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angelicyoongie · 4 years

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the crimson shell (llll)

— pairing: jungkook x f!reader — genre: mermaid au, yandere au — w.c: 4.6k — warnings: explicit sexual content! heavy dub-con touching/intercourse, forced breeding, oviposition, mentions of death/violence, general yandere themes — notes: ah, here we finally are, the last part/finale to the story! please keep the warnings in mind, and don’t read this chapter if you’re uncomfortable with anything stated above!

Part I / II / III / IIII

You’re not sure how long you’ve been here. After the second week of just blankly staring at the never changing cave walls surrounding you, you figured there was no point in keeping track of it. What good does it do you anyway? It’s not like counting the days will miraculously get you out of here. While you might not know the number, you do know that it’s been far too many. Your skin has grown pale and gaunt from the lack of sunshine and warmth you’re so used to, and the diet of raw fish hasn’t exactly been very kind to you. The cave is tall enough for you to stand up in comfortably, so at least your circulation isn’t completely shot, but you honestly lack the energy to stay on your feet for too long. Escaping, even just back up to the island, is your only chance at survival. You don’t think you’re going to last very long down here. It’s already gotten to the point where you’ve begun looking forward to Jungkook’s short daily visits, even just the sight of something almost human enough to keep you sane.

You let out a heavy sigh, the noise echoing around the cave as you lean back against the stone wall. Over the last couple of days, the creature has begun to bring you little treasures alongside with your food. You’re not exactly sure why, but it’s nice to have something to do – even if it’s just tracing the patterns on the lockets and pendants over and over. You run your fingers over the small pile of golden jewelry by your side, trying your best to keep your thoughts away from the people it must have belonged to. Jimin might have managed to get away, but you doubt the rest of them did. Two of the pendants in your pile belonged to the crew Jimin brought with him, and you suspect that if you give Jungkook a few more days, he’ll bring you the remaining three. As if you summoned him with your straying thoughts, a small splash in the water alerts you of the creature’s arrival. You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook hoisting himself up on the ledge, another fish and a new pendant dropped at your feet. You silently scoot closer to the edge, offering up your hand to the creature’s expectant red eyes. Jungkook nuzzles into your hand with a happy thrill, rubbing his cheek along your palm. You suppress a shudder at the sound, ignoring the soft skin underneath your fingertips as you stare at the headless fish at your feet. Sometimes you wish you could share the same fate as your food.

You let Jungkook cuddle your hand for as long as he wants, knowing that denying him will only make things worse for yourself. If you look past the sharp claws and teeth, Jungkook is hardly anything more than an oversized puppy. He seems to crave constant affection and confirmation that he’s done good when he brings you food or treasures. You think you might would have found it sweet if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s keeping you trapped here – and that he’s a monster. There’s nothing sweet or innocent about the creature in front of you. You let out a small breath of relief as Jungkook drops your hand, but he doesn’t immediately sink back down in the water as he normally does. You watch in confusion as he pushes the fish closer, the gold chain around it rattling as it drags against the stone. You hesitantly pick it up, praying that Jungkook isn’t going to stay here and watch you eat it. The raw fish already makes you nauseous, and there’s no way you’ll be able to stomach eating it with an audience. Especially one that likes to punish you when you do something he doesn’t like. Call you crazy, but you don’t think gagging at the food he brings you will make him very happy.

You slowly unwrap the chain, putting the fish back down to turn over the locket in your hands. You suck in a harsh breath at the familiar design at the front, the intricate carved flowers making bile rise in your throat. You had this made for Jimin years ago, back when you were still best friends. You two stayed friendly even after you started drifting apart, but you figured he would’ve gotten rid of the locket by now. You can’t believe he kept it all this time. That he still wore it. Your hands shake as you gently pull on the clasp on the side, a strained sound leaving your lips as you flip it open. A picture of you and Jimin smiles back at you, your faces bright and carefree. Jimin has an arm slung around your shoulders, his eyes closed into little crescent moons from how hard he’s grinning at the camera. The pure happiness in the photo makes your heart clench. Despite knowing Jimin was the one who lead you here, you find yourself desperately missing him for a split second before you can catch yourself. God, maybe if you accepted that marriage proposal from the baker’s sleazy son last year you would’ve at least been safe. Home.

You’re yanked out of your thoughts as Jungkook tugs you closer to the ledge, a clawed hand quickly snatching the locket out of your grasp. He lets out a series of chirping noises as his red eyes drag from the locket to you, and Jungkook taps your smiling face in the photo before he does the same to your leg. You stare in bewilderment as the creature drops the locket back in your hands, his lips stretched into a nightmarish version of a smile before he lowers himself down in the water. You swear your heart stops the moment you see the rows of teeth lining his mouth, and it refuses to work again until Jungkook is fully submerged and swimming away. You hastily scoot back from the edge, the locket clutched tightly in your hand. A bitter smile graces your lips as it dawns on you that you’ve figured out how Jimin traded your life for his. The picture. While you can’t be sure of exactly how he managed to communicate with Jungkook, you’re sure that being stranded here for six months must’ve been more than enough time to figure out a way to converse without using actual words. With Jimin as living proof in front of him, the creature must’ve understood that it meant that you were real too. And that if he had managed to get Jimin, then there would be a way to get to you. It was probably easier for Jimin to trade your life for his when he had something tangible to show Jungkook, when he had proof in his hands that you were out there too. A part of you hopes that maybe Jimin tried to convince Jungkook to change his mind, to take someone else instead, but you have a feeling that even if he did, the creature wouldn’t have budged. From the time you’ve spent on the island it has become very clear that Jungkook is stubborn and used to getting what he wants – but you suppose that’s only natural for a creature like him. How can something tell you no when it has already been eaten?

Of course, Jimin had no way to be sure that you would set sail for Jungkook’s island. But, while there was no guarantee you would risk travelling that far, your old friend knew how desperate you were for money, and the lengths you were willing to go to keep your family afloat. You suppose he knew how easy it would be to trick you as long as there was a bit of gold involved, and Jimin was dripping in it when he came back. You just hope he at least had the decency to spare your family a gold ring or two after you left, considering he sacrificed you to go free. You toss the locket aside, not really caring where it ends up as long as it’s far away from you. You force yourself to take a few deep breaths, trying your best to quell the anger burning through your veins. Being mad at Jimin won’t do you any good while you’re stuck down here, so you allow yourself to whisper out a string of curses at the man before you lock away the heavy feeling of betrayal deep into your chest. Seeing Jimin’s smiling face has reignited your dwindling spirit, and you decide that you will get out of here, even if it is just to hunt Jimin down.

The next time Jungkook comes back to visit you, there are no more treasures. Instead, your eyes widen in surprise as the creature gently places a familiar shell and pearl down by your feet, next to your twitching meal. You’re certain you left them near your bonfire higher up on the beach, but judging by the scratches and roughed up skin on Jungkook’s arms, it seems like the creature probably dragged himself all the way up there to get them. You feel your throat run dry at the thought, at the fact that you weren’t even as safe on land as you had first believed. If Jungkook was willing to bring himself up on land to get them, then you’re sure they must mean something important. It can’t be a coincidence that both the shell and the pearl have the same deep red colour as Jungkook’s tail and eyes, and come to think of it, didn’t your luck begin to turn after you picked up it that evening before you left?

Jungkook lets out a chirp as you pick up the shell, the creature leaning forward to rub his head against the back of your occupied hand. You eye him warily as your mind races through what has happened ever since you left home. You really, truly, hope that you’re wrong, but based on how everything started after you picked up the shell and how the creature acts – how he provides for you, how offended he acts when you push him away and how affectionate he is, you fear you might have accidentally accepted a courting offer. You’ve seen similar patterns in animals before, and while you’re not entirely sure what Jungkook really is, you think it’s safe to assume that the same thing might apply for him too. What you can’t really wrap your mind around is why he waited so long. It took weeks before you left after Jimin returned, and you were down by the beach every night. The unexplainable fear you felt was probably something deep inside of you that recognized that you were being watched by a predator – by him – but you didn’t know enough to connect the dots. Jungkook had many chances to grab you, but he didn’t. Not until you accepted his shell. Convenience maybe? That this whole trade was easier if he made you come to him? Or maybe some weird kind of custom his kind has? He is half human, after all. But you can’t be sure. If anything, Jimin could’ve at least had the decency to teach you how to converse with him if he was going to throw you to the sharks, or rather, Jungkook. Either way, you’re sure Jungkook would’ve eventually found a way to get to you even if you didn’t leave on that boat.

You’re shaken out of your thoughts when the feeling of soft skin leaves the back of your hand. The clicks falling from Jungkook’s lips are uncharacteristically soft as he pulls himself up on the ledge, those deep red eyes trained on yours as he tugs you closer. It only takes one hard yank before you find yourself caged in underneath Jungkook’s arms again, legs on either side of his waist. Your pulse quickens as you’re reminded of what happened the last time – you’re not exactly eager to pass out again from being smothered by his weight.

You feel like you shouldn’t be surprised that Jungkook manages to carry his entire weight on one arm, while the other begins to roam across your body. After all, he did drag himself up on land and back, and the part you had on top of you last time was hardly anything. The weight of his entire tail must be extremely heavy out of water. You know the creature doesn’t like it when you don’t pay him attention, so you let your eyes rest on his collarbones, watching as a few drops of water run down his skin. Keeping eye contact is too intimidating, those deep red irises makes it feel like you’re staring right into the depths of hell.

You dig your fingers into your thighs as Jungkook’s hand dips under the torn fabric of your shirt, the unusual texture of the web between his fingers making you squirm uncomfortably as it drags over your skin. You’re very aware of the sharp claws hovering above your delicate stomach as he explores, but at least the creature knows to not let them touch. Jungkook’s hand trails over your sides, your stomach, all the way up to the underside of your breasts. You swallow thickly as a knuckle brushes against the soft flesh, Jungkook’s motion suddenly stilling at the contact. You’ve always managed to push him off before he’s gone any further, but you can feel the shift in the creature’s mood today. You know he’s not going to take no for an answer. But, that still didn’t prepare you for the sudden gush of wind brushing across your exposed chest, your shirt split clean in two with the help of Jungkook’s claws. Before you can scramble to cover up, Jungkook lets out an excited chirp, his hand quickly moving back to your chest. Your mind goes blank as he places his palm over one of your breasts, experimentally squeezing and massaging it as he watches you curiously. You grit your teeth as Jungkook plays with it, ignoring the little tingle of heat in your stomach whenever he does something your traitorous body likes.

You try to convince yourself that Jungkook is probably just excited to see parts of a human body he hasn’t seen before, that he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. Your breath hitches as the webbed texture between Jungkook’s fingers glide over your nipples, a soft moan falling from your lips before you can stop yourself. The noise only seems to spur him on more, Jungkook repeating the motion to hear the sound again. A harsh squeeze on your breast forces out another moan, your hands flying to Jungkook’s chest. Your fingers twitch against his skin, your head telling you to push him away, while the building heat in your stomach and the growing wetness between your legs wants him close to finish what he’s started. You settle for digging your hands into his skin, grounding yourself in his body, knowing that pushing him away won’t do you any good. Jungkook lets out a happy thrill at your touch, lowering himself closer to your body as his hand moves from one breast to the other. You can feel his eyes burning into your skin, your body growing warmer and warmer under his intense gaze. There’s too many sensations at once – cold water dripping against your overheating skin, Jungkook’s long hair tickling your face, the soft and rough skin of his hand squeezing and moving across your flesh. Your eyes glide shut before you can stop yourself, forgetting your own rule of never letting Jungkook out of your sight. It’s just .. too much. Your body doesn’t know whether to hate the attention or love it, your chest tight with disgust while your stomach swirls with pleasure. At least with your eyes shut, and as long as your hands stay on his chest, he feels human. Human enough to make this whole thing a little less horrible.

Your legs tense as you feel more of Jungkook’s weight against your body, his hips pressing down more firmly against yours. You don’t pay it too much attention at first, too occupied by the hand on your chest. At least, that’s until you feel his hips begin to slowly move back and fourth, grinding against your clothed core. Your eyes fly open at the sudden friction, head spinning as your walls clench with need. You’re sure the flimsy material of your trousers must be soaked by now, and the realization that this creature is the reason behind it makes your cheeks flush red with mortification. You stifle a gasp as Jungkook pinches your sensitive nipple between two fingers, another happy thrill filling the cave as he rolls his hips harder against your mound. You can feel the heat in your lower stomach building rapidly, the coil almost ready to snap when Jungkook suddenly stills. You push down the needy whine in your throat as Jungkook removes his hand from your body, the creature pulling himself up further on the ledge.

Your confusion dies as your eyes travel down a little further past his hips, the arousal you felt quickly washed away by terror as you notice a slit in his tail, and something extending out of it. You nearly choke on your own spit as it finally clicks, trying your best to scramble out from beneath Jungkook’s hold as his cock becomes fully unsheathed. Jungkook lets out a series of low, warning clicks at your struggle, his clawed fingers digging into your shoulders as his arms keeps you caged you in. You look down in horror as you feel him resume his grinding against your clothed sex. It’s nothing like you’ve ever seen before. His cock is slightly tapered at the tip, growing thicker down against the base. What you thought was just some misplaced curiosity is obviously more than that, because now, there’s no doubt in your mind that Jungkook’s plan is to fuck you. You ignore the pain as sharp claws dig into your skin, trying your best to twist out of his hold. Logically you know there’s no place for you to run to down here, and that was probably what he wanted all along. Still, your heart hammers painfully against your chest, urging you to at least try.

You don’t succeed in doing much more than twisting yourself over on your stomach, fingers clawing at the stone in an attempt to pull yourself away. You barely have time to process the hiss leaving Jungkook’s throat before the remaining fabric of your trousers are sliced clean in two, leaving you completely bare. The next roll of his hips sends his cock rubbing over your ass, your body trembling at the wetness that seems to be coating it. The scales on his hips are rough and sharp as they drag over your soft skin, and you don’t doubt they'll feel like tiny little razors if you move against them wrong. You’re still trying to drag yourself away when Jungkook’s arms comes under your body, one wrapping underneath your arm to hold the opposite shoulder, and the other curling around your stomach. The creature lets out another hiss at your squirming, pulling your flush against his chest. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, the steady rhythm such a contrast to the wild beat of your own as he once again moves against your body. The new position sends his cock gliding between your legs, the shaft rubbing along your folds and coating it with the same slick fluid you felt on your skin. You dig your fingers into the stone floor, but your body is locked up tight against Jungkook. There’s nowhere for you to go.

Jungkook lets out another warning noise before he rolls his hips forward again, the tapered tip of his cock catching on your entrance. You let out a strangled moan as Jungkook’s cock sinks into your heat, your walls stretching around him as he pushes in deeper. Your arousal from earlier combined with the wetness around the creature’s cock makes the slide painless aside from the uncomfortable burn of being filled too much, too fast. Jungkook’s excited thrill at finally being buried inside your heat rings in your ear from the close proximity, his tongue dipping out to flick across the sheen of sweat at your nape. The creature begins pulling his hips back, not giving you any time to adjust before he snaps them forward. You let out a choked moan as he fills you up again, vision growing hazy as he sets a brutal pace from the get go. You can feel the harsh slap of his hips against your ass with every thrust, Jungkook letting out a pleased hiss as he continues to slam into you. You can feel the tapered length twitching and pulsing inside of you as he moves, more wetness seeping out of his cock to mix with your own. Every thrust leaves you gasping for breath, and the hold Jungkook has around your body feels like you’re wrapped up in steel. You have no choice but to lay there and take it, but as the creature’s cock nudges over your sweet spot repeatedly, you realize to your own horror that you like it.

Lost in a daze of arousal and fear, you don’t even realize the creature has been moving the both of you backwards until you’re suddenly plunged into the cold water. You let out a startled gasp as Jungkook’s length disappears from your heat, and you thread the water forcefully to keep your head above the ripples as you try to figure out where the creature went. You feel his hands before you see him, claws wrapping around your waist as Jungkook pushes you against the ledge. You let out a pained groan as your back collides with the stone, your hands scrambling up to grip the edge of it. You freeze as Jungkook’s head slowly emerges from the water, those deep red eyes looking hungrier and wilder than you’ve ever seen before. It only takes a moment before you feel the creature’s chest pressed against yours, his cock slipping in even easier with the new position. It doesn’t take many thrusts before you’re forced to wrap your legs around his waist to keep yourself afloat, your arms shaking with the effort of keeping your head over water. Your fingers slip a little against the wet stone, your eyes widening as you seem to sink even further down on Jungkook’s cock. You’ve never been so full before, almost delirious as he picks up his pace. Jungkook’s hands are relentless as they glide over your skin, pinching and rubbing every part of your body.

“F-fuck,” You moan as your clit rubs against his tail, the roughness of the scales making a bolt of arousal shoot through your body. You don’t even realize your hips are moving against his as the tightness in your gut grows, the pressure building more and more until it suddenly unravels, waves of pleasure ripping through your body and making you see stars as you come on Jungkook’s cock. The creature lets out something close to a growl as your walls clamp down around him, and he fucks you straight through your orgasm and into oversensitivity with an animalistic pace. You whine as Jungkook’s cock begin to swell, grow, his hands stilling on your hips to pull you flush against him as he comes. He lets out a pleased chirp as the burning hot come floods your insides, a broken moan escaping your lips as Jungkook slows down the harsh pace. It’s done, you think, relieved. He’ll probably leave you alone now. So it confuses you when Jungkook’s eyes slide shut, soft clicks leaving his lips as he pushes you even harder against the stone behind you. He’s still working his hips in and out of your heat, and you realize that even though he just came, his cock is still hard and growing, still stretching your walls.

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as you feel something moving up Jungkook’s cock, a firm but soft sphere spurting from the tip and into you. It takes a second for your hazy mind to connect the dots, and you realize a little too late that the creature is laying eggs. Inside of you. Jungkook is breeding you. You desperately try to push against his chest as you feel the second egg travel up his cock, but Jungkook only tugs you closer, tucking his face into the crook of your neck as his chest rumbles. You stifle back a moan as the second egg joins the first, the foreign texture brushing along your sensitive walls. The creature purrs as he released another spurt of eggs, slowly grinding his cock back and fourth as he breeds you. You cling on to the ledge behind you, disgust and pleasure wracking through your body as another egg joins the rest. A deeper click, something almost close to a groan, falls from Jungkook’s lips as he forces the last egg into your tight heat. Your eyes nearly roll back as you feel his cock nudge against your cervix; Jungkook’s slow pace fucking the eggs around inside of you. If you thought you felt full before, it’s nothing compared to being stuffed to the brim with Jungkook’s thick cock, eggs and come.

You can feel Jungkook’s breath ghost across your exposed wet skin, the harsh puffs of air sending chills down your back. Your hands finally slip from the ledge, too exhausted to keep you up anymore. Before you can wrap your shaking arms around Jungkook’s shoulders, the creature suddenly detangles you from his body, quickly hoisting you back up on the ledge. You let out shaky moan Jungkook’s cock once again slips from your heat, your body feeling surprisingly empty despite the eggs still resting inside of you.

“Shit,” You hiss as you strain to push yourself up on your elbows, gliding a hand down to your stomach. You can feel them inside of you when you press down, little bumps gliding around under your fingertips. Panic builds under your skin – you have to get them out. There has to be a reason you’ve never heard of creatures like Jungkook before. You doubt you're compatible to carry his eggs, and you don’t even know what will happen once they begin to grow. And even if you were, it’s not like you want them. Just as your hand is about to slip down to your slick folds, Jungkook hoists himself up from the water, once again covering your body. He snatches your hand away with a series of threatening clicks, barring his sharp teeth as he lies down on top of you. You twist your head with a fearful whimper as Jungkook pushes your hand into his hair instead, the weight of his body not totally crushing, but still enough to make you feel lightheaded.

You squeeze down around the eggs without meaning do, bile rising in your throat as they catch on your entrance, too big to push out without any help. Your eyes land on the crimson shell and pearl pushed over to the side of the cave. Your chest feels tight as it dawns on you that while the shell were likely a courting offer; the pearl must’ve been a mating offer. And you had accepted both. Your eyes begin to sting as you feel Jungkook’s chest rumble against yours, the pleased purrs making you feel sick. You hesitantly shift your gaze back to him, curling your fingers painfully tight into the wet locks underneath your palm as you find those deep red eyes already staring back at you. A twisted rendition of a smile blooms on his face, the rows of sharp teeth glistening as he looks down at you. The message in his gaze is clear – you’re keeping the eggs.

And there’s no way he’s letting you go.

a/n: oh boy. hopefully only those of you that were okay with the warnings made it this far. because i know i’ll get questions: jk fertilized his own eggs when he bred y/n, and y/n will basically serve as an incubator (poor girl lmao) for a while. she’ll push the eggs out eventually and then the eggs will hatch on their own. and no – i have no plans of doing jk’s pov any time soon, and it’s up to you to imagine y/n’s fate. anyway!! i hope you uhh, enjoyed this! and thank you for all the love and support for this mini series, it means a lot to me! as always, see you all soon and stay safe! and in case you enjoy my stories and want to buy me a coffee, you can do so here! 💖

#mermaid bts #mermaid au #yandere bts #yandere jungkook #mermaid jungkook #bts smut #jungkook x reader #yandere au #bts x reader #yandere mermaid #yandere x reader #bts au #bts fanfic

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

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Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 6

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“I still think you should wear the blue one,” Missy says from her spot lying on Dana’s bed, having long ago tired of the lengthy debate over what she should wear for her date with Mulder.

It’s now 5:30 and while her hair and makeup have been meticulously complete for over an hour, she’s found herself unable to decide on a dress.

“I was wearing that when Ethan proposed to me, Missy. It’s tainted,” she replies with a glare, alternately holding up a red dress that hits just above the knee and has spaghetti straps, and a black one that is ankle length and has a halter top.

Missy rolls onto her side with an exasperated sigh. “It’s just a dress, Dana. And the man is already in love with you, I doubt he cares that much about what you’re wearing. You’re overthinking it, Sis. Though I think I do have some sage in my bag if you want me to smudge it,” she adds helpfully.

Dana gives her sister a pleading look.

“Fine. Wear the red one,” she acquiesces, moving to sit up. “I better get out of here before he shows up,” she says, and the second the words leave her mouth they hear a soft rapping on the door. They look at each other, Dana still in her bra panties, and then Missy stands. “I’ll let him in, you get dressed.”

Missy pulls the bedroom door closed behind her and answers just as Mulder knocks for a second time. He gives her a quizzical look and turns to check the number on the apartment.

“You’ve got the right one, I’m Dana’s sister, Melissa. We met once,” Missy says as she extends her hand.

Mulder takes it, nodding with recognition. “Right, I remember. Uh, is Scully, I mean Dana, here?”

Missy gives him a sympathetic frown. “No, I’m sorry. She changed her mind.”

Mulder’s expression falls until he hears Scully call out from behind her “Missy, don’t be a jerk!”

She crosses the living room, pausing by the couch to pull a shoe the rest of the way over her heel, and then arrives in the doorway. Mulder is dressed in a black suit and crisp white shirt, his dark grey tie patterned with little triangles. His hair looks freshly cut, barely long enough to run your fingers through, and he’s holding a small bouquet of flowers. He looks delicious.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Missy says with a mischievous smile, grabbing her satchel from the dining room table and slipping past Mulder out the open door. “You two kids have fun,” she calls over her shoulder.

Dana rolls her eyes at her sister's remark, then turns to see Mulder staring at her with an oddly intense expression, his lips slightly parted.

“What?” she asks with genuine concern, looking down at her dress to make sure nothing is out of place.

He shakes his head gently as if pulling himself from a reverie. “You look...you look incredible. I mean you always look incredible but now that I’m allowed to tell you that you look incredible…” he drags his eyes down to her shoes and back up to her face where he finds a soft smile on her lips. “You’re so beautiful,” he completes.

She looks away sheepishly, pressing her lips together to hide the grin that it would feel too conceited to let show. “Thank you,” she says quietly, then meets his eye. “You look very handsome yourself.”

They look at each other for a beat, and she can tell he wants to kiss her. She wonders if he will, and if she should let him. They’ve already done much more than kiss, but everything still feels so new. Starting over indeed.

“Oh, these are for you,” he blurts out, breaking the tension as he offers her the flowers.

“Thank you, they’re beautiful,” she replies, taking them and going to the kitchen for a vase. She can sense his eyes on her back as she fills it with water then sets it on the table. She feels a little tingle in response, one she hasn’t felt in a very, very long time. “Shall we?” she asks as she grabs a sweater from the closet, avoiding his eye lest she throw him down on her sofa and never make it to dinner at all.

He steps just outside the door into the hall, so close as she locks it behind them that she can smell his aftershave. When they turn to leave, his hand drifts to rest on her lower back and it sends a little shockwave through her, and a flush of warmth between her thighs. Knowing that they can actually do all the things she’s imagined is exciting and scary, and she wonders how long she can wait. Wonders how long she wants to.

———

He steals glances at every stoplight or stretch of straight road, basically any chance he gets to look away without causing an accident, to take in the stunning beauty in the passenger seat beside him. That little red dress hugs her curves in all the right places, the pale swell of her breasts peeking out and rising gently with each breath. He shifts in his seat, willing his dick to behave and not make him look like a sex crazed lunatic. Though he is pretty sex starved, so it wouldn’t be an entirely untrue assessment. Every bit of self control he’d mustered when they spent time together last year has worn thin, and though he knows that she is no longer off-limits, that doesn’t mean she’s ready to get physical. He would have waited forever for her, so what’s a few more days, or weeks. Months? He really hopes it’s not months.

They pull up in front of the restaurant and he jogs around to the passenger side to open the door for her before the valet can get there. She gives him a shy little smile when he offers his hand to help her out of the car, pulling her to stand in the small space between himself and the doorframe so that the front of their bodies are nearly flush. She tilts her face up towards him, her tall shoes still only bringing her to his shoulder. He lets his eyes fall to her mouth, which is bare of any lipstick but naturally pink and pouty. He could kiss her now and not smudge anything at all.

“Sir?” the valet interrupts, holding out his hand in request of the keys.

The spell broken, he gives over the keys and takes Scully’s hand, her slim fingers threading between his own as her thumb brushes against his palm, a secret acknowledgement of the moment they shared. He smiles to himself as he leads her to the front doors of Marcel’s, looking over to see her curious appraisal of the venue. She clearly hasn’t been here before, which makes him happy. They are led by the host to a small table near the window draped in white linens and she gives him a skeptical glance as he pulls out her chair.

“Are you always this chivalrous? Don’t set expectations you can’t live up to, Mulder.”

He chuffs a laugh. “I actually am, it’s not an act. I was raised in a very upscale, old money environment. I can also tell you which fork to use for each course, if you’re interested.”

She lifts her eyebrows in surprise, watching him curiously as he takes the seat beside her, not across. He doesn’t want an entire table between them.

“Really? Where was that?”

“Martha’s Vineyard,” he answers plainly, not ever wanting that to sound like something he’s bragging about. “What about you, where are you from?” He changes the subject as quickly as possible.

She makes a face. “Nowhere in particular. I was born in Annapolis but my father was in the Navy so we moved a lot. The place he was stationed the longest was San Diego so that area feels just a little bit like home, but we’ve also spent quite a bit of time on the East Coast. We lived in Japan for a bit when I was a baby, but I don’t remember it.”

The waiter comes by to take their drink orders and Mulder orders a bottle of red he assumes they’ll have without looking at the menu. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Scully opens her menu and her eyes expand in shock. She closes it quietly and waits for the waiter to leave before leaning towards him.

