#jo is short for josephine so that's what i used but for the sake of everything looking cohesive i said jo hehe

[britishsass]

Fred Bonaparte's Family

Part 2 of my writing for @perish-lolz's worldbuilding challenge. This one has 0 basis outside of "Because I said so" but I still feel like it's important enough to talk about. I've already spoken on them before, so if you've seen that post, feel free to skip this one-- It's mostly just a repost for the sake of being clearer and including a quick picture of them.

Fred strikes me as a middle child, meaning that the Bonaparte family has to have at least 3 kids. Personally, I thought that 3 would be the best number for the kids, and since he's clearly pushed very hard, he has to be either the oldest boy or the only boy.

So let's talk about the family, and hand over a quick sketch of how they'd look in my opinion.

~

Father - Lucien Charles Bonaparte

To say that Lucien is strict is an understatement. He carries himself with the same pride as anyone would expect of a father from the Noble House of Bonaparte.

He's shorter than Fred, but doesn't see that as a problem. He's still the clear patriarch of the household. He reminds me of what little I know of Hargreeves (Umbrella Academy), or Gabriel Agreste (Miraculous Ladybug). He's the type to care far too much about "heirs" and bloodlines, and he isn't someone who cares for those he views as below their status. Lucien is the sort of fellow who would be great in management-- Not for the employees below him, but for those above him. He's willing to do anything for status, which is why he pushes his family so hard, trying to get the family to be perfect to the outside.

At the time when Fred is at Thorney Towers, he works as a rather high-up person in an office, probably vice president or the like. He's rarely around his kids, but when he is, he demands perfection from them-- Especially his only son.

Mother - Charlotte Marie Bonaparte

Charlotte is rarely actually present in her kids' lives, preferring to deal with her issues through mixing in with other elites. She's frequently at parties to network, dress up, and catch up on rumors. She's the first to hear if there's something going amiss with their family, and though she does want to make sure the others are living up to her husband's standards, she's more of the Mother Gothel (Tangled) type, where she slips in biting comments that her children don't recognize as backhanded until much later. Another character I could reference for her is Daisy (the Great Gatsby) as she's always ignoring the rumors about her husband and never really cared to tend to her children.

There's been a rumor that she cheated on her husband, but she never actually shows any reaction to such a suggestion. She's uptight, very calculated, but very good at acting.

Older Sister - Josephine Louise Bonaparte

Jo, as she's commonly called, is the closest thing to a mother in the house, since she tends to actually care for her little sister and brother. She still attends the parties her mother used to drag her to, now carrying herself the very same way her mother did, but when she was young, she was a piano player and an artist in her free time. She loved to paint the gardens outside of their house, and would frequently be up early to catch the sunrise.

Jo was a nice person, though she took after her father in appearance. She shares Fred's red eyes, but has cool-toned skin, and shares the dark blue hair that her father has. As such, she does appear rather severe at first glance, and she has a very stern look.

Her reaction to the trauma they faced is commonly referred to as the "Fawn" response. At any sign of conflict, she will immediately attempt to please those in charge, avoiding getting in trouble at all costs. As a person, she could be compared to characters such as Mikan (Danganronpa 2) as someone who will accept any treatment, no matter how horrible, just because she is unable to stand up for herself.

Middle Child - Frederick Bonaparte

Fred's the one I can go on for hours about, heh. I'll keep this part mostly short for that reason alone.

Fred, when he was young, tried to be a good little sister. Eventually, as he grew up, he realized that didn't fit him, and he kept trying to find out who he was until he figured out he was trans. Throughout his life, he kept trying to just figure it all out. Nothing really fit. He tried to be the sporting type his dad wanted, but discovered he wasn't really good at much of it (Though he did like fencing.) He tried board games instead, though it wasn't what was wanted of him, and found he had a talent for them. As well, he enjoyed playing trumpet in the school band, though he quit before graduation due to other priorities.

Fred bounced from interest to interest, trying to figure out how to live up to the expectations placed on him, but from the moment he came out as trans, he could tell that the pressure just got worse. He made sure to go to college (For calligraphy with a psych minor) at a place far from home to avoid his family, trying to run away. That's when he got a job at Thorney Towers, and we know the rest.

Fred has a severe case of middle child syndrome. In other words, he feels overshadowed by both of his siblings, and he's a people-pleaser in the hopes that maybe he'll get noticed.

Younger Daughter - Elisa Julie Bonaparte

Elisa is the youngest of the family, and it shows. She acted out much more, and got away with more because people were busy handling Fred and Jo. She can be very opinionated, but she tries to listen to people.

Elisa is the type you'd expect to be a journalist. Curious, always getting into places she shouldn't be, always borrowing things to investigate them closer. Though she's not what their parents wanted, she's happy to take the gifts they gave her and sell them to get what she wants instead.

Elisa has mostly pushed down her trauma and the memory of Fred with alcohol, trying to act like there's nothing amiss in the Bonaparte family, though she refuses to talk much about Shaky Claim or anything about her family. If she had a choice, she'd change her last name, but she hasn't yet found one that she wants to use. She's a little bit jealous of her siblings, but she does love them, and she's most likely to be able to get back in contact with Fred, though she would panic and likely drink too much beforehand.

~

Anyways. That's just my idea of what the family was like. They're all pretty messed up overall-- They didn't communicate, Fred's parents only really accepted that he was trans because his father wanted an "heir", and there was a whole bunch of neglect and emotional trauma thrown into the mix. The best way to describe them is a masquerade.

