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bunsbunnybitch · 3 years

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

anon: i dont think i ever really post anything here, as in fanfics and so yeah, bc i postly at my wattpad in the same name, that is if i ever change it. so quick info: so like this is a project ive been wanting to do ( a blacklist x reader fanfic) and its still in the proccess, but its gonna be out in a rlly long time mosly bc my lazy ass cant do shit and im always procrastinating. and like i also made some plots of my own, change many shit in the timeline to match my own and i sometimes question myself why i make such a big fucking effort to create a goddam fic but then i realize that fanfics are the b a. n e of my existence noone: me: s o LiKe- anyways here is an excerp from the prologue (mind u this is a draft so it sucks ass but im too excited to share it so here ya go)

　❝ THE VILLAINNESS ❞

CURRENT DATE: 1993 //THE BAU CLASS LECTURE// TOPIC: The Missing Kids Case

THE lecture room dimmed and the students instantly tensed at the sound of heels clicking the floor. They were excited; some were appalled, either each of the fact that they happen to be sitting alone with the most known psychologist, or preferably the most mischievous asshole on the planet-from your perspective. As for you, you were positioned near the doorway of the lecture room, gazing down from the higher seats to the lower ones, leaning against the wall as you look classy in your dark academia aesthetic.

It consisted of a long charcoal woolen-coat, and amidst the color were small visible lighter grey hatches, adorned with polished black buttons; and beneath the facade was a black turtleneck shirt tucked into the hem of your gingerbread dress pants, a shade darker than your beige-colored boots. Your hair was styled classily, the 1930s being your sole inspiration, and on your eyes laid black shades that complimented your crimson red lipstick.

The addition to the current dark setting of the room made you a shadow to everyone, an illusion of doubt. Observing the brown-complexioned woman, a smile eased its way into your lips, as she plopped her purse onto the table. Plucking the remote control beside the wooden pen holder, she gave a quick glance around the room before turning the projector on with a click.

"On 1991, two years ago." She started, reverberating firmness and authority just off her tone. You crossed your arms in intrigue, ignoring the beeping vibration from your cell. That asshole, mind the profanity, will find you eventually. " It was a chilly day in December that seven teenagers were kidnapped from their homes. There were no leads-" She held up a finger, ticking off the points like grocery lists, while the heads of many students darted to their notepad, scribbling the information down. "-no evidence, no footprints, no DNA...no nothing. It was as if these children vanished into thin air, exploded into puffs of clouds, and disappeared."

"The locals speculated that this was some child trafficking related case, and thought that it was a bit not much of a problem to solve..." She sighed, crossing her arms, and leaned against the table with a tilt of her head"...they were wrong. It isn't."

There was a click and the slide shifted to another slide, the screen depicted the many faces of the children kidnapped on that day, along with the information on their files. Each of these files had 'missing' stamped on them with blood-red blocks of color, and on the front cover of the beige-colored file, was labeled as 'classified'. You squinted your eyes to gain a better look at it.

"Following the disappearance of these kids," She walked around the room, eyes scanning around the students meticulously like they were criminals, how ironic if you had to guess as one is inherently standing among them. ", their files were later erased from every database their names were embedded in. So, every known fact, every known thing, their background, their family were all erased. 3 months later. The FBI managed to only revive five. Those five children being: Brian Ferguson, Naomi Campell, Joan Whitaker, Henrey Amber, and Allen Jestein. The other two names were permanently erased. And as unfortunate as it seems, we too, without their names, couldn't help those two missing kids."

"We'll only wait for the time being, for them to turn themselves in, that is if they've ever escape the unsub..." She trailed, her look fell and it became somber. "....Or died instead."

Some of the students nodded and some resorted to their laptop again, typing the data furiously down onto their documents. You find it all quite amusing, to say the least.

"They were 17 at that time, very young, lively bright...and they have a life ahead of them." She said, an ounce of pity lacing her tone, but you knew it was all just for show. "However, their disappearances were only reported after Brian's school realized that one of their top-tier students, were missing from his classes. This raises some suspicion among the detectives and the police opted to stop by his home..."

She lowered her gaze and paused for dramatic effect. You shifted the weight to your other foot, once again, ignoring the beeping vibration from your cell. God, an FBI with morals.

"...only to be met with the gruesome image of his family brutally murdered, and his house ransacked." She pressed the remote to show the pictures; the students and you furrowed your brows. It was the young boy's living room, with the exception that the mess had looked liked it was done by the devil.