“Mulder,” she says very seriously, as though she’s about to deliver devastating news, “that bottle of wine is three hundred dollars.”

He leans further towards her so their foreheads nearly touch. “Scully,” he says in an equally serious tone, “I warned you I was going to go overboard.”

He watches her try to suppress a surprised smile as she leans back, eyeing him appraisingly. “You’re quite the enigma, Mulder. With your fancy country club upbringing and expensive taste in wine in contrast to aliens and worn down bachelor pads.”

“Worn down?” he says in mock offense, “Priscilla will be horrified to hear that you said that.” The full-toothed smile he gets in response makes his heart swell, even if he suspects it has more to do with the mention of Priscilla than his winning sense of humor.

Wine and water are delivered, and Scully tries to order the cheapest thing on the menu before he insists that she wants the surf and turf and she acquiesces with a pained look.

“I think you’ve mischaracterized who among us is the enigma, Scully,” he picks up after their menus are collected. “I’m not sure I’ve ever encountered another Navy brat brainiac babe who cuts up dead people for a living.”

“Really?” she asks, eyebrows furrowed as though this is surprising to hear. “I’ll have to invite you to our next chapter meeting.”

“You’re also funny, add that to your list of enigmatic qualities,” he retorts, and she shrugs demurely. “Speaking of enigmas, there was a case I did a little poking around on, about some suspicious deaths in a community of carnies. There was a sideshow act where a man who was tattooed head to toe in jigsaw puzzle pieces ate live animals. He was sometimes called The Conundrum, and other times he went by The Enigma.”

Her eyes light up at the mention of his old work. “Was this an x file?” she asks excitedly.

“Not technically, no. This was just a couple years ago so the files were closed, but every now and then I get a lead and take some time off work to run it down.”

Scully looks a little disappointed. “Have you ever tried to have the X files reopened?” she asks, taking a sip of her wine and making a little expression that he takes as her being impressed.

“Sure, especially at first. The people at the heart of these government-run conspiracies don’t want the files open again, but the main reason bureau leadership gives for now is that I don’t have a partner, and they won’t let me work on them alone.”

“Couldn't they just assign you a partner? I’m not a field agent, but I was under the impression they somewhat randomly pair people off.”

He smiles sheepishly. “In theory, yes. But I haven’t had much success with the partners I’ve been assigned in the past. One might say that I don’t play well with others.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she says with a skeptical look, “you strike me as fairly easy to get along with.”

“Maybe so, Scully, but there’s a significant difference you’re omitting,” he leans forward and lets the tips of his fingers brush her bare knee. “I like you.”

There’s that million dollar grin again. This night is going so much better than he possibly could have hoped.

———

She could not have possibly imagined how good it would feel to be with him and truly be with him. No boundaries, no barriers, no lines to walk between what’s acceptable for ‘just friends.’ They openly flirt and smile at each other all through dinner, casually touching an arm or a leg, holding hands briefly a few times. She feels like a giddy schoolgirl and can’t recall the last time she felt this happy. So when the waiter collects their dessert plates and drops off the bill, she feels a little wave of sadness that the night is coming to an end.

She knows that if she invites him to come up to her apartment, he will say yes. And she knows that if she does that, they will end up having sex. She would very, very much like to have sex with him. But she’s also worried that she’s rushing things and potentially ignoring possible red flags or other signs that they might not be compatible because she wants this to work so badly. She decides she’s not going to invite him up.

They stand on the curb outside Marcel’s, waiting for the valet to bring the car around, and she crosses her arms and shivers against the cool evening air. Mulder notices and slides his arm around her shoulders, rubbing his palm briskly over her upper arm. Not satisfied that he’s done enough, he then moves to stand behind her and opens his suit jacket, pressing his chest to her back as he wraps the jacket around her, folding them both up inside it. He’s warm and firm and she lets her weight rest against him, the back of her head tucked into the crook of his neck. She sighs contentedly, feeling safe and cared for. It’s a feeling she’s really missed, being single.

On the short drive back to her apartment, he slips his hand over the console to rest on the seat next to her, an invitation, and she presses her palm against his, feeling the ache of missing him before he’s even gone. He pulls up to the curb in front of her building and they don’t let go, looking at each other in the dim glow of the street lights.

“Can I walk you to your door?” he asks, and she feels a mischievous smile creep over her lips. She nods.

They walk slowly, hand in hand, through the front doors and up the elevator. When they arrive at her door, she unlocks but doesn’t open it, leaning her back against the frame instead.

“I had a really nice time, Mulder. Thank you,” she says, her gaze lingering on his hooded green eyes and that full bottom lip.

“Me too,” he replies with a shy smile, stepping forward and placing his fingertips cautiously on her hips.

Her pelvis tips toward him unconsciously, seeking out the contact she has every intention of denying herself for now.

“Can I...would it be okay if I kissed you?” he asks, his eyes on her mouth. She opens it reflexively, tilting her chin up further.

He seems to take that as his answer, dipping his head to meet her at her level, and the pillowy press of his mouth against hers feels like such a relief she sighs audibly. His fingers on her hips press more firmly in response, pulling her gently towards him, closer still. She puts her hands on his forearms and slides them up until her fingers are gently scraping through the hair at the nape of his neck, and she feels his tongue slip out to taste hers. One of his hands leaves her hip and she feels it flutter over the side of her neck, cupping her jaw gently as they kiss slowly, languidly, like they have all the time in the world. His thumb brushes over the front of her throat and it somehow feels more intimate than if he were touching her in a more private place. To touch her in a vulnerable spot, one that can hurt and even kill someone, but to do it so tenderly feels erotic and exciting, and she takes his lip between her teeth and bites down gently to encourage him. He emits a little groan and arches his pelvis towards her, the stiff ridge of his erection grazing her belly.

“Mulder,” she says between kisses.

“Mmmmm,” he says in response, brushing his lips over the corner of her mouth.

“I don’t...I think….we should probably say goodnight.”

He makes a little sound somewhere between a whine and a sigh, but pulls away from her.

“I just...I don’t want to rush this,” she says earnestly, holding both his hands in hers. “I want to do things right this time.”

He nods, pulling her into an embrace. She has that feeling again, like she could crawl inside his chest cavity and make a home there, though this time it’s accessorized with an erection pressed against her.

“Sorry about that,” he says without embarrassment, and she laughs.

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” she replies, pulling away and reaching for the doorknob.

“You really, really, should,” he retorts, and she opens the door, backing in slowly. Once she is fully inside and looking at him through the slim crack she’s wedged herself into as though she were trying to keep him out, he leans forward so his face is inches from hers. “One for the road?” he asks hopefully, and she nods.

He presses his mouth against hers, chastely, no tongue, and holds it there for a very long time. Long enough that she starts to feel her resolve cracking. She pulls away.

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she says in a sing-song voice, and he backs away from the door with a dopey smile.

“Night, Scully,” he replies, not leaving until after she closes the door. She knows because she watches him through the peephole as he stands there smiling like a fool before looking up and possibly thanking the gods. Finally, he leaves.

Goodnight indeed. It was such a good night.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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thathelplesshomeschooler · 3 years

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humans are space orcs (with magic!) *skillz to pay the billz pt 1*

5wow i have been gone for a hot minute but i think i’m gonna tryn write more on here, but school’s starting up again soon so we’ll see how that actually goes. anyway, without further ado, here is another short story or sum, based on how some people can cook, and how some absolutely cannot

also i had to resist so hard from writing that’s what she said at the end so i will have to console myself with writing it up here.

***

The VIV Narrtor was docked at a WayCenter Station for repairs after a gamma burst from a neutron star had fried nearly all the sensors. As it was the humans had decided to designated this as their “vacation” and had put their money together and were renting a small abode for the duration of the repairs. Not wanting to miss out on any possible research, Drerzii had insisted that he and Tygeria rent the room across the street from the humans.

And so Tygeria found herself the windowsill with a pair of “binoculars” as the humans called it, in her hand. Currently the humans weren’t doing much, in fact it appeared that only one of them was up and active. Uhris, clad only in his undergarments, was in the sustenance preparation room, making ready the pot of dark, steaming liquid that the humans drank every morning. She and Drerzii had suspected it to be either some sort of religious ceremony or a necessity of their species, much like how the dular always had to eat from a plant native to their planet before they ate anything else or they would die. However, neither of them had mustered the courage to ask the humans. If it was indeed a private matter, it might not be appreciated if they suspected they were being studied so thoroughly. And an angry human was not something Tygeria wanted to see.

As she observed, the rest of the humans slowly arose from their slumber, except for Taurus. Being the largest of them all, Tygeria suspected that he likely needed more rest than the rest of them in order to move his mass around. She noted her thoughts on a holotablet.

When she resumed her observations, she noted that Uhris was preparing sustenance, and quite a large amount. He must be feeding the entire group. It was strange she thought, since his records didn’t indicate that he had been trained in sustenance preparation, but he seemed quite adept in his actions. Perhaps he had trained in secret, hoping one day to be employed as a sustenance prepare. These “chefs” apparently were quite coveted in any group.

The group spent most of the morning hours indoors, but what they were doing exactly Tygeria couldn’t say exactly. They were certainly enjoying themselves at the very least. Around midday Uhris and Enara walked out of the building. Tygeria leaned forward, her interested piqued. “Drerzii, Drerzii! They’re headed this way.” Her carapace tingled with mixed fear and excitement. They’d been found out. Surely the humans would be angry at being spied on. Drerzii rose from his resting state.

“My dear Tygeria, you surely must be mistaken. The humans-” He stopped as he peered out the window, “Oh. You’re quite right Tygeria. But do calm yourself, I doubt they mean us any harm. Likely their simply curious. Their species’ natural inclement is towards curiosity rather than violence; however, I suppose we should be prepared. There, I have a clear line of communication to command should anything happen.”

Tygeria appreciated his actions, but her carapace still tingled. A minute later there was a knock on the door. She walked quickly across the room and opened the door. Uhris and Enara stood in the entryway.

Uhris switched his hand from scratching the back of his head to giving them a little wave. “Uh hey. Anne pointed out that you guys were staying across the street from us, and we all agreed that we couldn’t just let you guys stay here.” It was exactly as Tygeria feared, the humans were angry about being spied on. Drerzii’s flashing colors echoed her fear. “So we- Drerzii you okay? You’re putting on a whole light show my dude.”

“Oh, yes, I’m quite fine. For the time being at least.”

“Erm, yeah, whatever that means. Anyway, we’re about to have lunch, so we wanted to know if you guys wanted to join us. We might do something later, but we haven’t decided what yet.”

Tygeria lowered her head so it was on eye-level with the human. It didn’t make much of a difference to her, what with her infrared vision, but apparently it was a human gesture. “You don’t intend us any harm?”

The two humans looked on in confusion. “N-no? I mean why would we want to hurt you? We just wanted to know if you wanted to eat with us, but if you don’t that’s fine too.”

Tygeria was taken aback. Did they not know? “Because we were obs-”

“Of course we would be delighted to enjoy you for a meal. I unfortunately am unable to consume at the current moment, but I would be delighted to participate in your fellowship.”

“Oh. Great, well you guys can head on over then. Enara and I are just going to get some groceries, but we’ll be back in just a few minutes. The door’s unlocked so just head right in”

And so the humans headed off toward the provisions center of the station while Tygeria and Drerzii made their way to the humans rooms. Upon entering the room they were met with ferocious laughter. The terrifying sound of mirth coming from all three of the humans. Taurus, who apparently was in the middle of a story glanced over towards the door, his predatory eyes moving by pure instinct. He motioned with his hand. “Come on over guys, I was just telling them about when I managed to get a screw jammed up my nose.” It took a few minutes of recap for Tygeria and Drerzii to understand the situation, but it was incomprehnsible why the humans found it so funny.

Uhris and Enara arrived shortly after the story was finished. Both had bags filled with consumables in both hands. Taurus hooted from across the room “Uwu, y’all look like a couple, walking in with your groceries.”

Uhris breathed heavily through his nose, what Tygeria believed was called a “snort.” “If I was Jason maybe we’d be a couple.” At that comment Jason started coughing and Enara’s face grew red. Perhaps, Tygeria thought, this has something to do with them ‘liking’ each other.

“Anyway, we’re going to get started on lunch. Y’all just sit tight. Also Tygeria you should be able to eat this, we got food that’s edible for you too.” She clicked her thanks.

It was very considerate that the humans would use sustenance that she would be able to ingest as well. She was, however, concerned. Among her kind she was known to have rather specific preferences. However she couldn’t risk offending the humans by not eating any sustenance they prepared. But as they worked in the kitchen, her olfactory senses began to tingle. The smells of whatever it was they were making piqued her curiosity. How could one prepare food so that it would have such a smell? Was this some form of communication between human. Perhaps it was just a byproduct of whatever processes they were using to prepare the sustenance.

She peered over to see both Uhris and Enara moving efficiently through the kitchen, handing each others utensils and ingredients as they worked. Occasionally one of them would take a small utensil and taste some of the sustenance, then make a small adjustment to the ratios of ingredients. Sometimes they would ask each others opinions or hand something off to the other. Tygeria was astonished at the ease with which they hurried through their movements. Uhris placed his creation in the heating unit and turned to the rest of them. “Alright, so this should take just a few minutes to bake, and then we’ll be good to go.”

Taurus set out dishes for everyone to eat on, except for Drerzii, who had declined on account of his metabolic processes not being in service for the time being. Once Uhris had deemed the time to be right, he carefully pulled the sustenance from the heating chamber and placed it upon the table. Enara came from the kitchen and placed what she had prepared next to Uhris’. “Just wait for it to cool down and then go ahead and dig in.”

With a laugh Jason raised his hand, “So what exactly is it that we’re eating.”

Uhris bared his teeth, then quickly changed his expression to be less frightening for Tygeria and Drerzii. “What we have here is a magherita flatbread, made completely by hand, with non-native ingredients. I subbed uthara for tomatoes for both the garnish and the sauce, and used tehari cream instead of cheese. And the crust is, actually I don’t know what it is, it just said it could be substituted on my holotablet. But Enara, tell them what you made.”

“What we have here is a fruit salad, also made with ‘non-native’ ingredients, as Uhri put it. And I put in some of the spices they had at the compound for some added flavor.”

Jason laughed, “So basically we’re having alien pizza and alien fruit salad? This is really gonna be the test guys.” With that he took out the first section of the ‘flatbread’ and took a bite. His eyes opened wide and he made a sound deep in his throat. With a mouth full of food he said, “Oh yeah, thish ish the sh*t you guys.”

What exactly that meant, Tygeria wasn’t sure, but the rest of the humans began consuming the sustenance, and so Tygeria took one of the squares and took a bite of it herself. Her carapace tingled with delight. The flavors burst in her mouth, sweet and salty combining perfectly. She hummed with delight, this was beyond what she would have imagined the humans to be capable of. She then took a portion of the ‘fruit salad’ and ate some of that as well. It complimented the flatbread in a way that she didn’t know was even possible. She quickly secured another few servings, making sure she would have enough for later on. She would have to savor the taste whenever she had the chance. But she couldn’t help but to hum even more as she continued to feed on it.

“Well it looks like we have one very happy customer.” Uhri said.

* * *

The rest of the day the group simply stayed indoors and talked about a myriad of subjects. Enara’s skill in the kitchen had come about simply because she liked to cook as a past time. It was, as she said, “A pleasure to see my work put smiles on faces. And even better if I can make the food healthy.” Uhri had apparently worked in his family’s business of making food for special events, something called catering, and had picked up his skills from his years helping around the kitchen. He volunteered to make another meal for dinner, but before he could start Anne stopped him.

She stepped into the kitchen and turned to him “It’s been a while since I’ve made anything for anyone else, but I’d like to try to make something for you guys.”

Uhri shrugged, “Knock yourself out.” Tygeria was startled by this. Why would Anne hit herself so hard as to knock her unconscious? She was about to raise her concern when Uhri spoke, “I didn’t mean it literally. It’s a human saying, kind of like good luck, or go right ahead.”

She hummed her acknowledgement, but was still confused as to why anyone would say this.

Taurus paused, “Wait Anne, I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Well I did live by myself for two years in college. And I got sick of instant ramen after the first semester, so I had to learn.”

This made sense to Tygeria, humans apparently had to fend for themselves once they reached a certain age. Their parents would assist but for the most part they were on their own. Next to her Drerzii trumpeted with delight. “Why, Tygeria I have been fastidiously taking notes of this whole occasion, and I would like to mull over them with you later. We can see what our thoughts are, but this entire time has been so enlightening.”

A few short minutes later Anne huffed out of the kitchen a steaming platter in her hands. The smell coming from it was just as strong as the one coming from the earlier dishes, but not quite so delectable in nature. Anne plopped it down in the middle of the table and introduced the dish. “It’s a bean casserole, or at least as close as I could get to one with what we have.”

Jason was again the first one to take a bite. He slowly pulled his utensil out of his mouth. Anne beamed, “So, what do you think?”

Jason shook slightly, “It’s definitely something else. You’ve got a real flavor there I’ll tell you that.” He timidly placed another portion in his mouth, shutting his eyes as he did so.

The others began to eat, and had similar reactions. Slow, and usually taking a drink of water after every bite they had. It was a completely different reaction to what they had before. Before she could take a bite, Drerzii whispered in her ear, “Tell me what it tastes like.”

So she put a large portion on her plate, and another large portion in her mouth. If it was anything like the bliss she had tasted earlier she would have to start eating the humans food more often. Unfortunately, it was nothing like what she had eaten earlier. It was as if whatever the flavor was meant to be had become evil and was attacking her mouth. And the way it felt, it was incredibly dry, parching her mouth. She quickly grabbed a cup of water and downed it, trying to suppress the taste and texture. She turned to Drerzii and spoke quietly, not wanting to offend Anne, “It’s awful. I would not recommend trying it.” She looked back to see Anne staring directly at her. Her predatory hearing must have heard Tygeria’s report.

“Is it actually that bad? I know I might have fudged some of the spices, but was it actually that bad?”

Tygeria started to panic. How could she tell the human that it was possibly the worst thing she had ever tasted? Humans were easily offended when it came to things they made themselves. It wouldn’t do for her to insult the food. But she could thing of no other honest alternative. Right as she was about to confirm, Taurus spoke. “To be honest Anne, it’s not great. It’s pretty dry and you overdid it with the flavoring. But trust me it’s not as bad as my grandmothers cooking. That was a culinary nightmare. I can at least eat this.”

Anne nodded, liquid gathering at the bottoms of her eyes. Tygeria tilted her head, she had heard that liquid spilled from humans eyes when they got emotional, and the action even had a name. So she asked, “Are you going to cry?”

Instantly Anne stood straight, and shook her head. “Throw the food away. I’ll just go out and grab something pre-made.” With that she dashed out the door.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“I mean, yeah, you aren’t really supposed to ask people if they’re going to cry.” Taurus said, “But at least we don’t have to finish the food. God it was disgusting, I thought I was going to throw up.”

Enara struck him on the shoulder. “Don’t say that, she tried her best.”

“I mean am I wrong?”

Enara raised her hand as if to cuff him again, but slowly let her arm down. “No, not really, it was pretty terrible. I’m going to go find her, but let’s do try to cheer her up when she comes back.” And with that Enara rose and left the room. As soon as she had Uhris spat out a slimy, semi-chewed portion of the food. “That shit was nasty, I couldn’t bring myself to swallow.”

Tygeria wondered how any human could take the risk of attempting to prepare sustenance of the potential for disaster was this, this massacre of the tastebuds.

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans and aliens #humans are space orcs #humans in space #humans are space australians #humans #space #Aliens #space story #humans are crazy

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philip-ks-dick · 3 years

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Philip K. Dick, For Dummies.

I’ve been researching PK.D for a few years now, as he’s my father’s favourite author and I’ve been watching movie and show adaptations of his work for the longest time. I have personally only read the books listed, here’s the order (I think) you should read them in, based on difficulty level and the knowledge you need of the PKD canon to understand the books that follow. This is purely my opinion based on knowledge of the author. by philip-k’s-dick (lol)

Beginner. (These books and stories allow readers to explore Dick’s pet themes and stylistic quirks without falling too far down the rabbit hole)

The Short Stories: Over the course of his life, PKD wrote somewhere in the range of 150 short stories. Naturally, it would be silly of me to dump all of them on you at once, but undeniably, the shorter format allows the big ideas of Dick’s work to come through more clearly, and even the screwier stories conform to relatively coherent shape, making them an excellent jumping off point, especially for an author who wrote almost nonstop throughout his life.

My Favourites:

In The Days of Perky Pat - In this novel, survivors of a global thermonuclear war live in isolated enclaves in California, surviving off what they can scrounge from the wastes and supplies delivered from Mars. The older generation spend their leisure time playing with the eponymous doll in an escapist role-playing game that recalls life before the apocalypse — a way of life that is being quickly forgotten. At the story's climax, a couple from one isolated outpost of humanity plays a game against the dwellers of another outpost (who play the game with a doll similar to Perky Pat dubbed "Connie Companion") in deadly earnest. The survivors' shared enthusiasm for the Perky Pat doll and the creation of her accessories from vital supplies is a sort of mass delusion that prevents meaningful re-building of the shattered society. In stark contrast, the children of the survivors show absolutely no interest in the delusion and have begun adapting to their new life.

(Elements of the story were later incorporated into Dick's novel The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch, written in 1964 and published in 1965, in which a Perky Pat simulation game is induced by drugs and miniature models instead. Palmer Eldritch is not a continuation or sequel however.)

What the Dead Men Say - Death is followed by a period of 'half-life', a short amount of time which can be rationed out over long periods in which the dead can be revived—so that, potentially, they can 'live' on for a long time. When attempts to bring back important businessman Louis Sarapis fail, it's clearly more than mere negligence. Sure enough, Sarapis starts speaking from beyond the grave. From outer space, in fact. Yet no-one seems terribly bothered, other than those directly concerned in the plot mechanics. Eventually entire communications networks (phones, TV, radio) are blocked by Sarapis' broadcasts

(Philip's later novel Ubik is a continuation of What the Dead Men Say)

Autofac - Three men wait outside their settlement for an automated delivery truck. Five years earlier, during the Total Global Conflict, a network of hardened automatic factories ("autofacs") had been set up with cybernetic controls that determine what food and consumer goods to manufacture and deliver. Human input had been lost, and the men planned disruption to try to establish communication and take over control. They destroy the delivery, but the truck radios the autofac and unloads an identical replacement, then prevents them from reloading items. They act out being disgusted with the milk delivery and are given a complaints checklist. In a blank space, they write improvised semantic garble—"the product is thoroughly pizzled". The autofac sends a humanoid data collector that communicates on an oral basis, but is not capable of conceptual thought, and they are unable to persuade the network to shut down before it consumes all resources. Their next strategy sets neighbouring autofacs in competition with each other for rare resources and seemingly succeeds, but there is a hidden level

Beyond Lies The Wub - Peterson, a crew member of a spaceship loading up with food animals on Mars, buys an enormous pig-like creature known as a "wub" from a native just before departure. Franco, his captain, is worried about the extra weight but seems more concerned about its taste, as his ship is short of food. However, after takeoff, the crew realizes that the wub is a very intelligent creature, capable of telepathy and maybe even mind control.

Peterson and the wub spend time discussing mythological figures and the travels of Odysseus. Captain Franco, paranoid after an earlier confrontation with the Wub which left him temporarily paralyzed, bursts in and insists on killing and eating the wub. The crew becomes very much opposed to killing the sensitive creature after it makes a plea for understanding, but Franco still makes a meal out of him. At the dinner table, Captain Franco apologises for the "interruption" and resumes the earlier conversation between Peterson and the Wub - which now has apparently taken over the Captain's body

Human Is - Jill Herrick and her husband Lester are in the middle of an argument. Lester deflects his wife’s claim that he is “hideous” with cold indifference. He tells her that he will not allow their child in the house and will have him removed to government custody because he is interfering with his research. Before the distraught Jill can pass this onto their son Gus, Lester gets news that he will be taking a trip to Rexor IV. Despite Jill’s desire to go there and see the planet, Lester insists that he will go alone.

Later Jill tells her brother Frank and she is going to leave Lester. She explains how happy she has been with Lester gone and how he seems to be getting worse every year of their marriage. More cold and more “ruthless,” not to mention the incessant working.

Lester comes home a very different man. He praises Jill’s cooking and expresses disgust with his work on Rexor IV studying toxins. He says he prefers Terra and being home with his wife.

Jill reports these changes to Frank, while Lester is playing in the room with Gus. Frank has Lester brought to a lab for more studies under the guidance of the Federal Clearance agency. Before long they realize that Lester has had his body taken over by a Rexorian.

The Hanging Stranger - The protagonist, Ed Loyce, is a store owner who is disturbed when he sees a stranger hanging from a lamppost, but finds that other people consider the apparent lynching unremarkable.

He finds evidence that alien insects have taken over, manages to get out of town, talks to the police commissioner, who believes him, and after getting all the information about what Ed knows, explains that the body was hung to see if anyone reacted to it, anyone they didn't have control over. He then takes Ed outside and hangs him from a lamppost.

The Commuter - Ed Jacobson is a railway worker at Woking station. His life takes a turn for the worse when his son, Sam, begins experiencing psychotic episodes. When he is selling rail tickets at work, a young woman named Linda asks for a ticket to a destination called Macon Heights that is not listed on any map.

The Minority Report - In a future society, three mutants foresee all crime before it occurs. Plugged into a great machine, these "precogs" allow a division of the police called Precrime to arrest suspects before they can commit any actual crimes. When the head of Precrime, John Anderton, is himself predicted to murder a man whom he has never met, Anderton is convinced a great conspiracy is afoot

Full Books:

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? - Rick Deckard, a bounty hunter for the San Francisco Police Department, is assigned to "retire" (kill) six androids of the new and highly intelligent Nexus-6 model which have recently escaped from Mars and traveled to Earth. These androids are made of organic matter so similar to a human's that only a posthumous "bone marrow analysis" can independently prove the difference, making them almost impossible to distinguish from real people. Deckard hopes this mission will earn him enough bounty money to buy a live animal to replace his lone electric sheep to comfort his depressed wife Iran. Deckard visits the Rosen Association's headquarters in Seattle to confirm the accuracy of the latest empathy test meant to identify incognito androids. Deckard suspects the test may not be capable of distinguishing the latest Nexus-6 models from genuine human beings, and it appears to give a false positive on his host in Seattle, Rachael Rosen, meaning the police have potentially been executing human beings. The Rosen Association attempts to blackmail Deckard to get him to drop the case, but Deckard retests Rachael and determines that Rachael is, indeed, an android, which she ultimately admits.

Clans of the Alphane Moon - War between Earth and insectoid-dominated Alpha III ended over a decade ago. (According to the novel, "Alphane" refers to the nearest star to our own system, Alpha Centauri). Some years after the end of hostilities, Earth intends to secure its now independent colony in the Alphane system, Alpha III M2. As a former satellite-based global psychiatric institution for colonists on other Alphane system worlds unable to cope with the stresses of colonisation, the inhabitants of Alpha III M2 have lived peacefully for years. But, under the pretence of a medical mission, Earth intends to take their colony back.

Against this background, Chuck Rittersdorf and his wife Mary are separating. Although they think they are going their separate ways, they soon find themselves together again on Alpha III M2. Mary travels there through government work, Chuck sees it as a chance to kill Mary using his remote control simulacrum. Along the way he is guided by his Ganymedean slime mould neighbour Lord Running Clam and Mary finds herself manipulated by the Alphane sympathiser, comedian Bunny Hentman.