#queue #the owl posts #the owl writes #fred bonaparte #sorry to repost but it's easier to do that for this project /gen #psychonauts worldbuilding challenge #bonaparte family trauma tm #fred bonaparte's family #the owl draws

[nosferatyou]

If I Can Be So Bold: Chapter 2 (Jack White x OC)

Summary: The Girls first detroit show continues on with their headliner, the white stripes. And Lee gets to know our handsome stranger.

WC: 2.1k

Warnings: Nicotine use and mentions of alcohol.

Notes: I know this is shorter but that felt like the best place to stop the chapter. Keep you on your toes you know. More notes at the end.

Chapter Three

If you’ve ever been to a house show or a show in a small venue, you know its standing room only, which means limited views of the artists. Which means most people are pushing to the front to get as close as possible. And it is our first Detroit show we had to get as close as possible. 

Sure, I might have pushed a little too hard and made a small enemy, but it is always worth it for music. 

You will feel it in your chest, and you’re probably going to have the most fun upfront. The only exception is the mosh pit, but the chances are good that you’ll be thrown in by accident at one point or another. 

The girls and I had fully pushed and fought our way to the front; the only thing separating us from it was a group of assholes who didn’t understand what the sharp elbow jab meant.

The moment our newfound friends entered the stage, people lost their shit, and understandably so. They were Detroit’s little secret, so to say. Everybody loved them and thought they were the only ones to love them. Still, all the cheering was enough for us to get kicked for a noise complaint.

They both were wearing red and white, which I'd noticed earlier but had thought nothing about. It now seems to be their “thing.”

 I first saw meg, all smiles and adorning a kick-ass pair of coca-cola pants. Now Jack, what appeared to be a simple white shirt and bright red pair pants, was so striking. Maybe it was the bright lights, or perhaps he was just strikingly handsome, and I was using the clothes as an excuse. Either way, his face read that he was ready to do anything. Very sharp, very focused, and all the while looked prepared for anything. 

Harriet elbowed me and quietly said, “Quite the blues band they are.”

“Oh, hush up Harry, let them have their fun.”

Then played his guitar, no introduction words, no hello. He’s straight to the point.

While their whole look was one of grandeur, which was impressive for such a small band, what truly caught me off guard was their cover of “Moonage daydream” by none other than David Bowie. 

An already hard enough to cover song by any professional band. They somehow did it, and well too. They were keeping that Detroit garage sound and Bowie’s twang still in it. 

Said assholes from before had a tape recorder in their hand, already recording their set. 

Ezra spoke up.

“Sounds like a weirdo.”

“Not everyone is gifted with vocal chords as good as mine, Z.” Harriet said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“You guys need to learn show etiquette, lordy.”

They all eventually shut up, though, and started to get into it, Including me.

Throughout the energetic set, we started to realize how close our music was. Full of blues and heavy sound. The way they played with each other was just like how we did. They even had an overexcited frontman who ran the show. 

Two things were for sure. He was incredibly talented, as much as he was attractive. Maybe Harriet was right with the whole rebound thing.

By the second song, we all were dancing with the music. Jumping along to the sparse chords of “Screwdriver,” every time he played the three magic chords, we all hopped in unison. 

By “Let’s shake hands,” we all had been dragged into the mosh. All laughing our asses off and picking up any fallen comrades in the process. Harriet got a pretty gnarly bruise from that one. 

Long story short is that we all were having way too much fun.

There was this slow song, though, gave the two of them more room to look around and see the crowd. They both were both so invested in their playing that they’d hardly looked past the stage. 

Everyone in the crowd was just as enamored with watching them. 

I caught a particular man’s eye. Just as he had mine earlier. Every time he'd sing he'd look up at me. Eyes filled with something completely different. They weren’t pissed off. They weren’t dark and brooding. He was just watching me, and he seemed so invested in it too. Maybe it was narcissism, but they almost seemed lustful? As dumb and cliche as it sounds, I saw it. The way he looked at me was with genuine interest. I, of course, returned it. 

While I also had his gaze, I felt two more eyes on me. Which was, of course, was Harriet, noticing what was happening. Giving me the same dumb eyebrow wiggle as before. 

I returned my gaze to the stage. Sadly our exchange of glances had ended, hed turned his back to the crowd to grab another guitar that was just laying on the ground. On the back of his shirt was a crudely written setlist with song names like “Bob Coffee” and “Sugar good.” Which I can only assume (And hope) are abbreviations.

For the last song of the set, they played an incredibly upbeat slide song. Which I much appreciated, no one used a slide anymore. 

He gave an incredible performance and an even better solo(s) with the small piece of brass on his finger. 

Once they finished, they quickly made their way off the stage, and we did the same, bouncing through the sea of people to grab another beer from our shared van. 

“All I’m saying, Z. Is that if Timbuktu were real. Why have I never met anyone who's been?” said Harriet nursing her billionth beer.

“I swear to god you’re losing brain cells, Harry. Go check a fucking map.” Argued back Jo

“Josephine. That does not convince me of anything. It’s in all the stories! Take me to god damn Timbuktu, and i'll believe you.”

Jo groaned and threw her head into her hands. “Okay, firstly, my name isn’t even Josephine, it's Jolene, You know this. Secondly, you’re a lost cause.”

I grabbed my cigs, done listening to their dumb argument, And made my way to the back alley behind the venue. 

As I came upon it, I saw tonight's man of the hour. Leaning against the broken wall of the venue, cigarette already in hand. 

I had half a mind to turn around out of spite for Harriet’s sake, but was too far gone,

“Well, hey there, stranger.” I said jokingly, breaking the silence of the night.