The wallpapers were partially torn apart, leaving slash-like marks on some of the walls; and on the floor were blood, splattered everywhere, handprints smudging the knob of the doors, on cabinets, the floors, and walls-as if the victims wanted to flee, but they are unable to do so. And they've met their doom. The bedroom was worse, and strictly speaking, it is where the bodies of his parents were laid. You've seen the picture and it was quite gruesome. To save the students their sanity, the woman only showed the kitchen, quickly pressing the button to pass all the grim pictures. She sighed and pressed another button to show various other kinds of rooms from different houses, all with the same vicious intention.

"This too also befell the other five children. Family murdered. House ransacked. Every file and paper burnt." She articulated, nodding along her words. "This act had drove the FBI into a pit of insanity, leading us to question that has been vexing our minds..."

You heard a bang, and the door of the lecture room slammed open from the other side. Sighing you rolled your eyes as police officers spilled into the room, pointing their guns at everyone while scouring the whole place.

"Poor trainees were scared shitless," You thought amusingly, reaching into your pocket to grab your cell.

A familiar blond agent stormed into the room and waved his hands around, presumably instructing the officers per his requests. The professor, obviously displeased by the situation, crossed her arms and trotted up to the man, conversing with him before trailing her eyes to the other entrance of the room. She caught yours, but at first didn't notice, it was when she did a once over that she straightened her back and raised her eyebrows questioningly. You tilted your chin and gave her a small smile, placing a finger against your lips. You dialed a number and placed the beeping phone against your ear, the woman still silent per your request. The man flinched as he felt his phone ringing and picked it up, brows furrowed with annoyance and resentment combined.

"How long did it take you to find me, Donald?" You spoke cooly, once again leaning against the frame. "Was it the chocolate chips or the fedora hat that you despised so much?"

And with that you shut the phone, disappearing amidst the shadow of the room. You heard a shout, and the pitter-patter of footsteps grew louder your way. Does yall like it ^^

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empressxmachina · 4 years

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Dolled Up and Underdressed // 2

Promises, part II

Brooke shut the door behind herself, only to open it if any of the wandering Wainscots knocked a code. On the surface, the shed was nothing out of the ordinary. Hedge clippers. Garden hose. Charcoal, propane, and logs. Some spare parts and local wares. A hidden door behind some shelves and paneling. Going through said door, however, the comfy cabin stretched underground beyond its cozy, cup size into the beefed-up bunker it really was.

Posters became historical maps. Instruction booklets for lawn tools became test plans. The wood was now metal and LEDs. Various files and other personals were stacked and stored across and around lines of tables and stations of varied roles, all of which they’d rather die for than reveal to any outsider. Crossing her arms, Brooke strutted down the center path and reunited with Garrett at its end.

There, at the hub of it all, wearing matching glowers, Brooke joined in with him keying in the final characters of a ridiculous sequence into a specialized console.

The last symbol was entered into its keyboard, its screen began to buffer, and then they waited.

And then they waited.

They waited, losing hope, looking for all the ‘last resorts’ in reaching distance. The piercers. The navigators. The bottles and boxes and all they contained.

Optimism quickly started to plummet, but they still waited all the while… until it wasn’t needed anymore.

They were here.

The monitor eventually stopped processing, indicating with a jingle that contact was made. The Wainscots’ breaths were held as hard as their hands, and only determination kept them inside at the appearance of their interlocutor.

The display’s girth being comparable to a mattress, longer than Garrett’s height and broader than his wingspan, left nothing to the imagination. Every hair, pore, and hue on the answerer’s face was present and accounted for. Relating their glamour and airbrushed features to the rustic naturalness Brooke and Garrett donned would’ve seemed nonsensical from the outside looking in. But it was that extravagant look, on top of the muffled atmospherics in the background, that proved their connection right.

Disregarding the effort to make greetings, the protective parents began the conversation.

“The caravan’s left,” Garrett gruffly announced.

Brooke followed suit with her own sighs. “She’s… on her way.”

“I have already been made aware of that,” the dame on screen, one of Them, addressed, somewhat preoccupied. Her side of the video conference appeared to be filmed from a handheld device. As products began to pile on her face from below the frame, one could guess it was combined with a makeup compact. Her dolling up eventually ended, and she continued with her full attention and appreciation. “But I appreciate you informing me, regardless… despite your disquiet.”

Brooke gave a slight bow of farewell before turning back toward the outside. The farther forward she went back up the shelter, the warmer it became, but she chilled again when she noticed no footsteps following her. A glance behind her shoulders found Garrett continuing to talk on the call, and his audience of one appeared to be listening intently.

They were struck silent. The incongruity between lifestyles and demeanors was incredible.

“I understand your unease,” Hailey’s soon-chaperone commiserated, tucking some hair behind an ear, shining more light on the gems that hung from it. “Really, I do. But I assure you. We are on the same side.”

