#with possible surveillance even after leaving the job

[mettywiththenotes]

Wait do you think the hc lady never spoke up about chairman doing things she didn't like because she'd get shot or something

#i can see that being the case #did people who disagreed with him have to be sworn to secrecy if they were fired #with possible surveillance even after leaving the job #or is it a 'two can keep secret if one of them is dead' sort of thing? #which i mean. idk how far up the system hc lady was but if she was chairmans assistant then #it sounds like it could have been the latter #was being killed only a threat for heroes like nagant who got out of line #or was it for anyone in the hc? #and probably the most important question - was chairman just crazy enough to be threatening to kill people if they disagreed with him #or is it something everyone in that position feels it 'necessary' to do? #would hc lady do the same to others in that position too? #god what the fuck is up with this place #bnha #hero commission #chairwoman #mettys posts #metty posts #sorry if im only just realising this #im thinking hc thoughts tonight #GET MY SLEEPY GUY MERA OUT OF THERE

[frostandflamesfanfic]

Everyone Has a Talent (Jesper Fahey x Reader)

Request: No (self indulgent)

Pairing: Jesper Fahey x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Nothing except a very flirtatious Zemeni sharpshooter

Summary: Here in Ketterdam, you've finally found a home. Even though it's chaotic, you love your life. You love your friends. When walking through the city to deliver a message for the one and only Kaz Brekker, what happens when you catch your best friend flirting with himself in the mirror?

As you walked through the streets of Ketterdam, you couldn't help but let a flicker of a smile spread across your face. The Barrel could be overwhelming at times, but it was home. You had arrived here at the lowest point of your life; you were orphaned, tired, and hungry. It didn't help that you were also down on your luck. The only way you were able to have a meal in your stomach was when you could afford to swipe scraps from neighboring carts and shops.

You found yourself at the front stoop of the Crow Club a few weeks after your arrival. At first, you thought you had gotten caught for lifting a few kruge from a lady's bag in an attempt to afford some real food. The next thing you knew, you were escorted to the back room awaiting a conference with the Bastard himself. Somehow you had managed to convince both Kaz Brekker and Per Haskell that you were worth the risk. They offered you a deal: five years of service and enough kruge to tide you over to wherever the next adventure took you -- no strings attached. How could you possibly refuse?

You had been working with the Dregs ever since. At some point, you even managed to prove yourself useful enough to be trusted on heists. The night Kaz totally didn't "relocate'' Jan Van Eck's prized De Kappel, you were there. You had run the surveillance during the job. It wasn't the most glamorous of responsibilities, but it still gave you a feeling of purpose. There were times that you would be called upon by Kaz to put together last-minute disguises to take on another job. Although that was incredibly infrequent.

Still, you couldn't complain. Kaz hadn't just given a roof over your head and a steady income; he had given you a family, too. You had started to grow closer to some of the Dregs after a few missions. Jesper Fahey (Kaz's overly flirty and gangly sharpshooter) and Inej Ghafa (Kaz's prized Wraith and...investment?) were two individuals you shared particularly close connections with. You would spend many nights keeping watch and waiting for new shipments to enter the Ketterdam docks. Conversation was bound to happen. At least, with one of them, anyway. Inej mostly kept to herself, only speaking when absolutely necessary.

Jesper was different, though. The two of you would use the time to catch up on what was happening in your lives, commiserating over how dead-ass broke you were, and for you to pester Jesper about his gambling addiction. It didn't matter what you talked about or what job you were on. You just enjoyed being together. One of your favorite conversations in particular was a game you would play. You would plan out these exotic days of adventure for when you could finally leave the busy city and explore. When Jesper had found out you wanted to travel, he encouraged you to save up for a trip.

"You never know when your last day may be," he insisted. "You deserve a trip, love. Treat yourself when this is all over. Just don't forget about us little people."

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't imagined what would happen if you brought Jesper along on your travels. What would your lives look like? Would your dynamic still be the same or would it be different? Would you start a life together? It wasn't that the thought scared you. It was quite the opposite, really. The idea of having a real- an actual life- with Jesper brought a smile to your face every time you thought about it. You just didn't know how he felt about it.

=  =  =  =  =  =  =  =  =  =  =  =  =  =

As you continued your trek, you turned into an alcove where you found your best friend getting lost staring into a side mirror. Jesper was pretending to be some sort of suave gunslinger. Which, while he technically was, it never hurt to see him practice. He always looked so calm and so cool. The thwip of the weapons being removed from the holsters and placed back moments later was almost relaxing. You couldn't allow yourself to get distracted, though. You had a message and you were quite attached to the fingers Kaz had threatened to remove should you not find Jesper.

"Are you just going to stand there all day?" you began, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Jesper grinned back at you through his shiny reflection. "What can I say?" he remarked. "When something looks this good, you need to stop and appreciate the true art."

A laugh escaped your lips. "I can't tell if you're flirting with yourself or the mirror."

"Couldn't it be both, love?" The Zemeni sharpshooter turned around and shot you a wink. "What's the problem with a little self-love?"

"It's a problem when it's distracting you from the task at hand."

"And just what might that be, love?" Jesper moved to place his revolvers back in his holster, resting his hands lazily on top of the handles. He loved those weapons more than life itself. You'd seen him play with them when he was bored, anxious, or plain fidgety. Which, needless to say, was always. It mesmerized you to watch him spin the weapons as if they were mere children's toys. Back and forward, round his index fingers...Saints, the things those hands have done…

You cleared your throat and shook your head to clear your thoughts. Can't afford to get distracted, you reminded yourself. The blush flashing across your cheeks almost caused you to hide. "Uh, Kaz needs you," you somehow managed to get out.

"He always needs me." It was meant to be a casual careless statement, but you could sense the subtle presence of pride laced in his voice. "I think he could spare a few minutes."

You stood there in silence for a minute, unsure of what to do next. The right thing to do would be to go find Kaz. But you and Jesper rarely had time together outside of heists…

"Come here."

You blinked. "What?"

Jesper gave you a small smile and pointed to a spot on the ground beside him. "I said come here."

You shoved your hands deep in your pockets and shrugged. "I'm fine right here, thanks," you responded. "What's the problem?"

"I want to show you something." He was determined when he wanted something. You had to give him that. You were surprised when he sighed and grabbed your arms, gently pulling you closer to the mirror. Jesper pointed to the mirror. "Look."

"Okay...that's me?" You were now confused. "What's wrong?"

Jesper gestured with his hands. "You look tense," he remarked. “Make a face at it. Just do something to relax."

"How can I relax?! I tried, but there's just too much to do!" you exclaimed in a bitter huff. "You make it look easy. What's the secret?"

Your friend made a little show by leaning down as if he was about to whisper in your ear. You had to repress a shiver as his breath fanned against your cheek. He was so close right now, his chest pressed against your back. It was an intimate feeling, but you had to stop yourself before you made a mistake that ruined everything. "Afraid it's a trade secret, love," he mused with a dramatically hushed tone and wink. "It's just yet another Jesper talent."

"I just wish I even had a single talent."

This confession seemed to surprise Jesper, whose eyes widened slightly. "Oh, I wouldn't say that," he said. "You have a great number of talents."

You gave a small shrug. "I make clothes and I hide in the shadows," you relented. "Nothing as groundbreaking as shooting a guy's hat off from twenty feet."

"Actually, it was twenty five, but..." Jesper caught himself when he recognized your giving him a steely glare. He cleared his throat. "That's besides the point. I'm sure we can find something for you." Suddenly, his dark complexion shone with an unexpected glow. "I've got it!"

You watched in the mirror as he reached into his holster and pulled out one of his prized mother-of-pearl encrusted revolvers. The cold metal was a shock against your skin as Jesper pressed the weapon securely in your palm. "Try this. I will have you know that if you break it, I may need to reconsider this partnership." Even though his tone was serious, you knew Jesper was joking...possibly. "Now, here. Spin it like this...now like that..."

The two of you spent the next twenty minutes practicing revolver spins in the alley mirror. There were a few times where you would end up losing your grip on the gun, but Jesper was standing right by you to make sure it wouldn't be too detrimental to the design. You were so engrossed in the lesson that you almost didn't notice how much your smile had grown from before. Your cheeks had a tint of pink against them due to Jesper's close proximity, but you knew it would fade in a second. You just wanted to enjoy this moment.

When you finally managed to get a full series of rotations, you jumped for joy. Without thinking, you quickly pulled Jesper into a kiss. It was a short-lived moment, but the contact set off a bushel of butterfly flutters in your stomach. "I'm so sorry!" you were quick to apologize. Kissing your best friend was one thing, but your coworker? That was a whole other set of wrong. "It won't happen again."

"...Why not?"

You froze, eyes locking onto Jesper's grey hues. "What?"

"What was so bad about kissing me?" he asked. "I didn't think it was half bad."

He liked it? your mind asked you. That's certainly surprising. "Well," you tried to explain. "We do work together."

"I do think I'd be able to exhibit control, love. You on the other hand..." Jesper held up his hands in mock apology, which only had a well placed smack sent in his direction. “Ow! Don’t hit me!”

"I can kiss you! I don't have a problem with it." You really needed to think before you spoke.

Before you could run away, you felt Jesper's hand graze your left cheek. You could feel the stingingly cold metal of his colorful rings. His fingers were calloused, yet soft after all his work in the Club and the field. "Then how about we try that again?"

Surprised, you nodded silently and his lips were over yours once more. The two of you stayed there for as long as possible without losing oxygen. The only problem with that was you never heard Kaz approach with his cane. "Jesper," he said. "We need to go. Now." Kaz paused for a moment. "And tell your kissing pal that when the two of you are done, they're needed to collect some coin from the vault."

With a sigh against your lips, Jesper pulled away. "Right away, boss," he replied.

"This better not affect your performances," Kaz warned. He then nodded and limped away with his cane clutched tightly in his hand. It was just you and Jesper again. Alone. In the alleyway.

"Well, love," Jesper apologized. "I hate to kiss and run, but I"m afraid I'm needed." He pecked your cheek quickly before shrugging on his coat. It made your cheeks flush again. "We'll continue this when I get back, yeah?"

You could only wordlessly nod in agreement, causing him to give a curt nod as well. "Good." He began to walk away. "Oh, and by the way," he said in a louder tone. "I do think we found your talent."

===============

Author's Note: Okay, so hi. I completely disappeared from the writing circuit forever ago and still haven't completely come back. I wrote this fic almost two years ago when I first got into the Grishaverse fandom. It is posted on my AO3 if you want to see it in its former glory, but I felt it was high time to upload it here. When I found this in my docs, I was kind of surprised at how I captured his character, but I didn't hate it??

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little snippet of my writing again. If you did, please drop a like and reblog this fic so I know whether or not to bring back my favorite cheeky guy again. I hope to be back to writing some fic soon, as I'm taking a creative writing class this semester in uni, so the ideas should be flowing again!! Make sure to follow so you don't miss a thing -- we're so close to 500 followers, which is insane to me. Can't tell you how grateful I am for each and every single one of my fellow fandom people <3

#frostandflamesfanfic #jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey fanfic #jesper fahey imagine #jesper fahey x you #jesper fahey #six of crows jesper #six of crows fanfic #six of crows imagine #save the grishaverse #save shadow and bone #kit young

[zeroducks-2]

Hi, could I please request a Slade/Dick with 16? Thank you!