He looked up, not startled by the noise. He didn’t seem bothered by the company either. 

“Well, hey yourself.”

I took a spot next to him and grabbed a cig out of the pack, tapping the top of the box on my hand before. Almost instinctively, he was ready with his lighter. Id leaned in and breathed it in, 

locking eyes with him in such close contact. Both of us Making the same eyes as before. 

“Quite the show you played tonight.” I said after taking a long drag from my cig, he repeated the 

action.

“Likewise,” he took another drag. “I'd have half a mind to think  you’re copying us.” He said with a wink.

“Likewise.” I mimicked, wink included. 

We both couldn’t seem to look at each other, eyes locked on the dark horizon. You know, that awkward stage of knowing somebody, but prolonged eye contact was just a no go.

“I haven’t seen you around here, and you have a face I wouldn’t forget. You passing through?” He asked

I gave a small laugh, “No, actually just moved here. Just me and the girls now. Taking over the southwest side.”

“No shit, huh? It seems we share a postal code.” He looked over to me with a small smile on his face.

“No shit. What street?” I asked, my excitement way too present.

“Ferdinand. Small shitty house, porch painted white and red. You can’t miss it.” He finished his cig, quickly grabbing another.

“Oh, I remember that! It was the first thing we noticed when we got here. But you’re a block over neighbor.” I bumped his arm, returning his small smile.

We went silent for a moment, just looking over the Detroit skyline, still in the stages of not knowing how to start conversations.

“So tell me, stranger. I want to get to the bottom of this mystery of our shared music. Who are your influences?” I asked, taking another drag and entirely putting my attention on him.

He laughed and put out his cig, stomping it into the ground. 

“Well, it’s the blues. You know Son House and muddy waters. That and Iggy Pop.” 

“Well, there’s the correlation. The same goes for me. Though I am more privy towards Taj Mahal and Howlin wolf Myself.” I stomped out my cig as well.

“You’re dad listen to them all the time?” He asked

“Oh, all the time.” I moved a little closer, not enough that he’d notice, but enough. “But country rules my house. It's law in Tennessee, you know.” I said, a small smirk falling on my face. 

“More the reason to go then.” 

 I very dramatically rolled my eyes. “Eh, more the reason to leave you mean.” 

He fake scoffed, covering his heart with his hand. “Are you telling me you don’t like country? Judging by your dad’s taste, it’s probably the good country you don’t like too.” 

“Overplayed and over appreciated is what I always say.”

He moved closer, just as I did, and his goofy smirk grew. “You’re telling me you don’t like johnny cash?” He asked.

“Not a bit.” I crossed my arms matter of factly. 

While we were in an “Argument,” I couldn’t stop thinking about Harriet’s words. Rebound. Plus his whole damn family wasn’t here to watch me shamelessly flirt.

“But I’m open to a certain handsome stranger changing my mind.”

He was unphased. In fact, it only made his smile grow.

“Well, I’ll just have to do that, Rosie.��� 

“Hm. Rosie. I like that.” I said, moving even closer to him. Were less than a foot away from each other’s face, and Though I exchanged so little words with this man, I was ready to kiss the hell out of him. 

“Though I’m only going to let you call me that because you’re acting so nice. You know, lighting my cigs and all. Very gentleman like of you.” 

“I aim to please, Rosie.” He said simply. He drifted even closer.

I could feel his hot breath on my face. My heart was beating out of my chest. I couldn’t stop my actions if I tried.

I pushed forwards and met my lips with his. My already booming heart felt like it was about to explode. Why Was I so nervous? Guess I half expected him to pull away.

He didn’t, though, in fact, his hand came up and cradled my face, and his other made its way to my hip. Pressing me against the brick. 

Our bodies pressed together heatedly against the wall, us breathing heavily as our lips pressed together, heat radiating off the both of us. I could taste our shared breath, prominently cigarettes; I could feel the thud of our combined heartbeat as we fumbled to put our hands wherever we could. Both us acting like it was the one thing keeping us alive. 

Everything about him was dizzying, the way his hands gripped me like his life depended on it, how passionately he was kissing me despite how soft lips were. It made my stomach dance; it made warmth consume me.

I so desperately held onto him, my hands finally settling around his neck, nustling into his long unruly hair. It scared me how much I felt that I needed that. How addictive he felt.

From the van and out of sight, I could hear the girls asking where I was. I slowly broke away from our kiss, not wanting to be found out by the others. Not yet. I wasn’t ready for their incessant grade school teasing. 

We stayed close, still in each other’s arms. I closed my eyes and let out a sigh. Not wanting to let go. Still hungry for his touch.

“I think I have to get the drunk children home.” I said with a sigh.

“It’s the responsible thing to do.” He said with a goofy smile.

I kissed him again, this time just being a small peck. It was still just as good. 

I moved out of his grasp and went to grab a cig. He was ready with the lighter.

“Well, Rosie, if you ever want to..” His face tinted pink. “Jam. We will say jam. You know where I live.”

“I might just have to take you up on that offer.” 

“Well, See you around, stranger.” I said with a wink.

“See ya around, Rosie.” He leaned against the wall and repeated my actions. 

Turning around, I made my exit, cooly of course, but my whole body was buzzing.

Quick End notes: 

Firstly, ooh that smooch. This series is not what you guys think this will be. This is only the beginning. And i mean it really is just the beginning, but chapter two.