The Man in the High Castle - In 1962, 15 years after Imperial Japan and Nazi Germany have won World War II, Robert "Bob" Childan owns an Americana antique shop in San Francisco, California (located in the Japanese-occupied Pacific States of America), which is most commonly frequented by the Japanese, who make a fetish of romanticized American cultural artifacts. Childan is contacted by Nobusuke Tagomi, a high-ranking Japanese trade official, who is seeking a gift to impress a visiting Swedish industrialist named Baynes. Childan's store is stocked in part with counterfeit antiques from the Wyndam-Matson Corporation, a metalworking company. Frank Frink (formerly Fink), a secretly Jewish-American veteran of World War II, has just been fired from the Wyndam-Matson factory, when he agrees to join a former co-worker to begin a handcrafted jewellery business. Meanwhile, Frink's ex-wife, Juliana, works as a judo instructor in Canon City, Colorado (in the neutral buffer zone of Mountain States), where she begins a sexual relationship with an Italian truck driver and ex-soldier, Joe Cinnadella. Throughout the book, many of these characters frequently make important decisions using prophetic messages they interpret from the I Ching, a Chinese cultural import. Many characters are also reading a widely banned yet extremely popular new novel, The Grasshopper Lies Heavy, which depicts an alternate history in which the Allies won World War II in 1945, a concept that amazes and intrigues its readers.

Frink reveals that the Wyndam-Matson Corporation has been supplying Childan with counterfeit antiques, which works to blackmail Wyndam-Matson for money to finance Frink's new jewelry venture. Tagomi and Baynes meet, but Baynes repeatedly delays any real business as they await an expected third party from Japan. Suddenly, the public receives news of the death of the Chancellor of Germany, Martin Bormann, after a short illness. Childan tentatively, on consignment, takes some of Frink's "authentic" new metalwork and attempts to curry favour with a Japanese client, who surprisingly considers Frink's jewelry immensely spiritually alive. Juliana and Joe take a road trip to Denver, Colorado and Joe impulsively decides they should go on a side-trip to meet the mysterious Hawthorne Abendsen, author of The Grasshopper Lies Heavy, who supposedly lives in a guarded fortress-like estate called the "High Castle" in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Soon, Joseph Goebbels is announced as the new German Chancellor.

Intermediate. (These are the books to pick up once you have the basics of what makes a PKD novel down. They’re obtuse enough to hit a little heavier, but don’t provide the full dose of surrealism Dick was capable of serving up. This is also good spot to jump in if you’ve experienced weird fiction before.)

Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said - The novel is set in a dystopian version of 1988, following a Second Civil War which led to the collapse of the United States' democratic institutions. The National Guard ("nats") and US police force ("pols") reestablished social order through instituting a dictatorship, with a "Director" at the apex, and police marshals and generals as operational commanders in the field. Resistance to the regime is largely confined to university campuses, where radicalized former university students eke out a desperate existence in subterranean kibbutzim. Recreational drug use is widespread, and the age of consent has been lowered to twelve. The black population has almost been rendered extinct. Most commuting is undertaken by personal aircraft, allowing great distances to be covered in little time.

The novel begins with the protagonist, Jason Taverner, a singer, hosting his weekly TV show which has an audience of 30 million viewers. His special guest is his girlfriend Heather Hart, also a singer. Both Hart and Taverner are "Sixes", members of an elite class of genetically engineered humans. While leaving the studio, Taverner is telephoned by a former lover, who asks him to pay her a visit. When Taverner arrives at her apartment, the former lover attacks him by throwing a parasitic life-form at him. Although he manages to remove most of the life-form, parts of it are left inside him. After being rescued by Hart, he is taken to a medical facility.

Waking up the following day in a seedy hotel with no identification, Taverner becomes worried, as failure to produce identification at one of the numerous police checkpoints would lead to imprisonment in a forced labor camp. Through a succession of phone calls made from the hotel to colleagues and friends who now claim not to know him, Taverner establishes that he is no longer recognized by the outside world. He soon manages to bribe the hotel's clerk into taking him to Kathy Nelson, a forger of government documents. However, Kathy reveals that both she and the clerk are police informants, and that the lobby clerk has placed a microscopic tracking device on him. She promises not to turn Taverner over to the police on the condition that he spend the night with her. Although he attempts to escape, Kathy confronts him again after he has successfully passed a police checkpoint using the forged identity cards. Feeling in her debt, he accompanies Kathy to her apartment block, where Inspector McNulty, Kathy's police handler, is waiting. McNulty has located Taverner via the tracking device the hotel lobby clerk placed on him, and instructs Taverner to come with him to the 469th Precinct police station so that further biometric identity checks can be performed.

Time out of Joint - Ragle Gumm lives in the year 1959 in a quiet American suburb. His unusual profession consists of repeatedly winning the cash prize in a local newspaper contest called "Where Will The Little Green Man Be Next?". Gumm's 1959 has some differences from ours: the Tucker car is in production, AM/FM radios are scarce to non-existent, and Marilyn Monroe is a complete unknown. As the novel opens, strange things begin to happen to Gumm. A soft-drink stand disappears, replaced by a small slip of paper with the words "SOFT-DRINK STAND" printed on it in block letters. Intriguing little pieces of the real 1959 turn up: a magazine article on Marilyn Monroe, a telephone book with non-operational exchanges listed and radios hidden away in someone else's house. People with no apparent connection to Gumm, including military pilots using aircraft transceivers, refer to him by name. Few other characters notice these or experience similar anomalies; the sole exception is Gumm's supposed brother-in-law, Victor "Vic" Nielson, in whom he confides. A neighborhood woman, Mrs. Keitelbein, invites him to a civil defense class where he sees a model of a futuristic underground military factory. He has the unshakeable feeling he's been inside that building many times before.

Confusion gradually mounts for Gumm. His neighbor Bill Black knows far more about these events than he admits, and, observing this, begins worrying: "Suppose Ragle [Gumm] is becoming sane again?" In fact, Gumm does become sane, and the deception surrounding him (erected to protect and exploit him) begins to unravel

Ubik - By the year 1992, humanity has colonized the Moon and psychic powers are common. The protagonist, Joe Chip, is a debt-ridden technician working for Runciter Associates, a "prudence organization" employing "inertials"—people with the ability to negate the powers of telepaths and "precogs"—to enforce the privacy of clients. The company is run by Glen Runciter, assisted by his deceased wife Ella who is kept in a state of "half-life", a form of cryonic suspension that allows the deceased limited consciousness and ability to communicate. While consulting with Ella, Runciter discovers that her consciousness is being invaded by another half-lifer named Jory Miller

Difficult. (This section comes with a caveat: within these novels you will encounter numerous hallucinations, drug trips, an entire trilogy about gnostic spirituality and mental illness, and more than a little unabashed nightmare fuel. It’s normal to get tangled up in what goes on in these books. It’s also normal to be weirded out. But with proper grounding, you’ll make it though with your faculties intact. Probably.)

The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch - The story begins in a future world where global temperatures have risen so high that in most of the world it is unsafe to be outside without special cooling gear during daylight hours. In a desperate bid to preserve humanity and ease population burdens on Earth, the UN has initiated a "draft" for colonizing the nearby planets, where conditions are so horrific and primitive that the unwilling colonists have fallen prey to a form of escapism involving the use of an illegal drug (Can-D) in concert with "layouts." Layouts are physical props intended to simulate a sort of alternative reality where life is easier than either the grim existence of the colonists in their marginal off-world colonies, or even Earth, where global warming has progressed to the point that Antarctica is prime vacation resort territory. The illegal drug Can-D allows people to "share" their experience of the "Perky Pat" (the name of the main female character in the simulated world) layouts. This "sharing" has caused a pseudo-religious cult or series of cults to grow up around the layouts and the use of the drug.

Up to the point where the novel begins, New York City-based Perky Pat (or P.P.) Layouts, Inc., has held a monopoly on this product, as well as on the illegal trade in the drug Can-D which makes the shared hallucinations possible.

The novel opens shortly after Barney Mayerson, P.P. Layouts' top precog, has received a "draft notice" from the UN for involuntary resettlement as a colonist on Mars. Mayerson is sleeping with his assistant, Roni Fugate, but remains conflicted about the divorce, which he himself initiated, from his first wife Emily, a ceramic pot artist. Meanwhile, Emily's second husband tries to sell her pot designs to P.P. Layouts as possible accessories for the Perky Pat virtual worlds—but Barney, recognizing them as Emily's, rejects them out of spite.

A Scanner Darkly - When performing his work as an undercover agent, Arctor goes by the name "Fred" and wears a "scramble suit" that conceals his identity from other officers. Then he is able to sit in a police facility and observe his housemates through "holo-scanners", audio-visual surveillance devices that are placed throughout the house. Arctor's use of the drug causes the two hemispheres of his brain to function independently or "compete". When Arctor sees himself in the videos saved by the scanners, he does not realize that it is him. Through a series of drug and psychological tests, Arctor's superiors at work discover that his addiction has made him incapable of performing his job as a narcotics agent. They do not know his identity because he wears the scramble suit, but when his police supervisor suggests to him that he might be Bob Arctor, he is confused and thinks it cannot be possible.

Donna takes Arctor to "New-Path", a rehabilitation clinic, just as Arctor begins to experience the symptoms of Substance D withdrawal. It is revealed that Donna has been a narcotics agent all along, working as part of a police operation to infiltrate New-Path and determine its funding source. Without his knowledge, Arctor has been selected to penetrate the organization. As part of the rehab program, Arctor is renamed "Bruce" and forced to participate in cruel group-dynamic games, intended to break the will of the patients

(If this one seems difficult to wrap your mind around, that's because its a fictionalized account of real events, and you may need to read about Philip's life at the time to understand the autobiographical nature of the book.)

The VALIS Trilogy

(Fictionalized account of religious experiences in PKD’s life.)

VALIS - In March, 1974, Horselover Fat (the alter-personality of Philip K. Dick) experiences visions of a pink beam of light that he calls Zebra and interprets as a theophany exposing hidden facts about the reality of our universe, and a group of others join him in researching these matters. One of their theories is that there is some kind of alien space probe in orbit around Earth, and that it is aiding them in their quest; it also aided the United States in disclosing the Watergate scandal and the resignation of Richard Nixon in August, 1974. Kevin turns his friends onto a film called Valis that contains obvious references to revelations identical to those that Horselover Fat has experienced, including what appears to be time dysfunction. The film is itself a fictional account of an alternative-universe version of Nixon ("Ferris F. Fremount") and his fall, engineered by a satellite called valis. (The plot of the fictitious film Valis was that of Dick's then-unpublished novel Radio Free Albemuth.) In seeking the film's makers, Kevin, Phil, Fat, and David—now calling themselves the Rhipidon Society—head to an estate owned by popular musician Eric Lampton and his wife Linda. They decide the goal that they have been led toward is Sophia Lampton, who is two-years old and the Messiah or incarnation of Holy Wisdom (Pistis Sophia) anticipated by some variants of Gnostic Christianity. In addition to healing Phil's schizophrenic personality split, she tells them that their conclusions about valis (which Fat had previously termed "Zebra") and reality are correct, and more importantly, that we should worship, not gods, but humanity. She dies two days later due to a laser accident caused by Brent Mini. Undeterred, Fat (who has now resurged) goes on a global search for the next incarnation of Sophia.

Dick also offers a rationalist explanation of his apparent theophany, acknowledging that it might have been visual and auditory hallucinations from either schizophrenia or drug addiction sequelae.

Characters:

Phil (Philip K. Dick): Narrator (first person), science fiction writer, author of Man in the High Castle, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, and Three Stigmata.

Horselover Fat: Narrator (third person), a schizophrenic modality of Phil himself. (Philip in Greek means "fond of horses"; dick is German for "fat".)

Gloria Knudson: Suicidal friend of Fat's who Fat is unable to save.

Kevin: Cynical friend of Fat's whose cat died running across the street, based on K. W. Jeter.

Sherri Solvig: Church-going friend of Fat's, eventually dies from lymphatic cancer.

David: Catholic friend of Fat's, based on Tim Powers.

Eric Lampton: Rock star, screenwriter, actor, a. k. a. "Mother Goose"; a fictionalised version of David Bowie.

Linda Lampton: Actress, wife of Eric Lampton.

Brent Mini: Electronic composer, a fictionalised version of Brian Eno.

Sophia Lampton: Two-year-old child (personalised incarnation of Holy Wisdom within some variants of Gnosticism), said to be the daughter of Linda Lampton and valis and the "Fifth Savior".

The Divine Invasion - After a fatal car accident on Earth, Herb Asher is placed into cryonic suspension as he waits for a spleen replacement. Clinically dead, Herb experiences lucid dreams while in suspended animation and relives the last six years of his life.

In the past, Herb lived as a recluse in an isolated dome on a remote planet in the binary star system, CY30-CY30B. Yah, a local divinity of the planet in exile from Earth, appears to Herb in a vision as a burning flame, and forces him to contact his sick female neighbor, Rybys Rommey, who happens to be terminally ill with multiple sclerosis and pregnant with Yah's child.

With the help of the immortal soul of Elijah, who takes the form of a wild beggar named Elias Tate, Herb agrees to become Rybys's legal husband and father of the unborn "savior". Together they plan to smuggle the six-month pregnant Rybys back to Earth, under the pretext of seeking help for Rybys' medical condition at a medical research facility. After being born in human form, Yah plans to confront the fallen angel Belial, who has ruled the Earth for 2000 years since the fall of Masada in the first century CE. Yah's powers, however, are limited by Belial's dominion on Earth, and the four of them must take extra precautions to avoid being detected by the forces of darkness.

Things do not go as planned. "Big Noodle", Earth's A.I. system, warns the ecclesiastical authorities in the Christian-Islamic church and Scientific Legate about the divine "invasion" and countermeasures are prepared. A number of failed attempts are made to destroy the unborn child, all of them thwarted by Elijah and Yah. After successfully making the interstellar journey back to Earth and narrowly avoiding a forced abortion, Rybys and Herb escape in the nick of time, only to be involved in a fatal taxi crash, probably due to the machinations of Belial. Rybys dies from her injuries sustained in the crash, and her unborn son Emmanuel (Yah in human form) suffers brain damage from the trauma but survives. Herb is critically injured and put into cryonic suspension until a spleen replacement can be found. Baby Emmanuel is placed into a synthetic womb, but Elias Tate manages to sneak Emmanuel out of the hospital before the church is able to kill him.

Six years pass. In a school for special children, Emmanuel meets Zina, a girl who also seems to have similar skills and talents, but acts as a surrogate teacher to Emmanuel. For four years, Zina helps Emmanuel regain his memory (the brain damage caused amnesia) and discover his true identity as Yah, creator of the universe.

When he's ready, Zina shows Emmanuel her own parallel universe. In this peaceful world, organized religion has little influence, Rybys Rommey is still alive and married to Herb Asher, and Belial is only a goat kid living in a petting zoo.

In an act of kindness, Zina and Emmanuel liberate the goat-creature from his cage, momentarily forgetting that the animal is Belial. The goat-creature finds Herb Asher and attempts to retain control of the world by possessing him and convincing him that Yahweh's creation is an ugly thing that should be shown for what it really is. Eventually Herb is saved by Linda Fox, a young singer whom he loves and who is his own personal Savior; she and the goat-creature meet and she kills it, defeating Belial. He finally discovers that this meeting happens over again for everyone in the world, and whether they choose Belial or their Savior decides if they find salvation.

Characters:

Herb Asher: audio engineer

Rybys Rommey: mother of Emmanuel, sick with MS

Yah: Yahweh

Elias Tate: Incarnation of Elijah

Emmanuel (Manny): Yah incarnated in human form

Zina Pallas: Shekhinah

Linda Fox: singer, songwriter, Yetzer Hatov

Belial: Yetzer Hara

Fulton Statler Harms: Chief prelate of the Christian-Islamic Church (C.I.C), Cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church

Nicholas Bulkowsky: Communist Party Chairman, Procurator maximus of the Scientific Legate

VALIS: agent of Yahweh, disinhibiting stimulus

The Transmigration of Timothy Archer - Set in the late 1960s and 1970s, the story describes the efforts of Episcopal Bishop Timothy Archer, who must cope with the theological and philosophical implications of the newly discovered Gnostic Zadokite scroll fragments. The character of Bishop Archer is loosely based on the controversial, iconoclastic Episcopal Bishop James Pike, who in 1969 died of exposure while exploring the Judean Desert near the Dead Sea in the West Bank.

As the novel opens, it is 1980. On the day that John Lennon is shot and killed, Angel Archer visits the houseboat of Edgar Barefoot, (a guru based on Alan Watts), and reflects on the lives of her deceased relatives. During the sixties, she was married to Jeff Archer, son of the Episcopal Bishop of California Timothy Archer. She introduced Kirsten Lundborg, a friend, to her father-in law, and the two began an affair. Kirsten has a son, Bill, from a previous relationship, who has schizophrenia, although he is knowledgeable as an automobile mechanic. Tim is already being investigated for his allegedly heretical views about the Holy Ghost.

Jeff commits suicide due to his romantic obsession with Kirsten. However, after poltergeist activity, he manifests to Tim and Kirsten at a seance, also attended by Angel. Angel is skeptical about the efficacy of astrology, and believes that the unfolding existential situation of Tim and Kirsten is akin to Friedrich Schiller's German Romanticism era masterpiece, the Wallenstein trilogy (insofar as their credulity reflects the loss of rational belief in contemporary consensual reality).

The three are told that Kirsten and Tim will die. As predicted, Kirsten loses her remission from cancer, and also commits suicide after a barbiturate overdose. Tim travels to Israel to investigate whether or not a psychotropic mushroom was associated with the resurrection, but his car stalls, he becomes disoriented, falls from a cliff, and dies in the desert.

On the houseboat, Angel is reunited with Bill, Kirsten's son who has schizophrenia. He claims to have Tim's reincarnated spirit within him, but is soon institutionalized. Angel agrees to care for Bill, in return for a rare record (Koto Music by Kimio Eto) that Edgar offers her.

The Transmigration of Timothy Archer is one of Dick's most overtly philosophical and intellectual works. While Dick's novels usually employ multiple narrators or an omniscient perspective, this story is told in the first person by a single narrator: Angel Archer, Bishop Archer's daughter-in-law.

Characters:

Angel Archer: Narrator, manager of a Berkeley record store, widow of Jeff Archer.

Timothy Archer: Bishop of California; father of the late Jeff Archer and father-in-law of Angel. Dies in Israel, searching for psychotropic mushroom connected with Zadokite sect. Based on James Albert Pike, Dick's personal friend, who was an American Episcopalian bishop.

Kirsten Lundborg: Timothy Archer's secretary and lover. Dies from barbiturate overdose after loss of remission from cancer.

Bill Lundborg: Kirsten's son who has schizophrenia, and who is obsessed with cars.

Edgar Barefoot: Houseboat guru, radio personality, lecturer. Based on Alan Watts.

Jeff Archer: Son of Timothy Archer, and deceased husband of Angel. A professional student who was romantically obsessed with Kirsten.

Thank you, if you read all of this. it took me six hours today to write this all

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paganminiskirt · 2 years

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may i know more about ur ocs 🤲

Oh sure, thank you for asking! Sorry this got so long, but this is about the gist of it.

* Nora (full name Nora Jean Kingston) is the most developed of them, and she’s the one I’ll focus on since the others aren’t totally formed yet.

* Nora is twenty eight years old. She’s of compact build, a little on the shorter end, and not happy about that. Her eyes are black, deep set and narrow, with a long scar above her left eyebrow. She has round lips and thick hair which she changes the style of very often, and her skin is a darker shade of brown than both of her parents, which made it somewhat harder for her to feel a sense of community growing up.

* Nora was born in the Nevada desert, a few hours north of Las Vegas. Her father Jean was an accountant of Haitian descent, her mother Elena a Yaran immigrant and manager at a hotel. Growing up, Nora was a very poor student, likely a result of an undiagnosed anxious disorder, but she was sociable and physically active, which made her family happy. She was taught both Spanish and English, and picked up a couple of French phrases from her father, who she was very close with. With no other family members in the state and both parents having full time jobs, Nora ended up accompanying Jean on a lot of petty business, a fact which would come to concern her looking back later in life.

* When his daughter was thirteen, Jean was arrested, charged with money laundering and sentenced to ten years in prison. The experience was deeply traumatic for his family, and Elena divorced him soon after and got a job at a restaurant in Arizona, where she had lived before she was married. After moving, Nora picked up a fondness for ice skating at the local rec center, but she also got into the habit of petty delinquency; drinking, skipping school and getting into fights. This caused contention between her and her mother, who was already dissatisfied with having to abandon her life in Nevada so hastily.

* Around when her daughter was nineteen, Elena, with few prospects in the US and expectant of an improved state in El Este after the election of the new president, decided to return to her home country of Yara. Nora, despondent and insistent on staying in the states, tried to remain in Arizona by living with a family friend, but his house was very crowded and difficult to get comfortable in. Having completed two years of community college, Nora dropped out and relocated to New Mexico to live with her paternal grandfather Laurent, a retired bail bondsman and former Vietnam war LRRP. Her relationship with her mother ended on very poor terms, and the two of them haven’t spoken sense.

* (Nora can’t seem to make contact with any of her family in Yara, as a matter of fact. She does her best not to think about why.)

* By the time she got to New Mexico, Nora had more or less given up on advancing in life, spending most of her time sleeping during the day and going out at night. Her grandfather was accommodating enough, but years of conflict with her mother had left her defensive and resentful of older family members. She worked for a while as a cashier at a convenience store, but lost the job after coming in late too many times. On her twentieth birthday, she got drunk and went on a three day bender, which culminated in her waking up with a gash on her forehead and narrowly avoiding arrest for throwing a beer bottle at a boy’s head outside of a bar, the person she suspected of injuring her. When she returned home, Laurent opted not to turn her in to the police, but he did become more involved in his granddaughter’s life after this incident; making sure she was working, teaching her how to woodwork, shoot a rifle, and track people as well as animals.

* About three years after his granddaughter moved in with him, Laurent died of a heart attack after a long struggle with Hodgkin’s Disease, a byproduct of his service. Nora called her father for the first time in a long time after this. Then, she applied to a school in Montana, got accepted and drove cross country alone to finish her criminal justice degree. She joined the Sheriff’s department immediately upon graduating, influenced both by the lack of direction her life had suffered from for so long and her grandfather’s recollection of the injustices he and his son had each, in different ways, been complicit in. Despite this, Nora found police work to be less fulfilling than she had expected, and was growing frightened of the prospect of spending her entire life as a cop by the time she and her coworkers were sent to arrest the Father.

* Having spent large swaths of her life in transit, Nora is an approachable person, but not at all an open one, keeping her hopes, fears and insecurities hidden from others and herself in equal parts. She has a habit of paranoia which she does her best not to indulge, and this combined with her aforementioned guardedness often leads to people hurting her feelings without realizing. She is dedicated, methodical and single minded by nature, and possesses a strong, driving sense of personal responsibility which she justifies as a desire for justice. This is true to an extent, but there are also times when she doesn’t actually have any conscious explanation for why she pushes so hard for the things she does. It’s the result of spending so much of her life with little control over her circumstances, an inflated drive to action (even the self destructive kind) which sprung up after being repeatedly jolted about by events out of her control.

* Nora is not very good at dissembling, preferring to speak frankly, and as such tends to avoid conflict simply by falling silent. (Necessity changes this as the Reaping progresses.) She has a nurturer’s instinct, but is daunted by the prospect of ever having children of her own. Having been raised under a few different Christian denominations, she is more confused about god than anything else, and the hardline religious extremism of the Project unnerves her for this reason.

* A devout bushwhacker, Nora is not at all a loud soldier, preferring to act stealthily in combat, tracking individual targets and ambushing large groups. Grace works well with her because of this.

* On that note, of the side characters in Hope County, Grace is definitely the most important to her. They’ve lived wildly different lives, almost directly opposing - Nora’s dad is nearly a complete stranger to her by the time the story starts, Grace was very close with her father even in adulthood, Nora has no love for the military as an institution, Grace considers her service a point of pride, Nora doesn’t have a deep personal connection to the county and has spent much of her life moving, Grace and her family have lived there there for generations - but they’ve got such complimentary personalities that the contradictions in their experiences and points of view only serve to strengthen the attraction. (The song Grace by Rag’n’Bone Man really reminds me of the two of them.)

* Nora’s name in Latin means “Honor.” She likes science fiction novels, but reads them very slowly, and taking care of plants, though they almost always die. (She’s from the desert, what do you expect.) As was mentioned earlier, she loved ice skating as a kid, but didn’t have much of a chance to develop the hobby as she got older. Once she moved to Montana, she picked up a fondness for swimming in it’s place, and when she had free time at the department she would often go on weekend camping trips by rivers or lakes in the Valley.

#Deputy Nora Kingston #honeybaby-monster #asks #oc: nora #grace armstrong #far cry 5 #far cry ocs #deputies #far cry deputy #I never know how to tag the Deputy posts lmao

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destiny-smasher · 3 years

Text

Life is Strange: True Colors

Leading up to the release of Episode 1 of TellTale's The Walking Dead game, I was working freelance for GameRevolution at the time, lived in the area, and had the chance to play a build of the game to write a preview on it. I remember comparing it to Mass Effect because, at the time, there just...weren't games of that subgenre. Of course, by now we've seen an explosion of this type of game - the 'narrative/choice-driven game,' spearheaded and even oversaturated by Telltale to their own demise.

Out of all of the games that have come from that initial boom, Life is Strange by DontNod was and still is the most influential on my life, but I also have always harbored really conflicted feelings about it - especially with how it resolved its narrative. Hell, if you're reading this, you're probably aware that I spent a few years of my life creating a sequel fanstory which I even adapted a chunk of into visual novel format. Hundreds of thousands of words, days and days of life spent essentially trying to process and reconcile my conflicted feelings about this game's conclusion(s). Since then, I've been experimenting with interactive fiction and am currently developing my own original visual novel using everything I've learned from both creating and playing games in this genre. It's a subgenre of game I have a lot of interest and passion for because, when handled well, it can allow a player to sort of co-direct a guided narrative experience in a way that's unique compared to strictly linear cinematic experiences but still have a curated, focused sense of story.

Up until this point, I've regarded Night in the Woods as probably the singular best game of this style, with others like Oxenfree and The Wolf Among Us as other high marks. I've never actually put any Life is Strange game quite up there - none of them have reached that benchmark for me, personally. Until now, anyway.

But now, I can finally add a new game to that top tier, cream of the crop list. Life is Strange: True Colors is just damn good. I'm an incredibly critical person as it is - and that critique usually comes from a place of love - so you can imagine this series has been really hard to for me given that I love it, and yet have never truly loved any actual full entry in it. I have so many personal issues, quibbles, qualms, and frustration with Life is Strange: with every individual game, with how it has been handled by its publisher (my biggest issue at this point, actually), with how it has seemingly been taken away from its original development studio, with how it chooses to resolve its narratives...

But with True Colors, all of those issues get brushed aside long enough for me to appreciate just how fucking well designed it is for this style of game. I can appreciate how the development team, while still clearly being 'indie' compared to other dev teams working under Square-Enix, were able to make such smart decisions in how to design and execute this game. Taken on its own merits, apart from its branding, True Colors is absolutely worth playing if you enjoy these 'telltale' style games. Compared to the rest of the series, I would argue it's the best one so far, easily. I had a lot of misgivings and doubts going in, and in retrospect, those are mostly Square-Enix's fault. Deck Nine, when given the freedom to make their own original game in the same vein as the previous three, fucking nailed it as much as I feel like they could, given the kinds of limitations I presume they were working within.