The soft shock that the couple wore immediately evaporated off their faces. Such niceness from someone so well-off was more than unbelievable.

“If that were the case,” Brooke tested, a hand on her hip, “then you’d know why I can’t believe that.”

“The trophy wife aesthetic you’re painting on yourself sure isn’t helping your attempt at humility, either,” Garrett huffed in accordance.

Now, it was the duenna that was caught off-guard. To go after her customs was one thing, but to go after her appearance was low. Not only was the sentiment false, but it was also just rude. Rude in a way to set someone off beyond their usual limit.

As the subject of the jab, she didn’t take it lightly. “Because being a so-called ‘trophy’ is definitely worse than being—!”

Before she could complete a comeback, a new, disembodied speaker entered the call. The silhouette reflected in her eyes verified it was another person in the room, rather than just a voice. The words resonated with bass but not in an overbearing way. It held control without an iron fist as she spoke back to it. At least, that was all Hailey’s parents could guess from the sudden language barrier.

A series of syllables that sounded painful to reproduce yet melodious flew around them, and they knew they had a better chance of guessing how many freckles their bun in the oven had than whatever they were saying. The words they spoke were unknown, though body language was apparently universal. Over twenty years of binding with the same person built much experience in emotion expression for Brooke, and she would’ve bet all that she could safely give away on her confidence in Player Four’s identity.

“Is that your husband?” she inquired, garnering a presumptive look from her own spouse.

The question smacked the faraway set of speakers like a pile of bricks, muzzling them in an instant. The matron gazed deeply into the screen, focusing more so on Garrett to catch what Brooke mentioned about him that she must have missed. When Brooke repeated her query, this time in the past tense, clarity on the opposite end was reached. However, as the fourth soul in the fray remained unaddressed, the shed dwellers were still left in the dark.

After a pointed pause, they were brought into the loop, but that pointing left more to be desired,

“That’s… a word for my partner.”

Brooke and Garrett shared a look between themselves, counting all the definitions such wording could have for that relationship. The fiery reentrance of the fourth soul – the woman’s husband – in that brusque, foreign tongue shortened that list in some ways and lengthened it in others. What then bubbled into a presumed marital spat grew uncomfortable to watch, but such chips in their perfect personas were somewhat humbling.

One could’ve said they were relatable, but then the last resorts would’ve had to have been brought out.

“Ahem,” the interlocutor lady cleared her voice after some time, attempting to swerve the call back on its intended course. “Apologies. Yes, that is my husband.”

Neither Wainscot said anything immediately, but Garrett expected for the interjecting gentlemen to at least introduce himself. They had already met, but courtesy was always appreciated. Why else would the call still be happening?

Just as the fans of the shed automatically flicked on, the encompassing mood dropped with the lowering temperature, Garrett going first to spit ice. “It’s nice of him to show how much he cares about our daughter’s safety by being off-frame.”

The outlying wife, with a quick gasp, spread her lips to respond, but her voice wasn’t the one to reply. The sir, from afar, countered for himself, combating the diss with his own frozen singes. “It’s as nice as your assumptions of us: they who are about to host her in their home. We’ve given you no major reasons to distrust us, aside from the lax acquaintanceship.”

Not liking anything that could’ve been inferred from that, Brooke was next to debate. “I think you have a different definition of ‘major’ where you’re from. Like hell, we should trust you.”

“Well,” the doyenne carped, “whether or not you should, you are.” She then set a hand – the one not holding her communication device – atop her heart for emphasis. “Hailey’s safety is our top priority, too, and we genuinely thank you for opening your hearts and letting her come into our lives.”

“She is a grown woman,” Brooke tersely defined. “She can make her own decisions, and she wanted to do this, despite not knowing the full story. I would’ve given her more to go on about it, but… consider my censorship, at your request, my part of this trust trade.”

Her last statement came out more like a grumble, but it was heard. A surprise to be heard, for sure, but it was heard.

“That sounds like you actually didn’t try anything,” the distant don said in disbelief. “Huh.”

“A surprise, indeed,” his other half concurred, “and I promise your compromising will be in your favor. As discomforting as I’m sure this seems on your end, this is the best way for us to be transparent.”

“By taking away our choice and hiding your truth?” Garrett argued through gritted teeth.

“By showing her rather than telling,” the other man pressed with similar roughness. “It’s harder to deny reality when it’s right in front of you. ‘Actions speak louder than words,’ or so you humans say.”

“‘You humans!?’” the Wainscots scoffed, his tone turning them sour.

