#and so he disappeared to run from the police and hes been legally considered a missing person for many years now and it is unknown to

[nagitoedit]

there are things abt me that i dont talk about not because im being secretive i either just forget to mention it or think no one wants to hear about it but i think it gives like important context to whats wrong with me 💖

#me when im a child of a messy divorce because my dad has crazy issues that he never got help for so he started self medicating #and dealt with addiction and got to the point of stealing money or trying to return items he never bought to walmart for a refund #and got arrested many times and eventually spent 5 years in prison which literally didnt help at all just gave him more trauma and #caused relationship issues between him and his family which left him without healthy connections and support and #then he got accused of a crime even my mom doesnt believe he did and she'd experienced horrible things from him while they were together #and so he disappeared to run from the police and hes been legally considered a missing person for many years now and it is unknown to #us or any of his family members if hes even still alive out there somewhere and ive had dreams that he comes back and #i wonder if theres something that could be done something that could help him maybe we could never truly be on good terms again but #maybe at least he could have a chance at a decent life even if its away from us #i used to sit on the couch with him and watch nascar and monster trucks when i was little #and i still have some of his nascar novelty items in my desk drawer and the pocket tool that used to be his. #the scars of his tantrums are still in our house the holes he punches in walls covered up with copy paper taped over the wall #and im sure i have the same anger issues or whatever disorders he never got properly diagnosed for because i seem to have inherited everyth #ng from him his eyes his face his hair his anger issues even his handwriting somehow #and he is why im scared of ever doing any drugs because i just know im probably genetically predisposed to addiction just like him #and i dont want that to happen to me #recently i cut my hair and i looked in the mirror and i looked just like him #when i visit my paternal grandparents and aunts and uncles i see the family photos with him hanging on the walls #and i see that large painting that used to be in our house #👍

[dragonsarecool]

Whumptober Day 21 - “You’re Safe Now”

Twenty One: ‘You’re Safe Now’

A/N: Set between ‘Red Rackham’s Treasure’ and ‘The Seven Crystal Balls’.

Even though these kidnappings were almost a daily part of Tintin’s routine, they never got any less frightening.

If anything, they had become something of a nuisance. It was becoming quite irritating trying to run errands or spend a day at the market when he kept getting chloroformed or knocked on the head. It’s a wonder I don’t have brain damage by this point.

Letting out an irritated sigh, he shuffled irritably in his bonds. Even though the knots around his wrists weren’t as tight as he’d initially expected, the ones that restrained his chest to the pole were enough to ensure he wasn’t going anywhere. He was quite cross at how these kidnappers had treated him, considering what he’d been subjected to previously. At least the others had the decency to offer me a chair! Plus, these are probably the scratchiest ropes I’ve ever been tied with.

Part of him couldn’t believe he was actually criticising his own kidnappers. I really need to stop getting into these situations.

He’d been glad that these kidnappers hadn’t gagged him straight away, for it meant he actually got a rare opportunity to interrogate them further. Unfortunately, once they’d decided to phone the police and demand a ransom, then the tape had been magically produced and roughly forced over his lips. He could taste the residue on his tongue, and it made him nauseous. Can’t believe I’d prefer a handkerchief…

With his method of bargaining taken away and no one willing to talk at him, he’d resigned himself to leaning idly against the pole, trying to ignore how his legs gradually began to protest holding his weight for such a long period of time. They weren’t very exciting kidnappers, either; they’d been seated on upturned crates on the far side of the warehouse playing a game of poker ever since they gagged him. 

For a while, he wasn’t even one hundred percent sure why they’d abducted him - he’d been so busy helping the Captain to move into Marlinspike and settle the legal documentation that he hadn’t had the time to investigate any gangs for months. Just my luck, isn’t it…

But as soon as he saw Allan walk through the side door to the warehouse, his heart froze.

Allan had given him a very detailed account of how he’d come to be there, though Tintin did miss most of it due to trying to regain his breath after being repeatedly punched in the stomach. From the little information his brain had managed to obtain, Allan’s drug-smuggling business was beginning to go under, and this was a last-ditch effort to rid himself of his remaining stock in order to begin a new, undisclosed scheme.

“You completely destroyed my enterprise, young man,” Allan emphasised his words with punches to Tintin’s stomach and groin. “All those years of planning and meticulous secrecy, gone in an instant because you couldn’t help yourself, and had to figure out what was on my ship!” 

Your ship?! Despite being in an indescribable amount of pain, Tintin had still been offended. I think the Captain would have something to say about that…

He was grateful that Allan’s attention was quickly diverted from using him as a punching bag, with the man himself disappearing into the bowels of the warehouse while his henchmen had continued their game of poker. It had taken some time before he felt he could breathe normally again, and he slouched against the pole in relief.

He desperately wished he could look at his watch, though he was pretty confident it was now late evening. Surely the Captain would’ve noticed he was missing by now-

BANG!

A gunshot from outside the warehouse drew his attention. He turned his head as far as he could, trying to see what was going on. I hope that was a police gunshot-

A door slammed as one of the kidnappers sprinted inside, desperately holding a hand to his shoulder that Tintin noticed was dripping rather profusely with blood. It took the man a moment to form his message around the pain he was experiencing: “Coppers!…They’ve found us!”

Everything seemed to happen at once. The injured criminal was dragged aside by one man, whereas another two withdrew handguns from their belts and jogged towards the door, only to start shooting once it had been knocked in by a group of police officers. A fourth kidnapper jumped over a crate in front of Tintin, sticking his hand above the lid to fire a shot at the police.

Tintin cringed as the gunfire began to spray across the room, praying that it would miss him. Why did he have to hide there?! The police’ll hit me!! He heard the cries of injured men, both police and kidnappers, as they collapsed onto the ground, the sounds of wet splats of blood making him feel ill. Please please please, make it stop!!

“Tintin!” 

The young man opened his eyes, though they quickly widened at the sight of a baby-faced police officer sprinting to his side. “Hang on, son. We’ll get you-“

The officer never got to finish his sentence, for a bullet quickly sliced through his throat, ripping his carotid artery into pieces. A shower of blood instantly exploded from the wound, jettisoning in spurts towards Tintin and splattering across his sweater.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

Tintin instantly retched; it took all of his strength to ensure his stomach contents were going to remain where they currently were. I’ll choke with my mouth taped like this!!…Mon Dieu, sauve l’âme de cet homme.

The anxiety became overwhelming. He squeezed his eyes shut and allowed himself to sob, the anguished cries of injured men sounding magnified in his ears. He leaned back against the pole and kept his eyes focused on the ceiling in the vain hopes of ignoring the body that lay at his feet, blinking away the tears that dripped onto his cheeks. 

He tried to ignore the wet sensation of the officer’s blood that now decorated his front, but found that the nausea only kept building as he felt it soak through the fabric and onto his skin. I don’t even know his name…

Fingers were dancing along the bottom of his face. It took him a second too late to realise that someone was ripping the tape from his mouth. “ARGH!!”

“It’s alright, Tintin,” A second officer discarded the gag, setting to work on the knots that bound him to the pole. Spots of blood were visible on the side of his head, some dripping from the brim of his hat. “You’re safe now, son. We’ve got ‘em.”

Tintin didn’t answer. His body trembled uncontrollably; his gaze was glued to the deceased officer, and the puddle of blood that encircled his body.

“Tintin? You with me, son?” The officer placed a hand on the younger man’s cheek, turning him away from the dead man. “It’s alright, Tintin. You’re safe.”

Although he said nothing, the police officer seemed to understand.

Once his bonds were released, he took a few minutes to regain feeling in his legs before he shakily walked out of the warehouse, refusing to look back on the carnage behind him.

I’m not safe, officer. And I never will be.

A/N: Mon Dieu, sauve l’âme de cet homme = My God, save this man’s soul

#tintin #the adventures of tintin #adventures of tintin #fanfic #fanfiction #whumptober #whumptober2022 #whumptober 2022

[sluttbuttsstuff]

Silver Chariot Agency: An Introduction

This is the first chapter/prologue to my jjba sugar daddy au.  To clarify, it’s modern day, with reader x various Jojo characters, all of which are of age, and “sugar daddies”.  I’m hoping to have several options/outcomes for various characters, kind of like a chose you own adventure story, or a dating visual novel.  As a note, this story may contain some dark themes and content, including drug use, yandere, sex scenes, and other things I haven’t currently planned out.

TLDR: this is the story about Y/N, who starts working at Polnareff’s sugar daddy agency and meets lots of hot jojo guys

ENJOY!!!

“Mr. Polnareff is ready to see you now!”  The cheerful secretary (Suzy, you think)  calls out, breaking you from your stupor and ushering you behind large, intimidating doors.   You grew up with dreams bigger than this, having a good career, doing something important with your life, but life had other plans.  You’ve been unemployed for nearly a year, and despite all the classes you’ve taken, interviews you’ve aced, and concessions to pay and pride just to be considered, you still had no job, and your unemployment had finally run out.  Long story short, you were desperate.  That’s when you first heard about the Agency.

You had noticed an email from the Silver Chariot Agency buried between job applications and rejection letters, and confusing it for a job offer, had opened it to read.  According to the email, you had been “scouted” as someone with the qualifications to apply for what appeared to be a Sugar Daddy, or Escort, service.    The email was polite, open and honest, but you couldn’t help but be a bit skeptical, if not mildly offended. There’s nothing wrong with sex work, mind you, but it wasn’t something you had any interest in if you could avoid it. You weren’t interested in selling yourself, and even if you weren’t wealthy, you weren’t ready to auction off your time to creepy old perverts just yet.  Not to mention, how safe were these agencies?  Still, the email had an open doors policy for any questions, as well as a phone number and email to direct all your questions.  You were going to delete the email, but somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to.  You saved it in your folder, and forgot about it for a few months.

Cut to today:  you couldn’t cover your rent, your auto bill, and your credit cards were maxed out.  After sending an email, and talking on the phone to a cheerful woman, she convinced you to visit their offices and talk to their C.E.O,  who was visiting your nearest location on business.  Surprised by their openness, and relieved not to have a door slammed in your face for once, you made an appointment and were now following Suzy through an impressive office space.  Silver Chariot had its own expensive looking building, with high ceilings, metal tones and spotlessly clean wall to wall windows and mirrors.  The place reeked of elegance, intimidatingly so, and you regretted your outfit choice for this interview.  

Suzy finally escorted you into a conference room, with an expansive metal table and tufted leather chairs that probably cost more than your car.  Then, at the end of the conference table, you saw a silver haired gentleman, who Suzy introduced as, “Mr. Polnareff, this is y/n, call me if you need anything!”  and with that, she left and closed the door.  You noticed  Mr.Polnareff didn’t stand up to greet you and shake your hand-not out of rudeness, but because he was in a wheelchair.  On top of that, he had an unusual looking eye patch, and despite clearly being too young to be considered elderly, had prematurely grey hair slicked back in an unusual pompadour.

He shook your hand firmly, and smiled at you as he greeted you, “It’s so lovely to meet you, y/n, I've been looking forward to seeing you in person.  Tell me, what brings you here today?”  He asked, sitting forward and listening intently.  You fiddled with your hands, trying to politely, but vaguely, explain your situation, without sounding too much like a sob story.  Polnareff listened without interrupting, merely nodding, as you explained what you’ve been through.

  “That sounds like a difficult situation- it is difficult in this day and age for young people to support themselves, even more so when they have no one to help them when needed.  I, myself, had to support not only myself, but my younger sister, Cherie, when I was your age.  It was difficult, to say the least, and I didn’t always handle it gracefully to be honest with you.  When my sister saw how much we were struggling, she decided to try helping herself and me by turning to sex work.”

You were shocked by his openness, telling so much of his personal story to a total stranger interviewing at his agency.  He continued,

“Back in my day, the streets of France were not a safe place to sex workers, least of all vulnerable women unable to defend themselves.  It was one of those nights, while my sister was working, that she was tragically attacked and killed.  She had no way of protecting herself, as I wasn’t with her, and the police were just as dangerous.  She died alone because no one was willing to help save her, myself included.  He paused, rubbing his temples as he remembered.

You tried to stop him, “Um, you don’t have to-”  you began, but he held up a hand and assured you,

 “I am fine, it is a painful, but old wound, and important you hear.  It was the most devastating event of my life, but it shaped me into the man I am today.  You see, because of what happened to my sister, I was determined to provide a safe place to any and all women and sex workers, no questions asked, to protect them from things that could happen to them.  Sex work is not something to be criminalized or judged; it is the oldest profession and a valuable work. So, The Silver Chariot Agency provides a safe way to support those in the industry.  That being said, working as an escort, or as it's sometimes called, ‘sugar baby’-”

 he punctuates the term with bunny ear fingers, “-Can be dangerous work.  There is always a risk of assault, and rape, however hard we may try to combat it, but our agency has extremely strict policies and protection plans to protect our workers in either case. I promise , should you decide to work here, that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”  Polnareff grabs your hand, looking into your eyes, intensely.  

You know you’ve just met him, but you’re inclined to believe Polnareff.  He’s either an excellent liar, or simply cares deeply about his company and employees.  

“There are, of course, other things to consider before you decide to take this job.  It is  a job, and many of our clients aren’t looking for romance, but some are hoping to find love and a potential romantic partner via our agency.  Some are looking for purely sexual relationships, and some want nothing to do with sex.  Some of our clients are involved with...less than legal hobbies and activities, and we strongly caution you not to get involved, as our legal department and contracts can only protect you so far.  If you decide to engage, do so with caution. 

“ Lastly, you ultimately get to decide who you want to pick as your clients, so choose wisely.  I have Suzy-”  He gestures to the woman, presumably waiting down the hall to escort you when ready, “Write up summaries and information on every applicant who have expressed an interest in our agency.  Make sure to carefully review them, and choose the client you think will have the best relationship.”  He finishes, giving you a lot to think of.  He can see the gears turn in your mind, and gives you time.  “Please, don’t feel like you have to respond today. Or, if you try this out and don’t like it, you can leave the agency or specific clients, with no fear of repercussions.”  He Pulls away from the table, and turns towards the door, before pausing.

He seems to change his mind, shaking his head as Suzy gets the door for him.

“I look forward to seeing you again, regardless of your decision, mon amie.  I’ll let Suzy handle the rest for today, thank you.  If you decide to accept, just call Suzy and ask her to see some client applications to pick out who you’d like to work with. Au revoir.”  And with that, Mr. Polnareff disappears with surprising speed.  Any other questions and details are handled by Suzy, who cheerfully tells you about the position, average salaries, tax information, and your typical FAQ.  You listen mutely, occasionally nodding along,  but you’re still thinking about everything Polnareff told you.  You could not only support yourself with this  job, but make a killing, while still being safe and having a say in the relationships.  This could work. This could work…

Less than 24 hours later, Suzy gets another phone call at the office.  “Silver Chariot Agency, this is Suzy, how may I assist you today?”  She asks cheerily.  A familiar voice whispers on the other end, “Do you think I could see some of those client Applications, please?”

#jjba #fic #sluttbuttsstuff #sugar daddy!au #reader insert

[lovingcorleone]

“The Deal That Never Happened” — Sonny Corleone x Reader x Tom Hagen

Summary: Tom and Sonny need Y/N's help to help them out.

Pairing: platonic!Sonny Corleone x Lawyer!Fem!Reader x ex!Tom Hagen

Author's note: (English is my second language.) ; First of all, I'm not a lawyer, I don't have any degree in area of law, I have no idea how these things work, but I had fun while writing it and doing some research! I don't know how did I come up with this plot ...but enjoy!

Author's note 2: Reader is Tom's ex girlfriend and events take place after Michael killed Sollozzo and McCluskey, but could not escape to Sicily. also, I was thinking about part. 2?

Warning: strong language, mentions of murder

THE DEAL THAT NEVER HAPPENED

The very original plan of the Corleone's revenge didn't turn out as one would expected. Michael Corleone did, in fact, kill both Sollozzo and McCluskey, but he was not able to catch a flight to Sicily. This was a key moment, which led to nothing but more trouble. While he was hiding, Tom and Sonny were thinking about the next step. The oldest Corleone boy wasn't entirely innocent either. Santino was guilty just as much as Michael, though he wasn't the one holding a gun. Michael, their brother was in grave danger, and that was the other reason they needed to react quickly. Violence was not an option anymore. The legal and diplomatical work of white-collared person was a necessity at that time. Luckily for them, Tom had this specific person in his mind. Y/N L/N. The greatest lawyer he ever met...and dated. When he told Sonny about his idea, he thought that Tom was joking, but eventually he changed his mind and was willing to ask her for help.

Y/N was always very busy, but never too busy to help her friend. Even though, she and Tom were not a couple anymore, she told him to always count on her when his world will fall apart. She was fully aware of an affair that recently happened with murdering Sollozzo and the police officer. She even knew that it had something to do with the Corleone family. In her field she was the best. That kind of person you really want to have on your side. Don Corleone himself once wanted to put her on his list of people he hoped that would help him one day. These people would get extra money and that was hell of a motivation. But Tom strongly disagreed with his adoptive father and said that he wanted Y/N keep far away from their family business. Don wasn't surprised by Tom's reaction, because he knew that Tom still cared about Y/N.

Their meeting held a place in their house, right in Don's office. When Y/N stepped out of a car, Sonny and Tom were already waiting for her. Tom was nervous as hell, but just like always he hid it quite nicely but not completely. Sonny smirked at Tom. „When was the last time you two saw each other?“ „Long time ago. Anyway. We're gonna talk business, so no unnecessary comments. Do you think you can do that, Sonny?“ Tom shot a glance to his brother and Sonny rolled eyes. „For a moment I thought I was hearing our father. I still don't like this idea, but it's the best thing we have now.“ When Tom saw Y/N coming to them, he immediately ran to welcome her. They politely shaked hands and Y/N gave him a faint smile. „Thank you for coming here so quickly. We- I appreciate it.“ Tom said a low voice and Y/N nodded. „Sure. No problem. I'm glad you called.“

Before falling in endless pit of awkwardness, Sonny jumped between them and welcomed her as well. „Let's go inside before this will get suspicious.“ he said with warm smile and all three disappeared behind the closed doors.

While Y/N was preparing her things, neither of Tom or Sonny dared to start a conversation. After 5 minutes, Y/N looked at Sonny, who suddenly started to feel not very cooperative. „Alright, Mr. Corleone. Take a chair and sit right in front of me. Don't ask, just do as I said. It will be more effective.“ Y/N stated as Sonny sat down with a grumpy look on his face. All of a sudden he felt less confident as usual. Their eyes met and both of them stared at each other more than it is appropriate. Y/N leaned back in big chair and put her hands on the desk in front of her. „If looks could kill.“ she smirked. Sonny frowned and Tom just quietly chuckled. „Let's take a look into your file, shall we?“ „Wait, I have a file? How's that possible?“ „Everyone who commited some kind of crime, has a file. But you have just one, because your father made sure that you have all your files destroyed. This one is considered as your first and only one, so let's act like it.“ Sonny's facial expression changed from being grumpy to being surprised to being a bit upset. He took out a cigarette from a little box and lit it. Y/N let out a sigh and opened the file. Then she looked at man in front of her with a sympathy, but it wasn't completely sincere. „You're upset, yeah, I get it. You are really someone– Don's first born.“ Sonny, well-known hothead, angrily pointed a finger at Y/N. „Watch your next words!“ „Sonny...“ Tom warned him.

After what happened to Don, Sonny was extra cautious what people were talking about his father. Y/N knew that Santino was kind of hard to work with, but she did not plan to give up on him. „Look, I'm just trying to do my job here.“ she smiled, „So..shall we get started?“ A smoke left Sonny's mouth as he nodded. Y/N started to pulling out bunch of papers from her bag and handed him a pen. „For the very start, please, uh, sign this...this..aaaand this.“ The oldest Don's son's jaw dropped a bit while looking at what he had to sign. He really thought that they are gonna just talk without doing the boring part. But still, without any more words, he signed everything. „Good, perfect! Such a nice handwriting you have.“ Y/N enthusiastically remarked while putting away signed papers. She could swear that Sonny's cheeks flushed with a pink color for a second. Tom watched them from his own desk in the office, and he felt so proud that Y/N agreed to take their case. Meanwhile, Sonny felt almost intimidated by her presence. „Ahh, sorry. I forgot about these papers...Here. I need another your signature. Just three more and we're done..for now.“ Sonny looked at Y/N like she was crazy, but signed it anyway. What else he could do. „You done? Perfect! You know, the bureaucrats...They always want their paperwork.“ Y/N giggled and shrugged her shoulders like it was normal thing. And for her it was. She loved doing her job, being a lawyer. Sonny finished his cigarette and after a few minutes of complete quietness, Y/N voice's echoed again. „Okay, listen. Let's get into your case..“ „Fucking finally.“ „Don't interupt me, Santino.“ „ ...Sorry.“ „I know what you are thinking. 'This is a mistake! I shouldn't be sitting here!' Well, they don't think that.“ she said that in high-pitched voice accompanied by wide smile on her face. Tom couldn't help but snorted and earned himself an annoyed look from Sonny, who certainly didn't find it amusing. „Thanks for the sympathy, but can we get into that case? We are kinda running out of time. I already signed those fucking papers, what more those dickheads want? I know this is a part of your job, I get it, but! Can we move on?“ the hothead miserably throwed hands into the air. Y/N eyes were fixed on him, not saying a word. She clicked her tongue and put her hands together. „Good. So you understand that I'm just doing my job here. The job you asked me to do.“ she whispered but her face was unreadable. „I was thinking. Your situation is pretty bad at the moment. But I think I have a solution of some kind. Listen, I'm here to strike a possible deal with you, but we will soon get to that part, okay?“ Sonny nodded and his eyes got a bit brighter when the part with a deal was mentioned. „Suddenly how excited you got. Wow.“ she chuckled for herself and shaked her head. „Uhm, so... How about take a look at your crime? You've been charged with Criminal Conspiracy with code 479. Okaaay. Let's see what it says here.. Yikes. Ordering and attempting a murder. But if I remember it correctly..You wanted to avenge your father, so you sent your brother, Michael Corleone, to kill Virgil Sollozzo and also police officer Mark McCluskey. Michael was supposed to make a deal. But that deal never happened. Are you following me?“ „ Yeah. I mean..all correct. So far. Continue.“ Y/N looked at Tom and he approvingly nodded. „You did what you did, and now we're having this conversation. But without Michael, because... we don't know his whereabouts. Too bad, because he was the one who killed them, not you. You only prepared it. Sounds like this is all your work. Oops.“ she raised her eyebrows, pulled her lips into a thin line and then let out a deep sigh. „Tom, are you familiar with criminal conspiracy, mostly when it comes to participation in it?“ she shot a quick glance at man sitting afar from them. He nodded. „In most states, those who have helped plan a crime but have not participated in the actual crime may be given the same sentence as the person who committed the crime himself.“ he responded and Y/N faintly smiled at his

correct answer. He did not forget these things and Y/N was genuinely happy about it. He may have been a consigliere at that time, but deep inside there was an amazing lawyer hidden in him. She stayed silent for a moment thinking about words what she was about to say and then quickly licked her lower lip. „I may or may have not a deal for you. It just depends on you. And on your cooperation.“ Sonny sat on the edge on his chair and looked into her eyes listening carefully. His anger disappeared. „Alright. What do I need to do then?“ A smug smile flashed on her lips and she shook her head. „This is not about you, Mr. Corleone.“

Silence. Sonny frowned at what she just said, but still confidently smiled like he understood. He was taken back. And Tom was too, but not as much as his brother. So far Sonny did not meet a woman that would have behavior like Y/N had. But in the end, it was her job. However, Sonny must have admitted that Y/N was super smart with lots of courage. Tom was right about her. However, Santino needed to think straight, he needed to focus. Y/N shrugged her shoulders. „Listen, if it was up to me, which is not up to me, it's up to the authorities above me, and they say that you are a criminal. But, if it was up to me...I would like your family to get out of this mess and continue living your lives.“

#the godfather #the godfather imagine #the godfather x y/n #the godfather x reader #sonny corleone #sonny corleone x reader #sonny corleone imagine #tom hagen x reader #tom hagen #tom hagen imagine #james caan #robert duvall #also I may have used some lines from Loki series - ep1 because I simply love it. just FYI. #oneshot #fandom #fanfic

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Common Courtesy, Chapter Eight

Word Count:  5758

TW:  Angsty idiots in love; Smut (a failed sexual encounter).  18+ only.

