems. Sometimes loggers would create tunnels that would lead to riverside log stations so that logs didn’t have to be dragged over the hill. Point is, this unsub lives in those mountains, and probably has his whole life, his family probably also has deep roots here. Both mining and logging are the old back bone industries here.’

‘How long did you spend reading?’ Dr Lewis asked.

‘Just the plane ride here…’ She shrugged.

Rossi raised an eyebrow. He noticed her busy with something on the plane and had wondered what it could be. She had seemed so focused on it. Obviously, whatever it was, had been helpful.

Simmons nodded and thought for a moment. ‘Is there a possibility that there’s a map of these tunnel systems or survey of the mineshafts?’

Garner shook his head. ‘Not that I know of. Anything old like that, there’s a chance it doesn’t exist anymore. Records like that just aren’t kept. The police records here only go back as far as the 50s. We’ve had a few disaster level floods in the Susquehanna area way back. If something like that existed, I’m not sure if it would have survived.’

‘Survivorship Bias.’ Grace murmured in thought.

‘Do you mean natural selection?’ Rossi asked, prompting her to speak up.

‘Uh no, Survivorship Bias is the likelihood of material culture surviving based on preference. Basically, the more important, impressive, and popular something is, the more likely it is to be preserved over mundane things. If a map did exist and has survived, it will be because someone thought it was worth preserving. If we want to find a map we need to think of who might’ve thought that the map was important enough to preserve?’

There was a moment of silence as they thought collectively.

Simmons lit up. ‘It could be in Union Army military intelligence documents. Do you have a civil war historical society here in Harrisberg, detective?’

‘Yeah, one of the sarges is in it. I’ll go get him to phone them make inquiries.’ Garner nodded and left the room.

‘That could take a while. Do we have anything more to add to the profile than local-necrophile-head-hunter-mountain-man at the moment?’ Rossi asked.

‘I’m sorry to ask, but what’s with the bladder? We see wacky cranked up to 11 every day here, but this is just next level.’ Dr Lewis asked.

‘It a first for me,’ JJ folded her arms. Simmons and Luke nodded in agreement. The team all looked at him.

‘Hey, I may be old, but this is new for me too.’ Rossi held his hand up. ‘How did the dissection go, Grace?’

‘I’m not sure yet, still waiting for tox screens. But this is the perplexing news I had. The dissection confirmed that victim Four’s bladder had been filled externally and drained, naturally. Whatever it was filled with caused hemorrhaging, but there were no caustic burns or lacerations. So at least it wasn’t acid, which I have seen before, but not in the bladder, it was-’ the room collectively winced and Grace stopped her sentence. ‘-awful. But whatever it was caused the victim to bleed a lot. They, uh-would have urinated blood. The level of medical sophistication required for it doesn’t really agree with the ‘feral’ mountain man profile, but DNA confirms it’s the same guy. And it’s too bizarre to be unrelated.’

Rossi frowned, unsure what to make of that information. ‘Well, bizarre and unknown, we will handle with care once we get those tox screens. For now, we focused on we know: The way he’s wrapped the bodies and isolates the victims, holds them for days, speaks to some kind of fantasy. What kind of fantasy?’

‘This guy almost seems like a Power Rapist to me, but it’s warped to where instead of losing confidence when a victim rejects him, he takes the resistance out of the equation by killing them. Then afterward he is ashamed or has some expression of grief in the way he disposes of them.’ Luke observed.

Rossi nodded in agreement. ‘That’s good, I think you’re right, but then there’s the decapitation, which is not typically a remorseful thing to do to a body.’

Tara looked up at him with a pensive expression. ‘Usually I would agree, but I think what we are seeing here is an expression of frustration that he cannot socialise with these women. During the pandemic, the cases of overkill, particularly beheadings rose. We’ve found theres is a clear link between isolation and this kind of dismemberment.’ Dr Lewis put forward. ‘Everything we’ve seen so far suggest he is a very socially inept individual. Perhaps it’s not so much the heads, but the faces he can’t look at while he commits the sexual acts after. I personally believe we are dealing with a young individual severely isolated, very agitated, and experimenting with his desires on victims his own age.’

‘No social skills, like being a feral mountain man.’ JJ pointed out.

‘Do feral people have clean linen though?’ Simmons asked. Pointing to the evidence box JJ had been going through.

‘You’re just going to gloss over the fact that you’re actually entertaining the idea that they exist?’ Luke raised an eyebrow.

‘Well, although a lot of folks from Appalachia think it’s pretty offensive and stereotypical to suggest there are wild people living in the mountains, the legends persist, which suggests there is some element of truth. Of course, I'm not talking about insane myths like cannibal cults and skinwalkers, but there could be some eccentric hermits out there. This team has come across, like, two, no wait, three unsubs that some might call feral people. So I thought it was a fact that feral people exist,’ Grace added. Then frowned, walking over to the evidence table. ‘But Simmons is right. Feral people don’t have white clean linen, usually.’

‘Well, not all the sheets are white, this was victim one’, unlike that others its old and discoloured there’s also a label on it this. It looks like a nordic language.’ JJ pointed to the evidence she had unboxed earlier that evening.

‘IKEA? So like stock standard and untraceable.’ Luke guessed.

Grace peered at the label. ‘No, these aren’t from IKEA, if they were, they’d actually be more traceable. IKEA is not as generic as you’d think. There are only 51 IKEA stores in the country, only three in the state. Fun fact, the franchise is headquartered in right here in Pennsylvania. This is because of the high percentage of German heritage in the area, which is important because Germany highest consumer of their goods. Actually, the first IKEA in the US was opened in ‘85 in Plymouth, about two hours away from here.’ Grace said distractedly. The room went quiet, and Rossi couldn’t help but smile as Grace continued examining the sheets, oblivious to the fact that all eyes were on her. ‘The font and condition of them say early 90’s at least. I don’t recognise this brand. But JJ's right the text is definitely Nordic, maybe Danish?’

'How?' Simmons asked in bewilderment.

‘How what?’ Grace raised her head and realised the team was focused on her. She looked around nervously and glanced at Rossi, her face asking if she had zoned out.

‘That was the most numerical facts you’ve given about a topic off the top of your head, and about IKEA of all things? Why?’ JJ asked curiously.