I'm someone who agonizes every single time there is news for Life is Strange as a series - someone who essentially had to drop out of the fandom over infighting, then dropped out of even being exposed to the official social media channels for it later on (I specifically have the Square-Enix controlled channels muted). I adore Max and Chloe, and as a duo, as a couple, they are one of my top favorites not just in gaming, but in general. They elevated the original game to be something more than the sum of its parts for me. And while I have enjoyed seeing what DontNod has made since, it's always been their attention to detail in environmental craftsmanship, in tone and atmosphere, which has caught my interest. They're good at creating characters with layers, but imo they've never nailed a narrative arc. They've never really hit that sweet spot that makes a story truly resonate with me. Deck Nine's previous outing, Before the Storm, was all over the place, trying to mimic DontNod while trying to do its own things - trying to dig deeper into concepts DontNod deliberately left open for interpretation while also being limited in what it could do as a prequel.

But with True Colors, those awkward shackles are (mostly) off. They have told their own original story, keeping in tone and concept with previous Life is Strange games, and yet this also feels distinctly different in other ways.

Yes, protagonist Alex Chen is older than previous characters, and most of the characters in True Colors are young adults, as opposed to teenagers. Yes, she has a supernatural ability. And yes, the game is essentially a linear story with some freedom in how much to poke around at the environment and interact with objects/characters, with the primary mechanic being making choices which influence elements of how the story plays out. None of this is new to the genre, or even Life is Strange. But the execution was clearly planned out, focused, and designed with more caution and care than games like this typically get.

A smaller dev team working with a budget has to make calls on how to allocate that budget. With True Colors, you will experience much fewer locales and environments than you will in Life is Strange 2. Fewer locations than even Life is Strange 1, by my count. But this reinforces the game's theming. I suspect the biggest hit to the game's budget was investing in its voice acting (nothing new for this series) but specifically in the motion capture and facial animation.

You have a game about a protagonist trying to fit in to a small, tightly knit community. She can read the aura of people's emotions and even read their minds a little. And the game's budget and design take full advantage of this. You spend your time in a small main street/park area, a handful of indoor shops, your single room apartment. It fits within a tighter budget, but it reinforces the themes the game is going for. Your interactions with characters are heightened with subtle facial cues and microexpressions, which also reinforces the mechanic and theming regarding reading, accepting, and processing emotions. And you get to make some choices that influence elements of this - influenced by the town, influenced by the emotions of those around you, which reinforce the main plot of trying to navigate a new life in a small town community.

When I think about these types of games, the conclusion is always a big deal. In a way, it shouldn't be, because I usually feel it's about the journey, not the destination. And as an example, I actually really dislike the ending of the original Life is Strange. I think it's a lot of bullshit in many ways. The setpiece is amazing and epic, sure, but the actual storytelling going on is...really hollow for me. Yes, the game does subtly foreshadow in a number of ways that this is the big choice it's leading up to, but the game never actually makes sense of it. And the problem is, if your experience is going to end on a big ol' THIS or THAT kind of moment, it needs to make sense or the whole thing will fall apart as soon as the credits are rolling and the audience spends a moment to think about what just happened. When you look at the end of Season 1 of Telltale's The Walking Dead, it's not powerful just because of what choice you're given, but because through the entire final episode, we know the stakes - we know what is going to ultimately happen, and we know the end of the story is fast approaching. All of the cards are on the table by the time we get to that final scene, and it works so well because we know why it's happening, and it is an appropriate thematic climax that embodies the theming of the entire season. It works mechanically, narratively, and thematically, and 'just makes sense.'

The ending of Life is Strange 1 doesn't do that, if you ask me. The ending of most games in this genre don't really hit that mark. When I get to the end of most game 'seasons' like this, even ones I enjoy, I'm typically left frustrated, confused, and empty in a way.

The ending of True Colors, on the other hand, nails everything it needs to. Handily, when compared to its peers.

If you're somehow reading this and have not played this game but intend to, now is probably where you should duck out, as I will be

discussing SPOILERS from the entire game, specifically the finale.

Firstly, since I don't know where else to put this, some criticisms I found with the game. And honestly, they're all pretty damn minor compared to most games of this type.

Mainly, I just wish the whole Typhon thing was handled a bit more deliberately. It's a bit weird to do the 'big evil corporation' thing (especially when a big corporation like Square Enix occupies as much as or even more of the credits to this game than the people who actually MADE it?) without offering more explanation and subtlety. The game certainly makes some efforts but they're mostly small and mostly optional, like background chatter or a handful of one-off bits of documentation/etc. you can find in the environment. I feel like Diane in particular needed to be fleshed out just a little bit more to really sell us on how and why things like this happen, why corporations make decisions that cost people their happiness, security, and lives and they just get to keep on doing it. I think just a little bit that is unavoidable to the player that puts emphasis on maybe how much the town relies on the money/resources Typhon provides would've helped. Again, this is minor, but it stands out when I have so little else to critique.

I would've liked to get more insight on why Jed is the way he is. No, I don't think we really needed to learn more about his backstory, or even really his motivations. I think we get enough of that. I just think it would've been great to somehow highlight more deliberately how/why he's built up this identity overtop of what he's trying to suppress. Maybe even just having Alex internally realize, "Wait, what the hell, Jed has been hiding these emotions and my powers haven't picked up on it?" or something to that effect could have added an extra oomph to highlight how Jed seems to be coping with his emotions by masking/suppressing them. Also really minor complaint, but again...there's not much else here I can think to really improve on within the confines of what's in the game.

The game doesn't really call Alex's power into question morally. Like. Max has an entire meltdown by the end of her story, second-guessing if she's even helped anyone at all, if she has 'the right' to do so, how her powers might be affecting or expressing her own humanity and flaws...this story doesn't really get into that despite a very similar concept of manipulating others. There's like one bit in a document you can choose to read in Alex's 'nightmare' scene, but that's really it. I feel like this sentiment and how it's executed could have easily been expanded upon in just this one scene to capture what made that Max/Other Max scene do what it did in a way that would address the moral grayness of Alex's powers and how she uses them, and give players a way to express their interpretation of that. Also, very small deal, just another tidbit I would've liked to see.

When I first watched my wife play through Episode 5 (I watched her play through the game first, then I played it myself), I wasn't really feeling the surreal dreamscape stuff of Alex's flashbacks - which is weird, because if you're read my work from the past few years, you'll know I usually love that sort of shit. I think what was throwing me off was that it didn't really feel like it was tying together what the game was about up until that point, and felt almost like it was just copying what Life is Strange did with Max's nightmare sequence (minus the best part of that sequence, imo, where Max literally talks to herself).

But by the time I had seen the rest of the story, and re-experienced it myself, I think it clicked better. This is primarily a story about Alex Chen trying to build a new life for herself in a new community - a small town, a tightly knit place. Those flashbacks are specifically about Alex's past, something we only get teeny tiny tidbits of, and only really if we go looking for them. I realized after I gave myself a few days to process and play through the game myself that this was still a fantastic choice because it reinforces the plot reasons why Alex is even in the town she's in (because her father went there, and her brother in turn went there looking for him), and it reinforces the theme of Alex coming to accept her own emotions and confront them (as expressed through how the flashbacks are played out and the discussions she has with the image of Gabe in her mind, which is really just...another part of herself trying to get her to process things).

By the time Alex escapes the mines and returns to the Black Lantern, all of the cards are on the table. By that point, we as the audience know everything we need to. Everything makes sense - aside from arguably why Jed has done what he has done, but put a pin in that for a sec. We may not know why Alex has the powers she does, but we have at least been given context for how they manifested - as a coping mechanism of living a life inbetween the cracks of society, an unstable youth after her family fell apart around her (and oof, trust me, I can relate with this in some degree, though not in exactly the same ways). And unlike Max's Rewind power, the story and plot doesn't put this to Alex's throat, like it's all on her to make some big choice because she is the way she is, or like she's done something wrong by pursuing what she cares about (in this case, the truth, closure, and understanding).

When Alex confronts Jed in front of all of the primary supporting characters, it does everything it needs to.

Mechanically: it gives players choices for how to express their interpretation of events, and how Alex is processing them; it also, even more importantly, uses the 'council' as a way of expressing how the other characters have reacted to the choices the player has made throughout the game, and contributes to how this climax feels. We're given a 'big choice' at the end of the interaction that doesn't actually change the plot, or even the scene, really (it just affects like one line of dialogue Alex says right then) and yet BOTH choices work so well as a conclusion, it's literally up to your interpretation and it gives you an in-game way to express that.

Thematically: the use of the council reinforces the game's focus on community; and the way the presentation of the scene stays locked in on Alex and Jed's expressions reinforces its focus on emotion - not to mention that the entire scene also acts as a way to showcase how Alex has come to accept, understand, and process her own emotions while Jed, even THEN, right fucking at the moment of his demise, is trying to mask his emotions, to hide them and suppress them and forget them (something the game has already expressed subtly by way of his negative emotions which would give him away NOT being visible to Alex even despite her power).

Narratively: we are given a confrontation that makes sense and feels edifying to see play out after everything we've experienced and learned. We see Alex use her powers in a new and exciting way that further builds the empowering mood the climax is going for and adds a cinematic drama to it. No matter what decisions the player makes, Alex has agency in her own climax, we experience her making a decision, using her power, asserting herself now that she has gone through the growth this narrative has put her through. Alex gets to resolve her shit, gets to have her moment to really shine and experience the end of a character arc in this narrative.

Without taking extra time to design the game around these pillars, the finale wouldn't be so strong. If they didn't give us enough opportunities to interact with the townspeople, their presence in the end wouldn't matter, but everyone who has a say in the council is someone we get an entire scene (at least one) dedicated to interacting with them and their emotions. If they didn't implement choices in the scene itself, it would still be powerful but we wouldn't feel as involved, it'd be more passive. If they didn't showcase Alex's power, we might be left underwhelmed, but they do so in a way that actually works in the context through how they have chosen to present it, while also just tonally heightening the climax by having this drastic lighting going on. If they didn't have the council involved, we'd lose the theming of community. If they didn't have the foil of Alex/Jed and how they have each processed their emotions, we'd miss that key component. And if we didn't have such detailed facial animations, the presentation just wouldn't be as effective.

Ryan/Steph are a little bit like, in this awkward sideline spot during the climax? Steph always supports you, and Ryan supports you or doubts you conditionally, which is unsurprising but also ties into the themes of Ryan having grown up woven into this community, and Steph being once an outsider who has found a place within it. They're still there, either way, which is important. The only relevant characters who aren't present are more supporting characters like Riley, Ethan, and Mac. Ethan being the only one of those who gets an entire 'super emotions' scene, but that also marks the end of his arc and role in the story, so...it's fine. Mac and Riley are less important and younger, as well, and have their own side story stuff you have more direct influence on, too.

But damn, ya'll, this climax just works so well. It especially stands out to me given just how rarely I experience a conclusion/climax that feels this rewarding.

And then after that we get a wonderful montage of a theoretical life Alex might live on to experience. Her actions don't overthrow a conglomerate billionaire company. She doesn't even save a town, really. If the entire council thinks you're full of shit, Jed still confesses either way - because it's not up to the council whether he does this, it's because of Alex, regardless of player choice. Honestly, even after a playthrough where I made most choices differently from my wife, there weren't really many changes to that montage at the end. It'd have been great if it felt more meaningfully different, but maybe it can be. Even if not, the design intent is there and the execution still works. It's a really nice way to end the story, especially since it's not even a literal montage but one Alex imagines - again, her processing what she's gone through, what she desires, expressed externally for us to see it. And for once, the actual final 'big decision' in a game of this type manages to be organic, make sense, and feel good and appropriate either way. You choose to either have Alex stay in Haven Springs and continue building her life there, or you can choose to have her leave and try to be an indie musician, with the events of the game being yet another chunk of her life to deal with and move on from (I haven't really touched on it, but music, especially as a way to express and process emotions, is a recurring thing, much like photography was in the original game, or Sean's illustrations in LiS2). For once, a climactic 'pick your ending' decision that doesn't feel shitty. It's pretty rare for this genre, honestly.

I could - and already have, and likely will - have so much more to say about this game and its details, but I really wanted to focus on touching upon a main element that has left me impressed: the way the entire game feels designed. It feels intentionally constructed but in a way that reinforces what it is trying to express as a story. It's not just trying to make people cry for the sake of 'emotions.' It is a game literally about emotions and it comes to a conclusion in a way that is clearly saying something positive and empowering about empathy and self-acceptance.

Storytelling is a craft, like any other, and it entails deliberate choices and decisions that can objectively contribute to how effective a story is for its intended audience.

A good story isn't something you find, after all.

It's something you build.

#Life is Strange True Colors #Life is Strange #Haven Springs #alex chen #lis true colors

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word-scribbless · 4 years

Text

Date?

Jethro Gibbs x female reader

Masterlist

Y/N realizes she has feelings for jethro because she gets jealous, can she convince him he deserves her?

Thank you @hopscotchandlemon for the encouragement and some inspiration

——————————

Gibbs and Y/N were on their way back from interviewing a suspect when he suggested they pull over to eat. He found a little Italian restaurant where they sat and chatted over pasta.

Y/N joked that he must need a favor from her to be filling her with her favorite food in the middle of a work day. To which jethro looked down with that charming smirk Y/N loved. He wasn’t her boss, she was an FBI profiler that often worked with the team so she was allowed to make him work for favors.

To any one on the outside they looked like a couple grabbing a quick lunch break. Not work colleagues. Everyone except the pretty waitress that is.

Y/N was sitting watching her hopelessly flirt with him. She felt frustration and anger rise through her. She didn’t know why but all she wanted was to deck the pretty waitress when she gently caressed his arm. Jethro watched as Y/N got more and more angry. Suddenly he watched realization cross her face and then her cheeks flush.

What he had just witnessed was Y/N finally realizing how she felt about the NCIS agent she often worked with. She loved him. She loved him and she could now barely eat the delicious pasta in front of her because watching this woman flirt with him made her sick.

Jethro fake smiled as he politely replied to the too touchy waitress and looked at Y/N.

“How’s the food Y/N/N?” His smile turned real.

“Fine”

“Mhm” he hummed and then narrowed his eyes at her “then why aren’t you eating, and is there a reason you’re blushing like that?”

“No, I’m fine, it was just kinda gross watching her throw herself at you.” She admitted

“OH, so you’re jealous?” He laughed

“Shut up” she blushed more.

“Don’t worry about her, I’m not interested. Now enjoy your pasta. Im about to spend good money on that.” He said reaching across to hold her hand.

She thought about his reassurance and his comment about her blush, and fact he wanted to pay. Shit is this a date? Shit, she really hoped it was.

“Are we on a date right now?” She asked, knowing straight forward was always best with Jethro.

“What?” He grunted, not sure if he heard her right.

“Well you ignored the pretty waitress’ attempt to eye screw you, you want to pay for my meal, and you’re holding my hand.” She squeezed his hand in hers as she watched him realize they were still holding hands. She hoped to god he didn’t pull away. Instead he gripped her hand tighter and the anxiety in her chest eased just a bit.

“Y/N I-“ he said in a serious tone, that she knew led to his usual excuses not to get close to people.

“Save it!” She warned

He stared at her, shocked at her sudden tone.

“Unless you’re going to tell me you truly don’t have feelings for me then I don’t want your other bull shit excuses”

“Bull shit excuses?” He asked with his signature sarcastic smirk.

“Yeah. that you’re damaged, that I’ll get hurt, that you aren’t good enough for me.” She listed

“All true.”

“Do you have feelings for me?” She was using all the confidence she could muster.

“Yes” she was relieved at his answer, but knew there was more to talk about.

“Then say this is a date.” She insisted softly.

“You don’t want to date me” he broke eye contact in a way that made her heart ache.

“I do.” She said ducking her head to try to look in those blue eyes again.

“Y/N” he warned.

“I know you have baggage, half of your heart will always belong to Shannon and Kelly. You think you get people hurt, you’re awful at communicating”

“See” he couldn’t help but smirk at the fact that she practically read his mind.

“But I want you jethro. I want a little piece of your heart more than I’ve ever wanted all of any one else’s. I’m good at sharing, I’d gladly share you with them. As for baggage, I have my own, you’ve accepted it. Believe me when I say I want to accept yours.”

At that point he wished they weren’t sitting across from each other so he could wrap her in his arms. However they were, so squeezing her hand in his would have to suffice for the moment.

“I’m an FBI agent jethro, could I get hurt? Yeah, with or with out being attached to you. But it wouldn’t be your fault and honestly being with you, what we could have is worth anything. It’s even worth the risk of you breaking my heart. Because 3 failed marriages or not, I know you’d take care of it the best you could, and that’s all I’d ask. And I’m willing to deal with your shitty communication skills. I’m a profiler I have a leg up on understanding your actions instead of words. Plus I kinda love the fact that even though you’re a functional mute, when you do talk, you’re so good at it. I think I’ve made my point and I’m going to shut up now and let you do the whole communicating with out talking thing.” She finished and took a deep breath.

He Looked at her the way he does, where she swears he can read her mind.

“Just-“ she started again.

“Thought you were done.” He said with a faint grin.

“One more thing, if you really don’t feel the way I do, just tell me straight.”

“I can’t do that” he said rubbing his thumb over her hand.

“So this is a date?” She said, knowing when to stop pushing.

“No” he responded.

She nodded, not letting herself get upset until she could read his body language and figure out what was behind his answer. She didn’t have to because for once In their friendship, he didn’t leave her guessing.

“But tonight is.” He smiled.

“Tonight?” Her eyes lit up as she asked.

“Yeah come over at 7, I’ll cook”

“I like my steak medium rare. More rare than medium” she said with a glowing smile and watched his face break out in one too.

“I knew I liked you” he laughed with a wink.

Tag list: @averyhotchner @diesinspanishbcimhispanic

#ncis #ncis x reader #ncis fandom #female!reader #leroy jethro gibbs imagine #jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs x reader

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lils-writes-stuff · 4 years

Text

All That Remains

Spencer Reid x reader

summary: it’s the readers first day back on the job and the case has a huge plot twist

warning: normal criminal minds things, angst, sadness, gore, fun stuff

A/N: based on season 8 episode episode 14

“Oh my god, okay I know I’ve seen it before, but the ring is just so beautiful on you,” Penelope gushed as she held Y/N’s that adorned her new engagement ring.

The women of the BAU gathered around her on her first day back to admire the ring. Of course, JJ and Penelope had seen it at least once before, but it was a whole different experience seeing it on her hand.

It had been a total of three weeks since Y/N was discharged from the hospital and she was so excited to get back to work. She couldn’t deal with leave again and since she was fine mentally, all she had to do was wait until she was fine physically.

Spencer tended to her needs every waking moment he was home, much to her detest. He even thought about having her call her mother to stay with her until she was completely healed, but he revoked his idea when she gave him a not-so-loving look. But she was grateful none the less for his love and care for her. She was concerned about him though, sure she was stabbed, but he was the one kidnapped. After Spencer’s psych evaluation, he was deemed fit to go back to work. Y/N was very jealous when he got to go back.

“Thank you,” Y/N blushed as her hand moved to Blake to look at the ring.

“He really did a good job of picking it out,” she declared as she examined the ring.

“Who knew Spence had such good taste?” JJ remarked, making the other women laugh.

Spencer heard the last of the conversation and naturally gave his actual reasoning for his choice. “It actually has nothing to do with taste, I made a decision by averaging all of her jewelry together and using an equation to evaluate which rings--”

JJ coughed making Spencer stop. “Spence, I was joking, you did a great job.”

“Right,” Spencer smiled sheepishly.

“It’s okay, Bubs, I think it was really cool how you chose it,” Y/N reassured the man’s insecurities.

He smiled at the compliment and then turned to Rossi as his voice was heard coming down the steps.

“Okay, okay, I know I saw it at the hospital that day, but you have to let me see it again,” Rossi spoke quickly as he came over to look at the ring again.

Y/N laughed and held out her hand for him to see.

“It’s very you, Y/N,” Rossi commented as he looked at the ring. “Congratulations you two, again.”

“Thanks Rossi,” Spencer smiled at the man gratefully.

“Hey, you know what we should do?” JJ asked, gaining the attention of the rest of them. “We should have an engagement party!”

“Oh my gosh that is a great idea!” Penelope exclaimed, bouncing on her toes happily. “We can have little cupcakes made with rings and all the fun stuff.”

“And I’ll host it,” Rossi said happily, turning to the couple who were just watching the plan being made.

“Oh, Rossi, you don’t have to-”

“No, no, I insist, it’ll be a great time!” Rossi cut Y/N off from her protest.

Y/N turned her head to look at Spencer, wanting his input on the idea. Spencer simply shrugged, muttering a ‘why not’. The both of them knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Okay, sure, that’d be fun,” Y/N agreed with a smile.

“Excellent,” Rossi said with a nod.

“Guys,” Hotch said, nodding to the round table room.

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

“911 what’s your emergency?” The operator’s voice spook.

A pause then an inaudible mutter.

“Hello? What’s your emergency?”

“They’re gone,” The man on the other line responded. “My girls are gone. I need your help.”

“When you say girls, do you mean your daughters?”

“Yes.”

“All right, I need you to stay on the line, sir. Please confirm where you’re calling from.”

“1721 Hillcrest Drive, this can’t be happening.”

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Bruce. Bruce Morrison.”

“How old are your daughters, Mr. Morrison?”

“Thirteen and Seventeen.”

“When was the last time you saw them?”

“They went to bed around 9:30. No, wait, it was Monday. Sarah has a study group, so it was more like 10:00.”

“Sir, today is Wednesday. You haven’t seen them since Monday?”

“No. No, that can’t be right.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but it is. The police have been alerted, sir, and they’re on their way.”

“That call came in an hour ago,” Hotch said, stopping the recording.

The rest of the team sat in stunned silence as they listened to the message.

“How does a single father lose his teenage daughters for thirty-six hours?” JJ asked in disbelief.

“He doesn’t,” Rossi shook his head.

“His girls are gone,” Blake repeated the phrasing of Bruce on the phone.

“Yeah, that’s strange, he didn’t blame anyone,” Y/N pointed, agreeing with Blake’s silent question.

“And he doesn’t use any buzzwords first responders are trained to hear,” Derek added. “He never says missing, abducted, runaway.”

“Maybe that’s what they did, though. Maybe they ran away,” Penelope perked up. She didn’t like to hear the call, let alone have this happening in the first place, she was hoping for a better outcome then what everyone was thinking.

“There’s no history of that,” Rossi argued sadly.

“The likelihood of a stranger abduction in a neighborhood like this is rare. I’ve counted seven turns from the entrance to their driveway,” Spencer announced as he looked down at the map on the table. “No one just stumbled onto the house.”

“And where’s the mother? Could this be a parental child abduction?” Y/N asked, turning her head from Spencer to Hotch.

“Uh, doubtful,” Hotch sighed. “Exactly one year ago today, he made this call.”

With one click on the remote, another 911 call came up. The call was almost exactly the same as the one they had just listened to. Same phrasing, same tone, just replacing ‘girls’ with ‘wife’.

“She’d also been missing for two days before he contacted authorities, and she’s never been found,” Hotch said, stopping the recording.

“This man is either the victim of a serial offender, or he is one,” Rossi said.

“Please tell me this guy’s in custody?” Derek asked with irritation.

“The Salisbury police are at his home, and they’ve been there since the call came in,” Hotch answered.

“There are hard copies and tablet copies of both case files on the plane,” Penelope announced. “It’s a short flight to the eastern shore. There’ll be more when you land.”

The team gathered up all that they had on the round table and made their way to the plane.

-----------

“Bruce and Judy Morrison were well-liked and active in the community,” Y/N said as she looked over the files they had received on the plane.

Spencer sat down beside her, placing a cup of tea on the table.

She smiled and mouthed a thank you which he replied doing the same thing.

“Yeah, all signs point to them living a quiet life,” JJ agreed as she flipped through her own file.

“He’s a writer and a professor, and it looks like she got into real estate a few years ago,” Derek added as his eyes scanned over a page.

“ ‘02, before the market crashed,” Rossi established as he looked at the date.

“Well, ten years later, Judy had an affair with a co-worker. A Jeff Godwin?” JJ’s voice went off in question as she read the name.

“That was discovered in the investigation, but never made it in the papers,” Blake said, leaning in her chair so she could look at JJ.

“Bruce Morrison was a prime suspect, but they never found any evidence, and the affair wasn’t deemed enough of a motive,” Hotch clarified. “The university’s put him on sabbatical since then.”

“He’s been writing forever, and he’s been teaching since 1985,” JJ added, flipping through the pages of the file. “Transcript says he was grief-stricken and couldn’t handle the pressure.”

“Not many people could,” Rossi bargained. “The odds of this event striking the same family on the same day must be a million to one.”

“Mm, close enough,” Spencer hummed, not arguing with the statistic.

“Judy inherited money from her family, and it’s in a trust fund for the girls,” Blake assessed.

“Oh, jeez, please don’t tell me he got rid of his wife for money,” Y/N shook her head.

“Uh, bank records indicate he hasn’t touched the funds, despite the depleting supplemental income from the university,” Spencer eased the worry.

“Yeah, but it could be a combo platter. Revenge and profit,” Rossi argued.

“His wife cheated, and he retaliated in anger, that might not be a surprise, but that doesn’t explain why he would harm his own children,” Derek added, confusion evident in his voice.

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

“The oldest daughter Sarah had a 4.0 GPA, but she didn’t apply to a single college back east,” Spencer began as he read from the page in the file in his lap. “She got accepted to Stanford early admission. Maybe her father saw going that far away as a form of betrayal.”

“The second one in a year,” Rossi’s voice posed over the phone. “First his wife of twenty-seven years fools around and then probably threatens to end the marriage. A year later, the daughter can’t wait to leave.”

“Abandonment could be the common denominator,” Blake agreed from her seat beside Y/N in the back of the SUV with Derek and Spencer.

“There is another possibility,” Derek interrupted. “Maybe Bruce Morrison didn’t do it. Did the family have any enemies?”

“The only person that could remotely be an enemy would be Jeff Godwin,” Y/N answered, her own mind forming possible theories.

“Mm, looks like he had a pretty solid alibi the night Judy went missing,” JJ’s voice said through the phone. “He was wining and dining with his own wife at a local restaurant.”

“So the only viable suspect back then was the same one we have now,” Blake said.

“All the answers are in that house,” Hotch said as they turned the final corner and came up to the house of the Morrisons.

The front yard was filled with locals as one SUV pulled into the driveway and the other pulled along the side of the street. The doors of the cars echoed shut as they exited the vehicles and walked up to the detective who was waiting for them on the front porch.

“Marty Friedman. Thanks for making the trip,” the detective said as Hotch and Rossi approached him first. “I’ve got search and rescue combing the woods and the Choptank and Wicomico rivers. We’re dredging all the way from here to the Chesapeake. I’m not letting this guy get away with this again.”

“Has he said why he took a day to call?” Y/N posed the question everyone had been wondering. Her hands were stuffed in the pockets of her navy coat from the cool air.

Friedman scoffed. “Claims he doesn’t remember,” he looked back to the window where Bruce was standing, inspecting the new visitors. “He’s been glued to his computer, maybe he needs new material for a novel.”