AN:  Part of a series.  The series masterlist here.

Your current case was frustrating.  Not that you had many cases that weren’t – all the easy ones, like subway masturbators and Central Park flashers went to the junior SVU detectives who operated in the background most of the time.  The tough and frustrating ones went to your team.

You and Nick were working a string of missing women that had significant links to a number of cold cases.  A Rikers lifer had reached out via his lawyer with information, so you and your partner found yourselves bouncing across the city, digging through cold case files and re-interviewing family members.  

Cragan was fed up.  It had only crossed his desk because many of the missing women were likely special victims – many had rap sheets for solicitation, and there were a number of runaways too.  He couldn’t deny that you and Nick were building a compelling case – but it was all circumstantial at this point.  There wasn’t even a body, technically.

With nothing but similar victims with similar stories of disappearing, there was no need for you to see Barba during work hours.  You missed it.  You and Carmen were friendly, and you missed joking with her about her boss’s grumpy moods. You missed walking into his office and the little drop you got in your stomach when you saw him, like when you rode roller coasters and hit the first big hill.  You missed walking him through your cases and the back-and-forth about legalities versus evidence.  

You hadn’t seen him in your non-work hours either.  He texted you a few times, just simple messages to check in and thank you for the night together, but that was it.  You wondered if the thing between you two – whatever it may be – was just a weekend hookup.  You weren’t sure how to tell.  Normally, you’d talk to Liv and Amanda.  But Liv was too astute.  If you started chatting to her about hypothetical hookup situations, she’d see right through you. And if you did the same with Amanda, she’d grill you for details until you slipped up.

You were in the cold case storage area on the 6th floor of your building, sifting through another aisle in search of a case.  The room was a mess, and you made a note that if you ever became a captain that you’d clean up records.  Nick was in Brooklyn, talking to a sister of a potential victim, so you were on your own:  climbing up shelves, stirring up dust, sneezing.

You checked one more shelf, then decided to give up for a while.  There was plenty of other cases to look over, databases to search and index.  You swiped a hand across your running nose, sniffling at the dust, and left the room. You took the stairs down two floors and entered the hallway to the bullpen, past the elevators.  You rubbed your eyes, red and irritated by the motes of dust.  Then you heard a voice behind you, calling your name.

It was Barba.  He was exiting the elevator, and he caught up to you.  “Detective,” he said with a smirk.  “Working hard?”

You looked down at yourself.  The front of your shirt and pants were streaked with dust, and you knew that you looked like a wreck, based on your running nose and swollen eyelids. “Morning,” you said, your voice nasal and congested.  You glanced at your watch and saw the time.  “Or afternoon, I guess.”

He looked debonair, as always.  He was in his dark blue suit this time, with the waistcoat and the grey tie. You would have blushed or been turned on, but you had baser needs at the moment:  your stomach rumbled, and Barba’s smirk widened.  You rolled your eyes at him and you both walked into the bullpen together.  You settled in at your desk and Barba went into Cragan’s office.  

“Any luck?” Amanda asked from across the aisle.  She’d been helping a bit with the case, running searches on various police databases.

“Nope,” you responded.  Your stomach growled again, and you considered your options.  You could skip lunch or you could dance with the devil and eat a vending machine sandwich.  You were deep in thought, weighing the odds of your intestinal integrity versus a ptomaine chicken salad on wheat, when Barba swam into your field of vision and startled you.

“Up for a working lunch?” he asked.  “My treat.”

You looked around the bullpen.  “I really can’t.  I have to keep working on this.”  You smiled apologetically, but your captain came out of his office and caught your conversation.

“Go eat.”  You started to protest, but he cut you off.  “That’s an order.”

Your stomach grumbled again and you decided not to protest.  You stood up and grabbed your coat.  “Thanks, Cap.”

He waved you away.  “Don’t thank me.  I just don’t want to deal with the workers comp paperwork if you pass out from hunger.”

Barba took you to a hole-in-the-wall deli nearby.  You both ordered, then you went into the restroom to wash your hands.  Looking at yourself in the mirror, you winced.  Your eyes were red and swollen, your hair was a rat’s nest of a messy bun, and you had a dark smudge of dirt across your forehead.  You scrubbed it away with a damp paper towel and then raked your fingers through your hair before tying it back up, hoping to at least look presentable.

When you returned to your table, your food was waiting for you.  Barba was waiting too, his sandwich untouched.  It wasn’t until you were seated and eating your own sandwich that he tucked into his.  You smiled around your mouthful of tomato and mozzarella.  He was a consummate gentleman.

“So tell me about this case that you and the boy wonder are building,” he said. You snorted at his nickname for Amaro. “When I dropped off Cragan’s paperwork, he told me to be on standby in case you needed me.”

Between wolfish bites, you filled him in.  He nodded, sitting back in his chair, and gave you things to consider - tips for greasing the skids and reducing tension between the dick measuring contest that was the five boroughs.  You knew how to soothe egos from your time in the FBI, but you appreciated Barba’s knowledge about the politics of New York City’s legal system.

You finished your sandwich and sighed contentedly.  You had been starving and hadn’t even realized it. The case was starting to take over your life, as they usually did.  Barba leaned forward with a smirk and reached across the table to brush a bread crumb from the corner of your mouth.  It wasn’t a suggestive gesture; it was more like the kindly action of one friend helping another.

“Thanks,” you said, giving your mouth another swipe with your napkin.  

“No problem,” he said, sitting back again.  “I waited until you were done eating though.  Didn’t want to lose a hand.”

You balled up your napkin and feigned tossing it at him, and he threw up his hands playfully to block it.  You glanced at your watch again and sighed.  “I should head back.”

He stood up and waited for you to put on your coat, then you both walked out together.  He walked with you to the corner, then you turned to go your separate ways.  

“Thanks for lunch,” you said.  You weren’t looking forward to an afternoon back in cold case, but at least you got to see him.  He nodded.

“No problem,” he replied.  You turned to make your way back to the precinct, but he reached out and grabbed the sleeve of your coat.  You stopped and looked at him, and he hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“I was wondering if you wanted to meet up after work on Friday,” he asked, suddenly shy.  “I’d like to take you out to dinner.  If that sounds like something you might like,” he added lamely.  He dropped his hold on your sleeve.  You could barely stop the grin from splitting your face in half, so you bit the inside of your cheek to stop it.

“That would be nice,” you said.  You kept your voice level.  “Shall I meet you at the restaurant, or….” You trailed off.

“How about I pick you up at your place?  I’ll text you the details tomorrow once I find a place.”

“That would be nice,” you repeated.  You allowed the smile to creep across your face, and Barba mirrored it with his own grin.

“’Til then, detective,” he said.

“Til then, counselor.”  You waved and turned towards the precinct, waiting about half a block before you allowed the excitement to put a noticeable spring in your step.  You thought about what you should wear.  You considered the possibility of buying new lingerie, something sexy but tasteful.  Or at the very least, matching.  You wondered if it were possible to broach the subject with Amanda, to get her opinion without her speculating wildly or gossiping with Nick.

Suddenly the cold case room didn’t seem so bleak.

*********

He made the reservation for the perfect restaurant – intimate, not too pretentious, with excellent food.  It was the type of place you could sit for hours and talk.  He enjoyed your last evening together –much of it played on a constant loop in his head – but he wanted to show you that you weren’t just a hookup.  He texted you the details, and you responded with “see you then!”  Then he got back to work.

The rest of the week flew by.  He was going to trial the following week on a case of Fin and Amanda’s, so he was buried in prep work.  His work days bled into evenings, then into his nights.  It was a high-profile case, a prominent doctor accused of sexually assaulting patients under anesthesia.  The press caught wind, which put more pressure on him.

By Friday afternoon, it was clear that he would have to cancel.  He tried to avoid it, working well into the nights prior to get caught up, but Jack McCoy stopped in his office every day and demanded more.  On Friday, he found himself at his desk, his tie loosened and his hair disheveled from running his handing through it.  He pulled out his phone and texted you the situation.  Then he hung his head.

You replied a moment later, and he considered ignoring it.  When he asked you out at the deli, he couldn’t miss the smile you were holding back.  When you parted, he turned to watch you walk away, practically skipping.  And now he was breaking the plans that had made you so happy.  He sighed and turned his phone over to read the screen.

No problem.  I’m pretty exhausted from my week too.  Rain check?

He let out the breath he’d been holding and typed his answer back.

Absolutely!  Same time and place, next Friday?

His phone chimed within seconds:  you said yes, and wished him a good weekend.

The next week, trial week, was a disaster.  His lineup of solid, credible victims fell apart.  Two backed out of testifying altogether, and one was intentionally vague on the stand.  Another came across as hostile even when he lobbed softball questions at her, and Barba watched his case fall apart just like that.  By the time Friday rolled around, McCoy was livid, demanding that he work with Fin and Amanda to come up with a plan B before closing arguments on Tuesday.  

He had to cancel.  Again. But you were understanding, or so you seemed on your texts.  He was dimly aware through Fin and Amanda’s offhand comments that SVU was stretched to capacity, and that you and Nick were drowning in work too.  So maybe you were okay with it.

The two of you rescheduled.  Again. Barba vowed on all that was holy that he’d make that date, one way or another. So when Friday rolled around again, and McCoy had pulled him into a meeting, he texted you right before going into the conference room.  He told you to go ahead without him and order him a scotch, and that he’d meet you at the restaurant a few minutes late.  You replied that you were looking forward to it.

The meeting ran over.  Barba sat on edge, his leg bouncing nervously under the table as he watched the clock and died each time the minute hand swept past the twelve.  Finally, he sighed and sent the all-too-familiar text, on the sly while McCoy wasn’t watching.  He had to cancel, yet again.  He put his phone away and tried to focus on the meeting.

This was it.  He had known it would never work out with you, and he was right.  It was just history repeating.  The last woman he dated left him because of his work schedule. It had started as a casual fling, just a lonely lawyer and a recent divorcee paralegal, and it fell into a familiar routine that turned into a relationship, quite unintended.  She was nice enough, and beautiful in her own, cold sort of way, and she was whip-smart to boot.  But she had no patience for being kept waiting, and it was only after a few missed dates or late evenings at the office before she dumped him. “You’re nice,” she had said.  “But I deserve a lot better than this.”

It was late by the time the meeting ended.  He was too dejected to check his phone for your reply, if there even was one.  He trudged back to his office, gathered up his things, and plodded out of the building. He felt tired to the core, and it wasn’t just from the past few chaotic weeks.

Once in the taxi, his curiosity got the better of him and he checked his phone. Nothing on the lock screen.  He unlocked it and opened the messages folder. No reply from you.  Then he saw it.

His cancellation message never sent.  That conference room was notorious for cell coverage, but it never crossed his mind.  The little red exclamation point indicating the failure to send was like a knife in the gut.  He pulled his hand over his face, horrified by the thought of you sitting in that restaurant, waiting.  You’d probably taken the time to look nice, in a dress and makeup and styled hair. He imagined you turning every time the door opened and the look on your face when you realized it wasn’t him. How long had you waited?

He barked out a new address to the taxi driver and prepared for the worst. Which he deserved.

****

You had waited at the restaurant for him.  As your meeting time came and went, you considered texting him, but figured he was on his way over.  By the time you really wanted to text him, you were stewing, so you held off.  You had a very, very long fuse, but a vicious temper when it was finally provoked, and you didn’t want to say anything you’d regret.  You hated the sympathetic looks that the waiter kept giving you every time he came to refill your water, and you hated how you watched the door like a dog waiting for its human to come home.  You eventually ordered, since you were hungry, and you made sure to give the waiter an obscenely large tip to make up for the inconvenience.  Then you rode the subway home.

You felt ridiculous.  You also felt uncomfortable.  Amanda had come through in true sisterly fashion, telling you about a boutique in the West Village.  You went there on your lunch break and had been talked into spending entirely too much money by an ambitious saleswoman.  You glanced around the half-empty subway car and tugged underneath your dress. Whoever decided that garters were sexy were obviously the men who didn’t have to wear them.

Once home, you shucked your dress and preposterous lingerie, threw on your pajamas, and scrubbed your face of makeup.  You’d finally laid out a perfect pair of matching cat’s eye liner, and no one other than the subway riders had seen it.  What a waste.  You made your nest of blankets on the couch and settled into your usual baking show escape. You were just starting to calm yourself, watching the contestants pipe perfectly formed macrons.  The sudden whine from your door’s intercom pulled you from your reverie.

You rolled your eyes and went over to answer it.  Mrs. Klosterman was always locking herself out when she went out for a smoke, and she buzzed every door until someone let her in.  You hit the button without talking to her – she had a tendency to keep you on the line, talking about her daughter in Sarasota – and padded back to the couch.  You were tucking the blanket around your knees when there was a knock at the door.

Your stomach lurched.  It was probably Barba.  You paused the television and walked slowly over to the door, checking the peephole. It was Barba.  You sighed and opened the door.

He pushed his way in without invitation.  You felt the edge of your anger soften as you looked at him.  He was rumpled, his face stubbled with five o’clock shadow, his hair out of place.  His eyes were red-rimmed and watery with exhaustion, and worry lines etched his face.  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone.

“I know I can’t make this right,” he said, not looking at you.  His hands trembled slightly as he unlocked the phone and pulled up a screen.  “But my message to you never sent.”  He held it up for you to see, and you glanced at it before look at him again.  You sighed, and you watched him wince, like he was expecting a blow.

“You owe me ninety bucks,” you chided him.  “Because I got an appetizer and your shitty drink, and I tip well.”

He nodded, still not looking at you.  You sighed again and said, softer this time, “that was a joke, Rafael.”

He glanced up your use of his first name, and you gifted him with a small smile.  “Tough week?” you asked.

He nodded again.  “The worst.”

“I heard a bit about it from Amanda,” you said.  “You look tired.”

“I’m exhausted,” he agreed.  He looked up at you now, his tired eyes searching your face.  “But I was sick when I saw that you never got my text.  I thought about you at the restaurant, waiting for me….I’m so sorry.”

You took a deep breath.  “I forgive you,” you said.  He let out a ragged breath, like he had been holding it, and you continued.  “You only ended up hurting yourself here, counselor,” you said in a playful tone.  “I had bought special lingerie for the occasion.”  You leaned towards him and whispered, “and it matches.”

He laughed, then leaned towards you too.  He rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes.  “I’ll never forgive myself now.”

You placed your arms around his neck, pulling him into a firm hug.  He sighed and leaned into you, dead-tired, and you staggered back a step under his weight.  “Come sit on the couch,” you said, removing yourself from the embrace and tugging his hand to follow you.  “Tell me all about your week.”

*****

He removed his outer coat and suit jacket, then his waistcoat.  He sat on the couch with you beside and facing him, your legs tucked up under you.  As he rolled up his sleeves, he looked you over.  Bare feet, striped flannel pajama pants, and a t-shirt that proclaimed the Toronto Blues Jays to be 1992’s American League champions.  He smiled to himself, then told you all about his week.  You reached out and held his hand, gently working your own fingers over it, stroking it and pulling the tension from him.  You repeated it with his other hand, working out the stiffness from a week of clenching fists and writing out long-hand question and answer diagrams for trial.

“How was your week?” he asked you in turn.  

You shrugged.  “Not much to say.  Nick and I are just running in circles.  We spent all day in Staten Island’s SVU.” “Have a good time?”

You laughed.  “I hate to stereotype, but have you ever been to a Staten Island precinct?  Two minutes there, and you’re crowded by a bunch of cops trying to feed you.”  You slipped into an adorably terrible Staten Island accent.  “It’s like, ‘my ma made cannoli’ or ‘you gotta try my nonna’s zeppole’ or ‘this is my wife’s pignolata.’”  You dropped the accent and continued.  “And if you don’t eat their damned pastries, you end up sparking a family feud that’ll last generations.  Nick and I both crashed from sugar highs in the afternoon.”

“That sounds terrible,” he joked.

You pulled a resigned face.  “It’s these sort of sacrifices that made me want to become a cop.”

He reached out and stroked your arm, running his fingers up and down, feather-light, making goosebumps break out across your skin.  “I am really sorry about tonight.  And the past Fridays too.”  He trailed his hand down your arm until it was clasping your hand.  He drew it up to his mouth and pressed a kiss along your knuckles.

“I already forgave you,” you said back.  You broke your hand away from his and stroked his face, cupping your palm around his cheek.  He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch.  Then he reached out and pulled you to him, until you were sitting across his lap, your legs dangling off the couch.

“What would it take to see this incredibly sexy matching lingerie,” he asked, pressing his face against your neck. “Matching is my kink, by the way.”

You snorted.  You ran your hand through his hair, raking your nails lightly over his scalp.  He hummed in contentment, slipping his hands under your shirt.  One rubbed the bare skin of your back and the other reached up to gently cup first one breast, then the other.  You moaned softly, then wriggled against his lap, looking for some friction as he pawed your breasts, drawing a thumb across your nipples until they hardened.

As you softly ground yourself against him, though, he realized with growing horror that your nipples were the only erect things in the room.  He buried his face deeper into the crook of your neck, kissing you, desperately hoping for the usual chain reaction that started when he had his arms around you or his mouth on you.  But the more he panicked, the further from reality his erection seemed.  Fuck, he thought.  Not now.

You realized something was amiss a moment later and stopped grinding on him. You pulled away with a confused expression.  He refused to look at you.  Instead, he dropped his head lower.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t get anything right tonight.”

“Is it me?” you asked, your voice small.  He removed his hands from under your shirt and circled them around your waist in a tight embrace.  He shook his head but couldn’t speak.

*****

The first thought to go through your head was that he wasn’t attracted to you without alcohol in him.  Every time you’d hooked up before, he’d had some booze in his system.  Except for the first morning after, but he was half asleep then.  You were confused.

“It’s not you,” he whispered finally.  He pressed his forehead against your shoulder and sighed.  “I’m so sorry.”

You placed your hand on the back of his neck, stroking it lightly.  He shuddered against you, his arms tight around you, not speaking.  A thought occurred to you, and you mentally kicked yourself.  You should have accepted his original apology and then sent him directly home to sleep.

“You too tired,” you guessed.  He nodded against your shoulder.  “I should have sent you home,” you whispered, running your hand through his hair and soothing him.  

He snorted against you, his breath a hot burst against your skin.  “I wouldn’t have slept,” he mumbled.  “I would have been tossing and turning, feeling like an asshole for standing you up.  Besides, it’s been a terrible week.”  He pulled away a little to look at you with sheepish eyes.  “Have you ever been so tired that you can’t actually sleep?”

You smiled sadly at him.  “In my line of work?  Absolutely. You’re talking to the girl who engineered her bedroom for sleep…and who still takes more sleeping pills than she’s comfortable with.”  You leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then climbed off his lap to stand over him.  

“Come on,” you said and held your hand out to him.  He looked at you with bleary eyes and took it.  He stood up and made to reach for his coat, but you stopped him, giving him a tug towards your bedroom.

He shook his head.  “I don’t think I can….”

You cut him off.  “Not that. You’re too tired to get home at this point.  I don’t want you falling asleep in some Uber and waking up in Brighton Beach without your wallet.”  You gave him a gentle shove towards the bathroom.  “There’s a new toothbrush in the top drawer of the vanity, Barba.”

He exited the bathroom a few moments later and stood, swaying from exhaustion, in the bedroom doorway.  You had pulled back the sheets and turned on the bedside lamp.

“I don’t have any clothes that would fit you,” you joked.  “But you can strip down to sleep.  I won’t take advantage of you.”  You waggled your eyebrows at him like a letch, drawing a tired laugh from him.  “I’ll take the couch,” you added.  “You get some sleep, okay?”

He sat on the edge of the bed heavily and pulled off his socks and shoes, then removed his pants and undershirt.  He slumped forward, his arms on his knees, his head heavy.  Then he looked up at you.  

“Stay with me?” he asked.  He looked so forlorn.  You climbed in from the other side while he settled into his side.  He reached over and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.  The two of you lay side by side, not talking or touching for a minute.  You knew he was exhausted, but you could also feel the nervous tension radiating off of him.  You broke the silence.

“You know what I do sometimes when I can’t sleep?” you asked, your voice soft.  He made an inquisitive hum, and you reached over to the bedside table on your side. You groped in the darkness for the switch, then clicked it on.  The room was suddenly filled with pinpoints of light thrown across the ceiling and walls, like a star-field.  Barba turned to look at you, his eyes crinkled by his sudden grin.

“Don’t laugh,” you warned.  You reached out and pulled him to you, pressing his head against you so that it was nestled under your chin and on your chest.  “I bought this night-light at Babies ‘r Us.”  He snorted against you, and you tugged his hair playfully.

“I said don’t laugh, Barba.”  You ran your fingernails through his hair, scratching his scalp in abstract patterns. “You can’t see the stars in New York City.”

“Who needs the stars when you have all-night bodegas?” he joked.  You tugged his hair again, then resumed the soothing scratching.  You opened your mouth to speak, hesitated.  

Then you said, “I grew up in the middle of nowhere.”  He perked up a bit, turning his head to look at you before settling back on your chest.  “I mean, I bounced from foster home to foster home, but it was all pretty rural.”  He hummed against you, and you continued.

“There was this one home I was at for a while, out on a farm.  I was there with three other kids.  It wasn’t a great time – the foster parents were only in it for the free labor and the maintenance checks from the state, but I was close with one of the other kids. He was about four years older than me.” You closed your eyes for a moment, remembering Charlie.  A shock of reddish brown hair, bright blue eyes a smattering of freckles across his face. Sallow and thin from being generally underfed, as you all were.