Grace simply shrugged. ‘I just really like IKEA.’

JJ chuckled and then asked, ‘Ok, Grace, what’s the address of the police station here?’

‘Why would I need to remember that? It was in the case brief.’ Grace said with a frown.

With a little snort, JJ shook her head. ‘Case and point Grace.’

The Laureate bar, West End, Washington DC, 8:04PM

‘Dr Reid! You made it!’ the table of familiar faces called out to him, beckoning him over. He made his way through the tables in the function room at the back of the bar. He glanced at the leader board and saw their team name’s "You’re Going George-down" was fifth. But the first team "The No Bodies" was a head by a significant lead. The previous winners of other weeks were listed on a white board behind an older woman who paced with a hand-held microphone. The No Bodies didn’t win every week previously, but they certainly had a few.

‘Sit here.’ Dr Brandwrith, The Creative Writing Professor, pulled out a chair next to him. ‘We’ve finished round one, which was ornithology. We’re about to start round two, the topic is 15th century literature, and we’re being slaughtered. The Le Morte d'Arthur, is about all I’m familiar with.’

‘God look at them, they know they’re winning, look you can see the smugness in their eyes.’ Dr Martin, the head of the modern history department, cried, eyeing the table of five in the corner. A little white board place marker showed they were The No Bodies. They didn’t look to be gloating or intimidating. ‘It had to be one of their topics. I can not lose to an Egyptologist again!’ Dr Martin lamented and took a long swig of his drink.

Spencer scrutinised their opponents. The No Bodies was comprised three men and two women. Two of the men appeared to be in a deep discussion, dressed in simple button ups, one with a tie. The other man was significantly younger, probably early twenties in a collared tee and khakis, hand intertwined with a young woman at the table, but he completely focused on the baseball game playing on the screen behind them. The young woman was chatting animatedly with the other woman, who sat with her back to Spencer. All he could see from here was that her hair was red, and she had a green flannel jacket slung over the back of her chair.

He surveyed the other tables. Despite the tie wearing man, The No Bodies were the most casually dressed people in the room. Surprisingly, he recognised a lot of faces. Many were academics from various institutions. He even spotted a prominent judge at a table with people dressed in smart suits.

‘Well, luckily I happen to be pretty knowledgeable on the topic, I grew up reading it,’ Spencer told his colleagues trying to keep the wistfulness off his face as memories of his mother reading to him surfaced. ‘But 15th century literature is not a topic I would have thought would come up in bar trivia.’

‘That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you. This isn’t just any trivia, Dr Reid. This is Triv-atholon. The bar owner was an Ac-decathlon champion in highschool, he missed the fact that there were no competitions or social events like mathleetes and acdec for adults. So he made these trivia nights to be hard for people who wanted to be challenged.’

‘I never did decathlon in school, or trivia. How does it work?’

Dr Nguyen, the political sciences professor, leaned across the table.

‘Well, we are mid season now. There’s 20 games per season, one game a week. A team has to be signed on from the start of the season to enter the tournament, you can have up to six members per game, but you need at least four to compete in a game other wise you forfeit that week, team members also don’t have to be consistent, they can be anyone as long as they don’t play on another team.

'At the start of the season, each team submits their team name and four topics of expertise. Then each week there’s a game with three rounds, each round is 10 questions from the one of the submitted topics. One point for every right answer. And at the end of the game, the top three teams get leader board points and at the end of the season, the team with the most points wins the tournament.’

‘What do you win?’

‘Well, firstly, bragging rights. Secondly, they get personalised jackets, their team name on the trophy and $200 gift voucher. But most importantly, they get free drinks at the close of season party.’

A bell dinged repeatedly, and a hush descended up on everyone in the room.

‘Okay folks, question one, round two, here we go, the chivalric romance Tirant lo Blanch was finished and published in 1490 by Marti Joan de Galba, but who originally authored the text?’

‘Ugh that’s the Tyrant in White, I know it actually was a knight. But the name escapes me.’ Dr Brandwrith said.

‘Joanot Martorell.’ Spencer whispered.

‘How do you spell that? Write that down don’t let them see it.’ Dr Nguyen shoved a pen and paper towards him.

_________________

‘And the score after the second round, still in the lead with 17 points, are The No Bodies. In second place, real dark horses now, You’re Going George-Down with 15 points and in third we have the Matter Babes with 14 Points-‘

‘We got a secret weapon now. You’re going down this time Smithies!’ Dr Martin, a few drinks in, jeered at The No Bodies.

‘Did you not hear the score?’ one of the older men smiled. Spencer noticed he had an eye of Horace’s tie pin. He must have been the Egyptologists.

‘Well, it’s not really a secret once you announce it.’ The red-haired woman turned around in her chair.

Spencer blinked. She looked to be around his age, with freckled pale skin, wire-rim glasses perched on her round face framing her smiling eyes. His brain catalogued a lot of things when he saw her, but the immediate thing he noticed was that she was pretty, very pretty. He would go as far to say she was beautiful, but Spencer reserved that term for after he had observed their nature. She slid the glasses off, laying them on the table, and scanned him from head to toe with an inquisitive look on her face.

‘You didn't bring your pet encyclopedia this week? If she's coming, you might actually stand a chance,’ Dr Nguyen called back.

‘My grad student couldn't come, but I wouldn't count your chickens yet, Nguyen. Seven points down and we still have a few tricks up our sleeves.’ She said. Spencer was left stunned by the confident and playful smirk she shot him before turning back to her table.

‘Okay folks let's start round three, the topic is; The History of Material Culture Generated by Popular American Spectator Sports.’ The hostess announced.

There was a collective murmur.

The younger woman at The No Bodies table nudged her partner, who was still engrossed in the game on the screen behind him.

‘It’s your sport round, babe.’ She smiled at him.

‘No, mine was about the history of sport merch.’ He sighed.

‘That’s what people like us call Material Culture babe,’ she whispered.

‘OH YES FINALLY!’ the young man’s fist pumped. He quickly retracted his fist with a murmured apology once he realised all eyes were on him.

‘For half a point each, in what year was the first baseball card ever produced and by whom?’ The hostess read the first question.