Secondly, If you didnt catch it this is set in 1998. And unfortunately while in my planning, I didnt catch that he had the worst fucking haircut ive ever seen that year. So Im just gonna pretend he looks 2000 era jack white. (see below for a visual of what is and what should have been)

What is

What should have been

#jack white #jack white fic #if i can be so bold #the white stripes #jack white x oc #nosferatyou writes #series #meg white #ben blackwell #nashville #detroit #jack white x reader

[shitheadkk]

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Revolution

Chapter Two

The following morning came far too quickly for the likes of Jotaro and Josuke. The earliest flight out to Seattle came in at four, and the last time that Jotaro remembers looking at his phone was well after midnight. He is awoken by a terrible headache and a stiff neck.

The things I’m willing to do. He thinks as he takes his seat on the plane. At least the old man isn’t here. Maybe we’ll make it out alive.

“So, Jotaro.” Josuke begins, haphazardly fixing his pompadour. “Fill your old uncle

Good grief.

“We’re going to meet up with my old friend Polnareff. There’s some sort of scientist out there that is apparently been bringing the dead back to life. Polnareff is convinced that they may be able to bring back the old man.”

“What do you think?” Josuke asks, puzzled.

“Even if this guy is able to bring people back from the dead, the old man has been dead for years now. He’s worm food by now.”

“Then why are you even fucking with it?”

I’d really like to believe that it's true. My grandfather might have been an absolute pain in my ass, but he sure as hell knew how to keep the mood lively.

“I’ve been meaning to get out there and see Polnareff anyway. I’m already in America, so why not?”

“Excuse me?” A voice calls from beside them. They look over to see a man in a suit staring them down.

“Can we help you?” Jotaro asks, rolling his eyes.

“I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about a scientist that could bring someone back to life?” The man replies.

“What about it?”

“Zeppeli. I’ve been reading the stories about them for weeks now. Its weird, nobody has been talking about this on the news. It seems that the Speedwagon foundation is trying to keep this under wraps.”

“Has he really been able to bring people back from the dead?” Josuke blurts, much to Jotaro’s annoyance.

“It seems so.” He chuckles a bit and pulls up an article on some off the wall website on his laptop.

Speedwagon Foundation Revives Man Dead After Two Weeks

‘A true miracle’- says man saved by Speedwagon Scientist

Who is Zeppeli and how are they saving the world

Whoever this guy is, he’s certainly secretive about it.

Later that Night, Broken Heart’s Gentlemen’s Club

Their taxi leaves the duo in lower Seattle, in a district known by the locals as Socialite’s Pleasure. The air is much clearer than it was by the airport. The night’s sky is lit up marvelously by the distant skyline, and the men are able to see the clear, full moon in the distance. Around them, they are surrounded by lush restaurants and coffee shops, as well as chic clothing stores.

Josuke takes his phone from his pocket as they are walking down the street, snapping pictures with each passing.

“We aren’t in Morioh anymore, Josuke.” Jotaro chuckles, wrapping himself in his jacket as they continue towards the address that Polnareff provided them. “Its really fucking cold.” He mutters.

“Seattle is one hell of a sight.” He replies.

The duo continues their short trek in silence, and are stunned at the end of the road to see a large building, adorned with neon hearts and much to their embarrassment, Silver Chariots with overly accentuated breasts.

Good God, Polnareff. What happened to you?

Jotaro can feel his cheeks turning beet red as he approaches the bouncer.

“Evening, Gentlemen.” The bouncer smiles, taking out a clipboard. “This is a private club tonight, boys. I’m afraid I won’t be able to let you in.”

“We were told to come here for a meeting.” Jotaro assures the man.

The man stares at the clipboard, puzzled. “Let me see. What are the names?”

“Josuke Higashikata.”

“Jotaro Kujo.”

The man reads over his guestbook for a moment, and then looks to the duo, astonished. “My great apologies, gents. It looks like you two have been invited here by the owner.”

“That is correct.” Jotaro grumbles, clenching his jaw in disgust.

“Right this way, I will take you to Jean myself.”

The Broken Heart’s Gentlemen’s Club is just as horrific as Jotaro had envisioned. Velvet walls, sleazy dancers, the smell of cigarettes and marijuana reeking the air. Even so, there are even more scantily clad Silver Chariots decorating the club. The club, despite the man’s aura, is full of patrons. Men and women alike stuffing twenties into the g-string of their respected dancers.

“I’m finally in a strip club!” Josuke whispers excitedly, nudging his nephew with his elbow as they walk to the back of the club. “You can tell everyone at Christmas this year that your favorite uncle took you to a strip club!”

Good grief. “We may as well take a picture with the bitch with the blue hair. It could be our Christmas card.” Jotaro laughs. “If my marriage wasn’t over before, it definitely is now.”

Jotaro looks up, tilting his hat back a little. Polnareff is standing at the bar, ordering himself a drink. He hasn’t aged much in the decade since they’d last seen each other. His hair is trimmed back, he’s still got those terrible earrings, and he wears a nice suit.

“Monsieur Polnareff, your guests are here.”

Polnareff cheekily turns around and opens his arms to his friends. “Jojo!” He yells, awkwardly wrapping his arms around Jotaro in a hug.

Jotaro laughs, trying to shake his friend off without hurting his ego. “Good to see you too, Polnareff.”

“What do you think of the place? Biggest strip club in all of Washington.”

“As far as strip clubs go, it's pretty nice. Glad to see you’re making a decent living here.” Jotaro replies, taking a seat at the bar.