“Charlie and I were obsessed with this one book in the school library.  We took turns checking it out.  It was a big book full of these glossy pages of pictures from the Hubble telescope.  It talked about the stars and how they were born and died, all the science.”  You paused, shifting your hand from Barba’s head to his bare back, rubbing circles along his skin.  “But it also had stories about the constellations.  And not just the usual ones – they told stories about indigenous constellations, ancient Chinese ones, Persian ones….”

“That sounds nice,” Barba murmured.

“It was,” you agreed.  “The book said that any configuration of stars can be considered a constellation, so Charlie and I would lay out in the field at night and make up our own constellations and our own stories.  Orion became the mother, surrounded by pets like cats and dogs.  There was the hamburger with the pickle on the side, the bicycle jumping over a stream….we concocted elaborate stories about them.  Our own mythology.”

He slid his arms around your waist and hugged you, then shifted his head to gaze up at your ceiling. “Any good constellations here in your room?”

You thought about it.  With your free hand, you pointed.  “Those are the Ridiculous Suspenders.”  You shifted your hand, pointing to another area.  “They belong to the Smirking Lawyer, here.  He died choking on his own pretension after describing the flavor profile of shitty alcohol, but the goddess Artemis loved him so she put him in the sky.”  Barba turned his head against you, stifling a laugh, then settled back into his original position.  “That’s probably the most seductive, handsome constellation I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s the most something,” you agreed.  “Not sure what that something is yet.”

The two of you lay in comfortable silence:  him with his arm around you tight, you alternating between rubbing his back and stroking his head.

“What happened to Charlie?” he finally asked.  He sounded sleepy, so you answered.

“He went to another home, and I did too.  That’s the problem.  I had so many brothers and sisters, but I lost all of them.  What ten-year-old can keep track of all those names?  We all shifted so much, I could barely keep track of myself.”  He squeezed you tighter.  You continued, quieter.  “I should have the biggest family at holiday dinners instead of….” You trailed off, unable to finish the thought.  Barba gave you a final squeeze, and then the two of you drifted off to sleep.

*****

He woke late the next morning. He heard you in your kitchen, the sound of music faint through the closed bedroom door.  He crawled out of bed and stretched deeply, relishing the feeling of not – for the first time in weeks – being completely fatigued.  He pulled his clothes on and swung the door open, exiting the room to join you.

You were dressed in your usual work uniform, but your hair was loose, laying across your shoulders.  You had your back to him and were nodding your head along to the music coming through your phone’s speakers.  He paused and listened to you humming, then he walked over to you.

You turned and gave him a smile after you paused the music.  “Morning, glory,” you said sunnily.  “I got bagels while you were sleeping.”

He leaned against the counter. “No omelet?  No carefully-crafted eggs Benedict?”

You smiled again as you slid the bag of bagels over to him.  “Rough week. The only thing in my fridge is a box of baking soda and some condiments.”  He felt you watching him as he sliced a bagel in half and smeared a layer of cream cheese on it.  You poured him a cup of coffee from the pot you had brewed and handed that to him too. He took a bite and chewed, then broke the silence.

“About last night…” he started, but you cut him off by laying a hand on his arm.

“No expectations, remember?” He nodded, disappointed, but you resumed.  “You were dead asleep on your feet, and I know better than most how demanding your job is.  All is forgiven.”  He smiled and finished his bagel, washing it down with the coffee.

“Can I make it up to you now?” he asked, dropping his voice into a growl.

You gave him a rueful smile and shook your head.  “I wish. Nick and I are working today.  The Captain approved some overtime for us to wrap up our cold cases for now, so we’re going in to write out our reports. We’re being reassigned on Monday.”

Barba couldn’t hide his disappointment.  He sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face.  “What about tomorrow?  Brunch, maybe?”

You looked sympathetic. “Can’t.  I teach a self-defense class for women in the Bronx, the last Sunday of every month.”  You smirked at him.  “Someone needs to help them protect themselves.  There’s a legend of a smarmy young Cuban boy, running up and down Jerome Avenue, terrorizing the neighborhood with his smart-ass mouth.” He chuckled at you remembering the details of your mutual childhood conversation.

“Damned right he’s a legend,” he said.  He reached for you, pulling you against him.  You curved into his embrace, pressing against him as he laid a firm kiss on your closed mouth.  You started to kiss him back, but then pushed him away.

“I can’t,” you whined.  “And don’t get me worked up.  I’ve already ran enough miles this week to qualify for a marathon.  Had to burn off all that excess energy, thanks to you.”

He smirked.  “You could always…take care of yourself.  While thinking of me, of course.”

You shook your head.  “I’d rather wait for the genuine article. Besides, running keeps me in shape for when I have to punish evil-doers.”  You kissed him gently on the cheek, then went to get your coat and bag. He grabbed his coat and briefcase, and you both exited the apartment.  He reached out and took your hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm as he walked you out to the street.

#rafael barba #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #tropes-and-tales

[saturnsummer]

i don't mind forever.

AU: When Sol is handed a case, she doesn't realise how big the case gets. Luckily for her, her best friend is here. (AU of lawyers at Hankuk Law Firm.)

notes: all credits go to @thenerdywriter !! she gave me this prompt just days after i joined tumblr, and i’ve been working on and off on it ever since. my first au series, so please go easy on me! i know i’m practically killing myself for doing two series at once, but i’ll deal with it later. as always, big love to everyone! any grammar mistakes and all will be taken fully responsible by me!

ao3 link

words: 4035 words

one.

Sol scrunches her hair in frustration. She twists her long, wavy light brown hair in a bun, fixing it with a jab of her white, long chopstick hairpin. She adjusts her bangs for good measure and resumes with her report. She reaches over to her coffee mug, only to find it empty. Great, it’s the third coffee she had today, and it wasn’t even lunch. Hearing her colleagues nagging on drinking too much coffee in her head, she stands from her desk and pushes the glass door of her office to the staff pantry. Her heels click against the marble floors as she strides across, filling her cup with iced water before retreating back.

It would have been a normal day at the Hankuk Law firm, but it wasn’t when she had such a pressing case.

It's been weeks. A client of hers has pressed charges against Lee Man Ho, claiming that he scammed her life savings. Lee Manho was a convict that was charged for raping multiple women and on several occasions, sexual harassment. He had been on good behaviour after his release for a couple of years, with no complaints and no news. Only now did his name resurface. He was snarky in his speech, manipulative and quick with his tongue, but most of all had a sinister smile that sent shivers.

Sol, being Sol, couldn’t say no to the poor woman. How could she? She experienced her fair share of poverty from growing up in a single-parent family that made enough to get by. She sympathised with her feelings, knowing just how stressed this poor mother must be when she can no longer afford to pay rent for her home, even less so the necessities for her toddler kids. Because, too many times, Sol was found broke and skipping meals so she could have her younger sister, Byeol, be fed instead.

With the help of the local police, she found more victims to be scammed, all similar in their scenario. Manho would call under the alias of a financial aid consultant, sometimes an insurance agent or bank teller. Then, he would extract their bank numbers from them, effectively draining their money away. By the time they victims tried to call back, the number would be out of order, or picked up by another voice, evident that he used another number to cover up his.

None of his victims had anything in common. Some were rich, some were poor. Some were female, some were male. And Manho had long disappeared in the wind the moment he got out of jail. He was said to be sighted once and when the police placed eyes on him, they lost him that same day.

His digital footprint was an utter headache as well. The police had other things to matter, and figuring out his digital footprint was the least of their concerns when they had important murders and urgent matters to solve.

But two could play this game.

Seungjae was a good friend of Sol’s. They were close acquaintances in school and kept in close contact. He, unlike Sol, was a whiz with computer codes and had his fair share of hacking experience. She remembers how he would hack into the system during school events and broadcast short music videos on the school televisions during breaks. Despite their age gap, he was always courteous, nice and kind hearted in helping others.

Seungjae eventually found a job with the police force, using his skills to legally hack criminal networks and dark nets. He was essentially part of a task force that identified suspicious activities like mass radicalisation, fake news and essentially tracking down internet hackers. It was a no-brainer that Sol would approach him, even though she knew that he could only legally hack under his work orders, not for personal favours.

Well it’s best she at least try.

She called Seungjae, who was fortunately free, and agreed to meet at a cafe. The sun was out, warming them from the autumn breeze that chilled them. Sol grabbed her coat and placed a post-it on her door, informing her colleagues of her business. Sol, while dressed in a warm coat, was undoubtedly freezing from the breeze. If only she could go back to law school, where she wore jeans and sweatshirts all day. Instead, she had a light blue long sleeved blouse, a knee length pencil skirt and a midnight blue blazer, and her only coat she had weakly shielding her from the cold.

“Sol A, what gives me the feeling that you aren’t calling for the purpose of catching up, but for a favour?” Seungjae asks as soon as his ice coffee arrives. Sol is amused at his habit, that he still calls her Sol A to differentiate her from Sol B, her colleague just working next door to her. But in response, she gives a small frown.

“Oppa, please? You have to help me with this. This case is driving me nuts!” She says in frustration as she stirs her ice tea. “Look, he’s off the grid, like properly off. I can’t even track his number or his email accounts. When the police placed plainclothes on him, he was like a ninja and they lost him within the first hour.”

Seungjae’s frown deepens. He knows of people who are good on the internet, but for an ex-convict to be running this alone? Furthermore, a convict who had no criminal record of scamming, conning and IT based crimes? There was definitely more to this.

“Sol A, do you think that he’s working alone?” Seungjae asks, stopping Sol in her speech. She tilts her head, the way she does normally when she puts the puzzle pieces in order. From her bag, she takes out a notebook and scribbles down the facts, then pushes it to the centre of the table.

“Okay, so we know that Lee Manho was convicted of rape and sexual harassment long time ago. Now, he’s running scams, and has no known background of coding or conning people, yet somehow the money appears in his bank account and it disappears the next moment.” Sol states as she circles her notes with a pencil and Seungjae nods.

“I think… I think you’re right, oppa. He’s definitely not working alone. And he could just be the middleman bringing the cash from one place to another.” Sol breaths out, realising how big the case has gotten. She’s not just going after Lee Manho, but she’s going after an entire team.

“You said that you can’t track his whereabouts, people he communicates with and where the money is going to?” SeungJae asks. Sol nods.

“Looks like someone is covering up the transfers and his tracks.” Seungjae concludes. Seungjae furrows his eyebrows. Sol recognises his thinking face and tries to plea once more.

“Please, oppa? You helped me check out and verify Yeseul’s boyfriend, which saved her life! Please, oppa…” Sol pleads with him. Seungjae knew how much Sol was going to dedicate to this, and besides, he was legally going to hack. He was fighting for those who couldn’t fight. What difference would it make? It felt wrong to ignore such a desperate plea.

“Fine. But you have to let me use a laptop that isn’t mine. I can’t have my superiors know I’m hacking into a case that wasn’t submitted to me again. God, Yeseul’s ex-boyfriend case got me a bloody earful from the captain.” He finally agrees, getting up from his seat and grabbing his coat. Sol lets out a relieved sigh and picks her coat too.

“Thank you, thank you!”

“Save it for later, when I’m done hacking. Let’s head back to your office for now.” He says and walks to the door. At that moment, Sol’s phone rings, and she picks up, knowing who will call at this time of the day. If it’s lunch, it has to either be Yeseul or Joon Hwi.

“Are you joining us for lunch, sunbae?” Sol takes a moment to close her eyes in frustration. This man is going to drive her insane.

“Yeah. Are you all ordering?”

“That’s right. Extra pickles?”

“Always. Add one more jjampong and kkampungi, too.” The receiving end goes silent.

“Who’s joining?” Sol gives a knowing smile as she unlocks her car.

“An old friend of ours.”

-----

“Wah, it’s been a long time since Seungjae-hyung could eat with us!” BokGi says, as he passes out the chopsticks and Yebeom unpacks the meals. Seungjae only gives a small smile while helping out with the food.

Despite the cold weather, the odd group of friends found pleasure in eating outdoors as opposed to their office pantry. It was too noisy some days, too quiet on some, and knowing how chaotic the group can get during lunch, it only made sense to have their meals downstairs at some benches. Besides, they could use a break from being stuck in their offices all day and look at trees changing their colours to shades of red, oranges and brown.

“Thank your noona here, for convincing me to come.” He says as he nods his head over to Sol, who is busy unpacking her pickles and noodles. Joon Hwi gives a smile as he stares at the delight on her face when she sees those yellow pickles on a plastic saucer.

“Hyung, what are you here for?” Joon Hwi asks, as he unpacks his noodles.

“This lady here has enlisted my help once again for a case she is working on. But it has to be off the books. Thus, my presence here instead of my cubicle back at my headquarters.” Sol chokes and she quickly takes a sip of her tea.

“Oppa, why do you make me sound so law breaking…” Sol grumbles. Yeseul, sitting next to her only gives a small smile and squeezes her hand.

“Seungjae-oppa did help me bring Yeongchang to jail. So I would consider his work, whether under his boss orders or not, to be lawful.” Yeseul quips quietly. The table grows silent for a moment, knowing how this topic took a mental toll out of them, but Yeseul was hit the hardest.

When Yeseul first started dating Yeongchang, everyone didn’t mind it. Only when Sol witnessed how Yeseul would be frightened to pick up his call and spotting bruises on her arms did she get Seungjae to dig into his personal life. Lo and behold, not only was he abusive, he was seeing two other women and they were treated badly, if not, worse.

Yeseul’s heart broke, this being her first love and the man she envisioned marrying. But with her friends' support, she took it upon herself to press charges on him, for the women he tortured and for herself. Representing herself and the women that he had failed to protect and taken advantage of, it wasn’t easy for her, having been so blind in love and still harbouring feelings.

The group stood by and silently supported. They accompanied her trials, no matter how busy they were. Sol remembers Jiho running from one courtroom to another on one occasion when he had to immediately attend a court hearing for a client he was defending. Sol had Yeseul stay over at her apartment during the entire situation, while Yeseul searched for an apartment nearby after moving out of his house. Even Sol B, who was usually cold, bought her meals and stayed to eat when the girls spent late nights in silence and drinking.

Finally, the judge ruled that Yeongchang was to be charged in jail. For the sexual, mental and physical abuse of these women, including Yeseul. It has been months since then and time can only tell how much she has healed. The rest can only give their silent support and be there for her.

“I didn’t mean to make the mood bad. Come, let’s eat. Also, what is the case about, unnie?” Yeseul quickly breaks into a smile, an attempt to let everyone know she’s okay. Sol gives a brief description of her case to everyone while she slurps her noodles and pickles.

“This is going to be difficult. If you guys are right, you might be dealing with something bigger than just Lee Manho.” Sol B states and Sol gives a nodded reply.

“Please don’t tell Superior Kim or Superior Yang about this. I really need to break this case and Seungjae-oppa is my only way to.” Sol informs her group. They give half hearted murmurs, not wanting to be meddled into Sol’s affairs. Well, all but one.

“Yah, why didn’t you come find me? I have my own contacts in the police as well.” Joon Hwi asks, a slight frown on his face. From anyone else looking, it would have been easy to miss. But for Sol, she knew that he was upset, interpreting his complaints as “Why didn’t you come and tell me about this first?”

“Because, Mr. Second Round Judicial Exam Pass, you have been too busy! Do I really need to remind you to eat every damm moment? You drive me crazy some days!” Sol argues. They launch into a light hearted argument, as the rest of the lunch group watches with equal fervour as they eat their meals.

“Guys, stop arguing, my ears hurt.” Jiho said, his tone in slight annoyance as he dove straight into the kkampungi and tangsuyuk. Sol finally gave up fighting, earning a teasing smirk from Joon Hwi. They continued their noisy meal, chatting and catching up with Seungjae. Seungjae gives them some updates of his pregnant wife and some interesting cases.

After their meal, they separated their trash neatly. The sun now hides away in the clouds, leaving little warmth against the chilly breeze of autumn. Sol brushes her coat and rubs her hands and arms. If only she could afford a better one than this old coat she’s been using since her first year in university.

Joon Hwi notices her trying to warm up against the cold and takes his coat from the chair, layering it on her. He honestly didn’t feel cold, but he knows he has always been the stronger one to resist against the cold. For Sol, it must be freezing.

“Take mine.” He simply says, taking the packs of plastic from Sol. If Sol had a hint of blush, he pretended to not notice.

“Oh, thanks.” She said as she took wipes from her bag and wiped down the mess on the benches and tables. “But I don’t need it. We’re heading back to the office anyway.” She shrugs his coat off and drapes it over her arm, returning it to him. He pushes it to her, and leans in closer to her.

“Help me carry it, so I don’t have to, sunbae.” He teases with a smirk, sending Sol in a fit of frustrated squeaks, chasing him as best as she can in her heels. Sol knows Joon Hwi gets a thing out of his teasing, and sends him annoyed glares as she continues to clear the tables. Jiho manages to sigh and Sol B rolls her eyes as she dumps the trash in the bins.

The group grabs their bags as they head back into the office, where Sol checks Seungjae in as a visitor at the reception. The receptionist hands him a blue lanyard with a visitor pass as Sol leads him to the elevators. Jiho and Bokgi are off to meet clients, and Sol B is headed to court for a hearing. Yeseul stops at another floor to her office with Yebeom, who needs to pick up some reports from a colleague.

Joon Hwi follows Sol to her office with Seungjae, despite his office being upstairs. Sol grabs her personal laptop from her bag, which is separate from her desktop computer and passes it to Seungjae, who takes a seat opposite her and starts programming the computer to begin hacking.

“What, did you just let him use your personal laptop?” Joon Hwi asks in concern as he takes a seat on a spare chair.

“Let him do it. Don’t you have your reports to do?” Sol asks as she turns to her own reports before typing in her findings for the new Lee Manho case. Joon Hwi doesn’t reply, and Sol sends an annoyed glance. He’s not going to leave unless he knows all the information of this case.

“Okay, I got it.” Seungjae says after a series of clicks and turns the screen to show Sol what he has found. Sol leans into a chart of bank transfers.

"From what I can tell, it seems like the money enters his bank account and is transferred to an offshore account. I can't trace where the money goes from there anymore." Seungjae explains as he uses the cursor to show them. "I can't tell who owns the account either. If I could take a guess, it's probably the mastermind of this."

"Wait, look. Lee Manho is getting paid a constant amount every single time before a large sum comes in and leaves." Joon Hwi points. Sol grabs her printed papers as she matches the amounts that her clients have given here. They match exactly to the large sums, but have no relation to the constant amount that he gets every scam.

"He's getting paid to scam? Tch, God, I hate this crook." Sol says through gritted teeth. Joon Hwi sighs and observes the anger rising in Sol. He places a hand on top of her clenched fist for comfort and her fist stops clenching as she sighs in response.

"Sol A, I can't track his location with your laptop. It's not exactly ideal, since it can be tracked back." Seungjae says, eyes darting while continuously typing. Joon Hwi could sense the disappointment in Sol's face, but it can't be helped. It was too dangerous from her location and IP address.

"Oppa, thank you for helping. I owe you one." Sol says as Seungjae scrubs her laptop clean from hacking traces. Seungjae returns her laptop and stands up. "You should go back, oppa. You've been gone too long."

"I'll keep you updated." He says as Sol guides him out of the office. Once she shuts the door, she pulls the hairpin from her hair and crunches her hair in frustration. She has the information on where the money is going, but it's no use when she can't find out where he is. Joon Hwi takes a seat opposite her.

"Don't stress." He says softly, and Sol bites her lip in frustration.

"Don't stress? How can I not? The police aren't giving me any information on him, delaying his location tracking! I can't even find him! How am I supposed to get evidence to charge him, if he can't even appear to show up to court?" Sol angrily spills, her hands flailing. Joon Hwi sighs but grabs a hold of her wrist.

"Don't get swayed by your emotions." Joon Hwi firmly says, sparingly into Sol's anger-filled eyes. She pulls her wrist back, taking a deep breath before gathering her hair up again.

"Fine." She grumbles. "Get out of my office, Prosecutor Han. Don't you have work?" This earns a soft smile from Joon Hwi. As he heads to the door, he turns back before he leaves.

"Don't... Don't do anything stupid or impulsive, you hear me?"

Sol clicks her tongue and gives a half-hearted nod. She turns back to her report and updates her findings and tries to diffuse the thought of asking Seungjae to hack with her laptop to find Man Ho's location.

For Kang Sol A, such thoughts don't leave easily.

-----

"You sure?" Seungjae asks, seated in Sol's car. Sol takes a deep breath in and nods.

It was a few days after Seungjae visited the office. Sol called the police as much as she could, but they always left her on the line or just said "we're working on it." Thus, Sol told Seungjae to meet her at a park, before driving to a random alley and passing him her laptop.

"Yeah, I'll take my chances." She replied. Seungjae sighs and begins typing away.

"You know you're putting yourself at risk?" He asks, eyes never leaving the screen.

"I'll put myself at risk for the justice of my clients." She says firmly. A few minutes pass as Sol stares out of the car and watches the bright moon and the clouds floating by in misty swirls.

"Got it." Sol turns her attention to Seungjae. On the screen is a map and a blinking red dot of Manho’s location. Sol reads the map and puts her car back in drive before turning out of the alley.

"Woah, do you know where you are going?" Seungjae asks, grabbing onto the overhead handle for support and his hand securing the laptop.

"Seungjae-oppa, don't tell anyone about this, okay? Especially not Joon Hwi." Sol ignores his question as she speeds up the car, turning into a drop-off point of a train station.

"Sol A, you're-"

"Sorry, oppa. But I need to find him. I can't sit and wait for the police anymore. I promise you, I'll be safe." Sol says. Seungjae couldn't say no. He knows how stubborn Sol is, how when she decides on something, she will commit to it wholeheartedly.

"If he's armed, you could get yourself in danger." Seungjae exasperatedly sighs. It was too big a risk to see the junior he treats as a little sister put herself at risk.

"I'll be fine. Look, you're on my speed dial. You know that I can handle myself. There's a reason why I took years of self-defence classes." Sol tells him. Seungjae nods his head unwillingly.

"You better call me after you're done." He says as he opens the door and gets out of the car. "Please, please stay safe." Sol nods and gives a small smile.

"Thank you, oppa." Sol drives away immediately, leaving Seungjae to pinch his nose bridge in frustration and concern. Silently, as he boards the train, he prays for Sol's safety.

-----

Sol knows the area well. As she parks her car at a carpark, she checks to make sure Manho is still at the bar. The blinking dot stays stagnant at the bar, not moving ever since she dropped Seungjae off. Getting out, she tightens her coat around her and thanks herself for the long trousers she's wearing. At least she isn't wearing a skirt, if she needs to beat someone up.

Entering the bar, she naturally takes a slow walk around. But hidden by the corner of the bar tables sit a lone man, with a cap, dressed in black button up and holding a glass of golden whiskey. She knew that was her target.

Taking a seat next to him, she orders a glass of soda water from the bartender. Man Ho chuckles next to her as he sets his glass down. Turning his head, he faces Sol with sly eyes, lips curled at the corner.