Coming up :D

This is also for @madamesmoke, for @anawrites3, and for the lovely anons that wanted Dick to have babies of his own after what happened here :3

16. "Finally at peace" Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson

Dick pats his coat for the keys while walking up the last two flights of stairs, hoping he hadn't left them in his lighter jacket. Hot as it still is in Chicago, the rain's been consistently preventing him from bringing Wally's kids to the park, having to hang out at home with them while on babysitting duty.

Not that he complained overall. Things were going pretty well in the last couple of months, especially with the whole thing he and Slade apparently have going on. The sex is great and the night outs among the best Dick had in years, and Slade's apartment is way nicer than Dick's shared room anyway.

Nightwing's business in Chicago is almost done though, and soon he's going to have to go back to Bludhaven. Not that there's anything that compels him; he lost his job as a cop, had to close his gym, won't be able to do social work anymore... but the apartment there is his, while the room in Chicago is rented and expensive and he's not even been using it, so he doesn't have much of a choice there.

Oh well. He supposed he'll think about it later, for now he just wants to take off the Nightwing suit he's still wearing under his civvies, grab a shower and sleep for a few hours. Maybe Slade is already home, that would also be great.

Finally at peace, he thinks with a satisfied sigh once the door is locked behind his back, closing his eyes for a blessed moment before taking off his raincoat. Only then he hears a sound which makes him jump out of his skin, then quickly collect himself and sprint towards the living room. It's the sound of a baby crying. A second one joins not even three full seconds later, and Dick almost kicks the door open to Slade, in full Deathstroke suit, holding a fucking bag from which the crying is coming from.

«Come give me a hand.» The man says, unfazed and with a level tone like he'd just walked in with Mcdonalds. He did just walk in, using the window apparently, and is currently dripping all over the carpeted floor.

And despite wanting to scream from the top of his lungs and shake the other by his neck, Dick's instincts to make sure the babes are okay kick in, and he's ripping them off of Slade's arms a moment later, then out of that bag, and then he's rushing to the bathroom.

Five minutes later they've both calmed down. They're about six months old, with big eyes and curly brown hair, and mahogany dark skin. Dick keeps making soothing noises while checking them over, gently pressing on their little palms to check their reflexes, waving a finger before their eyes to see if they follow. They're kicking and vocalizing, and reflexively smiling. They're okay.

«Jesus christ, Slade.» He says with a sigh, trying not to get agitated again. He realized the man is hovering on the doorframe, half his suit taken off, surveilling the scene. «You gave me a stroke. You can't walk in with babies in a bag...»

«It was raining.» The man replies with a small shrug like it was the most normal thing ever. «They're alright, hm? Alive and breathing. And dry.»

Dick is about to answer but one of the babies grabs his thumb and makes an excited little noise, and Dick smiles and turns to them with an approving hum. The other is busy chewing on their own tiny fist.

«Yeah, they... seem okay.» Dick admits as Slade walks in and wraps an arm around his waist. Dick feels more tension leaving him as the man's solid presence presses against his side. «Thank god. Sorry, I... overreacted. We should bring them to their parents now, though.»

«I'm afraid that's not possible.» Slade leans down with a small frown and kisses the top of Dick's head. «There was a fire today near a church downtown. Kids got evacuated from the orphanage. I just took these two while I was going away.»

«What...?» Dick blinks, and this time he doesn't react to the baby cooing for him. «You did... what?»

«I figured I could take care of them for a while.» Slade leans down and kisses the top of his head again. «Look at this.» He lifts one of the little one's feet, ignoring the way they kick, and exposing a plastic tag tied to their ankle. «You know what this means, right?»

Dick was too busy looking for injuries and didn't realize, but yes, he knows what it means. «They're metas.» He observes with a frown and Slade hums again.

«I can take care of them better than whoever runs that orphanage. And their genes make it almost impossible for them to get adopted.»

That's... true. Dick is aware of the heartbreaking fact that children with metagenes get often abandoned if the parents find out soon, and the foster system is not equipped to take proper care of them and find them good homes. Which is why so many criminals are metas. Dick hates it, but he still hasn't found a viable way to help with the issue.

«I'll go get some formula in a moment.» Slade is saying, letting the babe play with his fingers. «Let me just take off the rest of the suit. There's a night shop just around the corner.»

«No, it's... it's fine. I'll go.» Dick says, feeling his heart beat somewhat fast. He can't tell Slade what to do with these babies, can he? It's his own choice if he wants to adopt them. Like... Dick himself has no say in it, and even if he doesn't think that Slade has been a good parent to his own kids, he surely won't mention it to the man.

And it's true, at least they wouldn't be in the foster system. It's better like this, isn't it...? They're better off with Slade even if the man is... well, Deathstroke.

«Are you sure?» Slade looks at him, unaware of the turmoil. «You look tired, sweetheart. You can go to bed if you want, I'll take care of this.» Saying that he leans down and touches their foreheads together, and Dick's heart beats even faster, bringing him to rise on his tiptoes for a kiss.

«I'm sure.» He says with a half smile, reaching into the touch on his cheek as the man's rough hand comes up to cup it. «I'll go. They need formula and baby food, they're likely being weaned... and also diapers, and probably some clothes. I'm not going to find everything tonight though, I think. I'll do what I can.»

Slade is smiling at him in a way that makes Dick flustered. He doesn't know why, but ever since that day he accidentally bumped into Slade at the park, the man keeps looking at him like Dick was the most precious person in the world, and he never knows how to take it.

«Grab what you can. I'll clean these two up in the meantime, they need a bath.» Slade says, and Dick smiles back and hurries away, hoping his stupid heart stops fluttering.

«Slade...?» He calls once he has his jacket on, smiling again as he hears him singing to the children in a half voice.

«Yes, little bird?»

«Do you...» He peeks into the bathroom again, not really know how to put it. «Do you mind if I stay here a bit longer? In Chicago I mean. I should go back to Bludhaven next week, as I was telling you the other day, but... maybe you need help. With the kids.»

«Why not.» Slade replies casually, still focused on the two little ones. «I could surely use a hand, and you know how to take care of tiny humans already.»

Dick breathes in relief, nods and hurries down to get the formula and everything else.

-

Thank you for the prompt confusedshades ♥ the baby saga continues lol.

Here's the prompt list for whoever wants to peruse it, or send me another prompt :)

#long post #obviously this was a ploy - Slade HOPED that Dick was going to stay once seeing the babies #he never planned to raise them alone #he would have given them away to someone trustworthy if Dick was going to leave anyway #but he acted it out quite well and Dick suspects nothing - he thinks staying it's his idea. He's going to get babytrapped yeah #my asks #my fanfictions #sladick #three words prompt game

[dyns33]

Down the Pit - Part 2

I think I'll make like 5 or 6 part for this story. While writing other Bane's stories, because I love the man.

Tag : @jaxitaxibolehlaf (I remembered, I hope you'll like it)

It had been almost five years since Y/N had left the Pit.

The world had continued to turn, she had found a new job, a bigger apartment, but nothing made sense anymore.

Out of curiosity, Y/N had done some research on Ra's al ghul, but it had yielded nothing. No information either on the infernal prison of India, on Talia or Bane.

She held out hope that just typing these names into Google or whispering them in the street would one day bring them up, since the ninja leader had found her that way the first time.

It was also possible, even certain, that he had never lost sight of her since. Y/N didn’t feel like she was being monitored, but they were probably very good at it. It wouldn't make any difference if she indicated that she wanted them to show themselves, they would stay hidden.

Maybe if they made a lot of noise, they would have moved. By going to an independent journalist to tell them her whole story, with the certainty that he would publish even if she had no proof to offer.

But they would find a way to make it all disappear. They would kill the journalist, and maybe they would kill her too.

So Y/N waited, without really waiting, remaining alone with her memories and her nightmares.

However, she didn't think about all that at all when someone knocked on her door and she went to open it without looking at who it was.

The girl was brunette, her hair tied in a messy ponytail. Her large almost black eyes stared at her while her face remained impassive. The clothes she wore were slightly too big, as if she didn't know how to dress or had grabbed what she could. She couldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen.

It's been almost five years. But it only took a moment, a brief moment, for Y/N to forget how to breathe, taking the girl into her arms.

“Talia !” she cried, hugging her tightly. "Talia, I'm so happy to see you. I missed you so much !"

"… I missed you too." the little girl whispered, shyly returning her embrace.

Obviously, her father didn't hold her often. The master of the League of Shadows, as Talia told her it was called, preferred to train her so that she would be ready to take his place when the time came.

It wasn't really the life Y/N would have wanted for the little girl she had practically raised in the Pit. It had nothing to do with the bedtime stories she told her.

While eating chocolate for the first time, Talia told her about what she was learning from her instructor, a man named Barsad. The girl didn't like him too much, because he was too strict and he had vulture eyes according to her.

In addition to basic lessons like writing, math, and geography, Talia learned to fight, kill, manipulate weak minds, lead troops of soldiers, and many other things a child of her age shouldn't have to learn.

Locked in a temple in the Himalayas, she had only seen the things Y/N had told her about in pictures. Except the snow. There was a lot of snow, an intense cold, absolutely not alleviated by the people around her.

That was why Talia had decided to look for Y/N as soon as she had the chance. Her father had told her that she had abandoned her, leaving her in his care while begging to be sent home, and with the promise that she would never hear from the child again.

"I believed him… I was young and stupid. I hated you for a long time, and then I realized that he must have been lying, because you would never have done that ! You wouldn't have left me. When Barsad told me I was going on my first overseas mission, I knew it was time."

Thanks to everything he had taught her, it was easy to escape the surveillance of Barsad and his men. After finding a disguise, Talia had managed to get to Gotham without attracting attention, until she found Y/N's apartment.

It might have been difficult, but with her training, stalking someone was perfectly natural.

In addition to the need to see Y/N again, Talia also wanted to see the world she had dreamed of so much when she was in the Pit.

The plane had scared her a little, she wasn't sure she liked the city with all the noises, the smells, the lights, but seeing so many people was fascinating for her.

The feeling of new freedom was exhilarating. She could go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted, talk to whoever she wanted, eat whatever she wanted… And Talia wanted it all.

"I want to watch TV ! I want to dance ! I want to go to the beach !" the little princess of shadows almost ordered, jumping around in circles in the living room. “Now, now, now !”

"Calm down, Talia. You should probably call your father, he'll be worried."

"I don't care ! He lied to me. I want to try pizza."

"And… What about Bane ? Have you heard from Bane ?" Y/N asked with a bit of fear.

Talia stopped jumping, staring at her with a serious look. For a moment, Y/N trembled, thinking that she was going to tell her that he was dead, or that Ra's al ghul had refused to go get him.

"Bane… is fine. I'll call him."

There were many things her father had denied her, but going to save the man who had kept her safe since birth didn't seem possible.

Since he was strong and intelligent, as well as being completely devoted to Talia, it was decided that he could be useful, and he was allowed to join the League of Shadows. He quickly became an important member, earning the title of lieutenant.

Talia didn't see him often, at least not as often as she would have liked. As if he didn't want them to be together, her father sent Bane on missions outside the temple very regularly, and when he didn't have to report, he trained the new recruits.

Obedient, because he owed him his life and respect, the giant still found time to come and see Talia training. He asked Barsad, whom he treated like a brother, to give him news and watch over her in his absence.

Shyly, the girl admitted that he hadn't spoken about Y/N once since he was taken out of the Pit. No questions, no worries. Perhaps he also believed that she had abandoned them, or perhaps he had understood that their leader did not want her to be part of their lives.