“Forgive him,” the glamorous gal apologized on her husband’s behalf. “Hailey may be an

honorable guest invited to our event, but tonight is one for him to be in the spotlight, and it’s getting to him.” An almost inaudible growl came out from outside the screen, perhaps insinuating another rift between the couple. Retreating footsteps soon followed. “That being said,” she resumed, now alone, “he and I hope that you all and we can, one day, meet at the gates of friendship.”

The counselor level commentary was uncalled for, but Brooke was curious enough to bite at the lure for elucidation. “Meaning we’re currently…?”

“Conversing via a bred parcel bird, and I assume the gifts of thanks ours brought you do suffice for now?”

A look of consideration rose from Brooke’s eyes toward Garrett’s above hers. As much bribery with hints of blackmail this ongoing charade was, all for Hailey to be a plus-one for some boy, they would be dumb to pass on free funding.

“I… suppose,” Garrett gave in, catching Brooke’s drift, “and we’re to expect more within the day?”

“All goes well at the gala and between our babies, and you’ll find more than that,” the matron promised fruitily. “We’re fortunate to be in a position to give our surplus toward better use and greater rapport with you.”

Brooke was ready to end the conversation at that. As much as she wanted to see Hailey arrive at the spot, proving her safety in transit, she knew she wouldn’t handle seeing it in real-time. Pregnancy already pulled so much energy out of her. Her now two oldest children being out of her hands was anxiety-inducing. Dillon’s present in confidentiality was terrible, and his future was never guaranteed to be sunshine and daisies. Hailey’s advent, meanwhile, despite its pledges of protection and pleasure, looked much grimmer in her mother’s eyes, but it was too far in progress to be reversed now.

And, so, she could only hope for the best, wishing her well, struggling to calm her own pulse.

A pinch of insecurity bubbled through Brooke as she wasn’t so deep in herself to not notice the other woman’s allure. But it only took the money – the actual appearance of metal coins about as wide as the dame’s glazed fingertips on screen – for such thoughts to vanish.

It was all for the bag, and what a priceless bag it was.

Coins like those had become such frequent additions to the Wainscot fortune in the recent months. Those handheld coins on display probably would, too, sooner or later. Much time was spent with them, but they, themselves, were never expended. It would’ve been impossible without raising a barrage of red flags.

The systems the Wainscots knew had their unique ways with customs and currencies, depending on who was making the transactions. Usually, the exchange rates were easy to come by, as frustrating as they were to do just to get a subpar product. However, the new acquaintances were at such an extreme echelon for so many reasons that there wasn’t a rate. There literally was no calculatable price to put on the offering, and they all knew it. Yet, they were the best trade – well, the least degrading barter conjectured – and Brooke and Garrett immediately found a use for them when the deal was accepted.

The conversation transformed into a heated debate about what had and should become of the gifts, with Garrett both pressing to get more of them and reluctantly thanking their givers simultaneously. The plating and gildings that decorated the bunker so far weren’t there a season ago. More test cases for the once-canceled experiments were added. The lumps and chips in their wedding rings were smoothed, refilled, and shined.

New plans for another graduation gift for Hailey had been made. A new mold to upgrade her namesake tools of the trade was forged not long ago, and the casting for it may have been getting made at that moment. Through a one-way peephole, Brooke saw her younglings still in the yard, following through with much of the drama popping off in the background.

Addy, despite her attitude being as bouncy as her and her mother’s hair, wasn’t a girl of many words. But she had many an interest, many of which only Hailey and Tuck seemed to get out of her. For once, Tuck had the upper hand over all his older siblings, able to give her insights that no one else dared to and that Hailey couldn’t yet do. He tucked his sister next to him as they gazed into a telescope together. The attachment on its lens looked MacGyvered as all hell, especially with it pointed at superficially nothing important. But he knew that wasn’t the case.

Tuck knew, and Addy would learn soon from his teachings. Brooke, not wanting him to do so but choosing not to stop him, lurched but knew. Having ignited a dispute, Garrett obviously knew. Dill even knew a bit but had more than enough distractions to render him to forget. Hailey would know more than any of them before the day was over.

Fitz, all the while, sat alone, enjoying his time as the most knowledgeable child while he could. Partially from his parents’ aggravation and partially from general interest and natural skill, he was the chosen soul to make Hailey’s enhancement into a reality. With the modulated voices of both Hailey’s date and his, from the Wainscot parents’ point-of-view, ever domineering dad coming in headphones over some ambient but obviously exotic music, Fitz followed their instructions on how to forge their presented metals to a T.

The scene was tranquil, but Brooke never soothed her nerves while viewing it. Her husband maintaining an argument with their associates didn’t help, but that wasn’t why. Even if relations were placid, there would always be a cloud of danger over them. The constant badgering from the feds they already had would just increase if this got out.