“We’ll work alongside your team if that’s alright,” Hotch said to Friedman.

“Whatever you need,” he responded with a nod.

The team followed the detective into the house. Y/N looked at Bruce as he eyed down Hotch as they walked into the house.

“Everyone take a room,” Hotch ordered and the team split up and walked amongst the house.

“Looks like Katie stayed in a lot,” Spencer assessed as he and Y/N looked over the young girl’s room. “She has her schedule of when she was gonna try new recipes.”

Spencer flipped through the colorful pages of the book with different recipes and fun sketches.

“She seems like a really sweet girl,” Y/N sighed as she looked through a journal. She then turned to her desk and pointed out some of the things she noticed. “Her charger’s here, but her phone is not.”

“Maybe it’s with her?” Spencer posed.

“Maybe, I’ll have Garcia track it,” Y/N said, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

“It’ll only work if it’s on,” Spencer reminded her.

“It’s worth a try though,” Y/N looked up to Spencer with sad eyes. Of course, her first case back had to do with kids, just her luck.

“If the girls had access to a phone and they were okay, they would have called for help by now,” Spencer said, giving her the same sad eyes she gave him.

Y/N’s thumb stopped typing, she knew he was right, but that guilty feeling in her didn’t want her to.

“Y/N.” Spencer’s hands reached for hers that held her phone. “You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just-” she let out a shaky breath with a groan- “it’s just my luck that my first case back has to do with kids.”

Spencer looked down sadly, knowing the pain she was feeling.

“But it’s okay, it’s just because it’s the first case, ripping off the bandaid, you know? I’ll get back to being able to carpmentalizing it any second.” She shook her hands out after setting down her phone and the journal she was holding.

Spencer gave her the look. The look that said it’s okay to take a second, it’s okay to talk to me, it’s okay to not be ready all just yet.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop being so understanding,” she laughed and pointed her finger at him. “I’m fine, I really am, it’s just gonna take a sec to get into the swing of things again.”

“Okay,” he smiled, reaching for her hand,and pulling her into a loving hug that made her heart melt.

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

Y/N’s eyes scanned over the box in the basement of the Morrison house. Shelf after shelf filled with buckets and old memorabilia of Judy.

“Wow,” Spencer mused as he walked closer to Y/N from his side of the room. “She had a lot of hobbies before she started selling real estate.”

“Yeah, family projects it looks like,” Y/N nodded. She turned to the shelf she had just been looking at boxes being held on it. “Devoted mom.”

On the boxes were dates written under the label ‘quilts’. The dates went all the way back to 1998, the years Sarah Morrison was born.

“You ready, Reid?” Derek’s voice called from up the stairs.

“Yeah,” Spencer echoed back. “You good?” He asked, turning to Y/N.

She nodded and he turned to head up the stairs.

Her eyes scanned over the boxes again, looking at the only one that was labeled with a name. On the box, it read; ‘Quilts, 1999-200, Katie’. Y/N made sure to keep that in mind for anything in the future and turned up the stairs to follow Spencer.

---------

“So what do you think?” Blake asked, turning to Y/N and Rossi, exiting Sarah’s room. The sobs of Bruce echoed down the hall after Hotch told him they had just found the body of Katie in a river. Sarah had still yet to be found.

“He’s sober, so this is raw emotion,” Rossi answered as the three walked down the hallway. “He lost his legs when Hotch told him.”

“The tears could be guilt as much as grief,” Y/N whispered as a reminder.

“Because that’s what we’re supposed to do when given that news,” Blake said as they rounded the corner and filed down the stairs. “I don’t mean to sound so cynical, but the man writes fiction.”

Y/N and Rossi nodded as they came to the last set of stairs. At the bottom stood Hotch and JJ, who had just gotten off the phone with Derek and Spencer who were at the scene.

“Any sign of Sarah?” Y/N asked, hopeful for a good answer.

“Maybe she’s still out there,” JJ said, just as hopeful as Y/N for a good report from the people on the phone.

“Doubtful, unless she’s found shelter,” Rossi acknowledged as they walked the final steps of the stairs. “It’s supposed to be in the twenties tonight.”

“Now that we’ve got Katie’s body, we should run scenarios for what really happened Monday night,” Blake said.

Hotch hung up his phone and looked up to the group around him. “That was the lab. Bruce definitely fired a gun at some point, there’s residue on the sheets and on the boots.”

Y/N sighed, not wanting to hear that news. “We need to get him to the station.”

The five of them turned as they heard the creaking of the floorboards behind them. At the top of the stairs stood Bruce, hearing the whole conversation.

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

“Alright thanks, Spence,” Y/N said, hanging up her phone and turning to Hotch. “That was Reid. He said Katie had skin built up under her nails. They’re on their way back from the M.E. right now.”

“We need to look for defensive wounds on him,” Hotch nodded, leaving the bullpen and entering into the interrogation room.

Y/N walked closer to the one-way window and watched as Hotch entered the room.

“Mr. Morrison, I need to ask you to roll up your sleeves,” Hotch ordered Bruce.

“What?” Bruce asked, turning his head sharply to look at Hotch.

“Please.”

Bruce sighed and rolled up his sleeve on his right arm, revealing small but numerous cuts on his forearm.

“I saw these in the shower this morning when I woke up,” Bruce said sadly, not making eye contact with Hotch. “I have no idea how I got them.”

“Did they happen during the fight?” Hotch asked, referring to the fit a neighbor had told them he heard.

“It wasn’t a fight, it was just parenting,” Bruce tried to explain. “Did the detective tell you about Jeff Godwin? You should talk to him.”

Hotch raised a brow in question at the man.

“He still coaches Sarah’s soccer team, even though it’s ridiculous.”

“Every time I ask you a question, you have this habit of deflecting attention onto someone else,” Hotch remarked, making Bruce become quiet.

Y/N rolled her shoulders, standing up straight as she watched Bruce’s body language, trying to decipher his emotions and behavior. When he stayed unresponsive, Y/N took that as the end of the interview and walked out of the room into the break room.

“Wonder Woman,” Derek greeted the woman as she walked in.

She let out a huff as a greeting back, clearly annoyed with everything that Bruce was saying. “Bruce Morrison wants us to talk to Jeff Godwin.”

“Convenient, since he just walked in,” Spencer said as he walked over to the two by the coffee station.

“Great just what he wanted,” Y/N sighed, moving into the spot next to Derek as he finished making his coffee.

As he moved over for Y/N to make her coffee, he picked up his phone that began to ring.

“Hey, Blake,” Derek answered as he stepped away from the coffee bar.

Y/N poured some creamer into the cup as she listened to Derek on the phone.

“Morgan, we need you to find Jeff Godwin,” Blake’s voice echoed through the phone.

“She isn’t the only one he thinks that,” Y/N sighed, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Uh, he just walked in,” Derek responded, turning to look through the window to Jeff Godwin who was standing in a room to the side of them.

“He did?” Blake mused.

“Says he heard we found Katie, and he’s worried about Sarah,” Derek said, relaying the conversation that Y/N had not heard yet.

“He also texted Sarah the night she went missing and then deleted the text.” Blake’s information made the three’s faces contort in shock and look to Jeff. “It looks like they texted a lot.”

“Really?” Derek said, some anger boiling inside him as he watched Jeff. Without having Blake respond, he hung up the phone and nodded for Y/N to come with him.

“Mr. Godwin,” Y/N greeted as she and Derek entered the room he was in.

“Mr. Godwin, why did you feel it was appropriate to regularly text a seventeen-year-old girl?” Derek asked, getting straight to the point.

“I-I’ve known those girls for a long time-” Jeff shook his head- “Way before anything happened between me and their mother.”

Y/N and Derek’s faces stayed unresponsive, waiting for him to get to the actual intent of why he was texting a teen.

“Look, I coach Sarah.”

“And you didn’t think to request a different team, you know, considering the circumstances?” Y/N asked, her hand not holding her coffee gesturing as she spoke.

“No,” Jeff shrugged. “My daughter plays on that team.”

Once again, Derek and Y/N stayed unresponsive.

“Look, Sarah reached out to me Monday night- God knows she needs a father figure--”

“Maybe the man her mother had an affair with…” Derek began taking a step closer to Jeff.

Y/N took a step also, becoming even with Derek. “Might not be the best person for that,” Y/N finished the statement.

Derek nodded in agreement.

“Look-” Jeff took a step of his own- “I just came in here because I had heard about Katie and I was worried about Sarah. Don’t treat me like a criminal.”

“Sarah deleted texts that the two of you shared,” Y/N said, turning her head to the side. “The same day she disappeared. Now that’s a little suspicious, don’t you agree, Morgan?”

“Mm-hmm,” Derek hummed in response.

“Hey- wait, okay,” Jeff stumbled, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “They’re all here. We agreed to meet in the parking lot of the convenience store on route 113.”

He turned his phone, showing the texts to Y/N and Derek. Derek took the phone from the man’s hand, putting it between the two of them so they could read it.

“Is this a regular thing for you?” Derek asked as he read the texts.

“Well, we’ve met there a couple of times recently, when she was really scared about what was happening with her and her dad,” Jeff responded.

“What was happening?” Y/N asked.

Jeff took in a deep breath, almost like he was afraid to tell them. “Bruce gets...violent when he drinks, and it’s been getting worse.”

Derek and Y/N turned their heads, silently saying for him to elaborate more on the topic.

Jeff let out a breath through his nose. “Sarah had every reason to be terrified. I mean look what happened.”

Derek and Y/N nodded, handing Jeff his phone back and heading out of the room. When they walked out, they were greeted with the whole team now, including Penelope on a video call.

“Is everyone there?” Penelope asked prompting Hotch to nod. “Um, this call came in on Monday.”

Before she continued, Hotch walked over to the door of the conference room and closed it.

“It was made on Katie’s cell, which is still M.I.A., the only 800 number she called was the local abuse hotline. She called there a few times in the last couple of months,” Penelope explained, pressing play on the recording. JJ turned up the TV volume.

“My name is Katie Morrison, I called last week,” Katie’s voice rang through the speaker.

“Yes, Katie, I remember you,” the operator on the other line responded.

“He’s at it again. He’s just going crazy. He’s really drunk.”

“Katie, are you safe?”

“Yes, hold on.”

“Hi, it’s Sarah,” Sarah’s voice came into the call. “We’re okay. I can handle this.”

“Girl’s open the door,” Bruce’s voice yelled next. “Katie, open the door.”

The sound of loud banging was heard next, making Y/N squeezing her eyes shut.

“I said open the door!”

When the recording stopped, Y/N opened her eyes and watched as Hotch asked to have the recording sent to his phone and took Rossi to the interrogation room holding Bruce.

-----------

Y/N watched through the glass as Bruce began to remember the night as the call was played to him. As it ended, he slammed his hand on the table, repeating the same words he said in the call. He looked up to the glass, on his side being a mirror so he was looking at himself.

He walked closer to it, his demeanor changing slightly as he looked at himself.

What surprised everyone behind the glass was what he said next.

“Oh my god, what a pathetic little cry baby.”

The rest of the team that was behind the glass looked at each other in confusion, continuing to listen to the man as he spoke.

“Ugh,” Bruce rubbed his eyes. “I was always right about you, huh?”

He was still talking to himself in the mirror. He then turned around, a smug smirk playing on his face as he looked at Rossi and Hotch.

“So you got old Bruce-y in a cage, huh?”

Rossi and Hotch didn’t respond, still trying to decipher who this was and what was happening.

“You think that’s gonna help?” Bruce walked around the two agents and back over to his chair. “It’s only gonna make him hide longer.”

When he reached the chair, he faced the two men again. “What do you wanna know?”

Rossi and Hotch stayed quiet again, not sure what to do.

When they didn’t give him a response, the man spoke again. “I’m gonna have to tell you ‘cause the baby’s got his pacifier.”

“Where’s Sarah?” Hotch finally asked a question.

“She’s learning a lesson,” the man responded with a shrug.

“What did you do to them?” Hotch asked.

In a mocking tone, the man responded, “What did you do to them?”

Not amused, Hotch and Rossi glared at him.

“I scared them that’s all. They need it,” he sighed.

“Why?”

“Because they’re spoiled, ungrateful little bitches who walk all over him any chance they get,” he responded.

“Wow,” Y/N whispered in amazement at the response.

“What happened to Bruce?” Hotch asked the question everyone had been wondering.

“He’s hiding, of course,” the man responded. “See… when he can’t handle it, I save his ass. Bruce’s problem is...he can’t handle anything.”

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

“So Bruce said Katie baked cookies Monday night,” JJ said, turning away from the board as Rossi and Friedman entered the room. “We found them in the kitchen, so that’s true.”

“And two of Sarah’s friends confirmed she never made it to her study group,” Blake continued, her voice slightly muffled from her cheek being pressed against her hand.

“And that’s because Jeff Godwin was in the parking lot with her from 8:15 to 9:30,” Derek added.

“And the girls called the hotline at 9:58,” Spencer finished the timeline.

“Detective, have your officers found either gun?” Hotch asked as detective Friedman walked up to the board to look at the post-it notes on it.

“No, but we’ve increased the search given where Katie’s body was found,” Friedman replied.

“Okay so, we’ve got residue, but we don’t know which gun or where it is now,” Derek said, his eyes trained on the floor.

“Okay, look,” Y/N said, raising her hands to stop anyone from talking. “Whoever that was in there said he wanted to scare them, not hurt them.”

“Katie was beaten over the head in the middle of nowhere,” Blake reminded her.

“You’re right,” Y/N gestured to her. “The altar could have lost his temper, or it could have been a horrible accident.”

“But getting the girls out of the house was planned. He said he wanted to scare them and had a gun to do it,” Rossi said.

“And then, he drove them somewhere,” Derek continued. “Bruce’s car had the same mud on the driver’s side floor that he had on his boots, but there wasn’t any in the backseat. SO three people drove somewhere, but only he came back.”

“And the DNA coming back from under Katie’s nails will tell us what we already know-- That Bruce Morrison did this. SO can I arrest him now?” Friedman said, antsy to put cuffs on the man he felt was responsible.

“Detective, you have sufficient evidence to make the arrest, but we still don’t have Sarah,” Hotch told him, eyes glaring at the man.

“Give us an hour, and maybe, he’ll tell us where she is,” Y/N said, an idea in her head forming.

“It's your call, but he could still help us,” Hotch said.

Friedman sighed. “Okay. One hour.”

So the team began their work, and they had to work fast.

“There’s no way for us to confirm a D.I.D. diagnosis yet, but we do know he has chronic alcoholism, Which can and has gone hand in hand with it,” Spencer explained to the team that was scattered amongst the conference room. “The interesting thing is his liver and pancreas wouldn’t have survived thirty years of that kind of abuse, so there must have been years where he’s gotten help.”

“He was in a program,” Blake shrugged.

“Eh, it would have to be more than that,” Spencer replied then turned to Y/N who had Penelope on the line. “Garcia, has he ever been on medication to help curb his drinking?”

“All I’ve got is a yearly physical, and that is it,” Penelope replied.

“D.I.D. usually stems from a history of sexual abuse,” Blake said slowly, hoping to give something to Penelope to help her.

“Okay, well, I’ve got nothing like that,” Penelope said. “All I have on Bruce Morrison is that his mother died when he was ten-”

“There’s your abandonment issue,” Rossi remarked.

“And he was raised by a single alcoholic father, and there’s no evidence of any prescriptions.”

“I mean, they look like the perfect family,” Spencer said, opening the file with family photos in it.

“Yeah, but she would have had to know about his drinking before they got married,” Y/N said as she peered over at the photos Spencer was holding. “So maybe, she helped manage him and kept his problem a secret.”

“She could have been the one that got the prescription,” Spencer’s lightbulb went off. “Garcia, can you run her medical history?”

“Yeah, hold on…”

They waited about twenty seconds before her voice was heard again.

“Okay, disulfiram. Am I saying that right? It’s for chronic alcoholism. She had a 90-day supply delivered four times a year for as long as I can tell. And it stopped coming a few months ago.”

“It makes you just feel nauseous if you drink,” Spencer explained the effects of the medicine.

“But she isn’t the one who had the drinking problem, he is. Garcia, who canceled it?” Derek asked the woman on the phone.

“Please hold while I dig.” She hung up the phone.

“Could that be the trigger? He goes after his daughters now that he’s off his meds?” Blake turned to look at Y/N and Spencer when she asked her questions.

Y/N’s eyes panned up to the TV that showed Hotch talking to Bruce. Then to Jeff Godwin in the other room. “That instability could work for us.”

She set her plan into action. Y/N had Derek get Jeff Godwin and bring him into the interrogation room with Bruce in it.

“Hey, I- I didn’t- Hey, look I didn’t agree to this,” Jeff stumbled as he came face to face with Bruce sitting in the interrogation room.

“Well, we’re looking for Sarah, and you’re the last ones to see her alive,” Y/N said, leaning on the metal table.

“Look, like I told you guys earlier, I had nothing to do with this. And Sarah’s afraid of him.” He pointed at Bruce when he spoke of him.

“You wanna tell us about your relationship with Sarah?” Y/N asked, moving her hands in a circular motion as she spoke.

“I don’t have one,” Jeff replied, after a pregnant pause.

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed. “Huh, that’s strange. Why do you text her all the time then?”

At her words, Bruce sat up straighter, jaw clenching as he looked at a frightened Jeff.

“Jeff, come on, it’s not that big of a leap,” Y/N spoke nonchalantly. “Couldn’t have Judy anymore so you thought... Why not? Sarah looks just like her mom.”

Her words angered Bruce just like she thought they would. He pushed himself out of his chair and leaped for Jeff, but Derek intercepted him before he could touch him.

“I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch!” Bruce exclaimed as Derek pushed him back.

“Get him out! Get him out now,” Derek commanded the guard in the room to take Jeff out.

Once Derek had calmed Bruce (now his altar) down, he walked out of the room, leaving Y/N there standing on the other side of the table.

“Judy was gonna leave my boy for that scumbag,” the altar said, pointing to the door Jeff had exited.

“What’s your name?” Y/N asked as she watched the altar's body language.

“What’s your name?”

Y/N scoffed at his retort. “I’m Y/N, and you,” she nodded, her arms crossed as she stood tall.

“My name is Johnny, and I need a cigarette, Y/N,” Johnny placed his hands on his hips.

“Well, I might be able to help you out there, even though I don’t condone smoking, but I’m sure you’re stressed.” Y/N began to walk back and forth across the room.

“Oh, I’m not,” Johnny shook his head. “I just want a smoke.”

“Johnny,” Y/N scolded at the lie. “Come on. I know these teenage girls stress you out, no matter what you say.”

Johnny lifted his head up, a smug smirk as he looked at Y/N.

“How do you deal with it?” She continued her questions in hopes they would get him to tell her where Sarah was. “Do you like to, um...go out and shoot something?”

Johnny’s head cocked to the side and he shrugged. “Sometimes, but I don’t get much of a chance to do that.”

Y/N raised her brows in fake surprise. “Oh! I thought you did have a chance recently?”

Johnny chuckled and didn’t respond.

Y/N smirked at his none response and let out her own chuckle. “I think you did.”

Johnny’s head dropped as he continued to laugh.

“Now, you know, I’m just- I’m curious,” she laughed then pointed to the door with her thumb. “Then I’ll go get you a cancerous cigarette.”

Johnny smiled and gestured towards Y/N. “I like you, Y/N.”

Oh, that’ll make Spencer’s blood pressure go up, Y/N thought to herself.

“So…” Y/N trailed off, walking back and forth again as she changed the subject. “You took the girls somewhere to scare them...somewhere quiet, isolated…” She watched his reactions to what she said carefully. “Near the water?”

That got him to respond.

“I didn’t do anything but scare ‘em.”

“Oh, of course not.”

Johnny crossed his arms and came closer to Y/N as she stood in a dominant stance across the room.

“Do you have a place by the river?”

Johnny ignored the question. “Mm, pretty, and smart.”

Y/N gave him daring eyes, demanding an actual answer to her question.

“It’s not my place,” Johnny shook his head. “It’s not anybody’s place anymore.”

Y/N turned her head for him to elaborate more.

“I’ve taken them out there before, but this time…” He leaned forward, closer to Y/N this time (almost in her face) and whispered, “I got their attention.”

Y/N stepped back, nodding her head and nodded towards the guard to open the door.

“How about that cigarette now?”

“Not gonna let you pour cancer into Bruce’s lungs.”

The door closed behind her after she spoke and she could hear the tantrum Johnny was having. When she entered the bullpen, she saw Spencer standing in front of the glass. Arms crossed and lips pursed.

“Bub,” she whispered, gaining his attention. “You good?”

“Mm-hm, yep,” he nodded turning to her. “Just uh, you know, it was a little difficult not jumping through the glass to strangle him when he looked at you.”

Y/N chucked, her head dropping as she took a step closer to him.

“Spence, you and I both know that he wouldn’t have walked out of that room if he got closer to me.”

Spencer laughed as she pushed up on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek. He grabbed her left hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the spot right beside her ring.

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

That night, in the pouring, freezing rain, JJ and Derek found Sarah in the woods. She had a black eye and some cuts but she was okay.

Y/N had gone to the hospital to talk to Sarah with JJ. Letting her know what she would have to do and it was okay to back out.

Sarah seemed like a genuinely sweet girl and she took a liking to Y/N as she cried. When the three of them entered the precinct, JJ took her into the interrogation room, while Y/N stayed in the bullpen with the rest of the team.

“I have a bad feeling,” Y/N whispered as her stomach turned, something was off.

“What about?” Spencer whispered back.

“I’m not sure yet…”

As Sarah sat down, her two hands clasped together reached across the table for Bruce’s. His cuffed wrists stayed together as he held her hands.

“I’m so sorry,” Bruce said, eyes spilling with tears.

“Dad, you need help,” Sarah said softly.

Bruce let out a breath and nodded.

His eyes went up to the cuts and bruises on Sarah’s face and sucked in a sharp breath. “Did I do that?”

Sarah nodded and let a few more tears slip.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce apologized genuinely again. “I’m so sorry.”

Y/N stomach turned again, this time out of sadness. Instinctively, she reached for Spencer’s hand, needing a reassurement, and to know it would all be okay. He grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together for a second, and squeezed it.

“What can I do?” Bruce asked Sarah, pleading agony in his voice.

“They say that if you tell them where mom is, this will all just-”

“But I don’t know. You know I don’t know,” Bruce cut her off.

“She didn’t just disappear, Dad,” Sarah sobbed.

When Bruce didn’t respond, only letting out a breathy sob, Sarah let out another crying accusation.

“Oh God, you killed her too didn’t you?”

“No, no, I didn’t,” Bruce shook his head.

“How am I supposed to believe you?” Sarah sobbed and started pointing to the marking Bruce, or rather Johnny left. “This--this is what you’ve done.”

Bruce just looked at the injuries sadly.

“You have hurt us all for a long time,” Sarah continued, her voice giving out at the end. She stood up from the table and began to exit the room with JJ.

Bruce pleaded with her to not go, but she didn’t listen and just left the room.

----------

Y/N walked with Sarah into her home, the mood of the house much different now compared to earlier in the day. The rain had died down from earlier, but it was still falling on the roof hard enough so it could be heard in the house. Sarah had an FBI jacket wrapped around her and Y/N had her signature navy petticoat tied around her waist.

“You cold?” Y/N asked, noting how Sarah wrapped her arms around herself.

“Yeah, a bit, the thermostats right there,” she pointed to the machine down the hall.

Y/N walked down the hall, turning up the temperature, and looked back to Sarah. “Should warm up soon.”

Sarah stood, staring at the floor as Y/N walked closer to her.

“You think you can sleep?”

“Yeah, I want to shower first,” Sarah pointed up the stairs.

Y/N nodded in surprise. “Okay. Uh… you sure you’ll be okay up there?”

The reason why Y/N asked this was because, after her brother died, she wouldn’t even enter that side of the house for months. So it confused her as to how she would be able to go upstairs and be okay.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Sarah said reassuringly.

Hesitantly, Y/N nodded, her bad gut feeling coming back. “Okay, um, I’m gonna make us some tea, that sound good?”

“That’d be really nice, thanks.” And with that, Sarah made her way up the stairs.

Y/N nodded, letting her reassuring fake smile fall once Sarah was out of sight. Her eyes panned over to the table in the hall that adorned family photos. Behind it was a quilt she assumed their mother made.

The sound of her text messages startled her. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at the text from Spencer.

All good?

“Oh Spencer, you always know when somethings up,” Y/N whispered to herself and replied with ‘not sure’.

About five minutes later, after Y/N had finished with the tea, she made her way to the dining room and set the cups down. Her phone went off again, this time a call.

When she pulled it out of her pocket, Spencer’s name lit up the screen.

“Hey,” she answered, her voice hushed.

“What’s wrong?” Spencer asked, worry clear in his voice.

Y/N sat down at the head of the table and let out a breath. “I don’t know, I’m not sure, but the feeling is back again. She’s just...too casual and almost cold since we got here.”

“It could be the shock,” Spencer replied.

“Yeah, I know, but she’s composed at the same time,” Y/N said, trying to explain Sarah’s behavior. “She has not mentioned Katie to me even once since we got here. I couldn’t go to the side of the house that my brother stayed in after he died.”

“She does have a point,” JJ’s voice said through the phone. “When my sister died, I couldn’t even walk into my house, let alone past her room.”

“Well, what do you think, Y/N, Sarah pulled it off?” Blake’s voice asked.

“It may be a possibility,” Y/N shrugged.

“It’s a very detailed plan,” Blake commented.

“What, she knew about her father’s condition and took advantage of it?” Spencer asked as his voice rushed as he spoke.

“She set up character witnesses like Jeff Godwin...to back up her fear,” Derek’s voice said, piecing together a theory. “She even got her little sister to make calls to a hotline. She manipulated us from the minute we found her.”

“Her writing suggested no empathy and no real emotional connection to the family,” Blake said, recalling the writing she had read earlier that day.

“Psychopathic tendencies,” Spencer remarked.

“Her wounds are more than superficial, but they could be self-inflicted, right, Y/N?” JJ asked the woman on the phone.

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N saw Sarah enter the room.

“Baby, I know, I’m sorry I can’t be there for the dinner tonight,” Y/N said, quickly coming up with a cover for why she was on the phone. “But London and Jackson are there until Friday and I promise I will make it up to you when I get back.”

Y/N then turned to look at Sarah, acknowledging her presence. “You okay? I didn’t hear the shower.”

“Yeah, I just wanted my tea,” Sarah pointed to the cup on the table.

“Oh, I was gonna bring it to you, but it should be ready,” Y/N stood up and handed her the cup.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” she said, wanting to let them know she was okay.

“We’ll be right there, stay on the phone,” Spencer said quickly as Y/N assumed he was running out of the precinct.

“Baby, I gotta go,” she said and hung up the phone, watching as Sarah walked away.

When Y/N heard the water running, she walked down to the basement, remembering the tub she saw earlier. She took her flashlight connected to her holster out and walked down the stairs. When she reached the floor she walked straight over to the tubs of quilts, specifically the one with Katie’s name.

She pulled it off the shelf and moved it over to an empty table next to it. As she filed through all the blankets, she came across a real estate binder. When she opened it and flipped through the pages, she heard a gun click behind her.

“Why did you have to come down here?”

Sarah’s voice rang in the quiet of the basement.

Cautiously, Y/N turned around to look at her. In Sarah’s hand was the second gun they had been looking for.

“We’ve been looking for that.”

“It’s an old house, I know the best hiding places,” she shrugged. “But you, what do you think you know?”