The call was quick, calm. Talia gave the address where she was, firmly requesting that Bane and no one else come pick her up. No doubt she wanted to offer them a moment alone, all three of them, like before.

The tension was almost palpable when three knocks were given on the door. As Y/N took a deep breath, she was held back by the girl, who stared at her with great seriousness, but also what looked like fear.

“Promise me you’ll always love him.”

"… What ?"

"You love Bane. Nothing has changed."

"Of course. Why are you so worried ? Do you think… Do you think he doesn't want to be here ?"

"He'll be the happiest of all. Promise me."

Y/N promised her. She understood better the reasons for this insistence when she opened the door.

Taller than she remembered, Bane stood still until she invited him inside. Like his pupil, his eyes showed nothing, the only part of his face visible between a hat and a huge scarf.

It wasn't exactly cold outside, but since he was coming from a snowy mountain, Y/N figured he didn't have time to check the temperature of Gotham.

As he greeted Talia, he seemed to hesitate. It was not polite to keep his face hidden like that. With a gesture of her head, the young girl gave him a silent order. Then the presence of the scarf was clear.

The mask was strange. Impossible to say if it was so complicated and imposing for technical reasons, or also in order to scare.

For a moment, Y/N was afraid. But not because of Bane. More for him, wondering why he had that horrible mask, what had happened to him, but not knowing if she had the right to ask such a thing.

When he first spoke, his voice was weird, distorted. The pronunciation was also not normal. Sparing her any torture, between asking and staying in the dark.

"The other prisoners didn't accept that I help you escape. With everyone against me, I didn't have the slightest chance. But the doctor finished the job, trying to treat me."

“You… Are you in pain ?”

"No."

She wanted to know more, but Y/N decided now wasn’t the time. She would see later if he could remove it or if it might kill him. It didn't matter anyway, as she had promised Talia.

Instead, she held him in her arms, as she had held the child, letting her tears fall. This seemed to scare the giant, but he stood still, letting her do so.

"I missed you both so much. I'm so happy you're here."

"… Habibi." he whispered, his head leaning slightly to rest against hers.

The separaton was not easy.

Talia did not want to leave, while fully understanding that her father would not accept her staying. There would be consequences. Bane knew it too, and he was more adult, even if Y/N sometimes felt his hand brushing against hers, hesitant to take it.

No doubt he wouldn't have had the will to let go of her if he had given in.

Before agreeing to return to the temple, the young girl called her father, to present an absolutely insincere apology, promising to focus on her training, if in exchange she had the right to stay in contact with Y/N.

Ra's agreed, reluctantly. He knew nothing could stop his child anyway.

"We'll be back soon. I'll call you every day."

"You promise ?"

"Yes !" Talia said solemnly with bright eyes.

"The master agreed for you to come back. He didn't say anything about me."

"You are my protector. You will have to come with me, that's logical."

Translation, her father would have no choice. He had managed to separate them once, he wouldn't have that chance again. And since he was clever, he saw that the compromise was fair.

His daughter would continue to follow her destiny, as the future leader of the League of Shadows, not sticking to Bane when she was with her followers, but she would have the small freedom to see him and be with Y/N when she went in Gotham, from time to time.

All that remained was to define this time.

But since Y/N had waited five years, she was willing to wait a few more months, knowing now that they were fine, and that she could call them if she missed them too much.

#batman the dark knight #the dark knight rises #bane #bane x reader #bane imagine #bane fanfiction

[willowhaired]

Fresh Start

Jeb Pyre × Reader

Summary: After shutting the case of the Lafferty brothers, Jeb finds it difficult to find his place in the church - so much so that he divorces his wife and starts anew in Boulder, Colorado. What he didn't expect was a pretty evidence handler at the Boulder PD.

(Please note that in this story Jeb has no children.)

Word count: 3,381

Warnings: mentions of religion, swearing, a bit steamy but nothing explicit

After shutting the case, Jeb tried his best to re-integrate into his community. To at least "sing the song", even if he no longer believed the words, as his partner suggested - but he was still eyed with suspicion and the forceful kindness of his fellow churchgoers became sickening. He felt as if he was tested, and they pressured him into recanting his beliefs at every opportunity. It was the worst with his wife who got him promising he'd stay faithful to the church whenever she felt uneasy, which was more often than he liked. He could see her mind turn whenever they were in the same room as if he was under constant surveillance. It angered him, but he knew showing it would throw him into a pit even deeper.

Things in the bedroom were terrible. Beca was insistent on conceiving, and he didn't blame her for it. He knew what it meant to her. Still, he was growing tired of having sex - a thing which he'd never thought was possible for a man. Somehow, whatever trick or new lingerie his wife would try just made him desire her even less. Whenever he couldn't perform, he'd blame it on work, but that opened a whole can of worms he didn't want to talk about. Arguments were frequent and even calm days were disturbed at least by a quarrel.

He got out when his mother passed. By then, the tension was palpable, not only in his marriage, but in the church. Eyes were even wider and glued to him - they expected him to turn to his faith in a time of need as such.

But he finally felt free. He divorced his wife, leaving her in shame, and the bishop was quick to retaliate by excommunicating him.

He was finally free.

He moved to Boulder, Colorado, to escape his own home, the cocoon. It was only natural that Taba followed him.

'You could stay, you know?' Jeb said one day as they were having lunch together. He bought fries.

'And be left in the snake pit alone? Not a chance.'

It made Jeb smile. He'd never conceal the amount of relief this gave him. Because he was afraid. As much as he wanted to get out, the newness of the "outside world" scared him. To have his friend by his side on this new journey gave him hope.

They both got a job at the Boulder Police Department and Jeb quickly became a favourite among his superiors and fellow officers. With no family and a pain to drown, he was always first to apply for night shifts, weekends, especially holidays. He poured his all into work.

'You are becoming a bit of a workaholic,' Bill noted on one Christmas Eve. There was a snowstorm outside, unlike anything else he had seen in Utah.

'You are here with me every time,' Jeb pointed out, watching the wind raging outside.

'Yes, but I'm not staying overtime,' his partner adjusted himself in his seat. It was getting to him not being able to smoke because of the crazy weather. 'Besides, you're young. You should find yourself someone.'

'I have you.'

'I'm flattered, but I don't like you like that,' Taba chuckled but was met with the mortified stare of his fellow detective. A lifetime of conditioning is difficult to weed out.

'What I'm saying is,' he started again. 'This is a new town. Maybe there's someone who tickles your fancy.'

Jeb honestly doubted that. He didn't find anyone interesting, and even if he had, he wouldn't be ready to open up.

That was until you came along.

You were the new evidence handler, archiving and organising everything the officers brought along, let it be testimonies or physical evidence. You were young and sweet which didn't sit right with him: he didn't want you to look at all the darkness that was out there in the world. He reckoned you should be protected from it, living in a bubble, not having your delicate features be degraded away by the horrors.

But above all, you were incredibly attractive. He saw other police officers trying to charm you or readily offer their help whenever there was an evidence box that "looked a little too heavy". Even Bill got into a harmless banter with you on occasion - you were easy on the eyes, he said, and Jeb agreed, though not out loud.

He could feel his heart in his throat whenever you passed by, and there was an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach whenever you arrived at work. Looking at you felt like a sin.

It just so happened that the two of you were very similar. Even if it meant staying longer, you'd get all the handwritten notes typed in, each piece of evidence filed away correctly. Before leaving, you cleaned your desk, despite it being a catastrophe the whole day.

It was a Thursday night and the detective was about to leave to check out a crime scene. On his way out, he spotted you, at your desk, still lost in paperwork. He checked the clock and then outside: it was already dark.

'It's getting late,' he announced as he stepped to you.

'Oh, it's alright,' you shrugged. 'Just a few more things to file away.'

He contemplated for a second before turning to a young officer:

'Deputy Jones, when Miss Y/L/N is done with her work could you give her a ride home?'

'That's really not necessary,' you knew you were blushing and you didn't want to cause any trouble to anyone.

''Course, Sir,' Deputy Jones said without hesitation. Jeb nodded to the deputy and left you with an "Evening" and completely confused.

That night, he could not sleep. He worried you might not have been escorted home, or worse, took a liking to the young deputy. He should've taken you home himself.

Even though he was head over heels for you, you got the impression that he did not like you. He was cold, distant and you'd never seen him smile in your presence. When he dropped off any evidence, he seemed as though he was trying to escape the soonest possible.

'Five forged checks and interrogation of two witnesses,' you scanned through the documents on your desk, then flashed a warm smile at him. 'Anything else?'

'No, thank you,' he replied quickly, his mouth more crooked than ever.

You watched him walk to his office. It was a shame, really, upsetting, even. For one, you never gave any reason for him to hate you, and besides… You found him incredibly handsome.

He was eyeing you from his office, sometimes glancing in the direction of Jones, even though it was a few weeks after that incident. Jeb made it a point to avoid you, but couldn't fool his partner.

'I don't blame you for liking her,' he flipped the page in the folder of their current case. 'I would be surprised if you didn't.'

'I've never felt this way,' Jeb admitted nervously. His friend had a smug grin on his face before it turned serious.

'Look, you should make your move soon. Nobody is blind in this department.'

It was this conversation that ultimately pushed him to ask you out. It was a few days later, and all of your colleagues had left already. You were still finishing up some tasks and he tried to do his own, but his nerves wouldn't let him concentrate. Finally, he gave in.

'Are you staying for longer?' Jeb had to swallow for he felt like his throat was going to close up.

'No, I'm packing away for tonight.'

'Do you… Need a ride home?' He asked, then quickly added: 'I can take you.'

'Oh, I… Don't wanna cause you any trouble,' you chuckled nervously and pushed the last folder to its place.

'I insist.'

'Well, okay,' you gave in sheepishly and grabbed your coat.

The drive home was even more awkward, if possible. You tried to strike up a conversation but he hardly replied. He sat stiffly behind the wheel and kept his eyes on the road. He parked just outside your apartment complex.

'You know, Detective Pyre, you don't have to take me home.'

'I just like to know you're safe.'

'Anyway,' you said quickly over the sound of your loud heartbeat. 'Thank you for the ride.'

You were about to step out of the car when he blurted out:

'Can I take you out for dinner sometime?'

You turned back and were muted by surprise.

'You can say no if you don't want to,' he felt as if he was being suffocated by his own tie so he pulled it looser.

'Yes,' you hurried your answer. 'This Saturday?'

'Perfect. Pick you up at 7.'

Friday, he was a mess. If it was possible, he avoided contact with you even more which left you doubting he ever asked you out. The truth was, he didn't know how to react. You made him feel such emotions he was unfamiliar with; was he supposed to just wave at you as he passed by when he felt his insides burning with the heat of a thousand suns?

'Bill, I need your help,' Jeb closed the door of their office behind him. 'I'm taking Y/N on a date tomorrow.'

'Does she know?' His partner teased, but as Jeb replied with such exasperation, he knew this was no time for jokes.

'Of course!'

'So you finally asked her out. What do you need me for?'

'I'm nervous,' he leant to his desk and pulled his hand across his face. 'I can't even look at her.'

Bill glanced out towards you: 'I think she looks pretty, still.'

'Don't do that,' his friend begged defeatedly.

'Jeb,' Bill looked at him. 'Do me a favour and relax. Just be yourself.'

'What if the church thing freaks her out? What if I make a fool of myself?'

'There's no way around it, pal,' he shrugged. 'Sooner or later, she will know. Don't worry, I haven't seen her eat anyone. Try and enjoy it.'