"Prosecutor Kang, you're quick." She hears him say and a chill goes down her spine. She lets her eyes meet the cold stare of Manho.

"Oh, you think I don't know you? You're the one after me more than the police are for the past weeks." Man Ho sinisterly says, a sick grin on his face. Sol grits her teeth and takes a deep breath to soothe her anger.

"Why are you doing this? You think it's fun?Watching my clients suffer?" Sol says through her gritted teeth. He only scoffs.

"My, my. Don't want you getting agitated now, don't we? We just started." He says, sipping from his glass again.

"Answer my question." She says with force. Man Ho sips on his glass, swirling the golden brown liquid against the large square cubes of ice as he exhales.

As the words fall from his mouth, Sol grows as cold as the glass in her hand. Her hands slightly shake as she hitches her breath. When her shaky eyes turn to Manho’s, his eyes are sly with a mocking grin. No, he can’t know.

"You’re just as feisty as your sister, aren’t you?”

#au #law school #jtbc law school #law school kdrama #jtbc drama #jtbc #law school jtbc #original by akinosakiya #joonsola #han joon hwi #kang sol a #kang sol a x han joon hwi #dense kang sol #solhwi #writers on tumblr #netflix drama #alternate universe #dense joonhwi #jo ye beom #min bok gi #jeon yeseul #kang sol b #seo ji ho #ryu hye young #kim beom #kim bum #hankuk law #prosecutor au #multipart #series

[twistedhxart]

THIS IS NOT A TEST

Closed starter for @skyler-bane |

Once a year, any and all crime - including murder - is legal for a period of 12 hours.

Sirens blare throughout the land to signal the start and end of The Purge.

All police, fire, and medical emergency services remain unavailable or suspended for the full 12-hour Purge.

The president, first family, and government officials of rank 10, are granted immunity.

Only "Class 1-4" weaponry shall be permitted, while Class 5 weaponry (such as explosives) is prohibited.

Violations of any Purge rules will result in death by public hanging.

New York was actually not the best city to live in and somehow stay afloat. But Lian couldn't choose and tried to make the best of it, when one spent more hours at work than at home and the only piece of nature one could rudimentarily enjoy was in the form of Central Park.

Not only was it not his favorite city for that reason, today was that one day of the year that he loathed. In the small café where he worked, he heard the guests talk about it from time to time, but otherwise tonight, which soon fell upon them, seemed like any other, only that a complete anarchy broke out, in which people pursued their desires for murder, rape, robbery and much worse things. According to the government, this would reduce crime in general. In Lian's opinion, this night only fueled further hatred and helped already unstable personalities to plummet even further.

Since he was still the new guy, even though he had already been working here for a few weeks, he was supposed to be the last one to close the store today, exactly half an hour before the great event started. Fortunately, he only had a walk of about ten minutes, so he would still make it in time to barricade himself at home in his small apartment.

The case set that the current guests hopefully soon paid...

But as luck would have it for him, they left the café on time, leaving Lian to wipe down the last of the tables, grab the key to lock the door, and then activate the security system that lowered a large steel gate.

Twenty-three minutes remained before the sirens sounded. They had told him to wait until the gate was fully down, so he waited and glanced at his watch. Until the gate suddenly stopped in the middle, the door only half secured.

For the moment he just stared, Lian had no idea about technology, at least not this one. Pressing the button on his remote again, hoping it would go back up, the gate only jerked as if it was stuck.

He still had twenty minutes.

Trying to keep calm, he looked to see if he could discover why it was stuck, but to no avail. Calling his boss would do no good; he turned off his phone as soon as he left the store. Looking around briefly, he also noticed that the streets were already deserted, not a soul who could help him in any way. Either he left it at that and disappeared from here as quickly as he could, in which case that would probably lead to his dismissal when the café would be battered tomorrow, or he thought of something else...

Taking batteries in and out failed, not a single button worked. The gate stood still and didn't move an inch until it suddenly dropped by itself with a crashing sound.

Fifteen minutes remained.

It didn't look like it was broken, at least it closed the entire outer facade, so Lian considered his job done and slipped the remote control into his pants pocket.

Ten minutes to arrive and five minutes to board up his door, since he couldn't afford such a great security system, so he'd better hurry. Without running, he merely quickened his gait and tried to avoid any eye contact with people he now encountered. Especially if they were strolling around leisurely, they certainly didn't have the same thing in mind as he did...

How he hated this night.

"Hey, hold it right there!" The sudden grip on his arm, forcing him to stop, caused him to simultaneously whirl around to where he was staring into the face of a man he could almost tell what he was up to this night. "I know where you live, so hurry up before we barricade ourselves in there together." With a sickening grin, he licked his lips and Lian abruptly tore himself away.

He said nothing, for every word could be used against him, so he merely wheeled around and quickened his steps once more, unconsciously. Briefly he looked back to see if he was being followed, but the man had stopped and was just staring after him. People could be deviant when they wanted to be, disgusting and perverted.

Lian looked at his watch: Nine minutes. He was running now, hoping not to be stopped again. He ran past people dressed up, wearing masks that hid their identities, people visibly carrying sharp weapons. They were ready for the Purge, which now started in less than six minutes.

He took a shortcut, crossed a street, and was stopped again when he crashed into something that made him instantly recoil as he thought his last hour had struck.

When he saw who or what he had run into, he thought his heart would stop.

Skyler?

He stared in disbelief at the face of the man he knew and felt his heart pounding in his throat. Lian couldn't get a word out - what was he doing here? Why wasn't he somewhere safe?

#ic #skyler-bane #c: skyler #verse: the purge #/hope this is alright! took me so long ;-;

[nimmy22]

A Mistake: Chapter 12

~ The following day, Saturday ~

"Do something, Wesker! These fucking imbeciles at the papers are starting to question my competence as chief all because of a pathetic group of boys you can't seem to dispose of." Irons seethed, slamming his cup of whisky on the desk, knocking his nameplate to the ground.  

Wesker gave nothing away of his emotions, save for a tick in his brow. His hands craved to wrap around Irons’ neck, giving it a swift snap. It's how he felt most of his days at the station. Irons was replaceable. The man didn't realize just how worthless he was to Umbrella. His replacement could arrive this very afternoon.

"We are working on finding the gang's nest. The big players keep using young boys for the jobs but tell them nothing about insider information. There are too many eyes watching us right now. We cannot use any special means to dispose of the group in order avoid questions."

"Just Do your fucking job right. I can't stand the news conferences anymore. the journalist's questions make me look laughable." Irons clutched his glass, throwing it hard against the wall. Tapping a finger on the armrest, Wesker didn't bat an eye at the behavior of the chief of police. One couldn't expect much from such a lowly creature.

"You seem to forget why Umbrella put me as captain of STARS. It isn't to keep up your public appearance but to protect theirs. I'm not the one who isn't doing his job. Deal with the journalists while I handle the little boy scouts." pushing back his chair, Wesker made sure to leave deep grooves on the freshly varnished floors. The scraping sound was like music to his soul. He didn't miss the deathly glare on his way to the door like hot iron rods.

Returning to the STARS office, Wesker ignored the gossiping of Chris and Jill about the newest trouble between their captain and Irons. Shutting the door to his office, he took a seat behind his desk. Through the office blinds, he eyed each present member of STARS. of course, no one was getting any work done, lazing around the office, making meaningless bets.

This simply will not do.

It was time they did some undercover work, gathering information about Raccoon city's newest crime family. These boy scouts wouldn't last long around here, especially since they fell on the radar of the real monsters in the shadows of Raccoon.

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

She sat alone on the staircase, elbows resting on her knees, wondering how the hell she got here.  The house was familiar to her. How many times has she looked after Sherry here? Still, it felt strange. It was his space, and she was invading it.

This was now supposed to be her home. The place gave no hints as to who lived here, lacking any personal touch. It was likely the work of an anterior designer following the most fashionable trends. The home of a bachelor.

Speaking of Wesker, he left after dumping her here last night and vaguely pointing her towards the guest room with a 'help yourself' to any food. As always, he gave her the bare minimum of info, not that she asked what he was up to. She didn't care whether he spent the night hiding bodies or doing legitimate police work. She was too terrified to sleep under the same roof, only a few walls apart. Does the man ever sleep? Shower? Eat?

She won't lie. She was glad Wesker left. But even with him gone, she couldn't stop thinking about what happened. More so the kiss than almost becoming a guinea pig. It was a lot to process, and she couldn't even begin.

For the nth time, she forcibly pulled her fingers away from her lips, scolding herself for replaying the memory again. This man was absolute bad news. She needed to get out of the house, and an incoming call from Claire had her scrambling to answer as quickly as possible. Her friend presented an idea, and Cara was all too grateful to join in.  

Pulling up Wesker's name in the contacts, Cara's fingers hovered over the letters, unsure of what and how much to tell him.  Where did they stand? Did he really mean everything, or was it a trick?  Was she free to leave? Did he give up completely on the idea of killing her?

"Going out with Claire. I will be back late." she texted, fully knowing a lot of info was missing. But it's not like he ever gave her a ton.

"Stay out of trouble.' came a replay moments later.

The words were unsaid, but Cara definitely heard them.  'I don't have time to drop everything and run over to the rescue each and every time you get in trouble,'

'I asked for help only once. The other time's nobody asked you to come.' Cara grumbled but deleted what she wrote. she could've gotten herself out of those situations...with a little bit of thinking. Actually, a lot of thinking.

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

Cara had to walk several blocks away from Wesker's house to prevent suspicion. If by any chance, Claire knew the address of her brother's captain, it would be a hole she did not want to leap into.

Standing in front of an old bookstore, she waited for her friend. The building was slightly rundown, its walls covered in graffiti, but the owners were a kind elderly couple. They pushed discounts her way, and she was guilted to buy something. She ended up buying a useless cat plushie toy after seeing that most books were non-fiction or raunchy romance novels. She would rather die than have Wesker coming across an erotic novel lying around his house.

She stared at the plushie as she leaned against the wall outside the shop. Cara considered giving it to Sherry the next time they met. This would be the first present she ever gave the young girl, and she could almost imagine the excitement on Sherry's face. It made her smile.

A helicopter passed overhead, sleek black and adorned with the Umbrella white and red symbol. Cara watched the chopper get smaller and smaller until it disappeared, heading in the direction of the Arkley mountains. she wondered about their business up there was. Looking around, no one else seemed to notice nor care. Maybe it was best to keep all knowledge to herself.

Seeing a familiar redhead and a motorcycle, Cara waved as Claire pulled up, handing her a helmet.

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

The barn smelled of sweat, dust, and old wood. The unmistakable smell of alcohol was thick in the air as it was passed around freely in cheap red plastic cups. She recognized kids from school, but many more were older, likely from Raccoon university. A light disco machine was nailed to the wall, casting the barn in a series of flashing lights. Tall Straw piles of hay distributed across the barn ensured there was no shortage of dark corners for people to disappear to.  For a moment, Cara considered hiding in the straw and then going home when the party was over. But seeing the sparkle in Claire's eyes about hanging out with her best friend threw the idea out the window. With a sigh, she followed her friend.

Over the course of the night, the girls danced and drank, carefree. A blond-haired boy was staring at her, Cara noticed. He attempted to walk up to her but turned around before getting within ten feet. He tried multiple times but always chickened out despite his friends constantly cheering him on. Claire thought it was cute and refused to stop openly staring at him and giving a thumbs up.  Cara swatted Claire's hands before holding them behind her back in a pretend arrest, pushing her against the straw pile.

"Sorry Officer! I was just trying to help you get laid," Claire giggled. "I hope you're into blonde's though,"

"This is so embarrassing. Stop, or I'm leaving," Cara snapped, feeling a blush heat her face as Wesker crossed her mind. Fuck, why now?

"Oh? so you are into blondes," Claire's smile was cunning. "Let me help you,"

"No. Bad Claire, bad, bad girl. No treats for you tonight." Cara scolded, Stealing the can of beer her friend stole from a guy before cracking it open and downing its contents. She wouldn't yet consider herself drunk, just pleasantly buzzed.

The boy ran off again. Cara felt bad for him and was actually tempted to go up to him instead. His friends kept a steady stream of alcohol into his hand.

"H-hey, " And then he did it, with the help of liquid courage, of course.

For the effort, Cara decided not to openly embarrass him with rejection but not lead him on either. Walking away backward, Claire gave her a thumbs up along with a suggestive motion of the eyebrows, making horrid shapes with her hands. Cara covered her face, hoping to purge the image out of memory. She'll get her back in no time.

Ben was a bit shy at first, but soon they got talking and enjoyed themselves. His hair was a few shades darker and shorter than Wesker's. She didn't have to look up at him as they stood at a similar, comfortable height. Slender and skinny, he would shrink to nothing beside the captain. Cara grimaced, realizing she had been comparing the poor guy to a demon. It wasn't his fault that her mind was occupied with someone way out of her league... the legal kind.

The barn was becoming more and more crowded, and the dancing crowd swallowed them. Sticking out like two sore thumbs, they did their best to dance. Cara felt awkward but seeing the dimples in his smile made her feel better even as it became a tighter fit among the crowd. They had to dance closer lest they got separated.

She wondered what it would feel like to dance with Wesker. He seemed like the sophisticated type. The awkward moves of a teenager would never be adequate for him. Did he ever do anything that was remotely recreational? What do villains even do in their spare time? Manipulating the feelings of underage girls looks like. What stupid, stupid thoughts.

She prayed all these ideas would go away soon, as the thrill of the kiss wore off, and everything went back to normal. Did she want to go back? Why in the world would he like her? she knew who he really was, and he still let her live. Why take the risk with her? she was just a seventeen-year-old. Useless to everyone, with no connections and no money.  

Fuck it. Cara refused to think about Wesker anymore tonight. There was a perfectly alright guy in front of her, someone her own age, someone in her league, someone she wouldn't have to hide. Someone who was looking at her with a soft expression, blinking slowly.

Cara placed her hands on either side of Ben's face and pulled him towards her, connecting their lips. He reacted instantly, kissing her back. His hands awkwardly hovered over her arms before stroking them softly.

He was a nice guy, not a terrible kisser, but she hated it. Hated every touch because it wasn't as good as with Wesker. She couldn't stop comparing, and it was frustrating, spurring her to kiss Ben harder.

She continued, out of spite, to kiss the boy who looked at her with affection. in the background, she heard a few boys cheering, likely his friends. This was wrong, very wrong.

A firm hand gave her waist a painful squeeze before it was gone, and she thought it was Ben. Her eyes flew open as she felt a warm breath by her ear. It wasn't Ben.

"If I was not undercover right now, this lesser specimen of a boy would've made some unforgettable acquaintances a lot sooner. You could've done so much better, yet you have chosen to this..." Wesker seethed by her ear, sending shivers down her spine. Her body froze, but Ben didn't pick up the cue.  Wesker's muscles were tense as he pressed against her back. She could almost hear the exhale through clenched, grinding teeth.

Then he was gone, slipping through the crowd just as he came. No one notices anything. Cara broke the kiss and shoved Ben away. "I'm sorry, it isn't going to work out." She hurried after Wesker, but he was already lost in the crowd.  

She shoved her way through the throngs of people but only managed to find other members of STARS in civilian clothes. None seemed to notice or recognize her. They must've been here on undercover work, but why? she put that question aside as there were more pressing things to worry about.

She felt sick and wanted to throw up, but nothing was coming up. she burst through the doors of the suffocatingly hot bran, raking her hands through her hair. The cool night air hit her heated skin, but she couldn't find relief. She wanted to be swallowed by the ground.

She needed to find Wesker. But then what? Apologize? Apologize for making her own choices? They weren't a couple.

She continued to look for him nevertheless. She walked further from the barn towards an old car junkyard. She thought perhaps a fuming man would need some privacy. A strong feeling in her gut told her this was the right way.

Cara walked far enough from the party that the music was nothing but a distant noise. It was dark and quiet, the perfect place for an assault. If Wesker decided to murder her, no one would find her for at least a week, stuffed in the trunk of a car. If ever.  

Grabbed from behind, she was thrown against a car. Sliding to the ground, she cradled her aching arm, squinting in the dark to see her assailant. Wesker kneeled beside her, his civilian clothes dark and expensive.

"Why cut it short? You should've kissed him more while you still can because he will be the last boy you will ever kiss." squeezing her cheeks harshly, he dragged his thumb with heavy pressure over the flesh of her lips, still swollen from kissing Ben.

As Wesker let go of her face, she felt the cold muzzle of a gun pressing against her temple. Her heart skipped a beat, but she glared at him straight in the eye. Daring.

"I don't know what you want from me! You told me to keep out of trouble, and I did. Yet here we are," Cara lied. She knew what he wanted but didn't know why he wanted it.

"Were my intentions not clear enough? Do I have to spell it out for you? But I suppose intelligence was never your strength,"

Wesker pressed the gun harder against her temple, her glare unwavering. "Go ahead. Shoot me. why do you even bother?"

Neither moved, naked eyes locked with no shades between. Cara reached up and pulled the gun out of his hands with ease. He didn't resist, glaring at her with a tense jaw. Looking down, she almost laughed, seeing the safety was still on. This man couldn't bring himself to kill her. It was all a show of intimidation, and she wasn't falling for it. Not anymore.

As she made to stand, his hand pushed her down. Thinking he wanted the gun back, she returned it to his hand and tried to stand. again, he pushed her down. "Can I get up now?" she scowled, staring up at him.

Things happen too quickly for her to process. The hands on Cara's shoulder grabbed her legs, lifting her off the ground as Wesker wrapped her legs around him before slamming her against the car. She was winded, gasping for breath as he watched her with a smirk. She grabbed his arms, digging her nails into his defined muscles.

"You're up now," he whispered before his lips kissed her neck, sucking and nibbling the skin. A moan escaped her lips, and she covered her mouth immediately.

Grabbing both her hands, he pinned them against the car. "I need to clean your mouth of all traces of that boy,"

"Are you going to rinse my mouth with soap or something? This is childish and-" Cara's words settled in a moan as Wesker began grinding a very defined length against her growing sickness. She tightened her legs around his waist, drawing him closer.

Trailing his nose across her skin, he followed the curve of her neck to the ear, taking the lobe between his teeth. She melted against him when his hot tongue entered her ear. His tongue plunged in and out repeatedly like a preview of what he could do to her. Her heart went on an overdrive.

"Just kiss me," Cara breathed, a tension building in her belly. She wanted to taste him. in addition to sparing any additional marks on her neck to hide.

"No,” nuzzling into her neck, he grinded harder against her, earning a series of moans.  

"You know who else wouldn't mind kissing me-" Wesker slammed his lips to hers, kissing her roughly, their teeth clashing. Cara melted further, a smile on her lips as her tongue danced with his. She savored everything, The taste of him, softness of his lips, his warmth, and the building friction between their bodies. There was nothing more she wanted.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Three gunshots were fired.

Cara was barely steady on her feet when Wesker dropped her to the ground, his eyes scanning their surroundings. What little they heard of the music was drowned out by distant screams of the partygoers.

"What's happening?" she questioned, grabbing his arm, but his attention was fixed on the barn.

"Stay here," Wesker warned, already talking to someone by an earpiece she hadn't noticed before.

With his gun ready, he took off, running towards the barn. Cara made to follow him but was pulled back towards the car by her hand.

The fucker handcuffed and left her in the middle of a junkyard in the dark.

#resident evil #claire redfield #albert wesker #Albert Wesker X OC #oc

[qqueenofhades]

Having just sent you a message the other day about how much I love your historical asks, I realized I have a question myself that you might know the answer to. I’m a Christian and I have never been able to figure out why Christianity has historically viewed non-procreative sex for pleasure as bad. (And none of my family, including my clergy father, have figured it out either. I think my dad has a bone to pick with Augustine? And I feel like Aquinas also has something to do with this.) But given that Jesus had a body and gives a speech about “the Son of Man came eating and drinking” as though he enjoyed it, how did this whole “the body is sinful especially the sex part” thing happen? I have been thinking about this a lot recently for Old Guard reasons, which should surprise no one.

Oof. So, a short and simple question, then. (Sidenote: did they expand ask limits? Because I’ve definitely gotten a couple asks today, including this one, that are longer than usual, rather than forced to space out and hope that Tumblr doesn’t eat them.)

The entire history of sexuality in the West and its relationship with Christianity throughout the centuries is obviously a topic that far, far exceeds anything I could possibly cram into this ask, but let’s see if I can hit on some of the highlights. First off, one could remark that some aspects of Jesus’s teaching managed to disappear from the official doctrine of Christianity almost immediately, and for a variety of theological, cultural, and social reasons. As anyone who has a passing knowledge of the late Roman Empire is aware, they were known for being sexually liberate (at least if you were a nobleman, as the freedom certainly did NOT apply to women), and the notorious run of emperors who were having orgies and sleeping with boys and their sisters and hosting nonstop sex parties did a lot to sour early Christianity’s relationship with it. Because pre-Constantine/Theodosian Code Rome was Christianity’s enemy (since Christians refused to perform the traditional civic sacrifices to the Roman gods, which was all that Rome required alongside permitting its citizens to practice whatever other religion they wanted), and because the emperors were such a high-profile example of sexual excess, that became an easy point of critique. Obviously, the Roman polemicists, like every other historian, should not be trusted on EVERYTHING they say about the emperors, but the general pattern is there and well-established. So Christianity, trying to establish its religious and moral bona fides, can easily go, “Well, Caligula/Nero obviously sucks, come join us and live a purer and more moral life!”

Constantine converted in the early fourth century and the Theodosian Code was issued at the end of the fourth century, which made Rome officially Catholic and represented a huge reversal of fortune for fledgling Christianity, helping it expand like crazy now that it was officially sanctioned. However, the Roman Empire was splitting into two halves, west and east, and the development of Greek Christianity in the eastern empire was strongly influenced by ascetic and austere traditions (if you’ve heard of the Stylites, i.e. the guys who liked to sit atop poles out in the Syrian desert to prove how holy they were, those are them). The cultural context of denial of the flesh and the renouncing of bodily pleasures also played intensely into the third/fourth/fifth century debates over heresy and orthodoxy. Some of the most vicious arguments came over whether Jesus Christ could have actually had an embodied (and therefore possibly inherently sinful) human body, or it was just a complicated illusion, the “shell” of a body that his entirely divine nature then inhabited without actually being part of. This involved huge theological arguments over the redemptive nature of the Eucharist and even Christ’s sacrifice: was it real/effective/genuine if he didn’t REALLY die and suffer the pain of being crucified, and was just assured that he’d be fine ahead of time? So yeah, the question of whether Christ had a real body (because then that might be sinful) was the knock-down, drag-out theological disagreement of the early centuries C.E., and left a lot of hard feelings and entrenched positions in its wake.