“Could I interest you guys in a drink?” The blonde waitress asks politely. Jotaro looks up at the woman and feels himself blush. She is probably the most modest looking woman in here. Her long blonde hair cascades over her shoulders. She is strikingly tall, she has to be towering at at least six feet. She’s athletic build, curvy in all the right places. Her entire torso is covered in tattoos, as well as her arms. She wears a tight black dress, leaving some imagination but not much.

“Josephine, why don’t you make them one of your special teas? The pink one, with the Sake in it.”

The woman, Josephine is her name. She scurries off with a curt nod into the back of the bar.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Polnareff chuckles, acknowledging Jotaro’s blush. “She doesn’t like to dance much, but she is one hell of a bartender.”

Josephine quickly returns, placing two fuschia cocktails in front of Jotaro and Josuke.

Polnareff smiles and hands her a bill. “She’s smart, too. She’s working on her doctorate right now, finishing her dissertation. What was it on, again?”

In a soft voice, she blushes and replies. “It's on what happens to our bodies when we die, for short.”

“That’s very interesting.” Josuke oogles. “Why are you here, then?”

Josephine laughs and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “This is just part time. I’m doing an internship during the day, I do this a couple of nights a week.”

“That’s so cool!” Josuke grins. “Jotaro here is a doctor too!”

She turns her attention to Jotaro, who is quite obviously floored. “I’m not really a doctor, I’m just a marine biologist.”

“Science of any form is quite interesting.” She chuckles. “It isn’t something to be taken lightly, Dr. Kujo. Besides, I double majored in Marine Biology and Human Sciences.”

“I told you guys that she was smart.”

Josephine looks at Polnareff intently. “There are no limits to the human brain, if one believes that there aren’t.”

“Thank you again for the drinks, Josephine.” Polnareff motions to the duo to follow him. “We will meet in the private party room. Shall I hire a dancer?”

You could have Josephine come in. Something about that woman has sparked Jotaro’s interest. He wasn’t sure what, but there was definitely something different about the woman.

“I’d rather we speak in private.”

“So this scientist, do you know them?” Jotaro asks, taking a draw off of the hookah.

“Nobody does. The only thing I know about them is what I’ve read, and whatever they have been doing definitely works. I called the Speedwagon foundation and they were hesitant to say the least, but they said we could come by in the morning to meet with this guy.”

“Bringing people back from the dead, you’d think would be something that would be talked about more.” Josuke scoffs, typing away at his laptop. “I’m reading some of the cases here. Turns out, 4 out of the 5 articles that I’ve read, it seems that most of the ressurections have been linked to either a murder or some sort of gang violence.”

“That’s strange. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Hang on.” Josuke mumbles as he reads the articles. “Listen here. ‘In the case of 22 year old Darius McDonnel, linked to the Southside Halo Gang, it seems that after he was released from the hospital, the rival gang members were also shortly released, their injuries healed completely and they were placed into police custody.’”

“So what are you saying?” Polnareff asks.

“It seems that after the resurrection, at least in the gang violence, the injured rivals are also being healed.”

“By the way, Polnareff.” Jotaro inquires, taking another draw from the hookah. “How do you know that it works?”

“Because they healed me. I was in Italy some time ago, encountered a pretty vicious stand user, and was killed. The Speedwagon foundation found out, brought me here, and I was healed. The guy was in and out, I never even heard their name.”

“You don’t think it could be a stand user, this scientist, do you?”

Josuke quickly shuts his laptop and knocks back his drink. “There’s only one way to find out. Even if this guy is a stand user, there's three of us and one of them.”

You idiot.

“Yeah.” Jotaro scoffs. “But this guy is bringing people back to life left and right. Who knows what else his stand is able to do.”

Polnareff looks his smartwatch and sighs. “I guess we’ll have to find out in the morning. This guy’s office just sent me an email. He wants to meet us at five, before office hours.”

“I’m getting real fucking sick of not sleeping.” Jotaro grumbles, peeling himself off of the floor. He and Josuke bid their farewell to Polnareff, promising that they will meet at the hotel in the morning. The duo make their way out of the club, swearing off the subzero temperatures as Josuke hails an uber.

“Do you guys need a ride?” They hear a voice call from behind them. They turn around, met by deep emerald eyes and ruffled blonde curls. Its Josephine.

“We just called an Uber, but thank you.” Jotaro responds, calm.

“I hope to see you around then, Dr. Kujo.” She smiles, before climbing into a jet black Mercedes G-Wagon. Their ride follows quickly behind.

For a student, she’s got some money.

Jotaro buckles himself in and rests his head on the window of the Camry. Josuke tries to make some small talk with their driver, but all Jotaro wants to do is catch a few extra moments of sleep. Then it hits him, what was so weird about Josephine. He never told her his last name, they always referred to him as Jotaro. How did she know so much about him? She was a marine biologist herself, maybe she had read one of his papers. Regardless, Jotaro knew that this blonde beauty would be what kept him awake that night.

So here’s part 2 of this story arc! I’m so excited of what I’ve been writing!

Also, I’m looking for ideas for original stands and users! Send them to me if you want to be featured ❤️

#jjba #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jotaro x reader #jojo’s bizarre adventure #jojo part 3

[wincestisasincest]

Murder in the Blue Morgue -- Part 6

Guess who’s back.

Back again.

I have two tests tomorrow.

And I’m screwed.

Also, I was told to tag this person, I’m sort of new to tagging but here it is: @saturnsocoolioyep​

If you wanna be tagged, just ask! 

Here’s the masterlist, if you’re new: https://twincestforthewincest.tumblr.com/post/181757211705/murder-in-the-blue-morgue-masterlist

This whole ordeal is also on my Wattpad and Archive, same story name and all that. 