‘Oh my God, we’re screwed!’ Dr Martin slumped on the table.

‘We can make an educated guess.’ Spencer consoled. He thought hard about everything he had gathered from conversations with Derek and Rossi. ‘Well, the product was probably tobacco and baseball reached international popularity in the late 1800s, so let’s say 1870, and Camel cigarettes.’

_____________

It was incorrect; it was actually a sporting goods store, but the year was close, 1868. And that the closest his team got to answering any of the questions from the round. The No Bodies won the night, much to the dismay of his colleagues. After hearing the final scores, his team members shuffled towards the bar.

As he went to follow them, he tried to walk in between two tables at the same time as the Red-haired woman from the opposing team. Both accidentally blocking the path, they made awkward eye contact and apologised. They both stepped to the left and then to the right and laughed nervously at each other. Eventually, he stepped back and let her through in front of him.

‘Good game?’ He cleared his throat. ‘Not really sure if we say that in trivia.’

‘We can if you want.’ She smiled. ‘It was a good game.’ She held out her hand to shake.

‘I uh, I-’ he scrambled for words that were running from him the longer he looked at her.

‘Oh no, that's ok.’ She retracted her hand and offered him a smile. ‘I get it. I got a few friends who don’t like handshakes either.’

He didn’t know if it was audible but a sigh of relief left him. She understood? He followed her up to the bar and was getting ready to search for his teammates when she turned back to him.

‘So you’re Dr Reid, Right? I can see why they wanted you to come.’

‘I can see as well.’ He nodded. ‘And I can see why Dr Martin was particularly worried. The No Bodies are quite a formidable team.’

‘Well, you should remind Dr Martin’s that’s it just a game,’ she laughed. It was a wonderful, contagious laugh. And all Spencer wanted to do was hear it again. ‘We’ve just had a good start to the season and a few new minds. That’s all. The No Bodies are pretty harmless.’

Spencer saw an opportunity and opened his mouth before he had time to regret it. ‘Unless your name is Polyphemus.’

There was a tick of silence before she erupted in that beautiful room brightening laugh.

‘I love a good Greek Mythology reference. So does Jess-‘ she pointed at the other woman from her team who was currently passionately kissing her boyfriend. ‘-Oh they are really celebrating huh, sorry you had to see that. But want to know something funny? Jess is a Classic Historian, her boyfriend’s name is Troy.’ She grinned at him.

He chuckled now. ‘Nominative determinism, that is funny. So your team consist of an Egyptologist, a Classicist, a Sport enthusiast, yourself and… I heard you’re a member down? Your grad student? Should I be worried about them?’

‘Oh yeah!’ she nodded. ‘Luckily for the other teams here, she’s my part time grad student. She has a job that means she has to travel a lot. She’s really good at general knowledge and Vikings. Can I buy you a drink?’ She asked.

‘Oh uh, no,’ Spencer replied. ‘I don’t usually-‘

‘What about a soda? That's what I'm getting. I have to drive home,’ She suggested.

‘You don't have to buy me one,’ he hesitated. ‘Not that I have anything against you buy-‘

‘-I want to buy you a drink,’ she interrupted, ‘So we have an excuse to converse longer. Sorry if that’s forward…’ her sentence petered out.

'Oh?' She wanted to talk? To him? After a moment, Spencer finally agreed. ‘You know what, okay, I'll have a soda.’

She glanced back up at him with a smile and flagged down the bartender.

‘So, grad students, you must be a doctor too,’ he said, leaning forward on the bar with intrigue. ‘What kind of doctor?’ he asked.

‘I'm a doctor twice over. Archaeology and Anthropology, I've also studied anatomy, but I’m a forensic anthropologist,’ she replied. ‘And I haven’t lost you, which is a good sign, not going to have to explain that I am I?’

Spencer’s brow furrowed in genuine interest. ‘No, no, fascinating,’ he encouraged her.

‘So, what kind of doctor are you?’ she inquired.

Spencer lit up with excitements as he replied, 'Like you, I’m a doctor in a few fields. Chemistry, mathematics, engineering.’ Then he shrugged, before saying the thing that usually killed the conversation. ‘But actually, I’m a criminologist and used to be a criminal profiler,’ he explained.

Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Woah, I’ve got whiplash. Sorry, criminal profiler?’ she exclaimed, but he didn’t read any distaste. She was giving him her full attention. Fascinated, he realised. She was fascinated.

He smiled, ‘Well, I used to be. Now I teach at Georgetown and consult occasionally for, uh, law enforcement,’ he revealed.

‘That would be the FBI, right?’ She guessed excitedly.

He nodded, ‘How did you-’ he began.

‘Oh, I consult with them sometimes too. I work with a few people from there. But that’s work talk. I’m intrigued, because in my mind, mathematics, chemistry, and engineering don’t connect with crime,’ she pondered. ‘How did you end up there, Doctor Reid?’

Spencer leaned back, his gaze thoughtful. ‘I guess I just found my way there. Growing up, I found it hard to comprehend emotions and establish connections with people. I initially studied social sciences and psychology in order to develop a deeper understanding of myself and relate to others. But then I met a profiler and attended his guest lecture. Then I desired to comprehend what drives people to deviation. I found I was good at it, and my knowledge in other areas allowed me to think out of the box. Profiling is more effective when supported by a diverse skill set. And crime is as broad and challenging field of study there is. I’ll never be done learning. So that is where I’ve chosen to stay.’ He explained.

The bar tender deposited their drinks on the in front of them he looked it over before drawing toward him.

‘I am intrigued by your field of study, though. What made you choose forensics? It’s a highly specialised field of anthropology that few would specialise in. And archaeology, again, not much connection to crime on the surface.’ He looked at her expectantly.

‘Well, connections to things are everything in anthropology. Forensics was a way I could help the living. It’s a present history, you know? Examining 4000-year-old remains, it’s fascinating, tells us so much about where we come from, how people were and how we still are, but… what good does it really do? Whereas finding someone’s loved one and returning them home for proper burial? It’s tangible, it’s present and meaningful,’ she explained, passion infused in her words.

Spencer nodded along with interest. ‘Yeah, I felt the same with my job,’ he enthused.