It was easier said than done.

Jeb knew he was done for right as he picked you up on Saturday. You had a black dress on that hugged your body, and your shoulders were bare for you had your hair in a bun. Inside of him was a raging battle between what his former church made him think about your attire and what he felt. He was hoping he could forget about both, and most importantly not mention his past, but it was unavoidable.

'No, I… I have never drunk.'

'You haven't?' You asked in disbelief. 'Surely you were a teenager at some point.'

'Yeah,' he chuckled. 'I grew up in a very strict church. Alcohol was forbidden.'

'So it wasn't the kinda wine tasting that disguised itself as Sunday church, huh?' You joked. 'Are you still part of this church? Should I not drink?'

'No, no,' he shook his head. 'I was excommunicated. I no longer hold those beliefs.'

'So…' you swirled the wine around in your glass. 'Why don't you drink?'

'I guess old habits die hard.'

'Do you want a taste? It's sweet wine. If you like lemonade, you're gonna love this.'

You held your glass towards him and he took you up on your offer. His movements were sheepish, almost fearful as he held the glass to his lips and took a small sip. It really was sugary, with an uncanny resemblance to the way he felt about you: sweet but intoxicating. Throughout the dinner you shared a few glasses, most of which you drank, but he was finally easing up by the alcohol. Jeb felt his stomach warm from the wine; he was more comfortable with his feelings towards you, while also finding it harder to keep them in control. Your eyes seemed even more alluring and your cheeks were tinted red from the alcohol. He found it cute and smiled dumbly at you throughout the whole night; and honestly, with him opening up, you really enjoyed yourself. Not only that, you realised that you did actually like him: he was kind and wholesome and made such intelligent remarks you knew he was listening to your every word. You joked and gently poked his hand and his eyes lit up like a teenage boy's. He tried to (very seriously) pick out the notes of the wine, only to add at the end that it mostly just smelled like alcohol. He accidentally kicked you under the table and you teased him whether you were getting friendly.

You had your fingers crossed that the effects of the wine would stretch into the workdays.

But apparently, you spoke too soon.

'Thank you for the night, Jeb, I really enj…' you could barely open your mouth when he stopped the car at your home, and his lips were on yours. His left hand came up from the gearshift to cup your face as his quick, eager kiss was followed by a deeper one. You leant closer to him and rested your hand on his thigh. You got so lost in the sensations (the scent of his cologne, how his tongue explored your mouth against yours, or how it ran across your lips every once in a while), that you didn't know how much time had passed. Was it minutes or half an hour?

'I'm sorry,' he broke away abruptly. 'I can't do this.'

You couldn't really comprehend his words.

'I… I don't think I'm ready for this,' he followed, seeing your puzzled expression.

'We can take it slower,' you chuckled.

'It's not about that,' his body was turned away from you. 'I can't be with you.'

Honestly, this left you in shock. You don't remember if you said anything or just left the car - the whole thing didn't make sense. He was the one asking you out, the date went well, he came in for a kiss… Which was amazing.

You were confused, and above all, hurt. You thought that there must've been something so wrong with you for him to turn you down like this.

When Jeb told Bill about the date, his friend's first excitement died away as he heard how the night ended.

'What's wrong with you?' Bill asked, almost angrily. 'That date was going great and you chose to close it like a teen girl who hasn't fucked before?'

'Language!' The other hissed.

'That girl likes you. You come to me worried you'd screw up the date but you did it in such a way I would've never imagined.'

'It's not easy, Bill. I was raised to believe everything I've just done is a sin. Even though I no longer think the same, I…' he ran his fingers through his hair. 'Can't help but feel that it's wrong.'

His partner seized him up, sighing out the frustration he felt.

'I guess I understand. You do what you feel comfortable with. But she'd be good for you.'

But would I be good for her - Jeb pondered, staring at the papers in front of him.

That was until an office party: his colleagues pressured him into beer after beer, so he'd already had more than he should've. Then, you arrived - late, but no less beautiful. The cream dress you had on was a lot more modest than the form-fitting one you had on during the date, yet its satin fabric draped on your body perfectly. You looked better than ever, which he never thought was possible: your smile was charming and your eyes twinkled in the decorative lights - though he couldn't help but notice that you carefully avoided his direction.

The other officers were quick to bring you your favourite drink and they'd made it a competition who would make you laugh louder. Hearing your chuckles turned his blood bitter, and he kept shifting between chewing the inside of his mouth and adjusting his lips.

'And you, Detective Pyre? Anyone special?' A fellow officer asked.

'Who? Me?' He said, half-stupefied, then chuckled, his eyes on the table. 'No, no one.'

To be fair, since the failed date, you had been avoiding him just as he did with you. You gave a cryptic description of the date to your friends, and your colleagues knew nothing of the encounter: they merely concluded that Jeb's past hunted him, and that's why he was so uncomfortable in your presence.

Maybe they were closer to the truth than anyone thought.

You accompanied some officers out for a cigarette; you were craving some fresh air and the cold of the night on your cheeks. You borrowed a cigarette from Detective Taba to take the edge off.

'You, dear, look prettier every day,' he took a long drag from his cigarette after lighting yours. 'Is there a gentleman you saw before coming here?'

'Nah,' you smiled sheepishly as if the suggestion itself was ridiculous. 'I was looking after an old relative and my cousin arrived late to take over.'

'Don't act so innocent,' he scorned with a grin and gestured with his cigarette. 'I bet you make every man turn anywhere you walk by.'

He wasn't wrong: you only had to take some letters to the post office to come back with a date for the next day, but lately, all you had on your mind was the kiss from a certain detective. Even at work, especially after seeing him, your thoughts would slip from your grip to morph into his firm grip on your waist or the unmatching tenderness of his lips. You'd mistyped witness names and found that you had catalogued a set of crime scene photographs into the wrong folder. You were incredibly embarrassed, despite the officers only laughing at these mishaps, reassuring you that they happened more often than ever with you.

So, you avoided Jeb's eyes, knowing that their dark brown colour would melt you right on sight.

Even though Bill was nudging him every ten minutes to go up to you, Jeb couldn't bring himself to do it. All night, he had been imagining how your dress would fall from your shoulders if he'd unzipped it and how soft your skin would feel under it - softer than the satin itself, he was sure.

The air of the venue grew heavy with each passing minute. Jeb resolved to peel the stickers from the beers, while you were constantly entertained by at least two of your coworkers. They were all respectful, although sometimes a bit loud. You needed a few moments of peace; so you excused yourself to the bathroom.

Once on your way back, you bumped into him.

'Hey,' you forced a smile.

'How you're doing?'

'Good, good. And you?'

'Pretty wasted,' Jeb admitted with a chuckle and after a brief pause (during which he stared long into your eyes and your legs began to feel like jello), he brushed a few hairs that got stuck in your mouth behind your ear. You got a whiff of his cologne, something you only caught once or twice when he brought evidence bags to your table. It always left you spellbound.

'I'm so sorry about that night.'

'Don't be,' you said. 'It was an amazing date.'

Jeb was only half-there, his thumb brushed the edge of your lip.

'Until the end I suppose,' he said dreamily, as if not even to you.

'Do you like me?' You asked abruptly.

'I'm fucking mad about you.'

His answer threw your head in a spin. You grabbed his tie and pulled him into a kiss which he reciprocated with a groan. His hands quickly found the small of your back from which one ran up into your hair. Unconsciously, he gripped a handful of your locks to pull your head back and give him better access to your lips. You were rendered weak with a wave of emotion but this very same thing reminded you where you were and that any second colleague could appear.

You cupped his face and gently pulled away.

'Maybe this is not the best place…'

'No, it isn't,' he agreed. 'I want to make it up to you. Please, let me take you on another date.'

'I'm free on Sunday.'

'Well, not anymore.'

#jeb pyre x reader #jeb pyre #utboh #under the banner of heaven #andrew garfield #andrew garfield x reader #reader insert #jeb pyre imagine #andrew garfield imagine

[plentyoffandoms]

Main Masterlist ♡ Actors Masterlist ♡ Miscellaneous Actors Masterlist

Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy.

Warnings: swearing. AU, obviously. Matt is divorced.

Gifs & photos do not belong to me. 1st gif @suggs444 , but originally belongs to @brotherdusk

Requested by anonymous. Hope you like it.

WC: 992

"Why are you being like this?" I asked the 6'4" tall man, walking, more like running, trying to keep up with him.

"I told you to leave me alone. I have some personal matters to deal with." He went to close his trailer door, but I placed my foot out to stop it from closing.

"Matthew, please just talk to me about this."

"This has nothing to concern you with."

"Is this about Heather?"

I was there all through the divorce. She is the one who asked for it. Something about falling out of love with him.

I do not see how that is possible not to love him, but that it happened.

It practically broke him when she sat him down and handed him the papers.

"This has nothing to do with her."

"Is it your kids?"

"I am not asking you, I am telling you to leave me alone. Remember you are my assistant, and I am the boss."

That made me take a step back. I have been his assistant for a few years now, and he has never once talked to me like this.

I moved my foot, and he closed the door, making sure to lock it behind him. I have a key, but if he is acting this way right now, I do not want to see him if I barge in right after him.

He is right, though. He is my boss, and I am just his lowly assistant.

◆

I went about my day, checking off each item that I did on our shared calendar. I went to check tomorrow's when I noticed that it was cleared.

Odd, I was sure that it was filled out.

There have been a few days that he has cleared just because he needs some time, but Matt always tells me. This is very peculiar.

I saw him walking, with his head down, looking at his phone.

I ran to catch up with him, but he must have heard me because he stopped and looked back at me.

"Matt, I think there is a cliche with our shared calendar. I swear that tomorrow was filled out, and now it is empty."

"There was no cliche. I cleared it."

"Oh, you usually let me now."

"Well, there is a reason for I didn't tell you."

My heart started to beat rapidly. I already knew what was coming.

"You're fired. I no longer need an assistant."

That is such bullshit. I know he has so much stuff coming up that he needs someone, but I wasn't going to fight him on this.

"Very well. Thank you, Mr. Lillard for everything. I wish you all the best."

I left him standing there, leaving the studio grounds, towards my car. I gave my ID to the security guard as I have no need for it anymore.

◆

It has been a few days since I was fired, and I am just taking it easy. I have interviews lined up for the upcoming week, but this week, it is all about me.

I know I will get another job. Plenty of celebrities and rich people need an assistant. I just finished a bit of a shopping spree, and I opened the trunk of my car when I saw that Matthew's suit from the dry cleaners was still in there.

I was going to give it to him at the end of the day as we parted ways for the evening, but after what happened, I promptly left.

I can't keep it, so I decided to drop the suit off at his place. I took the familiar route to his place and knocked on the front door. I knew he wouldn't look on his surveillance camera. He never does. So it was not surprise when he opened the door, and was shocked to see me standing there.

"I forgot to give this to you, but I wasn't going to keep your suit." I held out the bag, waiting for him to take it. He gently grabbed it from my hand, muttering, "Thanks."

I turned to walk away and out of his life. "Wait." He said. I contemplated if I should stop or continue walking, but I stopped.

"Yes?" I am facing him now.

"I'm sorry."

"If you say so."

"I mean it." The way he said my name made me almost believe him.

"Do you, Matthew? You fired me without probable cause. I was an excellent assistant to you, and you know it."

"You much understand, I had too. To protect you."

"To protect me? From what?" I am clearly confused.

