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kissbentennyson · 2 years

Note

Hi! I hope your having a great day! How do you think Ben would react to someone confessing to him? Specifically reader who he has had a crush on and is also half alien so they know about his secret (they/them).

-🌠 anon

I don’t write for Alien Force, so I made the actual confession part during Ultimate Alien. Also, I like to over-explain and ramble, soooo…

Being Confessed to by a Half Alien Crush

Ben Prime! x reader head canons | readers gender is not mentioned.

⚠️!Trigger warning!⚠️: Skin picking mentioned.

The two of you met before he defeated the highbreed, you had a few classes together but rarely spoke- however, that didn’t last long. Your dad, who passed well enough as a human with some technological assistance, is active in a lot of alien communities where news spreads fast. You’d overheard conversations between your dad and mom- or his buddies- but didn’t really put two and two together until you were accidentally put in the middle of a fight. Your dad is a peaceful man, but did not hesitate to teach you how to defend yourself and others in the ways he and his people do. So when this happened, you were able to protect yourself, but not without outing yourself.

To your surprise, they took it very well. You were greeted kindly, and you were able to explain everything without any anger. Which, you completely expected the opposite. You and Ben hit it off really quickly, especially when they were nice enough to drive you home and the two of you were in the back seat of Kevin’s car.

The two of you kept in contact, he’s a little flakey when it comes to hanging out- but you put in the effort. Whether it’s actually going out to do something fun or hanging around either of your places- it’s always pretty fun. You’re always really fun and you have enough energy to keep up with him without, like, complaining about it or him. On that same note- You don’t find him or his interests annoying, or get angry when he has to dip or cancel because of hero/plumber stuff.

It’s safe to say that he developed a crush on you pretty quickly. However he is garbage at noticing the subtle signs that someone likes him, so he is completely oblivious to your feelings.

If you have inherited abilities or physical traits from your father, he thinks it's so cool. With all the caution you were raised with, you would have expected him to be put off by it, but he wasn’t at all. Even if it’s not something that would be conventionally attractive, he thinks it’s really cute cool.

Even so, there was the fear of you getting hurt because of him, even with your heritage and knowledge on self defense. So, he swallows his feelings and the two of you remain friends which is increasingly hard to do the more you see each other- but he doesn’t want to just shut you out!

When his identity is eventually revealed to the world, it gets a lot harder for the two of you two hang out- Hell, he can barely hang out with Gwen and Kevin without being swarmed by cameras. Of course the separation makes it a little easier to deal with his crush on you, but he’s really bummed out that you two can’t hang out as often. You feel the same way, but it’s not being followed around by reporters or someone trying to get paid by taking unsolicited photos- you can deal with that- but it worries your parents to high hell. So you even had to distance yourself, which really hurt.

Ben had become one of your closest friends, and you’d be damned if you hadn’t developed feelings for him. I mean, who in their right mind wouldn’t? You two saw each other less often as time passed, but tried to make time to text or something. Eventually you became tired of waiting and pretending that you didn’t have feelings for him whenever you saw each other. So, you made the decision to tell him the next time you had the chance to hang out.

It started with a text.

“Hey, are you free today?”

And now you’re sitting with him, in his car, just hanging out. These were always your favorite types of Hangouts, just parked somewhere talking about what had gone down since the last time you two saw each other. You liked listening to him go on about the things he had done since. There were always elaborate stories about him saving the planet, or the galaxy from threats- which was followed up by you sharing more drama and domestic things. It always helps to remind you of how big the universe is and that there's more out there, and you always seem to help ground him or to help deflate his ego a bit.

This was no different, but this time, once you two had both finished each of your catch ups and faded into silence… You knew what you needed to do. However, you were painfully nervous, for obvious reasons. You were picking at your fingernails and peeling away at the skin of your bottom lip with your teeth, a nervous habit you have. Pretty much everyone you are close to knows about it, what it means, and when to intervene because you don’t really seem to notice. What finally got you out of your nervous daze was him gently pulling at the cuff of your sleeve, trying to pry one hand from the other.

“Hey, is something up? You seem pretty nervous.”

You were, it was obvious you were. (To be fair, he is a little bit as well.) You give a short nod before your teeth stop their crusade on your lip. “Yeah, actually… I have something to tell you.” You felt your chest tighten and you started to regret it a little bit. His express turns into a neutral nerious one, enveloping the concerned one he had on prior. With how nervous you seem, He first assumes that you’re in danger. Only for that to be very wrong.

“Okay, here goes nothing… I really like you- Like, like, like you. I’ve had a crush on you for a while, and I thought that it would be best to tell you because pretending like I didn’t really bothered me.”

You let out a huge sigh afterwards, the feeling of weight on your chest seemed to be mostly gone. Looking away, you feel embarrassment fill you as his jaw- quite literally- drops. It was quiet for a while, and you felt yourself lean away from him, against the car door. You started to prepare yourself for the end of the friendship as you heard him gently say your name. “I-” He felt this hard lump form in his throat, and it felt like he couldn’t speak. The confusion had cleared, but he felt excited and nervous. His shoulders go slack, turning and facing the wheel instead. “I like you too.” You look up from your lap and straight to him.

He’s so confused. First, He was not expecting anything close to this magnitude to be dropped on him today. Second, he was so sure that you didn’t like him back.

Like, this can’t be real, right? There’s no way this was real, you don’t like him back… right? Well, obviously, wrong.

He took you home soon after because neither of you had thought what to do afterwards- neither of you had ever thought the other would feel the same, so why would you think about it? Neither of you were ever supposed to confess, but here you both are.

He honestly doesn’t know what to do, it was so abrupt. He spills everything to Gwen and Kevin. To which he is quickly brought to the conclusion of how stupid it was for him not to ask you out- also, Gwen bringing to light how you must feel. Having spilled your guts first, only to have it reciprocated, but then having no word afterwards. You must be so confused! (Hint hint, she’s right.) After that, she actually reaches out to check on you.

You two didn’t speak or see each other for two days afterwards, until the both of you coincidentally ended up at a Mr. Smoothies at the same time. Totally no interference from Gwen. None. (/s)

You went over to and asked to talk to him, to which Gwen and Kevin were suddenly gone. The conversation was long and even consisted of both of your humors. It even started to feel like you two were just hanging out. You both explained everything you could and came to be comfortable with how things progressed. So, in short…

You asked him out.

#proship dni #ben 10 x reader #ben tennyson x reader #ben prime x reader #half alien! reader

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beigehearts · 3 years

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Multiple requests are fine! Requests are unlimited.

This is a cool idea so hell yeah

Yandere Adult Trio finding you after a few years after escape CW: physical abuse, mentions of kidnapping, blood, needles

Hisoka

This is rather nice actually. A quiet life in the middle of nowhere where no one questions you. It’s somewhat of a farming community you live in. You work at a farmers market, selling fresh fruits and vegetables to the same people every day. Everyone here recognizes you under your fake identity, and treats you as part of the community. As if you didn’t randomly appear one day. As if you aren’t in hiding.

It’s been about three years you would say. Three years since you escaped... him. You dyed your hair, wore colored contacts and completely changed your clothing look. You moved countries, learned a new language, and completely dropped your entire identity and life. It was the only way you could escape him. How you escaped him remains a mystery to you too. He was always attentive but- you escaped that last time. Slipped through his fingers.

Mr. Grady, the oldest farmer in town hobbles over to your stand and smiles with his big loose mouth. He only has a few teeth but you don’t need many when you blend all of your food anyway.

“Oh hello Charlie. How are you today?” He asks with his frail old man voice.

You smile back and begin bagging up the usual for him. “Very good Mr. Grady. How are you?”

Your conversations are never short but it’s almost become a highlight of your day to hear the old man ramble. “Oh you know. The sheep dog are sick, so I tried rounding those cows up with my cat. He practically got trampled!” He throws his arms up as if it’s unbelievable. You somewhat listen as he continues. “... moral of the story is, cats are unreliable and only have two lives.”

As you hand the paper bag over the counter the old man stops to think for a moment. “I saw someone new up by the shops today, he was a real character. Quite tall too.”

You nod and get the change for the money he hands you, “Oh really? Did you talk to him?”

“He wasn’t much interested in me. Though he didn’t seem like a normal traveler. He was much too eccentric for that.” He offers one last toothless smile, “Don’t work too late. It’s time for the foxbears to come out of hibernation soon.”

Before you can further question him, he hobbles off pretty quickly for an old man. Of course you’re overreacting but someone eccentric and tall randomly coming to town? No it couldn’t be. It’s been over three years since then. And he wouldn’t go this far for you would he?

After closing up the shop you grab the keys to your car and head for the ‘parking lot’. It’s a field with white lines spray painted on the grass with a single light to illuminate the whole place. You hop into your car and are just glad to finally go home after a long day. It was rather slow but that’s because it was a tuesday. It is very busy on friday-monday. You start your car, and turn on the air, you plug your phone in and relax some into your seat.

You adjust your rear view mirror and scream when you do. You just barely catch the reflection of someone in the back of your car. He’s sitting in the back seat watching you closely. You decide against turning around to face him.

“Hello y/n. Or is it Charlie?” He asks calmly, as if it were a casual conversation.

You clear your throat and try to control your shaking. “What are you doing here Hisoka?”

He ignores your question completely. “You really know how to choose a nice town. Quiet, friendly, off the grid.”

“I suppose.” Your hands grip on the steering wheel tightens. “How did you find me?”

“Oh, well, it was quite hard really. You did a good job. But once I found the first person who helped you change your identity, it was just a matter of going down the chain.”

You’d rather not think about what happened to those people. “And what are you doing here?” You repeat your question.

“Well there’s only one thing I’m here for of course.” He leans back in the seat, just barely having enough room for his legs. “I’ve come to bring you home.”

“I don’t want to. It’s nice here.” You state as if you have an option.

He leans forward this time, and cranes his head around the drivers seat to whisper in your ear, “It’s really not up to you pet.”

Before you can even react, there’s a rope around your neck, and he’s pulling you hard against your seat. You claw at the rope and gasp for air. You try to turn some but the rope burn hurts too much. You manage to get your fingers under the rope around your neck, and throw yourself forward.

His head smacks the back of your seat but your head smacks the wheel, honking the horn. There’s no doubt that you’re bleeding. You throw the rope over your head and jump out of the car, and run. But he’s much faster.

He jumps out of the car and before you know it, he grabs the back of your shirt, pulling you to him. He holds you against himself with his arms, leaving no room for escape. But you have one more trick up your sleeve. You throw your head back as hard you can and headbutt his face. There’s a loud crack that you can only assume is his nose.

He groans and his nails dig into your skin through your clothes. “You really got feisty while I was away.” His nails begin to pierce your skin, ripping through the cloth of your shirt. “But it’s no matter, it only turns me on more.”

Illumi

To say you’re on the run is an understatement. You’re practically sprinting away even all these years later. You know that if you stop for even a few days that he would find you. You spend no more than three days at a time in the same place. You’ve travelled half of the world by now- and quite honestly it has been somewhat nice. Not just the freedom from the suffocating grasp of your captor Illumi, but being able to see the world. You would never have done this if not for the situation you were in. Maybe things happen for a reason.

It feels like forever since you’ve been travelling. But the reality is that it’s only been two years. Two long years of not stopping. You have a new name and often go days without eating. It’s not easy getting money when you aren’t in the same area for long.

It was late night when you escaped from him. He never let his guard down so you just had to go for it. He wasn’t expecting you to make a mad dash out of the manor, and hide out in the woods for a few days. Slowly but surely you managed to get out of the mountain prison, leaving through the small door next to the office. The man working at the entrance was sipping tea and reading the newspaper when you left much too busy to pay attention to you. You’re more than sure he was punished for missing you leaving. But sometimes you wonder if he chose to ignore you on purpose, and let you escape.

It’s a beautiful morning. You slept on a few blankets and a sweatshirt as a pillow on the ground of a cave. It was hard to get any sleep at first but you managed to get used to the back pain. The sun is shining through the canopy, streams of light illuminating the cave. The grass outside of the cave is wet with dew droplets. It’s only slightly humid but the breeze with the warm weather is heavenly. It’s not every day you get good weather like this.

You sit up and stretch your arms in the air, yawning tiredly. Your usual morning routine was to get a fire started, and put the tiny kettle above it. In your small backpack you have a few essential items. Coffee being one of them. You get out your tin can after jimmying a fire and filling the kettle with water from a nearby stream. You drop some instant coffee grounds in the kettle and bask in the aroma of coffee.

You pour yourself a cup and put some powdered milk packets and splenda in the cup, stirring it with a stick that looked relatively... clean. But you had a feeling that today was the day. You weren’t sure why this morning you knew he would find you. But you did. Almost on cue, you hear footsteps approach behind you.

You bring the tin cup to your lips, taking a long sip of the hot coffee.

“So this is where you’ve been.” You don’t even flinch at his words. You knew this was inevitable.

The coffee burns your tongue. “Yes, I must have stayed here for a day too long. Don’t you agree Illumi?”

“Yes. It was quite stupid.” There’s a silence between the two of you. You continue sitting on the ground with your back facing him. “Are you ready to leave?” He asks as if he’s picking you up from and elementary sleep over.

“May I finish my coffee first?”

“I suppose.” Though he doesn’t move from his spot, his gaze staying firm on your back.

Luckily you haven’t spent all this time just running, but training. In self defense to be specific.

Quickly you jump up and turn around, you move your arm to throw the coffee on him in hopes of burning him. He grabs your wrist, but the coffee does land on his forearm. You bring your leg up to kick him in the side but he grabs it right as you make contact. The only hit you actually manage to land is when you throw a punch with your free hand at his throat. If it were anyone else they would be stunned for at least a few seconds. But this wasn’t anyone. He shows no sign of flinching.

“Are you ready now?” He asks.

You allow your body to relax and he lets go of your limbs. “Go ahead, put a needle in me.”

He doesn’t argue with your point, pressing a needle to your chest and the last thing you hear is “Don’t fight it.”

Chrollo

The very thought that all of these people by his side had no qualms about you being kidnapped makes you sick. All of them had many chances to set you free and yet they stayed loyal to your captor, as if this were normal and okay. So many people witnessing this unhealthy obsession and not even muttering a word about it. Honestly you find it more ridiculous than you do sad. How did he have all these people under his thumb? Was he really just that powerful?

Wherever he went, you went. One day he had what they called, ‘a mission.” You had caught a cargo train out west and jumped on, as stowaways. It’s not as if anyone checked each boxcar. All of you had fallen asleep in the small space of the boxcar. The train was at full speed, with no sign of stopping anytime soon. Cargo trains were much faster than you anticipated. Once you were sure everyone was asleep, you stood up casually as if you were just stretching. In case someone woke up. Which they did. Nobunaga peeled his eyes open and examined you. But he was too slow, you leaped out of the car before anyone could grab you. You went tumbling through a field after hitting your head very hard against the ground. It wasn’t the perfect escape but it was an escape.

After that you found a nearby farm, and while it was still night you stole a horse from a barn. You rode for many miles, until days later you found a very busy city. Somehow you managed to make a life for yourself, becoming a low grade secretary.

Today was a slow day, your employer did not have many clients today. You checked in on your boss to see if she needed anything but she waved you away. You decided to play solitaire on the computer, a perfectly valid way to waste time.

The phone rings and you pick it up while still keeping one hand on the mouse to play solitaire.

“Hello this is the Seedling Lawyer’s Office. How may I help you?” You stick the phone between your ear and shoulder, playing solitaire.

There’s a chuckle from the other side of the phone. “So it is you.”

Your blood runs cold, and the only thing that your head is telling you is ‘run’. “I’m not sure who this is, could you please state your name and purpose for calling?” Playing dumb seems like the only decision right now.

“My darling, there’s no need for the semantics. I’m coming to pick you up right now.” Perfectly on cue, the sliding doors of the building open and you drop the phone, standing up abruptly.

His eyes show affection and kindness, but there’s a glimmer of... rage. You look around but no one is in the waiting room and you know the cameras are fake for security. This is a cheap layer’s business after all.

“There’s no need for the semantics Chrollo.” You try to say mockingly but it comes out more as fearful and unsure.

His smile drops and he begins walking towards your desk. “Do you understand the consequences of your actions y/n?” He scoffs kicks the heavy desk to the side as if it weighed nothing. “I missed you of course.”

“Ah well, maybe I needed a break.” It comes out as a question.

He corners you against the wall and places a rough hand on your cheek. “Oh darling, oh my sweet darling.” His smile reappears, as sweet as it always has been. “I’m going to kill your entire family.” His hand grips the side of your face roughly and he tilts your head back.

“You really are something. I would never hurt you, you know.” He places a gentle kiss against your cheek despite his tight grip on the side of your head. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences for what you’ve done.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and grab his wrist. “Well you’re hurting me right now.”

Immediately he drops his hand and sighs. “I would never hurt you intentionally, or if not necessary.” He grabs your throat, holding it so tightly you wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk again. He’s crushing your air ways and vocal cords. You claw at his wrist but its useless. “Disciplining you does not count as hurting you.” He leans forward, and if you could yelp you would.

He bites your cheek, definitely leaving a mark. After drawing blood, he licks it up. Your vision is going dark but you’re simply not strong enough to fight back. “Do you understand darling?”

#hisoka #hisoka morrow #hisoka x reader #yandere hisoka #illumi #illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #yandere illumi #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #phantom troupe #hxh #hunter x hunter #adult trio #adult trio x reader #yandere adult trio #yandere

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shayewrites · 2 years

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A Case For Daichi

pairing: officer!daichi x detective!reader

content warnings: please read as this story is heavy with them. mentions of suicide, homicide, murder, death, grief, extreme guilt, and mature language. read at your own discretion.

a/n: finals are kicking my ass, and likely yours to, so let’s just escape to a world where we don’t have to worry about them. right? right.

series masterlist. next part. mdni statement.

THE ATHLETIC TRAINER:

While the burning questions of which timestamp was the correct one and the identity of the individual who tampered with the evidence were still at large, it was decided that the both of you had no choice but to confront the Argentine setter. The only problem was that he was leaving for the early flight out of Japan in 1 hour.

Both you and Daichi scrambled to get the paperwork in line so that should you have to bring in Oikawa to that station, the bureaucratic chaos that would undoubtedly follow would be easier to manage. First, they had to catch him before he left the country. Once he stepped foot onto that plane, Oikawa Tooru was as good as gone.

You were on the line with the airport while Daichi was calling someone on his cell. You had Oikawa’s boarding pass flagged so that he would be barred from leaving the country without speaking to the Tokyo Police Department first. The airport wasn’t too far, given there was little traffic at the ungodly hour of 2 am, nearing 3, but if you wanted to intercept the setter before he reached the terminals, you would need to get a head start.

You pulled on your coat, grabbing his similar, dark trench coat and holding it out to him, “Come on Daichi, we need to get going.”

Held up a finger as he continued to talk, ““I know how this sounds. He isn’t in trouble just yet, but if he leaves the country, we could have a much bigger issue on our hands. We’re on our way, just try to stall until we get there. Thank you, Iwaizumi.”

Daichi ended the call while grabbing the coat from you, “Alright, let’s get going then.”

You were curious as to who Daichi may have been calling. Was it Oikawa? No, he had said the name Iwaizumi. That sounded familiar, but as you reached for the file to look, the patrol officer was pulling your arm towards the door, leaving the file open on your desk. You’d clean it up when you got back, you reasoned. Who was going to come lurking around your desk at this hour?

…

Once again, Daichi insisted on driving, claiming that it was, “his car, his rules.” You had started to point out it was officially the Tokyo Police Department’s, but he had sent you a pointed glare the moment you had opened your mouth, silencing the thought before it reached your tongue. Instead, you sunk down into the seat, crossing your arms as you grumbled a reply. He didn’t have to be such a tyrant. He could at least let you try to speak every now and then.

After two wrong turns for the airport, you finally chimed in, “Hey, I know you’re all brawn and no brain, but every moron in Tokyo knows that the airport is the other way.”

He grinned, almost as if he had been waiting on you to call him out, “I know.”

You waited expectantly for his defense, but it never came, instead, he pulled into a parking spot and stepped out of the vehicle, “Wait here, I need to pick something up from the apartment real quick.”

He left without giving you the chance to interject like you undoubtedly would. Was this something to do with the call he had made back at the station? Should you tail him to make sure he wasn’t doing anything shady?

You could have kicked yourself. Here you were still doubting Daichi after hours together on a case. You were ashamed, but you couldn’t deny the overwhelming fear that Daichi might be doing more in that apartment than he was letting on. With a sigh, you opened the door and began to trail after your partner.

You lost him on the stairwell, leaving you to guess which of the various floors he could have possibly entered. Guilt ate away at you, but you persisted, needing to confirm your suspicious nature was wrong to automatically discredit Daichi. After checking a few halls, you saw Daichi on the fourth floor hallway, chatting with someone you recognized from the case file you had left open on your desk. Iwaizumi Hajime, athletic trainer for Japan’s National Volleyball Team. He had provided the department with a statement confirming that Hinata had in fact been at the scheduled practice and was in perfect physical health prior to that fateful night.

Your heart sank within your chest as your suspicions were confirmed. Daichi Sawamura had lied to you. You weren’t sure why it hurt you this much, but you weren’t going to deny that it felt as if you had taken a punch straight to the gut. Why did he feel the need to lie to you? You had shared every detail of the case with him. Hell he had been there for each step of the way, so why was he going behind your back like this? Your mind dwelled on each question that swirled within your mind, all pointing back to the same conclusion. You never should have left the car.