As they continued their conversation, completely engrossed in each other’s stories, the noise of the bar seemed to fade into the background. He spoke passionately about his thesis, while she shared her experiences from various digs she had gone on. She told him about her students she had had through the years and how each one always fascinated her in just how unique their approach to things was. Likewise, he opened up about the different members of the BAU he had worked with, each bringing something unique to the team.

Time flew by as they spoke for over an hour, and he brought them another soda. He even broached the topic of his mother, telling her she was a professor of 15th century literature and how she was suffering from Alzheimers. Sympathetically, she related her own experience with her grandfather going through the same illness when she was younger. She revealed that she was also struggling with loss. Her father had recently passed away from cancer. Spencer expressed his condolences, and they shared memories and reminisced about favourite moments with people they loved. That is how they found they both enjoyed western films.

It was a surprising discovery, and a topic that seemed trivial, but it only deepened their conversation. She mentioned how she used to watch them with her father, and how she had been indulging in them lately to relive those nostalgic moments. He eagerly offered recommendations. She promised to watch them and then got enthusiastically lost in talking about the sociological themes that westerns often carried. Spencer watched her with a contented smile on his face as she asked him what he thought of the shift in themes with modern westerns. To her surprise, he admitted he hadn’t realised there were modern films that fell into that genre, leading to an engaging discussion and recommendations from her.

Time seemed lost in the enjoyment of each other’s company. Eventually he saw his teammates wave goodbye to him and support a worse for wear Dr. Martin out the door. She turned back to him and smiled.

Spencer paused for a moment, his mind racing. ‘I don’t know, I’m not usually into these sorts of occasions. But I’m trying to try new things,’ he admitted.

‘Are you going to be coming regularly?’ she askedq.

‘Well, I’m very glad you did. Did you have fun?’ she inquired, a playful smile on her lips.

‘Yeah, a lot of fun. Though I think the answer for question five round three was subjective,’ he chuckled.

‘I thought so too, but I won’t contest it, since we got it correct. Troy knows his stuff,’ she replied. ‘But I have no idea how we’ll handle next week. That was one of our submitted topics. We’ve had a pretty good run so far, but there’s still half of the season left to play. And now, I hear there is a pretty formidable opponent on the Georgetown team.’ She grinned at him.

‘Maybe, but he seems to have a weakness with questions involving sports. Are you here often?’ he asked curiously. Spencer leaned back, his gaze lingering on her.

‘Most games. I don’t go out much otherwise,’ she confessed.

‘Well, with the highest chance of seeing you being coming to trivia regularly, I suppose I will be a regular then,’ he replied.

The air felt charged with anticipation as they exchanged glances. Spencer stiffened, surprised at himself. His mind raced as he mentally berated himself. “Why did I say that? That was the corniest, stupidest thing I had ever said,” he thought and his face flushed.

‘I’d like that.’ She said with a hint of shyness in her voice.

Then, her phone rang, breaking whatever spell had been upon them. She wrenched it from her pocket, glared at the screen accusingly, then sighed.

‘I’m sorry I have to take this. It’s life or death, well probably death, considering my occupation.’

Spencer nodded. He hoped his bar stool would sink into the floor and take him with it.

‘Hey Avery, what can I do for you?’ she smiled into the phone. Her expression faltered. ‘Oh? Yes, that is unusual. Are you sure? I see. No, no, that’s fine. I can come over. Where was the scene?’

She grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen out of of her bag and scribbled something down, probably the address. ‘Uh-ha, and in what state of skeletonization are the bodies? Yeah? Better swing by home and get my coveralls on my way over. Okay, yes, see you there.’

She got up and Spencer frowned a little. His chest ached just the slightest. He had enjoyed the past couple of hours. Guess maybe he had enjoyed it more than-

‘If you’re not freaked out by that-‘ She slid the napkin across the counter to him. ‘Call me sometime. I hope to see you here again, Dr Reid. It’ll be nice for our team to have to a challenge.’ She smiled at him and left.

He was too stunned to pick the napkin up right away. Her Number? He thought she had written the address of the crime-scene.

He reached out gingerly, grabbed the paper, and turned it over, but one half of it stuck to the bar.

‘No.’ He whispered to himself as he pulled the napkin out of the small puddle of condensation left by a glass and cradled it in his hand.

Spencer was gutted as he examined the napkin. Only half her number was still visible, and the word above it had bled into inky stains. The word above would have been her name he realised. It was also then it dawned on him that she had never shared it with him.

He turned in his seat to see if he could catch her, but she was gone.

He heaved a deflated sigh and stared back at the napkin. He could try an algorithm to guess her name and apply a few forensic techniques to revive the precious symbols he had lost. And he would. He would try his best to recover them. But there was only one way to ensure he saw her again; he had to come to trivia night next week. And he would be there no matter what; that was a certain, sure and immutable fact.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @bridgeoverstrawberryfields

Sorry this took so long. Hopefully, you liked it. What did you think of Spencer's love interest? Who is she? (for once, the reader probably knows more than Spencer)

If you love this story or even just like it, leave a comment, like, reblog, ask a question with Character Mail, will be posting some prompt for this soon so keep your eyes peeled. Any interaction is much appreciated and it really motivates me. Love you guys.

if you want to be added to taglist please comment on this post.

TWs:

Sexual assault, Necrophilia : I will try not to be graphic at all in this story, this chapter just has it mentioned as part of what the unsub does

Slight body horror : I will try not to be graphic here, but in autopsy it is found that unsub fills Bladders externally with a injection. then found that it injures the victim to a point where they bleed. Again not going to describe that more than I have too.

violence, crime scene depiction: cannon typical throughout this story

kidnapping: Unsub is implied to kidnap victims and hold them for a few days.

decapitation: this is part of the unsubs M.O.

#spencer reid #BAU #criminal minds #oc #luke alvez #mentor spencer #spencer gets a happy ending #the protege #OC Grace Matthews #fanfic #my fic #criminal minds case #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #the protege chapter 10 #ch 10

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usafphantom2 · 4 months

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At Beale Air Force Base , in California, you would think that the SR-71 Blackbird program would be the biggest blackest deepest secret. You would be wrong.

The biggest secret was Senior Bowl.

M-21 and D-21.