Likewise, your dad is correct in having a bone to pick with Augustine, at least in terms of his impact on views of sexuality in the late antique and early medieval Christian church. Augustine is obviously famous for agonizing endlessly over his sexuality/sexual urges in Confessions, his time as a Manichaean, his relationship with a woman and the birth of his son out of wedlock (and if you want a lot of repressed homoeroticism: well, Augustine’s got that too) and how his conversion to Christianity was intensely tied with his renunciation of himself as a sexual being. Augustine also pioneered the nature of the inheritance of Original Sin: therefore, every human who was born was sinful by virtue of sharing in humanity’s legacy from Eve’s transgression in the Garden of Eden. (And yes, obviously, this led to the beginnings of the embedding of clerical and social misogyny. Oh Augustine, I kind of hate you anyway because I had to read the entire goddamn 1000-page City of God during my master’s degree, but bro, you got a lot to answer for.) This involved EVEN MORE obscure speculations about whether original sin was passed down in male semen, and therefore Jesus was free of it because he was supposedly born divinely to a woman without a male father, but yeah, the idea that sexuality itself was already a suspect thing was fairly well correlated and then cemented by Augustine’s HUGE influence over the early church. Everything post-Augustine incorporated his ideas somehow, and so the idea of bodily pleasures as separating you from divine purpose got even more established.

Then we had the Carolingians in the eighth and ninth centuries, who were the first “empire” per se in Western Europe post-Rome, and who were also intensely concerned with legislating moral purity, policing the sexual behavior especially of its queens, and correlating moments of political or military defeat with insufficiently virtuous private behavior. The Carolingians likewise passed these ideas onto their successor kingdoms, especially the medieval kingdom of France (which would eventually become the pre-eminent secular power in Western Europe). Then the eleventh century arrived with the Cluniac and Gregorian Reforms (which were interrelated). One of their big goals was for a celibate and unmarried clergy on all levels of holy orders, from humble village priests to bishops and archbishops. Prior to this, clergymen had often been married, and there wasn’t a definite sense that it was bad. But because of this, and the idea that a married clergyman wasn’t pure enough to provide the Eucharist and would be distracted from his commitment to the church by a wife and family, the Cluniac and papal reformers intensely attacked sex and sexuality as evil. Priests didn’t (or rather, were not supposed to) do it, and if you weren’t in a heterosexual church-performed marriage and didn’t want children, you shouldn’t be doing it either. (Did this stop people, and priests, from doing it? Absolutely not, but that was the rhetoric.) This was about when celibacy began to be constructed as the top of the heap in terms of holy lifestyles, for men and women alike and laypeople as well as those in holy orders. NOT having sex was the most virtuous choice for anyone, even if sex was a necessary evil for having heirs and the next generation and so on. (Which is interesting considering that our hypersexualized present attaches so much value to having sex of one sort or another, and the asexual-exclusion types, but yeah, that’s a different topic for now.)

Of course, when the Cathars (a schismatic Catholic heresy in France and Italy) in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries began attacking ALL materiality and sexuality as irredeemably evil, the Catholic church went a bit like “whoa whoa that’s a little too far, hold on now, SOME sex is good, sex can be nice, we’re not actually like those guys” (even though they had been about a hundred years before). Because Cathar spirituality taught that any kind of attention or indulgence to the body was sinful, that included any kind of sex at all, even married heterosexual intercourse. (Of course, the Cathars themselves didn’t always live up to it either; see Beatrice de Planissoles and her Cathar priest lover.) The Catholic church obviously didn’t want to go THAT far, so they began rowing back some of their earlier blanket statements about the evilness of sexuality and taught that husband and wife both had a responsibility to offer each other sexual pleasure and fulfillment. I’ve answered many asks about sexual behavior and unions in the medieval era, the arguments over the definition of marriage, and how that changed over time in response to social needs and pressures, so yes. We know what the IDEALS were, and what people were legally supposed to do, but the fact that church writers were complaining about bad behavior, sexual and otherwise, literally the whole time means that, obviously, this did not always match up with reality.

The theories of the Roman physician Galen, which prescribed that female orgasm was necessary to conceive, were also well known and prevalent in the medieval world, which meant that ordinary married couples trying to have children would have had some awareness that female pleasure was supposedly necessary to do it. (This ties into my “it wasn’t an unrestrained extravaganza of violent painful rape for women all the time YOU GODDAMN MORONS JESUS CHRIST” rant, but we will recognize that I have Many Rants. So yes.) Obviously, we can’t know what the sex life of individual married couples behind closed doors was actually like, but there were a variety of teachings and official stances on sex and how it was supposed to be done, and as noted in other posts, just because the church thought it is zero guarantee that ordinary people thought that way too. People are people. They (usually) like having sex. They had sex, both gay and straight, married and unmarried, so on and so forth, even if the church had Opinions. Circle of life, etcetera.

Anyway, then the Renaissance arrived (and we just had the “why the Renaissance sucked for women” ask the other day), which prescribed a reversal of all the comparative sexual and political and social latitude that women had gradually acquired over the medieval era. It very much wanted to see women returned to their silent, domestic, maternal, objet d’arte roles that they had occupied in antiquity, and attacked the actions of women in their public and private lives as one of the major causes of the crises of the late medieval era. (Because you know, misogyny is always a useful scapegoat rather than blaming the powerful men who have fucked everything up, as we’re seeing again right now.) Because the Renaissance is regarded, fairly or unfairly, as the start of the early modern Western world, it’s where a lot of modern gender attitudes and views of sexuality became more explicitly codified and distributed faster than at any point in history before, to a more extensive audience, thanks to the invention of the printing press. We’ve obviously had moves toward sexual liberation and agency in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and the emergence of the modern feminist and gay rights movements, but now in some ways, we’re back in oddly Puritan attitudes in the twenty-first century. And since America was founded by Puritans, their social attitudes are still embedded in the culture, fanned today by hyper-conservative Protestant evangelicalism. Even though Puritans themselves ALSO, shock surprise, didn’t always live up to the stringent standards they preached.

...whoof. I’m sure I’m forgetting something, but hopefully that gives you the broad-strokes development.

#history #medieval history #queer history #history of religion #history of sexuality #history of marriage #women in history #long post #good lord that's a lot of tags #emjee #ask

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.7 (BAON)

Summary: Team Rescue is on the way...mostly. Look, they aren't good at names.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships,  Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it here!

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Edge had been on worse car rides, but not many. In fact, he could only think of one; riding in the backseat of his own car with Stretch unconscious in his lap, his life ticking away in decimals as Edge desperately clung to Blue’s instruction that he should think of healing magic as similar to making a hollandaise.

It wasn’t ridiculous if it worked and sitting here in this silent car, hyperfocusing on the mostly empty roads with Blue next to him radiating grim determination and Antwan in the backseat, Edge found himself thinking of hollandaise again.

The mental picture of the saucepan was strangely easing, keeping his turbulent thoughts occupied. In his memory, Blue’s voice was preternaturally calm as he reminded them that all the butter couldn’t be added at once because the mixture would break. Edge followed the direction coming from his phone as the voice assistant instructed him in its robotic way to turn left, (you need to add the butter a little at a time) turn right, (whisk it in), your destination is on the left.

It was only when he pulled into the empty parking lot as directed that the real Blue spoke, his high voice uncertain over the confidence of his imaginary twin, “Shouldn’t the security teams be here?”

“No,” Edge said disgustedly. He threw the car into park and pressed a knuckle between his eye sockets with painful force. “because this isn’t the right place.”

The dilapidated sign over the empty storefront declared with a spooky if faded cheer to be ‘Spirit Halloween’ but the only spirits in this place were the ghosts of customers’ past.

“My brother’s sense of humor,” Edge said, “he’s sending us a message. We went trick or treating behind his back and here’s his trick.”

“Of course it is,” Blue muttered, sinking back in the seat. His gloved hands were tight in his lap, a mirror to Edge’s grip on the steering wheel. “Papyrus probably warned him hours ago that I’d left home. He would have been ready for something like this.”

Edge picked up his phone, his bare thumbs moving with cautious swiftness over the screen. “Yes, he would. Which is why we’re going to follow the other tracker now.”

“Other tracker?” Antwan leaned over the driver’s seat to look at the new directions scrolling up the phone screen. His laughter was uncomfortable, more nerves than humor. “How many trackers do you have on your brother?”

Not as many as he has on me, Edge did not say. “On a normal day, only one.” Edge pulled back out onto the empty street, following the monotone drone of the GPS. “Sans set it up for me when Red pulled his little disappearing act after California and then reappeared to wreak havoc on my kitchen.”

“He did what?” Blue asked and Edge winced internally, barely keeping it from showing on his face. He wasn’t at his best, that much was certain, spilling secrets out in a spreading pool, but caring about that would have to wait. There were only so many directions he could pull his focus for now and Blue was hardly going to take out an advertisement in the paper if he heard anything he shouldn’t. A bit of gossip when it came to office relationships and the local scandals aside, Blue was one of their diplomats and he was well able to use appropriate discretion.

Hopefully, his definition of appropriate did not include asking Red any uncomfortable questions at a later date.

“It doesn’t matter. As I was saying, I usually have one tracker on my brother just in case he gets it into his head to face something he shouldn’t alone.” Edge didn’t quite roll through a red light. Better to not get pulled over by the Ebott police if he could help it, Embassy security certainly had enough on their hands right now without having to handle minor traffic violations. “Except, as I said, Sans gave it to me. Which means it’s only as accurate as Sans wants it to be and he has an unfortunate tendency to match my brother when it comes to deciding he knows what’s best for other people.”

A certain sourness fell over Blue’s expression as he nodded. As both a younger brother and a diplomat he was quite familiar with the ongoing irritation of overprotectiveness, even as he often did the same to his own brother.

“Which is why tonight I added my own tracker to Red’s jacket,” Edge said, “I would have followed that one first, but I was hoping not to reveal it so quickly if I could help it.”

Blue hummed thoughtfully. “You don’t think he’d be expecting that?”

“Of course, but I think he’d have a harder time finding and disabling it. Stretch made it for me.” The memory of his maniacal delight when Edge told him what it was for was briefly allowed, as well as his satisfied triumph when he presented Edge with a device that was the size of match head, tagged with near-microscopic hooks reminiscent of Velcro that were made to catch and cling to any fabric with a mere touch.

His design was with the Research and Development team now, minus the tracking device, as they worked to find a use for it that would allow for them to sell it to Humans, along with a dozen other things he’d created. So many of Stretch’s designs ended up that way, patents in which he was not named used as bargaining chips to help keep their coffers full. Stretch always declared that he didn’t work for the Embassy and that much was true. Instead, he worked for all of Monsterkind, that clever mind of his working to get them the funds they needed establish a place in this world. Only a handful of people even knew it and while Asgore could be foolishly soft-hearted on occasion, he wouldn’t considering paying a large ransom for any citizen on the street, even if they were married to Edge. Stretch was important past his twitter feed and it would be narrow not to suspect that these kidnappers somehow learned about it.

This time the tracker was leading them to the other side of town, down on the north side where the neighborhoods were filled with condemned houses and boarded up businesses. The only industry that thrived there were liquor shops whose windows were barred, manned by cashiers who spent their days behind a thick layer of bulletproof glass. His car was going to stand out like a sore thumb, but it couldn’t be helped. He wasn’t about to waste anymore time by stopping at the Embassy to borrow something more discreet.

At least he could worry less about reprisals from rolling through stop sign; the Ebott police presence on this side of town was minimal.

They made their way through the empty streets without incident. It was late even for the criminal element and a glance down the alleyways they passed showed them filled with shadows that could have been trash cans or curled up humans sleeping amongst them.

Some of the children from the Y lived on this side of town. Actually, most of them did and some of them might well be sleeping on the street right now…no. He couldn’t think of that at this moment, one thing at a time. He couldn’t afford to have his attention ping-ponging around inside his head, not when their destination was in sight.

This time, there were plenty of cars parked in a semi-circle around the building, floodlights pouring from their windows and flashers circling on their rooftops. Embassy security teams were made up of Monsters and Humans, and there were plenty out there in their uniforms. The Ebott police were going to throw a fit about jurisdiction, of that he had no doubt, but that was going to be a tomorrow problem for the Legal department and their FBI connections.

One of the security personnel approached the car as Edge pulled up, both hands raised in a gesture that could either mean for them stop or for him to offer surrender. Edge rolled down his window and he ducked his head inside the car. “Sir, your husband and his friend are both fine,” he said without preamble. “This area is closed off, you should—”

“If you even suggest that I should leave, you’re going to be reassigned to the elementary school playground for the foreseeable future,” Edge said evenly.

To his credit, the guard’s expression did not change. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir. I was going to tell you to park over on the north side,” He pointed to a clearing off behind the other cars. “Your brother is waiting for you up at the entrance.”

“Of course he is,” Edge muttered. “I’m sure we’ve kept him quite entertained with his version of hide and seek.” But he obeyed the direction.

He parked a fair distance away from the circle of the security vehicles and got out of the car, Antwan and Blue at his heels. No one else approached, the rest of the security team keeping a respectable distance away out of either direction from their leaders or simple self-preservation.

Standing near the warehouse entrance and out of the glare of the floodlights was Red, burrowed into his jacket with a Styrofoam cup in his hand and a cigar smoldering between his teeth. As if warned by his instincts or, more likely, through the curling earpiece that was stuck into his audial canal, Red turned to them as they approached. His grin was irritatingly knowing and familiar, pleased as a punch to have held them off long enough that everything was finished but the cleanup.

And yet, it was also such a comfort to see that smirk that Edge nearly went weak at the knees. He wouldn’t be smiling that way if Stretch or Jeff were hurt, even his brother’s sadism had its limits.

“what took you so long, you stop for coffee?” Red snorted. He held up the Styrofoam cup. “coulda brought me some, the shit they’ve got here’d give battery acid a run for its cash.”

“Yes, of course, we got stuck in the drive-thru at Starbucks," Edge snapped. “You’ll forgive me for not bringing enough for everyone!”

Before he could even demand a report, Blue went on past him. Parking lot gravel scattered under his booted feet as he stormed up to Red and swatted the cup from his hands. He paid no mind to the coffee sloshing out over their shoes, his small fists knotting into Red’s jacket front as he hauled him in close to snarl out, “WHERE IS MY BROTHER?”

Even through layers of forced calm, Edge could still appreciate the sight. It was certainly an unusual one. Blue was shorter even than Red and he wore no oversized jacket to give his small frame an illusion of bulk. The overwhelming visual was that of a tabby cat attacking the local tiger and if it were anyone else, Edge might have tried to intercede. It was possible he could have saved their lives, if not their limbs, had it been anyone but their innermost circle.

As it was, he tensed until his brother said mildly, “easy on the threads, baby blue, this’s my favorite jacket. my only one, too. they’re still upstairs. they ain't hurt, so we're lettin' 'em come down in their own time. ain’t no need to rush ‘em. think they needed a mo’ to catch their breath, s’all."

Blue didn’t wait for another word. He let go of Red and turned to the building entrance, running towards it. No one tried to stop him, though Edge noted with approval that one of the security team peeled away from the others to follow him at a discreet distance.

Antwan looked as if he was considering chasing after Blue, but he hung back. With the suspicious nature of a good lawyer, he asked Red, "If they’re fine, why aren’t you with them?"

"sweet that you think me bein' there would be some kinda comfort," Red snorted. "already saw 'em. head on up if you want, we've already cleared away the rest of the honey bun’s little scooby traps." Red offered them a vicious slash of grin. "your liability might need a new rating, he's damn creative when he’s got a hair laid across his ass just right."

That was enough for Antwan. He headed off in the direction Blue had, leaving Edge alone with his brother.

Edge waited until Antwan disappeared before he asked, low, "Where are they?"

Red only looked at him with mild reproach. “toldja, upstairs. what, you think i’d bullshit you on that?”

“I don’t mean them.”

Red was shaking his head before Edge finished. “nuh-uh, nope, not a chance. you ain’t gettin’ a look at those asswipes outside a courtroom. you’re keeping your toes behind the yellow line on this one, sneaking backstage ain’t happening, little brother.”

“I need to see—" Edge began heatedly.

“you fuckin’ don’t. you want to see and your wants ain’t on the list, not this time!” Red lowered his voice, “i get you wanted firecrackers and this is endin’ on a wet fart for you, but i ain’t explainin’ to the honey bun that i stood here and let you add a fresh shovelful of xp to your load on his account. so whyn’t you head upstairs now and go get your liability, huh? take him home and let us handle this, you can read the report tomorrow, yeah?”

Suspicion filtered through Edge’s strained temper, cooling it. Something of his brother’s little speech rang wrong to Edge; it was too consolatory towards him for their normal tastes, something was off here. Now that he was looking at it without his frustrations clouding things, there was also the matter of him leaving Stretch and Jeff alone; comforting presence or not, it was difficult to believe that Red would let them out of his sight unnecessarily. As shrewdly as he could still manage, Edge took a closer look at his brother.

Red did not have any LV but that certainly didn’t mean he had no trauma. His tells were subtle, unnoticeable to anyone who hadn’t watched them develop straight from the gutter. Eye lights slightly narrower than normal, his cigar clenched between too-tight teeth, the rare crackle of crimson magic arcing across his fingertips like a stray bolt of lightning.

There was something Red wasn’t saying, but there was no point in trying to fish it out now; he’d need better bait and Edge already had one in the net to deal with.

Better to leave it as it was. Even if the issue festered, his brother was unlikely to allow it to affect his work. It was difficult not to lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder, however briefly. Edge resisted the absurd impulse. It would not be appreciated. Unwanted concern was more likely to make things worse.

Instead, Edge nodded curtly and headed for the entrance. His boots clacked loudly on the cement floors. Security was milling in the hallways, others crouching over scorch marks and a strange overflowing mass of what looked like multicolored foam oozing down one side of the stairwell. Superfluous information, none of it mattered. He followed the subtle cues from the security personnel, the glances and occasional points that came without questions leading him up the rickety stairs to the second floor of offices and storerooms.

On the landing, a low sound caught his attention, a familiar voice crooning softly. Edge nearly skidded to a stop outside one of the rooms, looking in the open doorway to see the Swap brothers sitting together on the floor, holding each other tightly.

“hey, bro, shh, i’m okay. they didn’t hurt us, sans, i’m fine,” Stretch was saying. Blue was in his lap, clinging like the child he no longer was, and Stretch was rubbing a gentle hand down his brother’s back, leaving behind sooty streaks. He looked up, soft white eye lights catching on Edge still standing in the doorway. His cheekbones were wet, his wide sockets drowning in tears. Stretch scrubbed his face with the sleeve of a shirt that was not his own and managed a tremulous smile. "hey, handsome, miss me?"

He’d seen Stretch only hours ago, dressed in clothing stolen from Edge’s side of the closet and offering flirtatious kisses before walking out their front door. Now he was in baggy clothing that belong to neither of them, the shirt nearly hanging off his narrow shoulders and his bare legs sticking out from the bottoms of the too-short pants to leave the delicate bones of his feet filthy and exposed. All of him was filthy, his pale tears left clean tracks down his cheekbones and Edge did not know what Stretch had done to free them both, what he’d endured until he could., couldn’t begin to imagine it. Or perhaps he simply did not want to, and the precariously thin layer of Edge’s calm finally began to crack. All his desperate worries surged in through that first line of weakness to fill his face and then downward to soak into his aching soul.

"Don't—" Edge choked on the word, unsure what he was even going to say. Don't joke, don't dismiss this, don't ever leave me. He walked over and fell to his knees beside them, hardly feeling the warning jolt from his leg as he pulled them both into his arms rougher than he'd meant. Unnecessary, Stretch came easily, willingly, settling into his embrace exactly as if he belonged there, and brought his brother along for the ride.

"hey, i'm okay," Stretch said, pitching his voice for them both. He rested his forehead against Edge’s, settling a gentle hand on his sharp cheekbone with a sigh. "we’re okay, babe. it's okay."

"It is not okay by any stretch of the imagination,” Edge said hoarsely. His own hands were moving over Stretch, cautious of his lack of gloves even as he convinced himself that this was no dream, these well-loved bones were real. “And if you make a pun on that, you can ride home with my brother."

“wouldn’t joke about it, babe.” Then Stretch promptly made it a lie as he teased, “hope i get extra credit for not stretching things out, actually, ‘cause i sure didn’t get my ‘stay out of trouble’ badge tonight.”

“Pappy,” Blue moaned. His grip in the awful shirt Stretch was wearing twisted as if his disgust needed a physical outlet, “honestly, must you?”

Edge barked a laugh, hard and pained, but in his soul there was only giddy lightness. “No, you certainly did not. I would say any claim that you didn’t find trouble would be stretching things.”

Another groan from Blue was interrupted by a scuffing sound behind them. Edge jerked around, but it was only Antwan holding Jeff in his own tight embrace, whatever whispers between them too low to be heard. Edge hadn’t even noticed them when he first came in and the faint guilt from that was too small to be borne, already swallowed up in overwhelming relief.

Safe, they were both safe and unharmed, and Edge set his anger back, holding it in reserve. No matter what his brother thought, this was not over, and he would not be relegated to the injured group to recover, not this time.

But first, he was taking his love home.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

[modern-vellichor]

In Her Blood; Three

Summary: Steve's birthday gives plenty opportunity to play your little game. Bridges are being rebuilt between you and Steve when Sarah doesnt come home.

Pairing: DadsBestFriend!Bucky x Reader, Sam x Steve

Warnings: smoking, angst, drinking, alcohol use (not abuse), uncomfortable family dynamic, age gap relationship.

Previous Chapter || Masterlist

Sam, Sarah and Bucky are all standing around the kitchen counter, Steve is blowing out candles on a birthday cake.

You shoulder through the front door, carrying a large cardboard box on your hip. You place it on the counter in front of Steve, and you smile.

"happy birthday, Steve-o"

He looks a little confused at first, he's wary opening the box. He's faced with oil paints and synthetic brushes, canvases and a mole skin sketchbook.

"were these spare from school?", he asks her, trailing his finger down the spine of his notebook.

"nope, bought them in my supply shop before I flew back, been hiding it in my trunk", she smiles, sitting herself in the stool beside Bucky.

"well", he says, surprised. "Thank you"

You shoot him a kind smile and turn to Sarah as she explains the plans for the night; "we're going to a new place, it should be nice and quiet considering it is the fourth of July"

The next time you're all together, Sam and Steve are clad in suits and you and Sarah are tugging dresses along behind you. You climb into your car and shout to Sarah through an open window.

"I'll pick up Barnes and follow yall there, wait for us outside!"

She throws you a thumbs up and you pull up outside of Bucky's house, honking your horn.

When he opens his door you have to hurriedly pick your jaw from the floor before he slides in next to you, his suit hugging every muscle perfectly.

You throw a pack of Marlboro Golds at him and he knows what to do. Lighting one between his teeth, he passes it to your lips. You nod in thanks, and then he drops his hand to your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. Your breath catches in your throat.

It isn't long before you're parking on the curb next to your family and throwing your butt out the window. Bucky is opening your door and offering his hand before you even have your belt unplugged. You take his hand and graciously step into the humid summer night.