"From the media. When they found out I fell in love with my assistant."

"What?" He better not be playing.

"I have always had a small crush on you, even when I was with Heather, but I pushed those feelings aside. Then, with the divorce and everything, I didn't want you to think that I was using you."

"I never would have thought that. Matt, you're not the type of guy that goes around hurting people."

He took a few long strides towards me, standing in front of me, as I looked up at him.

"Then, then my crush resurfaced, and I just wanted to let you know how I felt, but I couldn't do that as your boss."

"So you fired me because you have a crush on me?"

"Well, yes."

"Take me out on a date, and we can discuss where this new relationship of ours."

"Well, I am free right now. If you want, let's hit your favourite restaurant." He gave me that goofy smile of his.

"Taking your car, Matt."

"One thing, though." He cupped my face in his massive hands and gently kissed me on the lips. I have dreamed about this moment for a long time, never thinking it would ever happen.

"Come on, let's get something eat." I said, pulling away.

"Yes, Ma'am."

I laughed, swatting at chest.

#matthew lillard imagine #matthew Lillard fanfic #matthew Lillard x y/n #matthew Lillard x you #matthew Lillard x female reader #matthew Lillard x f/Reader #matthew Lillard fanfiction #matthew lillard x reader #matthew Lillard story #matthew Lillard

[agerefandom]

Shadow Play

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Characters: Regressor!Charlie, caregiver!Alastor

Words: 1,965

Summary: When Charlie and Vaggie come back from Heaven, Alastor goes to seek out Charlie and finds her feeling very little indeed.

Warnings: Alastor is being a caregiver for largely manipulative reasons, so there’s an underlying issue of trust. Mentions of surveillance and lack of privacy.

A/N: I woke up this morning with this scene fully formed in my head and absolutely had to get it written as soon as possible.

Alastor was enjoying the chaos that had ensued in the aftermath of Charlie and Vaggie’s trip to Heaven. From their first appearance back in the lobby of the hotel, it was clear that things had gone badly. Their intrepid leader had run up the stairs, unwilling to meet the eyes of any of her hotel’s residents. Vaggie had hesitated, clearly caught between following Charlie and remaining to explain the events of the meeting.

In the end, Vaggie had joined the other hotel residents with slumped shoulders, uncharacteristically subdued. Alastor listened to the story of their ill-fated time in Heaven, his smile only growing.

Charlie would be utterly destroyed by the suggestion that she was responsible for the targeting of the hotel. She was separated from her most loyal source of support, and the looming threat was something that Alastor just happened to have a solution in-hand for…

Oh, things were getting interesting indeed.

As the residents started to question Vaggie’s history, Alastor slipped into the shadows, away from the group. He had no interest in the fallout on this side of things: he had another job to do.

Travelling through the shadows, he made his way up to the rooms that Charlie and Vaggie shared. It was a familiar journey: he did keep tabs on the occupants occasionally. He was hardly obsessive about surveillance, unlike some of Hell’s citizens, but it was his job to oversee the hotel, and that meant knowing about the coming-and-goings of the residents.

Alastor stepped out of the shadows and took in the scene: Charlie was fully hidden in the blankets on the bed, her little demon assistants fluttering anxiously around her. He could hear Charlie sobbing in her little nest.

“Oh, Charlie,” Alastor said, feeling his smile stretch the limits of his face. “You look an absolute mess.”

Alastor made his way to her side of the bed, shooing her little assistants away as they tried to get into his way. Even here, he couldn’t see Charlie’s face: she was completely covered, wrapped in a cocoon of sheets. Sighing, Alastor sat down on the edge of the mattress and patted the lump that he thought was likely to be Charlie’s head.

“You have a captive audience downstairs, waiting to see what inspiring performance you have planned next! Is this any way to be acting after dooming your friends?”

A hand emerged from the blankets and swatted at his arm, clearly not a fan of his attempt at comfort. Charlie’s sobs continued unabetted, choked and helpless. Alastor could feel her shifting inside the blankets, curling up tighter onto herself.

What a sorry sight. She was clearly worse off than Alastor had calculated: this might need a gentler hand than he had planned.

“Honestly, Charlie.” Alastor crossed his legs and dismissed his staff from his grasp, leaving both hands free. He gestured over one of her assistants and took the box of tissues from its hands. It glared at him distrustfully, but allowed him to take it. Alastor took advantage of the opening that Charlie had created in the blankets by trying to push him away. He gripped the corner of the blanket and pulled it down, exposing a part of the demon girl hidden inside: a bit of golden hair, mussed and staticky from the comforter.

Alastor reached in and petted Charlie’s head, keeping his claws gentle on her scalp.

“This is no way to face your problems,” he said, gentle but prodding. Let’s make a plan, Princess. Let me help you.

“Go ‘way.” Charlie shifted again inside the blankets, trying to get away from the affection, but there was really nowhere for her to go. She had trapped herself inside her little bundle, and Alastor continued his ministrations, encouraged by her voice.

“And leave you all alone? I simply couldn’t do such a thing.”

Charlie twisted, and the blankets came loose enough for Alastor to see her face, peering up at him from the shadows of her cocoon. She was, indeed, an absolute mess: her cheeks splotchy against her pale skin, eyes rimmed with red, her nose running. The most pathetic creature he’d ever seen: you would hardly guess the amount of power that hid inside that disgusting shell.

“You don’t care,” Charlie said, her voice muffled with tears.

“Of course I care.” Alastor put a hand to his chest, offended. It wasn’t a lie: he cared about quite a few things. There was no need to specify whether Charlie’s emotional well-being was one of them.

Charlie looked up at him for a moment, her expression blank. Alastor would guess that she was trying to gauge his response, but it looked like her thoughts were having difficulty. After a few seconds of staring, Charlie’s expression screwed up again and she started to cry anew.

“I wan’ Vaggie,” she said, and started to sob.

“Then I will fetch her,” Alastor said, and moved to stand. As expected, Charlie’s hand shot out from the blankets and caught his wrist.

“No!!” Charlie pulled him back down and Alastor folded easily. “No, I don’ want Vaggie.”

“You’re being very contrary,” Alastor pointed out. “Will you come out of your blankets?”

“Nnnn.” Charlie glared up at him. Alastor held up the box of tissues and wiggled it temptingly. Charlie reached out a hand, but he kept it out of her reach.

“Ah, ah. Only princesses who are sitting up are allowed to blow their noses.”

Charlie narrowed her eyes, but obediently sat up: the blankets fell around her waist as she did so, revealing her messy hair and wrinkled shirt. Alastor rewarded her with the box of tissues, and Charlie blew her nose messily, then tossed the tissue onto the floor beside the bed.

Alastor subtly used a shadow to toss it into the trash can.

“There you are.” He patted Charlie’s knee, encouragingly. “Back on the path to success. Would you like some water?” Alastor shot a look to one of her little assistants, who were still lurking around the bed, but Charlie shook her head.

“I want… I want…”

There was a moment where Alastor thought she might actually make it through a sentence, but then Charlie crumbled back into sobs.

“Oh, dear.” Alastor slipped through the shadows and re-settled on the other side of the bed, sitting beside Charlie so that he could put an arm around her shoulders. “I’ve never seen such a display. What’s wrong, princess?”

“M’useless!” Charlie cried, and leaned into Alastor’s embrace.

Alastor could feel her tears getting on his coat, and could only hope that there was no snot following suit. Still, he tightened his grip on her shoulders, rubbing his hand up and down her arm comfortingly. He didn’t reply, waiting for more information.

“Vaggie l-l-lied and I don’t know what to do and I’m just too little and I hate it all,” Charlie managed through her tears. “I don’ like being alone when I’m like this but Vaggie h-hates me!”

“But you’re not alone,” Alastor said, ignoring the rest for now. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Y-yeah.” Charlie sniffed. “But you don’t… you’re not…”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of you, if you need it,” Alastor said. He knew about this game that Charlie and Vaggie played occasionally, not quite mother and daughter but something approaching it. It wasn’t something he had personal interest in, but it certainly seemed to be what Charlie needed at the moment. “Would you like me to help you?”

Charlie paused for a moment, her face hidden between Alastor’s chest and her messy hair.

“Yes, please,” she whispered, and Alastor smiled down at her.

--

Alastor surprised himself with how much he was enjoying this game with Charlie.

He had cleaned her face and gotten out her regression gear from the drawer where it was kept. She hadn’t questioned how he knew where to get her supplies, only opened her mouth for her pacifier when he held it up. She had relaxed once it was in her mouth, blinking up at him with eyes that seemed bigger than ever before.

He let her choose a new outfit, and she chose a set of pyjamas with kittens printed on them. Alastor helped her change, slipping off her suspenders, unbuttoning her shirt. She wiggled into her pyjama pants and put her hands up in the air so that Alastor could slip the shirt over her head. It was a novel experience: Alastor didn’t undress many people, and he had never helped someone get dressed before. He could have simply snapped his fingers to change her, of course, but it felt important to take these steps slowly. The vulnerability of it almost turned his stomach on Charlie’s behalf, but the trust that she was placing in him was sweet on his tongue.

She was quiet, with her pacifier in: she looked at him with expectation in her eyes.

Alastor was at a loss for the next part of this experience, but he refused to allow Charlie to see his uncertainty. He thought of Niffty on her rare tired nights, how she would lift her arms for Alastor to carry her.

Alastor picked Charlie up and Charlie squeaked behind her pacifier, throwing her arms around Alastor’s shoulders. Alastor chuckled and gave her a little bounce in his hold. For the first time that day, he saw Charlie smile behind her pacifier, her eyes crinkling.

He brought her back to the bed, waving a hand to smooth out the blankets, and sat down with Charlie in his lap.

“Would you like to hear a story, princess?”

Charlie nodded, pulling in her legs to curl up in Alastor’s grasp.

Alastor kept one arm around his little bundle, and used his other arm to gesture to the shadows. They came alive at his command, crawling onto the sheets in indistinct shapes. Charlie tensed up slightly, but Alastor kept them at the base of the bed, far away from where they sat.

“This is a story about a girl who grew up the youngest of her siblings,” Alastor said, and the shadows drew together into the shape of a girl with long hair and billowing skirts. “They had a wealthy neighbour, named Bluebeard, who just couldn’t keep a wife. Every time he married, his wife would vanish soon after. People said that he was cursed.”

The shadows played their parts, as Alastor told the story: the hulking form of Bluebeard, the dark set of keys that he gave to his new wife: Charlie watched it all in rapt attention, as if she had never heard the story before, and perhaps she hadn’t. It was a human legend, after all, and Hell had its own folklore.

Alastor took his time with the reveal of the murdered wives, the stained keys, and Charlie looked up at him with childish horror and apprehension. The story ended happily, of course: or as happily as it could, with a bodycount of six dead wives and a righteously killed murderer.

Charlie clapped when the shadows subsided back to their natural shapes, and Alastor patted her head.

“’nthr?” Charlie asked through her pacifier. Her expression was hopeful, and she couldn’t quite look at Alastor as she asked.

“Of course,” said Alastor, and drew up the shadows once more.

There would be time enough later, to weave his web and make his deals. For now, he could feel Charlie leaning further against him, exhaustion from the trip making itself known. For now, he could feel her trust in him growing, like a flower almost ready to bloom.

Alastor softened his voice and let Charlie drift into sleep, continuing his story as his shadows played their roles, back and forth across the foot of the bed.

Yes, this was enough for now.  