According to Air Force Test Center History Office documents, all manned flights over the Soviet Union were discontinued by President Dwight Eisenhower after Francis Gary Powers’ U-2 spy plane was shot down May 1, 1960. However even if the US government was planning on using satellites for reconnaissance, the technology was still a few years away and the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) determined unmanned drones could fill the gap until satellites became viable.

For this reason in the 1960s the famed Lockheed “Skunk Works” developed the D-21 a highly-advanced, remotely piloted aircraft (RPA) designed to carry out high-speed, high-altitude strategic reconnaissance missions over hostile territory.

The D-21 required a mothership to launch given its ramjet engine, which needed to be air-launched at a certain speed to activate. Initially, Lockheed testers used an M-21 (essentially a modified SR-71 Blackbird) to air launch the D-21 drone. The D-21 would be launched from the back of the M-21. Ideally, after conducting its reconnaissance mission it would eject a hatch with photo equipment to be recovered either mid-air or after the hatch landed.

However, on the fourth flight test, the D-21 experienced an “asymmetric unstart” as it passed through the bow wake of the M-21 causing the mothership to pitch up and collide with the D-21 at Mach 3.25. Crewmembers Bill Park and Ray Torick ejected from the M-21, but Torick’s flight suit became ripped and filled with water when he plunged into the ocean where he drowned.

B-52 and D-21.

After the accident and after the death of Ray Torick, a test flight engineer, the M-21 launch program was cancelled but testers still believed the D-21 would make a valuable reconnaissance vehicle and decided to launch the drone from B-52Hs under a top secret test program named Tagboard. The new code name for the D-21 project became Senior Bowl.

It was Kelly Johnson, President of Skunk Works, who suggested to use the B-52. As a result of Johnson’s advice two B-52’s were modified: 61#0021 and 60#0036. Both B-52’s are still in the US Air Force (USAF) inventory. The ultra secret 4200 test squadron was formed at Beale.

Only a few of the men that flew the SR-71 had been read into the program: out of necessity one of the few included my father Richard “Butch” Sheffield, SR-71 RSO who had already been read into Oxcart in 1965. In his unpublished book he writes that on the flightline he was with Bob Spencer, SR-71 pilot. They were taxing out when they saw the B-52 with a drone underneath it. Spencer asked ‘What is that under that B-52?’ My Dad responded ‘I have no idea.’ He couldn’t tell Bob Spencer the truth.

These two B-52‘s were kept away at the end of the runway apart from any other operations.

D-21 drone.

The D-21s were used on four flights over communist China but none of these missions fully succeeded.

Two flights were successful, however the imagery could not be recovered from the D-21’s hatch. The other two operational flights ended with one being lost in a heavily defended area and the other D-21 simply disappeared after launch.

The main mission of the D-21 was to fly over China and take pictures of its nuclear weapons test facility in the remote west central of the country near Lop Nor.

The pictures were supposed to be dropped in the ocean and recovered by the Navy. During the Cold War this information was necessary for the defense of the US.

This print is available in multiple sizes from AircraftProfilePrints.com – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS. B-52H Stratofortress 2nd BW, 20th BS, LA/60-0008 “Lucky Lady IV”.

The fourth and final mission of the D-21 drone took place on Mar. 20, 1971 and was undertaken by D-21 #527. Experts at the 4200th Support Squadron and at Skunk Works concluded that #527 must have malfunctioned. It was thought to have gone down near Lop Nor. This drone is on display in China at their national aviation museum. So we know that it got close.

Senior Bowl lasted from January 1968 until Jul. 15, 1971. Interestingly, after the fall of the Soviet Union, Ben Rich (then retired president of Lockheed’s Skunk Works) finally had an opportunity to tour Russia himself. While in Moscow, the KGB presented Rich with a gift of what they thought were the remains of a stealth fighter that had crashed in their territory. As it turned out, the wreckage was actually pieces and parts of the lost D-21 Drone!

Be sure to check out Linda Sheffield Miller (Col Richard (Butch) Sheffield’s daughter, Col. Sheffield was an SR-71 Reconnaissance Systems Officer) Facebook Page Habubrats for awesome Blackbird’s photos and stories.

Photo credit: U.S. Air Force

This model is available from AirModels – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS.

Linda Sheffield Miller

Grew up at Beale Air Force Base, California. I am a Habubrat. Graduated from North Dakota State University. Former Public School Substitute Teacher, (all subjects all grades). Member of the DAR (Daughters of the Revolutionary War). I am interested in History, especially the history of SR-71. Married, Mother of three wonderful daughters and four extremely handsome grandsons. I live near Washington, DC.

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copaceticjillybean · 25 days

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@radioiaci The day was finally here! Jillian stood in her library, all atwitter as she rushed back and forth, straightening up everything that might've been out of place. Not that it would really matter, once Alastor got here- oh, she couldn't wait to see what plans he had for her place! Picking up a notebook from her desk as well as her favorite orange pen, Jillian did doublecheck the list of things she herself wanted to implement to the new establishment. A second story specifically for reference materials, manuals, and blueprints for everything from automobiles and kitchen appliances to ancient torture machines? Check. (A tall ask, but one got nowhere without asking for it, did they?) A corner area where demons could enjoy coffee or tea as they read, so long as they didn't damage the library books? Check. (She wasn't quite sure *how* this sort of thing would be done, if security would need to be hired or if some kind of magic could prevent such rudeness. Accidents were one thing, annoying as they could be, but Jillian would NOT tolerate willful destruction!) A slight remodeling of the backroom where she took her breaks? Check. (Currently it only held a simple cot bed, tiny bathroom with standing shower and restroom facilities, a hot plate, coffee pot and small refrigerator/freezer set up, and a small wooden chest of drawers for her to keep a few spare outfits in. She wasn't looking for anything too lavish, of course! Just closer to her own apartment outside cannibal town- cozier would be the better word. She was most prepared for this request to be denied, since it wasn't truly a library necessity.) And lastly, she had added a tentative request for Alastor to make a place for himself, should he consider it something he'd like- a place for him to work in quiet, should he need to get away, or should something happen for him to need such an escape. This note was written in smaller, less confident writing on the back of the notebook paper. Jillian felt a tad intimidated to even suggest Alastor would want to make a place for himself in her library, but it also felt quite rude to not allow the man who was giving her so much aid to make a place for himself. With every inch of the place tidied and all the things she felt would be best implemented written out, Jillian took a seat on one of the couches and sipped her own coffee as she waited for Alastor to arrive, curious about what he might have planned for the remodeling.