…

When Daichi finally returned to the car, you were silent, uncharacteristically so. In the year you had spent at the precinct, you could always be counted on to be either humming to yourself while working on a case, or catching up with your co-workers. Your voice filled any room with a sense of ease, ease that was now turned to uncomfortable silence as you stared straight ahead, not once acknowledging his presence. Once Daichi turned the key, starting the engine, you finally spoke up, “Find what you were looking for?”

He narrowed his eyes, analyzing your strange mood swing. At first, he attempted to blame your evident fatigue, which was written across your facial features, but after a closer look, he realized the real reason for your distance. You had followed him. He sighed, knowing how the situation would appear to your small mind, as he would call it. Still, Iwaizumi could have been a crucial to the next step of this plan, something you wouldn’t have understood if he had explained it to you. You two simply thought too differently to work together, so what had he been thinking when he volunteered to work at your side?

“Yeah,” he held out a pair of communication devices that would fit into your ears with ease, “an acquaintance of mine tends to tinker with technology in his free time and had asked me to test them out some time. I thought this would be the opportune time.”

You huffed, “I would have thought he was an gym guru. He doesn’t exactly strike me as the tinkering type.”

So you had followed him. He should have known better than to assume you’d actually do as he had asked. Stubborn detective, he thought.

“You’re right there, but he remains close with a one of his high school friends, who just so happens to have more free time than he can dream of as a freelancer of sorts. He’s picked up all sorts of trades that way.” He gave you an accusing glance as he drove towards the airport, “Besides, I thought I told you to stay in the car.”

In that moment, you decided that he had a rather annoying face that was ready to set you off on any point. Were you really supposed to buy his bullshit like this? You didn’t really have an answer as you took one of the devices and placed it in your ear. You had more than a few questions for the officer seated next to you, but at least for now, you had a suspect to catch before he left the country on the earliest flight out to Argentina.

shayewrites tumblr 2022

a/n: we’ve added another character! :))

case for daichi taglist:

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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main masterlist ☀️ taglist & faq

hot wheels | natasha romanoff x reader

explicit, 5,2k words, f/f. meet-ugly but still very much wholesome. we love a girlboss. natasha catches some random woman keying her brand new car but decides to be the better person for once and hear the woman out. turns out, being the better person can even get one laid! warnings: singular use of the d-slur, references to an abusive ex, lesbian sex.

[no y/n, no "you", nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns]

Natasha gave the tall, lanky boy an unimpressed look as she side-stepped the arguing couple to avoid colliding with the annoyed, teary-eyed woman the boy was groveling to. It was nearing rush hour and there was shopping to be done before the heavy NYC traffic could steer her already busy schedule down into an unmanageable chaos.

"But, Foxy, you know I didn't mean it! I love you, more than anything!"

The items on the spy's list were checked off methodically, item after item landing in the cart with a quiet thud as the redhead maneuvered through the isles with tactical precision. The usual afternoon crowd began to fill the store, taking up the so-needed breathing space; Natasha's shopping trip wasn't a moment of leisure and with her neverending to-do list full, she hurried to the self-check-out register, flying through the motions mindlessly.

Scan, place, beep, boop, pay, load up the bags, make way to the car, load up and pedal to the metal.

Scratch that. No, scratch - Natasha's eyes bulged as she neared her shiny, brand new Charger, seeing the obvious defects even from a mile away: the paint, previously cherry red and gleaming in the sun, ruined by a series of thin, gray lines, standing out unpleasantly on the otherwise pristine vehicle.

And the culprit, who's tuft of hair peeked over the hood of the car on the other side of the Charger, almost fully hidden between her car and the large Chevrolet in the next parking spot over.

Natasha's fingers clenched around the handle of the cart as she fought the urge to reach for her knife safely holstered under her leather jacket. "Excuse me?" Tone quiet and deadly, the spy prepared herself to fight or at least slightly shake up the hooligan.

The figure froze, vaguely familiar clothing and a puffy, tear-stained face slowly rising from behind Natasha's car. "In my defense, he deserves it," the girl - Foxy - the one that was arguing in front of the store earlier, declared through a stream of angry tears. "Call the cops if you want, I don't care." It was unclear if the girl recognised her, the Black Widow, as she made no move to run for the hills, just pathetically sniffled, pocketing the keys she used to scratch Natasha's car.

"That's my car," The spy responded flatly, a great deal of amusement crawling into her face as Foxy's eyes bulged, jaw fell slack, horror plain and evident overshadowing the waterworks. Natasha quickly pieced two and two together but patiently waited for the initial shock to subside before popping a question. "A word of advice, if I may?"

Foxy nodded, dumbfounded, frantically scrambling for the contents of her pockets, searching for something with the agility of a panicking cat, more than half of the contents spilling out onto the ground.

Natasha unlocked the car, popping the trunk and loading in her bags as she raised her voice to be heard over the noise of a busy parking lot. "Don't mess with the paint, the insurance will cover it. Slash three tires - not four - or take a swing at the front bumper and the headlights," the trunk slid shut with a quiet click as the spy inspected the damages close-up. Her Charger looked like it was attacked by a pack of aggressive, feral cats with nails of steel. "And always check the number plates before committing acts of vandalism to make sure you're enacting revenge on the right person." The last part was said with a smirk.

As the spy stepped closer to Foxy, she noted the excessive puffiness of her cheeks and the shaking fingers that held a checkbook and a pen. The woman looked torn between terrified and apologetic, worrying her lip between her teeth. "I'm so, so sorry. Todd just got his new car, it's identical to yours and I didn't get the chance to memorize the number plate yet," the offending man's name was said with a pitiful growl. "How much?" She weakly motioned to the ruined bodywork.

"What'd he do?" Natasha didn't resist her curiousity, leaning against the driver's side door and sizing up the other woman. She was pretty, well-dressed and reasonably wealthy on the first sight. "Yeah, he looked like a Todd," The quip slipped from the redhead's lips as she remembered the man from earlier. Foxy looked way too good to be wasting her time on someone who looked like an adolescent that hadn't outgrown his skater boy phase.

Foxy chuckled shyly at Natasha's remark, smoothing a hand over her face. "Lord, where do I even begin..." The sigh was loud and long. "He lived in my apartment rent-free, made me give up my cat by lying about his allergies, went through nine low-wage jobs in two years, did nothing but play video games in his free time and developed a pot addiction, thus spending all his money on it," she began steadily but her tone grew in pitch with every added offence as Natasha's eyebrows climbed higher and higher. "My last straw was when he took out a loan he couldn't pay off to buy his brand new cool car," the words were spat out with venom. "I threw him out last Saturday. He's been following me around all the time," Foxy continued, growing dark in the face. "And then I found out he had been cheating on me for I don't know how long. I just... I just lost it," she finished pathetically, all but crumbling into a pile of human misery.

Natasha's face had frozen into mute disbelief somewhere around the first half of the story, repulsion and astonishment mixing into a flurry of quiet rage on the random woman's behalf. Menfolk were bizarre animals, and as much as the spy felt herself annoyed by her roommates at the tower, she couldn't help but feel relieved that the men surrounding her were far from douchebags of the casual variety. This Todd, however, was no amateur, and had done Foxy really, really dirty.

The redhead made up her mind rather quickly. "That's a lot to unpack," she carefully studied the micro-expressions on the other woman's face. "I have a couple of nice bottles of wine at my place and nobody to share them with. Care for a glass?"

Foxy's eyes widened once more. "I don't- I don't want to take up your time, I mean, I'm sure you've got more important shit to do, like save the world and y'know..." The stammering was followed by a shy look to the side.

So, Foxy had recognised her. And she didn't go running the other way like most people that encountered her in disadvantageous situations did. "I actually don't, I was just getting my shopping done for a lack of better things to do," Natasha lied seamlessly, motioning to the other side of the car. "Hop in." Mission reports and Barton's pizza date could wait.

The woman made quick way around, buckling into the seat in seconds, right before Natasha peeled off from the parking lot towards the Avengers tower at breathtaking speeds. The car was a gift from Tony - one of the rare things he managed to get right - and an absolute pleasure to drive.

"What's your name?" The redhead asked, juggling the steering and her smartphone effortlessly.

The woman rattled of her first and last name on between attempts to fix her runny make-up and wipe the dried snot and tears off her face. "Foxy is a nickname my gramps gave me, said I used to excessively play with fox pelts in the attic when I was a kid," the woman added with a snort, totally oblivious to Natasha's eyebrow raise as the spy read the information on her in-between overtaking slower cars.

Good student, good family life, stable income and good career growth in a prospective sector. What did Foxy even find in a guy like Todd? The most important information, however, was also most pleasing. No ties to any kind of intelligence gathering organizations.

As Natasha parked and popped the trunk once more, the other woman offered a hand with her shopping bags. Friday acknowledged the newcomer, startling her, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and mention, loudly, that if Tony decided to pay them a surprise visit, he may end up castrated or shot on sight, much to Foxy's bashful snickering.

Once the shopping was put away and the wine opened, the spy let herself curl up on the couch opposite the woman who studied her Spartan style apartment with curios eyes. The lack of knick knacks must've been a surprise for her: Natasha's apartment looked bare compared to what she'd seen in other's people's homes but the desire to make the environment more cozy had never been strong enough to actually act upon it. She wasn't used to staying in a place for very long.

"Do you still want to get back at the bastard?" The redhead asked once the first bottle was coming to an end. The alcohol was sitting low, pleasantly warm in their bellies and the food that they'd ordered in the middle of a casual chit-chat lulled them into a state of comfortable stupor.

"I want to gouge his eyes out and wear them as a battle trophy," Foxy was slightly slurring her words, much more affected by the wine than the stoic, experienced agent. "But I guess I can settle for petty crime or arson."

"I'm sensing you didn't tell me the whole list of grievances," true to her words, the spy felt as it there was a possibility quite a few things were being left unsaid.

Foxy sighed once again, placing the empty glass on the table and using her palm to prop her flushed face against it, blankly staring off into the far end of the room. "I came out as bisexual last year and he was giving me so much shit for it. Todd kept pushing for a threesome and when I refused, started accusing me of cheating during our fights, called me a whore a couple of times," the more she spoke, the higher Natasha's anger levels rose.

Not only was a Todd a dick, he was an abusive one. Truly, the grand prize of Asshat Lottery. "I have an idea or three," the spy twirled the remaining red liquid in her glass before downing it. "But it'll have to stay between us two."

"I'm listening," Foxy turned to meet Natasha's face, eyes considerably more alert than seconds before.

A few days past their amicable wine-and-revenge get-together, Natasha's doorbell rang as if she wasn't already had been made aware by Friday that a visitor was coming up to see her. Boxes of hair bleach and dye laid stacked on the living room table, surrounded by jewelry and assorted accessories. A pitcher of fresh sangria topped the ensemble, two clean glasses placed neatly on the tray next to it.

"Hi, Nat," Foxy's smile was a mile wide - a far cry from the sniffling sad sack of a woman the spy had first met. The nickname flowed freely from the woman's lips, as calm as Natasha's own answering grin and greeting. "I gots the stuff," waving her purse about, the woman kicked off her shoes by the door, approaching Natasha with the same smile that seemed to be more effective at lightening up the room than Tony's expensive designer lamps.

As Natasha's plan achieved a solid state, the two women had quickly come to a realization that Natasha was far too recognizable with her signature red hair and over a flurry of text messages, the decision to switch to a warm caramel blonde was made unanimously. Foxy had rebuked any and all Natasha's attempts to affirm she'd be able to do it herself and the spy gave into the other's chiding, relenting to have her hair dyed by a person who at least had a possibility of seeing the back of her head without having to perform acrobatic tricks.

Foxy was an easygoing, non-problematic person. She was fun to have around, quiet but witty, with intelligent eyes and a realistic view on the world. It was something Natasha valued, alongside the lack of probing questions regarding her past or her job - her insides clenched uncomfortably at the thought of having to lie about those things, or even worse, having to admit to the wrongdoings in her past, however Foxy carefully steered away from topics that were sensitive and never gave Natasha as much as a side-eye if the spy appeared to lack some minor detail that normal women her age all seemed to be aware of.

The curiosity had her ready to burst. Nat's natural defense mechanisms were quite confused, not sure what to make of the woman who almost too friendly to be true, but the kindness in her eyes and the sometimes shy, awestruck looks she gave Natasha when she thought the redhead wasn't looking made up for it in spades.

"What do you think?" The noise of the hair dryer finally ceased, Foxy's voice echoing in Natasha's luxuriously large bathroom.

The newly-blonde spy studied her reflection with a tilt to her head. The ombre was a nice touch - her own hair was naturally darker than the caramel and honey blonde she had chosen, so the almost-brown shading at her roots took much away from the contrast between her lighter hair and darker brows. It was just another disguise for the spy, but somehow, this one felt more like home than any of the previous faces she had worn.

"I like it, you were right about the ombre," Natasha voiced her thoughts, eyes sliding over to the smiling woman behind her, feeling the corners of her mouth begin to creep upwards in involuntary response.

"You looked good with red hair, don't misunderstand me," Foxy briefly raised her hands. "But you have a light complexion and lighter colors do wonders for bringing out the youthfulness. Even if we don't have much joy these days, a good hair color is an opportunity to showcase the bit," she briefly touched her own hair in an exaggerated attempt at driving her point home.

The fun part was done, the time came to execute the revenge. It wasn't exactly anything special; rather, the plan was quite simple - let Todd make a fool out of himself in front of his friends and perhaps (a slightly, teensy possibility) get himself arrested. The two women took their time to get dolled up, not too much - but rather, adding just that little bit to themselves to easily attract moderate amounts of attention from men.

The bar was busy, noisy and full of people when the two women stepped through the door. Natasha's eyes scanned the room out of habit, easily spotting the tall, lanky Todd in the far end of the bar, laughing and boozing with equally pathetic-looking man-children. The urge to gag was almost irresistible.

The spy let herself to be led to the bar by Foxy who looked mildly uncomfortable. Natasha was sure that if she was to touch the other woman's face, it would be flaming under the circumstances. "Try to relax a little, I won't bite," with a quip to her companion, Nat ordered them a vodka cranberry each, sitting down with her back to the men. "Tell me when he notices us and starts moving this way."

Foxy nodded minutely, clutching her drink for dear life and taking generous sips to calm herself down and relax like the spy had requested. They talked about everything and nothing in between, Natasha's hand on Foxy's knee crawling closer to her hip as minutes passed by without interruption. Loud noises of men playing darts and drunkenly cheering reached the womens earshot every now and then, causing Foxy to throw increasingly infuriated glances towards her ex-boyfriend and the Black Widow's current victim of choice.

Sitting opposite the perfectly composed, smiling woman, it was clear as day she was, indeed, best of the best. Despite knowing Foxy for only a few days, Natasha managed to pull off a very convincing girlfriend: her body language was nothing short of absolutely besotted and the googly eyes the spy was making had Foxy constantly remind herself that it was only for show. There was no way this gorgeous, incredible human would be interested in someone as plain and ordinary as herself.

"Heads up," Foxy's smile suddenly grew a mile wide as she stared directly at Natasha, eyes alight with fury at the scene about to unfold. Natasha's reply was to briefly tighten the grasp on the other's leg in silent support.

"Hey, baby," Todd was drunk enough for the stench of his breath to reach both women. "Oh, I see you're with a friend," his attempt at flirting only made Natasha scrunch up her face like a cat that accidentally smelled a lemon.

"Leave me alone," Foxy stated firmly, knowing the phrase wouldn't do anything to deter her overzealous ex, but this time - she counted on it.

"It's okay, I can share," the slurred words had a couple of people nearby raise their eyebrows at the audacity.

"I'm not interested," Foxy snapped. "In fact, there is absolutely nothing your freeloading, cheating ass can bring to my table."

The woman radiated satisfaction as gasps sounded out around them; Todd was a regular at this bar and most people there knew him in one way or another. The moment of joy, however, was brief.

"Listen, bitch, you have no business talking to me like that," full of drunken bravado, the man spat angrily, taking unsteady steps closer to Foxy. "What you need is a decent man that can handle your outbursts, not some dyke..." before he could even utter another offensive syllable, Natasha had his wildly gesturing arm twisted painfully behind his back, easily forcing the inebriated man to his knees.

"Wanna try that again, champ?" Sarcasm flowed freely from the spy's lips as the patrons in the bar gasped. The civilian clothing and the new hair color might have been an effective short-term disguise but once the crowd had seen her neat little party trick and had taken a good look at her face, nobody was doubting her identity. "Call the cops, will you?" She addressed the shocked bartender who immediately scrambled to obey.

"I didn't do anything!" Todd cried out, eyes drunkenly darting between the Black Widow's quiet rage and Foxy's grim stone face.

"Huh, that's weird. Because I clearly heard and saw an attempted hate crime," Natasha's voice attained a sardonic tint. "And I have a bar full of witnesses," the spy shrugged, letting go of his arm but keeping a boot firmly planted on his back to prevent him from escaping. "I hope you have a lawyer."

Foxy snorted, reaching for her unfinished second drink. "Tough luck."

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Todd's friends inching closer to the exit door second by second, as if they could stand a chance against a professionally trained secret agent. Luckily for them, Natasha wasn't interested in the remainder of Todd's gang of losers and merely raised an eyebrow when the other men reached the door, a tiny smirk appearing when his pleading eyes didn't cause any reaction in his friends, the spineless worms, hopping out of the door without as much as a goodbye to the man laying face-down on the dirty floor.

As soon as the police arrived, awestruck by one of the NYC's most famous superheroes just casually standing in a bar, they eagerly collected the inebriated offender, briskly escorting Todd to the squad car. The bartender and several other patrons confirmed Natasha's words that an attempted hate crime had taken place. Cops were in and out in less than fifteen minutes and the otherwise-pleasant hole-in-the-wall bar returned to its usual evening bustle.

"Celebratory shots?" Natasha laughed as Foxy exhaled, deep and slow, once her racing heart calmed down.

"My treat," the other woman motioned for the bartender and soon, a line of colorful glasses appeared in front of the women. Each downed a glass easily, slamming it back on the table. "Man, this is everything I never knew I needed," Foxy confessed with a shy smile. "Thanks, Nat. You're the best."

The spy responded with a satisfied smile, picking up another glass and holding it out for a toast. "To revenge well-deserved," the glass clicked, alcohol slid easily down their throats. "So, what now?"

Foxy's eyes shone in the bright lights of the bar, relieved and tipsy. The small empty glass twirled easily between her fingers. "Dunno," the shrug came and went. "Maybe go on vacation. To Florida."

Natasha let out a belly laugh, downing her last shot without as much as a stutter in her movements, Foxy's eyes lingering on the stray drops of alcohol running from the spy's plump lips. "A vacation with the crackheads? Romantic," the quip was received with an eyeroll from the other woman.

"Spoilsport," Foxy, too, finished her booze and placed the money and a hefty tip on the bar, tapping twice to get the bartender's attention. "I meant more like - lay on the beach, sip mimosas, look at sexy people in swimsuits..."

"Florida is for old people," Natasha objected, pulling her leather jacket back on and leading them both outside. The evening air was crisp, bringing a clearer head and re-arranging the thoughts back into a more sensible state.

Foxy easily picked up her pace to match Natasha's precise strides leading them in the direction of the former's building. The warm buzz of vodka coupled with the fresh air and her desire for retribution well-fed, Foxy settled into a comfortable silence next to the spy. They reached the building quickly, their pace brisk and distractions lacking.

"Care for a nightcap?" She didn't know what prompted her to blurt out the words; as soon as the words registered in her brain, they were already out and Foxy's face heated, fingers fumbling for the keys in her pocket, Natasha's touch still warm and lingering on the side of her leg.

The spy seemed amused, studying Foxy's nervous habits with a crooked smirk. "Sure," she agreed amicably, following the woman into the apartment building, not missing both the rigidity of her back and the added spring to her step.

A moderately sized, well-decorated apartment revealed itself behind the open door, scarcely illuminated by the NYC lights coming in from a glass wall in the living room, reflecting the vast living space furnished with a large couch.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Natasha turned around, stepping into the other woman's personal space with the grace of a predator. Two shining eyes stared back at her in the darkness, framed by fluttering lashes. Foxy's bottom lip disappeared behind her teeth, skin gleaming with perspiration.

The recently-turned blonde spy wasted no time caging the other woman between her body and the door, chests almost touching. The air around them was charged, Foxy's heart thudding loudly in her chest as she gulped. Natasha studied her expression, "You want this?" she whispered against her lips, sharing the oxygen between them.

"Ye-yeah," a short nod and a gasp later, the women were devouring each other, grasping at their hands and shoulders like they were drowning. Hot and wet and sharp from the booze, the kisses were as graceless as their fingers haste in removing each other's top layers of clothing.

The sharp corner of the living room archway dug painfully into Foxy's back, bringing an additional sense of awareness: this was real. This was happening. Natasha's blonde locks flowed through Foxy's fingers, soft and silky, a contrast to the teeth pulling on her lip in impatient hunger. Foxy grunted in response, parting from the other woman to send her t-shirt flying somewhere in the direction of the kitchen.

"Bedroom," mere minutes in and she already sounded utterly and throughly ruined.

"Couch," Natasha was equally feverish to get to the good parts. Her belt was unbuckled and the nice button-up she'd worn hung open, a plain white bra iriscendent on her alabaster skin.

Letting herself be led to the couch, Foxy could barely take her eyes off the woman in front of her, making sure she wasn't ogling Natasha outright yet secretly hoping to be caught anyway. The blonde was like a porcelain doll, unreal, firm and soft at the same time.

The moment Foxy gracelessly landed on the couch, Natasha was all up in her space, straddling the other woman with the grace of a savage cat; lips once more attached to her flesh, Natasha left a trail of hot, wet marks starting at the jawline and ending at the cups of Foxy's bra.