The Wainscots had enough supply to combat any quarry, cave, or army on the planet, and they were only going to get more to use and peruse. The youngest pair used some to look again at a dot in the sky cited nowhere on the internet from whence it came. The middle child had to stay focused to not near-fatally harm himself once again from the metals melting with the same, outlandish glow as that once-hidden dot.

All of it from another world and those who lived on it. All of it their makers’ and Their inconsequential slivers and shavings to be thrown away. All of them half as tall as their new recipients, having made dents and the occasional ravine in the ground when they were first nonchalantly and literally dropped off. All of them with profiles of people’s portraits and symbols etched on them as large as their own heads.

Monies poured from fingertips that looked like theirs but rivaled the firmament in magnitude. Brooke’s baby’s presence was traded for them – for Them – was being transacted to Them currently as she breathed.

Barely.

“Stars above,” she radiated to the heavens with one hand on her belly and the other on her heart, “see Rosebud through.”

#g/t #my writing #dolled up and underdressed #gts #sm #sw #giant male #fight fight fight; kiss kiss kiss #giantess

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my-honourable-barbarian · 6 years

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Missing Scenes Chapter I

As promised, even though I’m actually too tired to look over them right now, here are the two Laurent POV scenes I have so far written for Chapter I. The entire thing needs more editing before I can change it, so this is (for now) an exclusive tumblr privilege. :)

* * *

It was not the first time Laurent had lived on his own, and it was not the first time he was unpacking his life. The difference now was that before, he had been able to move with only a few boxes. The bare necessities; clothes, books, childhood memories from a time before Auguste died. Things he did not want around his uncle.

There was more now. With his job, he had been able to pick out his own furniture. This place was big enough for him to be able to set up Auguste’s desk. His professional clothes were fitted and required careful handling, and there were even some comfortable pants and sweaters for him to wear when no one was watching. In law school he had rediscovered his love for reading and collected books almost obsessively, filling boxes over boxes with them.

Life had accumulated around him; a steady, controlled growth. Slowly, it was becoming his own.

After that clumsy oaf of a well-meaning neighbor had left, the movers had finished bringing Laurent’s things up quickly and they had not lingered after he had told them he would finalize the positioning of the furniture on his own.

He had prepared the money on the trip here, sitting in almost comfortable silence with his things.

“Look, I tried to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but Damen already gave us a pretty significant tip.”

Laurent had handed over the money anyway. Apart from their lapse of judgement, these men had done their work professionally. And Laurent may not be able to pay his entire rent on his own, but this was his money. He could do with it as he liked.

And as he did not know what would happen to him before he turned twenty-one, it felt only right to spend whatever he could spare.

“Do you expect a stranger’s actions to affect my own?” he said and passed Jord the exact amount he would have before he had received that information. “This is yours.”

Jord took the wad of bills, but didn’t count them. Laurent handed him a few additional notes.

“Please give this to Orlant, with apologies about his nose.”

They were Laurent’s apologies, since Nicaise was decidedly not sorry about having accidentally tripped him while he was actually trying to trip Laurent for not being allowed to ride with the moving truck.

‘You can come by next week-end,’ Laurent had told him, and Nicaise had said, ‘Pff, I don’t want to see your stupid new place anyway,’ and Orlant had cursed in the background. His nose was fine, but he had been very vocal about how much it hurt.

Jord accepted this money as well, but would not be dissuaded from his earlier topic.

“I’m just saying. He’s a good guy. You could have ended up with worse neighbors.”

A strange show of loyalty, even to a friend.

Laurent, who would rather have forgotten the entire encounter the second the man had pulled the door across the hallway closed behind him, narrowed his eyes.

“He invited himself to my things and then dropped a desk.”

Jord blew out a breath. A man not easily fazed, he looked only the slightest bit exasperated.

“Well, he didn’t expect- you know. You.”

There was nothing lewd about the way he said it, but the meaning was clear.

It was also unnecessary. It had been fairly obvious from the way this Damianos had acted, but truly, the last thing Laurent needed was a besotted neighbor. Aesthetically pleasing though he might have been, with that obscene white t-shirt sticking to well-sculpted abdominal muscles and a broad back. Bulging arms and strong thighs. A nice complexion. Dark eyes and a dimple.

It was the last thing Laurent needed.

“I believe that would be all.”

Jord nodded, gave Laurent something like a tired salute that likely meant something like ‘Good luck’ or possibly ‘I am very tired and the day’s work isn’t over’, and left.

Laurent closed the door behind him and turned to face his new apartment.