#hazbin hotel agere #fandom agere #agere fanfiction #my writing #my fics #sfw agere #i literally tumbled out of bed and immediately started writing this #and then i read it to my partner for editing and now i'm posting it lol #welcome to my one day off this week #hazbin hotel

[randomfoggytiger]

I Am, Once Again, Advertising touchstoneaf's S9 "Amor Fati" Fic Series

touchstoneaf’s epic Amor Fati (Fated Love)

(Previous post: X-Files Fic That Irons Out the Mytharc… by touchstoneaf)

It's... it's brilliant.

Description

Not one detail from the series is neglected; not one observation is out of joint; not one conjecture or plot thread from the mytharc is left unresolved (and is, in fact, further built upon), and not one moment between all of the characters is off target. Not only that, but it glues together plotholes as effortlessly as if those were the original show writers' intent; and builds and builds and builds the transition from surveillance at home to life on the run with a (psychic) baby.

I confidently say it IS the series: not just the characters' voices or their actions but as if the author captured Chris Carter and Frank Spotnitz and all of the writers and actors' vision and-- for lack of a better word-- essence and put it all masterfully on paper. The best way I can describe it is it feels like how S9 would have been, should have been.

Part I is Scully's realization that she can't keep William safe (after his near death in S9) and her slow, cautious attempts-- with TLG's help-- to contact Mulder and slip from her job and her life. Her loved ones are all given their turns for farewell (yes, even Bill); Part II is S8-S9 memories and reunion and bliss and rediscovery and duck-and-dodge and the mytharc creeping back in; Part III is hands-on efforts by Mulder and Scully to save innocents and team up with Gibson and his dispassionate alien allies.

There are so, so many passages that are seared into my mind. If you, like me, want to jump right into the action, I recommend reading Part II's chapters 4 through 9-- the leadup to Scully and William's arrival in a small town, their tense execution of plans, and their reunion with Mulder in motel room 42. The entire series builds to that moment; and continues after, organically placing brick after brick after brick. If you are daunted by long-term commitment, it will, at least, serve as quick taste to either ignite or quench your interest.

And Now, For Quotes

I couldn't possibly select one quote as my favorite (not yet, anyway); and the passages below sadly leave out TLG and Skinner and Doggett and Monica and Maggie and Tara and Bill and excellent minor characters and so, so much more; BUT I can't leave these paragraphs behind, either.

She had once, more than once, had the experience of having to tell a false partner from the real one.  She was one out of two on that scoreboard.  /Have to get it right this time.  If…/

Every sense had to remain engaged, in this moment.  Every single detail…

A waft of warmer air... and it smelled of Mulder....  The barrel of a gun came first, poking shyly through, questing.  Her internal timer counted off the seconds before she would see the arms, and then the head…  There were the arms, familiar arms… then the hair she knew, then the face, the eyes…

Mulder’s eyes; legible to her as they would be to no one else on this Earth.  He could be a shapeshifter.  He could be being used… but she didn’t think so.  Not when he looked at her like that.  Not when she could see the thing in him that matched the thing inside herself.

and--

That Mulder had accepted this solace from her, as he had from no other being, had contributed almost immediately to bringing forth that strange intimacy that they had always had between them; first jocular, almost sibling-like, as he responded to her gentle teasing with startlement and a growing relaxation.  This man who was so used to being abused by others with cruel taunting had been taken aback by her easy reaction to him.  But by doing so, she had aided him in lowering his walls, and so now she would never be fooled by his many self-saving wisecracks.  Neither was she fooled by the protection he had put off at first; his little show of, “Don’t mind me, I’m a harmless crackpot.”  That image, which he had often put off to their superiors and detractors, was countered once you met him in person.  Intelligent; yes.  Without a doubt.  Driven; yes.  Almost wholly so.  Foolish?  Never in a hundred years; though he may have looked that way to others, may have even fostered that impression to aid him in his work.

and--

Mulder tensed, shoulders hunching as he felt her abortive movement.  He shook his head angrily against the memories, but when he spoke his voice was quiet with acceptance… and so plumbed with loss that she felt her own heart break.  “I needed you so badly, Scully,” he finished softly; as if the admission cost him dearly.  “But you weren’t there.  I had pushed you away; and the nightmares kept coming and coming…” 

Unable to stand it anymore, Scully drew close and pressed her body lightly, tentatively to his tense and unyielding backside.  Felt his clammy skin warm automatically with that contact.  He did not soften, at first.  Did not edge away, nor did he lean into her.  Much like that awful night when their office had burnt he simply stood cold with shock and while she supported him; the steadfast fidelity of their bond never questioned in the decade that they had been together.

“I was there,” she murmured into his shoulder.  /I’ll always be here./  He could accept it now.  She was finally able to press her arms about him in the night.  Feel the strong bones beneath unblemished flesh; amazed that he was even alive for her to hold after an ordeal that had indeed taken him from her for so long that she had lost all hope.  She shuddered and cinched her arms tighter; felt his ribs shift beneath the silky envelope of his skin.  They creaked in protest, but he did not move, and she spoke like one driven.  “I was there hurting for you, holding you against the nightmares, even when you couldn't ask me to be there.  I was with you every night until you came back to me.” 

Magnificent.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

#txf #Collector's Edition #Curated #fic #touchstona #Amor Fati #AU #S9 #I adore this series #it is my S9 #(that and Lapsed_Scholar's S9 AU) #specifically: this is my mytharc S9 #xf fanfic #xfiles #x-files #the x files

[sukunasun]

hi do you write dark content? is it possible we get stalker!geto pls!

sigh sigh...

its the competency for me...the amount of research he’s done, can't really be a stalker if you get caught, or if you don’t at least have a basic understanding of surveillance tech...it’s not difficult sure, where’s the challenge really when no one is safe, when information is so easily accessible, but he shouldn’t complain. after all what has years of experience given him? that he doesn’t go after every type of woman but the ones that happen to just have that little bit of resistance. enough to suspect, to be wary, but not enough that they wouldn’t fall for him. and maybe he genuinely likes you too, but only as someone to own and keep, i’d do anything to tap into that violent and psychotic level of devotion and love he’s so capable of. 

the layers will start to unravel eventually and he comes off a little bit on edge, unhinged too, so creepy how he has zero self awareness, that people are put off by him, "you can't keep threatening to kill the waiter," you say, a little worried at his violent outbursts, and how he's able to just revert back to being the sweetheart you fell for. calm and collected. the emotional whiplash is strong.—"you're right sweetie, i should have just killed him on the spot, that way i wouldn't have to waste my breath..."

the way he’s sending you random packages of the most specific items, how did he know the exact brand of perfume you use, or your bra size. the flowers he sends to your workplace are nice, but the messages are a little much though, there's only so many ‘i love you’s written on every square inch of scallop trimmed card a girl can handle, but still...nice nonetheless, beautiful even.

so expensive too, how could you say no, how could you return the boots you’ve been eyeing for months, your name left on a waiting list for the longest time and he’s managed to get them shipped to you in a matter of days. you wear the boots, the earrings, all these things he’s gifted you and he’ll take it as a sign of your approval, which is why he doesn’t think you’ll turn them down...not the drawings he’s made of the two of you entwined, holding hands or having him atop you, he’s even got the colour of your hair and eyes in the right shade. what an artist, and a writer too, or at least the ten-page fanfic he’s written will be a testament to his skill, pictorial the way he describes how exactly he jerks off to you, how he’d like to see the fear flash across your eyes for that split second he presses a knife to your skin, against fleshy thighs, should he carve his name there?— “i was just being poetic you know, i won’t actually do that stuff...” he laughs it off.  

and he loves listening in on your conversations, searching up every contact in your phone, everything he does leads up to this, to hear you say "oh i love him, we're soulmates, i hope we'll stay together forever,” and he can't help but smile. beauty is in the eye of the beholder and what he sees in you stems less from physical attraction but that you’d be willing prey, he’ll be patient, doesn’t care how long it’ll take because of the satisfaction he gets when it all comes together.

you’ll be so happy with him, caresses the photos he’s taken from dark corners, on a rooftop, some he’s stolen straight off your job website. pinned to his wall alongside maps spread open, coordinates he’s scribbled on a piece of scrap paper, bank statements and text messages, your blood test results and medical records, all the people who've wronged you framed in passport sized thumbnails, arranged in a neat, uniformed line, red crosses over the ones he's already taken care of...suddenly that annoying co worker who makes you work overtime has disappeared, and your ex-boyfriend hasn’t posted anything in awhile...but geto's a professional of course, never leaves a trail, whether by bullet or knife or his bare hands, he loves you enough to not get you in trouble, he wouldn't want that for you...

your eyes rake over them, it finally clicks—"you killed them,” you whisper, shocked. breaths puffing out hurriedly, your heart begins to hammer, pounding so loud you miss his thumping footsteps coming closer.  "i had to,” geto replies standing before his handiwork, the attention to detail, a whole masterpiece. 

he’s sympathetic, hates seeing you so upset, fingers coming up to graze over the picture of your ex-boyfriend, “he wronged you,” geto explains, then drags his hands to the next photo, fingers pointing to your colleagues, “and they were such a nuisance weren’t they? i didn’t like that they made you work so hard…i waited all night for you to come home,” his shoulders rise and fall as he lets out another sigh, one that carries memories of sitting by his multitude of screens displaying live footage from cameras he’s no doubt set up, wired microphones in every corner of your apartment. 

"i know you best, i’ve seen everything,” ; taking a nap at 2, then work on a dissertation at 4, his eyes never leaving you for a second. casually watching you while sipping on tea, eyes taking in your form lounging in a bed, plush pillows resting under your chin, against your hip as you tap away at your computer and knows just exactly what you're doing; he knows you’re catching feelings, that you have notes written out of date ideas and long, long letters you'll never send to him, 'bday gifts' and 'children's names' in a bullet point list, all the cute new outfits waiting in a cart, and there’s the porn...just that little thing he rewards himself with—indulges in the fact that somehow your tastes are very specific, why are tall men with long hair the only thing you search for, that you’re more inclined to, or that you specifically like listening to the audios with melodic voices, whiny men who get right up to the mic and beg. and sometimes it’s the other way around...how dark and depraved you are to like what he does to you, “we belong together, i can make you happy, aren't you tired of being alone?” he says then, after he’s wound the rope around your wrists and it starts to cut into the skin, he pleads, he cries, “i couldn’t live without you...we’re meant to be...don't you want to be loved?" knowing you waited so long to hear it.

——————————————————

(inspired by a few lil messages from a discord chat with @sandsorghum ! )

#misery starring kathy bates is a true story ....geto kidnapped me and held me at gunpoint forcing me to write this #because he wants our love story published <3 #anw heres a short one #crawling back into my cave now see u at the next fic drop how frank ocean of me #also to ans ur q : given tht ive written gojo snorting coke off tits..yea dark content's fine ig #tagging this as #sundown #sunpiece #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #stalker geto #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #ask #geto suguru hcs #anon #geto suguru fic #geto hcs

[whenrockwasyoung19]

New Fic Alert!

The New Guy and the New Girl

Jimmy Keene x (adult) Reader 

No real warnings apply. It’s just some cute fluff. Bit of romance, no sex  

Summary: Y/N just started working at the prison as a dentist. You never would’ve thought you’d end up here, but here you are. You’re a bit nervous about this new job, but then you meet someone who seems to make it all better. 

**

You didn’t ask for this job. You didn’t ask for metal detectors, or the occasional drug test, or all the badges, or the constant surveillance. 