Not knowing what to do with her hands, Foxy grasped Natasha's hips, unable to hold back a moan heavy with lust as the spy ground down with her hips. It was exhilarating to see the other woman affected by their heavy make-out session; nothing short of absolutely smitten to see Natasha pull back, panting and disheveled, to shed her shirt and her bra.

Unable to resist the urge, Foxy's hands reached out to cup the spy's round breasts, tugging her closer to pop a rosy nipple into her mouth. Natasha shivered, arching into the caress, holding onto the other woman's hair and tugging it in the direction only she knew.

Natasha wasn't loud, she wasn't wild; her moans were more like muted gasps but her body spoke for her louder than any words: the grinding was getting more impatient, Natasha's hold grew stronger. As Foxy fumbled for the button of Nat's pants, she felt the soft, delicate lace underneath. Natasha had come prepared.

"Hold on," the spy mumbled, hopping off Foxy's lap to quickly push her pants and panties down her legs with practiced ease. The other woman followed suit, leaving herself to be bare besides her underwear, the attempt to remove them intercepted by Natasha. "Let me," quiet words tickled the skin of her throat where Nat had immediately attached her mouth.

Foxy scrambled to intake the oxygen she needed, letting herself feel the hot glide fully, having lost herself in pleasure, missing the exact moment Nat's fingertips breached the waistband of her panties. Soft and nimble, so different to a man's roughened skin, the sensation was as strange as it was sweet. The urge to arch and rock her hips against the nearest surface intensified and Foxy could only keen, quiet and high, causing Natasha to chuckle to herself.

"Enjoying yourself, sweet girl?" The miniscule trace of coyness seeped into the blonde's voice. The engorged, puffy, moist flesh of Foxy's lower lips parted eagerly to Natasha's experimental dip.

"Yeah, yes," the woman slid down, spreading her legs in invitation. "Please, touch me," begging to be filled in all the empty spaces, Foxy threw her head to rest against the back of the couch, watching Nat through unfocused eyes.

"Oh, I will," the spy purred, sliding lower to put her face next to Foxy's dripping cunt. The spy's fingers glistened with arousal and she popped them into her mouth, licking them clean before doing the same to her lover's swollen folds. The response was instantaneous and loud, Foxy shook under Natasha's expert teasing. "Stay still," she ordered quietly, patting Foxy's belly.

Molten, honeyed waves of bliss overtook common sense and awareness, tiny sparks shooting up Foxy's cunt every time Natasha suckled at her clit. The spy read her body like an open book, following the movements of her hips with her mouth, always a step ahead and slightly south. Foxy's peak was imminent, approaching rapidly, as Natasha's sweet merciless assault wrung every single drop of the thick, precious liquid out of her cunt.

It only seemed to gush more, the woman pushing her cunt into Natasha's face as the latter doubled down on her efforts to bring her to ecstasy.

The waves began deep in the pit of Foxy's stomach, making her legs tremble, her toes curl and the flutters of her cunt increase in speed and intensity. Silky soft and typhoon wet, her orgasm crashed her mind into million pieces and Nat dutifully extracted everything until the last drop with the skillful touch of her tongue and fingers.

"Tash," Foxy moaned. Her legs quivered at the slightest touch to her oversensitive cunt.

"Mhm," was the blonde's reply, contented humming getting closer and closer until the womens lips met once more in a fierce, passionate kiss.

Foxy's hands immediately sought purchase on Natasha's hips, searching for the spots that would make the spy's body song in the same way she'd done to Foxy; seemingly much more reserved, quiet but happy sighs broke past Nat's lips in response to gentle hands stroking where she was most sensitive.

"I've got a vibe in my bedroom," clarity finally broke through the orgasm haze, Foxy's brain slowly coming back to reality.

"No, I want your fingers," Natasha's reply was assertive as she moved her hips in tandem with Foxy's hand, dripping the sweetness of her around all over.

The urge to pop the fingers into her mouth was strong, so Foxy did just that, moaning at the tangy taste, Natasha's breath quietly stuttering at the sight in front of her.

"I want to eat you out," the words barely had left Foxy's mouth as Natasha flipped them so she was the one laying on the couch, spread-eagled and open for the other woman's eager mouth to explore. Wet, sloppy and so, so tender, Foxy let herself taste the arousal of her lover.

"Yeah," so soft, one could easily miss it, the approval didn't get lost in the headrush nonetheless. With grace, Foxy sought the spots that would force Natasha to break her silence with slow, broad motions until the blonde had no choice but to arch her hips into the sensations, chasing her pleasure, losing the aura of restraint she'd so carefully cultivated.

No time for self-control. The temperatures were climbing steadily with every single movement, both lost in their imperfect shared rhythm, the soft of Foxy's tongue and fingers like finest silks on Natasha's eager cunt. Two fingers slipped in without resistance, immediately seeking out the soft, spongy spot that made the blonde's toes curl and mouth open in a silent scream.

Foxy's free hand groped around for Natasha's ass hastily, bringing her hips closer to her mouth, tongue never ceasing its assault on the blonde's clit as her body grew more rigid, fingertips going white with the force she was gripping the comforter.

"Gospodi bozhe," came the mumble, the only warning before Natasha's powerful thighs locked Foxy in place as the blonde rode out her orgasm, violently shivering, dousing the other woman's face in her sweet release. Dutifully, Foxy stroked the silk of Natasha's skin everywhere she could reach, her hot breath on the blonde's pussy easing her back to Earth through the aftershocks.

Natasha's eyes opened, feeling her lover's look of adoration, and she cracked a reluctant but genuine smile. There was something about Foxy that was just so-

Natasha taglist (open, see fic hat for info; crossed out nicknames are the ones I couldn't tag, please update your info):

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @sapphicnoodle69

#bun writes #bun writes: drabbles #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #black widow x female reader #black widow smut #black widow x reader

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readwritejayy · 3 years

Text

The Name of the Minotaur

“So you’re sticking with that. You were out with Sammy Tuesday night?”

“I was.”

You would have liked Sammy. You would have liked reading me and Sammy meeting in 7th grade, when we were the only two not pretending to be horses or hanging out in the dugout by the baseball field during lunch. You would have liked reading me and Sammy sneaking out at 3am to kick rocks down Parks View Lane, sweating in the sticky summer heat, laughing about everything and anything—the way we couldn’t during sleepovers without risking my father’s wrath. You really would have liked reading me and Sammy finally graduating, sharing a dorm at “U of C”, me an Anthropology major and Sammy in Psychology.

But we didn’t graduate. And I have to tell You, instead of letting You meet Sammy Yourself.

“Are you sure you want to go with that? It’s your last chance, kid.” He taps his pen against his yellow notepad. One long grey hair juts out from his bushy eyebrows, catching the light when he looks up.

I pick at the loose skin around my thumbnail to tamper down the urge to pluck it. “I don’t really have a choice, considering it’s what I was doing.”

He sighs, setting his glasses down and rubbing his eyes. His voice sounds weary from repeating the same things over and over. Or maybe that’s just how he sounds, I’ve never heard him anything other than weary from the first time I was ushered into a room like this.

“You know that’s not a great alibi, right? The only person who can corroborate your whereabouts the night your father was killed is reported missing the next day?”

The AC clicks on—the hair dances back and forth.

I breathe: four seconds in, hold for four, five seconds out. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I say, clasping my hands together under the table. “I’ve lost both my father and my best friend, and now I’m being accused of both crimes?”

“Lost? You sound convinced Sam is dead, not just missing.”

Sitting up, I blink. “Well don’t you? I mean, with the shoe on the front porch, and that note Sammy wrote—”

“We still have handwriting analysts looking over the note, but we haven’t confirmed it’s a match for Sam’s writing.” He flipped to another page in his folder. “I just wanted to go over what we’ve got one more time.”

“Because you have no actual evidence I had anything to do with either event.”

He ignores this. “You said you left your house at around 6pm, met up with Sam and stayed out all night until you came back home at 2am, where you found your father beaten and stabbed with a kitchen knife in the living room. Could you walk me through what you and Sam did that kept you out for eight whole hours?”

“We met up at Mixie’s—Sam had a coupon from the football game Saturday, just had to mention we go to Valley High and we’d get a free side of fries—ate outside for about an hour, went to the park, and then just walked around Sam’s neighborhood until I went home.”

“See, now that’s interesting, because we saw you two on surveillance footage across the street from Mixie’s around that time, but that’s it. Nowhere else do you or Sam appear on any footage for the rest of the night.”

I cock my head. “I don’t think they have CCTV at the park, or in a residential neighborhood.”

“And for eight hours? You told Sam’s mother you two would be going to the library.”

“I just said that so she’d let me and Sam hang out. She doesn’t like me, my father didn’t like Sam. To get what I want I lie. A lot.”

He hums. “Sam seemed pretty agitated in the footage, did anything happen between the two of you?”

“I mentioned my father had come home angry, again. Sam was upset.”

“Oh right, the defensive marks around your neck.”

“Yes, except he didn’t make them as I was killing him, like you keep suggesting. It happened when he came home, before I left.” Be glad You’re reading this, You don’t want to see two large handprints around a sixteen year old’s neck.

“It just seems a bit convenient for you to be out for such a long time the same night your father is killed. And for the weapon to be something from your own kitchen.”

“I was out for ‘such a long time’ to avoid going back home, since my father beatme. Maybe someone was waiting for him to be home alone. Maybe someone stopped by. They got to talking with him, didn’t like the things he said or did. Maybe as they sat there, they realized they couldn’t stand his drivel for single second longer and lashed out the way my father was so prone to doing himself.” I clear my throat. “My father angered a lot of people.”

He clicks his pen once, twice, a third time before setting it down. “So all you have is a shaky alibi.”

“That’s true, I don’t have any proof that I didn’t kill my father or do anything to Sammy. But I don’t think I need to. I think you need proof I did kill my father or had anything do to with Sammy’s disappearance.”

“You’re acting pretty antagonistic, aren’t you kid?”

“I’m grieving.” I stand up, shoving the chair out. “If I’m not being arrested, which I’m assuming I’m not or you’d have done it the last time we were here, I’d like to leave.”

He says nothing but doesn’t stop me as I throw open the door. I zone out as I leave, the route to the parking lot already imprinted on my brain. After climbing into my car, I fish out the bracelet from my cupholder. Identical to the one on my wrist except two of the beads are cracked.

You want me to give You more information. You want more clues, more context. You want more because You want to know if You should sympathize with or vilify me.

Well, too bad. You don’t get any more information. This is the end—for You and for me. But to You, it’s just a story; you’ll finish this and walk away, maybe make lunch or go to class or fall asleep. But I can’t escape from this. You’ll find another book, another character to either care about or project onto and then you’ll move on.

I’m stuck in this cycle. So I’ll exercise the only amount of control I have and say:

Am I to be sympathized with, or vilified?

Figure it out.

#hi guys i wrote a #short story #original writing #apologies if the formatting is off i still cant seem to figure out how to make it not look weird

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ghost-thot69 · 3 years

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(I wrote this while very tired so it won’t be the best but the fanfic fingers don’t stop for anyone so I wrote some very cute rz Michael Myers and baby june fanfic after reading some fluffy fanfics of him)

Sunny Days (rz Michael Myers and June Marie Heisenberg-Myers)

TW: none. Nothing but sheer adorableness, proceed with caution ⚠️

The sun beamed down on Michael’s face. His long, unkempt, blond hair shining in the bright light as he waited outside of Westfield Elementary school. He stood as stiff as a board, except for his left foot, which he kept tapping repeatedly as he waited for June to come out of school.

He looked up at the giant clock on the outside of the school building, impatiently counting down the minutes, hell even the seconds till all the children came flooding out. A couple of parents would stare at him in intimidation. They, despite not knowing that he was a local mass murderer, we’re still very much afraid of him. I mean who wouldn’t be when a 6 foot 7 tall man who barely spoke a word to you or anybody else aside from his daughter, who had hair covering a majority of his chiseled face and had piercing blue eyes, was standing right next to you.

Michael wasn’t quite fond of having his face being shown either. He much preferred to have it hidden behind either one of his masks, however he can’t risk that chance of being caught. God knows what Dr Loomis and the cops would do to his kid if they arrested and/or killed him. And there was another reason why he kept his mask off in public. He loved seeing the cute little smile on June’s face when she saw him smile at her.

Michael’s mind began to wander on what he and June would do after school together. Would they go out for ice cream? Maybe play at the park? Whatever he had settled on, it was interrupted by the loud ringing of the school bell telling the kids it was time to go home.

Due to his height, he could easily see the kids coming out and was able to pick out June from the rest of them. However he wasn’t able to see her this time, it was hard to miss her with her long and wavy brown locks that came down to her ankles. Michael squinted his eyes to see if she was somewhere in the back amongst the crowd of little children running to their parents or the school bus, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Michael’s blood began to rush, worried that something might have happened to her that the school didn’t tell him about. He began to press forward towards the building before his ears picked up the little pitter-patter of tiny shoes on the ground.

“Papa!” A soft voice called out to him.

Michael looked up at the stairs, and rushing out the large doors came June, a piece of paper in her tiny hand. When she saw him, her face beamed happily, her taking a giant leap off the stairs and into the air.

Michael snapped out of his worried daze and held his arms out to catch her, the tiny girl landing in his large, muscular arms. June happily threw her arms around him in a hug, and nuzzled her face into his. “Papa! Papa!!” She cheered, covering his face in kisses.

Michael breathed out a sigh of relief before smiling at her, pushing the hair out her face. “Hello pumpkin.” He said softly. “How was school?”

June wiggled out of his arms and landed on the ground, jumping up and down happily. “It was good! Oh here here here!” She said, her handing him the paper she had in her hands.

Michael tried to grab it but she was so hyper that it shook before he really could get a hold of it. He chuckled before managing to grab it from her and looked at it. “What is it sweetheart?” He asked, tilting it to get a better look.

What was on the now slightly crumpled piece of paper was a drawing of what looked like him, Jason, herself and a very…very crudely drawn Freddy with the words “stinky pepperoni man” scribbled on it. Right next to them was their home and a couple of flowers, some grass, and the sun. In the corner was some sort of mysterious red stain.

“I drew this today! It's me, you and bubba Jason! Oh and Freddy’s there too I guess.” She murmured, her messing with her feet. “I’m mad at Stu, he got ketchup on it during lunch…”

Michael smiled. The drawing melted his heart, he looked on the back and saw that she had written “my family” on it. It made him happy that, even though she was adopted, and she knew that she was, that she sees them all as her family. He folded up the paper and put it in the pack pocket of his coveralls. He kneeled down to be at her height before taking her in a big hug, almost lifting her off the ground. “I love it,pumpkin. Thank you.”

June gasped out happily, throwing her arms around his neck to hug him back. Michael let her go and stood up, and grabbed her hand. They began to walk back to their home.

“So what are we going to do today papa?”

Michael hummed, looking up at the sky and then down at her. “Well I was thinking we can take the car and drive to the ice cream place?”

Ice cream? June love, love, LOVES ice cream. She frantically shook her head yes, clapping her hands in agreement. “Yes! Yes we gotta go!”

Michael laughed, swinging her arm as they walked. “Alright, let’s go eat then, you can get all the toppings you want.” He instantly regretted saying that. June is a hyper child and knowing her, she’d pile her ice cream in rainbow and chocolate sprinkles, gummy bears and whatever sweet treats that really shouldn’t be used as ice cream toppings, her little heart desires, but he couldn’t resist her. When she was left at his doorsteps as a baby, she changed his life for the better. He didn’t mind spoiling her, but not too much.

Hours later, Michael was laying down on the old, rundown, paisley yellow couch with June asleep on his chest, her snoring softly. The tv was on, playing whatever show she liked. He really couldn’t understand the concept of this young singer who hides her identity by just putting on a blonde wig and her and her friends' shenanigans and why this appealed to June, but it made her happy and that’s all that mattered to him.

Jason was off to the side, drinking a cup of hot chocolate through his mask, looking at the both of them all cheerfully, his energy radiating off the living room walls that, if you turned off the lights, Jason would be beaming head to toe like a lantern.

Freddy walked in, him groaning and rubbing his eye, him poking Jason in the shoulder. “Jason, stop it.” He grumbled, him walking to the couch that Michael and June were on and reached for the remote.

Michael slapped his hand away and shot a deathly glare up at him. “June’s show is on. Don’t you dare change that channel.”

Freddy hissed, shaking his hand which was now more red than it normally was. “What’s the big fuckin deal? She’s asleep and it’s just stupid ass Hannah Montana!”

Michael’s glare grew more intense, him slowly sitting up while holding a sleeping June closer to his chest so she wouldn’t fall. “I said, don’t. Touch. The God damn. Remote.” He hissed, violence backing up his words.

Freddy held his hands up in defense and scoffed, backing up. “Alright fine geez, I’ll watch tv in the kitchen then, good fuckin’ greif.” He muttered, making his way to the kitchen.

Michael rolled his eyes in annoyance and laid back down slowly so as to not wake up June. Lo and behold, she was miraculously still asleep, rubbing her eyes as she slept.

Michael flashed a warm smile down at her before leaning over and planting a kiss on the top of her head.

Jason looked back over to the two before getting up and reaching into a small closet, digging through it before pulling out a small blue blanket. He waddled over as quietly as possible and laid the blanket over June and gave her a pat on her head, his hand ten times the size of her head.

Michael smiled and then turned his attention back to the tv. Before he had realized it the sun was down, and the Disney channel was playing whatever original movie that was causing a whole scene in her school. Teenagers, BLEGH! Dancing and singing about basketball, romance and whatever, He wasn’t paying attention. To be honest, he’d rather be watching the little mermaid, but the songs were catchy.

Michael let out a loud, very audible yawn before covering his mouth instantly and looked down at June, who again, was somehow still asleep through all the loud noise that went on. Jason was asleep on the couch behind him and using Freddy as some sort of teddy bear. Freddy was probably drunk off his ass to really care, but he was definitely going to feel his bones being crushed in the morning.

Michael huffed out and smiled at them all. He didn’t want to admit it to Freddy or Jason, but he was very glad that he had those two around him. The more he thought about the drawing June made for him of them as a family, the more he admitted that they were indeed a family. Originally, they were just there for hiding, though Freddy could go in and out of the dream realm as much as he pleases, he didn’t really need to hide, but I guess he stayed for whatever reason. Still, he needs to pay his rent. When June arrived, however, they did see themselves slowly becoming closer. They really were becoming a family.

June yawned, rolling over some, which snapped Michael out of his thoughts. He looked down at her and smiled, rubbing her cheek with his finger and moving her hair out of her face. He began to hum as he got up slowly from the couch and snuck past the other two and made his way up the stairs to June’s room. He began to navigate the room in the dark, making his way through stuffed toys and paper and crayons laid across the floor. He managed to find her bed, him pulling back the blanket and placing her in the sheets, laying her head on a pillow. He tucked her in blankets and laid under her arm a purple plush bunny.

June gently stirred about before a smile crept on her face in sleep.

Michael had leaned over and gave her a kiss on her head one last time before backing up and switching on a mushroom shaped night light that illuminated the room in a soft blue glow. “Goodnight Pumpkin. I love you.” He whispered, slowly closing the door behind him.

June rubbed her eyes, curling up in a ball under the blanket and held her bunny closer to her.

“I wuv..you too papa.”

#dead by daylight #horror #michael myers #rz michael myers #rz Michael myers fanfic #halloween 2007 #michael myers fanfic #writing #my writing

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aestherians · 3 years

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About 2 weeks ago I wrote an essay for my (hopefully some day finished and shareable) Neocities site. While I have no idea if I’ll finish the site itself, I took another look at the essay today, and, though I might add more in the “strengthening connections” part later, the essay is pretty much done! So, here it is, the first explanation I’ve actually ever written of my bison therianthropy - I apologize in advance for the long paragraphs:

Part 1: Awakening

The bison was the first kintype I became aware of, back in spring 2016. I'd been getting phantom shifts for a few years at this point, but didn't pay them much mind. They overlapped a lot with phantom feelings that I would later find out were gnollish in nature, and this overlap ended up as something very similar to a maned wolf. Especially the combination of unguligrade front legs with paw-like hands, and of a long tufted tail with a shorter, more bushy tail. I was extremely casual at this point - I didn't even write my own stuff or read what others had written! Being not-quite-human was basically an afterthought.

So, like I said: Spring 2016. One second I was following along in my math class (well, I like to remember it that way, at least), and the next it was like I'd been transported into the body of a bison. I pictured myself wading through soft, green grass, feeling my heavy hooves and broad back working, smelling the summer air. And just like that I was back in my classroom. Crazy what the mind can do - I imagine it's the closest I've been to astral traveling. The 'vision' was so overwhelming I had to excuse myself, go into the hallway, and just breathe for a minute.

I instantly connected the dots between that experience and my previous phantom shifts. For the next weeks I pushed aside all experiences that weren't quite bison in nature, and just examined the recognizably bovine feelings. The questioning process took about 2 months until I was confident enough to say I was a bison therian. Then I promptly made a therian-focused aesthetic blog on tumblr :p

Since then I've had a few other 'visions' and I've had time to examine my bison feelings a lot more. I've come to the conclusion that the original experiences were spiritual in nature (partial rebirth, my soul includes 'bison Dust'), and that they turned into an integral part of me through psychological reinforcement.