“You put everything that went missing with your mother inside this box,” Y/N nodded to the box beside her. “1999.”

“Maybe my dad did it?”

“No,” Y/N spoke before she could even finish. “No, you chose this box because it’s the year Katie was born and everything changed.”

Sarah’s face formed a snarl as Y/N spoke.

“She was your little sister.”

“Katie ruined everything-” she took the last step so now she was level with Y/N- “and my mother let her.”

“Your mother loved you,” Y/N protested.

“Well, she loved Katie more,” Sarah seethed.

Y/N and Sarah stood in silence for a second.

“I should’ve cried for Katie,” Sarah scoffed. ��I guess there are some things I just can’t fake.”

Carefully, Y/N’s hand reached for the gun on her belt, something she really didn’t want to have to do.

“You won’t do it,” Sarah said, taking another step closer.

“You need to back up- now.” Y/N’s voice was stern as she commanded the young girl.

“I can say my trauma kicked in,” Sarah explained. “PTSD.”

Her face then formed into fear, “I saw you with the gun, and I didn’t know what else to do!”

Then her face went back to normal.

Truly, Y/N was kinda impressed. “You thought of everything.”

Then, by the grace of whatever is out there, footsteps were heard coming down the stairs.

“Sarah put the gun down,” Derek said softly as he came up behind her.

“No, no, you don’t understand. She has a gun, she was going to hurt me,” Sarah used her plea.

“No, no, Sarah, It’s okay,” Derek reassured her. As he put his gun down, Spencer lifted his up and pointed it at her.

“Listen to me,” Derek said, holstering his gun. “I understand. It’s okay, Sarah. She wasn’t going to hurt you. I know you’ve been through enough. All right? I get it.”

Sarah let out a fake sob as Derek placed his hand on her shoulder. “Sarah, you’re safe now, okay?”

Sarah nodded and turned to Derek. “Okay, thank you.”

As soon as Derek pulled the gun out of Sarah’s hands, Spencer came up from behind her and cuffed her.

“What are you doing?!” She exclaimed as the cuffs came down on her wrists.

“You’re a smart girl, Sarah. Figure it out,” Derek said, taking Sarah out of Spencer's hands and led her up the stairs.

Sarah tried to plead as Derek took her up the stairs.

Y/N turned back to the book she had been looking at, opening to a page that held trophies from Sarah’s mom.

“February fourth, the day Judy went missing,” Y/N said as she read the date above the necklace.

“Trophies,” Spencer said as he got closer to Y/N. “If the detective Friedman had ever found it, she would have pinned it all on Bruce.”

“Damn, it’s almost impressive,” Y/N whispered as she closed the boom and brought it up as evidence.

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

“The guests of honor!” Rossi exclaimed as Y/N and Spencer walked into his home.

The two chuckled and walked closer to Rossi to hug him. Rossi grabbed each of their faces, kissing them both on the cheeks.

“Dave, thank you so much for this,” Y/N said, taking Spencer’s hand as she thanked the man.

“Well, it’s the least I could do,” Rossi smiled, then turned and pointed to the room holding his own personal bar. “And I heard that there’s a special someone here to see you, Y/N.”

Y/N raised a brow in confusion then looked to Spencer, who had a smirk on his face.

“Remember the other day when you had to cover on the phone, and said something about London and Jackson coming to visit,” he beamed at the smile that formed on Y/N’s face as she put the pieces together.

“Shut up!” She laughed and rushed into the room, her best friend standing with her own boyfriend next to Derek, laughing about something. “London!”

When she heard her name, the dark-headed woman turned around and saw Y/N. “Y/N!”

The two met in the middle and hugged tightly, having missed each other so much.

“Oh my god, let me see it,” London said, pulling away from the hug so she could look at Y/N’s ring. “Oh, it’s beautiful.”

“I know,” Y/N sighed as London held her hand still.

“Now I just wonder when Jackson will give me one of those,” London laughed as her boyfriend came up next to her.

“Okay, no need to be hostile,” the green-eyed man said as he wrapped an arm around London’s waist. “Congratulations, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Dr. Avery,” she responded diplomatically.

“And to you too, Dr. Reid,” Jackson said, tipping his wine glass to Spencer as he walked up to the three, grabbing Y/N’s hand.

“Thank you,” Spencer smiled at the man.

The four of them had all hung out before. After another case the team had in Seattle, Spencer and Y/N stayed an extra day to hang out with London and Jackson. Y/N and laughed, making a comment about how she was the only one in the group who wasn’t a doctor.

“So how was your last case?” London asked. She loved to hear about cases and she repeatedly told Y/N that the team was the real life Scooby-Doo gang.

“A plot twist to say the least,” Y/N laughed, not wanting to go into detail. “I’m just glad it’s the weekend, and I’m just keeping my fingers crossed we don’t get called in.”

“I know that feeling,” Jackson agreed with a laugh.

Then, Hotch’s phone ringing was heard from across the room.

“No, not tonight,” Y/N groaned, throwing her head back. “One night, can serial killers just chill out for one night.”

Those who heard her comment laughed, but then Hotch reassured her worries.

“Don’t worry Y/N, that was Jessica, telling me Jack finished his homework.”

“Oh thank goodness.”

The night went on, Rossi had hired a catering service so the dinner was all little finger foods. Due to the cold weather, Rossi had made a dance floor in the bar room. Clearing out the tables that were in the middle of the room and leaving room for everyone to dance.

There was laughter heard all night as everyone danced and sang obnoxiously loud to the 90’s rock. It was a perfect surreal moment that made Y/N so happy. As she danced with Spencer, she pulled herself closer to him and whispered to him.

“I wish every night was like this.”

“It will be,” Spencer whispered back, placing a kiss on the shell of her ear as he spoke. “This is how we’ll spend every night we’re married, dancing, singing, and laughing until we can’t breathe.”

Y/N smiled, turning her head to place her lips on his. This kiss was meant to be a peck, but Spencer held the small of her back closer and let their lips dance together longer.

She giggled as she pulled away from him as Derek yelled “Get a room!” as he danced with a very drunk Penelope.

“I think I like the idea of us dancing till sunrise.”

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dreamer213 · 3 years

Text

Broken Machines: Lights The Dark

Chapter 5: Lesson Plan: Orientation

Penny sat nervously on the train car as it began to move upwards towards the city. She’s looking down at her feet and legs, now dressed in a pair of black stockings and a pair of brown Mary Janes, her rocket boots was now sat at her side in shape of a handbag. She had gotten up early that morning to make sure she got ready on time and looked nice. She even double checked after her morning patrol but she was still absolutely terrified! But what girl wouldn’t be if the cute boy she met at an evening party, who’s life you saved, and shared an amount magical evening with agreed to be your etiquette teacher.

Penny: Is like a something out a romance novel. The perfect scenario for a modern take on the charming prince falling for the ditzy commoner girl. There’s even a twist on the trope with the prince protecting the girl not with a sword but with his wit!

Penny blushes her head fulling with different possible romance scenarios that could happen during her lessons. But soon her better judgment makes her recall why she was doing this in the first place. She takes both hands and smacks her cheeks until she’s forced the romantic thoughts out of her head.

Penny: No, no, NO! Bad Penny! These lessons are supposed to help you with the investigation. This is a meeting with comrade NOT a romantic encounter! There is simple plan in place for this mission and I am following it! I am going to take these lessons, learn to act like an Altas elite, investigate the suspects, find the spy, get “the project” back on schedule, and help protect EVERYONE! That is what I’m here to do and that is all I will do.

With that reaffirmation Penny feels motivated and gets pumped up. She starts bouncing in her seat as the car nears the station. Soon the train comes to a stop, she’s arrived at the station. Penny quickly grabs her things and heads out the doors when they open. She makes her way though the station and once she’s outside she looks for the car mentioned in last night’s message. She only has to look for few seconds before she spots man in a Chauffeur’s uniform standing outside an expansive looking black car holding up a sigh with “Ms. Polendina” printed on it. It was unbelievably, the limousine for the evening party was understandable but this was just over the top, Penny could barely process the sheer amount of shame and embarrassment she was experiencing but still she knew she has to get in. Penny hastily walks over to him once she gets close enough the chauffeur, Godfrey, calls out to her.

Godfrey: Good Day, Ms. Polendina.

Penny: Good Afternoon, Mr..?

Godfrey: It’s Godfrey, Ms. Polendina.

Penny: It’s nice to meet you Godfrey and you don’t have to call me Ms. Polendina, please just call me Penny.

Godfrey: Alright then Ms. Penny shall we be on our way?

Godfrey sits the sign in front passenger seat then opens the back passenger door for Penny. Penny gets inside, sits, buckles up, and looks around. The interior was spacious with black leather seats with a built in cooler full of bottled sparkling waters. It’s such an overall lavish scene inside and out that it’s honestly overwhelming.

Penny: Is this really necessary? A taxi would have been much more practical and cost effective. And much less overwhelmingly obvious.

Godfrey: Ready to go?

Penny:Oh! Yes, I’m ready to go!

Godfrey starts the car and pulls out onto the road. During the drive Penny looks out the window, the streets were so different from Mantle’s much cleaner and less populated, so many fancy shops, cafes, and skyscrapers, but somehow it felt unauthentic like the city itself was all for show. After an hour or so the car finally comes to a stop in The Schnee Manor driveway. Godfrey opens the door for Penny and walks her to the front door where a maid stands waiting. Once they’re at the door Godfrey tips his hat to both the maid and Penny then leaves. With him gone Penny turns her attention to the maid, the maid bows to her then looks Penny directly in the eyes and speaks.

Mary: Good Afternoon Ms. Polendina Welcome to the Schnee Manor. I am Mary Shallor, I am here to escort you to the Young Master. Please follow me.

Mary walks inside with Penny trailing behind her. After going through several hallway they arrive at one of the libraries where another maid stands waiting. The maids share a nod and Mary leaves, the other maid ups the door and guides Penny to the back of the library. As they go deeper into the room Penny spots someone sitting at by table next to a window reading a book. Once they’re close it becomes clear who it is. There he is Whitley Schnee dressed in his everyday business causal wear, sitting cross legged in an arm chair, sunlight beaming down on him, reading a book on art theory, topping his finger against leather covered spine as he reads.

Penny starts to fidget and looking around, trying her hardest to focus on literally anything besides the literal daydream come to life sitting in front of her. But she just can’t keep her eyes off him no matter how hard she tries. She can feel herself tensing up and her cheeks are starting to go red again. She tries change tactics by focusing on her mission and repeat the purpose of this meeting,

Penny: This is a formal meeting with a comrade. You are here to learn about etiquette and investigate the thefts. This young man is your instructor. This is a professional meeting nothing more-

At that moment Whitley looks up from his book, they’re eyes met, and Penny’s mind goes blank. He sets the book down on the table and gestures to the seat across from him. All while wearing a picture perfect smile.

Whitley: Good afternoon Ms. Polendina, I’ve been waiting for you. Please come take a seat.

Aaaand there goes her plans to be professional about this. Instead her head starts feeling hazy and the drumming in her chest returns as she sits down. Her legs are shaking and she can barely keep her composure. It was just so strange that one smile could make a battle android like her feel so painfully nervous.

Whitley: Now before we get start the orientation we need to get couple things out in the open. First I need you to go over the case details you already have so I can figure out which events you’ll need to attend and which families and or business groups you’ll need to focus in on. Second I need to know just how much you know about etiquette so we can make you a proper lesson plan.

Penny: W-while that’s a reasonable request, for the first subject I can not give you many specific details as the matter is still classified.

Whitley: That’s fine all I need to know is the crime and a list of suspects, nothing more.

Penny: A-Alright I can give you that much. In the past month several supply trucks carrying military equipment have been stolen while in route from the shipping facility or direct from the factories. It appears that someone in a position of high authority is divulging classified information to help facilitate the thefts.

Whitley: That’s very unfortunate. And the suspects?

Penny: Regina Holly, CEO of the Holly HighTech communications technology company, Elio Brugmansia founder and president of Mansia Mobile, Julia Primrose of Inscribed cellular, Arthur Hemlock Vice President of Hemlock Steel, Matthew Datura primary shareholder of Arum Iron and Steel, Alejandro Altissima head of Altissima Fuel, Sylas Foxglove owner of FastFox Fuel and Jospeh Speedwell chairman of Speedway Energy and Fuel. Half were suppliers of the now stolen equipment and Many of the others are also contracted suppliers but could not be ruled out as suspects. At least not yet.

Whitley: My, my, my, that is quite the list, a lot of big players and old money in there. Hmm, one more question Ms. Polendina. Why did the military contract so many different companies at the same time, especially since several are known rivals in their industries?

Penny: With the loss of global communications everything had to be bought or made locally and with most local companies being cut off from their other factories and facilities, no single distributor could supply enough material to fulfill the contract completely so the order was spilt and divided amongst several companies instead.

Whitley: I see. Now on to the etiquette lessons. How much do you know about etiquette and manners?

Penny: I’ve been taught to say please and thank you as a sign of gratitude, to not place my elbows on the table at a meal, to never talk when my mouth is full of food, to always smile when I greet someone regardless of they’re attitude, to hold the door for the person behind me when entering a building, to give up my seat for any person in greater need of it on public transportation, and to say bless you when someone sneezes near me.

Whitley: That is…not exactly what I…….Never mind.

There is a moment of silence as Whitley digest this information. The situation was not the best, too many people on one job makes things too complicated. Especially when dealing with egotistical elites with little empathy or impulse control. And with the current state of the the economy things could only get more complicated.

Whitley: Every person on that suspect list has more then enough means and motive to pull a stunt like this. Could be attempting fraud or price gouging or just a new means to undercutting their competition or something else entirely, there’s no storage of possible motives. And with the market tanking and global trade slowing to a near standstill they’ve probably grew desperate to maintain their business a float as well. (Sighs) Every suspect is the perfect suspect and their motives are endless. Ugh this investigation is going to be absolute nightmare.

Trailing off from that Whitley looks over at Penny, when her identity as a soldier and a huntress were revealed Whitley had assumed that her appearance was just a sort of camouflage to disguise her true nature but it would what seem that was not the case.

Whitley: How she could have possibly became a huntress skilled enough to be recognized by Ironwood himself and yet still retain such an childish and innocent mindset is beyond me. Still she follows orders well and speaks much more properly then I expected so it’s not completely unusual. And it’s not as though having an innocent personality is a bad thing, in fact given the situation we’re in this might make things a little easier.

Whitley stands up from his chair and walks over to Penny, he holds out his hand to her and gestures to her to stand. Instead of just standing up Penny takes his hand as she pulls herself up and out of her seat. The moment they’re hands touch Whitley suddenly feels a tingle, a sort of warm jolt his never experience before. He had held her hands before, at the evening party, but at the time his focus was on getting out of the situation and getting her to Ironwood rather then how her hands felt but right now things were different. Right now she had his full attention and something about her just made him feel so….different. He didn’t why but this one touch just felt so odd like he was burning from the inside but it didn’t hurt. Instead it feels. It feels. He doesn’t really know though some small part of him, almost desperately, wants to know. But now is not the time for this.

Whitley quickly pulls his hand back, causing Penny to pull hers back as well. There a few seconds of awkward silence before Whitley regains his composure and clears his throat.

Whitley: Since it appears that you’ll need a bit more teaching then original thought we’ll have to readjust your lesson plan. So for today we’ll just take a quick tour of the areas we’ve already prepared then you’ll be dismissed.

Penny: Un-understood.

Whitley: Good then we’ll start here. This is the east wing library. It’s stuck with numerous text on almost every topic one could think of. History, Classic literature, Science, the list goes on.

Whitley begin walking through the library towards the entrance with Penny and the maid following close behind. He holds the door for the ladies as they exit from the library and move to the hallway. From there the tour begins with the three walking to the different area in manor, Whitley gives a quick bio of the room or area, then moving on to the next.

First up, a room with a large cream colored L shape sofa paired with a glass coffee table with wood trim was a few magazines, an ashtray and a small phone, and a matching loveseat, a few paintings in walls, potted plants, and a fireplace.

Whitley: This is one of our many lounge rooms. It’s primarily use for entertaining guests or as a sitting room for business colleagues. It’s also used as a rest area for tired or inebriated guests during parties. The small phone on the table has three set speed dials 1 is our in house physician 2 is for the kitchen and 3 is for the clean up crew.

Penny raises her hand to ask a question, Whitley notices and points to her.

Whitley: Yes.

Penny: Why is necessary to have a speed dial for the clean up crew in a lounge room?

Whitley: I’d rather not say but if this investigation last longer than let’s say a month you’ll probably be here for my father’s next black and white party. And if he serves red wine and the good rum again trust me, you’ll find out.

Penny: Oh.

Whitley: On to the next room.

Next stop seems to be a studio, there some sound equipment and speakers, wood floors, and a large mirror covering the entirety of the back wall with a ballet bar going across it.

Whitley: This is the dance studio. Here myself and many others were taught to dance, walk, maintain good posture, and to greet properly. Soon you will learn the same.

Penny takes a moment to look around, she remembers seeing rooms like this in some books and magazines. She runs her hand across the bar as she reminisces about her days in the lab, training her fighting abilities and learning about human through books and old movies. She stands on her toes and does a little twirl, emanating the dancers she’d seen so long ago. Whitley lets her enjoy herself for a bit then calls her back so they can continue the tour.

Next up , a room full of instruments mainly a selection of violins and cellos in various size, a few flutes, three pianos, a record player, and several bookshelves filed with a variety of records and sheet music.

Whitley: Welcome to the music room, this addition built almost forty years ago. During that time a number of people have learned to play their chosen instruments with most advancing to an expert level, myself included.

Penny: You’re a musician?

Whitley: Yes, a pianist to be exact. In the music world I am known as the Silver Maestro of Atlas, I perform every 50 days sometimes solo sometimes with an Orchestra.

Penny: Amazing. May I come see you perform someday?

Whitley: Hmm. Given that most of the venues I play in are usually elites parties and high profile concerts you’ll most likely have to attend one during your time here.

Penny: Wonderful! I’m excited to hear your music.

Whitley says nothing and heads towards the next room with Penny and the maid in tow. While walking towards the next area they pass a large window with a view into a grand garden. They are about to pass the hall to gardens main entrance when Whitley spots Willow walks past on the other side of the glass, a bottle in hand and several more being carried by Mary most being empties. Whitley stops the two women almost trip trying not to run into him. Whitley turns around with a almost stranded smile on his face, he stands there for a few more seconds until he knows Willow has passed their field of vision then taps the window and gestures for Penny to look throughout it.

Whitley: If you look over here you’ll see the famous Schnee Manor garden, home to several hundred different types of flora and fauna, many of which can only be seen here or at the Atlas Botanic Garden. This garden was built by my grandfather Nicholas Schnee as a birthday gift to his dear daughter Willow, my mother.

Penny stares at the window in awe, her face almost pressed to the glass. There’s so many flowers in some many pretty colors. She hadn’t seen many flowers since she’d been stationed in Mantle, outside the ones in pots hung on houses as décor and the few stray wildflowers that grew in the parks so seeing something like this was just incredible. It was like field of eternal spring with roses, lilies, tulips, even some of her dad’s favorite,Yellow Snapdragons! So gorgeous she could just run inside and spend the day there, just watching, picking, and smelling flowers for hours and hours. She looks over to Whitley her eyes practically shining in excitement.

Penny: It so beautiful! I’ve never seen so many flowers in one place! Whitley could we please go-

Whitley: NO!

There was a surprised silence, Everyone, including himself were stunned, shocked by the volume of the young Schnee. It was very very rare to hear him speak so loud and when he did it was always a sigh of something unpleasant happening. Once out of his shocked state Whitley looks a bit uncomfortable and ashamed.

Whitley: I a-apologize for that, it was inappropriate of me to yell. (Coughs) To answer your question, No there’s working been done inside right now so we can’t go into the garden today.

Penny: Okay.

Whitley: We’ll go in at another time just not today. Let’s just continue the tour.

The group continues walking in complete silence. They continue going to the few more room but the mood has taken too much of a downward turn. They ended at the ballroom standing in the middle of the room Whitley gives his last speech before the end of the tour.

Whitley: This is Ballroom, a place I’m sure you’re at least a little familiar with.

Penny blushes a bit puts her head down and nods.

Whitley: There’s really no need for a lot of explanation, this room has only one use, to host all the manor’s grand events and parties. Be it evening parties, charity galas, dinner parties and so on, this is where some of the grandest parties in Atlas are hosted and only a select few get to attend this events often for others it’s a once in a lifetime experience. And with that this is the end of our tour.

Penny gives an enthusiastic round of applause to which Whitley gives a slight chuckle and a few dramatic bows.

Whitley: Thank you, Thank you, your too kind. Now since the tour’s over you’re dismissed for the day, I’ll have your new lesson plan sent to you before tomorrow morning so please remember to check your scroll for it before you return. Have good day and Ms. Polendina, Genevieve Please see her to the car.

Penny: Thank you for having me. I look forward to seeing you- You all to-tomorrow.

Penny gives a small wave as Genevieve guides her to the front door, Whitley gives her a smile and wave back. Once she’s out Whitley turns around and heads back to his room to his desk. His day has just begun and he had a mountain of paperwork and studies that need to be done before dinner. Meanwhile Penny’s back in the car with Godfrey, heading back to station she looks out window and chats with Godfrey until they get there. Once she gotten out from the car into the station, and on the train back down she looks at her scroll and realizes that it’s still quite early and she still has a lot of work to do. But despite that fact she didn’t feel groggy or groggy or deflated like most would. Oddly enough she actually felt sort of calm, relaxed and ready to get to work. When the train car finally stops in back at the Mantle station Penny gets off the train, heads outside and sits at the near bench, puts her boots back on, and gets back to work!

After another long day of protecting Mantle Penny goes home, has dinner and family time with her dad, then head to her room to get ready for bed. Sitting in her pajamas brushing her hair, Penny think back on all that’s happened today and what could happened tomorrow when she remembers what Whitley said about sending her new lesson plan. She picks up her scroll and looks through her messages to see if Whitley’s sent the new lesson plan for her or if he sent it through Ironwood instead. She looks and looks but finds nothing, it getting late and she needs to rest so she plugs herself in to charge but keeps looking at her scroll waiting for his message. She knows it’ll come before she leaves for patrol in the morning but she wants to read it the moment it’s sent to her, she wants to see his message.

Penny pauses for second and realized what she was actually doing. She was unnecessarily waiting up for a work related message just because he was the one sending. Suddenly she recalls everything she said to him today and starts to blush again. She buries her face in her pillow and starts screaming into it.

Penny: Did I really stutter that much? why did I asking so many unnecessary questions? Why did I grab his hand like that? He pulled his away so fast he must have felt so uncomfortable! How could I be so stupid!

She continues to whine and worry about how she might have come off for another hour or so, never once let her scroll go as she turns into a blushing embarrassed mess.

Whitley sits at his desk typing away at his laptop. He had finished his work hours ago but he still had to update Penny’s lesson plan and find an easy event for her to attend as soon as possible to help jump start the investigation. He was almost done with the lesson plan but still needed to find a more causal event with the right people in attendance to send Penny to. He’s typing away at his laptop with one hand and looking through his scroll at the local social media with the other.

With global communication gone the elites had lost most of their social media audience and now only had fraction of onlookers to watch them flaunt their wealth so the local servers had become a giant message board were young elites post about the parties they’re having, dangerous pranks they were pulling, stupid stunts, petty drama, and weekly shopping hauls.

Whitley detested using social media as it was full of amount nothing but vapid idiots looking for validation but it was the easiest way to keep up with happenings of Atlas youths so he checked it every few days. After scrolling through countless food pics, videos of people being stupid, morons screaming at each over things they don’t really understand he puts his scroll down leans back, and puts his hand on his face, completely frustrated.

Whitley: If I have to see another picture of an idiot eating dish cleaner for attention I’m going to have an aneurysm. (Sighs) Why I am even doing this we only agree to teach her and get her into events not to hand pick them for her.

He looks up to the ceilings and and recalls the events of the afternoon. She had only been in the manor for a couple of hours but he had learned quite a lot in that time.

Whitley: That girl, She’s definitely a intelligent, driven, and strong person, the way she spoke about the case was concise but clear, not hint of worry, doubt, or deception just cold facts. Her articulation and vernacular while a bit stiff were also far more advanced than I was expecting. If she learns quickly and keep her head on straight she should do fine but-

The memories of that afternoon flash in his mind, her twirling by ballet bar, the excitement in her voice when she discovered he had musical talent, her vibrant green eyes staring with wonder at the garden. A soldier she made be but that wasn’t all she was. She was sweet, innocent, excitable, and very much vulnerable. She could become a true darling in high society if trained right but right now she’s too gentle, like a hummingbird flying without fear if she gets too close to wrong flower a predator could rip her apart before she could even put up a fight.

Whitley sits back up, stretches his arms the gets back to searching. He calls for a maid to get him a cup of coffee, takes off his vest, and settles in for a long night of work.