Anyway, enjoy!

The walls of the police station, like most walls, were opaque. However, the walls of the same place where murderers were stored for the night and grieving relatives were questions always seemed just a little less see-through. Like everyone and everything in the building was hiding something, and the walls reflected that back at the people within instead of the dim, flickering lights. 

Josephine Powell sat on the ripped couch outside of what looked like one of those rooms where they interrogate people in movies, even though the sign on the front very clearly said that it was the commissioner’s office. Why would she be being interrogated, after all? She hadn’t done anything wrong.

She knew she wasn’t going to throw up, that would happen later, after everything had set in. But for now, she could still feel the shock of what had happened pulsing through her, leaving no room for processing her own feelings.

“Miss Powell? The comish’ll see you now.” Antonio the police officer looked like he was playing a police officer in a cartoon show with one live action character, which worked to his benefit, because he was very much a badass, and it was easier to hide that way. He’d show up at the diner every now and then, and they’d made small talk while they were waiting for seats. He was a college dropout who’d been studying art, lied to himself that he could support himself and still focus on his passions, and then settled into being a police officer for life. That didn’t stop him from being the sweetest person ever, though, and he was a mean sketch artist when it was needed.

“Thanks, Antonio.” She pushed herself up from her chair and blindly followed the direction that her feet were taking her, that being towards the door. 

“Do you need, like, water, or anything, because it’s just down the hall?” 

“I think I’ll be fine, but than you.” 

“Suit yourself. Good luck.” He carried on down the hallway.

Jo pushed open the door revealing an unexpectedly tiny office, and very business-like as well. If it’d been missing a wall, she could’ve called it a cubicle. Papers were strewn all over the desk, but they were surrounded by a straight line of a pencil jar, an eraser, a stapler, and some post-it notes, while a landline resided in the other corner, implying that the arrangement had a hint of deliberation. The blinds to the window were completely shut, so the duty of illuminating the room fell on the tiny fluorescent bulb on the ceiling with some sort of bug humming around it. The walls contained newspapers, diplomas, and any sort of official looking piece of paper that there could be in a room, each providing a snapshot of the commissioner’s life, but impossible to connect into a clear picture.

“Well, take a seat and we’ll get started.” The commissioner himself had a long face, with his pale complexion stretched over a pointed frame of bones. His brown hair was neatly cut, except for the few small graying areas at the top, and his eyes were a deep green. He was gesturing to an uncomfortable metal chair that was definitely once used for a school assembly. The chair squeaked as she placed herself on it.

“Well, I don’t think I need to repeat why you’re here. The station sends it condolences, of course, but I do have some questions that I need to ask you.” He grabbed a random assortment of papers on his desk and straightened them into a pile. 

“Of course. But, um, can I ask how she died?” 

“Kathleen Powell died of multiple stab wounds to the face and chest at 7:02 PM, though we found her at 7:18 because a neighbor called due to the noise.”  

“Was it that southern lady?”

“Yes, it was.” 

“Yeah, she never liked noise.” 

“That’s not what we’re here to talk about. The first thing I need to ask is if you have any other relatives or people that you know in the area, friends you could live with, perhaps?” 

“Well, I have a few friends, but I don’t know if they’d want me in their house after what happened.”

“And why is that?”

“That murder looks a little intentional to you, doesn’t it?” 

“Why, yes, and there is a slight chance of them targeting you, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that you can’t stay with them. Either way, I understand your concern. Is there anyone else?”

“Um, sort of. My genetic father Stuart is in town, but he and I only reconnected recently. I’m sure he’d take me in, but I don’t know if he wants too exactly.”

“Ah, he’s an entirely different topic of discussion.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Josephine, your mother has been murdered, and your genetic father, Stuart Pot, is a prime suspect at the moment.” 

“What, you mean, you think he offed my mom?” 

“That’s the idea, yes.” 

“Look, I know this doesn’t count as evidence or anything, but I promise you 2D would never kill anyone, let alone my mom. He’s just… it’s not a thing that would even come to his mind.”

“You’re correct, that’s not evidence.”  

“Where is he? Can I talk to him, please? He’s not even an American citizen, there’s gotta be some law stuff there that he can work around, I swear it wasn’t him.”

“Well, that’s another problem I was hoping you could help us with. Mr. Pot was vacant from the premises when we arrived, and when we checked his hotel room, both he and his bandmates appeared to have disappeared into thin air. There’s just no positive way to spin this, Miss Powell.”

“There’s just no way, he could, I mean-“ she stuttered, trying to grasp at something that seemed real at the moment. Just a few weeks ago she’d seen his face for the first time, now all of a sudden her mother was dead and it was shaping up to be his fault. And he had seemed so nice, too.

“I understand that your mother and him had legal troubles.”

“Well, yeah, but my mom was more on the trouble end. You might wanna talk to her lawyer about all of that.”

“Trust me, we did.” 

“Wait…” she had found something, at least, “I know that the southern lady who lives upstairs doesn’t know anything about him, and I don’t think anyone on my street knows our business. How did you know that it was him?”

“We,” he stopped to stroke his chin pensively, “Received an anonymous tip via a random caller. Someone who said they knew you well, and knew what this whole thing was about. Not reliable evidence, at first, I understand, but as we investigated, all of the evidence does appear to point to Mr. Pot.”