Part 2: Being Bison

By ruminating (ha!) on my shifts, visions/memories, and other noemata I've come to a few conclusions: The specific bison that my soul comes from was an American bison (Bison bison) 'spike bull', which is a bull whose horns haven't started curving inwards yet - this means the bull is somewhere between 1 and 4 years old. The bison, at some point, was in a herd that included cow-calf pairs, and it felt protective towards these herd members, but through most of its life it roamed with a band of bachelor herd. I don't remember ever breeding or fighting for a harem or anything of that sort (except trying to mount other young bulls), so I assumed the bison died before it could get the chance. I don't have any memories related to death, but due to the environments I remember, I'm pretty sure the bison was in a managed herd, or maybe even a beef herd.

What all these vague memories and conclusions mean for my current self is that I identify partially as a bison bull on a spiritual and psychological level. This also affects my gender identity somewhat. My gender is fluid, but it's usually somewhere along the lines of 'gnoll female' - which is really more like a human man than a human woman. But there are also hints of bovine in my gender. I'm not gonna lie: I wish I had the kind of equipment bulls have haha... But it does goes deeper than just physical body. I feel somewhat like a bachelor bull - an outcast who hangs out with other outcasts and plays at one day winning the respect of those who cast him out. Desiring females carnally (I don't think I could make that sound more like the statement of an incel if I tried lmao). The whole vibe of being a young and virile animal. My gender isn't so much 'bison bull' as it has hints of bullishness.

The bisonness doesn't just inform my gender identity, of course; it is primarily a species identity. Don't misunderstand that though - it's not my primary species identity! That would be gnoll. What I mean is that my bison side mainly presents itself in a way that affects my overall species identity. My bison identity is directly tied to my body image and the way I think of myself, reflect on my behavior, and conceptualize my thoughts. At the most basic level, I deeply wish I could shapeshift, and just choose when to be a bison and when to be a human (or gnoll or other!). It's a much stronger feeling than just "hey, shapeshifting would be cool!" The cool-factor is how I feel about, say, werewolves. It would be cool to be a werewolf. But my desire to shift into a bison is much more of a yearning. It feels like it's the right shape (this hole was made for me!), though I'm definitely not blind to how impractical it would be. I appreciate my thumbs and brain and modern medicine!

When I try to imagine myself in 'my mind's eye,' so to speak, I picture myself with a lot of bison attributes. Most notably the horns, but also the cape/chaps/beard, the sloped/humped back, the tail, and sometimes the hooves. The fact that I don't have any of these traits is anywhere from an afterthought to deeply distressing, depending on the day. Whenever I get phantom shifts, it's also these traits I feel. I can trigger the phantom shifts easily enough, but since they're distracting I rarely do so. More often than not, they just show up on their own.

I rarely get strong mental shifts. The few I've had were disorienting and not very fun, so I usually try to suppress them when they do show up. Weaker m-shifts are a common occurrence, though, often spurred on by feelings of frustration. When I'm in a mental shift my personality becomes more ''stereotypically bison-like'. I get bullheaded (pun partially intended), more physically than verbally aggressive, and my temper becomes more volatile. I perceive a lot of things as potential threats and become more defensive in that state - often those feelings are accompanied by mental images of goring said threats with my horns and urges to attack. Little of it shows outwardly; I just seem more sullen and like I want to be alone.

Shifting is a noteworthy part of my bison identity, but as a whole it's a lot more about all the little day-to-day experiences. Mostly the physical ones of missing horns, and the social ones of not being treated like a bison-person or of not having the same social role as a spike bull would have in his herd.

Part 3: Strengthening Connections

There's no shame in being a bit proactive about your identity. I think the therian community has this idea that you shouldn't have a hand in creating your species identity, and I strongly disagree. While I didn't create the original bison-like feelings, I've been reinforcing the ideas a lot since they appeared. Every little trait that could be connected to my bisonhood, I take to be connected to my bisonhood, whether as a cause or result of it.

I've always had these conflicting traits of being stubborn as heck and fairly conflict-avoidant (and of wishing I could resort to physical violence rather than talk when a conflict shows up). These traits could obviously show up in any human, so I don't consider them "inherently bison-like" in any way. And yet they're the same traits a 1000kg horned prey animal would have. If a threat gets too close to a bison, the bison will stubbornly stand its ground and attack - if the attack doesn't work, only then does the bison flee. These traits, while not directly connected to it, help reinforce my bison identity.

My friends also help. They'll buy me bison-themed gifts (one gave me a pendant that I wear every day) and they'll jokingly refer to me as a bison. Once when we were at a safari park they stopped the car near the bison herd and just let me watch for as long as I wanted. I'm lucky that I get to be so open about this side of myself.

#otherkin #therian #therianthrope #therianthropy #about me

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atruththatyoudeny · 3 years

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Monthly Reads | December 2020

I haven’t had much time to read much this month but I really enjoyed all these fics. As always, all the love for all the authors. Thank you for making this time brighter ♥

❅ Like a Picture Print by Currier & Ives | armadillosunset | Christmas - fluff - humor - established relationship - 10k “What thrift store clearance bin did you pull that atrocity out of?” Niall wheezes, doubling over from laughing so hard. They all stand there, holding their collective breaths in that moment. Everyone except Niall, whose laughter is the only sound in the entire flat — the entire building, the entire universe at this moment. “Didn’t know we were doing an ugly sweater party this year! Why didn’t anyone tell me?” — Every year, for as long as they’ve been dating, Harry knits his boyfriend, Louis, a sweater. And every year, Harry hopes for a ring on his finger in return. Maybe this is the year Harry finally gets what he wants.

❅ Baby, You're On My List | lovelarry10 | Christmas - fluff - meet cute - pining - kid fic - 17k Harry takes his niece to see Father Christmas, but he doesn't count on meeting the cutest Christmas elf. Taken by the handsome stranger, Harry decides to recruit as many children as he can so he can see him again, and again, and again...

❅ The Ideal Flatmate | Larry_you_know | Christmas - roommates - hate to love - musunderstandings - no smut - 12k Louis shares his flat with the ideal flatmate (or I-F as he often nicknames him). Harry is a bit younger and a bit taller than him. He’s polite and there is nothing to complain about. Harry rarely brings someone over, he isn’t loud, he eats at the table and when he uses the shared area for his crafting projects he always tidies after himself. Harry doesn’t bother Louis and he pays his share in time. The ideal flatmate. The only problem is: Harry hates Louis. This will be very lovely Christmas.

❅ room for your love underneath this tree | we_are_the_same | Christmas - famous/famous - strangers to lovers - fluff - no smut- first meetings - 11k “IwannameetHarryStyles,” Daisy mumbles, and Louis blinks. “What?” “She says she wants to meet Harry Styles.” Phoebe pipes up, and Louis blinks again, absently switches the camera to himself because he knows that his followers will want to catch his baffled expression. “You-” he starts, and then stops himself, because he did tell her she could ask for anything she wanted, and how can he go back on his word and tell her that he doesn’t actually have the power to make that happen? Because Harry Styles is -- he’s next level kind of famous. Louis has two million subscribers on his YouTube, but Harry has eighteen times as many followers on his Twitter alone. He’s had three number one hits in the last year, and his last album had charted at the top spot for a record breaking 27 weeks. He’s a singer, actor and philanthropist, and there is no way in hell that Louis can get him to come meet Daisy for Christmas. So of course he laughs, even if it’s a little bit breathless, and nods at her. “One Harry Styles for Christmas, coming right up.”

❅ Something Carries On | blue_marauder | Christmas- angst - fluff - minor character death - anxiety - strangers to lovers - 18k Louis would do anything to escape the prison of his emotions around the holidays. He would even go so far as to abandon his remaining family members and go on a trip to Greece, seeing as they're better off without his holiday angst anyway. While on his trip, Louis meets a kind and vulnerable stranger who manages to break through his defenses.

❅ blinded by the sparks | wallstracktwo | angst - fluff - smut - 22k "You can’t even keep your lies straight. Mike has the memory of an elephant and can remember every single detail about every single person he’s ever met, so don’t stand there and tell me that he mixed you up with someone else.” He took back Harry’s cigarette. “I saw you exchanging lower chips for higher ones. I saw you counting the cards. There is no fucking way you won seven thousand dollars tonight honestly. And so I will repeat myself — I want in. Fifty-fifty.” Harry was completely taken aback by the stunningly attractive man standing in front of him. He made several attempts to say something — opening and closing his mouth at least twice before he was finally able to string a few words together. “What? No. No way. No. Sorry, but I work alone.” That was the truth too — he had never trusted anyone enough to let them get close, especially when it came to his scamming, so having a partner was completely, utterly out of the question. “Don’t you think you need someone on the…” Louis’ tongue darted out, licking his lips as his eyes flickered to Harry’s mouth, one eyebrow cocking up. “...inside.” Or - Harry is a scammer who drifts from casino to casino. Louis is the new waiter who wants in on the scam.

❅ The Golden Prince | behappyhl | royalty - mistaken identity - strangers to lovers - grief/mourning -19k When He arrives in London, he’s speechless. It’s so different from his little hometown, he can’t help the feeling that it is an unknown planet. Everything is bigger; The streets, the buildings, the stores. The people are always running somewhere, always in a hurry. Harry instantly feels out of place. Or, Harry lives a perfectly normal life until he gets a life changing job opportunity.

❅ somewhere in between | soldouthaz | dom/sub - strangers to lovers - 43k Louis wakes up early. He brushes his teeth and can only stomach a piece of toast for breakfast, dressing quickly and heading for the car. He pulls into the parking lot of the Department of Dominance and Submission just as they’re unlocking the doors. It takes him all of an hour in the uncomfortable chairs to fill out the paperwork to the best and most accurate of his ability, handing it over to the receptionist as soon as he’s finished and wiping his sweaty palms on his business trousers. There’s a high chance that within ten to fifteen business days, Louis will be matched with a dominant. Shit.

❅ tastes like summer, smiles like may | outropeace | a/b/o - historical - hate to love - royalty - arranged marriage - slow burn - unrequited love - angst - 47k “Is this true?” Harry grabbed the beta by the shoulders. “Bryce, where did you hear that?” “There’s rumors going around the castle,” he smirked. “stories about his beauty and his cold attitude. They know he is an omega only because of his scent, but he has never had a heat.” “Do you know what this means?” Bryce smirk grew into a big smile. “He can’t give you an heir.” A cold prince, an alpha with nothing left to lose and a kingdom with a secret.

❅ sweet like honey | falsegoodnight | college/university - roommates - friends to lovers - friends with benefits - amateur porn - minor angst - 33k Weeks of flat shopping with their limited budget with Louis as a librarian aid and Harry as a barista and arguments about whether a balcony or extended bathroom suite were more important (Harry wanted to be able to feel the crisp night’s air and watch the sun set and Louis just wanted to take long bubble baths) led to them stumbling across the perfect fit. A small flat only ten minutes from campus with a cramped but lovely balcony and an included bath. It’s affordable too… well, sort of. But they always manage. Louis picks up more shifts as an aid, adapting a habit of bringing his Psych textbooks and homework with him to finish in between duties, and later his script so he can quietly practice lines with little distraction. Harry also increases his number of shifts at the cafe and valiantly endures the nasty customers who for some reason flock to their establishment like moths to a flame. For a while, it’s enough. - Or, Harry and Louis need money and they find an unconventional solution in the form of PornHub. It’s not supposed to be a big deal.

#fic rec #28th appreciation #monthly reads #completed fics #larry fics #my reads

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ispyaespa · 3 years

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RETRIEVED: Pretty Little Problem

TW: Spy actions, False identities, Model behaviors, Girl x Girl competition, Competition, Kidnapping, Missing persons, Decoy, Language, Insults about appearance

DATE: 21.07.24

LOCATION: [Redacted]

AGENT: Ningning

“Hang on, when do I need to enter that code you wrote down for me?”

Ningning closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she collected her thoughts. She liked Karina-unni and thought she was so cool for handling stressful missions under pressure, but technology wasn’t always her strong suit, especially when it came to coding and programing. She opened her eyes and turned to face the young woman who was driving her to the event.

“There should be a room where you can do things like print off tickets, research local places, etc.,” Ningning told the older girl. “You’ve got Winter in your ear to help make sure you’re alone when you start entering the code. All you have to do is go to the main page for the competition, right click on the page, and select View Source Code. It will show this screen of weird commands in a boring font and you enter that code I wrote down for you after [BODY]. Got it?”

Karina winced behind the wheel as she neared the hotel and convention center where the modeling competition was being held. A week and a half ago, the 5th winner of a modeling contest went missing and the company claimed that she had a mental breakdown and stormed out of the company building. Naturally, their agency didn’t believe it and sent the aespa team to investigate. Karina was supposed to be the decoy, except her Mandarin was rusty, which meant Ningning had to sub in for her.

“Do you need me to come with you for the registration?” Karina asked as she pulled up to the loading area for the convention center.

Ningning shook her head and turned her head as an event staff member opened her door for her. She thanked him and exited the car, leaving Karina to find parking and the computer room in the hotel.

“Welcome dear, do you have your ID and paperwork?” a woman at the check-in asked.

Ningning nodded and she produced her paperwork and the fake ID with her persona for this mission: Liana Zhou. She felt someone brush up against her and turned to see a taller girl tossing her paperwork at another person seated behind the check-in table.

“Meilin Cao, you should know me from my IG,” the taller girl announced with a haughty look. She glanced at Ningning and snorted as she turned away. “I swear the people they allow in here...”

Rude, Ningning thought as she accepted her contestant number and ID back. She listened to the woman’s instructions on where to go next and she politely thanked the woman at check-in.

*****

“You’re barely tall enough for print ads,” one girl remarked to someone else after Ningning joined the waiting room filled with contestants.

The other girl bristled at the comment and threw something back about the speaker’s zit that was on her cheekbone. Another contestant noticed Meilin enter the waiting room and she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Great, now the IG bitch is here,” the contestant muttered under her breath. “Well there goes my chance at the modeling contract.”

I never want to become a model for real, Ningning thought as she tried to tune out the other competitors.

She heard the loudspeaker crackle, then a male voice asked for contestants 45-80 to come to the stage. Ningning looked at her number and realized that meant she was part of group being called. She straightened up and lined up behind some of the other competitors, following them in a straight line to the stage.

*****

“How the f- does she do it?” Karina hissed under her breath as she tried to type the code word for word into the source code. Her eyes darted back and forth from the scrap of paper to make sure everything was correct, then she hit Save, before exiting the source code. The page refreshed and Karina peered at the contents of the page, which revealed a different name than the modeling agency promoting this contest.

“Winter, you seeing this?”

“Yeah I remember them from a past mission,” the quartermaster replied from her controls. “They ought to call themselves HYDRA at this point.”

“I’m guessing that’s a comic book reference?” Karina sighed. “Sorry, my mom wouldn’t let me read them or watch the movies.”

“Yeah they’re the bad guys and they exist throughout history,” Winter summarized. “Where’s Ningning right now?”

Karina checked her watch and realized that the younger agent would probably be on stage at this moment. She cleared her browsing history and left the Computer room quickly, in search of the convention center.

*****

“Without further ado, let’s get that envelope,” the announcer prompted. He waited for the judges to pass him the envelope with the result and he carefully opened it. The card slid out of the envelope with ease and he beamed as he stepped forward and read off the winner’s name: Meilin.

Ningning applauded with the other girls and bit back a wince as she watched the conceited IG influencer step forward to be acknowledged as the winner. Well, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go – Winter and Giselle had researched the past winners and tried to help Ningning prepare so she could be picked and taken like the other girls. Her outfit had concealed trackers in them and her shoes had the tools for self-defense and picking locks. This meant they were going to have to improvise.

Before the other competitors could exit the stage, a loud beeping sound emitted from overhead, before the sprinklers went off. The room filled with screams and shrieks as the others tried to run off stage to avoid getting wet, and the judges tried to get everyone to calm down. Ningning pretended to be upset by the sudden incident, using her arms to cover her head, but she spotted the announcer dragging Meilin away through a side door.

While everyone else was distracted, the agent made her way to the same side door and tried to find where the announcer had taken Meilin. She heard Karina in her comms and she softly whispered that she was in pursuit.

“Try to cut them off,” she urged the older girl as she heard Meilin complaining loudly about being manhandled. She slowly walked in the direction where she heard the voice and adjusted her tennis bracelet, which was really an electrocution whip that could shock a perpetrator out for an hour and a half.

“We need the announcer alive Ningning,” Winter reminded the agent in her communication. “Giselle is very interested in getting him to talk.”

Ningning promised she would do what she could as she neared the area where the announcer and Meilin had stopped. She concealed herself behind the bin for towels and heard the IG influencer yelling at the announcer to explain himself. Then she heard a loud slap and the announcer barked at the victim to shut up.

“Ningning, I’m on the other side of the door, about 2.5 feet from where you and the victim are,” Karina confirmed. “You gotta flush him out so I can get him.”

Think girl, think! Ningning thought as she tried to come up with a good excuse for revealing herself. Then it came to her – why not copy some of her jealous competitors and get close enough to the announcer to knock him out?

Silently she managed to get behind a wall and she slowly straightened up and angrily emerged from her place. She walked toward the announcer and Meilin, yelling that this contest was a joke in rapidfire Mandarin.

“I was led to believe this is for a prestigious modeling agency that was looking for rookies! She shouldn’t have won – she has a social media presence on Instagram!” Ningning shouted as she neared the pair. She pointed a finger at the announcer and screamed that he better tell the judges to recount their votes because they got the wrong winner.

“She’s a cheat! She’s an influencer and that is an automatic disqualification from the contest! Technically she’s a freelance model already!” Ningning added.

“Maybe you weren’t picked because you’re not model material,” Meilin shot back, despite nursing her bruised cheek.

Ningning stiffened and got up in Meilin’s face as she demanded that she wanted the taller girl to repeat her sentence again. The announcer had been silent and stunned up to this point. Remembering he was only here for Meilin, he resumed his professionalism and tried to separate the two women civilly.

Ningning shoved him hard in the direction of the door where Karina stood on the other side. “This is between us, not you! Make yourself useful and get the judges STAT.”

The announcer tried to approach Ningning again and this time she smacked him with the back of her wrist, the tennis bracelet engaging and shocking his cheek. The former convulsed for a moment, then slumped against the door, unconscious.

“Should I pull the door towards me?” Karina asked via her communicator.

#[ ID: Ningning ]#[ ID: Karina ]#[tw: spy behaviors]#[tw: girl x girl competition]#[tw: modeling competition]#[tw: kidnapping]#[tw: false identities]

3 notes · View notes

falseroar · 3 years

Text

Dog Days Part 8: Doctor’s Appointment

((A look around one doctor’s office leads Abe to check in with another, although an unexpected find throws the hunter off in his investigation.

Yeah, again, sorry this took so long to get here. This part is on the longer side though, and I have a few more that should be ready to go up over the next couple of days. I’m also hoping to get this story done without any more big breaks.

Since it’s been a while, here’s a link to Part 7: Leaving the Clinic, and one for the entire series so far.))

It was a long night, and Abe might have almost dozed off once or twice or half a dozen times, but he kept his watch on the front door of the clinic and the steady trickle of people entering and leaving throughout the dark hours. Some were in and out in less than half an hour, others took longer, but by his count no one went in that didn’t come out. So that was one easy point in the doctor’s favor, although missing patients sure would have made ending this case early a possibility.

No, the last patient left around 4:30 AM, and it was in the still darkness of 5 AM before the doctor himself stepped out of the clinic and locked the door behind him.

Interesting--even with the late sunrise in the fall, that didn’t leave much time before dawn. Unless the vampire was willing to cut it close, he couldn’t live that far from his clinic, especially as the doctor turned and began walking away rather than going to one of the cars parked on the street.

Abe hesitated. He had two immediate options: follow the doc and see where he holed up during the day, or check out the clinic.

As soon as the doctor rounded the corner, the hunter impulsively jumped out of his car, only to nearly wind up face first in the gutter along with the leaves and trash when his head and body refused to cooperate.

Right. How long had it been since he last got some real sleep? And that little binge he went on back at the house yesterday hadn’t helped much. His head pounded as his vision shifted before resettling, and he swallowed back a bad taste in the back of his mouth while he leaned against the car and waited for his legs to wake up.

On second thought, maybe checking out the doc’s clinic while he could be sure it was empty was the real way to go. There would be other chances to see where the vampire spent his days.

Abe trudged across the silent street to the front door of the office and looked around, despite the obvious lack of anyone else out at this unholy hour of the morning, before kneeling down in front of the lock. A few minutes working with his personal set of lock picks, followed by a quick search that turned up a spare key hidden behind a loose brick, and he was in.

He closed the door softly behind him, waiting for several heartbeats to make sure the building really was silent, before he started looking around the place.

First up was the waiting room, which was clean and well taken care of, but Abe noticed that not all of the chairs matched, like they had been bought secondhand separately rather than as a set, and while he didn’t know much about art, the calming paintings on the walls all had a bargain bin look to them. Behind the receptionist’s desk, he found an older PC that he didn’t bother with turning on, and more importantly a binder full of dated sign-in sheets.

For a moment, he perked up at the idea of a record of the kind of people who came here, but after turning through a few pages of obviously false names, including the occasional that looked like someone couldn’t even be bothered (unless some parents out there really decided to call their kid ‘Burnt Arm’) he decided that was a bust. There was an appointment book, but all of the entries were little more than a time and set of initials, with the occasional note in what looked to possibly be German, although the writing was so cramped and hurried that it might as well have been scribbles to Abe.

Seeing nothing else of interest, Abe opened the door next to the desk onto a small hallway, where the first door was to the office of the doctor himself. Right where he could keep both doors open in order to keep an eye on the waiting room if needed, a suspicion that grew stronger when Abe spotted the twin door stoppers near the wall. There were only a few examining rooms, a set of swing doors, and then a door at the end of the hall marked as the supply closet, and that was the entire place.