But you did ask for something, and you asked the wrong person. 

You left dental college about six months ago with one, simply request: to get a job as a dentist as quickly as possible. As your mother reminds you, again, and again, you’re not getting any younger. “Yes, mom”, you’d say in your head after each undesired reminder, “I went to school a little late.” Four years to be exact, but only because you got a little sidetracked by a guy and Europe and Italian cheeses. But after the divorce papers were signed, you found your way back to reality. 

And once you finally reached the end of school, you could finally scoop up a bit of that American Dream your grandma always talked about. So you applied for jobs. You thought it’d be easy to get a job as a dentist. You don’t know where that notion came from, but it came and stuck with you, until it was forced after you after the eighteenth rejection email. 

But finally, after a couple of months of searching, you got an interview. The brief convo with the hiring manager was, as you expected, pleasant. In the pre-interview, you were, as you’d always intended to be, confident, cool, unwavered. The interviewer was impressed by this ‘unwavering’ quality, as they noted. This also didn’t surprise you. What did surprise you was the location of the interview: The Outer Depths Prison, about 28 miles south of Chicago. 

Somehow, you never saw yourself ending up in a prison, and yet, you found yourself interviewing at one. You went through the usual checks, background checks, fingerprinting, all pretty routine, but they also had to strip search you–that was quite unusual. Though, the CO was quite cute, so you didn’t mind as much. 

The interview, despite being a little shaken up by the strip search, went well. Once again, the interviewer admired your confidence and unshakability. A week later, you showed up for your first day. 

Your first patient was a fairly young guy, about your age. He had dark hair, brushed back, though not totally tamable. For some reason, he always had a few pieces that stuck up or fell in his eyes. As a result, he was always playing with it. He could never quite leave it alone. 

As soon as you saw him, you asked yourself how he got in here. He wasn’t like the other inmates–not that you would know. You’d never met them. But you’d seen prisoners on TV, so you knew the type. This patient was the type. Sure, he had the right build for it. His shoulders were broad, his arms were like two thick tree branches. You had never seen his chest, but you imagine he had abs to match those shoulders. Despite the football player build, there was a certain softness there too. You sensed it before he even spoke. His hazel eyes were the dead giveaway. They weren’t hardened, like the COs you’d met, or the couple of prisoners you’d seen in the distance upon arrival. Not him. There was something vulnerable right behind his eyes. 

You knew he wasn’t like the others the first time he spoke. 

“Hello,” he had said in a gentle voice, “I’m Jimmy.”

“Dr. Y/N, at your service.”

“The guard said to take it easy on you. He said you were new.” Something shifted then, in his voice and in his eyes. There was a certain confidence there. Was it cockiness, or was it charm? You couldn’t tell, but you wanted to keep listening to find out. 

“I am new, but I have worked on patients before, just in a different setting,” You replied. You didn’t tell him that you’d only worked in dental school and not in the real world. 

“S’alright,” he continued, smirking, “I’m new too.” There was something in the way he looked at you. He was still that confident jock that he had eased into, but that softness in his eyes was creeping back in. the two sides of him, soft, gentle soul and cocky jock were sort of melting together. And you wanted to keep listening. 

“When did you arrive?” You asked him. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to ask that. In fact, you didn’t know what was taboo and what was fair game. 

“Last week,” he answered. The confidence melted away, and you could see the weight that was bearing on him. You briefly wondered what he left behind, a home, maybe a job, possibly a family. “It’s only been about eight days, and with about 700 more to go, it feels like time has totally stopped. I’d like it to move quicker.”

“It will,” you told him. “I went into dental school late, like really late. So when I saw that it’d take four years, I just felt this dread pass over me. I was really going to have to spend another four years in school, another four years not working, living with my parents, and not really moving forward. Okay, bad example, dental school is nothing like prison.”

“You were in purgatory,” he noted, in a surprisingly non-judgemental way, “I can see what you meant.” 

“Well, in that case, I can assure that your sentence will eventually end. The 700 days will come to an end, and you’ll move forward.”

“Like you’re doing,” he noted. 

“Like I’m doing,” you echoed. 

There was a slight pause, as you both seemed to forget why you were here. And then you remembered: dentistry! 

“Sorry, sir, you had a toothache.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s over here…”

It turned out, his tooth was perfectly healthy. He just had some untreated gingivitis, and the inflammation was causing him some pain. He had remained somewhat calm and collected while you checked him over, but in the moments before you announced his diagnosis, you could see how tense he got. So, you happily announced that there was basically nothing wrong, and he’d just need a regular cleaning to sort him out. 

During his cleaning, the two of you continued to chat. You quickly learned that Jimmy was a big baseball fan, but he wasn’t a Cubs fan. Perhaps revealing a bit too much (which you could tell by the way he blushed) he admitted he didn’t like the Cubs out of slight rebellion. His father was a die-hard Cubs fan, so he grew to love the Red Sox, even though he’s only been to Boston once. You told him that you used to be a Cubs fan, but decided to back the Yankees since you wanted to support a winning team. 

After swapping some baseball stats, and fighting over a recent game, your conversation eased into one about TV. Jimmy revealed that he missed TV. 

“Don’t you guys have a TV room,” you’d remarked. 

“Yes, but I’ve never gotten control of the remote. I always end up watching the news, Letterman, or TV Land, and that doesn’t interest me much.”

You ask him about his favorite shows, and he tells you all about his favorite cop shows, like Miami Vice and Hawaii Five O. the irony doesn’t pass him by. 

After pulling away to let him speak, he said. “Not sure if I can watch those shows anymore, now that I know what it’s like to be in the back of a police car.”

You had so many questions for him. You wanted to know what he was in for. It’s minimum security prison (or minimum for short, you learned), so nothing too terrible. Just something illegal and bad enough to get him two years. You also wanted to know why he did whatever it is he did, and what kind of life he led before prison. But you were just his dentist, not his psychologist or his girlfriend, so you didn’t ask. 

You just asked him something you’d always wanted to know. “I now know what it’s like to be inside a prison, but I don’t know what it’s like inside a police car.”

“Shitty,” he answered, as he tried to stew together something more eloquent. Swallowing hard, he continued, “I had to just stew in the knowledge that I had ruined my own life.” he laid back down and opened his mouth. “Sorry, you were in the middle of something, and I’ve been babbling on.”

“No, it’s okay,” I answered. “A little insight into what it’s like in here wouldn’t hurt.”

“I can tell you what it’s like. Hell. just hell. Like, when I say that, I don’t mean in the colloquial sense, just like, hey it’s hell in there. I mean it as a pretty apt metaphor here. It is hell; we’re trapped here, like demons in hell. We’re given shitty food, which I imagine is the case in hell. It’s hot as hell because the air condition has been broken all summer. And you have to constantly worry about pissing off the wrong person, or else your ass is getting beat.” 

He then looked up at me with those vulnerable eyes of his. Once again, he seemed to think he’d said too much. 

“You asked,” he added cheekily. 

“I’m glad I did,” you answered, swallowing hard. “I think I need to know how people in here think; otherwise, I won’t be able to talk to them, to reach them. I’ll just be an outsider to them.”

“You are an outsider,” he remarked, “But in a good way. You don’t want to fit in here. Trust me.”

“I don’t think you do, either.” You surprised yourself with that comment. “I don’t think you’re one of them.”

“I am one of them,” he insists. 

“Okay, fine,” you relent, because you weren’t about to argue with a stranger about things you didn’t fully understand yet. “We aren’t that alike. But we are alike in one way: we’re both trying to get our footing here.”

He nodded then. “I think we’ll find it. I’ve certainly gotten more used to this place. Perhaps you can as well.” 

“Perhaps I can.” 

“Now,” he continues abruptly, “Shouldn’t you finish cleaning my teeth?”

“Right!” 

Eventually, the appointment comes to end once you finish cleaning his teeth. He gives you a smile, a much brighter one, and tells you, “You’re doing awesome. So don’t let this place intimidate you, alright? You’ve got this.”

“So do you.”

None of your other patients could really measure up to Jimmy. Some were nice, some were mean, some were shockingly cowardly (going as far as to cower in the corner), and some were tough enough to withstand the worst novocain shots. But none of them were like Jimmy. Very few were as open to chatting with you as he did. Most of them had real dental problems, so you couldn’t waste time chatting away while you had to drill and fill and extract. And when they did talk, it was always light fodder. Small talk. You’d discuss the lunch menu, the status of the air conditioning, the itchiness of the sheets, and how people were spending their commissary money. But nothing thought-provoking or particularly memorable. These were conversations you’d forget about in a week. But it’d been weeks and you hadn’t forgotten your conversation with Jimmy. 

Then, without much of a warning, Jimmy returned. He just appeared in your office doorway one day. 

“Do you mind having a look at something?” He asked you. You nodded and invited him inside. 

“How have you been?” You asked him. “Have you adjusted okay?” He rocked his head back and forth, and you knew what that meant; he hadn’t adjusted, at least not much. 

“I can’t really sleep,” he noted, scratching the back of his neck. “And I think I’ve been grinding my teeth, which sucks because I’ve really looked after my teeth. Two months in here, and I’m fucking them up.”

“Okay, let me have a look.” 

He nodded, taking a seat in the chair. You took a seat at his side. He was laying down, and you were hovering over him. Your eyes met his, and you thought, for a second, you might melt. He then popped open his mouth, and you remembered that you had to do your job. 

After poking around his mouth for a bit, he asked you, his voice muffled, “How have you been? I meant to ask earlier, but we jumped into this a little fast.” You pulled the tools out so you could have your convo. You couldn’t help but get butterflies as you geared up to talk to him. 

“Alright,” you answered, “I’ve finally gotten my own apartment. It’s in the eastern part of Chicago.” 

“Nice, I used to live in the Northeast…”

You begin swapping stories about the city, exchanging your favorite pizza joints and Greek restaurants. You quickly discover that he's Italian and a bit of a connoisseur of the local Italian restaurant scene. You tell him about the handful of good Iranian food spots in the area. 

“I have to admit,” he replied sheepishly, “I haven’t had it.”

“Most people haven’t,” you replied flatly. “But I can make some recommendations–for when you get out.”

“In one year and ten months,” he noted.

“One year and ten months,” you affirmed, “See, that’s already much shorter than when we met. And does that feel like it was so long ago?”

He raised one apprehensive eyebrow. “Kinda, yeah,” he replied. “Does it feel that way too?”

“I’m not counting the days,” you answered.

“Really?” He sounded surprised, which puzzled you. “You’re not counting the days until you can get a different job, maybe one without a barbed wire fence.” 

“I’ve thought about it, but I don’t know if and when that’ll happen. I’ve spent years of my life reaching towards some far off goal. It’d be nice if I could just stand still, for a bit, you know, just enjoy what I have now.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think this is the place to do it.” 

“It isn’t so bad on my end. Once I’m in here, and the doors are shot, and the CO goes outside the door, I feel like I’m in a regular dentistry. And once the patients come, and I start working, it all just feels like dentistry to me. Really, you don’t have to worry about me.” 

He looked at you, really looked at you. You had to know what he was thinking. What did he want to know about you? 

“I’ll try not to worry about you,” he sighed. 

“You worry about me?”

“Course,” he answered with a coy smile. “The loonies that walk through that door. I think about you all the time, asking myself how you’re managing in this place.” “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking the same thing.”

He gazes at you. You recognized that gaze. Men have looked at you before. In particular, a man you divorced. 