“But that tip could’ve been lyin’ or somethin’. They could’ve had it out for him. I just don’t-“

“Mr. Pot will be given a fair chance in court, like everybody else. But, as of now, he is one of our main suspects, and I don’t believe our detectives are willing to give up this lead. Now, I want you to think logically, about this, Miss Powell. I understand that you’re in shock, but Mr. Pot was the only one there when the murder could’ve reasonably taken place, you were absent via the will of his bandmates, he had significant legal troubles with Ms. Powell that would’ve been reason to want her to be gone, he disappeared during the investigation for no apparent reason along with his bandmates, and, on top of that, he’s had a history of violent involvement as well as involvement with drugs that has impaired his judgement. I’m sorry, Miss Powell, but this doesn’t appear to be a coincidence.” 

Jo stared at the floor, her hazel eyes only being able to focus on her worn out, black, sneakers. She’d always prided herself on being able to look at things reasonably, and now, in this one instance, she’d allowed her judgement to slip for the sake of her genetic father, who hadn’t even bothered to tell her about his past. 

“You make a good point,” she looked him in the eye, “I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

Yeah, yeah, it was short, but we have more coming, I promise. Just stick it out for a bit while I contemplate when to take my next three month hiatus.

#gorillaz #gorillaz x reader #2d gorillaz #2d #murdoc gorillaz #murdoc niccals #noodle gorillaz #noodle #russel #russel hobbs #russel gorillaz #2d x reader #murdoc x reader #noodle x reader #russel x reader #gorillaz x child!reader #2d x child!reader #dadfic #2d dadfic #children

[monisse]

Title: The passage of time Pairing: Jo / Alex (+ mentions of Mrs. Schmidt)

Note: Jo’s most precious possession is a watch that reminds her of Mrs. Schmidt and that she is not alone in this cruel world. Now it’s broken and lost, but luckily there is someone else around to fix that. Please enjoy!

When the lights finally turned on she found herself alone at the loft, as expected, since Alex would only arrive much later that night. The prospect of solitude did not bother her this time, for her muscles ached so badly that all she desired was to fall flat on the bed and slip into a dreamless sleep. Jo moved towards the kitchen table and dropped her purse unceremoniously on it. A gleam caught the corner of her eye and Jo pulled her wrist closer to inspect it. There was a sudden gasp cutting through the silence in the loft as she saw that the face of her watch was cracked in half, and the hands had stopped moving altogether. She remembered hitting her wrist earlier against one of the hospital beds, and yet had not realized then it had been forceful enough to cause damage. Her fingers brushed softly against the broken glass and it immediately made her remember that one person that had shown Jo some semblance of motherly love, the one that had given her such precious gift. Mrs. Schmidt. The thought of her favorite teacher brought a small smile to her face, despite the sight of the broken watch.

Mrs. Schmidt had been a relentlessly kind and caring presence in the hardest of times, and those had been plenty ever since she started living in a car. Even still, her teacher had particularly been there at times when she thought no one would. Jo remembered graduation day, after years of gruelling study to have a real shot at a better life. That day she had been surrounded by her peers with families cheering so loud it was deafening to her ears. And among all that noise, no one seemed to call her name. No one cheered for Brooke. Hives had settled across her back beneath the short black dress she had bought to look presentable, and anxiety had built in the pit of her stomach as she took each deliberate step to accept the diploma. It was then that, among the commotion, her name came loud and clear. And when she looked towards the crowd and saw her, Mrs. Schmidt, with a wide smile and enthusiastically cheering her on, all she could do was smile even wider. Many years had passed since that moment, but she still remembered her throat constricting with the urge to cry, and the pure sensation of not being alone in the world.

A few years later, there was Mrs. Schmidt, sitting across from her while pouring two steamy cups of mint tea. If the nerves had not been taking over her entire body in that moment, she might have been tempted to smile and finally say, after all those years, that she does not like tea. Nonetheless, she would always entertain a cup just for the sake of her favorite teacher. She fidgeted in her seat, constantly looking over her shoulder towards the window. Even then, days after she had left her husband, and with a few miles between them, she felt he was not that far behind yet. She felt that at any moment he would caught up with her to finish what he had started that night when he beat her close to death. That had finally been the catalyst to make her realize that the love for her own life should surpass the love she felt for him.

Since she did not know what else to do, running away had seemed the most viable option. And run she did, as fast as she could. Her body was still painfully bruised with a myriad of reds, blues and purples, and the broken ribs were still healing, but she found solace again in the same place she always had, Mrs. Schmidt’s home. Outside the house, her car had been once more packed full with her meager belongings. Unconsciously, she never allowed herself to accumulate unnecessary stuff, as if she instinctively knew that at any given time she would have to be ready to pack her life and run away. The unfortunate part was that since she married she had thought those days were far behind.

Her former teacher’s house had been the last stop before she left that illusion of a happy life behind. She did not have the courage yet, nor the emotional energy, to tell Mrs. Schmidt she had changed her name. Josephine Wilson, she had chosen. So, while picking at her nails, she resorted to minimal explanations about her decision, but instead elaborated more on moving to Seattle, alone, for an intern job. Her dream job was just across the country, with as many miles between her and him that she could possibly afford without completely losing the focus on her personal goals. There had been no surprise in Mrs. Schmidt’s face, as if somehow, she had been expecting all along for her former student to finally realize what she had been warning her about. At that table, separated by two cups of tea, she had then lowered her head in shame, even though she knew better not to carry the guilt. With a strong squeeze of her hands and no further questions, Mrs. Schmidt left the table only to return a few minutes later.

All of a sudden, a small box, wrapped in the loveliest paper she had ever seen, was trusted onto her hands. Mrs. Schmidt looked at her expectantly, smiling brightly. She had barely any experience in receiving gifts and all she had wanted to do was to look at the perfect wrapping paper, bright red, and appreciate the gold string delicately enveloping it. It seemed already enough.