He took a moment just to stand there, breathing it all in. He had been planning the exact set-up from the first time he had been here, one among many applicants.

On the day of the interview, he had worn a subtle pair of glasses (fake) and the kind of outfit one might expect from a particularly serious student. He had asked only the necessary questions. When he had given the land lord a single small smile at the end, the man – who was obviously used to far bubblier and far more annoying candidates – had felt he had earned it, and Laurent had known with certainty that he would be the one allowed to move in.

It was a good space. It was a simple space.

It would be his.

* * *

(Cue edited pre-existing Damen POV scene)

* * *

Out of all the hardships he had faced, and the many that were undoubtedly still to come, pie had not been on Laurent’s list of expectations.

Yet here he was, staring down a beautifully baked, still warm apple pie where it was sitting on Laurent’s kitchen table.

He should not have accepted it. It was clearly a ploy to assure further contact, which was not something Laurent was looking for.

It was not what he was looking for at all.

He cut a small piece. It fell apart perfectly when he put it on a plate. It was the first time Laurent had needed a plate since moving in.

While he poked it with a fork – also previously unused – he considered all the nefarious things that could be wrong with it, and all the ways he had planned for it.

The most obvious was poison, possibly on Laurent’s uncle’s behalf. An unlikely scenario, as their earlier exchange had seemed rather like a spur of the moment type thing and Laurent did not actually think his uncle would resort to outright killing him until other options to keep him from inheriting had been exhausted.

Nevertheless, Laurent had both his phones in easy reach and charcoal tablets next to his plate, and his first bite was very, very small, followed by a longer pause as he waited for any effect to take.

It was annoying to wait. The pie was excellent.

A date rape drug was an option. In case this was true, Laurent had locked the door as well as barricaded it with a chair. It might not be enough to stop someone as massive and muscly as Damianos, but breaking in would hopefully cause enough of a ruckus for other people in the building to get alarmed.

When after a solid half-hour and a finished piece later, Laurent still felt the same – which was annoyed, but lucid – this theory could also be dismissed.

Which left the duller, more common causes for bringing a neighbor delicious freshly baked pie.

Clearly, Damianos did not find Laurent physically repulsive. As far as come-ons were concerned, it was certainly one of the most elaborate he had received yet, and while mildly intrusive, at least Laurent had something from it even when he decided never to open his door to his neighbor again.

Perhaps it actually had been an apology? The desk was undeniably expensive, even for the uneducated eye. Damianos could genuinely be ingratiating himself to make Laurent forgive the damage he had nearly caused.

He seemed simple. The likeliest was a combination of the last two explanations.

Nevertheless, the pie was good enough for Laurent to cut himself a second piece.

His phone rang to distract him for a bit, but after he had finished the call, the remaining slices were still there, taunting him. As enough time had passed, he could now be certain the pie had not been laced with anything other than cinnamon and cardamom. The only reason he felt vaguely queasy was his uncertainty over how to proceed.

That, and appetite.

The damage was done, anyway. He might as well enjoy something sweet while he overworked his brain.

Damianos had been sweet. Embarrassed. Clearly uncomfortable with Laurent’s cold demeanor. Rightfully not all that happy with Laurent, at the end.

He had been more attractive than Laurent had allowed himself to remember. Perhaps-…

Laurent stood up abruptly and walked out of the kitchen.

In the living room, he once more checked that Auguste’s desk truly was uninjured. As before, it held up against Laurent’s inspection.

Running his fingers over where the foot had come loose, he wondered whether Auguste had even used it all that often. It wasn’t technically his brother’s, but out of all the ostentatious furniture their parents had left them, it had been what he had kept in his room.

Laurent had countless memories of sitting underneath this desk, engrossed in a book. After school, before Auguste came home. He had probably been holed up in there when the undiscovered aneurism in Auguste’s brain had ruptured and killed him instantly.

It wasn’t where his uncle had found Laurent to tell him the news. It was not tainted that way.

The desk was stable and beautiful and Laurent was too tall now to be able to fold himself up underneath it. However, he could use it for its original purpose and sit at it to work, the way Auguste sometimes had.

On it lay an open case file. Vannes had told him he would get to fight this one out in court on his own.

Auguste would approve of what Laurent was aiming to do.

Auguste would tear the entire world in two if he knew why Laurent was doing it.

I’m trying, he thought at his brother, even though he did not believe Auguste was there to witness the progression of his life.

He returned to the kitchen to put the remaining slices into the refrigerator and wash up the pie tin.

#okay okay i need to sleep now i'm sorry #phone sex operator au

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feverhalo · 7 years

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Teaser dump! Because I am an incredibly slow writer and want to give tumblr followers some sort of little boon for being cool and following me here

its a long post cause im teasing like 5 or 6 stories here. if the readmore doesnt work on mobile lemme know and I’ll try and fix it.