So, the clinic took on patients who weren’t keen on giving their real names, and judging from the décor and the size of the place they either weren’t the kind of clientele to pay out a lot or the kind to care about the look of the place, although both was definitely an option. If this handwriting belonged to the doctor like Abe suspected, then he was doing desk work that could be put off on a receptionist or nurse. Either this Henrik guy worked alone or he couldn’t keep someone else around every night, and Abe was just self-aware enough not to start guessing why that might be.

Deciding to work his way from the back to the front, Abe checked the supply closet first and found nothing out of the ordinary, or at least as far as he could guess. It was a large room, with a cot set to one side with a neatly folded blanket on top of it, which combined with the lack of windows must have made it a decent enough back up plan if the doctor couldn’t get home before sunrise. There were bulk packages of standard medical equipment and first aid supplies, but it wasn’t like this place was equipped to be a pharmacy or anything. And no body bags or stash of refrigerated and conveniently labeled stolen blood packs, which was…probably fortunate, although Abe would have appreciated an excuse to wrap this case up early and get the information he wanted in exchange already.

But walking through the set of swing doors next showed that this place wasn’t just for taking care of the occasional burn or bruise. Abe took one look at the small area with its sinks and gowns and other prep supplies and the glass window that showed the surgery room beyond, and quickly backed out again.

There was nothing wrong about the room, it was thankfully clean and the most well-maintained place he had seen so far in the building, but the silent and waiting table in the center of a tiled and easily cleanable room surrounded by lights and waiting equipment gave his imagination far too much material to work with. The examination rooms also looked absolutely ordinary, although he tried not to think too hard about why someone would feel the need to use so much air freshener on top of the sharp scent of cleaning supplies when taking care of one room in particular.

Which just left the office of the doctor himself.

Despite being roughly the same size as any of the exam rooms, the space felt smaller thanks to the choice to add in shelves crammed with row after row of texts that hid any wall space that wasn’t already covered in framed diplomas and certificates, some of which looked a little sketchy to Abe. The desk was turned so that anyone sitting at it could see straight into the waiting room when both doors were open, again confirming Abe’s theory about the doctor running this place alone at least on occasion. Said desk had a stack of files waiting to be returned to the waiting cabinet, along with some random pieces of papers and other odds and ends.

A look at the shelves found a lot of medical texts, but Abe was surprised to find more than a few familiar titles. He pulled off one that was identical to one of his own, until he opened it and found that the doctor had taken a vastly different approach to his notes and underlining compared to the hunter’s when it came to, for example, the sections on the anatomy of kappas or the habits of nagas. While his own personal notes made corrections based on what he’d had to do to survive past cases, the doctor’s notes were about how to spot warning signs of blood loss or recommended hours of sleep.

Interesting, but not helpful.

Returning the book to the shelf, Abe turned to the desk and took a quick look through the files that were practically just begging for someone to take a peek. Again, any patient names or anything that could be used to identify them was reduced to a series of letters and numbers that meant nothing to Abe, but he could at least read the notes on suspected conditions and treatments. He even found “Burnt Arm” again, and more than enough to guess that at least half of these patients weren’t, in fact, human.

He closed the last file and made a conscious effort to forget what he read there as he tried to focus on what else was there on the doctor’s desk. A paperweight that looked like a spiral trapped in glass, a foam stress ball, some scattered notes that Abe skimmed over without actually reading until he realized that one of said notes was actually written on the back of a prescription note from a local hospital. The handwriting on the prescription was different but somehow just as terrible as the doctor’s, and while he couldn’t read that he could read the type on the header: “From the desk of Dr. Iplier.”

“Finally,” Abe muttered to himself as he made a note of the name and hospital in his own notebook. A lead, or at least a contact of Dr. Schneeplestein’s who might have something to say against or in defense of the vampire.

There was nothing else of interest on the desk, and Abe took just enough of a look in the file cabinet to determine that it was full of more confidential patient files. Even if he had the time to go through them all, he felt just uncomfortable enough about the idea to give it a pass for now. Ready to call it a day and get out of here before the rest of the city woke up and someone spotted him leaving, Abe did pause to check the drawers of the desk.

The top drawer was filed with an assortment of pens, pencils, paperclips, and other office supplies, and the one underneath was filled with spare paper and notepads and a few more files.

And, tucked away in the corner where Abe might have missed it if it hadn’t caught the light overhead, a small, round plastic container with a label on the side that proved to be blank when he pulled it out.

And resting inside was a misshapen, used bullet, blood still clinging to its silver surface.

---

Abe spent too long, checking the files, looking for any sign of the patient who had entered the clinic with that silver bullet inside of them, but there was nothing. Nothing, except for a scribbled note on one of the crumpled pieces of paper that littered the desk.

How to trace?

Nothing on its own, if Abe hadn’t recognized the names and numbers of some local weapons dealers, along with the contact information of the Institute that was hastily but not completely scribbled out.

Abe made his own copy of the list, although his hand was shaking so bad that he could barely read his own handwriting. When he stepped outside of the clinic a few minutes later, he had to lean against the brick wall outside and catch his breath in the dawning sunlight before he locked the door behind him and returned the spare key to its hiding place.

He should go back to the office, try to get some sleep, think about this, he knew all that. Just as much as he knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all while the image of that used bullet was still in the back of his mind. At least, not until he was so exhausted that there wasn’t any other choice but to close his eyes.

Determined to at least get something useful done until then, Abe got back into his car and took a little drive.

Aside from the patients who had to be there early for surgery and the regular ER crowd, the hospital was relatively quiet when Abe walked in the front doors, feeling close to naked without his heavy hunter’s jacket and accompanying weapons that for some reason weren’t welcome in this establishment. Muttering under his breath and rolling up his shirtsleeves, Abe made his way to the reception desk only to stop short at the familiar face standing behind it.

“What the hell?” Abe said aloud before he could stop himself.

“Good morning,” Google answered, although his stare suggested anything but it. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Wha—Is that it? Is your client another doctor, is that what’s going on here?” Abe asked, and the Google unit’s frown only grew more pronounced.

“I do not understand what you are talking about. If you wish to make an appointment, please specify the doctor you are looking for. If this is an emergency, I can direct you to our Emergency Room where trained staff is standing by.”

“You don’t understand—” Abe sighed and ran a hand over his face before moving closer to the desk and lowering his voice. “I’m here about what we discussed yesterday, remember?”

Google looked him up and down behind his glasses, and Abe swore he could hear the hum of magic and electricity whirring behind that chest before he spoke again. “Your face does not match any of my records. Perhaps you are thinking of another magitek unit?”

“Look, if you can’t talk about it now, just say so, but don’t pretend you’re someone else just because you have on a different shirt now,” Abe said. The green shirt was literally the only difference he could see between this man and the one standing outside his office yesterday, and even then, they both had the same “G” on their chest for crying out loud. “I’m here to see a Dr. Iplier. Which way to his office?”

“…I would argue this point further, but I suspect that would be an inefficient use of my resources. Please wait while I check Dr. Iplier’s schedule,” he said before freezing, his eyes focusing on some point in the mid distance while Abe wondered if he had just been insulted. Just as Abe was thinking about checking a directory and hoping for the best once he found the right floor, Google suddenly came back to himself and said, “Dr. Iplier does not have an official appointment until 9 AM. However, he has noted that he is expecting someone to come by this morning and that I am to let them pass without question.”

“Fantastic,” Abe said, already questioning the security around here but not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Can you tell me the way to his office?”

Hell of a name, Dr. Iplier. Part of Abe was tempted to ask if there was a relation, but he knew Mark had changed his name when he started acting and even then he only picked a name he liked the sound of. Still didn’t sit right with him, when he had to say it out loud after all these years.

Said doctor barely had time to look up at the knock before his office door opened and the hunter let himself in. There was only a slight pause before he asked, “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, yeah I think maybe you can,” Abe said. “That Google thing up front, he work for you?”

“Google is considered to be hospital property, so in a sense, yes he does,” Dr. Iplier said, slowly putting his pen down. “Why do you ask? He hasn’t caused another...incident, has he?”

“Another one?” Abe paused at that but decided to press on with the train of thought already in progress. “Hospital property. So if someone who worked for the hospital, maybe a doctor perhaps, were to send that thing to, say, my office, you could do that?”

The doctor started to say something, stopped, and then started again. “I’m sorry, are you saying that you saw that Google outside of the hospital yesterday? Because that’s impossible, that magitek unit is bound to these premises, it literally cannot leave the building without a serious rewrite of its system.”

“…What?” Abe said, feeling the sudden rush of having figured all this out just as quickly evaporating with each passing second. “Wait, there really is…more than one…”

The doctor nodded with almost condescending patience while Abe felt he could have started this conversation off better by just going ahead and shooting himself in the foot. But one doctor using someone else to accuse another doctor of some vague and as yet undiscovered scandal just to put his practice under and maybe gain some new business, it would have been so simple.

“Yes, that Google was a donation, I believe, straight from the creator, but I really don’t know much more than that,” Dr. Iplier confessed. “You’ll have to ask someone else if you want to know more, magic and technology aren’t really my area of specialty. Now, unless you’re here about a medical issue and willing to make an appointment, would you kindly leave?”

His tone more than anything was enough to snap Abe out of his disappointment and straight back into his usual resting state of anger and accusations.

“How about if I have a medical question for someone else? One I think you might be familiar with,” Abe said, pacing slowly across the plush carpet of the doctor’s office which was much less cluttered than Dr. Schneeplestein’s and offered more space to move around and ignore the waiting chair opposite the doctor’s desk.

“When a vampire enters the city, they have to get through a whole rigamarole to get registered, right? Been that way for—a while, yeah?” Abe started, pausing only slightly when he tried to recall when that became a thing. He could remember clearly the whole upset that caused along with the other Bronson Institute-backed policies, but it all started to blend together after a while. “Public hospitals like this one are involved in that process, right?”

“That’s…correct,” Dr. Iplier answered, his tone and expression clearly showing his confusion at trying to piece together how this was connected to Abe’s other questions. “Mercy Green is one of several hospitals that are part of the sponsorship program. I can’t speak of the number, of course, but we do have some…participants who are scheduled to come by and pick up their rations.”

“You do know you can just say blood, right?” Abe said. “Where’s that blood come from, again?”

“Well, we do have some donors who come through us to give to certain participants in a safe, controlled environment, but the majority of it comes from recently deceased people who had already agreed to be donors, similar to how we get organ donations. We can’t use that blood for living patients, but the vampire immune system is capable of handling it.”

Abe nodded along like he was listening, but this was all stuff he already knew. His real focus was on the doctor, the way he sometimes hesitated before choosing the “appropriate” word, the way his eyes watched the hunter but at one point flickered downward and to his left. Moving on the pretense of examining the doctor’s license on the wall (from Nicaragua, a fact which on a normal probably would have earned a few questions on its own), Abe turned around and caught a glimpse of the mini fridge under the doctor’s desk.

Interesting.

“Why exactly are you asking me about this?” Dr. Iplier asked. “This is all public information; you can literally find all this out by looking online or attending one of the Institute’s outreach events. And I would hope that a hunter would know this.”

Abe couldn’t resist glancing down, wondering what had given him away with all of his usual gear back in his car. Deciding to brush it off for now, he answered, “I like to brush up on what I think I know every now and then. For example, I know registered vamps are limited on how much they can ‘withdraw.’ But what I want to know is if there are any signs that a vampire might be sucking a little off the top.”

The doctor’s expression became very fixed, and after a second to hear to replay what he just said, Abe quickly corrected himself, “I mean, what’s it look like if someone’s drinking more than they’re allowed?”

“…Right,” Dr. Iplier said, after a cough to clear his throat. “Are you familiar with the feeling of coming off of a hangover?”

“We’re acquainted,” Abe answered. Acquainted, lived together with so long that he might as well be common law married to the feeling, same thing.

“Based on the way they describe it, one step above that is where your typical vampire is at while on the current ration. Just enough to keep them from, and again not my choice of words, going ‘feral.’ With the right support network and regular rations, they can control their impulse to feed, but in my experience, most turn to something else to take the edge off, such as caffeine or alcohol or binge-watching sitcoms, that sort of thing.”

“Sounds like a recovering addict waiting to snap,” Abe pointed out. “One missed ration and it’s over.”

“Unfortunately, yes. That’s what comes of keeping people at the bare minimum to survive,” Dr. Iplier said, and Abe saw the small wince around his eyes as the doctor immediately regretted his words. “That is, I can see why there are campaigns to change the arrangement, and it’s less surprising when a vampire turns to alternative methods for acquiring additional blood. In that case, I suspect the obvious signs would be…more energy, less reliance on coping mechanisms, greater tolerance for typical weaknesses such as garlic or sunlight in limited doses, such as being able to go out on cloudy days, that sort of thing. Depending on the quality and how much of an illegal supply they have access to, they’re also more likely to forget about their official rations, which makes a registered vampire failing to show up a huge red flag for multiple and equally bad reasons.”

The doctor fidgeted with the pen in his hand before firmly placing it down on the desk and sitting back in his chair. “Fortunately, I’m proud to say that this hospital has had a 100% success rate in keeping our registered undead healthy and a non-issue for Institute…employees such as yourself.”

Abe’s palm hit the doctor’s desk with a loud smack and honestly a bit of a sting, but the hunter didn’t allow himself to wince as he leaned toward the doctor and said, “I may be a hunter, but I’m not with the Institute. Believe it or not, I have standards, and I need to know if—if I can…”

He trailed off, distracted by a scent he had failed to notice before, one that he was quickly able to trace to the bottle on the corner of the doctor’s desk. Despite being sealed, the smell of the liquid inside had managed to penetrate out, and just a whiff of it was enough to completely derail any of Abe’s remaining thoughts.

“…Hunter?” Dr. Iplier prompted once the silence went on a little too long, his eyes nervously tracing out the bead of sweat that had appeared on the hunter’s brow while his mind seemed to be miles, or decades, away.

“Sorry, that’s…I knew a witch who made a burn cream that—it just smells the same, I…” Abe’s words wandered out, his mind back on the small bottle he left on the District Attorney’s desk all those years ago.

“Yes, I wouldn’t be surprised if more than a few of our medicines came from that kind of source,” Dr. Iplier admitted as he picked up the bottle and shook the contents inside. “I could see why a hunter would use it, it’s certainly strong stuff.”

Strong enough to heal silver burns on a werewolf. Abe swallowed, remembering the color draining from the District Attorney’s face, their hand pressed to their side.

“Are you okay?” The doctor’s voice sounded far away as Abe’s mind went back to that house, to the used silver bullet in Schneeplestein’s office, to his promise to get them out of there, to the blast of the gun firing and his own chest burning with each heartbeat he shouldn’t have.

It was the knock at the office door that snapped Abe out of it, or at least gave hive him the sense to get out of here now before he said or did something he would regret. How long had it been since he’d had any sleep? And add that little binge at the house yesterday before keeping watch in a car all night, and it was becoming more and more obvious to Abe that coming here was a stupid mistake. Mumbling something about needing to keep an appointment, Abe yanked open the door just in time to surprise the young man standing on the other side, his hand raised to knock again.

“Oh, uh, sorry, I didn’t realize someone else was in here,” he said. “I’m just here to pick up something—"

“Don’t worry about it, I was just leaving,” Abe muttered as he brushed by, only to pause and look again once he was out in the hallway. “…Do I know you?”

Young guy, bright eyes under the brim of that dad cap he was wearing even if they were ringed with dark hollows that looked like Abe’s own bags, jeans, t-shirt, he looked like every other kid Abe saw around these days, but he couldn’t shake the feeling even as the guy shrugged.

“Don’t think so, unless you’ve seen my vlogs?” he answered, although his tone suggested he didn’t think Abe fit in the usual audience. A good guess, since Abe didn’t even know what a vlog was.

“Never mind,” Abe muttered as he shook his head and kept walking, eager to get some fresh air.

Chase looked over his shoulder at the hunter and then back at Dr. Iplier, who could only muster a half-hearted shrug before inviting him in.

((End of Part 8. Thank for you reading, and thank you all for being patient with me!

Link to Part 9: Preparations.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox ))

#markiplier #fanfiction #monster hunter au #abe the detective #traces of silver #googleplier #dr. iplier #dr. schneeplestein #for the record #practically everything abe did in this part is super illegal #terrible role model

16 notes · View notes

schmokschmok · 3 years

Text

a series of events

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Mikaele Salesa, Gertrude Robinson & Michael Shelley, Tim Stoker & Sasha James

Characters: Mikaele Salesa, Getrude Robinson, Michael Shelley, Tim Stoker, Sasha James

Wordcount: 5,314

Freeform:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Missing Scene

Canon Compliant

Vignettes

Summary:

It's not a tragedy. It's not a comedy either. It's a series of unfortunate events and their rather anticlimactic end.

aka What do Mikaele, Gertrude and Tim have in common? A gun!

Contains spoilers up until MAG 115

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205352

CN: Guns (discussed), Murder (mentioned & idiomatic) Entities alluded to: Buried, Corruption, Flesh, Slaughter, Stranger

Exposition

It starts with a plain looking flintlock pistol and a few percussion weapons. After he had copied Jürgen’s client list, he had studied every last name on it relentlessly until he found one that he was sure enough he could sell to without having Jürgen with him. Then he tracked down a lass in Sunderland who liquidated a relatively sumptuous collection of antique weapons.

Now he’s standing in front of a door belonging to a block of flats which doesn’t look in the slightest like a home for antiques. Mikaele’s used to much too big houses, creaking with old age and looming over him like the head of a giant monster sleeping underneath the earth. He knows brass doorknockers and intercommunication systems at iron gates separating the wide-spreading garden area from the street. A simple intercom at the door and several flights of stairs towards one of half a dozen identical looking doors is unfamiliar territory and sends a rush of adrenaline through his whole body.

After drawing a final breath to brace himself, he rings the bell and waits for the steady thrum of the buzzer inviting him into the whitewashed house with its light grey louvred blinds. His feet hit tiles and then stair after stair until he’s in front of a door with inlaid glass. The sight through is blocked by what seems to be a curtain made from Nottingham lace.

Drawing another breath, he raps his knuckles curtly against the wood of the door and takes a step back. While he listens to shuffling footsteps coming closer, he swallows drily and plasters a sly grin on his face, even though he doesn’t feel like it. He has seen Jürgen interact with dozens of people over the years and had a fair share of interactions with tedious clients himself, so he knows that confidence is the first step to success. If he thinks he can make a deal, then he can make a deal. It’s easy, he tells himself.

The door swings open and a woman in her thirties studies him with tired eyes. She says: “Mr Salesa, I suppose?”

He nods, accompanied by verbal confirmation and greeting, and extends his hand for her to shake, and it only takes an imploring look upon his hand until she grabs hold of it and welcomes him into her small flat.

“It’s in the backroom,” she says as soon as the door clicks shut behind him. “Found them while cleaning out my Da’s cellar but hadn’t had the chance to get them looked at. What with all the funeral preparations, you know?”

Mikaele doesn’t because he never had to take care of such thing, but he makes a non-committal sound at the back of his throat and offers his condolences because it’s the polite thing to do. She thanks him in a detached voice, as one does faced with superficial, sympathetic words.

“It’s a whole chest of them,” she continues while opening the door to a small pantry which is filled to the brim with shelves displaying tinned and pickled food. The floor area is covered with cardboard boxes, two wooden chests and a few rolled up carpets. She gestures towards the chest on the left and steps back to make room for him. He thanks her.

“I don’t know if they’re worth anything at all,” she says, leaning against the doorframe and watching him step closer until the fingers of his outstretched hand touch the copper key of the chest, and sink to his knees. A part of him wants to explain to her that she’s setting herself up to get stitched up like a kipper. But it’s not his problem, is it? Actually, it’s rather his fortune.

Mikaele opens the lid and takes a look at the percussion weapons, eight of them in total. Six percussion rifles and two guns. And right on top of them lies a flintlock gun with a wooden handle. He’s not interested in that, so he takes it out and lays it down next to him on the floor with great caution.

“So, you’re taking them?” She asks and he can hear her shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I’ve got two other potential buyers. But if you want them, you can have them.”

He doesn’t know why she’s so eager to get rid of them and uneasiness settles into his midriff, constricting his breathing in an almost imperceptible way. So, he tells her that he can’t decide without taking a proper look at them. And then he asks her about deeds of ownership.

“Everything I’ve got is in that chest. If they don’t have a deed of ownership, then I haven’t either,” she replies while he takes one percussion gun out of the chest, examining the caplock mechanism and pulling back the hammer, only to be greeted by the strenuous sound of a screw being used for the first time after a long period of inactivity.

Cautiously taking out one musket after the other, splayed around him like sunbeams, the bottom of the chest reveals nine deeds of ownership and even a documentation of the last purchase agreement.

This is too good to be true, Mikaele thinks. But what he says is that he is going to buy them and that he can guarantee her an adequate payment, he can’t, however, say anything about the price just now. He must test if they work, he apologises, then he promises that if they’re usable he’s going to pay her even more. Even though it doesn’t make a difference for his potential buyer. Mikaele will get the same amount either way. But she seems like she could use the money, and this is his first buy all on his own. He can be a little generous, he can be a little accommodating.

“I don’t care,” she says, levity coming back to her and lifting her shoulders as if up until now she had been pressed down by a weight he hadn’t noticed. “I just want them gone. So, if you could take them with you today, that would be appreciated.”

After taking out the documents, he nods absent-mindedly and places the weapons back inside the chest. When he turns towards the flintlock pistol, he asks where he should put it.