#radioiaci #The library is getting a makeover! ^u^

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damnknoxandothernonsense · 1 year

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a place to call home<3

The quality of Freelancer and Gavin’s shared apartment was on par with some of the abandoned facilities throughout Dahlia

And that was the understatement of the year

It was a miracle if they went more than a week without one of their utilities suddenly needing to be fixed

It had pushed them to the point where they wanted their own place

It was when they were trying to come up with a list of necessities that they realized something

They needed a place for Caelum

For as much time as he spends with Freelancer and Gavin alike the magically inclined couple knew that when they were touring different houses that a second bedroom was nonnegotiable

They saw how exhausting it was to not have a place on this plane to call his

You could see the fact that he wanted to stay, but he would always leave without giving either of them the chance to invite him to stay

It wasn’t hard to see that Caelum hated “inviting himself” into their home without actually living there

There was times where the small daemon would accidentally fall asleep on the couch, waking up and continuously apologizing for “invading” their space

It was not a secret to the young daemon that they were in the process of moving out

However they had not informed them about getting a space all for him

After all, Gavin was a fan of dramatic flare

After what felt like ages, they finally found a two bedroom place that would work perfectly for the unofficial family of three

Once all the paperwork was finalized, the two had decided that it was time to reveal their little secret to the sweet kid

So the next time that he stopped in they planned a date/time to meet at their new house and give him a tour

The youthful, multicolor-haired daemon ran around the modest house without a care in the world

They slowly walked around, hand in hand as they announced each and every room that they were going into

“This is the living room, we are thinking about maybe having a picture collage over here. What do you think Caelum?”

“This is the kitchen, we think we are going to paint the cabinets something a little more colorful, instead of scuffed up white.”

And last but not least they arrived in his room

“And this, this room is for you.”

The small daemon stopped in his tracks, turning to look at them in confusion

“What?”

“It’s for you bud, for you and you only.”

Gavin let go of his deviant’s hand, moving to kneel in front of Caelum to be at eye level with the wide eyed empath

“Well, we figured that you might want a place to call home. Caelum, we know how important it is to have a place to just exist as is. To be you, without any expectations. And, well- we love you just as you are. As the sweet, compassionate, goofy little guy that you are. We want you to feel at home here- with us. Freelancer and I wanted to show you that you are welcome to be here whenever you want.”

Both demons eyes welled with tears, Freelancer’s hand resting on Gavin’s shoulder out of solidarity of what he was saying

Caelum looked between the two

As if he was silently asking if this was real

“Are you- are you sure?”

They both nodded, not a moment of hesitation

The young daemon immediately ran at the two of them, holding them with an ironclad grasp

And the couple held on just as tight, a silent promise to be a steady place for the empathy daemon no matter what

Not only were they offering a place in their home, but a piece of themselves along with it

if you want to read more of what I’ve written, you can find my masterlist here!

if you want to ask for something to be written, you can find my guidelines here!

#knox's writing #redacted headcanons #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted caelum #redacted gavin #redacted freelancer #gavin/freelancer

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thesporkidentity · 6 months

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this was originally a discussion on another platform, but i decided i wanted it (edited for coherency lol) actually on my blog so ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯. it is quite long because i was apparently more excited than i'd realized to talk about what a good villain drac is

i have to disagree in terms of assigning anyone but dracula himself the "fault" for what happened on october 3. without a doubt, there are certainly things that could have been done better, but nothing that i think could be attributed to any one person are any one action as the one avoidable thing responsible for mina's suffering.

like, was it the wrong choice to cut mina out of their plans after the big infodump and make her feel like she couldn't share her worries with the menfolk for fear of being labelled a hysterical woman and cut out even more? yuuuuup, stop doing that. but we also know from lucy and renfield that dracula can force silence on people. she'd still have been unable to tell them what happened on october 1 even if she'd tried. (frankly, i'm surprised she even managed to write it in her diary at all.) so were they in the wrong to keep her in the dark? yeah absolutely, communication is one of The Themes of the book and it's not subtle about it lol. but i don't think her knowing their plans about the dirt boxes would have changed those events except to give them a different flavor of horror.

could they have let her come with them to the carfax estate on october 1st rather than staying home alone? she might have managed to avoid that first bite by not being in the house. but the Big One where she was forced to drink drac's blood and bound to him was on october 3, when everyone else was still in the house. she hadn't been left behind; jonathan was in bed with her. because while it's easier for dracula to prey on people when they're alone, safety in numbers is not guaranteed. maybe he'll just throw a wolf through your fucking window and drug the entire household, maybe he'll hypnotize everyone because knowing about his trance powers does not stop one from succumbing to them. subtlety may be a preference, but it's not a necessity.

but maybe they could have stopped him from getting in at all by transferring renfield somewhere else like he'd requested even if they didn't actually free him. except dracula only needs an invitation from any resident. he could have worked his way through all the patients/inmates until he got one. heck, he could have waited until the crew were all out and then just gotten someone who works there to let him under the pretense of looking into facilities for a family member, who knows! renfield was just the one he already had a connection with who had shown a previous inclination to help him, but dracula has shown himself perfectly capable of rules-lawyering his way into places.

and one can run through a whole list of what if's, but just as easily as i can think of a scenario i can come up with a way around it, just an endless series of moves and counter-moves. so while we as a fandom can (and do) talk in circles about how someone was wrong and should have made a better/different decision (and boy, there were some Choices being made, i'm not even trying to defend some of them), i don't actually think they could have averted, at this stage, the horror of the october 3 events simply by making the Good And Proper decisions (as designated by each personal opinion). i think we'd have ended up in the same destination, or somewhere equally as bad, it's just that the road there would have looked a little different. (and while i haven't looked at the events leading up to lucy's death as closely, i think it's likely one could draw the same conclusion where Questionable Decisions were made, and yet none of them were actually the final cause of the disaster.)

and that's part of what makes dracula as an adversary so scary. it's human nature to want to play the blame game because if this could have been easily prevented by one action or by one character, then his victories would be by mere chance, something you could avoid by just being smart enough. but dracula is a strategist, and all these backups and failsafes and counters make him feel unavoidable, inevitable. not one path to victory but all paths.