The bar is quaint, dimly lit. Your dress shimmers in the flickering candle light, warm and homely. Bucky's hand stays on the small of your back, rubbing hot circles on exposed skin.

You and Bucky are the last to slot into the curved bench around a large table, you only have to step over Bucky to escape, but he's got you trapped, right where he wants you.

You all drink the night away slowly, whiskeys and Manhattan's, a cranberry vodka soda for you, a dangerous drink.

Bucky's hand stays on your thigh the whole night, hidden under the table, the slit in your dress the perfect place to slip his hand to bare flesh.

It's just gone midnight when Sam and Steve are sauntering onto the dancefloor and swaying in eachothers arms.

Bucky turns to you with a mischievous grin and an outstretched hand, "would you like to dance, doll?", his tone mocks innocence and sincerity, enough so Sarah isn't suspicious of your secret rendezvous.

Your smile is equally as devilish, you take his hand, "Actually, I would"

He smirks as he leads you to the floor by the hand, its terribly intimate and the risk of being caught looms dangerously close, neither of your care. He spins and dips you, holding you close to him. You catch Sam's eye and he winks at you with a joking smile, you throw a thumbs up behind Bucky's back and smile.

"they're so clueless", you whisper into his ear, breath tickling his neck as you nibble at his earlobe.

"kitten", he growls, "stop that"

"you're so scary", you mock, but you stop nonetheless, parting from him and dragging him to the bar and then outside.

You hold your cigarette between your fingers and your glass is hanging lazy from your other grip. Bucky stands behind you, chin on your shoulder and arms iron-tight around your waist.

When you bring the smoke to your lips he allows you a long pull before taking it from you, placing it loosely between his oh-so-kissable lips.

He takes a drag for himself and then presses his lips to yours, sticky smoke fills your lungs and you smile, he pulls away and you blow a cloud in his face with a giggle.

Bucky and Steve are driving everyone home, their tolerance higher than everyone else's, and Sarah too tired to drive.

You rest your hand on Bucky's thigh as he pulls into your driveway, you're leaning on him as he walks you to your room. He's tucking you into bed and you're pulling him in next to you. He lays in your arms for a moment before he's making for the door. You let out a disappointed whine, but you stop at the click of a lock. You smile as he slips under the covers next to you. You press sweet kisses to his lips, tangled in each others arms.

He slips into the guest bedroom while you're still asleep. You and Sarah are the only two awake early the next morning, Steve already out for his run.

"god is real", you giggle into your coffee mug.

Sarah smiles back at you, she sees your stupid grin and blushing cheeks, "really?", she presses.

"he was sleeping in my bed night. God in jeans", you grin, sipping your strong coffee.

Steve comes in then, pouring himself a cup, you and Sarah stop talking.

"morning girls", you both mumble back a 'mornin'.

That afternoon, the five of you all gathered in the living room, Sarah excuses herself.

"I'm going out with Nate"

You all smile at her and wish get goodbye. Then you turn to your parents confused. Your head is resting on the armrest while your legs are thrown over Bucky's lap.

"who the fuck is Nate?", you question.

"language", Steve mumbles, not looking up from his fresh sketchbook.

"Nate is her boyfriend", Sam explains, you smile knowingly, shooting Bucky a discreet wink.

The day passes lazily, and soon you and Steve are the only ones awake. You stroll into the living room where he is sat, reading some old book.

"Sarah not home yet?", you ask as you make yourself comfortable in the armchair.

"no, not yet?"

It's already late, and so you turn to him. "why dont you go to bed, I'll wait up for Sarah"

"no it's okay, I'll stay up, why dont you get some sleep"

"I'll keep you company"

Its oddly comfortable, the two of you cozy in armchairs and warm lighting. You're curled up in a blanket, typing away on your laptop, Steve sprawled out across the room with his book.

The night rolls on and you both grow more worried.

"should we call the police?", he says, his back is straight, he's anxious.

"no", you say softly.

"arent the first 24 hours the most crucial in missing persons cases?", he stresses.

"that's missing children, Dad. She's almost nineteen", you both pause, that's the first time you've called him Dad since you turned 16. "if she's not hone by morning we'll call the police, and then we'll round up a gang and go looking"

You shut your laptop and settle next to him, you throw you arm over his broad shoulders and comfort him. Eventually the two of you fall asleep.

You're startled awake he next morning by the sound of the door opening, you both scramble up, expecting Sarah. Instead you find Sam and Bucky.

"is Sarah home?", you question, still groggy. Bucky smiles at your sleepy form.

But Sam looks worried, "I dont know, why?"

You shoot Steve an anxious look and bolt up the stairs, you find her bedroom empty, and jump back down the stairs. "she didnt come home last night"

At that moment, Sarah bustles in. Her makeup is smudged and her clothes wrinkled, dark circles prominent under her eyes. You and Steve's demeanors immediately change to angry and defensive.

"where we're you?", you say simultaneously.

"out with Nate, I told you"

You and Steve glance at each other before he's ordering Sarah into the kitchen. You follow after Steve, Sam leads Bucky away into the living room, distracting him.

You have always been able to tell you were Steve's daughter. You both tower over Sarah as she rubs her temple. You hold yourselves with the same power, the same dominance. Bucky and Sam watch discreetly from the hall, and Bucky cant deny the similarities.

When you talk you use the same rough tone, "where the fuck were you?", "what were you thinking?", "we were gonna call the cops, do you know how worried we were?". Its biting and cold, you're both furious.

"you would never do this if Y/N disappeared for a night", she snaps. You both freeze, Steve straightens up, you're shocked into silence.

"Y/N knows how to hold her own. Y/N is an adult, I trust Y/N to ge safe, and to keep herself safe incase anything were to happen", he states, tone unnervingly even and monotone.

"I'm an adult too", she whines.

"You're not even nineteen, Sarah", you snap. "We still have to order you coke and chips whenever we go out, you may be a legal adult but you sure as hell don't act like one"

At that Sarah storms up the stairs and slams her door. You and Steve sigh as Bucky and Sam amble into the kitchen. Steve pours everyone a cup of coffee, you all sit in comfortable silence.

"Hey, what if we all go up to the lake, its perfect this time round, I'm sure we can all fit in the cabin", Steve says after a while. You all nod in agreement, Sam starts up the stairs to tell Sarah.

"wha'd'ya think, Y/N?", Steve smiles, all of a sudden shy. He's not used to being so soft with you, the two of you hadn't properly gotten along since you were 14, and here you were, together, close.

"I'll start packing", you smile.

@vicmc624 @adriannajackson @zizzlekwum @chipilerendi @madaroni37

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #dadsbestfriend!bucky

[escxpiism]

( olivia holt, 23, she/her ) * hey, i’m looking for the office of ALICE ADAMS. they’re the EMPLOYEE who’s known around the office as THE MASK if that helps ? not to be a gossip, but i’ve heard that they’re ADAPTABLE but JADED, is that true ? i also heard that they’re the one who CATFISHED DAVID HASSELHOFF. anyways, here’s the coffee they ordered.

hi y’all !! i’m may ( 21 // est // she/her ) and i am super super pumped to be here !! i’m also very much writing this against my better judgment ya girl’s running on four hours of sleep and has the option to sleep more but......... is not tired ?? so i do apologize if my mind is secretly tired and makes this intro,,,, even worse than it would be fahouedn. on with the show !! anyway anyway!! feel free to like this if u wld like 2 plot and i will hit u up!!

( also, for some vibes if you so choose to read, here’s the link to her playlist ! )

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

QUICK FACTS:

full name: alice audrey adams

date of birth: october 26th, 1997

*will not perfectly reflect the zodiac big three below because that’s.... math.

zodiac big three: scorpio sun, virgo moon, taurus rising

gender & pronouns: cis woman & she/her

sexual orientation: bisexual

education: ged, bachelor’s degree in film — pratt institute

enneagram: 4w3

mbti: enfp

temperament: sanguine-melancholic

label: the mask

various inspirations: “nutshell” - alice in chains, “santa monica” - everclear, “polly” - nirvana, “jennifer’s body” - hole, “creep” - stone temple pilots, kate wallis ( cruel summer - shhhh ), heather davis ( crazy ex-girlfriend ), satana hellstrom ( marvel comics ), bojack horseman - without the amount of problematic ego ( bojack horseman ), eddie huang ( fresh off the boat ), the great britney spears evolution ( temporarily stopping at circus era )

BACKSTORY:

triggers in order: toxic family dynamic, grooming (nothing super in-depth), kidnapping (? like it was ‘willing’ but no. see next trigger for why), toxic “relationship” (and 11yr age gap w/ a 16y/o we hate it), straight-up captivity, very brief mention of suicide + heroin (very!)

*would like to quickly preface that this isn’t just Dark for the sake of being r/im14andthisisdeep but that’s for a later time **(also! i have markers for where the grooming + Super Dark parts begin and end! -- also, the Super Dark part is all very public knowledge. had articles. media frenzy. first thing that comes up if you google her name) *** also. if u need it then a tl;dr is below this section hfkldsa

alice audrey adams was born to the type of family that names all of their children alliterative names ( however, they sadly didn’t get their own kardashian-style show )... alexis adams (working name, utp if taken as a wc)... alfie allison adams (working name, utp if taken as a wc)... born to anna adams and allen adams... we hate it here.

as u can see... all of the kids were basically named after allen... they all had ‘al’ names.... extremely confusing 

plot-twist: THAT’S the darkest part

the adams were very concerned with public image. as a family in the upper echelon, they simply had to be! a narcissist father, a distant mother, put in competition with her siblings — there was no truly healthy dynamic in the household. but they looked good. they went to church every sunday, a ‘wwjd’ sticker on the back of her mother’s car. they did just enough activities and took just enough trips together to get the image across. they threw parties. they attended parties. they were the picture perfect american family — they even had two cats in the yard! life used to be so hard! 

of course, in reality, this all left ms alice quite the lonely gal. but don’t worry! she didn’t turn to hedonism! lord no! instead, she turned to other people. a lot of friendships — couldn’t tell if they were real or #fortheclout — but at a point, did it matter? 

grooming tw: it all came to a screeching halt when she met luke johnson, the son of their neighbors. he came back from california to georgia to visit family, care for his ailing father. oh, he was a good man! sure, he was ‘somewhat’ older than her — 27 when she was 16 — but he was such a good, handsome young man! and they were all still calling him young man, after all. 

alice ‘began’ a torrid affair with luke after about a month into his visit. although she saw no immediate wrong in it, he insisted she keep it a secret ‘for the time being’ — which really just made it all the more exciting! he made all the storm clouds that hovered disappear.

one day, the levee broke for alice (still figuring out what exactly happened because i don’t wanna go too dark since this is already extremely dark, but trust that it had something to do with her parents and was just enough to push her over the edge). convinced luke was the only safe person, she turned to him. knowing their small community would catch on and essentially exile him, he took that opportunity to convince her to go back to santa monica with him where they could ‘start anew’ after his father’s death.

there are a few details i plan on adding regarding like. how legality playing into it. but i may just reserve those for an official bio lhakfsdfj

**BEGINNING OF SUPER DARK** for a while, there was the question of whether they should consider it a kidnapping or not. she went with him willingly, but she was still underage (and… you know, that age difference… the power dynamic... gross y’all). the adams insisted that it was (bc it basically was lbr) — primarily because it would make them look far better — but the community still questioned the logistics and legalities of it all… ugh. did the police really wanna deal with that? ugh. 

in any case, on the other side of us america, autumn was nearing. alice would have the very occasional inquiry over how school would work (very occasional! don’t worry, luke!), over the logistics of her new life… and, after receiving multiple calls from various friends (in addition to her siblings) that sounded genuine, began wondering… if she’d made the right choice. questions about him.

when she began bringing up the idea of going back — at least for the school year!! — he would continuously remind her that she was not old enough to buy herself a plane ticket (and he was not about to do that). she also couldn’t rent a car yet (and he certainly wouldn’t let her take (one of) his car(s)!). but most importantly? he loved her. and she loved him. (what a creep!)

so, for a hot second, it seemed like she was stuck. damn legalities!! damn love!! you know, until she texted her older sister back with all of the problems that only being 16... and “in love”.... caused. her sister offered to fly down, buy her a plane ticket, and fly back with her. 

when luke saw this (with all the unrestricted access to her phone he had so he could block, delete, and manipulate as he pleased), he confronted her. things went awry. she wound up in his budding wine cellar (which he soon emptied, of course… those merlots :( ….). he messaged back and, as her, said it was actually all good!! luke had figured out the logistics and she could call whenever she wanted!!

and those calls became frequent! because she would pick up when luke held it up to her! because she was pretty sure luke would kill her if she didn’t!

she wasn’t sure how long it was until she was officially Found. it took what was ruled a suicide by luke, a shot to the head and heroin in his system, to finally get any authority’s attention. all she knew was that she went to santa monica in mid june and she stopped seeing regular daylight by late july. so some time in august to some time in april… **END OF SUPER DARK + GROOMING**

she was returned to georgia shortly after and everything was different. from herself to her friends. but everything was also the same. from her room to her family. it was all… teasing. she began going to therapy, but she really sucked at it?? so she just let her therapist rely on various articles that covered the event. because it had been a media circus. good enough, amirite?? 

she didn’t have the will or patience to put on that peppy facade she’d had before, but there were still a few things she found a smidge of joy in. music (although her taste had… slightly altered and wow! it’d been almost a year since she’d picked up that bass!), videography… just those small things, you know?? 

for the first half of the ~ 2014 fall semester ~, she attempted actual school. really was not working out. with, for probably the first and only time, her parents’ approval and understanding, she dropped out and studied for a ged -- shorter and self-led -- instead. 

she passed with a pretty decent grade... but it’s been argued that she really shouldn’t have gotten into pratt institute (she was at least realistic and didn’t apply to, like… cornell), but she did. national news helps. 

while in the concrete jungle where dreams are made of, she learned of masters. she submitted an application as a joke — because her grades sucked!!!!! — but guess who got a job?? oh, she could pretend it was because her selected portfolio was actually genuinely good… but, man… we all know…

fun fact: my uncle applied to harvard as a joke. some twenty-five years later, we still haven’t heard back :\

she… continues to suck. like… she kinda wants the place to eventually burn down?? figuratively speaking (or is it…) but ya, for all the monopolizing she has seen turn people Evil?? but the hell can she do about it… just gotta make sure she keeps her in-house videographer job… maybe she can do something about it when she like… is capable. fuaihoelwdjkn

she sees an in-house therapist and i’d say ‘good for her,’ but it was mandated l m a o 

doesn’t talk about herself all that much!! but that might not matter for some people, yk?? ugh journalism <3 

y’all im so bad at ending intros.

TL;DR:

(consult above trigger list): bright kid in a super rich and toxic family because obviously. everything they did was just to look good <3 also they all had ‘a’ names which is the biggest tragedy of all :( ‘fell in love’ when she was 16ys/o with a 27y/o who was visiting to care for his father in his final days. had a torrid affair. creep. creep (luke) basically made her ‘fall in love.’ she thought creep was the only safe person at one point and creep was like ‘wanna go back 2 santa monica w me?’ and she was like ‘yes.’ and everyone was like ‘was this kidnapping... we cant tell....’ then he became even more possessive when she started questioning him and some logistics. when she finally found a way she could go back to georgia for a spell, he was like ‘no u can go in my wine cellar btw i will be taking all of the wine out.’ he kept her there from august to april and... only reason he didnt keep keeping her was bc he was Caught so. back to georgia where the devil went down. everything was Worse. even the things that were the same. but hey, the sob story that landed her in the news plenty of times got her into a college she shouldn’t have gotten into and gave her a leg-up in a joke application for a job at masters (in-house videographer). really bad at doing her work but like... fuck the man i guess?? 

PERSONALITY + HEADCANONS:

has no time for Fake Nice (which, as a born southerner, she’s really good at sniffing out!). has no time for arrogance. kind of makes her at odds with the nyc upper class...

on that note, still got a lil bit of some georgia twang

she lets herself indulge in various vices, but has left a previous hedonist status. weed and alcohol are still pretty common, but everything else is kept at arm’s length.

also, while on that topic, she Does Not drink wine. being trapped in a cellar... kinda makes u averse. like. literally despises it. will go on autopilot and make it KNOWN if offered wine.

also ALSO while on that topic, after looking it up and seeing she fits the new york city requirements, she has a medical marijuana card <3 the one good thing, if u ask her, to come out of therapy/psychiatry <3 will not show it off unless absolutely NECESSARY bc then it gets personal or <3 will lie about why and say it’s like for epilepsy or sumn unless ur rolfe but <3 she has it <3

at odds with herself. enjoys the company of others, definitely has a history of being an extrovert, but has become very selective with the company she keeps. 

VERY private person! has had enough public standing! 

...has occasionally used her story to advance her tho bc it’s her national newsworthy tragic story and she can exploit it if she wants <3

when good charlotte said “i don’t wanna be in love”?? she felt that. her last ‘relationship’ ruined that for her <3 save her <3 

used to be really into pop! bc pop is fun! she loved some britney (i mean... she still does... how can u not!)! but. her taste has changed drastically. rarely listens to pop. has traded britney for like.... hole and the like.

her parents didn’t use this as the basis for her name but,, 2 me,,, she’s named alice for a reason <3 gotta luv alice in chains <3

y’all i found a youtube comment on a video called ‘nirvana - half the man i used to be’ (the song was, in fact, ‘creep’ by stone temple pilots) and it’s <3 her music taste <3 click here for it <3

the above said, dresses like she’s in seattle in the early 90s. 

her rumor is true btw she DID catfish david hasselhoff and she will proudly tell u. it’s her best accomplishment.

completely stopped talking to her parents and got cut-off a while back ago so now she’s livin like the Prols

which is how a rich kid one of my profs once advised referred to his classmates.... hilarity ensues.

the above in mind, her parents say she’s testing the waters as a ‘normal person’ to save face. they can’t have anyone knowing their family isn’t perfect <3

she has a pet turtle whom she named “dr. turtle,” although he’s constantly referred to as “doc” or “the doc.” he has his own youtube channel and tiktok account.

she has a wall full of evidence that courtney love did not kill kurt cobain... it makes sense, believe me.

became a vegetarian...... partially because it was different from her original life and a way to control something, partially because this commercial made her feel SO BAD.

literally her default mode is stoned like... a totally sober alice is rarer than a nessie sighting

when she was 18, before she could ‘hold her liquor’ as well as she can now, she got a lil too drunk and now has a portrait tattoo of courtney love on her forearm. but it was done well at least!!

kind of ironic considering her career, but RARELY posts on any social media site except twitter. after the media circus in 2014 and All Eyes On Her, she’s just..... so tired...... of ppl seeing her face and being like ‘omg ur that wine cellar bitch!’

(drugs tw) has become more and more Addicted to playing around with fate. j chill on a ledge, talkin to some pals, but deciding it’s a good idea to swing her legs on the wrong side of ledge? totally! mixing a lot of alcohol with opioids which she is not accustomed to? DEF!! (end tw)

more to come!!

CONNECTION IDEAS:

i have two (2) queued up!! but while we wait for them to post, i’ll just… link them over here: 1, 2

muse u <3 the other half of her subplot from the main <3

her older sister!

her younger sibling!

some of the basics!! you know: close pal, roommate, drug buddies (but she gotta hit them up), fwb, ons, frenemies, enemy

ppl who recognize her from the 2014 luke johnson articles and have either brought it up or,,,,,,, act Awkward™

cld be fun 2 just have like. a jam bud. someone who plays any instrument and they j. jam sometimes.

ppl she sells. some of her medical marijuana to. bc yk what weed may be legal in nyc now but,,,, she’s still found a way to be broke she will accept anything. and also it just became legalized THIS YEAR so!!

i have a budding wc page @ https://escxpiism.tumblr.com/wcs (and when i say budding, i MEAN budding) so feel free 2 check it out!!

more to come!!

#masters.intro #alice | intro ! #this took me like....... 2hrs 2 write so i do indeed think my mind is fooling me and actually lagging behind.

[lovelivingmydreams]

A story by heroes and Villains

Season 2: Secrets revealed Logan Anker: Old wounds and worries

Master list book 1

The wounds of the past can hurt. Not just you but your surroundings. No wonder we keep those secret to protect them... or is it ourselves we are protecting mort that way?

Waiting until the end of patrol was torture.