"Well, open it.” Mrs. Schmidt had said as an incentive.

Hesitantly, she pulled the bow with precise movements, one string at a time for fear of tearing the paper. When she opened the box, the item inside immediately caught the light of the mid-day sun that rushed through the window. Inside the box was what looked like a very expensive watch. For a while her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. None had occurred to her.

"Ever since you called to tell me about the job, I have been thinking you might need it as a new intern.” Mrs. Schmidt offered against her shocked silence. “Doctors always need to measure the passage of time."

"This is too much Mrs. Schmidt. I can't accept it!"

“Of course you can! Besides, you could use some help to keep yourself running on time..." It had unexpectedly made her laugh a little at the obvious tease on her constant battle to always be on time and often failing miserably.

"It looks so expensive..." She had whispered, not quite capable of taking her eyes from the marvelous object in her hands.

"Don't worry about it." Mrs. Schmidt had said, casually ending the argument. Mrs. Schmidt took the watch out of the box then and closed it safely around her right wrist.

She had turned the wrist slowly, admiring the way in which the light reflected on the silver bracelet and the soft ticking cadence of time.

Shortly after, Mrs. Schmidt had pulled her into a tight embrace, making her breath hitch with the flare of pain that spread across her bruised body. Nonetheless, the tears that burst out of her eyes and fell freely onto her cheeks were not produced by physical agony, but from a deep emotional pain, one she had refused to dwell in up until that moment. She wrapped her arms around Mrs. Schmidt as well, allowing herself go get soaked in the pride that her former teacher exuded towards her in that hug. Those still remained the closest to a mother's warm embrace she ever had. She embraced Mrs. Schmidt just as tightly, relying on the overwhelming sensation that she would not come back for a while, maybe ever.

Jo sighed softly at the memories and turned the wrist slowly, admiring the way in which the light still reflected on the silver bracelet, but otherwise the watch remained silent. That watch had gone through hell and back with her, always being a comforting reminder that there was someone in that vast, cruel world, that truly cared for her. It was slightly scratched around the edges, much like her, but had remained resilient through the ups and downs of her life. Now the watch was broken and silent, and Jo was not sure if there would be a way to salvage it.

The silence was starting to bother her, so Jo took the watch off her wrist and laid it carefully on the table. With a sad sigh she brushed her fingers one last time through the glass. The watch was attached to deeply rooted memories and a heavy pain settled on her chest at the thought of letting it go, not having that constant comfort of Mrs. Schmidt anymore.  

Jo brushed the beginning of tears from her eyes and with a long, defeated sigh, turned away and crawled onto bed, already too exhausted to fight sleep any longer.

The next morning, she busied herself around the loft, preparing for another long day of work. Her routine was often the same, shower, clothes, breakfast, large cup of coffee, and right before stepping out of the loft, putting on her watch. Absentminded, Jo reached for the watch she had left at the table the previous night. However, her hand touched only the wood surface. Jo was sure she had left it there, but perhaps Alex had moved it away before leaving for the hospital himself earlier. Already feeling she was running late, but without having the means to measure it, Jo reluctantly left the loft. All day her hand kept traveling towards the wrist to fiddle with a watch that was not there. After years of that constant presence, she felt somewhat vulnerable without it.

Two days later, Alex came home to a very chaotic loft. There were pillows across the floor, books and clothes were scattered everywhere and among the mess he found Jo on her knees, cheek glued to the floor peeking below the couch. From where he stood Alex could distinctly hear Jo mumbling closer and closer to the edge of frustration.

"What are you doing?" His deep voice suddenly disrupted her thoughts.

She jumped in fright and immediately hit her head in the end table closer to the couch. "I'm trying to find my watch." She said with a frown on her face while rubbing the side of her head. “I could swear I left it on the table about two nights ago.”

Jo turned towards him, but otherwise remained sitting on the floor among the scattered pieces of their life together, looking as lost as her watch.

“It stopped working..." Jo said in a small voice with a hint of tears in those clear brown eyes that were piercing through his own.

“I know.” Alex said gently as he stepped closer to her. He bent slightly and offered his hand, which she took immediately to stand up.

“How do you know that?” Jo directed her irritation towards him in spite of knowing that it was an illogical reaction because he was merely caught in the aftermath of what looked like a riot through the loft.

Not wanting to prolong her anxiety, and neither shorten his life span, Alex reached to the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out the watch. He dangled it in front of him, and even though Alex was still a few steps away, Jo could already hear the familiar sound.

"I saw it on the table when I came home the other night, and since it was broken I took it with me the next morning. It took me a while to find someone willing to fix this particular kind of watch, but I think it is working pretty well again." There was a tentative smile on his lips and if he did not know she was already on edge, Alex would have laughed at her stunned attempt to produce words that were too stubborn to come out.

While Jo was too busy looking at him in amazement, Alex wrapped the bracelet safely around her right wrist, the rightful place of the watch. As soon as he did so, she flew forward and collided with his chest. Her arms encircled him while her nails dug into the fabric of his shirt. Jo hid her face in that spot of his neck she loved so much and inhaled him deeply, soaking his shirt with tears.

"Thank you." She simply said, softly.

Not many people in her life had shown her kindness, and to this day Jo still found herself amazed that people were willing to show love towards her. And with that simple gesture, he was able to calm her mind and remind her again that she was not alone in the world.

#Jo wilson #Jo Karev #Alex Karev #Jolex #grey's anatomy #jolex fanfiction