#dracula #dracula daily

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justkending · 1 year

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Finding Memories. Chapter 1.

Summary: Waking up with little to no memory of her past, and being saved by a group of individuals who call themselves heroes, sends a long time captive for a whirlwind trying to find some form of grounding in this world she quickly learns runs on chaos. But she’s not the only one trying to figure out her forgotten backstory. Bucky Barnes, along with the other Avengers, can’t help but sense that there is a lot more to the whole situation than a diagnosis of amnesia. Her background slowly starts to come forward in pieces of her past and hidden information discovered. Who is she? And why was she in the room they were meant to destroy?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2400+

TW: Torture, cussing, and blood.

A/N: Ok! First off, Merry Christmas and Happy Holiday's lovlies! I'm so excited to share this new series with and also very excited to see what comes of it:) I hope you all are safe, warm, and having some sort of fun during this time of the year. Whether that be by yourself or with friends and family, all ways are just fine and dandy! Anyway, here is my Christmas gift to you! I plan on posting a chapter every other day so I can give myself some time to write in between! Love love love you all! xoxoxo

Chapter 1:

Bucky asked one of the assistants to bring a change of clothes for their Jane Doe.

So far, they did a few more checkups on her, making sure she was ok to be released within the next hour, and Bucky stayed close by.

He seemed to be the only one she had a sense of ease around, as he was the only familiar face in her new environment. They didn't have much outside of that keeping her from completely freaking out.

Though, she seemed more relaxed now that she had been taken care of properly and wasn't in immediate danger like she was used to.

"Thanks, Stark," he replied through the phone before hitting the end and turning back to the girl. "You have a place to stay here if you want," he smiled softly as she fidgeted with the plastic medical bracelet that hung loose on her wrist.

She nodded in response and continued to monitor her surroundings while anxiously picking at the laminated name, Jane Doe, they had put on her.

"Natasha, one of my teammates who helped us find you on that mission; said she's happy to help you get anything you need. We have an extra room down the hall from her and she's already got you set up with all the necessities you'll need until we get you back on your feet," he explained as he watched her zone in on the beeping coming from the monitor still hooked up to her blood pressure. "If you need anything outside of that, just let me know and I'll see what I can do."

She never gave any indication that she acknowledged him this time, but he knew that look on her face. The reality of the situation was setting in and it was harsh drowning waves of flashbacks.

She didn't know her name. She didn't really know where she was. Who knew how long she was at that torturous facility? And they knew nothing besides the little bits of intel they had recovered from the database which they were still trying to hack.

Sometimes you just have to shut down fully to even start to comprehend a piece of it.

"I know this is a lot," he started really soft and carefully as he crouched in front of her making himself smaller to her. "It's a long process of piecing things back together and coming to terms with all that happened and how. But from experience, I can promise you there is a way out of that dark tunnel that feels like it's closing in on you."

She looked at him, eyes still harboring a sense of anxiety, but more so horror at the memories she knew would resurface now that she had to process them.

And she had to process them. That was the only way she knew she could move on from this situation and figure out what the hell happened to her.

Breaking her eye contact from him, she adjusted on the edge of the hospital bed and straightened the hand-me-down sweatshirt she was given for the time being.

"How much longer do I have to stay here?" she asked. Her voice was still raspy, but with time and lots of hydration, she was slowly regaining it.

Bucky was happy she wasn't completely mute. She had a strength in her that he knew would pull through with time. It was all a matter of how much time though.

"Alma said within the next hour if you're still ok, we can go ahead and get you moved. They want to make sure you aren't going to have a reaction to any of the antibiotics they gave you," he replied.

For some reason, she wanted to laugh at that thought. Antibiotics would be water compared to the things she had injected into her in the past. There were going to be no side effects and she knew that.

At that moment, her stomach reminded the two that she hadn't had solid food for the whole time she was there. Who knows how long it had been before then too?

"How about I talk to Alma about an early check out and then we get you something to eat?" he asked, smirking as she self-consciously placed her hand on her stomach. "What's something you like?"

He was hoping the simple question would spark something, but if anything it caused her to give a confused look. Then it slowly saddened as she realized she didn't know what she liked.

"How about I pick a favorite of mine and we see how you feel?" he asked, standing up and placing his hands on his hips.

"Ok," she nodded.

"Ok," he confirmed. "I'm going to go talk to Alma and we'll go from there."

__________________

Figuring it was best to not go out in public just yet, he made do with the ingredients that Stark thankfully kept stocked in the shared Avenger's kitchen.

He showed her where her room was for the time being and introduced her to Nat who helped her get situated and accustomed to the new place.

After a quick shower and a fresh pair of clothes that weren't scrub pants and a sweatshirt some agent had taken from lost and found, she looked like a new person.

The circles under her eyes were still dark and semi-sunken from malnourishment that would take more than just a few days of saline and antibiotics to heal. However, the Y/E/C color in her eyes was shining differently given the newfound security she was being introduced to. Her face no longer held marks of dirt and residue from the explosion and he could see her complexion with more details.

Her Y/H/C hair was washed and he noticed a hint of waves to it as it dried, now that it had been properly cleaned and taken care of.

She came and sat at the island bar, reserved and keeping a high sense of awareness of her unfamiliar and new environment. So far it had proved to be safe, but she never had known a time when she didn't have to watch her back constantly.

"Not sure how you feel about pancakes for dinner, but I know it's a go-to comfort food for me and a few other people I know," he commented, setting a plate of the hot breakfast food in front of her.

He had brought out all the works not knowing what she liked and didn't.

Fresh-cut fruit was in one bowl, nuts and granola in another, chocolate chips and chocolate syrup placed on the other side, and of course butter and syrup ready to be picked if wanted.

"I'm not sure if you eat meat, but I can make some bacon or sausage," he offered as he watched her eyes take in the buffet of toppings. "Or eggs..." he added, not sure what she was thinking.