#penny polendina #whitley schnee #broken machines #rwby #rwby fanfiction #fanfic #the real story begins now

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astralaffairs · 3 years

Note

i know mc is specifically a political journalist, but what if she was covering a story like the blm on the side or a riot or smth, and happened to get arrested while on the job? any headcanons for how thom would react? i see him wanting to use his political influence to get her out but i feel like he might give away too much if he does that?? or would he not care at this point bc he just wants to make sure she's safe?

mc uses her prison phone call on either lafayette or dolley for the SOLE purpose of them getting her in touch w thom

because so many people were arrested, the cops arresting yet another journalist probably wouldn't make the news

so when she calls either dolley or laf she just has to hope that they know what she means when she says to "spread the word" that she's been arrested

when word reaches thomas about it, though, he damn near loses his mind because "they can't just hold her there indefinitely!!!!!"

however, because her invocation of habeas corpus is just met with a statement that she's suspected of "rioting" or some variation of theft or property destruction at the protests, they all realize that they can, in fact, hold her there indefinitely

because our criminal justice system is so wildly fucked up

being a certified Broke Bitch, our poor heroine cannot post bail, so she's there until either charges are dropped or she scrounges up enough money for bail

dolley and lafayette both come to visit her (regardless of who she calls w her one phone call, they each tell the other pretty quickly)

when they learn abt her situation, they're also freaking out

they both offer to pay her bail money, but considering that they're both public figures closely associated w the jefferson campaign, mc thinks it would look too sus

lafayette comes in the next day claiming to be her lawyer so he can talk to her alone (she j runs with it bc this might as well happen)

but really he just did it so he could have space to tell her that thomas was insisting on bankrolling her bail AND legal fees

his plan is to just fund it w/ offshore investments; if the $$ is coming from nevis, no one's gonna be able to track it back to him (haven't u heard thomas jefferson was implicated in the panama papers??)

she tells him fuck no u can't do that

because then she'd have evidence of him using offshore investments to evade taxes (and she'd publish that info w/o hesitation)

because of course he's guilty of tax evasion 🙄

she'd basically tell him to take his money out of the offshore accounts if he was gonna bankroll her anything; she refuses to let her bail fund b paid by dark money

meanwhile, alex and lafayette are about to throw down bc alex is pissed that lafayette is acting as mc's lawyer

"He doesn't even have a law degree! Why the hell would you trust him with this?"

and lafayette is ridiculously smug abt it, but he knows the only reason she's letting him act as her attorney is so he can act as an intermediary btwn her and thomas

(once she no longer needed to communicate w thom, lafayette would be losing his role there)

but anyway thomas quickly realizes she won't b letting him pay her bail fund (and that she's probably being more reasonable abt it than he is)

so, being the extra bitch he is, he literally funnels millions of dollars to washington dc bail funds (cool donation, mediocre motive)

however, despite him being lauded as a hero of the people and an Activist, mc's bail doesn't get paid

relative to the other people who are being held in the same jail as her, her bail is low-cost, and her charges aren't very serious, so bailing her out is low priority

so, being the extra bitch he is, thomas assembles a fucking legal team to take the arrest of reporters and journalists at the protests to the dc district courts as a first amendment violation

mc is fucking shocked when she finds out

she's even more shocked when she finds out alex forced his way onto thomas's legal team bc he decided he had a stake in the matter

he, of course, does not realize that thomas literally brought the case to the court for the sole purpose of freeing mc

and, yknow, protecting the bill of rights, of course

he wins his case, of course

it gets him ridiculously good press and his approval ratings jump significantly

he shows up at the holding cells at the county jail when the judge orders that all journalists and reporters are released partially to rub his win in the cops' faces

but also, by now, mc has been in a holding cell eating prison food for 8 days and thomas is absolutely worried sick

he hasn't seen her, spoken to her, or heard from her except by way of lafayette's interpretation of her words, and he has no clue how she's holding up

dolleys been doing her best to keep him updated

but, yknow, he has to personally see to it that the judge's orders are followed and the journalists are released

and mc is beyond overjoyed to see him

but she also thinks he was being extra as fuck, and he didn't need to do all this just to get her out

she thanks him for all his efforts in a very formal interaction when they're both at the county jail but she's clearly mildly amused that he went to all this trouble

and he just looks WORRIED AS SHIT. he wants to hug her and baby her and ask her if she's alright

instead, when she shakes his hand in a gesture of awkward gratitude, he subtly lets her know he'll be home all that evening

and then he's texting her all afternoon after she gets out

but she wants to stay home :( needs to be at her own place after all that time in a fucking holding cell

so she isn't shocked when thomas shows up for coffee at the diner around 10 pm

in fact, even tho she isn't working right then, she goes downstairs just on the hunch that he might show up

and when mc offers to let mira go, then, and leave closing up shop to mc, mira isn't shocked, either

by then, she's caught thomas sneaking out the back door of the building in the early morning one too many times for her to not suspect anything (even tho he always claims he was there for coffee, he swears)

mira just sighs and sends thomas upstairs w/ mc once the diner is all cleared out, and they're both like "shit shit fuck she knows oh my god"

but she doesn't push the conversation any further just then, so they figure it can wait until another day

and then, of course, thomas spends the night absolutely babying her

he insists on cooking for her since she didn't eat dinner (she claimed she didn't have an appetite, but he was fairly certain it was just the prison food making her feel sick)

she puts up a fight, but when the food is in front of her, it's a little too good to resist

and if they don't fuck when he spends the night, neither of them says anything about it. didn't this count as the "friends" part of "friends with benefits"?

and if it briefly occurs to them that friends aren't supposed to casually make out on their kitchen counters, they still don't say anything about it

and if mc spends the next couple nights sleeping better than she has in weeks because her bed smells like thomas, she doesn't say anything about it

#this got way too long and tangential #but thats ok #hzl talks #freedom of the press #hamilton x reader #hamilton #hamilton fanfic #hamilton fic #send me asks!

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mandoinevarro · 4 years

Text

Cara’s Restless Week

Words: 4k

Rating: E

Warnings: Smut, vaginal intercourse, masturbation, voyeurism, choking, cuckolding? Not sure :/

a/n: I’m once again ignoring baby yoda. He’s at a sleepover at Omera’s, also he and all children go deaf at night, don’t worry about them.

Cara Dune can’t sleep.

The night is still and warm, and the steady rhythm of drizzle batting against the roof of her shelter would’ve been enough to lull her to sleep under any other circumstances. Even the crickets outside seem to have fallen into a uniform, soothing symphony.

And yet, Cara can’t sleep.

She’s no stranger to restless nights—Maker, she’s no stranger to restless weeks, but she never thought she’d have bedtime troubles inside a comfortable bungalow in Sorgan, days after they’ve driven away the threats to the peaceful community. She tosses and turns on her cot, presses a straw pillow against her face, tries counting blurgs, but it’s no use. No matter what Cara does, she can’t stop hearing the choked moans coming from the cabin next to hers. She kicks the covers away and stumps around in circles inside her cramped hut.

It’s not like it came as a surprise to her.

She suspected something was brewing under the surface from the first day she met the Mandalorian. Settling things with him was easy enough after they learnt that no, he didn’t have a fob on her, and no she wasn’t after a green baby growing wings out of his head. She smiled when the pretty woman feeding broth to said kid giggled at her description.

Cara’s first impression of you was pleasant enough; you smiled easily and contributed every now and then with your own sharp observations, not to mention how much the shock trooper liked the feeling between her legs every time your breasts bounced with each hearty laugh. She even thought of making a move, but stopped the lewd come-on from tumbling past her teeth once she noticed the way your gaze followed your Mandalorian’s every move. Inside some buried corner in the back of her mind, Cara recognized the look. If not something deeper (because softer passions are hard to nurture in this harsh galaxy), it was—at the very least—a look of profound longing. And, although those gentle sentiments had abandoned Cara somewhere in the blur of her past, she’d lived enough to know that glimpse in your pupils whenever he’d get too close to you was there to stay.

The drizzle turns into rain. Instead of drowning them, the loud pebbling clatter of fat droplets only gives the mewls a vibration and solidity that they lacked before. She steps out of the lodge, hoping the pouring water will clear her mind and send her back to bed. But—like if you were purposefully working to lengthen her insomnia— as soon as her head pokes out, the whimpers that hit her are noisier and clearer, and she immediately goes back inside. She sits on a stool, impatiently grabs at her trimmed hair, searches her warrior’s brain for a solution.

She kept her distance that afternoon and thought she’d never see either of you again, and hadn’t at all expected the leather hand that dropped a pouch of credits at her feet in the dark Sorgan woods.

A little action and some pocket money were a good bargain, so Cara took the job. She promised herself, though, to keep her cravings for you at bay. It wasn’t very hard at first. Everyone in the community spent weeks doing little but prepare for the impending attack of the raiders. Cara and the Mandalorian trained the villagers, planned the defense strategy, went over the plan over and over again, helped dig ditches, and neither of them had much time to think about you.

It wasn’t until after their victory—after the Imperial AT-ST was destroyed and, with it, the invaders’ oppressive grip on the fishing village—that they both allowed themselves to occupy their heads on something—or rather, someone—a lot more pleasant.

By that point, Cara had gotten pretty good at reading Mando’s body language. Gestures that she’d once thought were signs of indifference or trained stoicism picked up completely different meanings. She remarked how his spine would relax and he’d lose a few inches whenever he’d see his son playing with the village’s children. She took note of the way his helmet would tilt to the side and his modulated voice would drag a little at the end on the rare occasion he made a joke. She was next to him on the afternoon his dark visor fixated on you when, in front of a particularly orange sunset, the last beams of light melted over your glowing figure, painting your skin and hair with changing colors. She definitely didn’t miss the sore sigh that fractured at the sight before it even left the helmet.

Cara cements her legs on the ground for stability and cracks her knuckles once, twice, until the joints go mushy and they stop clicking.

She can tell you’re trying to hush your sounds as best as you can. She can tell because every time a notably loud whine defies your restraint, it is instantly muffled by a hand or some other utensil you’ve learned you need after your long nights of pleasure.

It’s been going on for a couple of days now, and Cara is starting to find it fucking insufferable. She honestly doesn’t know what’s worse: the sleepless nights or the mornings that follow. For the uninitiated, your morning greetings and seemingly innocent small talk would be polite, but unremarkable. Cara, though, knows better. She’s there for every conspiring smile, every brush of his gloves against your hips. She even catches some of the furtive whispers and caresses you exchange sometimes, when you think nobody’s looking. How you blush when he crowds you with his superior stature; how he sneaks out of your tent at dawn.

And, it’s not like Cara is jealous of Mando. Although you’re nice and easy to talk to, she knows that her feelings for you are purely physical, and she’s spent enough time around you both to know that whatever is going on between you two had been ballooning for a pretty long time until it inevitably burst. If anything, she’s relieved that, after such a torturous period of mutual pining, you’ve finally found an outlet for your affection. She’s happy for her friends. But she can’t fucking sleep.

The relentless moaning starts bending the humid air into clearer shapes. You’re talking to each other. Against all her instincts, Cara drops to the floor in all fours and crawls closer to barrier of her lodging. She presses her ear to the scratchy wall. The sounds are swallowed, and she only makes out an attuned voice that says, “…wanted…from…first day…”

What she can hear loud and clear is a wet, squelching noise that goes to the beat of the dropping rain. The warrior feels like an anvil drops on her chest and slumps on the floor.

If she’s being honest, it’s not even the lack of rest that’s really bothering her—although it does contribute to her daily grumpiness. The reason she finds it unbearable to sit through the rich sounds of your consummated lust night after night is that she knows exactly what she’s missing.

Because she’s been to almost every system and fought every fight. She’s witnessed the destruction of planets and their birth. She’s slept on empty deserts, under the watchful eye of their celestial vault. She’s cheated death. But there’s nothing, absolutely nothing she’s found on her long voyages across the galaxy that compares to the electric current that shocks her nerve endings when someone’s flesh presses against hers. Nothing like having someone strip down bare and let her learn them, inside and out.

So, Cara sits and listens, sits and listens, sits and listens…, until—stubborn, willful woman that she is—she decides that enough is enough.

She stands and struts outside with heavy steps like she’s battlebound, lets the rain—now a storm—drench her skin and underclothes, lets her boots sink in mud. She stops at the entrance of your tent, where the cries are loudest and barely concealed by the rainfall. Her plan is to come in quickly, averting her gaze, and sternly tell you two to keep it down or find another place to fuck. She pushes the flap of the entrance open.

Neither of you see her. How could you, when your nude back is facing her, and Mando, on his underarmor and beneath you, has his helmet thrown back against the floor, probably staring directly at the way your breasts bob gently with your leisurely up-and-down movements.

Cara stays at the entrance, partially hidden by the shadows that the oil lamp beside you can’t reach. She really does try to move. She wills her legs to step forward and make her presence known, but a wave of heat hits her hard when she sees the low, orange light embrace your lower back and drop to your ass with your languid movements. She tells her head to turn around, but her limbs have rebelled against her and remain frozen in front of the show.

Defeated, she stands in the gloom. The mythic warrior Carasynthia Dune helplessly stares at the lovers, pathetically wet and overcome with the desire to simply witness.

A part of her doesn’t care about the morality of it. Not when she sees your trembling thighs rock particularly hard over the Mandalorian, which draws a strangled sob from you and a low grumble from him, both of which can probably be heard three huts over. He quickly lifts one of the gloved hands holding your hips and presses it against your gaping mouth, like he wasn’t the one who moaned the loudest. Still, his grip does nothing to hide the obscene sound of your cunt taking his veins and ridges inside, your juices blending with his.

She’s entranced by the way your fists are clamped on his undershirt and whines seem to knot in your throat as he brings a hand to your back drawing soothing circles. You’re both so laughably bad at keeping quiet.

I could stay here, she thinks after a moment, here in the dark, where they won’t see me.

The hair on the nape of the neck stands up.

You look so elated, doing your best to pleasure each other. Neither of you speak, but you seem to be communicating through grunts, erotic movements, and caresses that carry more meaning than Cara could decipher. It looks like you’re confessing something unspeakable to each other.

Cara whimpers. It’s only a tiny syllable, but it apparently draws the Mandalorian’s attention, because the helmet rolls to side and focuses on the spot where shadows camouflage her. She freezes.

He grabs your thighs tightly and groans, “Fuck—C-cara?”

You immediately stop moving and remove your hands from his chest in indignation. “What?”

“N-no, no. I mean…” He points towards the general area where she’s hiding. Your upper body follows his finger.

Cara hasn’t blushed from embarrassment in years, so she’s confused when she feels blood stab at her cheeks. For a fleeting moment, she thinks that if she’s just very quiet and stays very still, you’ll go back to your motions and wave off the feeling that someone’s watching. It’s stupid and Cara knows it. Cursing herself, she steps out of the shadows, slickness sticking to her inner thighs with the shifting of her legs.

Her voice is dusty when she speaks, looking down at the floor like a child caught awake after bedtime. “I…I’m sorry I just—” The rain outside rings in her ears. She cracks her knuckles nervously and shifts her weight from leg to leg, thinking of a way to get out of it. “You were being too fucking loud. Stars, I’m sure they can hear you in Nevarro. You’ll have bounty hunters find you in no time if you keep this shit up.” Her words and tone are aggressive, but her eyes tell a different story, as they remain fixated on your heaving chest.

Neither of you move. Between the partial darkness and the helmet, she can’t really bring herself to try to read what Mando’s thinking. You, on the other hand, just look confused…and then, when you draw a line from the woman’s gaze to your naked chest, something else crosses your features. Not anger, not shame—something soft. Compassion, maybe?

Cara doesn’t stay to find out. She drags her feet across the floor to see herself out, as you turn to Mando and seem to tell him something in that secret, silent language of yours. He squeezes your thighs. Her name on your airy voice makes her stop.

“Cara,” you start, “w-would you—um—would you like to stay?”

The mercenary is sure she’s starting to hallucinate shit in an attempt to keep some of her dignity, until she indulges in one final look back and sees you with your arm extended, inviting her to join you.

She doesn’t notice when her legs come to life and drag her towards the couple, nor when her joints bend and sink to your level, kneeling and petrified. It’s only when your fingers brush her inner wrist and she pulls it back instinctively that she comes back to her senses.

Mando’s thumbs are drawing circles below your breasts. “Give her time.”

“You can touch me,” you tell the statue in front of you, but quickly add, “if you want. Or you can—” the bounty hunter must be cramping under your weight, because he repositions his hips, which makes him grunt and cuts you off, “—or you can only watch if you prefer. It’s okay.”

With a smile, you turn your attention back to the man trapped between your legs and resume your grinding. Whether you do it to put up a show for your guest, she’s not sure, but your rocking is stronger this time around, making sure you sink to the hilt and then pull almost completely out, before falling back down. Cara’s holding her breath. Maker, why is she acting like a fucking virgin? Her hands roll into fists when you throw your head back and pull a lustful wail from your insides.

Mando isn’t doing any better when he locks his fingers firmly on the curve of your ass and pants out, “You—you really enjoy the extra attention, don’t—don’t you?”

You exhale through your mouth with a smile and turn to stare straight into Cara’s eyes. “Maybe I d-do.”

It’s the playful glint your eyes and the way you sigh out the last word that make Cara think that a challenge was masked behind the simple statement. It snaps her back into reality.

Okay, then.

While your hunter caresses your backside, two strong hands grab your ribs and lift you a few inches, before bringing you down hard on the girthy phallus that splits you open. You and Mando both cry out at the suddenness of the satisfaction that burns a hole in your insides.

“Maybe Mando stands for your attitude,” Cara tells you as she pinches your right nipple and her face gets close to the other one, “but I don’t.” She traps your left breast in her hot mouth and nibbles at the peak. The Mandalorian—still trapped under—tries thrusting harder, and you grind down faster, short, high whimpers leaving your reddened lips. In the back of Cara’s mind, she feels bad for their generous Sorgan hosts, because there’s no way the whole village hasn’t woken up for the noise. The storm rages more violently, but—somehow—the thunder outside serves as a vessel for your frenzied moans and amplifies them.

Mando grabs two handfuls of your lower cheeks and pushes you further towards his chest, which forces Cara to lean back on her elbows. In the new position, your tits slap around her face and, even though she tries to pull them to her mouth, your whole body is being manhandled too swiftly by the Mandalorian for her to get a hold of you.

Annoyed, Cara places a heavy open palm on your sternum and pushes you back. “Fuck, keep still.” You lean back with no resistance, too limp with pleasure to put up a fight. She climbs back on you and sucks bruises on your collarbone, until her gaze falls on the union where the base of Mando’s sex ends and yours begins. She sees the creamy cum piling down there and—although she can’t tell which one of you is responsible for it—she scoops some with her fingers and uses it to massage it up and down your tense clit.

The muscles of your face cramp and your usual lovely expression contorts into a desperate frown. Her fingers collect more moisture and move faster against your bud, earning her a low purr, but it’s Mando’s head that turns to face her.

“Don’t s-stop,” he forces out, “y-you—th-that…’s m-making her t-tight.” He lets a shaky gasp out through the modulator. “You’re making her s-so fuck-fucking tight.” His member pushes against the snugness of your cunt as he tries to bury himself as deeply as your swollen walls will let him.

Cara complies and pulls the hood of your clit up. The direct pressure makes you jump and lose your balance, but the man below you catches your arms and holds you steady over him. You’re a mess, trembling and sobbing at the ceiling, so the Mandalorian lets go of one of your arms and brings his gloved palm to the back of your neck, working it so that you’re looking down at him. His hips are shaking with anticipation, but he still slows down and his thumb circles the soft skin of your neck. Cara lifts her attention from your soaked folds when she notices you’ve both stopped moving.

If her sleepless nights are any indication, you’ve only been having sex for about a week, but the way he holds you and calms you down tugs at something uncomfortable in Cara. It’s like he has you memorized already. He knows exactly how to touch you and how much you can take. He knows—much to his own detriment—when to stop.

Your breathing falls back to its normal pace and you’re starting to move again when she removes her fingers. You both groan in protest, but Cara just leans back out of the reach of the lamp’s flame and watches your bodies bathe in warm light. Panting, she sees you hold on to each other and comes to terms with the fact that she doesn’t belong wedged between your bodies, where you share something unknown to her. The realization isn’t as devastating as she thought it would be, and she figures it’s better to leave your carnal diversions between you two.

A helmet and a face stare expectantly, much like Rebel troops once focused on her awaiting orders.

Still, she muses with a light grin, that doesn’t mean I can’t teach them anything.

She scoots closer to your cot, and stops where only half of her body is covered in light. Surprisingly, Mando doesn’t pull away when she grabs his hand and guides it towards your upper body.

“You two really have a volume problem,” she quips as she beckons you closer and wraps his hand around your delicate neck. She signals the hunter to squeeze, but he turns to you first in a wordless question. You nod, and Cara’s fingers leave his when he clasps them on the sides of your neck. You sigh.

She then takes your hand and guides it to the base of your lover’s manhood. You mimic the squeeze on your neck. Mando gasps.

The former Rebel leader pulls back to admire her work and—once she’s satisfies with it—leans back on her elbows and slithers a hand inside her pants. The couple is still fixed in position, waiting for an instruction.

“Go ahead,” Cara allows, as she pushes her underwear to the side and mixes the leftover cum on her fingers with her own.

She can tell you’re already exhausted, but you still make an effort to lift your dripping pussy and bear down until your lips hit your palm. She sees your knuckles go white as they clutch harder around Mando’s base. He does the same to your neck, still testing and careful. It’s not until a potentially loud whine threatens to leave you that he intuitively squeezes harder to stop it from touching the damp air. The stronger hold on you makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. It doesn’t take either of you very long to fall into a frantic and vulgar pace, much different from the leisurely one you were working with at the start of the night.

Cara knows you’re teased and tired of waiting and doesn’t expect you to last much longer, so she skips any foreplay with herself and goes straight for her own sensitive button, swiping it with a roughness that she didn’t dare apply on yours. The sensation makes her her legs shake. She goes harder. Within seconds, she’s breathless, just as desperate as you two to reach her release.

“Fuck—fuck her harder,” she orders the Mandalorian when a calloused finger draws quick circles around her clit.

You’re basically bouncing on him now, but the disciplined man still manages to obey. His grip on your neck turns to steel, as he clasps his free fingers on the fat of your backside and slams you down to meet his thrusts. Your mouth gapes open and, if not for the gloved fingers around you, Cara’s sure your screams would make the walls tremble. The lamp—almost out of oil—shines on the plump tears of satisfaction that slide down your cheeks and fall on your partner’s shirt.

Finally, an invisible force seems to shove you forwards into Mando’s chest. You’re still convulsing on top of him when he brings both hands to your lower back to fuck himself into you with all the stamina left in his system. Unfortunately, there’s nobody to grasp his throat when it spits out a long groan. Cara sees his arousal seep out of you.

She gives you a moment to breathe, then stands and rounds the collapsed bodies, kneeling in front of your legs. She taps your thigh, hoping you haven’t passed out yet.

“Open your legs for me, sweetheart. Let me see.” But you don’t respond, so Mando uses his remaining energy to push your legs apart for Cara’s enjoyment. His hands drop with a stump on your back, and she’s startled by the raucous snores that leave the helmet.

She shakes her head and mumbles to herself, “Maker, they can’t even sleep quietly.”

Her digits go back inside her underwear while she absorbs the way your pussy flutters and twitches around nothing, dripping with your cum and your beau’s seed. The sight and her fingers are enough to summon a strong but quiet orgasm from her. Her walls are still clenching and she’s trying to control her breathing when the oil lamp finally dies out.

Once again, Cara Dune is engulfed in darkness. This time around, though, her eyes have learned to adjust to it; she can make out the outline of your conjoined bodies. Tasting her fingers, she stands and walks to the exit.

Her arm is lifting the cloth that acts as a door when she glances back over her shoulder. You’re sleeping noisily, but peacefully, lost in each other. She wonders if she could ever allow herself to be that vulnerable with someone else.

Someday, she reflects, someday.

Outside the tent, Cara’s surprised she’s not met with a monsoon. She didn’t even notice when the rain stopped. She shrugs and continues on her short way to her hut, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep.

The sun is coming up on the horizon.

#the mandolarian #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x you #cara dune #cara dune x reader #cara dune x you #smut #pedro pascal #gina carano #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x you

444 notes · View notes

tokyoghoose · 4 years

Text

is it hot in here, or is it just me?

pairing: daisuke kambe x reader

playlist: dirty dirty - charlotte cardin, so hot you're hurting my feelings - caroline polachek*, i touch myself - borns ( cover )

warnings: mentions of sex and dirty thoughts, fighting/violence, mentions of murder, the word slut ( towards reader ), daisuke being hot af ig

summary: while on an undercover mission you reunite with an old partner before things get 'frisky' and not in a good way.

announcements!

first full length balance unlimited fic! im actually quite proud of it even if the anime is postponed. I will continue to write for them 😌

feedback is welcome and appreciated! requests are open!

—————

The bar is more like a club, except for the fact there's no one so extremely intoxicated that they're acting a fool. No, it's actually quite prestigious for being underground. White and gold outline outline the area and it smells like expensive cigars and leather. Live jazz music plays in the background, setting the mood for the couples huddled together in love booths. It's nice, beyond nice— whose daddy paid for this?

In a red dress, you stir your gibson cocktail, awaiting the signal from your boss over the earpiece. It's already been an hour and there's been no sign of the suspect. Maybe you've been played. As time passes that seems more and more likely. At this point you were ready to turn in and call it a night. Places like this were no fun unless you had someone with you. And honestly, being alone in a place like this wasn't the most comfortable. There were eyes looking your way from singles and couples a like. Who knew there would be so many swingers.

There's a patterned knock at the door that makes you perk up and glance through your peripheral. The body guard looks through the slit in the door, moving to mention something about the password. The club was always tight on security, afterall. To get in you needed to prove you were coming with a member or waiting for someone who was one. The whole process is quite time consuming when you're faking your identity.

Finally, the door opens and you can see a tall man in a dark grey suit walk in. Curiously you turn your face to place your chin in the palm of your hand. Eyes travel up the figure before finally reaching the face of the mystery man. Not the suspect, but he's even better. A fond smile comes to your face at the realization of Daisuke Kambe. The name has a familiar taste on your tongue and it's honestly quite uplifting seeing such a 'friendly' face. He looks the same after three years and you wonder briefly if he's undercover too or if he has paid his way in. Daisuke was never frugal when it came to getting what he wants. Where he was lacking in words, he made up for it with expensive charm.

Oh how you had missed him.

Meeting his eyes, you raise both brows in question before turning away to down your drink. You push the glass to the bartender, holding a finger up before glancing over at daisuke, who sits in one of the booths across the room. He narrows his eyes at you in question, jutting his chin over to the bar before nodding to the door.

So he's on a mission afterall.

Your eyes shift to the door as well with a nod. He seems to understand well, but it's not a surprise after the time you worked together. It was a brief two years, but during it you learned to communicate in silence. His eyes told you much more than his mouth ever could. Now thinking of it, all the Kambes were better with actions than words.

—————

A few conversations have picked up after twenty more minutes of waiting. Perhaps if there wasn't another man in the area, the other's advances would have moved you. You weren't picky with your men, but you weren't one to settle for second place when first is still an option. Still, it kept you distracted for the time being. Besides, Daisuke looked was busy with a man himself.

You lean in, placing a hand on the chest of some patron with a giggle before the door opens once again. This time you're quick to look, seeing another man trail in. The static in your earpiece comes alive, the voice on the other side stating that it is in fact your target. The patron you were with turns his head as well and smiles before pardoning himself to shake the hand of the man. You briefly recall the suspects name: Vince Aiko.

Now the party was getting started. You wave them over, batting your eyes with a small smile. You don't miss the woman that walks in behind them, but she doesnt stop at the bar anyway. Instead, she heads over to the raven haired across the way. You resist the urge to follow her figure, instead keeping eyes on the two men and starting conversation.

—————

The goal was simple. Get the target alone and eliminate him. Usually you weren't one for death, but the police weren't helping in this case. The company you worked for took it into their own hands, given the okay. Even if it wasn't your task to kill him, someone else would. No jail time would follow as apart of the deal, so there were no repercussions against you for killing the scum. It's a win win.

The other man had gone to the restroom by now, leaving you alone with Vince. He smells lavish as well. It was clear he belonged here by the way his hair was combed back and how whitened his teeth were. He has money and it's not ruining out anytime soon.

It took you until he ordered a drink and didn't have to pay to realize he was the owner. The assumption that it was daddy's money grew stronger. He was outwardly trying to flex wealth he didn't even own. He wasn't trying to be subtle when he asked for the most expensive bottle or paid the band to play his favorite song. It was entertaining, yet disappointing. At least Daisuke spent the money without mentioning anything about it. At this point you just kinda wished the guy would shut up.

Placing a lingering touch on his shoulder, you lean in again. He smells like a new car. He places a hand on your upper thigh, quickly catching on to your advances.

"Why dont we go to the back."

It's not a question, it's a demand and it's exactly what you wanted. Right in the palm of your hands. With a giggle, you take his hand and stand while plucking the toothpick out of your glass and pulling the olive between your teeth smoothly. Walking past Daisuke and the woman at his booth, you wink.

The backroom looks like how it sounds. Behind another door and a pink curtains, you enter a red room. It has a single loveseat in the shape of a heart and there's champagne and wine on a side table. There's a dark blue light overhead that contrasts the rest of the room like a spotlight. There's no music except for the quiet hum behind the doors, but the further you go away from them the quieter they get. He takes your hand and pulls you to the loveseat.

"I'm can't say I'm surprised. My friend out there thought you were in to him, yet here we are... Is it the money that gets you going?"

His eyes trail over your figure and you understand what this room is for exclusively. You resist the urge to roll your eyes or push him off as his fingertips skim your arms and you play along.

"What can I say? Rich men are the sexiest."

You play with the collar of his suit, looking up at him through your lashes and parting your red lips. He stands up taller to glance down at you, trying to assert his dominance. It's sad knowing that's how he got off. He wants control and he wants you on your knees, the only other thing he could ask for at that point is for you to lick his dress shoes. It makes you sick.