“You can have it,” she rushes to say, involuntarily taking a step back and raising her hands in a display of defensiveness, palms spread wide open. He tells her that he doesn’t necessarily want it, but she dismisses his objections. “I don’t want it.” He opens his mouth again. “Look, take it as an eight plus one deal, okay? I don’t want them. Not any of them.”

He nods as if he understands what she’s trying to say. He doesn’t, but does it make any difference?

Together they lift the now locked chest after and they carry it down the stairs, through the small front yard and into Mikaele’s waiting car. As she steps back from the boot, he thanks her for her generosity and extends once again his hand to meet hers.

“Thank you,” she says as if she hadn’t singlehandedly conferred the possibility for his career beyond horror and threats on his life bound in leather. So, he thanks her, too, and as he drives away, he can feel the uneasiness melt from his ribcage into a small puddle of contentment right above his abdomen.

This is the start of something new.

Rising Action

It hadn’t been the start of something new, Mikaele realises when he sees the now familiar chest again. It had been a continuation of misfortune and horrible, sleepless nights. At least until Jürgen’s list began to seek him out to sell him the objects Jürgen wouldn’t take.

It’s a mule chest made of oak, a warm reddish colour and with a beautiful patina spread over the copper of the escutcheon, handles and applications that speaks of a long history of utilisation. Nice to look at with its octagon panelling and its visible age rings and veins of the wood.

But Mikaele knows there’s something inside besides the eighteenth century’s weaponry he held for the first time over twenty years ago. Something that, if it would live in a book, would be in Jürgen’s métier.

Despite his knowledge of the danger that lurks inside this chest, Mikaele had sold it multiple times to all kinds of different people. He thought, a meat grinder, an antique syringe, a wooden crate, a wooden chest – when it comes down to it, it’s all the same.

Slowly, word spreads. Especially in a social circle as small as the one Mikaele operates in. People talk and its hard to bring something to a market that has learned by now that the thing will get them killed. (Of course, there are always the outliers, the unpredictable variables of heedless rich men who think they can withstand temptation, only to fail. Mikaele, however, is not a heedless man and if he knows one thing, it’s that dead men can’t spend money anymore.)

So, he almost got restless at the prospect of owning a chest filled with death impossible to market again, when he remembers the small business card in his middle desk drawer that reads in small capital letters The Magnus Institute.

He calls.

Mr Bouchard welcomes his offer with the generosity of a Lukas and asks him to drop off the chest as quickly as convenient. So, he gets into his car roughly two days later and takes the trip to the institute himself as the loss of Cook is still somewhat thrumming beneath his skin. (He gives the others a few days off, tells Leigh to stock up on supplies, so they can set sails as soon as he gets back.)

When he gets out of the car in the parking lot of the institute, he realises belatedly that he has no chance of transporting the chest all on his own, so he locks up the door and heads up to the institute, a certain spring in his step and something akin to giddiness in his soul.

“Rosie,” he greets the woman sitting at the desk in front of Mr Bouchard’s office and she offers him salutations with a smile as wide as the Thames. “Mr Bouchard awaits me. A delivery for Artefacts that I could not possibly carry alone.”

She tells him that Mr Bouchard is in a meeting with a Lukas, and she says it with a wink and a smile, and even though Mikaele doesn’t quite make heads or tails of her words, he understands that she can’t ring him up until he gets out of his call, so he asks: “Would you mind calling Artefacts to send a helping hand?”

Telephone handset already in hand, her manicured fingers dial a three-digit number, and she waits patiently for the other person to pick up.

Meanwhile, Mikaele studies the stone tiles that could almost look like marble, and the dark, oiled wood that forms the intricate details of the desk she’s sitting at. The surface is covered in paper and sticky notes and handwritten reminders and dates, almost contrary to the planner lying next to her keyboard that is colour-coded and in a minimalistic beauty that Mikaele wants to envy but finds to be incredibly annoying.

Although Mikaele’s clearly occupied studying her surroundings like the engaged columns that bestow texture upon the too white walls, ending in abstract art nouveau capitals that could be worthy of note but only exert tristesse in their colourlessness. It’s a shame, Mikaele thinks, that this is what Jonah Magnus chose to express the prestigiousness of the institute with.

Suddenly, someone’s standing too close to him; entirely unexpected in his line of vision. He startles, ripping his gaze off the columns, and is met with an expressionless look of a woman. She narrows her eyes when he takes a step back to bring distance between them and apologises in a stern voice that doesn’t speak of remorse.

“Oh, don’t be,” he replies, interlacing his fingers behind his back.

From the other side of her desk, Rosie informs him that someone from Artefacts will soon be with them and if he would mind waiting for a bit. He shakes his head in answer, but his attention lays on the gaunt woman before him. She’s one part tenuous and two parts careworn wrapped in white hair and wrinkly skin only broken by thread veins and purposeful inexpressiveness.

She introduces herself as Gertrude Robinson, the head archivist of the Magnus Institute, and asks him for the cause of his visitation. So, without his own volition he tells of the chest and its malevolent contents. He tells of violence and strife and death. And when he’s done, all he can do is blink at her in owlish perturbation.

Adversatively, her gaze is unwavering, examining the parts of his being that he himself is not entirely aware of. With a blink of her eye, he feels like he can breathe again, but her carefully worded question, if he had anything else to say to her, tries to gently pry words from his mouth that he hadn’t previously known existed. He swallows them all down, phoneme for lexeme for root, almost choking on the pre- and inter- and suffixes.

He says: “Beware of the splinters. And always wear gloves.”

Though he thought she’d be displeased, her eyes glow in satisfaction and the smile tugging at the corner of her lips makes uneasiness rear its ugly head like he’s still a twenty-something in the middle of Jürgen’s library.

Climax

Michael’s standing in the doorway even though she has told him a hundred times not to lurk. He’s crossing his arms in front of his chest and the look on his face can only be described as discontent.

“I told you,” she says, weariness settling into her bones, “that it’s an act of utmost discourtesy to earwig my recordings of a statement.”

He doesn’t say anything, just shifts his weight and leans against the doorframe like a scallywag assessing the possibilities to wreak havoc. With a sigh coming from the depths of her soul, she attempts to find chagrin between fatigue and impuissance, but she comes home empty handed.

“I know,” she concedes, “this is of personal interest to you. And I can assure you, I won’t keep you in the dark in regard to research. However, I find myself in the unfortunate position of putting the development of the case before your personal interest. Which, ultimately, should lead to your satisfaction, too.” She interrupts herself in hope that he says at least something. He doesn’t. “Emma is currently tracking down Mikaele Salesa and should return with him and his extensive knowledge of the artefact as soon as possible. A research assistant is accompanying her, for her own safety and the insurance that Mr Salesa will come back.”

Michael narrows his eyes, still rigid and tensed up, every fibre of his body tight-drawn.

She has never seen him like this, without his languid smile and crinkling eyes, without the casual ‘swagger’ of his step and his restless fingers in search of something to hold on to. This is the first time she has ever seen his face in severity and earnest, almost distorted in its unfamiliarity.

“Michael,” she says after a while and she can’t keep every notion of defeat out of her voice. Three words sit on her tongue, heavy and strange, a combination of egoistical self-sorrow and wrong-worded sentiment. An attempt of retaliation, of connecting broken pieces and lost connections.

But her mouth remains empty, her teeth blocking the path separating herself from vulnerability and violability.

It's nothing personal, she thinks to herself, Michael's as good as they come. But here inside the walls of the institute every word is a weapon shock-sensitive and ready to explode. (The shock comes in many forms, most prevalently and most dangerously in the shape of grey-green eyes and blasé smiles that turn benign concerns into malignant worries. The shock comes in bursts, circling into waves that drown out every other thought.)

So, she breathes around three words that Michael deserves and that she would willingly give if he were anyone else, anyone unknown.

Time goes by in little droplets of apprehensiveness, pulling together into a flow of disquietness. But Michael’s not moving, just staring at her demandingly, his jaw locked and his knuckles turning white.

For a moment, she must avert her eyes, cannot take his open display of discontent anymore, and her gaze falls upon the wooden chest, neatly tucked into the corner of her office. A feeling of I can’t believe an unimpressive thing like you could do such harm, but deep down in her core she knows it not to be true. She has had enough artefacts in her hands, only separated from her skin by a thin layer of latex, to know that nothing ever seems as ill-natured and pernicious as it truly is.

Her eyes snap back to him, and she needs him to break the silence. (Needs him to spare a smile to reinforce something resembling normalcy. Although she Knows it to be true that Michael can’t do anything about this situation. He’s bound to the laws of physic, too, and he can’t tilt the world back into its normal position. And Gertrude shouldn’t expect him to do it if she herself can’t do anything about the world.)

“Michael,” she says again, breath catching at the edges of a four-letter word still sitting discomfortably in her throat. “Sometimes the right thing to do and the easy thing to do are two different things.” He continues to stare, vulnerability brought by wholeheartedness. “And the right thing is concentrating on your work so that Emma can do hers.”

Softly, Michael says that they were his friends. His shoulders dropping, weighted down by the acknowledgement of defeat. The start of a sentence escapes his lips, but he struggles to force it out completely, and interrupts himself. He draws a shaky breath. Voice trembling, he tries again and states that one of them did this, and she feels like he should make an all-encompassing gesture, drawing in not only shaky breaths but all the weak-kneed wrongfulness of this place.

He doesn’t know, she thinks, he doesn’t know a thing.

“Sometimes,” she says and lays her hand flat atop the desk to stop them from pushing her upright, “bad things happen. And we must deal gently with them.”

A broken-up sentence that he is just, that he is. But he can’t go on and he swallows the fire in his chest, chokes on the flames and sobs up a few sparks. He says that he’s so, so very angry. And the taste that his words leave in her mouth reminds Gertrude of bonfires and sun storms and the sound of cracking wood. (It reminds her of her adolescence, of nights spend only illuminated by the moon and the flames licking into the sky.)

She nods and presses the palms of her hands on the wooden surface with as much strength as she can conjure. She says: “Anger is a dangerous place. You must tread softly, or it swallows you whole.”

They fall back into silence, the quiet thrum of the air condition a white noise for his grief.

Then his arms fall down, and he tries to smile at her but it's a vain attempt at best. (She knows how his smile looks by heart. And this is only the caricature version of Michael himself.)

Michael's as good as they come, so she settles on: “Trust me, Michael.” And she can see that he does.

Falling Action

In the end, Gertrude is alone in the Archives and she’s buried beneath statements and rituals and eyes that follow every step she takes. Maybe she’s growing paranoid in the wake of a catastrophe she can’t even fanthom the momentousness of. Maybe she’s in her right to collect explosives like wrinkles on her skin. However, she’s still in need of more, more, more. (More certitudes, more dependability, more apologia.)

So, she starts a little fire. Nothing major, just a small one. On the other side of a room that contains a wooden chest that has brought so much grief upon the institute.

Nobody’s in danger of getting hurt, she reasons, every artefact destroyed is a blessing bestowed upon humanity. She only needs them to clear the room, to lose sight of a few things like maybe a Gorilla Skin or a wooden chest full of weaponry.

And the impossible thing is that it worked. Or semi-worked at least because the Gorilla Skin is not in the institute, has never been, and Gertrude’s not any closer to finding it, but she’s got a hold onto the chest, offered by Sonja in an attempt to safe what can be saved.

Time runs out, the Unknowing comes closer, creeps into every waking thought and tries to strangle her into submission. But Gertrude’s not done. She’s almost entirely alone and her hands may be shaking like aspen leaf, but she’s not done.

Shoulders squared and cardigan wrapped around her thin frame, she walks into Research and politely requests help moving an artefact into the Archives. A young man she has seen a few times in the hallways offers his help and she assures him that there will be a sack barrow in Artefacts when he asks if she needs more than one pair of helping hands.

“That will do,” he says light-heartedly and opens the door for her to step through in front of him. It’s a nice gesture and Gertrude enjoys Tim’s joviality as long as it lasts.

They walk in silence for a moment, their footsteps being the only noise they produce. They echo inside Gertrude’s ribcage and for a moment she thinks fondly of Gerry who’s just waiting for her to get started on their trip to the other temples of the beholding. (She won’t think of it as a capital B, she’s been resisting for so long, she won’t cave now. The pressure to give in and paint her dreams with atrocity is big and strong and all-consuming. Just a flick of her tongue and an almost imperceptible strain on her queries and the knowledge of the world would lie at her feet, waiting for her to be crowned and bestowed a gift that she had always declined politely.)

“Tim Stoker.” The research assistant breaks their silence and her train of thought. Blinking through her dusty glasses, she turns towards him without a falter in his steps. “Pleasant to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Robinson.”

Meeting her stern gaze with a friendly one of his, he smiles at her with something more akin to geniality than politeness. (All of a sudden, she’s standing in front of Michael who laughs with an edge of nervousness shortly before she sends him off to find the door. Unexpectedly, she sees Emma in the way he drags his left foot a little more than his right. Without intention, she sees Eric and Fiona in the freckle-constellations on his bare arms.)

She must avert her eyes, forcibly shaking off the images of trust and anger and disappointment dressed in faces she had known so dearly. So, she attempts to focus on their differences, on his height and cadence and the way that he says her name with distant respect like she’s worthy of note.

“Originally, I applied for a position in the Archives,” Tim says at this moment and Gertrude is present again, emerging victorious from the fight with her demons. (Victorious for now.) “But there hasn’t been an opening in quite some time.”

Nodding in thought, she tells him that the Archives is crewed with only her since 2011 and that she doesn’t intend on changing the way that she works. (Gerry’s not employed by the institute, so it’s safe to be in his company for now.)

“Not going to lie, I’m a bit disappointed at that prospect,” Tim retorts without showing any sign of frustration or letdown. And this is the thing that tips Gertrude off, makes suspicion rise in her gut like the tide after moonrise. Tim Stoker is a strange man with unclear affiliations who explicitly applied to be part of the Archives, part of Gertrude’s team. And who, upon dismissal, took work up in the institute anyways. As if he’d like to keep close, take an eyeful of the progress she’s making.

She studies him again, out of the corner of her eye this time, and asks what persuaded him to apply to the Archives in the first place, carefully keeping the compulsion out of her voice, and he says: “I’ve been working in publishing for a long time but in college I used to work as a research assistant in an archive. I guess it’s work I liked doing.”

The lie slips from his skull directly into the hollowness of her chest, and she can feel the draw of the eye to dig deep into the hidden space behind his heart. But she swallows it down, like she always has, like she always will. Pushes it into a corner not to be touched ever again. (It’s going to rear its ugly head time and time again, but hope is a frail thing with sturdy bones and Gertrude is hell-bent on keeping it alive.)

She tells him that she thinks he would be perfectly suited for the Archives, and she apologises that she can’t offer him a position. But he waves his hand dismissively, laughter in his voice and a quick pip on his tongue: “There will be other times.” But she sure hopes there will not.

Denouement

Upon entering the storage room, Tim tells her that he doesn’t believe her, that Sasha James is a liar, but he laughs right with her, holding the door open so she can come inside, too.

“I’m not lying,” she replies, breath still caught in her throat. “Jon really did! I saw it with my own two eyes!”

Tim, however, is not listening anymore. He’s mesmerized by an oak chest in the far corner of the room. A curse falls from his lips into the dusty air of the room and it only takes him a few bee-lining steps until he’s right in front of the thing.

“What’s that?” Sasha asks, following him until she’s standing right beside him. Shrugging his shoulders, he tells her that its from Artefacts and Gertrude Robinson asked him to bring it down here for a time being. (A time being that is long over since Artefacts has been renovated and Gertrude Robinson went missing.)

He kneels down to examine the chest because he distinctly remembers Gertrude telling him to not dwell on the contents for too long. Cautiously, he reaches for the escutcheon of the lid, tinged green and matted by disuse.

Sasha catches his hand mid-air. “Should you be touching it?” The levity of their prior conversation is forgotten, a tension hangs in the air between them, filled only by the muted footsteps of Martin and Jon in the hallways. “If it’s an artefact, it could be dangerous.”

Mischievously grinning, he asks her if she’s as thorough and careful in her daily life as she is with the looming possibility of spooky encounters.

Even though her aim is pretty good, he dodges the jab with a laugh he’s sure causes her to smile at least a little. He tells her to live a little, be great and beyond.

“If you had seen the artefacts we were dealing with,” she says, “you wouldn’t be as careless. You’ve read the statements. You’ve worked in Research.”

He sighs and a constricted look settles on his face, almost mirroring the flood of memories knocking him down, only simmered down to something he can actually display within the boundaries of his flesh. She’s right and he knows it, but he can’t bring himself to voice it out loud, so he settles on the one thing he always knew best: Deflection.

Making a pained sound at the back of his throat, he laments his choice of occupation without acknowledging the true intent of it. He tells her that, when Jon had asked him to move down into the Archives with him and Sasha, he hadn’t thought about it twice, had deemed working with his friends favourable to Research where Conrad works, of all people. He had thought, so he says, that working inside of an archive again would feel like home for an anthropology major like him. Field work may be wonderful, he continues, but he loved working nose burrowed in books.

More quietly, he admits that he misses publishing. Misses reading into the late hours of the night, entranced by academic works filled with hypotheses and argumentation. Misses tweaking phrases and correcting spelling, omitting thoughts only worthy of footnotes to force papers into their linear trickle of thoughts. Misses communicating with people beyond horrifying experiences and lived nightmares.

“This really is an awful lot like Research,” Sasha agrees, still eying the chest just like he is. “Artefacts is much the same, really. Just with the additional splash of weariness of life.”

In as much confidence as they can find in an open room, too close to their colleagues, Tim says that the Magnus Institute is the worst academic facility he has ever seen. That if he has to see Sasha staple documents together one more time, he’s going to pull his hair out and quit.

“I don’t understand your problem,” Sasha replies dismissively. “What the hell is wrong with stapling. It’s fun!”

He stares at her incredulously. Then he tries to explain to her why stapling sensitive documents that they are supposed to keep safe and away from harm is most decidedly the opposite of their job description.

“I think you’re overthinking this.”

Pointing at his face, still on his knees in front of her which means that he has to strain his neck to be able to look at her, he asks if he’s even apt to overthink. And once again she tries to shove at him. This time, though, she succeeds but she doesn’t reckon him trying to hold on to her legs to keep himself steady and upright, which only leads to them falling into a heap on the floor.

Laughing and a bit out of breath, she shoves at him again, trying to free herself to get standing again.

When she manages to upright herself again, she says: “You should stop being quite as overdramatic.” He points at his face once more and mouths Who? Me? at her, feigning a look of innocence. “And you should call Artefacts, so they can come and collect their cursed chest or whatever.” Still pointing at himself, he mouths again Who? Me? This time, however, with fake indignation plastered over his face.

“Yes you, yes you, yes you,” Sasha singsongs, shoving at him for the last time, pressing him into the floor, before she finally gets up and starts to head for the door. “And because of your blatant neglect of your duties,” she’s gesturing towards the chest over her shoulder which, admittedly, looks rather silly, “and your implication– no, your malicious defamation of one Sasha James, I’m going to leave you to rummage through these boxes all on your own.”

She leaves the storage room, and he can hear the echo of her footsteps, while he loudly mourns her absence and begs for her to come back. The laughter, however, that rings out of the hallway, makes it absolutely clear that he has no choice but to suffer on his own.

(If he’s nice enough, and Tim’s confident that he is, then Martin may have mercy with him and join him on their combined quest to conquer the Archives.)

#the magnus archives #tim stoker #gertrude robinson #mikaele salesa #michael shelley #sasha james #fanfiction #schmok writes #missing scene #never posted this here #time to AHHH about tma finale

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adenei · 3 years

Text

Auror 99 - Chapter 5

In case you missed any of the previous chapters, you can find the whole story (thus far) here

Thanks for reading!

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

The Duel

Several days had passed with no new leads. Amy and Hermione continued poring over the case files with Jake and Ron, while Boyle and Harry staked out the banks. No luck was had all around. They’d all take turns switching with Rosa, who was still mainly manning surveillance. Whoever Gerteso was, he was a master of disguise.

They were on a late shift about a week into the case, when Rosa caught something on the monitor. “Jake! Come see this,” Rosa said. Jake walked over with Ron not far behind him. “There’s some strange activity going on outside of this oddity shop - McLeod’s. The guy who just walked in seems to match the description of Gerteso. It’s in Manhattan, but might be worth checking out?”

“If we leave now, we can make it over there in 20 minutes. C’mon Nolan, let’s go!” Jake said as they ran out.

Hermione looked at Amy. “What are the chances he’ll stay in the store that long?”

Amy shook her head. “Slim to none.”

“I’ll be right back,” Hermione said. She had an idea, but it required magic, so she had to move alone. Harry gave her a look. “Just need to make a phone call,” she reassured him.

Hermione made her way to the bathroom and pulled out her cell phone she’d purchased a few days ago. The one muggle item the Ministry failed to provide. She pulled up the address to McLeod’s on her phone, and just before she was about to apparate, the door opened. Harry walked in.

“Here, take this,” he handed her the invisibility cloak. “If my suspicions about what you’re doing are correct, you’ll need it.”

“Thanks, Harry. Hopefully I won’t be long.” She pulled the cloak over herself and apparated to the nearest alleyway. She moved quickly around to find a back entrance to the store. Luckily there was one, and the door was propped open. She slipped inside and made her way to the front of the store, careful to remain silent the entire time.

“...I know he comes here and you do business with him. Now, I suggest you tell me the next time he’s going to show up.” Yes, that was definitely Gerteso, his wand pointed at the shopkeeper.

“T-tonight. H-he always comes Fridays. At night after the shop’s closed. He meets me in the alleyway next door.”