1 rule- no reposting anywhere please. these are teasers for the next parts of fics i’ll put up once i get them to a postable state. some of them i want to fully complete before breaking into chapters so you guys dont have to wait as long for updates, others I just got stalled out on and havent made progress in weeks.

theyre all VLD or FMA in here. I have a few ideas jotted down for Natsume too but havent gotten them started. I also just caught up on the new season and want to rewatch it some to get better characterization for some of the others.

Post Immunization pt2 FMA

“Brother? Brother, I know you’re tired, but you can’t sleep in the car any more.” Ed swiped his hands over his face. Everything felt warm and foggy except for the splitting headache he had and a rather uncomfortable heaviness in his arm pulsing low pain up his good shoulder. In short, not the nicest thing to wake up to. He mumbled out a jumbled mess of what he thought to Al.

“I know it isn’t very nice brother, but you don’t have to swear at me about it.” Ed shrugged, continuing to swipe the cool metal of his automail over his face as he let his flesh arm fall back to rest between him and the seat. Alphonse reached over the seat between himself in the back and his brother to nudge at Edward and disrupt him from curling back up and sleeping again. “We stopped and got dinner, and you might prefer being inside overnight, the military parking lot isn’t a proper place to sleep.”

“Don’t leave me in the parking lot,” Ed’s forehead creased and he took on a whining tone. “Geeze what kind of asshole-“

“If you get out now, you won’t have to go back to the parking lot. If I knew you’d prefer sleeping in a car over my oh so generous offer I really would have let you, you know.”

“That kind of asshole then.” Ed rolled himself up to sitting, bracing a hand on his aching head. A shiver quaked across his shoulders as he stumbled out into the evening air.

Turnabout Is Fair Play pt3 VLD

“Is he okay?”

“What do you think made that happen so quickly?”

“Is Lance going to be in bed all day?”

“Guys,” Shiro held up his hands, pleading. He pointed to the pathetic spread on the table, “Eat first. I don’t want us all neglecting ourselves when our energy needs to be there.”

They all sat and pulled hot cups over to themselves and rooted through the breakfast offerings. Pidge grabbed some sort of chip-like snack, Hunk took some of the burned toast and a fruit from the dish, and Keith uncrossed his arms long enough to pull some of the toast to his plate as well. Shiro waited for the crinkling of the packaging to quiet before he spoke.

“It got pretty bad, he was pretty dehydrated from the mission, and I guess between that and his fever… Anyway, he’s doing okay. Still a pretty nasty fever, but its not dangerous and he’s got water and medicine. Still sleeping, last I saw, which is good because it means he is resting and not in distress. I think the plan is going to be that he’ll stay in the med bay area for today. I don’t want you guys sneaking down there until he’s awake and decides he is up for it.”

“He’s okay, for real though?” Hunk was starting to fidget stiffly and uncomfortably.

A prompt that is unnamed as of yet VLD

The plumes of smoke were highly corrosive in nature, from the readouts on screen. Nothing in the atmosphere was welcoming to human life, and while the ocean here was a lovely lavender with waves that would make any surfer stare in stunned silence before rushing in- it was also extremely hostile to their human make up. Not to mention the huge shadows lurking beneath, and the huge scarred fins breaking the surface on occasion.

“You’re all doing wonderfully! There should be a gale of wind coming in from the south side in a few moments,” Coran crackled over the radio. “From my understanding this isn’t quite the ‘parasailing’ experience, but it is a much more advantageous training method for us!”

Even with their suits, the Lions, and all the careful planning and advanced technology, the stench of the volcano seeped into the cockpit of each Lion. Pidge was coughing harshly, trying to mute their line each time to spare the others. That tea from earlier had done wonders, for a while. But the acrid atmosphere, even if it was filtered well and none of the harmful particles were coming in, was so strong smelling it woke up the scratchy burning pain from earlier.

“Pidge! On your 7!” Hunk shouted during one of the coughing fits taking hold of Pidge. Below the green Lion the ground was starting to crack from the volcanic pressure and seeping smoke.

Pidge grabbed the controls with one hand, the other held in front of their helmet in reflex. One handed- they jerked Green out of the danger zone as the ground split and shot up hot vapors and flecks of molten minerals and bits of charcoaled vegetation still clinging to the surface. It wasn’t a pretty dodge by any means, but it did the job. The turn ended a little roughly, and Pidge was slammed into the side of the pilot seat, but other than that they were fine. Pidge took a deep breath after the fit subsided.