"What do you usually do?" she asked, looking up at him.

He hadn't expected that question, but he looked at the toppings and thought about it.

"I guess a good amount of butter and some syrup is a classic," he leaned against the other side of the island. "I eat a little more than the average person, so I usually add a protein in there somewhere."

"I'll do that then," she replied. "I'm really not sure what I like." She mumbled the last part, and Bucky could hear a hint of frustration in it.

Maybe the excess amount of choices wasn't the best idea, but he had hoped to spark a memory from it.

"Well, consider it a fresh start. Now you have the freedom to experience things and see for yourself what you like and dislike," he said with hope in his tone.

For the first time, he saw a glimpse of a smile turn at the corner of her mouth. It was a nice look on her.

The two sat and ate breakfast for dinner and he coaxed her to try a little bit of it all just to see what she thought.

She realized she liked chocolate. Quickly after learning that, she had added an excessive amount of chocolate syrup to the remainder of her pancakes and began adding different fruits to them as well. Chocolate and strawberries became her favorite combination, though who could blame her?

He chuckled as she discovered her sweet tooth and knew from personal experience just how euphoric such a simple choice can make someone who has been controlled all their known life feel.

Then slowly she became more relaxed and started asking Bucky questions.

"I heard someone call you Sergeant," she noted, swirling a strawberry that was on her fork through the leftover chocolate on her plate. "Are you in the army?"

"I was," he answered, wadding up his napkin and throwing it on his empty plate. "Not anymore, technically."

"Technically?"

"I'm a part of a smaller group now. But saving people and going on missions to take down some really shitty people is still part of the job," he nodded.

"Does your group have a name?" she asked.

"Hmm mmm," he hummed, turning his body back to her. "The Avengers."

He paused wondering if that name would ring any bells. But her face was blank as if the infamous name had never once crossed her path.

She hummed to herself and placed her dirty silverware on top of the cleaned-off plate.

"Who are you all Avenging?" she asked.

"Depends on the day," he chuckled at the wording of her question. "Here. I'll take those," he reached over, taking the plates and stacking them before moving to do the dishes.

"Thank you for that," she nodded appreciatively at his actions. "Thank you for everything really. I-I don't know what would have happened to me if you all weren't there to..." She didn't finish her thought.

He could tell the topic of that day was a sensitive one, but he was happy that he could be a decent memory in a fucked up situation.

"It's what we do," he replied.

She looked up and that small little smile was back for a fleeting second before she was hit with the trauma that came with the memory.

"Listen, I'd like to call you something else besides Jane Doe. Any chance there's a name you remember that you think could be yours?" he asked, trying to redirect her thought process.

"Right," she said softly, her eyebrows furrowing as she thought hard about it. He could see the recall working through her eyes as she tried to pull it from memories she had most likely tried to erase. "I'm not sure," she finally said, somewhat defeated.

"That's ok. How about you sleep on it and hopefully it'll come back to you. If not, it's just another thing you get to choose," he smirked.

She nodded before a yawn came over her. Her eyes drooped at the motion as her body begged for rest.

"We should call it a night. You've had a long enough day and I think it would be good for your body to get a well-deserved break." He put the last dish away and moved around the corner. "I'll walk you back to your room. This place can be a maze the first couple days here."

She yawned again and turned in the stool and hopped off to the ground in a quiet and careful manner. She was quite a bit shorter than him and it was the first time he noticed. Every time before, she had been in bed or slouched into his side running away from an explosion.

"Um," she hesitated, pausing just steps outside her door. He stopped in his step ahead of her and turned to her. "What do I do if I need help or someone to-," she stopped and he knew where she was going with it.

Someone to protect her.

"Do you want me to show you where my room is in case you need to find me?" he asked, and she looked past his shoulder down the long corridor of random doors. Then she nodded. "See that door on the other side of the hall?" He pointed directly to the other side just two doors down from her. "My door is unlocked most of the time and I'll be in there. Feel free to knock if you need anything."

His look was comforting to her as it held a promise that he would be at her beck and call until they found out more information.

She nodded once again in affirmation and turned to the knob and twisted it open to her room.

Bucky walked to his room but stopped just outside waiting for her to completely disappear behind the door before carrying on with his night.

As she began to shut the door, he turned into his but was stopped at the sound of his name.

"Bucky," she said as a statement. He turned his attention to her. "Thank you. I know I've said it already, but I really do respect all that you've done for me this far."

"It's part of my job," he replied and a part of him wanted to punch himself in the face right there.

A look of surprise passed over her expression as she began deducting that this was just a job to him. Though it had started that way, Bucky had found a form of sentiment to this girl and her background.

It was still part of his job, but he quickly learned that he was a little more attached to this whole case than he planned to be. It was too close to home for him to just be another job. He knew the pain, the trauma, and the sense of constantly having to learn trust with each passing day.

You can't fully do that with someone who sees you as a job.

By the time he had processed how his comment would have come off to her, she was already behind the door giving a quick nod and disappearing.

He shut his eyes in frustration and annoyance at himself. One step forward, two steps back.

He'd find a way to make it up to her and show her this was more personal to him than he was leading it on to be. That kind of connection is the first step in building trust and helping someone like her get out of the hole she's known for too long.

He debated on going and knocking on the door and explaining that second, but he needed rest and so did she. They weren't going to make any progress on exhaustion and weak bodies.

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147 notes · View notes

chaotic-on-main · 1 year

Text

Chapter 2: December

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x fem!mute!Reader (she/her pronouns), set in a modern semi-fictional world

☾ Word Count ➼ ~5.6k

Hange had been a part of Titan’s company for a few years, working in a facility in your hometown. Because Titan was privatized medicine, you were not allowed to know much of what her job entailed. All you knew was that she was a lab technician and spent most of her time studying and working with viruses. Hange often joked about making zombies, but part of you wondered how much of her statement was a joke and how much of it was wishful thinking. But then she had been given a promotion to head-researcher and they requested that she be relocated to the facility in Jinae. Hange was quick to accept.

Were they here?

You lean over to take a closer look at the small text on the card.

“To You, 2000 Years From Now: A History of Ymir”

- First Edition

-Author: Frieda Reiss

Graciously donated by No Regrets Café