His fingers stop at the thin strap on your dress, fiddling with it before starting to slide it down. You push him away and into the seat behind him. Taking a hold of his tie, you lean down to his ear to kiss underneath it.

"Why rush when I can give you a show."

He chuckles when you turn around and you roll your eyes. What an idiot. I almost want to laugh. You move your arms up, brushing your hair off your shoulders before reaching for the top of the zipper. Glancing at him with a smirk, you shake a finger and turn to face him. His fingers rake up his thighs, reaching out to touch you but you smack his hand away with a tsk.

"Lookie, no touchy."

You start to make a round behind the chair, fingers grazing his shoulders and pulling at the fabric. Once behind him and forcing his head forward you take out the earpiece and reach for your thigh. There's a gun there in the holster and a knife beside it, hidden by the red drapes. Thank god the for the slit. When rounding his other side you pull the firearm out and aim it at his temple, stabbing the knife into his thigh before he can jump up.

"Sit down, sicko. Don't try anything or I'll put a bullet through your skull."

You stick the earpiece into his ear, waiting for the receiving in to chime in.

"Who let you think a soundproof room was smart? It's like one of those double sided mirrors in here. Honestly, you're such an easy target."

His eyes glower at you like his expression alone will make you back down.

"You slut! I'm gonna kill yo-" He's cut off by the earpiece. They ask for information, stating that if he complys his life will be spared.

"I'm not stupid-"

"Beg to differ."

"-I know you'll just kill me anyway. I'm not telling you shit!"

The earpiece goes back off and you take it from his ear to listen to the other side. Two words is all you need to finish the assignment. Kill him.

"This could've been so much easier for you if you just listened. " You feign a pout, clicking the safety off. He struggles against the metal, rambling on about killing you and the company, finding you and blah blah blah. Having enough of his whines, you silence him with a quick pull of the trigger. You look down at the body on the floor and then at yourself, cleaning up quickly before leaving the room, making sure to step on his back in the process.

—————

There was maybe ten minutes before his bodyguards would notice he hasn't left the room. You go to make your leave, but not before stopping by Daisuke's booth. You stand a bit aways, watching him try to get information out of the girl before his eyes glance over to meet yours. A one-sided smirk creeps onto your face. He was never very shameless when it came to things he did and the way his eyes did a slow once over of your body was deliberate.

How you missed that look. It's the same bedroom eyes from the nights you spent together in the sheets. You start to wonder if the body under his shit looks the same and if his fingers still produced magic without even trying. Were his lips still as soft?

Now isn't the time for that. You narrows your eyes and go to slide into the booth beside the girl after you notice the disgusted look she gave you. Shame is her freshly manicured nails were to get messed up in a fight. Not that she was trying to pick one, but-

"Long time no see, Kambe."

Daisuke quirks a brow and gives you a warning look when the girl glances at him. You shrug, placing your head in your hand.

"You know her?"

"Of course he does! I miss the sex we shared every night."

He chokes on his drink, shaking his head. What has gotten into you? You're lucky he had finally gotten the break they needed in the case before you came over. Still, you were way out of line with that one.

"Y/N, this is Lily. Y/N was just kidding, we used to work together. "

When he scowls at you, it actually scares you because he means it. He could take you down with him if need be. He adjusts his suit jacket and clears his throat before continuing, "Thank you for your time, but I suppose i should get go-"

"Aiko's dead! Code red!"

Daisuke looks over with his tongue to his cheek as if to say you fucked up and you're not ever hearing the end of this if we get out alive. Honestly, he might just leave you behind if in sacrifice fkr the case. You shrug in innocence, already calling in help for an escape. Until then you'd have to fight them off. Apparently these dummies were smart enough to notice who Vince went in with and they are quick to lock eyes with you. And so did the rest of the club goers.

You make a move to get up, sliding out of the leather seat with hands in the air in surrender.

"Would you believe me if I said he did that himself?"

It starts with someone attempting to grab you before people go ducking under tables. All those grueling hours of training for really coming in handy now. You just barely miss the grabbing hands, taking the bottle of wine on the table and breaking it. Lily gasps at the shards, going to hide under the table as well and tugging on Daisuke to follow. You gesture the broken bottle about, thrusting it forward.

The men simply laugh and go for the kill. The bottle doesn't last long and you move away from the table for the fight.

Hell is broken loose and it isn't long before Daisuke resorts to joining the fight. It shouldn't surprise you, but it does. He punches one of the guys with a right hook, grabbing the collad of his shirt and throwinf him into another. For someone so weak looking, he sure was strong. It makws you swoon.

"I really do miss us, Daisuke. Just like old times."

He scoffs, continuing to fight beside you. He hates fighting and always has. He finds it undignified and perfers to just dodge and have them attack each other if he can't pay it off. But right now there was no room for negotiations.

"Now isn't the time to relive the past, y/n."

It stings, but you know it's true. Daisuke was the kind to get straight to the point. It's part of the reason he was so easy to work with. Suddenly, it makes you upset to realize that this was in the past.

You hear a car screech outside, trying to land one more punch on some bald guy before looking at the door. You tug at Daisuke's suit, practically dragging him towards the door before pulling out your gun and pointing it at the rest of the men standing. The hesitate. As much as they want to go after you, none of them want to die for it.

You push him to there door and nudge him to open it. There's a revved engine outside waiting for you, and apparently now another guest. He takes the hint, pushing the door open and taking the gun from your hands as you flee. There's one shot fired, but you know the victim won't die. He may seem heartless, but he wouldn't kill someone unlwss he had to. He knows when someone will save someone else and he knows what's in people's conscious. He had always been good at reading people when he cared enough to.

The night has turned from blue to black and you aren't sure when. It's suddenly too cold to wear the dress and it's starting to rain. This has really been one hellish night. The passenger waves you over from down the block in a hurry. There are sirens in the distance—they must've called the police to arrest everyone else involved. That's always how it went. They gave the company the ok to take the case and then come in to finish the job and take the credit because of the unsavory ways you deal with the suspects. If you weren't always in such a hurry and you didn't want to be arrested, you'd be pissed. With a huff you kick off your heels and run down the pavement with Daisuke hot on your trail. He didn't usually flee scenes like this, not anymore at least. He'd be lying if he didn't miss the rush of it. He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss the past life he lived.

When you get to the care, it starts to pour and Daisuke puts his suit jacket over your head and shoulders before pushing you into the backseat. Caring, yet impatient. His attitude makes you roll your eyes and shove him when he gets in.

The car pulls away just before the police arrive and it's quiet except for the low hum of some tape playing. The radio didn't work and the volume knob was stuck, so you'd have to strain your ears to actually listen. But it seems no one minds.

You take off the jacket, handing it back of to him and he puts a hand up to say you can keep it. He says something along the lines of, "It'll still be raining when you get out. Give it back later." Is he insinuating you'll meet again?

"Or I can give it back tomorrow morning, if you feel like staying over. "

The sudden bravery shocks you and apparently it takes him aback as well by the look on his face. His face drops back to deadpan almost as fast as it lifted and he scoffs, looking away and out the window.

"I really do miss you, Daisuke. In more ways than one," you say quietly, looking down at the jacket and running the fabric between your thumb and forefinger. He glances back over at you before dropping his gaze to your hand and with a sigh he places his over your own and squeezes. It's a conformation, a returned feeling, but of what exactly —you aren't sure.

It'd be enough for tonight.

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anncanta · 3 years

Text

Delicacy

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing

Relationship: Dracula/Agatha

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None

Read on AO3

Or read below

There was so much snow that Agatha seemed to have lost the feeling of top and bottom. Large flakes swirled in the air, connecting, weaving, turning into thin white threads. They descended from heaven and stretched toward him from the earth. Stopping, Agatha squinted and threw back her head. Thousands of icy needles dug into her skin immediately. Turning away, she covered her face with a hood and ordered herself not to panic.

She was not in such distress. Agatha grunted – she was just alone in the middle of the Transylvanian forest, strayed from the road and knee-deep in the snow.

There is absolutely nothing to worry about.

Swinging from another gust of wind and deciding that it would be foolish to turn into a statue from the ice after such a long journey, Agatha pulled her hood down and stepped forward.

She didn't remember how she got to that house. She did not remember at all and was not sure whether the house was there. The golden glow in the windows could be just a dreaming oasis, a waking dream. Once upon a time, Agatha read about travelers, who crossed deserts. That books told about oases. Shaking her head, she tried to throw off her numbness and, falling with every step in the snow, went to the door, which was half-swept.

Agatha hit the door with all her might with her fist several times, then buried her forehead in it and settled in soft, crisp snow.

“Agatha, it’s more difficult to get rid of you than of hay fever,” was heard from above, and then she was dragged inside.

Agatha sat in a chair by the fireplace, banging her teeth and holding out her numb hands to the fire.

“Drink,” a cup of hot tea sprang up in front of her nose. Agatha raised her head. “This is not poison, do not flatter yourself. Besides, if I wanted to poison you, I would have done it earlier. I had a ton of opportunities.” Dracula's voice sounded annoyed. “Drink, your pneumonia may be about to begin.”

Without a word, Agatha took a cup and made a few greedy sips.

Feeling heat slowly spreading over her body, she leaned back in her chair and allowed herself to cover her eyes.

“What are you doing here, Agatha?” a new question was raised with sincere curiosity.

Opening her eyes, Agatha looked tiredly at Dracula, who sat in a chair opposite and staring at her.

“I wouldn't let you reach London,” she said.

“Oh, I see, my chances now are totally done,” Dracula held out, “I am in despair.”

Agatha stared angrily at him over the cup.

“Why don't you…”

“How did you find me?”

“Well, that wasn't a big deal,” Agatha shrugged. The heat from the fireplace, along with hot tea, completely melted the excruciating cold, and she felt herself starting to fall asleep.

“When I woke up... at the convent and realized that you were gone, I immediately went to Bistritz. I have a friend in the port, he told me that only one ship is leaving for London in the near future.”

“Demeter.”

Agatha shook her head, agreeing, and took another sip.

“The captain recognized you from my description. You were going to travel under your real name,” she said in an unbelieving tone.

Dracula smiled.

“Why not?”

Agatha made a skeptical grimace.

“There were just a few days to leave, so I concluded that you probably stayed in one of the Bistritz's hotels.”

“I hate the hotels.”

Agatha nodded.

“It became clear almost immediately. But in that case – where could you go? You have no friends in the city, besides, I don’t think you would like to be noticed.” She grabbed the cup with her fingers. “Returning to the castle is also not an option: it is at least eight hours before it, even if you change horses twice – you might not have time before sunrise. So – somewhere in the forest.”

“Not bad,” said Dracula.

Agatha smiled absently.

“But in order to come here, and so quickly... I know, I know, you burned with righteous anger and dreamed of destroying me,” he said, seeing her eyes darken, “...you should be sure that I am here and that exactly is me – how did you find out?”

“I bribed the huntsman,” she shrugged again.

“I should have eaten him,” Dracula grinned.

“And to remain without communication with the outside world?” Agatha raised an eyebrow.

“Your rationality is charming,” Dracula smiled again. “I understand correctly,” he added, looking around as if searching for something, “that you lost your bag of weapons and provisions in the forest?”

“Yes,” Agatha said dejectedly.

“You lost to nature itself. Don’t be upset,” he looked at her, clasped his hands, and laid his chin on them.

“Why did you let me in?” asked Agatha.

“Would you prefer to have stayed there?”

She averted her eyes.

She would have preferred never to know him, she wanted to say – or should she say so? It seemed right, and at the same time, somehow... childish. Suddenly tears rolled up. Holding her arms around her shoulders, Agatha squinted. How embarrassing. And how ridiculous.

“There's only one room upstairs,” she heard Dracula's voice. “The huntsman is miser: he took crazy money for this shack. But for want of something better, one has to be content with what he has.”

Agatha opened her eyes and forced herself to look at the count.

“I sleep in a box, so the bedroom is yours,” he said dryly, got up, and went out.

For a while, Agatha sat looking at the fire blazing in the fireplace, and then got up and wandered upstairs.

After a sleepless night, she slept all day. Going to the window and making sure that there was still a blizzard outside the walls of the house, she went down to the kitchen and began to peer into the numerous drawers and cabinets, hoping to find something edible in them.

“The basement is full of provisions,” she heard, opening the next door. Agatha emerged from the cabinet. “The huntsman, at least, swore that his pantries were always full,” the count stood at the door, arms crossed. “You are lucky – there is no one to compete for it.”

Hardly refraining from caustic remarks about her luck, Agatha nodded and headed for the cellar door.

Perhaps a huntsman is a miser, but he knows about food, she thought after half an hour, chewing appetizing pork ham and sumptuous homemade cheese. She did not suspect that she was so hungry.

“What will you do then?” arriving at the kitchen door, asked Dracula. “Would you try to convert me to your faith? Or will you tear the floorboard,” he tapped the wooden floor, “and still try to use brute force? Oh no, oak floorboards,” striking once more and listening to the sound, he held out with regret. “So what?”

Agatha got up from the table and took a can of tea mixture from one of the nearest shelves. Making tea always reassured her.

“Why did you let me leave?” not turning to him, she said, pouring the mixture into a teapot.

“Sorry?”

She turned around.

“You let me leave. I remember that quite clearly. You agreed not to touch Mina if I let you… Why didn't you kill me?”

“You weren’t tasty enough,” he looked mockingly.

Agatha nodded.

“Maybe. But I am the witness at the same time. I am the one who could tell people about what you have done. I am well known in the city. Known and respected. I…”

“Why, then, didn’t you collect respectable squires, equipping them with stakes like your nuns, and not take them with you?” his gaze was calm and sharp.

She turned away.

“I don't know,” said after a few seconds of silence.

“Well, I don’t know either,” he said briefly. “Don't offer me tea, you know that I do not drink, – neither tea, nor wine, nor whiskey,” he added sharply. “I wish you a good evening.”

The kitchen door slammed behind him.

Agatha furiously threw an empty cup at the wall.

The days dragged on painfully long, and an endless white haze seemed to hang outside the windows. Agatha could not remember that it had snowed so long in her life. In desperation, after a couple of futile attempts to open the door that seemed to have been brought up to the top, she suspected Dracula's intention in this – she read about something similar in vampire stories – but the count only snorted skeptically at the suggestion made by her.

“It's enough fog to cover the sunlight,” he said, “and if you didn't notice, I'm locked here just as you are. I could, of course, go outside,” Dracula smiled thoughtfully, “but to walk the path through the forest to the city in the guise of a wolf does not seem a good idea. I'd better wait for spring.”

Yeah, if this continues further, they both threaten to wait for it here, Agatha mused angrily, wandering around the house and trying to occupy herself with something. There were no books there, she did not like to cook, and sitting by the window made her sad.

She hadn't noticed, when she started to speak with Dracula. Do not snap, exchanging a couple of angry words, colliding in the living room or in the kitchen, and not trying to cheat each other. Apparently, he began to be seriously annoyed by the silence, which, like fluffy cotton wool, enveloped this small house. However, Dracula must be accustomed to silence, she thought, which does not mean that he likes it.

In a strange way, these conversations seemed familiar. Like the whole situation as well – a small room, shelves with some barrels, jugs and old cups, there are two of them, and they talk...

They talk about books. Dracula claimed that he loved stories – for some reason this did not surprise her; among his favorite authors were Calderon, Lope de Vega, and Tirso de Molina. According to the count, he personally knew the last one, and in 1630 de Molina even presented him with the first edition of one of his books – with a dedication inscription. “He was glorious,” Dracula smiled idly, noticing her inquiringly raised eyebrows, “I'm sure you would have liked him.” When asked why he only grinned mysteriously and answered: "He had a special taste for life." Agatha chose not to go into details. But she liked several poetic passages, read by heart by the count, and so a comedy retold from memory – about a noble lady entangled in her own lies. In any case, they were funny.

Somewhere between the exquisite lines and two cups of fragrant tea, she talked about how she found herself in a convent – after the quiet owner of a hardware store, whom she married to save her family from bankruptcy, died of typhoid and his older brother just kicked her out of the house. The new marriage was slightly better than the old one, Agatha said indifferently, unwittingly expecting another stream of ridicule from Dracula, but it did not follow. “There's a joy for the afflicted – a ray of hope,”* he quoted and started talking about something else.

“You should have sailed to England tomorrow,” Agatha said one evening when they were sitting alone by the fireplace. Chess was discovered in Dracula's luggage, but it seemed that there weren’t enough pieces in the set.

“The day before yesterday,” Dracula answered, placing the black pawns and taking the knight out of the box.

“Yes,” Agatha agreed, casting a thoughtful glance out the window. “This storm is terrible,” she sighed. “Everything merged into some kind of white haze. Everything is mixed up. Like it's one endless day.”

“Or an endless night. And you are with the losers again,” Dracula smiled.

“What?” Agatha did not understand.

“Never mind.”

“All the pieces are here,” Agatha said, taking a short look at the board. She decided not to spoil her mood, trying to figure out what he had in mind. It is possible that nothing – and just teases her. “I start.”

Dracula made an inviting gesture.

She won four games in a row. And lost two ones. The ratio of victories and defeats amazed pride, but for some reason did not please. Perhaps...

“You behave strangely,” she said, moving the queen.

“Stranger than usual?” he moved the pawn and defended the rook.

“If I may say so,” Agatha squinted at him. “And you never tried to stab me all evening.”

“Maybe I'm tired of it.”

“No, impossible,” she waved her hand. “You look exhausted, pale much more than before, and I...” She sat up abruptly. “You are hungry!”

“What a subtle observation,” Dracula snorted sarcastically. “Don't be distracted, Agatha, your left flank is on fire.”

“What is on fire, is your left flank!” Agatha got angry. She leaned back in her chair. “You did not expect to have to be here so long. Two days ago you planned to board a ship on which there must be...”

She faltered.

“Well, go on, what's your problem?” Dracula grinned.

Agatha frowned.

“On which you probably had food supplies.”

“Exactly,” he bowed his head, continuing to smile sarcastically. “And, believe me, I chose it carefully. Pity – the weather mixed the cards.”

“And how will you continue to cope?” ignoring his mocking tone, asked Agatha.

“I’ll have a meal with boars and foxes, they are in abundance here,” he drummed his fingers on the table. “It costs me nothing to open the door.”

For a while, Agatha silently examined him. He really didn’t look very healthy. And without that the pale, cheeks turned completely white, lips marked on a sharp face with a dark spot, deep shadows lay under the eyes.

Thundering on the floor with the legs of a chair, Agatha got up and went to the window. Behind the glasses, white porridge still flickered dully.

Agatha turned back to the fireplace and, unbuttoning the button, threw back the shoulder pad.

“Eat,” she said, looking to the side.

For several minutes nothing happened. Hearing the steps, she did not turn around.

“Why?” Dracula's voice was unusually serious.

She didn’t answer.

“Why, Agatha?” his fingers laid on her cheek, forcing her to raise her head.

She looked into his eyes.

“You are suffering.”

“Less than you suffered when I threatened you, less than Jonathan Harker or his fiancee, or any of those I ate or was going to eat.” He looked intently, not blinking. Agatha forced herself not to look away. “Why?” he repeated once more.

“Anyone deserves sympathy,” she answered, trying to speak with confidence. “Any creature...”

“You are lying,” he let her go and began to examine her, arms crossed over his chest.

“You too,” Agatha answered quietly. “I tried to open this door,” she said, seeing surprise flashing in his eyes. “And I couldn’t. You will succeed,” she breathed, “for sure. But you will take it off its hinges and the house will be left without a door. While you are hunting foxes and boars – which will take you four hours in such weather – attracted by the warmth and human smell, their relatives will come here. Do you often share prey?”

They looked at each other for a very long time.

“Come on,” he said finally.

Obediently, as if all her strength had been devoted to the recent struggle, Agatha went after him – from the living room to the hallway and up the stairs to the bedroom. She let him sit her on the bed and out of the corner of her eye saw him sit next to her.

“I can feel the weather,” he said quietly. Agatha turned and looked at him. “A thaw will come in two days, and it will all melt away,” he waved his hand at the gray dusk swirling outside the window. “And I can really hunt boars.”

She nodded.

He approached and bent over her.

“I'll try to be quick.”

The thaw lingered for a day.

Most of the snow had melted in a couple of hours, and by evening, Dracula, again unnaturally pale, opened the damp door and disappeared into the forest.

During the time that has passed since the day when Agatha offered herself to him as food, they never once remembered what had happened, as if this had never been. Nothing has changed either in her or in his behavior, except that the chess games have become longer and the conversations – shorter. Dracula looked gloomy, but she did not try to find out why – in the end, the fact that he had not bitten her to death did not mean that they had become friends, Agatha reasoned, sorting herbs in the kitchen and making mint tea.

However, she had no anxiety – perhaps because the sun finally appeared during the day, and the world outside seemed no longer monotonously empty and gray. At night, stars were even visible.

Dracula returned near the morning. Agatha sat on the carpet by the fireplace, her knees pulled up to her chin, and looked at the flame. She did not respond to the knock of the door that opened.

Behind her, steps rang out and subsided in the kitchen.

“What are you thinking about?” the aroma of nutmegs and rum tickled her nostrils.

Agatha lowered her eyes and stared at the mug of grog that had arisen in front of her.

“About who I am, after all, a hunter or a captive?” she said, looking at pieces of clove floating in a mug.

“And how did you come up with it?” Dracula settled to the right of Agatha and extended his legs to the fire.

“I could leave while you were gone,” taking a sip, Agatha held out absent-mindedly.

“That's right,” he leaned back, leaning on his elbow. “I did not lock the door and did not intend to.”

“Why?”

He shrugged.

The silence continued for several minutes.

“Who am I now?..” Agatha said quietly.

Dracula stood up and slowly pulled an empty mug from her fingers.

“You are Agatha Van Helsing,” he said, looking straight into her eyes, and pulling her to him, he kissed her.

It was strange... all of this. The taste of his lips mixed with the taste of grog. The stiffness of a linen shirt wrinkling under her arms. The strands of his hair that fell on her cheek, an incoherent whisper in a patter. To look from under half-opened eyelids at how he takes off his clothes – all without a trace, and what she expected, yes. This is completely... She's not used to it. Not that she did it too often... Decent matrons lift their skirts – and that's it.

What did she expect? In a couple of short movements, he pulls off her dress, behind the dress – her shirt, Agatha tries to protest faintly.

“I want to see you,” he pronounces clearly, moistly, into the hollow between her breasts. Agatha leans back, helpless, feeling like a fire floods her body as if it was open to the whole world.

And then comes calm and seething curiosity. He follows it, catches up, runs ahead, comes back, kindling it and indulging. Finds treasures and denotes new lands. And in this way, only his caution can compare with his recklessness.

Feeling that he was spreading her hips apart, Agatha shuddered in frustration: in her memory, all that was pleasant usually ended with it – if it was at all.

“Shhh,” she freezes at the touch of his insistent fingers, moans, and cries out, her eyes wide in amazement. Pleasure, unusual, strong, grows, pulsating, almost bordering on pain – and spills out into the sea, as in her old crazy dreams.

“Oh my God... this is... I never... never...” she whispered, catching her breath. Looking up at Dracula, she caught his pleased look.

“Your husband was an idiot,” Dracula nodded. “Let's not talk about him anymore.”

Agatha burst out laughing.

“You shameless monster.”

“Is that a compliment or a verdict of the Inquisition?”

“If you could tell them apart,” Agatha snorted. “However, I am not surprised. You have no limiting principles.” He looked at her, squinting. “No elementary decorum and rules,” she continued, feeling his arms tracing her bare shoulders. “But how could I allow myself to be so...”

He raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

“So... unrestrained,” she coughed, squinting at her limp body.

Dracula moved higher and looked at her for a minute, bowing his head.

“How not to remember the noble de Molina now,” he said thoughtfully, leaning on one hand and hanging over her.

“De Molina?” Agatha frowned. “In what sense?”

Dracula smiled and leaned over.

“My lovely prude,” he whispered, kissing her behind her ear. “My captivating liar,” he slipped his lips along her collarbone, and then lingered on her nipple. “My wise minx,” clasping her hands clutching at his shoulders, raised them up, held her hips with open palms, bent her knees, pressed them to her chest. Another movement, continuous, long, inhale, exhale. “My love and mistress.”**

Somewhere outside the window, a sound was heard – as if something had crumbled with a soft rustle. It must be remnants of snow, Agatha decided.

Spring is coming soon.

On a late March night, the hotel on the second floor of the Falcon and Lion tavern was dark and quiet. Making his way along the corridor, the last of the regulars, who went over a little, not so much as not to stay on his own, but enough to not want on these two to drag home across the city, stopped, trying to determine where the room was, the key to which the tavern's owner gave him.

“Only for one night,” he warned, “and tomorrow, you son of a bitch, I will charge you everything that you owed me in the past two weeks, including a bunk for today.” Fairly so. The man took the key out of his pocket and moved forward along the corridor.

All the doors seemed identical, differing only in numbers, and the muffled sounds that rang from the rooms. The man listened – for the most part, it was measured snoring, less often – swearing and hoarse moans. There were only a few steps left until the room in which he was to spend the night when the corridor was announced with an angry scream.

Stopping, the man froze in place. The snoring in the rooms stood still in fear, in the room by the next two doors someone sobbed, squeaked, and coughed. An alarming silence continued for a couple of seconds, after which the scream repeated.

After hesitating, the man approached the door, from which screams were heard.

“You said you won’t get anything!” the voice sounded so clear as if its owner was standing in the middle of the corridor. “You said you agreed to follow your diet.”

“I follow,” the tone of the lady's companion was not so angry as tired and displeased. “But when I was really hungry you could not just expect from me…”

“Innkeeper lost all his ducks and hens at once,” the woman said with an icy tone. “He claims there are thieves in the neighborhood, but I'm not sure, – it is too convenient for someone.”

“Don't you think, I'd go down to hens and ducks?” There was amazement in the man's voice, sincere and even some kind of discouraged.

The woman did not back down.

“I know it's not easy for you. I understand how this is... I promised to help you, and I will help. I am sure that we can find a way to solve your problem.”

“I will not eat cattle!” the man barked. The tavern regular, who had pressed his ear to the door, recoiled, almost dropping the key and the candlestick.

“You won't have to!” the woman exclaimed. “Listen to me, you yourself said that the future lies with science, it invents incredible things. We'll figure out how to arrange for you...”

The man interrupted her.

“Why do you think we will succeed?”

“Because I have been solving puzzles all my life, and I know that there is no one for which no answer can be found,” now a smile and tenderness sounded in the woman's voice. “Just believe me and don't try to eat everything. I know you can do it.”

There was a long sigh behind the door.

“Hens and ducks were stolen by a messenger boy. He's been hanging around here for the past two weeks. This was in the newspapers – he sold drinks and meat to the head of the Bistritz-Budapest train.” Pause. “The pink color suits you.”

“Go to hell.”

The room became quiet.

A regular of the Falcon and Lion tavern looked at the candle, then at the door of the room, stood still for a while, listening, and then shrugged and walked away.

You never know eccentrics on earth.

* Dracula quotes the line from the song of Lucia and Martha from the film "Martha the Pious" based on the play of Tirso de Molina. It is a part of the original text but is changed a little.

** Quote from the play "Martha the Pious" in the interpretation of M. Donskoy.

#dracula 2020 #dragatha #fun fiction #bbc dracula #agatha van helsing #count dracula

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