“That’s what I thought. So here’s what you’re going to do. You’ll contact him, or whatever you do before your meetups, tell him tonight is on, but you’re not going to show up. If you even so much as hint that I’m the one meeting him, you’ll be dead faster than you can blink. Understood?” The shopkeeper nodded in a terrified manner. “Tell him 9:00. And he better be punctual. If it’s earlier or later than your normal meetup, tell him you’ve got something planned and he needs to make it work.”

Hermione watched Gerteso look around the store and then walk out. She turned around swiftly and snuck out the back. After apparating back into the bathroom of the precinct, she pulled out her phone again, and quickly sent Ron a text giving him the heads up that he’d be back at 9, so they should prepare for a stakeout until then. Looking around, Hermione made sure she was alone before pulling off the cloak.

When she walked out and back into the hall her phone rang. “Hey.”

“Hey, how’d you know?”

“That’s not important. Just trust me, okay? I’m going to tell everyone here that you guys are gonna hang out there for a while on the off chance he comes back, which he will. There’s no suspicion?”

“I don’t think so. I’m glad we finally have a lead. I’ll figure something out. I’ll probably just meet you back at the flat, depending on how late we are.”

“Sounds good,” Hermione said. “Stay safe.”

“You too,” she heard Ron say before she clicked off the phone. That was their way of saying ‘I love you’ right now. Hermione took a deep breath before heading back to the rest of the group.

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

Ron and Jake were in the same undercover squad car, parked on a side street, just outside of McLeod’s Bargain Store and Curiosity Shop. Ron had told Jake that when Rosa doubled back on the security footage, she noticed that the security cameras had caught Gerteso lurking around this time every night, so they’d decided to wait and see who or what he was waiting for. They still had a while before he’d make his nightly appearance.

Jake was looking at the picture they’d brought of him again. “He’s a weird looking dude, isn’t he?”

Ron looked at the paper. To be honest, he hadn’t thought much of it. In the magical world, they came across all different sorts of creatures and beings so it hadn’t phased him before. But now, looking closely at the picture, Jake was right. His facial features were strong and jagged, accentuated by a thick beard that was trimmed neatly, and a long mane of dark, dark brown hair. His eyes were a golden brown, which added to his mysterious demeanor. His face was rather pale, which didn’t exactly fit the rest of his features.

Gerteso oddly reminded Ron of Rufus Scrimgeour, a name he hadn’t thought about since the war ended. He made a mental note to ask Harry and Hermione if Gerteso could possibly be a vampire. The chances were slim since Voldemort had exterminated the lot of them in the war, but they had so few details on the case, and they were already a week in, that Ron figured any little suspicion could help.

“Yeah, he is,” Ron finally answered Jake.

“What’s going on with you? You’re quieter than normal tonight,” Jake commented.

“Just thinking, that’s all,” Ron said quickly. He wished he could talk about the details with Jake, he really did. The whole statute of secrecy thing was really starting to piss him off. They had four strong detectives, two aurors, and Hermione’s brilliance on the case, but because they couldn’t disclose who they truly were, movement was slow going.

“You miss her, don’t you?” Jake asked.

“Who?”

“Hadley? Your wife?” Jake clarified.

“Oh, yeah, I do. The whole no-contact thing is really the hardest,” Ron lied. He and Jake had talked a bit about his personal life before, and Ron had made up a different name for Hermione because it was so unique that he didn’t want to raise any suspicion. Not that they were even known about in the muggle world. But better to be safe than sorry.

“I guess that’s the one good thing about single life. No one would miss me if something happened. Y’know? I don’t have to worry about my reckless lifestyle affecting anyone else but me. I’m the lone ranger in this sad, crazy world!” Jake tried to play it off as cool, but Ron thought there was something more to it than that. Before he could ask, he noticed someone appear across the street.

“Jake, look!” Ron said, pointing to the figure.

“Do you think that’s him?” Jake asked.

“Yeah, I reckon so. He’s headed for that alley. We should follow so we don’t lose sight of him.” Ron said. They opened their doors and shut them quietly.

Jake and Ron quickly crossed the street and stopped just before the alleyway. Jake looked around the corner and noticed that Gerteso was there with another figure.

“There’s a dumpster further down that we can hide behind. He’s down there with another person, Jake whispered. They moved down the alley and stopped for cover behind the dumpster.

They watched as something was exchanged between them and Ron was studying the other person. He stealthily grabbed his wand and cast a silent identity charm so he could take back the visual of the person to see if they could figure out who he was.

Suddenly the other person vanished and Jake grabbed Ron’s arm. “What the hell was that?! Where’d he go!?” They saw Gerteso turn and begin walking back towards them, and before Ron could stop Jake from engaging him, Jake jumped out from behind the dumpster with his gun held out. “NYPD! Freeze!”

“Fuck,” Ron said under his breath as he saw Gerteso raise his wand. He held his own at the ready as he joined Jake quickly in the alleyway. “Protego!” he shouted as he saw Gerteso wave his wand. Luckily he’d cast it in time to deflect a curse from hitting Jake.

“Uh, Nolan? What the fuck is happening right now? Is that a wand? What’s going on? I’m not freaking out. I’m not!” Jake was normally fine under pressure, but this, this was unreal. He had to be dreaming.

“Impedimenta!” Ron shouted. It just missed him as another spell was shot his way. Ron blocked that one again as he yelled “stupefy!” Whoever Gerteso was, he seemed to be moving really quickly, able to dodge everything Ron was throwing at him. He wasn’t using any defensive charms and kept sending jinx after jinx their way.

“Jake, get back behind the dumpster!” Ron said to him as he continued fighting Gerteso. As he shot an incarcerous at him, Ron saw a flash of light shoot out from Gerteso’s wand, but it wasn’t aimed at Ron. Before Ron had time to react, it hit Jake in the leg.

Jake yelled out in pain as Ron turned to see his leg on fire. “Aguamenti!” Ron said, quickly extinguishing the flame. “Shit, Jake!” Ron’s distraction was all Gerteso needed as Ron heard a faint pop and he was gone.

“W-where’d he go? He was just right there. What just happened?”

“Don’t worry about that right now, let me see your leg.” Ron examined it and realized Gerteso had shot out some sort of cursed fire. He’d never seen it before but it looked like it was a lower level of fiendfyre that was obviously much more controlled. Ron placed a freezing and numbing charm on Jake’s leg. “We’ve got to get you back to our flat,” Ron said. “Charlotte will know what to do.”

“What about a hospital?” Jake asked.

“We can’t take you to a hospital for this. It should be treatable at home. Don’t worry, I’ve already stopped the pain for now. Look, Jake I really can’t explain what this was about, and I’m really sorry that I have to do this…” Ron held up his wand and cast ‘obliviate.’ He watched Jake’s eyes go fuzzy and then refocus again.

“What happened? Did he get away? He was just right there!”

“Yeah, mate, he struck a match and caught your leg on fire, and took off. I was able to put it out, but we’ve gotta get you back to heal it. Do you think you can drive? You don’t want me driving, that’s for sure. Opposite side of the road and all...”

“Uh, yeah, I think so. Why doesn’t it hurt?”

“Er, I had some of this special numbing cream to put on it. British specialty.” Ron really hated lying to Jake. “It should hold until we get back to my place. Hold on while I call Amy and Charlotte.” Ron was thinking quickly. There were totally gaps in his story, but he had to roll with it. And Jake was still sort of loopy enough from the obliviation that he was buying it.

Ron dialed Amy since it was the first contact in his phone. He still wasn’t sure how to work the damn thing properly.

“Hey Nolan, what’s up?” he heard Amy answer.

“Uh, Amy, we had an incident. Can you meet us at our flat?”

“Is everything okay? Nolan, what happened?” Amy said worriedly.

“I can’t tell you right now. Just meet us back at the flat.” Ron hung up the phone. He helped Jake get up and got him back to the car. Thankfully it was his left leg that was injured, so he was still able to drive.

“What did Amy say?” Jake tried to ask casually.

“She asked what happened. Sounded pretty worried,” Ron responded. “They’re going to meet us at the flat.”

“Oh, good. Yeah, that’s cool,” Jake played it off.

“You like her, don’t you?” Ron smirked at him.

“What? No, of course not! We’re work partners,” Jake defended.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t fancy her,” Ron said. “I’m gonna give you some advice. Just go for it, mate. I waited seven years, and somehow I was lucky enough to still get her. A girl like Amy reminds me of my own. They’re too good to wait around, so don’t wait forever.”

Jake looked at him. “You waited seven years to make a move?”

“Yeah, but thankfully she’d always felt the same way. The way you and Amy banter back and forth, reminds me of me and her way back.”

Jake spluttered a bit and made some noncommittal sounds. It seemed like it took ages to get back to their flat, but when they arrived, they saw Amy, Boyle, Harry and Hermione waiting for them. Charles and Harry helped Ron get Jake out of the car and up to their apartment. They laid Jake down on the couch and Hermione gave Ron a serious look.

“Jake. Jake! It’s gonna be okay, buddy. You’re gonna live. You have to live! The world’s not ready for you to leave it,” Boyle was lamenting overdramatically.

“What happened?” Amy asked, cutting him off. “Did you catch Gerteso?”

“Well, Gerteso met up with someone else,” Ron said, “They finished whatever exchange was made and he went to leave, but we tried to stop him. He put up a fight, and ended up striking a match and tossing it at Jake, hence the burn. He took off when I went to help Jake.”

“Nolan, why does the burn look so odd,” Amy said. “And how is it not hurting him?”

“I put numbing cream on it. I’ve got another British burn salve that should help. I just need to go grab it. Charlotte, could you check your bag for it? I can’t remember which bag it was in. Jason, could you search your stuff, too? We left so quickly last week I don’t remember who packed what.” Ron nodded towards Hermione who followed them into the room.

Hermione shut the door. “What happened?” she hissed.

“Yeah, mate,” Harry said. “He doesn’t look good.”

Ron was searching for the dittany. That should do enough to heal it without Jake needing additional medical assistance. Ron pulled out his wand and cast muffliato on the door. “Jake jumped out at him when the other guy disapparated. I had to step in and duel him. Hermione, he moves really fast. He wasn’t even using defensive spells. And I think he used some form of adapted fiendfyre that was much more controlled than what we’ve encountered. It’s definitely cursed fire that Jake got hit with. It’s going to heal, but the scar is going to be awful. The dittany will help.”

“Ron! You could have-”

“I’m fine, Hermione. This is what I do. I’m an Auror. Jake’s already been obliviated, too. Now, here, take this, and figure out who it is,” Ron used his wand to draw up the charm he’d cast earlier of the other suspect. “If we can figure out who this is, maybe we can figure out what Gerteso’s after. Boyle and Harry can stop stalking the bank and tail him when we figure it out.”

Hermione sighed, “Alright, but you know I can’t take care of it until they leave.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ron said. “Let’s get back out there, the sooner we get this dittany on him, the better. Can you distract them while I apply it? Then we’ll see if Charles or Amy can stay with him tonight.”

They went back out and Ron was able to place the dittany on Jake’s leg, thanks to Harry and Hermione pulling Amy and Charles aside. “You should be good, aside from a nasty scar, but at least we don’t need to go to the hospital. Charles, Amy, can one of you stay with him tonight?” Ron asked.

“Of course! Anything for Jake,” Charles said quickly. Ron noticed the slight disappointment look on Amy’s face when Charles beat her to it.

“Uh, Charles,” Hermione cut in, “maybe you could take this back to the precinct to get an ID on the second person? I’m sure Amy can take Jake home and stay with him. You could relieve her later?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Charles said, taking the paper that Hermione had no doubt materialized for him. “As long as Amy’s okay with that?”

“What? Oh, y-yeah, I guess I can for a few hours tonight. But I’ll need your help getting him there if he can’t walk.” Amy looked gratefully at Hermione, although a little surprised at her suggestion. “We’ll see you all at the precinct tomorrow? We should probably at least debrief for a couple hours. I’m sure Holt will be fine with the overtime.”

Harry nodded. “That should work. Let’s get some rest for now, though. We’ve all put in more than enough hours today.”

Everyone nodded in agreement as they helped Jake up and saw them out. They had so much to discuss, but they had to wait until they were sure the detectives were gone. This case just kept getting weirder and weirder.

#hp/b99 crossover #hp fanfic #hp trio #b99

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kindofcashton · 4 years

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𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕 • chapter 15 (Calum Hood AU)

HANNAH AND I must have toured a dozen apartments the next day. We started early in the morning and went all the way through lunch, looking at a bunch of cramped and overpriced places in the city. Even though I wasn’t entirely on board with the idea of moving out, I thought it couldn’t hurt to look. She’d found a bunch of places online and we started ticking them off our list, noting what we liked and didn’t like about each one. Hannah was way more into it than I was, carrying around a small notebook that she scribbled little details into to keep track of our findings.

As I walked through the next apartment, taking in the chipped painted brick and scuffed flooring, I felt what little enthusiasm I had waning even more. While Hannah made a good point that we were both in a place to move out, I still couldn’t pass up the luxury of living back at the house where I didn’t pay rent. Even with my job I’d only just managed to pay off the pipe damages at my old house, and my bank account was tight. I could make it work with some budgeting, but I hadn’t planned on doing that until I absolutely had to.

“Isn’t this natural light great?” Hannah commented, motioning to the big windows taking up the majority of one wall. They provided nice lighting, but I noted the ugly view of a back alley. Not to mention the city was never asleep, so even at night the room would be lit up from outside activity.

“And this couch is just adorable,” Hannah added, patting the cushion of an odd, modern-looking pea green sofa. I rolled my eyes.

“The furniture isn’t included here, Han. Shouldn’t that be written in your little notebook?” She frowned at my statement, and flipped through the pages of her book before sighing.

“Look, I know most of these places are kind of shitty, but at least we’d be living together. Think about it; two best friends living in the city and paving our way through the world. Things might be sucking right now, but we just gotta make lemonade out of lemons, right?”

I chuckled at her joke, and imagined that life in my head. Admittedly, it did seem nice. Living independently, working for a future, maybe even going to school again. The me from a few months ago would jump at this chance, but I was a different girl now. Things changed, one of the biggest being Calum. I didn’t know what our relationship was, but I knew we’d never have a chance to figure it out if I left. I wasn’t ready to sacrifice him, even if it meant facing some challenges.

When Hannah proposed we move on to the next apartment, I begged her to let us take a break since I was ravenous with hunger and it was well past lunchtime. She conceded, and we put our mission on hold to grab a bite to eat. Touring would take up the rest of the day, which was a good thing considering we didn’t want to go home until absolutely necessary. We never quite knew what we’d be walking into.

As we ate our salads at a little outdoor, I remembered something Hannah had said a few weeks ago. “Hey Han, remember when you told me all that stuff about soulmates?”

She lowered her fork and scowled. “Yeah, what a load of crap that turned out to be.”

I frowned. “It wasn’t crap. Didn’t you say that even if you and Ashton weren’t together, you were still meant to be?”

“I don’t know, I know I said that, but...” Her eyes filled with pain at the mention of her ex. “Soulmates don’t do this shit to each other, right?”

She had a good point, but I also knew that their problems had arisen from a place of love. Ashton was just hurt by her lying, which he could only feel if he really loved her. With the right apologies they could move past it, if what Hannah had said was true. Soulmates should be able to overcome anything.

“I didn’t really get it before, but now I believe it. You still should, too.” Her eyebrows raised at my words, intrigued.

“What, is Nick your soulmate or something?” Hannah joked, causing me to bite my cheek as I forced a smile. I was actually thinking of Calum, even though I definitely didn’t consider us soulmates. It just seemed like the universe wanted us together more than we did, and that had to be some sort of sign.

“No, not yet at least,” I bluffed. “I’ve just been thinking about it lately, what with everything going on. It’s comforting to have something to believe in when everything else is failing.”

She nodded, biting her thumb as she became lost in thought. Hannah had her own inner battles to wage, probably similar to the ones I had about Calum. I knew avoiding them was not the right way to handle our problems, but the thought of walking into yet another storm at home discouraged me.

We finished our tours well into the evening, finding each apartment pretty much identical to the last. I made an effort to point out the ones I preferred, just so Hannah saw I was trying a little bit. I made no promises to actually sign any dotted lines, but just saying I would think about it was enough to satisfy her.

We weren’t surprised to see Michael’s car gone when we got home, which meant Luke probably wasn’t here either. But Calum’s mustang was dutifully parked in the driveway, and I didn’t know if my heart skipped a beat out of excitement or dread.

Since it was so late Hannah said she was gonna go crash in the basement, and I agreed. I was tired down to my bones, but for so many different reasons. I was just about to head upstairs when I saw the faint glow of the kitchen light on, and I paused before moving any further. I knew talking to Calum alone was a dangerous game, and that it could end badly in a lot of ways. But there was a tugging in my chest that I simply couldn’t resist, and so I dropped my bag by the stairs and walked around to the kitchen.

He was seated at the table, half empty beer bottle in front of him. His black tee shirt and black jeans made him look like a shadow, barely there and on the verge of disappearing. He didn’t notice me at first, lost in whatever thought had a frown on his face. But then he looked over, brown eyes grabbing hold of me like a vice.

My smile was faint as I folded my arms and leaned against the wall, not daring to get any closer. I had no idea if this stoic expression of his was out of anger, sadness, or just boredom.

“Hey,” I greeted stiffly, deciding one of us may as well talk first. “I didn’t hear you come in last night.” After my talk with Hannah, I’d been worried that Calum was hurt when I didn’t go after him. I waited up anxiously for about an hour, but he hadn’t returned by the time I fell asleep.

He leaned back in his seat, hands toying with the beer bottle. “I didn’t hear you leave this morning,” he countered, relieving some of my tension. He didn’t sound angry, but he still hadn’t hinted at how he felt about yesterday.

“Yeah, Hannah and I left pretty early. She wanted to look at apartments, and I went with her.” I shifted from one foot to the other, anticipating his response. Calum took a swig of beer, still maintaining a steady frown.

“She wanted to look?” he asked, a slight emphasis on she.

“With everything going on, I guess she just wanted her options open,” I explained, knowing the underlying question he was trying to ask but ignoring it.

But Calum clearly wanted it answered. “What about your options?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, at a loss for words. I couldn’t even figure out myself what I wanted to do, let alone tell someone else. I fidgeted, trying to buy myself time to think. “I like living here,” I said after a while, causing him to look over again. Quickly I added, “because the rent is free, and I don’t have a lot of money yet.” I wanted to kick myself after saying this; why did I have to be so defensive? Why couldn’t I have just said I liked living here and left it at that, open-ended for Calum to interpret himself?

He stared down at the table, and I missed his warm brown eyes once he tore them away. “Right,” he murmured. “It’s economically convenient.”

I sighed, detecting his frustration. I hadn’t meant to come off as a cheapskate leaching off of the guys’ kindness, but apparently that’s how he saw it. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just...I want to pay rent, trust me I feel bad everyday for taking advantage, but…” The words escaped me, and something told me Calum didn’t really care about my explanation anyway. In an attempt to salvage this, I stated, “Look, if Hannah finds a place she likes I’ll probably go with her. That way, I’m out of your hair and actually living somewhere I deserve.”

I thought this would please Calum, but instead it only caused his brows to furrow and his frown to deepen. “That’s what you think I want?” he questioned, catching me off guard.

“Isn’t it?” His silent, incredulous stare just made me huff impatiently. “I can’t read your mind, Calum. I have no idea what you want, but I thought that was pretty close--”

“If you think I want you gone, then you’re wrong.”

I froze, suddenly feeling the distance between us shrink. Even though he was across the room, it was like he was right next to me, speaking right into my soul. Almost a minute passed by with neither of us saying anything, and I was so confused I knew I wouldn’t be the first to break the silence. Luckily, Calum seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say, because he stood up and walked over to the sink, placing the beer bottle in the sink and gripping the counter with his hands. He was facing away from me, and all I could see were the tense muscles in his back.

“Don’t go.”

Two words. Two small, barely distinguishable words I had to strain to hear. But those two words carried the weight of the world, our world, and it knocked all the breath out of me.

But naturally, my guard went up. I didn’t trust Calum, and I wouldn’t let his vague request get the better of me. “What happened to not giving a shit about me? I thought I was a liar who drives everybody insane. You said you hated me.” I knew referencing that particular fight was risky, considering what had transpired after it. Hatred had fueled our actions then, the passion an angry one that left me confused and guilty in the morning.

Calum turned around at last, and I saw the intensity in his eyes as he sighed. “You’re right. You are annoying and stubborn and make me absolutely crazy sometimes. But then, when I had stormed out yesterday because I was just so damn angry, I stopped myself. I was just sitting in my car, in some random parking lot, trying to get your stupid voice out of my head.”

My heart thumped so loudly in my chest I was sure it was shaking the whole room.

He shook his head, almost in a daze. “I knew exactly what you’d say. I knew you would tell me it would be okay, and that all I had to do was try. I could picture your face exactly. I even…” The way he licked his lips made my knees go weak. “You might just be the most infuriating person I’ve ever met, but I need you Scarlett. You make me a better person--you force me to be a better person, even when I don’t want to be. No one has ever given that much of a shit about me, or put in that much effort. Most people just...settle with what I’ve got. But you…”

Almost unconsciously my body brought me closer to him, meeting in the middle as the magnetism between us could no longer be fought. We were an inch away, and I was barely even breathing. When Calum lifted a hand to rest on the side of my face, a long-awaited exhale left my lungs.

“I need you, Scarlett,” he whispered. His admission hung in the air between us, the last barrier we needed to break before we could really come together. Feeling the touch of his fingers on my skin and the heat of his gaze on my face, I knew what needed to be done. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his.