Logan didn’t like talking about the past. At all. He had trouble talking about Hannah and Caleb in any capacity to Virgil, or Patton, or Thomas or even Picani. And the Collector… Logan wanted to forget about him. But he couldn’t. If he was honest, that man showed up in his nightmares to this day. And he likely would keep showing up until he was behind bars. Patton and Thomas did their best to comfort him. A gesture he appreciated even though it wasn’t very effective. Finally Prince arrived. The young hero took in the atmosphere in the room and was clearly annoyed. “Listen, I promise I was safe. But I could’ve been in the middle of talking someone out of making a bad decision at the time. You can’t just shout in my ear out of nowhere. That was dangerous and frankly, I expect you to be more levelheaded BS. Anny other night and Logan would have insisted Prince gave him a detailed debrief on what exactly was so important that he couldn’t even let them know he was okay. But today… “That isn’t what this is about Prince. Take a seat,” Thomas instructed. Giving Logan a moment more to collect his thoughts. “Ok…” Prince said as he sat down, Looking around confused. Logan took a last moment to calm himself before he started his story with an apology. “Prince. I must offer you my sincere apologies. I didn’t want to tell you this right away, and maybe I should have.” Had his decision really been about allowing Prince to live his dream before burdening him? Was withholding the truth for Prince’s benefit? Or his own? “You shouldn’t have gone out without knowing the risks… We talked a little about nemeses during your training.” Prince nodded. Clearly still confused. “Yeah, but I doubt I’ve done anything that warrants one yet. Those come later in a career unless…” Prince paused, frowning. “But you were a villain. Any nemeses you had would be heroes… Right?” Prince was a good student indeed. He’d realized that Logan was telling him he was about to inherit his mentor’s past. And he had a good point. A nemeses of Logan would be on the side of the heroes. “Technically, the collector isn’t my nemesis. At least not in the traditional sense,” he agreed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Ever since he stopped using his powers, high stress situations got him small headaches that got worse over time. “I’ll start from the beginning,” he said, thinking back to a time he’d erase from his life all together if he could. “I became a villain because I needed the money and fast. Plain and simple. Any legal means were insufficient, so I made a name for myself and eventually, when I said ‘give me 10.000 dollars or I destroy this building,’ people handed me the money because they knew I very easily could make good on my threats. I always picked an amount they could easily provide without harming the business or individual too much financially. One day I found myself running from the police force. I had misjudged the time it would take them to arrive,” he had gotten arrogant with success. “And I got helped by a stranger in a haphazardly put together disguise. When we lost them and caught our breath, he introduced himself as ‘the collector’. I fairly quickly understood him to be a fanboy of sorts. He was a big fan of my ‘work’, though he misunderstood the intention entirely. Not that I could get him to understand that.” Everything he said that didn’t fit Collector’s narrative was ignored or dismissed. “He thought I was taking the money as proof that I was superior or something like that. I didn’t listen too closely to his speech at the time. I was concerned with getting away. He said he wanted to help me. Gifted were still considered fairly new. Nowadays most people alive have lived most of their lives in a world with gifted.” The first super powered individuals had appeared around the time Logan was born. “But back then, most of the population still saw it as strange and there weren’t any real initiatives to help train the powers. So the gifted that were around often were untrained and had their powers act up without warning. Which could be quite destructive.” Logan recalled the park bench and every instance of loss of control after that, all the way up to a wine glass in a restaurant less than a year ago. He looked at his pupil to make sure he hadn’t lost his attention. The wide, attentive, green eyes and firm nod told him he still had an audience. “Anyway, the collector thought that people should respect and celebrate our existence. He compared the stigmas we faced to those of people of color, or the LGBTQ+ community, then still called the Gay or Queer community. He said it very nicely, it almost sounded reasonable, if you ignored the slight notes of supremacy. And if I had been trying to ‘stick it to the man’ as they say, I might have been tempted. But I just wanted…” to pay form my sisters treatment and my research for a cure. “I was selfish in my actions and therefore not interested in his big revolution, which turned out to be a good thing in some ways.” He didn’t want to even imagine the kind of person he’d be then. He wouldn’t have Patton that was for sure. And Virgil… No. He was glad Virgil was kept away from that madness. And he intended to keep it that way. “I told him I wasn’t interested in leading any resistance, thanked him for the assistance and left. Shortly after this, I encountered Manifestor for the first time. He blessed one of the people in the building with super speed.” Said gifted was now one of the heroes patrolling the city. He was actually one of the heroes who’s territory Prince shared. Thomas hadn’t gotten the hang of permanent and temporary power boosts yet at the time. It was always a game of chance. Thomas chuckled. “I remember. I was so pleased that it worked.” Pleased was one word for it. “You were insufferably delighted, even though I defeated your champion.” While he and StarBucker were amicable nowadays, at the time, Logan had been thoroughly annoyed at the inconvenience. But thinking back to Thomas’ triumphant smile he could not quite help his own amusement. “You did retreat though,” Thomas pointed out. “I stalled you long enough to make you give up that mark and head out. So it was a win for me.” Logan let out a sigh, he couldn’t argue with that, but they were getting of topic. “I saw the Collector a few more times after that, though I managed to avoid conversation. One day, during a stalemate with Manifestor, he asked me about him. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who’d been approached about his plans. He had actually advanced them. He was now not only collecting gifted, but also individuals worthy of a gift. Be it they joined him out of free will, or got persuaded through different means.” Blackmail, intimidation, manipulation. Those were the collector’s tools. “And he wanted me to ‘grant them that blessing’,” Thomas added uneasy. Logan patted his old friend on the back in support. A conversation with the collector had never been a fun experience for either of them. “Manifestor had enlisted the help of others to free some of his victims,” Logan continued. “The Collector claimed I was championing his cause. I assured Manifestor that I had no intention of assisting in his plans. That is about the time Manifestor started winning me over to redemption.” He thought back to those times with a bittersweet feeling. He’d been so excited by the idea. A nice place for him and Hannah to live. A good job that would let him take care of her and have her be proud of him. Things hadn’t gone quite how he’d wanted, but at the same time, one thing had gone better than he could ever have imagined. “Next time I spotted Collector, I told him in the plainest possible terms that I was not interested…” It should have been a firm ending to this story. Or so he had thought. That was naïve of him, he now knew that. Obsession and fanaticism don’t disappear just because one piece of that craziness did not cooperate. He’d been arrogant once again. Thinking too highly of himself. It took him a moment to continue. “He assured me I would be…” He suppressed a shiver as he recalled the polite, almost pleasant way he’d spoken. Sort of soothing. As if Logan had merely been a child afraid to go in the swimming pool and Collector was indulging him for the moment. “I haven’t seen him since, but that promise… I don’t know what exactly he has been up to in the past 14 years. But one can only imagine how someone like that matures... Or what he has planned for me when he finds me.” Or much more importantly, his loved ones. Thomas, Patton, Virgil, the Bullards who despite the current situation were still family to him, and Prince too if he was completely honest. There was no telling what Logan would do if any of them… Not now. “Prince, the collector will not consider you his enemy. But he is yours. Anyone who meets his criteria of ‘worthy’, is at risk. And he does not take no for an answer.” The words had barely settled in the room or Prince shot up panicked. “Phantom!” he exclaimed. “Phantom might be in danger! What if someone on the chief’s team passes on information to Him? Or what if he has connections to these crime organizations!? I’ve got to go out now and find him…” Prince was clearly about to head out again right away. Admirable, but not very prudent given the circumstances. “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow you can try again. Even if you find him, you are not in the right state of mind to deliver this kind of news delicately.” Prince paused, clearly contemplating his words. Seeing, or feeling, an opening, Patton added his two cents. “You’ve done great today sport! You just go home and sleep on what you’ve learned. Tomorrow night there is another patrol and you might run into him then.” And to make the set complete, Thomas finished: “I’m glad you are so eager to meet this young hero Prince. Just know that there is no pressure. They’ve been evading unwanted contact for almost a year now. It is okay if you don’t find them right away. And we’ll give you the support you need.” Prince clearly did not like it but he conceded. “Can I ask a favor though? Can I bring him some of that dye and a modulator? I doubt he’ll have a very sophisticated disguise if he’s on his own. It could be a sign of comradery?” he explained awkwardly. Logan nodded. It made sense, and it wouldn’t take him long. He led Prince through a few doors to his lab. Once he got to his desk he put his family picture down. It was a digital picture frame that played an album of family pictures once the camera registered his face in front of the desk. Even if Prince didn’t look at it on purpose he might catch a glance of Virgil, Patton or him in passing. And Prince was a curious person. His territory included Logan’s new neighborhood, he might see Virgil on one of his runs while he was on patrol. Or see any of them in passing. For Prince’s safety and that of Logan’s family, he wouldn’t take risks. He handed Prince a black hairdye stick. Fitting for a gifted who relied on stealth. He picked up a dark purple modulator, the darkest color he had and plugged it in to program it. Prince clearly had an idea of how Phantom’s voice should sound. “Could you make it so it’s like, deepened by an octave and doubled? With an echo effect?” Logan nodded. It fit the moniker Phantom was given, that was for certain. “Thank you. This should help a lot,” Prince grinned as he took the modulator. “I shall be heading home now,” he bid before leaving the lab, followed by Logan who watched him get in the elevator to leave the facility. Logan let out a relieved sigh. “Come on. Let’s go home and see Virgil,” Patton said gently, knowing what Logan needed right now. Logan smiled gratefully and as they headed up, he handed Patton the keys. He didn’t feel clear of mind enough to handle driving tonight. He let Virgil know they were on their way so he would know to expect them. Otherwise he might think they were burglars.

When they got home they found Virgil on the couch with his headphones on. He looked up and smiled as he spotted them. “Welcome back. I gotta ask though. Who’s your fourth guy?” he asked playfully. Logan blinked confused. “What do you mean?” “For your poker nights,” Virgil joked. Patton giggled at Logan’s side, taking the lead. “No cardgames I’m afraid kiddo. We’ll tell you about the project once it’s finished. It’s all confidential for now I’m afraid,” he said. Virgil cocked his head and studied Patton for a moment, then he shrugged. “Okay, Keep your secrets,” he sighed as he stretched and got up. “Night Pat, night Lo,” he said casually as he headed to the door. Logan cringed a little at that. Lately his son, on occasion, used his surname. He was assured by Picani that this was in no way a reflection of Virgil’s affection for Logan as a father. He had no less than 3 fathers now. Him, Patton and an unknown biological father. To differentiate between the three he likely used surnames in his head. Which may slip out verbally on occasion. Even knowing that, it stung a little. “Goodnight Virgil, I love you,” Logan replied, trying not to show his inner discourse. Virgil paused in the door and looked back with a smile. “Love you to dad.” And just like that the tightening in his chest loosened. “Love you three kiddo!” Patton added. “Love ya Pat,” Virgil snickered before disappearing to his room. Logan kept staring at the door for a moment. Patton hugged him from the side. “What do you say I make us a nightcap before bed?” he suggested. Logan nodded. “That would be pleasant,” he told him.

The next morning, Logan woke up to hearing Virgil move about and singing to himself downstairs. That boy never sleeps in. He let out a yawn and stretched, feeling Patton curl into his chest. “Do you regret moving in with us yet?” he teased. “Never,” Patton muttered sleepily. “I smell bacon,” he hummed. “First awake makes breakfast in the weekend. It’s a tradition we have. He was ten the first time I found him trying to fix me breakfast in bed,” Logan recalled fondly. “He made a mess, but it was really sweet. He was following all my rules. He didn’t touch the knives or the stove without me there, which of course limited his options. I helped him make breakfast the that day. After that I made sure to lay some things ready for him on Friday and Saturday nights in case he tried again. Which he did.” “That is adorable,” Patton squealed with a kiss to Logan’s cheek. “Let’s see what our son has in store for us today,” Logan suggested as he got up. He waked to the closet to select some clothes for the day. He felt Patton’s eyes on his back and turned around. “Everything alright Patton?” Patton bit his lip. “It’s just… Our son. I really like the sound of that,” he explained. Logan nodded. “I do too.” Patton bit his lip. “I was thinking of maybe looking into… what it would take for me to adopt him? Make it official?” he suggested. Logan’s heart skipped a beat. Patton had mentioned adopting Virgil in a burst of emotion before. But it seemed like he meant it. He knew that it would mean the world to both him and Virgil to have Patton be an official part of their family. “That would be excellent Patton,” he told him sincerely. Patton’s face lit up at that. “Would you help me figure it out? I want to know what steps I have to take.” Logan walked back to the bed and sat himself next to Patton, taking hold of both his hands. “It would be my greatest pleasure,” he told him gently. Patton’s shoulders relaxed, his gaze still thoughtful, and then he let out a giggle. “May I inquire where your mind has taken you now?” Logan wondered fondly. “It’s just. Look at me being practical. You have rubbed off on me,” he scolded playfully. “Well if it helps, you have changed me too. For the better that is,” Logan assured him with a kiss to his forehead. “Now get downstairs before our breakfast gets cold.”

Breakfast was pleasant. Virgil rolled his eyes and teased them with how ‘cute’ they were being this morning. Logan responded by giving Patton an extra kiss to his cheek. And then Thomas picked Virgil up for their trip to the zoo. Logan and Patton distracted themselves by preparing classes for the next week, answering email and spending some quality time together. Logan had told Thomas that he could tell Virgil about his teenage years. If the topic of parents and siblings came up, he could mention what he knew. Logan knew that he was risking moving up his time table. But part of him hoped he’d be forced to tell Virgil everything tonight. He should have told him long ago. But he kept finding excuses to postpone. He had still not decided whether he’d talk about BrainStorm or not. “I’m home!” Virgil called all of a sudden. Logan glanced up from his book. Time had flown by. Patton was almost done with diner after which they had to leave for Prince’s next patrol. Logan was torn on that subject too. On one hand he knew the young hero wouldn’t need constant supervision for much longer. But on the other, he’d worry about Prince the whole evening if he didn’t personally keep an eye on him. “Dad!” Virgil grinned brightly as he gave him a hug. Effectively ending his inner turmoil. “Virgil? Not that I do not appreciate you seem excited to see me. But is there a particular reason?” he wondered. Virgil let go and stepped back. Logan absentmindedly took note of the fact that the height difference between them was almost gone. Would he outgrow him? Caleb had been a little taller than him. “Uncle Thomas told me about your teen years. I didn’t know you were on the debate team!” he grinned excitedly. Logan was a little flattered that this little bit of information seemed to mean so much to his son. “Well, yes. It was a bit of a hobby of mine, as well as an attempt to get better at socializing,” he confessed. Virgil’s eyes sparked at that. “You were a socially awkward nerd,” he chuckled. Logan frowned at that. “Hey, that’s a complement. I’m a socially awkward artsy kid. Sounds like I’m your son after all,” he chuckled happily. “Speaking off. Uncle Thomas told me you wrote poetry back in the day.” “Really?” Patton exclaimed from the kitchen. Logan was flushing bright red. “I… Experimenting with different forms of self-expression is a natural part of discovering one’s identity as a teenager. It was a phase. I would like to forget about it,” he said stiffly. “Aw, but poetry is so romantic,” Patton pouted. Logan made a mental note of that. Just because he didn’t write anymore didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy reading it from time to time. There was something soothing in the format and he knew of a few poems Patton may enjoy. As far as Virgil was concerned though, poetry was firmly in his past. “That’s too bad. I thought I could maybe make a project around your old work for art class,” Virgil said disappointedly. Oh, that was not fair. “I’ll see if I still have one of my old notebooks,” he allowed. “Just ask my consent before you pick one.” And before he knew it he was once again hugged tightly by his son. “Thanks dad. You won’t regret it. I promise.” Virgil’s excitement was worth any embarrassment that his pubescent ramblings may cause. During dinner Virgil told them about the trip to the zoo and the many sketches he’d made. He also informed them that his session with Picani had gone well. After dinner Virgil bid both of them goodnight in case he’d be asleep when they got back from the university. Patton was smiling the whole way there. “What is on your mind?” Logan wondered. “Did you ever write something for a crush?” Patton asked giddily. He had sort of expected this. “I… Didn’t really have a romantic interest in high school. Thomas was the only person my age I got close to. I was… Well you know what I was going through back then. Between my mother and school… All I had on romance was rather resentful or, once Hannah introduced Caleb to me, from the eye of an observer. Perhaps I can find one of the latter. It might be nice for Virgil to use something inspired by his parents as a base for whatever project he is working on,” he mused. “That sounds like a lovely idea,” Patton agreed.

Half an hour later, Logan was pacing the floor. Prince should’ve called in ten minutes ago. He might just be late, but… Then a beep announced that Prince’s communicator went active. Logan rushed to the comstation. “DreamPrince you are late. What is yours status?” Had he ran into trouble? Was he hiding? Or had he simply forgotten about his com until now? “I am currently debriefing Phantom. I’ll let you know when I’m done here. Tell chief I’ll stop by with a package,” he informed them swiftly. “Radio silence until further notice.” And just like that, the line went silent once again. “He has him…” Logan muttered. Almost in disbelieve. “Oh thank goodness,” Thomas breathed in relief. They’d all be worried about the child out on their own. But it seemed like they were quite a few steps ahead of Collector. An advantage they sorely needed.

Hero au

@cirishere​ @hestianerd1​ @moonlightshow00​ @naturallyunstablegamer​ @alias290​ @meowthefluffy​ @frida0043​ @angelic-cali​ @selenechris​ @theblackveilinreverse​

#sanders sides #ts sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #heroau

[shintorikhazumi]

I Have Two Sisters?! Chapter 1: Three Sisters and The Bastard Father (An LWAxRWBYxStarira Crossover)

A/N: What’s crazier than me writing a crossover I can’t get out of my head at 2am while still having multiple wips?

Writing a three-way crossover until 3am!!! (Ended at nearly 5am tho)

GAHHHHH.

Btw, this is a non-magic au. So Diana has no magic, and Weiss has no… semblance. Yes. Because the world of RWBY always goes “???!! OHMG, magic?!” Quite ironically. They become impressed at people turning into birds, but never flinch at Ruby who can separate herself on a molecular level. Sure.

I’ll be updating this sporadically, tbh. The updates will be as random as the coming of this idea. I do like it a lot, so I look forward to working on it. Just have to prioritize the wips.

[DO CHECK OUT THE END NOTES FOR SOME OF THE AU DETAILS AND BACKGROUND]

Still, I couldn’t let the concept pass me by so…

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

  I Have Two Sisters?! Chapter 1: Three Sisters and The Bastard Father

  The wind blew strong outside, rain water cold against her bleeding cheek. The numbness was her only relief from pain nowadays. She’d lost count of how many bruises she’d gotten this week. If only her mother hadn’t passed… If only she hadn’t had a bastard of a father.

Then maybe Diana’s life would have been much better than the shell that it now was.

He left her and her mother just as she turned three, the only support she got in the form of random gifts and her financial needs. Her father was nothing of a father. The man that… helped make her was never there. He never showed he cared. Everything he gave her felt obligatory. She hated it. Heck, she didn’t even know his last name, much less remember what he looked like. She did try looking it up at some point, but it seemed as if he was some kind of bigshot she couldn’t name.

Neither her mom nor her aunt had divulged his identity, so she had long since drew a blank to the man’s identity. All she knew was that his name was ‘Jack’ or something of the sort. She had long since adopted her mother’s as it didn’t feel right to take the name of a man she never knew.

All she knew was that he was the cause of all her sorrows. That wretched man had left her and her mother to fend for themselves. Even though her mom was of a strong, well-known medical lineage here in Britain, the fact that she had gotten pregnant out of wedlock labelled her as a shame to the Cavendish name, and she had been cast out to a vacation home in the outskirts of the foreign country, Japan.

After her death, however, the women who Diana now saw as practically witches with how cruel and evil they were decided that because their blood ran through her, took over their small land that she and her mother had cried blood and tears to call their own, and exploited the underage girl, believing she might be of some use as a pawn at the very least, for the sake of the Cavendish name.

And she was. For some time, until she had injured her arm, and was no longer capable of becoming the kind of doctor they wanted her to be, her hand slowly losing its immaculate dexterity, becoming constantly shaky, rendering her as only half the worth she originally was, and thus completely useless besides being their punching bag. Quite literally.

Diana Cavendish found herself spending the better part of her life being abused, and hiding in tool sheds, and escaping her dreaded household at every waking moment, just as she was doing right now.

She hardly believed in any religion, but she found herself always praying to get away from this hellish nightmare. She’d hope that even if she only had a jerk of a father, he’d soon realize that she was his flesh and blood that needed saving.

A hard knock came on the wood of her shed’s door. She flinched, no sound escaping. Had they found her?!

“Miss Cavendish? Miss Diana Cavendish? Are you in here?” An unfamiliar voice called for her, bold and confident sounding, but with kindness and worry interlaced. She felt like it was someone she should respond to. The situation felt like it was some kind of divine calling she should answer.

With legs shaking, she stood up, unlatching the bar that held the door closed and stepping out into the now late night that reeked of hot pavement, rain having stopped while she was lost in thought.

A police officer, clad in uniform and raincoat smiled at her in pity. She was both grateful for- and hated- that gaze. She wished it had come sooner, but at the same time, she disliked being thought of as sad and pathetic.

“Your aunt and her family have been arrested, Miss.” Her ears perked up at the voice and the message they conveyed. Looking up from the ground, she stared into the truthful eyes of the cop. “You’re safe now.”

And she truly hoped she was.

  //-//-//-//-//

  “Weiss.”

At the mention of her name from that familiar voice, she rolled her eyes internally, holding in the urge to snap at the man she called ‘father’.

“What.”

Maybe her control wasn’t as good as she thought.

“Don’t give me that tone. I know you hate me, but I am still the one that raised you!”

“You mean, you’re the one that paid for me.” The ex-heiress pointed out. Her father gritted his teeth, frown deepening as he stepped forward in an attempt to exert his dominance.

Weiss only raised a brow in challenge.

“Anyway.” Jacques continued. Weiss would have smirked as he neither acknowledged nor denied her statement, but she felt it wasn’t the best time. “You are yet to turn twenty, and as you aren’t considered an adult yet-“

“But I’m nineteen, father.” Weiss stated, confused, her raised brow now raised in question. “I’m of legal age, to drink even.”

“Not in Japan you aren’t.” He replied with a smirk so evil, Weiss would have loved to slap it right off if her mind wasn’t thrown in a state of emergency, dreading whatever plans her father had. Even if she wanted to do as she pleased, she couldn’t completely go against him as she was at the moment. Their family name was too widespread and known in the business world, and she feared the consequences of running away from her father who currently had her safety- and practically her life- in the palm of his hand.

“What are you planning.” She narrowed her eyes at him, fearing for the worst, but expertly masking that fear.

“I’ll be sending you away, just as you’ve always wanted. I’ve prepared you an apartment close to a school of my choice to pursue the arts as you so strongly desired,” He spoke in a mocking tone. “And I’ll let you have your way there.” He ended with a smile that sent chills down Weiss’ spine. It sounded too good to be true, her dream being accepted like this. It was like a carrot on a stick being waved in front of her, only to always be out of reach.

“What’s the catch?”

“Catch? My, Weiss, my child, are you questioning your father’s benevolent heart?”

“What’s there to question?” Weiss shot back. “You don’t have one, now do you?”

She grinned at her little victory as she watched him gnashing his teeth, clearly seething in anger. Her smile dropped however as he gave her his own.

“I mentioned Japan’s legal age before.”

And Weiss already knew what he meant.

  //-//-//-//-//

  Life in Seishou had been the dream. Her first two years of high school were the peak of her life, she’d proudly say. She had wonderful friends and comrades who battled side-by-side, pushing one another to greater heights, and… she had someone she adored just a little more than friendship allowed. She had never admitted it, though. Then, a school back in Paris, the place where her mother had blossomed as an actress in the past, offered her a scholarship as an exchange student there.

And like she always did, Claudine excelled. So much so that multiple colleges offered her full rides to attend their institutions. Even highly prestigious universities. Her opportunities were broad, her future looking bright-

-And then news came. Her mother had fallen terminally ill.

She had to go back. She had to see her. She had to be by her side as long as possible.

She had to repay her for the love, for the dream she had given Claudine. She had to be the family her mother had been for her in the absence of a biological father she never knew, and the loss of her adoptive Japanese father at an early age. The lack of a male figure in their family was no cripple to Claudine, but she also missed the presence of the man she knew as her papa. She knew her maman missed him too.

So she had to do this for her mother.

She had to… in the event that… she’d lose her soon as well.

God forbid, Claudine prayed.

She had to return to Japan, study and… get a job, find some way to help her mother pay the increasingly expensive hospital bills, their little family’s saved money steadily disappearing.

She wondered if she should just drop school all together and apply for a troupe. Earn both money and experience.

She had enough rapport both in Japan and France. She could probably get enough opportunities, and she would succeed like she always had…

But…

There was something she wanted to see through, going into university.

When she left for Paris, she had gradually lost contact with all her friends, the culture slowly choking her time, eventually disconnecting them from her.

She’d receive and return the occasional message, but… things were different. She knew she’d drifted apart from everyone.

So, when she found out that they would all be attending the same Arts Institute, and when she had decided to return to Japan for her mother’s sake, she believed it wouldn’t all be that bad if she could apply for a scholarship to the same place, and possibly rebuild everything that was slowly crumbling away.

She wanted to be with everyone again.

And though she believed herself capable of attaining what she wanted on her own, she might require a little assistance from a miracle.

…

And a miracle- could she call this monstrosity of a situation that?- came in the form of a letter that had documents that signified she was the daughter of some ‘Jacques Schnee’ currently undergoing some sort of trial, and because of this, some of the accusations led to the revelation that he was neglecting a daughter, not sending support, and now as some form of bribery and compensation or whatever, he had paid the court to shut up about it if he took responsibility for her now.