“Thanks Hunk-“ They cleared their throat before realizing the comm was still off. Pidge flicked it back on before repeating, “Thanks Hunk. Saved my tail there, literally.” Green flicked her tail around to show her thanks as well.

Ed Whump 2 Electric Boogaloo (working title will be changed) FMA

Upon arriving at the Hughes' residence, Gracia gasped, dropping the doll she had been holding when the door opened to show the two of them. Dirt caked and bandaged as Ed was, the Colonel was also battleworn, clothing torn in some places and with the dust of alchemic reactions stuck to his face and uniform. Elicia was still off on the background, her happy little voice filtering through the open door.

"Sorry to show up in such a sorry state," Roy gave her a lopsided grin. "I do not intend to impose, but I can't speak for the brat."

Ed swatted at the hand Roy had used to gesture in his direction. Throughout the walk Ed's energy flagged further, and he was left panting and speechless. He resorted to short, snapped comments and commands or simply swatting lightly at Roy with the automail. They had to stop a few times, even going as far as sitting down for twenty minutes on a bench after a stumble that caused Ed a hot flash of pain that left him nauseated. His bruised ribs were not making the trek easier.

"Oh, nonsense. Ed and Alphonse never impose," She gave Ed a smile. It seemed lost on him, he was trying to catch his breath and avoid pain at the same time. His eyes were glassy and he was sweating slightly. The fever the doctor had warned about was visible on his pink cheeks by now as well. "Come on in."

"Thank you," with that, she stepped aside and Roy walked in with Ed following. Mustang casually undid his jacket and hung it on the hook and respectfully undid his shoes and set them to the side.

Ed stomped on the heel of his boots and tugged his feet from them, bracing himself on the wall with his automail hand. That accomplished, he pushed them with his foot to the side and left them in a heap. Ed carefully worked his jacket off his injured shoulder and let it slide off his automail arm to the floor. Roy leaned down to pick it up after Ed gave it a half-hearted kick to try and fling it on top of his boots.

Ed Whump-in-progress 1 FMA

He grabbed a seat, kicking his feet up to rest on the edge of the seat across so he could use his legs as a tale to hold his journal. While they were in transit, he and Al may as well go over what they’ve learned so far to see if they may be able to gather anything while on this assignment.

The Elric brothers drifted into their own world going over their notes, and the rest of the group climbed aboard and the train started in motion after everything and everyone was accounted for.

Edward’s attention turned further away from his meal and their current destination as he and Alphonse nit-picked over small details and things they had learned through their travels so far, and soon found himself getting uncomfortable on the hard seat. Slowly the sounds of the rest of the military group in the cab trickled into his awareness, and he zoned out to a game of cards Falman and Furey had been playing together.

“Ah, they return to the world outside of alchemy. You guys excited for this?” Breda was leaning over the seat ahead of theirs, watching them seemingly oblivious to everything as they hummed and hawed over their research.

“Yes, as much as I can be. I am really thankful that Colonel Mustang is allowing me to ride along. I understand its a really big favor,” Alphonse rubbed at the back of his helmet. “I’m very sure brother is thankful for it as well. We have a lot to go over.”

“Yeah.” Ed leaned back, wondering when he started feeling so exhausted. “He’s not being an ass about it, surprisingly.” He stared out the window for a few minutes, zoning out again. The sky was changing to a dusky purple, and with belated interest he noted the wall lamps lighting up. The motion of the train was adding to his exhaustion, making it hard to keep his eyes open.

Alphonse encouraged his brother to sleep, and kept himself occupied joining the others in card games and listening to the stories they told. Edward rested his head against the glass, drifting off as the kilometres flew by. Hours passed and Alphonse found himself awake alone after a while. He watched his brother sleep, fitfully at times, with his forehead pressed to the glass leaving a foggy halo. He read some to pass the time, some notes and parts of the lighter novels he had started.

Ed stirred eventually, stretching his legs forward with a groan. His eyes opened and he blinked a few times before registering Alphonse across from him.

“Mornin’ Al,” he mumbled checking the horizon. The dark sky dotted with pinprick stars drifted by behind the speeding scenery. “Can you open the window for a bit? ‘S hot in here.”

“You can sleep more, brother.” Alphonse stood as quietly as he could to crack the window as his brother ran his hands over his face, shuddering as he tried to hold back a yawn. Ed nodded, seeming to miss the words entirely as he sat up straighter and stretched a bit more.

“In a bit,” he swallowed, “weird dreams. Its kinda stifling in here, could use the air.” Ed pulled his legs up onto the seat. He felt so sore, how long had it been? He searched his pockets for his watch.

#fh fic teasers #im still working on things im just incredibly slow

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