Kissing Calum was a phenomenon I would never get used to. Each time, it was even deeper, even hotter. His lips were so familiar and yet so strange, eliciting new feelings inside of me with every movement. He tasted like beer and smelled like cologne, his scent intoxicating me. One swipe of his tongue across my bottom lip had me melting, and soon our tongues clashed with a new fervor born from the passion of his confession.

He needs me. Calum needs me. I repeated this phrase inside my head as we stumbled through the kitchen, my back hitting the wall and my hands finding his neck for stability. I could feel his desperation in every hot, rushed action he took, from biting my lip gently to skimming his hands down my sides. It was like he would die if he couldn’t feel me, touch me, kiss me.

Fully clothed and fully exposed in the kitchen, I worried for a second that Hannah would walk in on us, but I didn’t want to ruin this moment. Unfortunately, Calum was the first to pull away from the kiss. Our breathing was labored but matched, the synchronicity of our pulses electrifying the room. I scanned his face, frowning in confusion. “Why’d you stop?”

Smiling at my slight panic, he grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it up, revealing a few inches of my abdomen and stopping just below my bra. “Because there are things I want to do to you that can’t be done in this kitchen,” he murmured into my ear, and I rolled my eyes back as his warm breath tickled my skin.

We fumbled through the dark house, hands entangled together as he led me up the stairs. Exhilaration coursed through me like a drug, igniting every nerve ending on my body. I couldn’t wait to tear off my clothes and expose myself to Calum and his wicked tricks.

As he closed the door to his bedroom behind me, he watched me whip off my shirt and pretended to pout. “I wanted to do that,” he complained, his large hands grabbing my sides and lighting up the skin that his fingers pressed into. I smiled, giving him a light kiss before leaning back and quirking an eyebrow up.

“There are plenty of other things you can take off,” I replied in a low voice, making his eyes spark as he reattached our lips. He used his body to push mine back to the bed until I fell back, his large frame resting on me in a deliciously suffocating way. I didn’t know why but the weight of him on top of me felt so right, and I pressed my hands into his back to bring him even closer.

Calum felt my hands and ripped his shirt over his head, discarding it beside mine on the floor. His lips traveled down my jaw to my neck, sloppy and wet and riling me up inside. One hand supported his weight while the other rested on my hip, thumb moving to undo the front button of my jeans. In a flash my pants were off, and only my bra and panties covered me. I arched my back in order to undo my bra clasp, and the action pushed my breasts close to Calum’s face, and he let out a groan as his lips dipped to kiss my chest.

“God, Scarlett,” he growled when I was nearly exposed to him, my torso bare and my panties shortly following as I tossed them to the floor. The way Calum looked at me, like he was consuming me with his very eyes and touch, made me feel like I was on fire. His hands drifted over every inch of skin, sliding down my inner thighs and up my waist.

I wrapped my fingers into his curls just as I felt his hand cover my entrance, causing my hips to buck with pleasure. One simple stroke of his finger had me moaning, and my folds were slick with excitement. He worked my clit in circles that had my jaw dropping, and it was all I could do not to scream out his name.

“Oh my god,” I breathed, one of his fingers dipping into my core. “Just like that.” I could tell he was smirking by the way he kissed me, and this amusing arrogance of his only made my stomach tighten further. I couldn’t believe how much Calum affected me, how one simple touch had me hurtling towards the edge. I knew as soon as my toes began to curl and my hips lifted off the mattress I was done for, and his fingers pumped one more time before my orgasm rocketed through me.

Stars swam before my vision as I whined with pleasure, legs shaking and chest heaving with effort. I came down off my high to the feeling of him kissing my jaw, curls tickling my chin. With clumsy movements, I wrestled with his difficult belt buckle, huffing when it wouldn’t come undone. Calum chuckled lowly, capturing my pout with his lips. He kissed me gently as he expertly removed his belt and slid his pants down, boxers going along with them. When he leaned back to pull them off, I got a perfect view of his body. Toned muscles shone in the dim moonlight streaking through the window, and I could just make out how hard he was. His cock looked stiff and I tenderly reached out a hand to caress it, gingerly swiveling up and feeling the hot skin in my palm.

Calum let out a string of curse words at my motions, coming forward again so he was engulfing me with his body. When I rubbed my thumb at the base of his tip, he hissed and grabbed my wrist. “If you want this to last, you’re gonna have to stop doing that, babe,” he told me darkly, the word babe making my stomach somersault. I released his cock and brought my hand to his cheek, kissing him hard and communicating all of my desire in the way my lips connected to his.

The lust in his blown out pupils told me he wanted the exact same thing, and after a minute he reached one arm over to the nightstand. A familiar foil packet was ripped open, and I watched his deft fingers work the condom on until he was lined up at my entrance. His tip just dipped into my folds, and the agonizing tease had my breath erratic.

Our noses brushed as we both waited for the inevitable. My heart pounded in my ears and my senses were overwhelmed by the boy hovering above me, so close to giving me exactly what I wanted. His full pink lips were parted slightly, and I slid my palm along the line of his jaw. Calum read my eyes, surely seeing the craving in my expression. Dropping his forehead to my own, I felt his hips shift as he sank into me.

A cry quickly left my lips after he entered me. My slick folds encased his throbbing length, and he pressed all the way inside until I felt him reach the deepest part of me. The stretch was sensational, and he filled me with every inch of him. I almost didn’t want him to move, in love with the feeling of him fitting so closely. But then he pulled his hips back, almost all the way out, and reentered with a firm push that had me whining for more.

“Fuck,” he swore breathily, eyes closed as he rocked into me. “You’re so tight.” I gripped his bicep, lips lazily dragging across his jaw as his face rested right above mine. Calum’s breaths were shallow and hitched every time my walls clenched around him. I tugged at the ends of his air, causing an impassioned moan to escape his mouth.

This must have snapped something inside of him, because his pace began to increase. Each thrust went deeper, harder, faster. He filled me completely only to slide out and slam back into me. My knees bent and my legs wrapped around his hips, providing a new angle that had his name tumbling out of my lips.

“God, Calum, yes,” I cried, his face burying in my neck. My hands went from his hair to his back to his arms, desperately trying to hang on as my body lost control. We were so in sync, and with each push into me I felt myself falling further and further into ecstasy.

His moans had also picked up speed, growing louder when I bucked my hips into his. “You feel so good, baby,” he rasped, sucking on my neck and massaging my breast with his hand. He was everywhere, in me and on me and around me, and I wanted nothing more than to be swallowed up by his embrace.

Calum’s thrusts grew rougher and sloppier, each one coiling up the heat inside me tighter and tighter. I knew I was close when my legs began to shake, and my eyes couldn’t stay open. Colors exploded in a rainbow of pleasure as my second orgasm hit, erupting through my nerves like lava. I was moaning and clawing at his back, and when Calum groaned deeply I knew he was done for as well. We both rode our orgasms with mingled moans and slow kisses, and when I had recovered I felt the weight of him fully on top of me as he rested inside of me. I felt complete, entirely connected the one person I’d been yearning for for weeks. I never wanted him to pull away, to leave me and bring back the empty feeling.

We laid like this for a while, my fingers trailing across his back as he rested his cheek on my chest, breath finally steadying as he exhaled into my skin. When I unwrapped my legs from around him he finally rolled off of me, sliding out of my folds and quickly throwing out the condom into the bin next to the bed. I was sore in the best way possible, and my body felt blissfully satisfied.

Calum rolled back to face me, not hesitating before he pulled me into his chest. I rested against his hot, sweat-glistened skin, savoring the way I could feel his subtle heartbeat under my cheek. His fingers drifted up and down my arm, soothing the burning skin before pulling the covers over us and providing even more warmth. I was scorching hot, and closed my eyes as I imagined how nice it would be if we could melt into one another.

I felt Calum press his lips to the top of my head in a surprisingly intimate gesture, and my heart swooned before exhaustion took me out of reality and into a dreamless sleep.

- - - - -

For once, Calum was awake before me. I woke up to the feeling of his fingers in my hair, running through the soft strands as he gazed down at me. I pressed my nose into the skin of his chest, inhaling as much of him as I could. He smelled warm and sweet and I wondered briefly if I was in a dream.

“You frown in your sleep, you know,” he said softly, causing me to look up at him with a puzzled expression. His smile was faint but his eyes were kind, and I basked in their brown glow. “So serious, like you’re deep in thought even when you’re asleep.”

My lips stretched into a smile, and my hand rubbed his chest lazily. “You’re watching me sleep?”

He shrugged, brushing the hair out of my face and resting his hand on the side of my neck. “I love looking at you.” His simple but powerful statement made my smile grow, and if I wasn’t so tired I would’ve jumped for joy. Drowsily, I leaned up to kiss his lips, barely even touching him but bringing our naked bodies closer once more. I couldn’t help the gleeful grin on my face, and it only broadened when Calum went in for another kiss.

I was about to say something about the way he slept when a harsh and unwelcome ringing blared from my phone. Our little bubble abruptly burst as I scrambled to find the phone, not thinking before I hit the end call button. But I didn’t toss my phone aside before reading the name of the caller, and my blood ran cold. It was Nick.

Sitting on the side of the bed, half of my body covered by the blankets but the other half exposed, I knitted my brows as Calum’s fingers danced across my skin, unaware of who had just tried to talk to me. He must have seen the look on my face, because his fingers stalled their movements.

Frustration and panic and even a little bit of guilt started to crowd my thoughts, as I suddenly remembered I was sort of dating someone that wasn’t the naked boy next to me. I chewed my lip, wondering if it was best to just lie about who had called and not ruin the moment.

No, Scarlett. You can’t lie. I sighed, knowing that I had to fess up. Any more lying would surely destroy Calum and I, and that was the last thing I wanted right now. I brought my hand to his, twisting my fingers against his own in an attempt to connect us in even a small way.

“Who was it?” he asked, tone dry and apprehensive. I bit my lip, praying this didn’t make him angry.

“It was Nick, the guy I...am sort of seeing.” I held my breath as he took this information in. Already his expression grew distant, and I panicked as he pulled his hand out of mine.

“Sort of seeing?” he repeated. I looked away, unable to hold his gaze when his eyes were boring so deep inside of me. The truth was Nick hadn’t even crossed my mind once last night, and I didn’t care. Calum had consumed me in every way, and I knew Nick would never be able to make me feel half as good.

But telling these things to Calum was risky. Too much and it might scare him away. Too little and he might get pissed at me. It was a fine line that I needed to navigate carefully, since our whole future depended on it.

“Sort of seeing as in...I don’t really want to be seeing him.” It was a simple clarification, and I just hoped Calum understood what it meant. Nick means nothing to me, I would give him up in a heartbeat for you. His calculated stare concerned me, and my mouth dried as I worried he didn’t understand.

He lowered his gaze, unable to meet mine as well. “So you’re saying, after last night, you don’t want to be with him.” I clenched my jaw at his infuriatingly vague assertion. If I said yes, he might think I looked too much into the night and thought we were more serious than we were. If I said no, he might think I didn’t care.

I couldn’t bear the space between us, and slid my body right next to his so my head rested on his shoulder. Physical communication seemed a better option than verbal, since I knew I would screw it up. I sighed and closed my eyes, rubbing my cheek against his arm. “I don’t know what it means, exactly. What I do know is...I just want to be here with you. For as long as we can.”

His silence terrified me, and I was about to give up entirely when he twisted his body to face mine, our chests touching gently. I watched his brown eyes closely, trying to decipher the thoughts behind them. Calum paused for a second, and then broke into a crooked smile.

“Well then you better end it with the poor bloke before he gets his hopes up.”

Pure elation washed over me, and my wide grin returned as I launched myself forward to kiss him. He reacted immediately, arms encircling me in a comforting embrace. It wasn’t a definite declaration of any sort of relationship, but it was enough. It was enough to know that Calum wanted to be here with me as much as I did, and the relief I felt was immeasurable.

I didn’t know what would happen after this, but frankly I didn’t care. I only cared about the taste of Calum’s lips and the touch of his hands, passion igniting between us as I kissed him hard. Under the warm blankets, with our bodies glued together and our lips connecting us, we were in paradise, at least for a fleeting instant.

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disconnected-from-reality · 4 years

Text

Fanfic Rec: 00Q Part 3

It’s been more than a year! I have totally been procrastinating in doing this if I’m truly honest. A lot of things happened in my life as well! There are good and bad things, but what matters most is that I still have a number of fics to recommend for you! I haven’t stopped reading, don’t worry.

Also I think it’s a good time to post my list. The next Bond movie has released its trailer and the 00Q crumbs we got from the trailer got a lot of shippers back on board. If you’re that person, you might want to check these fanfics out!

To see the other parts, click here for part 1 and for part 2.

Let Love In by dhampir72 [Words: 21,437 | Teens and Up Audiences] They're still learning that love is more of a journey and less of a destination. [A series of interconnected vignettes].

Ulysses by girlbookwrm [Words: 89,065 | Teens and Up Audiences] “Paperwork for the new head of Q-Branch,” Tanner said. “Of course.” The words were like glass in his throat. Smoke inhalation was a bitch. His brain felt slow and foggy, like it was full of smoke too. “Who shall I take them to?” M lifted one white brow. “They’re for you, Quartermaster.” Bond and Q are drawn together by names, work, and a certain Aston Martin. In which Q is kidnapped once, Bond is poisoned twice, and Eve is a badass on at least three occasions. AKA that time I tripped and wrote 80,000 words of 00Q. All titles unapologetically stolen from Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

Espionage is a Family Affair by nagapdragon [Words: 78.403 | Mature] It's common knowledge that angels make good weapons and terrible soldiers. They're hard to kill, hard to catch, and leave a swathe of destruction wherever they go. That's why MI6 likes them. James Bond, Agent 007, is one of the most devastating weapons MI6 will admit to having. Explosions follow his every whim and he's nearly impossible to kill, despite the best efforts of terrorists worldwide. He's second only to the weapons MI6 pretends don't exist- archangels are only a theory, after all. Aren't they?

Bond to You by therunawaypen [Words: 5,749 | Mature] Bond isn't a name. It's a rare breed of people that have designated soulmates, to whom a Bond will be eternally faithful to. Every child dreams of being a Bond's Chosen soulmate. James uses his status as a Bond to seduce many a mark into thinking they're his Chosen, while deep down he resents his identity because he has been unable to find his Chosen. Then he meets Q that fateful day in front of that painting.

How Q Hacked Online Dating by JayPendragon [Words: 23,836 | Explicit] “How does that lead to…?” Eve waves her hand at the mess behind Q’s back. Q feels his expression morph into a sly grin. “I have a new plan. I’m going to stay on these dating platforms, but I’m going to treat them as databases. Rather than waiting for an algorithm to set me up, I'm going to try reverse-engineering this entire system.” In which Q works in the private sector, still winds up friends with Eve, and applies science to his love life. Obviously, Eve gets involved.

Leading Edge by Batsutousai [Words: 7,251 | Teens and Up Audiences] All fae-born were raised on stories of how cruel dragon-borns were, how they had no care for anyone outside themselves and their greed, that they would sell their own mother's soul to the devil before allowing themselves to be hurt. They were told that all dragon-borns were to be killed on sight, and taught spells that would do just that, if ever given the chance. It would be just Q's luck that one of his agents was dragon-born.

Pen and Paper by Salios [Words: 5,300 | Teens and Up Audiences] Q wrung his hands anxiously, teeth gnawing at his lower lip. It was a bad habit, biting his lip, but he couldn’t help it when he was nervous. And he really did have reason to be nervous. Well, excited to the point of nearly crippling nervousness, actually. Today he’d finally get to meet his boyfriend of three years. For the first time ever.

people can surprise you (or not) by pdameron [Words: 10,538 | Teens and Up Audiences] “I’m not you, Bond. I don’t exactly have a technique for getting rich strangers to like me.” “Just do your naive cute puppy thing, and they’ll be doting on you in no time,” Bond replies as he pulls up to the grand estate. “My what?” Q asks incredulously. Bond doesn’t answer, simply giving him an indulgent smile. The fucker. (or: 00q meets Gosford Park. Except not really.)

A Common Solution by SailorChibi [Words: 17,654 | Teens and Up Audiences] Bond has been ignoring his biological needs. Boothroyd is retiring and MI6 is in need of a new Quartermaster. What do these two things have in common? They both have an easy solution... if only M can get Bond to extract a certain hacker NOTE: This does not have the “James Bond/Q” tag, but I’ll add it in my list anyway.

Taken by Nana_41175 [Words: WIP | Explicit] Or, the cheating fic that *nearly* is! Q is engaged to be married, but not to Bond. Excerpt: Bond blinked. “Boyfriend? What do you mean, boyfriend?” “I mean exactly that,” said Moneypenny. “Honestly, what’s the matter with you? Q’s been seeing someone for over a year. And if I’m not mistaken, Daniel is going to pop the question on him this evening. Dan asked me for advice on the ring, after all.” NOTE: This is currently a WIP fanfic, but it’s almost done with 2 chapters left to be posted. Would be a bummer if I don’t add it, right?

His Keeper by Nana_41175 [Words: 45,482 | Explicit] Protecting the Quartermaster entails a special set of circumstances, and Q is the last one to know. Excerpt: “Your identity has been compromised,” M said as he leaned forward in his chair, his features grim even as his tone remained even and calm. “I am standing you down from all your duties in Q branch. Kindly hand in all personal computers and devices. I am placing you on administrative leave, effective immediately. You need to disappear for a while, Q, for your own safety. Think of this as the holiday you never had these past two years. We will get down to the bottom of this and repair the damage done; otherwise I shall have to ask you to step down. ”Q gaped at him, finally speechless. “At any rate, quartermasters are entitled to double-O agents as bodyguards, when the need arises, and he personally volunteered,” M continued as though he’d not just dropped the equivalent of a bomb and a death sentence through slow torture rolled into one, “and I do agree that under the circumstances, 007 would be the best choice as your bodyguard.”

Daddy and Uncle James by 1MissMolly [Words: 26,115 | Teens and Up Audiences] James Bond can remain cool and collected in the most trying of circumstances. He is an expert at hand to hand combat and marksman with numerous weapons. He can seduce any woman or man he chooses. He has the highest success rate at achieving his goals, and he has his sights on the young Quartermaster. The only thing standing in his way is the only thing that will surely defeat him. A six year old girl named Elizabeth Park. Bond's planned seduction of Q is interrupted by the arrival of Q's daughter, Lizzie.

Treason, Traitors, and Treachery by Kryptaria, zooeyscigar [Words: 63,230 | Mature] All James Bond wanted was a quiet holiday on his luxury motoryacht on the Costa del Sol. Time to recuperate and think about his future with MI6. But his plans get hijacked when a traitor to the crown returns, bringing news of an even greater threat to MI6. And the traitor isn't working alone.Thankfully, neither is James.

Playing the Part by ElektricAngel [Words: 23,116 | Teens and Up Audiences] James Bond comes into Q Branch after a mission with all of his equipment accounted for and in tact, and a complete mission report in Q's inbox. Q is pleasantly surprised and more than a little suspicious. Rightly so, as it happens, because Bond makes an unusual request of him. And yet, his license to kill is not the only thing that makes the man difficult to say no to...

Breathe With Me by Flantastic [Words: 7,575 | Explicit] When James Bond goes back to MI6 following his disastrous relationship with Dr Madeleine Swann, Q wants nothing to do with him. Then there's an accident in Q-Branch...

Bittersweet by dr_girlfriend [Words: 14,229 | Explicit] The first time Bond flirted with Q, it was purely out of self-defense. The second time Bond flirted with Q was largely manipulation. The third time Bond flirted with Q, he just wanted to feel something. The fourth time Bond flirted with Q was out of sheer boredom.Somehow, flirting with Q became something of a habit for Bond.And then, it became something else.

A Bond of Matrimony by enigma_kar [Words: 12,691 | Mature] The one where Bond’s next mission involves going undercover with Q. Includes: banter, fake marriage, espionage, car chases, life-or-death situations, and Moneypenny taking far too much delight in the whole affair.

as permanent as stone cathedrals by pdameron [Words: 6,002 | Teens and Up Audiences] Q has been in love for two years, six months, and twelve days when James Bond walks away, leaving him with a bleeding head and a broken heart on a dark and noisy London bridge.

just like old times (please don’t ever change) by Rosslyn [Words: 5,173 | Teens and Up Audiences] Sometimes when Q is alone in his workshop and there is an experiment that needs to be supervised and he can’t go home and he can’t sleep, he watches Bond’s vitals.

How Much Love Can the Weight of Water Carry? by 00QEros (Dassandre) [Words: 39,549 | Explicit] Though Bond returned to MI6 after his ill advised jaunt around the globe with Madeleine Swann, Q still struggles with his own feelings for the agent in spite of the fact that Bond is clearly not the same man as the one who walked away from their friendship on Westminster Bridge. James regrets having left London and MI6, but it is nothing in comparison to the remorse he feels for abandoning Q. However, James has made repairing their friendship his primary goal in the hope of gaining something he never realised he needed as badly as he does. But Bond really hasn’t had a good time of it lately. Breaking his leg in a freak accident, James camps out at Q’s flat when the white-washed, soulless walls of Medical become too much for him to tolerate. Unfortunately, his leg is only the beginning of Bond’s health problems, and Q is conscripted into being James’ caretaker. Confined to the close quarters of Q’s flat, the Quartermaster finds himself opening back up to the agent, but will the two men find their way to one another as they should have done years ago, or is time no longer on their side?

So I guess that’s it for now! I still have a couple in my belt, but most of them are still WIP so I’d keep them for now. I’ll be adding them once they are finished.

#00Q #James Bond #Q(James Bond)#fanfic rec #fic rec

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