Claudine scoffed in disbelief and utter disgust.

So this was her damned biological father? Some apparently bigtime tycoon who slept around and left a woman to fight for herself while carrying his- Claudine would suppose she was now an- illegitimate child.

This… was certainly news she’d never have expected in a million years.

She laughed mirthlessly at it all.

Well, at least her financial crisis had been averted. For better or for worse… she hoped it wasn’t the latter.

One upside was that she now had a clear ticket to that university she wanted to get into, it seemed. Her ‘father’ had taken the liberty of enrolling her there coincidentally. At least he could do something right, Claudine guessed.

“Well… I suppose it’s time to pack.” She sighed falling back onto her current apartment bed, staring at the ceiling.

It wasn’t so bad, maybe. Her newfound reality.

“Japan, I’m coming home to you.”

  //-//-//-//-//

  Diana glared at the letter in her hand angrily. There, in neat script, she saw the name of the man who had caused all her misfortune.

‘Jacques Schnee.’

“I want to hate you for as long as I live…” She gripped the paper so hard, creases were forming and the agent currently assigned to her worried she’d rip it into shreds. “What is this garbage? And why am I… Why can’t I… refuse… this ugly form salvation…” She choked on her sobs, a hand sympathetically rubbing her back.

“Let’s get you ready, Miss.”

Diana nodded in agreement.

-----

All her bags now in her hand after being dropped off by the cab driver, she stared in awe at the slightly modest, but clearly high-end house.

What the hell, did her dad just get her a house?!

Regardless of its size, couldn’t he have… like… gotten her an apartment or condo, at least?

How rich was this asshole father of hers? Was money the only good thing about him? Not that even that was necessarily a good thing.

With a groaning sigh, she unlatched the gate, walking up the little pathway. There were small flowerbeds already present around the yard, and decorations were tastefully placed.

It at least looked the part of cozy.

Once she got to the door, however, angry sounds coming from inside made her question that.

-Wait. This was her house, right?

Why would sounds be…

In a panic, she unlocked the front door with the key that came with the letter, bursting through it like a mad man, blue eyes flickering about the room, shocked to see two pairs of eyes, wide and intense, staring back at her with equal surprise.

“Who…”

“Oh, this is just great!!!” One with hair as white as snow exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in clear exasperation. “Now we have another one!” She began marching around the room, palms rubbing her face aggressively and scratching through her hair. “That little fuck-“

“-Language.”

“Shut up! I don’t even know who you are, and why you were in my house when I arrived. And you say you aren’t a burglar or whatever, but what is up with your sword play? Even if you were using the curtain pole. Are you some kind of spy or assassin the corporation has sent to finally get rid of me?”

“First of all, this is my house, not yours. And you came at me with a rapier!” A silver-gold blonde replied in equal stress. “You could have killed me!”

“I would never!” The first girl gasped with faux emotion. “At most, you’d lose an ear.”

“Umm…” Diana remained awkwardly fidgeting at the door, her usual bravery and confidence lost in the moment of shock.

“What.”

“I- I am simply here because… apparently my father purchased this place for me.”

Two pairs of eyes blinked once. Twice.

Then realization overtook them.

“Did you just say… father?” The golden-haired one stepped closer to her, a lot less hostile, but still aggressive looking.

“I- Um… yes?”

“Father… you say.” The lady with a rapier in her hand now approached Diana too.

These women were frightening, dear Lord. Diana slowly backed up, but stopped as her foot hit the bags she’d dropped in her frantic moments earlier.

“Can you tell me the name of this… ‘father’ of yours?” Rapier lady asked Diana who was beginning to wonder if she should look for a weapon to defend herself with.

“S-sure. His n-name is…”

“…”

“…”

“Is?”

“Fuck.”

Diana was not one to curse, but it surprised her that she did.

But she couldn’t help it, now could she? After all, her mind had been wiped clean as a white slate. A mental block was not what she needed right now, but just about anything involving that man seemed to bring about her misfortune.

At least the hands by which she’d die her early death were from very beautiful women it seemed.

She liked women, at least?

“Excuse me, um… are you alright?” Miss Golden hair was now very safe-looking and welcoming, Diana subconsciously stepped closer towards her.

“What is up with you? I just asked a question.”

“Perhaps, if you placed the sword down, and looked less like you were trying to murder her and look like you were willing to hear her out…”

Diana expected another heated retaliation, so it was a pleasant surprise to see the other woman sheath her weapon, and place it gently on a plastic-covered couch, clearly brand new.

“There. Happy?” She asked, glaring at the woman now gently holding Diana’s hand- and when had that happened?!

With a nod, the girl turned to Diana and asked again. “What is your father’s name. If you could tell us.”

Huh. She was a lot kinder than Diana had initially taken her for.

“I apologize. I can’t… remember at the moment. I- He hasn’t been around… for me until this point. I just… learned his name a few days ago but…” She hung her head in defeat, apologizing all the while. “Sorry I’m of no assistance to you…”

“No, it’s alright. Isn’t it?” The question was clearly not directed at her as she could only hear a grunt from the other side of the room.

“Yeah, fine.”

“Would your father’s name happen to be Jacques?”

At this, Diana lifted her head, another shocker delivered to her, hearing the familiar name, the cogs in her head clicking into place.

“Yes! Yes, that’s it! Jack, or Jacques or whatever. Snee? Shuni? Schee? I don’t quite remember, but something along those lines.” Diana found herself enthusiastic towards the prospect that some of her questions might be answered.

It seemed the other two shared the same sentiment.

“It���s Schnee.” The white-haired lady corrected, eyes furrowing, anger building up once more. “And… THAT BASTARD OLD MAN!” Grabbing her rapier she swung it around, probably to vent her anger. “He set me up! And what’s more…” She whipped her head about to carefully look the other two people over.

“What is it?” Diana said in a voice quite small.

“Seems he had big secrets to hide.” She sighed. Turning to the initial enemy she had, now turned… stranger? She wasn’t sure they were allies at this point, she stated rather than asked. “I guess it’s the same for you?”

The woman beside Diana nodded, expression looking a lot stiffer than her gentle demeanor as she dealt with Diana earlier.

“I see. I can’t believe this situation.”

“What do you me-“

A voice beside Diana delivered her fourth? Fifth? Sixth?- she’d lost count- Shocker of the day.

“Sisters. It seems we’re… sisters.” Turning to Diana, she held out a hand for a shake. “I’m Claudine.”

“I’m Weiss.” Was the grumble from the couch the woman had flopped on top of.

“…O-oh!” Breaking her stare from the hand, she looked into rose-red eyes. “And I’m-“

And the world suddenly turned black.

‘Hello, My Name is…

[Diana Cavendish]

[Weiss Schnee]

[Saijou Claudine]

-And it seems as though…

I have two sisters?!

  A/N: If you’re asking, yes. Yes, Diana fainted.

Here are some details for this AU btw:

I’ve decided to make Jacques a half-Jap, half german.

So all of them have a quarter of that blood.

Diana is half brit, quarter jap, quarter german

Weiss is ¾ german because of her mom, and ¼ jap.

Claudine is half French, ¼ german, ¼ jap.

Also, if you want to know their ages, and their order, I decided it this way, and let me just quote how I typed it out in the raw idea draft.

“Diana April 30 16yro in anime 2017+3yrs (2020) she's 19 too omg jahahahaha (wrote this coz I’m currently 19 and was amused)

Clau august 1, 2001 19 at present

Weiss Currently 19 (in volumes 5-6) may 15th lmao hahsha. Perfect!!

Wtf Diana was the oldest? Hooo boi. I did expect and want Kuro to be youngest tho, tbh.”

Why their ages are pretty much the same will be mentioned next chap.

And that’s how it went. Decided with Weiss being the legitimate child coz Jacques was the only canonically mentioned dad between the three girls as far as I know. Or I just didn’t search enough.

But come on. I wouldn’t pass at the chance to beat up the dude in a fic so… hihi.

Feedback is super appreciated!

Thank you for reading!

~Shintori Khazumi

#rwby #lwa #Little Witch Academia #revue starlight #shoujo kageki revue starlight #weiss schnee #claudine saijou #saijou claudine #diana cavendish #they're sisters omg #jacque schnee #is a little prick #crossover #fanfic #rwby x lwa x starira #starira #family life #their pairings will come later #jacques schnee #eventual pairings #dianakko #whiterose #mayakuro #diana x akko #ruby x weiss #maya x claudine

[petri808]

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 22 | 23 | 24 | 25

TW: Stalking behaviors. 

As she walked from the train station to her apartment, Lucy didn’t know if it was just her nerves getting the best of her or a real danger right around the corner. Those creepy feelings that send tingling sensations along your spine or the hairs on the back of your neck standing to attention was a constant reminder that she was the lead actress in a horror movie. Every time Lucy was alone in public, her senses went on alert like prey being stalked by a predator, and she had every right to be cautious with Touka still loose on the streets.

Touka’s arrest after the movie theater incident did nothing to deter the woman from making the couple’s lives miserable. In fact, it only escalated her determination to win Natsu and get Lucy out of her way. For three month’s she’s stalked them through social media. They would block her, and she’d simply open a new account. They made their pages private, but she’d find ways to send messages. Lucy was starting to wonder if the woman was hacking into their pages.

‘You can’t get away from me Natsu...’

‘I won’t let you have him you bitch!’

‘The authorities can’t stop me...’

‘I love you more than she ever will! Please Natsu! How could you be so cruel?!’

‘Watch your back you whore!’

‘I’ll do anything you want Natsu! I worship you! Please! I’ll be the perfect woman just for you!’

Lucy bore the brunt of the harassment, being called every derogatory name under the sun, while Natsu’s were a mix of anger and pleadings to be her boyfriend. Touka was coming unhinged and desperate people could lead to desperate decisions. A woman who started off seemingly so sweet and nice had turned into a demon. Frankly, it baffled Lucy how anyone could present two opposing faces so easily, but obsession was a strong motivator. Counselors at school told them that for stalkers it’s all about control and once them feel they’ve lost it, that’s when they start to lash out. ‘Well, duh,’ Lucy rolled her eyes at that one. Tell them something they hadn’t figured out on their own.

Sometimes they thought they caught glimpses of Touka while out around town, watching them from around street corners or shop windows, blend into cafes or around shelves in stores. It was hard to confirm because when they did a double-take, the woman would disappear. The woman was also legally trespassed by Natsu’s workplace, Lucy’s school dorm, the movie theater, and the bar Cana works at. Plus, the theater attack got them restraining orders against Touka, which meant she couldn’t come within 100 yards of the couple. So far, her harassment consisted of internet messages and she’d abided by the distance order, but really, what would a piece of paper do if Touka chose to finally ignore it?

“You okay?” Natsu questions his girlfriend, “you went silent.”

“Oh, sorry, y-yeah I’m okay, just drifting into thoughts again.”

They were lucky to have a great support system. All of their friends pitched in to take turns, making sure Lucy was rarely ever alone in public. Someone would walk her to and from school. If she needed to go out, one of them would volunteer whenever Natsu couldn’t. She stayed in areas that had a lot of people, so she’d be less likely to be approached. But when no one was available, he would stay on the phone with her like now. Lucy appreciated it all, because at least she had a voice to comfort her.

“Oh, alright. How much longer till you get to the dorms?”

“Maybe 15 minutes.”

But the messages that sent the worst chills through Lucy, were the ones detailing what she was doing or where she was at when the messages were sent. It was confirmation that Touka was truly stalking every move they made, and the couple couldn’t go out in public without the fear of being confronted again. The authorities weren’t any help either and unfortunately her messages through social media were not considered a violation under current anti-stalker laws. Harassment was also difficult to prove because the woman never used her real name which left open the possibility it was some other person harassing them.

According to Levy’s boyfriend Gajeel, the police’s hands were tied unless Touka slipped up and made a direct threat to harm them. But so far, the woman had been cunning enough to stay anonymous. This was exactly why current laws did nothing to curb people from engaging in such behaviors. The counselor warned them that the only way to stop a stalker is intensive psychological treatment. But to get to that point required voluntary treatment or a court order, hence the couple’s frustrations with the system.

“Whatcha, thinking about?” Natsu breaks the silence again.

“Just the stuff Gajeel was explaining,” she sighs back. “It’s all so stupid, like they don’t even care.” Aside from Levy’s boyfriend, Lucy got the distinct impression that the cops didn’t take stalking very seriously.

“I’m so sorry this is happening Lucy. We both graduate in just six more months, maybe we could move to the other side of Japan?” She could hear it in Natsu’s voice how useless he felt under these circumstances.

“Or another country,” she mumbled back. At this point she wanted to get as far away as possible. They’d done everything they could think of, notifying their schools and the security at their homes of the potential threat. But as long as Touka was free to run the streets, short of packing up and moving far away which was out of the question because of school, there wasn’t anything else they could do except stay vigilant.

“If that’s what would make you happy Lucy, I’ll find a way to make it happen. I got a cousin that lives in the US, maybe he can get us jobs.”

Lucy thinks for a moment, “I don’t think you’ve mentioned this cousin before, what’s he doing there?”

“Sting went for college then ended up staying after graduation cause he met a guy. I think they’ve been together now for 5 years, so it must be working out,” Natsu chuckles.

His comment pulls a giggle from Lucy, “I wouldn’t mind trying out the US. We could think of it as an adventure before settling down.”

“Settling... down? As in, getting married?”

“W-What?! N-No, I mean, maybe, I mean it’s possible...” She hears the laughter on the other end and that stops her rambling.

“Hey, I was just clarifying,” Natsu’s chuckles soften. “I agree, whatever happens, it would definitely be a fun adventure.”

Her cheeks flushed by the new images floating through her mind and a silly smile now screwed onto her face. Lucy was certain that between them, they could do well, find jobs, and lead a comfortable life wherever they chose to go. Maybe a change of scenery would do them well. Certainly, her stress level would thank her for it.

“Do you really think… that would work? That we could pull it off because...” Lucy’s voice cuts off abruptly mid-sentence, followed by the sounds of a scuffle, like the phone being jiggled around.

“Lucy?!” He called out with no reply. “Lucy?! Answer me!”

A sudden scream from Lucy’s end, runs his blood cold, and he hears a familiar voice just before the line cuts off permanently. It was muffled, but clearly— “Touka?!”

#nalu #nalu au #nalu fan fiction #nalu fan fic #Natsu dragneel #Lucy heartfilia #strangers on a train #tw stalking #fairytail

[princess-of-riviaa]

XOXO, Revenge

Summary: Ransom Drysdale took something from you. Now, you’re not just out for vengeance, you’re out for blood.

Part 2 to 4 Months

Author’s Note: A lot of you guys requested a follow up fic for my original oneshot. I heard your requests and am here to deliver :) this chapter will be more plot based, though there will still be some hints of smut. Also, just to add the epic drama, I’ve added some new characters that you guys will recognize and (fingers crossed) love what they add to the story!

“Hello?”

You double-checked that the bathroom door was locked before saying into the phone, “H-hey. It’s me.” Your voice was still shaking. You’d figured out what Ransom had done just over an hour ago; you hadn’t stopped crying since then.

“Y/N?” Your stepbrother’s voice instantly turned protective at the sound of you crying through the phone. “What is it? Are you hurt? Where are you?”

“The hospital,” you managed to get out. “James, something... something happened.”

“Are you okay? Are you safe?” His voice was panicked. You could hear noises in the background on his end. He was no doubt rummaging around, trying to gather his things before he headed in your direction.

“I’m...” Were you okay? No. But you would be. With help, you’d be sure of it. “No, I’m not okay.”

“What happened? Talk to me, sis. Did someone hurt you? Do I need to--”

You sighed. Your stepbrother had a dark past, the details of which you’d never wished to uncover. But you knew he had at least a little blood on his hands. After all, you figured a man didn’t earn the title The Winter Soldier for nothing.

You said into the phone, “James, something did happen, but I can’t talk about it over the phone. We need to meet in person. I need your help.”

...

You snuggled closer into Ransom as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Your legs were draped over his lap and you two had been cuddling for a good hour now. He’d sat beside you quietly as you cried. He brushed your tears away--tears that he had caused.

“Oh, Ransom,” you cried into his chest. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get over this.”

He ran a hand down your back. “It’s just a baby.”

You resisted the urge to strangle him. You’d had to fight down that urge too many times to count in the week since you’d left the hospital. Ransom was oblivious to your anger. To him, you were nothing more than a pathetic woman grieving the gross fetus that had died in your womb before it even had a chance to breathe in the air of this world.

He’d confessed everything to you eventually. You’d had to blackmail him with sex, but he’d confessed nonetheless. He’d softened the blow with sweet words and twisted lies.

The baby could have grown up like me, spoiled and hateful. I saved you from a life of headaches.

The baby might not have even loved you. I saved you from a life of heartache.

The baby could have gotten SIDS or some other disease and died before his time. I saved you time.

No matter how he spun it, he came out looking like the hero.

And you’d cried and thrown your arms around him. You’d even gone so far as to say, “I understand. It’s okay.” And you’d hidden your anger, letting it simmer just beneath the surface. You waited for the right time. If you played your cards right, if you followed the plan that James had helped you orchestrate, you would get everything you wanted and thensome. So, you waited. And waited. And waited.

You kissed him when all you wanted was the spit in his face. You fucked him when all you wanted was to cut his manhood off. You’d even gone over to his parents’ house when they invited you two for dinner, and you’d smiled at that despicable man that called himself Ransom’s father like you knew nothing. Mr. Drysdale began bragging about his “heroic plan” once he had ten drinks in him. He bragged about helping Ransom find someone to poison the food that Ransom had so generously brought over to your house when you’d still been living with your parents and had uncontrollable cravings. You’d gripped your steak knife so tightly in your hand that night, listening to brag and laugh with Ransom, the one thing they’d ever connected over, but you found it in yourself to stay calm.

You waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Now, you moved to straddle his lap. You needed to calm him, distract him from what was about to happen, from the people minutes away from pulling up to the Drysdale beach house.

“I need a distraction, Ransom,” you breathed in his neck.

His hands clasped onto your hips, moving you back and forth over his cock. It hardened quickly and, despite yourself, despite all the anger in you, you gasped as it brushed against your pussy through your thin panties.

“Tell me how bad you need it, baby,” he said, his tone dominating.

“So bad, Ransom,” you moaned, moving your hips against his cock on your own now. You cringed inwardly when you felt your wetness soak through your underwear and drip onto his jeans.

His hand came up to wrap around your throat, squeezing it ever so gently. “What did you just call me, slut?”

“I mean sir,” you gasped, rocking your hips faster against him. You closed your eyes. Pleasure escaped you, only fueled by the anger making your blood boil. “I want to suck your cock, sir.”

His cock jumped at the sound of your words and you began humping him wildly. “Beg for it, baby.”

“Please, sir!” You whimpered, feeling your stomach knot as your orgasm neared embarrassingly fast. “Please let me suck your cock! I want to taste you so bad.”

His hand disappeared from your throat and you whined. Half a heartbeat later his hands were on your hips, stilling your movements. “I didn’t say you could cum, baby.”

You pouted at him, looking just like the pathetic insubordinate he wanted you to be.

“Suck my cock well enough, and then I’ll consider letting you come,” he said with a smirk.

You stood up from his lap, trying to keep yourself from smiling. He couldn’t know that this was working in your favor. You unbuttoned his pants and helped him undress his lower half. You tossed his jeans and underwear to the other side of the room, far enough that he couldn’t easily snatch them back, and you looked back at his hardened cock.

A car door slammed out front.

Ransom jumped, trying to see who was at the house, but you rose up and pulled him in for a heated kiss. Your tongue tangled with his. It didn’t take too long for his attention to focus back on you. He shoved his tongue into your mouth, dominating you in every way he could.

“Suck sir’s cock, baby,” he said against your mouth before pushing your head towards his manhood.

You slid one hand down his cock, stopping at the base. And then, with a sickly sweet smile, you looked up at him and said, “I’d much rather cut it off.”

He frowned, not comprehending your words before the front door burst open. Three people entered: an armed policeman; Audrey, the lawyer James had hooked you up with; and James. He’d cut his hair since you’d last seen him, though he was still dressed in his signature black. His prosthetic hand was covered with a glove. His left hand held a gun, no doubt already locked and loaded, though he realized he didn’t need it as he took in the sight of you and Ransom.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Ransom demanded. He tried to rise to his feet, but you gripped his cock tightly, hard enough for him to squirm and stay where he was.

“What’s going on is you took something from me, Ransom Drysdale,” you said.

Your stepbrother stood with the lawyer and the policeman. They let you lead the show, waiting to explain everything to Ransom before he went away for good.

Ransom glared at you. “What the fuck are you talking about, you bitch?”

“I’m talking about the baby I lost,” you replied cooly. This was the moment you’d been waiting for for three weeks. Revenge was the sweetest taste. “I’m talking about the baby you and your father killed.”

His eyes widened. “I don’t know what the hell you’re--”

You gripped his cock even tighter, loving the way he grimaced under your touch. “I recorded it all: your confession, your father’s confession, the way you two laughed about murdering an innocent child. The police have it all. You’re, quite literally, screwed. Sir.”

You let go of him and stood back, watching as the policeman neared Ransom and forced him to stand as he was handcuffed.

“You’re going to regret this, you whore,” Ransom spat at you, his tone threatening.

“No, she’s not,” James corrected, coming to stand beside you. “Because you’re going to rot in prison for the rest of your life, though I don’t think you have much life left to live.”

Ransom laughed bitterly. “Do you have any idea how much money my family has? I’ll get out so quick--”

“The sentence for first degree manslaughter in the state of New York is twenty-five years in prison,” James explained.

“You’re not hearing me, you dumbass. My money can get me the best damn lawyer--”

“Oh, about that!” You piped up, fighting a smile. “I spoke to your grandfather, and Harlan isn’t a big fan of you or your father. He’s actually been waiting for an excuse to stop funding your side of the family for a while now. And apparently killing his unborn great-grandchild was just the thing he was waiting for.” You shrugged. “So you and your mother have no money as of three days ago, and your father’s funds are quickly running out.”

His body began boiling and the policeman had to fight to hold Ransom back from hurting you. “You fucking bitch--”

“I’m not the one that murdered a child!” You spat back.

“For legal reasons I have to advise you and your brother not to say anything more,” Audrey said to you.

Fine. You’d said all you needed to anyways. You watched as the policeman began reciting Ransom’s rights as he was dragged to the police car out front. You and James stood on the front porch, watching until the car disappeared in the distance.

“Thank you,” you told your brother, sincerely meaning it.

He pulled you for a side hug and kissed the top of your head. “No one hurts my family. I’m sorry about all of this, Y/N. I know locking that bastard up won’t take your pain away.”

“No, it won’t,” you agreed, then smiled, feeling the anger that had overwhelmed you for weeks begin to die out. “But it’s a good start.”

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale imagine #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale x you #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #the winter soldier