“So,” you start searching around for your tools, your eyes darting all around your tray. At last, you pick one up. “You wanted to know if you were grinding your teeth.”

“Oh, that,” he said flatly. You catch something in his voice, something off. 

“Yeah, you said you were grinding your teeth. Right?”

“Can I be honest with you?” He said in a soft voice. 

“Of course,” you answered, dropping your gaze. “What do you need?” 

“I’m not grinding my teeth. At least, I don’t think I am. I only said that because,” he paused and sighed. “Oh god this sounds so middle school.”

“What?” You said teasingly. Perhaps you were back in middle school. 

Smirking, he explained, “I lied about my teeth because I wanted to see you.”

You looked up at him with a wide, doe-eyed expression. You tried to shake it off, but you couldn’t stop staring. 

“You wanted to hang out with me?”

He smiled and nodded. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Well, I’m glad you stopped by because I have been wondering how you were holding up.”

“You know,” he added coyly, “What if I were to need some more dentistry done.”

“Like what? Your teeth are remarkably perfect.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, because it’s not real. It’s just an appointment slot that you’ll leave open for me.”

“How often?”

“Mmm, I don’t know. Once a week?” 

That made you smile a big goofy smile. “Once a week, you and I can just come in, chat for a bit, and I’ll send you on your way.” 

He nodded, “Yeah, just some chatting.”

But as soon as he said that, you knew it wasn’t true. You knew what you were slipping into, but you did nothing to get your footing. You just said, “I want to see you again, and again, and again, and again.”

And that cocky confidence punched its way through the softness, “Likewise.” 

And you melted right then and there, like puddy in the hot sun.

#taron egerton #taron egerton x reader #blackbird #jimmy keene #jimmy keene fic #taron egerton fic #in with the devil #fluff #romantic fluff

[smytherines]

Happy birthday!! Any headcanons about our favorite British spy, Owen Carvour?

Thank you!! And thanks for giving me a question about my beloved Owen Carvour 💜

I think my favorite Owen headcanon is that he wasn't brainwashed or tortured into working for Chimera, he just became ideologically aligned with them. That he already had doubts about being a spy for the British government before his fall because [long list of imperialist war crimes] but he was sticking around

1. To take care of Curt because his drinking had started to get bad towards the end of their time together

2. Because he wasn't going to be able to get out of MI6 without incurring the wrath of his government, possibly harming not only him but Curt as well- they do not like it when spies try to quit

I think it makes sense that when Curt gets him catastrophically injured and abandons him, Owen takes the opportunity to finally get out (after all, it's not like he has a lot of options). He has no problem helping Chimera get BVN'S surveillance technology, because he knows that the US & UK governments are already working on that as well, and he knows firsthand the kind of evil they are capable of. It's not that Chimera is good, it's that Owen knows how evil his own government is.

In the commentary track Corey says that DMA and Owen could almost be considered separate characters because Owen has gone through some shit. I don't think the fall made him evil, so much as he likely has PTSD and traumatic brain injury, and being DMA allows him some level of distance from himself (being physically and emotionally devastated by the fall & betrayal), and makes it easier for him to justify and even eventually enjoy inflicting pain on others, especially for what he sees as a noble ideological goal: making sure Chimera gets the tech before the US/UK. I think Owen realizes that men like him will never be safe if these governments control all the world's secrets. That he will only be safe if he makes himself as powerful as possible.

Like, he only got hurt because he went to rescue someone he loved, and that person was careless and negligent to the point of destroying Owen's life, so I think he wants to be powerful like "a god" so that nobody can possibly get that kind of leverage on him again.

I mean I think he also gets a certain amount of satisfaction from the thought of taking away the one thing Curt loves- spying. But I don't think that's his primary motivation. As DMA he seems genuinely surprised to see Curt, and in the phonecall to BVN he says that everything was going smoothly "and then he showed up."

I don't think he spent four years orchestrating a final showdown between himself and Curt. I think he learned that Curt was back on the job during the bomb heist scene, and saw an opportunity to get his revenge in person instead of from a distance. He had already been working with BVN for awhile by the time Curt gets back into the spy game, I just don't see how he could've orchestrated his return at that moment.

that's like five headcanons stuffed into a trenchcoat, so I guess I'll leave it there

#spies are forever #smy birthday fun #saf headcanon #tin can bros #agent curt mega #owen carvour #curtwen

[nichenarratives]

Hurricane Heller 10

A Niche Narratives Fanficiton

last | first | next

10. Unsanctioned Retribution (Part 1)

As it turns out, being a hatchetman has its perks. 

While his wage fluctuates depending on request frequency, the tuxedo tom finds himself with more surplus money than at the tracks, a boon he swiftly channels either into savings, or to add to his now respectable stock portfolio. Not a cent goes unutilised; Mordecai knows precisely what he has, where it's saved, its accessibility and most importantly, how close he is to that new house.

Exclusively paid in cash, his first new investment with those extra funds is a small safe that he spends a weekend hiding behind the baseboard in his room. After each assignment, no matter how tired or filthy he returns, he first extracts the little safe and stows half of his cash inside. Watching it build, even though years from his goals, makes each atrocious act committed feel less reprehensible.

Despite how many people he's manipulated into squealing, the now seventeen year old gets no joy from inflicting pain on his targets. He approaches each assignment with a cold and calculating efficiency, devouring any files provided to ensure he hits precisely the right spot to make them sing, all with as little physical torture as possible.

He appreciates those that surrender their information based entirely on fear. Mordecai hates the screams and body fluids that comes with torture; blood, sweat, tears and more are all as repulsive. This distaste for bloodshed offset by a ruthless capacity for violence when required, alongside his religious background, all comes together to create his 'family name', one Mordecai finds intensely distasteful.

Isaiah Fitzgerald, the 'Kosher Butcher'.

Christened into the depths of the family with a nickname, he also finds himself the owner of a golden tie pin, the required finishing touch on any assignment. Unlike those who would wear their pin proudly everywhere, the thing lives inside his coat pocket and is only affixed as he's transported towards an assignment, and certainly always left at home when he visits his family. It is his profession, but not his identity, even if it's consuming him from the inside out. 

Perhaps the worst part of the job is the waiting; unlike the tracks, there's no daily routine to lose himself in, no constant need for attention or focus. Targets are often abducted at an opportunistic moment of surveillance. There's no schedule or established timeline; Mordecai simply has to wait for the inevitable knock that often doesn't come for weeks at a time.

These interim times between jobs are difficult for Mordecai, especially. He's not used to having so much free energy and time to spend, often leaving him restless. Between looking after his plants, reading and making alterations to his stock portfolio, he has an inordinate amount of time to fill, of which his mind gladly fills with anxious paranoia; most, unlikely yet tragic incidents that could befall his family.

He has imagined and re-lived every possible catastrophe a dozen times over, and managing these thoughts fills much of the young man's time. It helps to stay busy; reading and writing, pacing his apartment length, learning to cook a variety of traditional dishes and almost obsessive cleaning habits keep it in check until a firm knock summons him back to work, where he can structure that excess energy into success instead.

While most of his peculiarities remain within his apartment, a few bleed into his life beyond those magnolia walls; the germaphobia his youngest sister's death triggered heightens to a point where he wears a thin pair of black leather gloves at work or in familiar environments, and he'll pace as he thinks or addresses victims, the incessant movement an unconscious coping mechanism in stressful situations.

Despite all this, he's haunted not by the screams for mercy of those beneath his corkscrews and pliers, but the echoing gunshot and the lifeless eyes of the one man he was forced to help kill in the back of that dingy launderette. Three years have passed since then yet still, he wakes bathed in a cold sweat and struggling to catch his breath, the image of those dead eyes staring back at him etched into his psyche.

Fiores may not be the reason he fell from grace, but he took a naive adolescent's innocence for his own amusement with no regard for the effects it could have on a developing mind, a realisation that breeds intense hatred for the underboss Mordecai once tried so hard to impress. He was treated like a toy, a commodity to be abused and broken, insignificant to the mobster with far bigger fish to feed.

Where he once had just accepted it as par for the course in his profession, Mordecai is no longer the naive boy he once was, nor is he forgiving. Finding himself beyond redemption and haunted by Fiores' decision, hatred now actively festers into a desire for revenge.

The scheme is far less intricate than the one against Jimbo, and he waits patiently for an assignment involving not just a small-time crook, but a rat suspected of feeding information back to the New York Police Department. In general, police informants are the easiest to manipulate and break; they're frightened men with loose lips and much to lose, and make the perfect scapegoat for planting fabricated information. 

Opportunity knocks six months later; there's a firm rapping on the door as he's watering his plants on Tuesday morning, three slow knocks then swift steps down the stairs. Mordecai lowers his watering can and peers out his window. The usual white estate idles outside, the driver returning to his cab with a heavy slam as the tuxedo watches.

An assignment. He empties the watering can, sets it to drain and retrieves his waistcoat and jacket. Time to work.

Once fully dressed, golden tie pin attached and white fedora placed between dark ears, Mordecai puts on his satchel and jogs down the stairs to the foyer. As he adjusts his cufflinks, he ignores his landlady, Mrs Kovitz, as she peers through the crack in her door. Within minutes he's settled in the back of the car as it pulls away, innocuous and inconspicuous in a city full of businessmen and bankers.

Removing his hat and placing it on the seat beside him, the monochrome tom lifts the usual malina file left on the back seat into his lap, cracks the cover and immediately realises this is the kind of schmuck he's been waiting for. Young and stupid with arrests for petty theft and arson while associated with the organisation, only to be let off with a warning and returned to work at his local stacked blackjack tables.

Ever since his return, two enforcers have been arrested for suspected murder charges and another died in a shootout in town resisting arrest. There's no evidence the kid is involved beyond his police warning, all circumstantial, but at barely eighteen years old and up to his ears in trouble with the mob, he's almost certainly turned on the organisation in the hopes of slipping through their fingers.

He smiles discretely to himself. The perfect opportunity.

Arriving at the old factory, Mordecai steps out of the car with his satchel over a shoulder and file held to his chest, gloves already pulled on. He's certain the place looks even more depressing every time he's brought here; towering metal cylinders reach for the clouds and metal sheet roofing rusts freely, leaving a thick smell of oxidized metal in the air that's still preferable to the thick ammonia he knows awaits inside. Today, it doesn't bother him though; he's got a scheme on the brain, a good distracting from sensory discomforts.

"There he is," Gabriel greets as the tuxedo steps from the darkness, smiling wide and friendly as always. It stands in sharp contrast to a slow drip-drip of water, rusting metal and whimpering of a restrained calico in his shadow. Mordecai returns his greeting with a customary scowl and sheds his satchel, to which Gabriel chuckles. "I always forget it's all business with you, Kosher. Carry on."

The white feline extracts a rolled leather bundle from under an arm and offers it to Mordecai, who takes the tools without question. It's become so routine, he turns his back to set up on a stolen gurney he's been using as a table for months as Gabriel continues. "I'm guessing you read the file? He's not an interesting one, but you still get to break a few fingers, or whatever gets your rocks off today. The boss doesn't mind."

At the mention of broken fingers, the calico openly begins to sob behind his gag. Knowing his expression can't be seen leaning over the gurney, Mordecai cringes at both the notion anyone could get off on causing bodily harm, and the high cries from his right. He rotates his ears back to block the latter out and once sure all his tools are present and clean, places his hat beside the unrolled leather sheath before he turns back to Gabriel. 

"I'll do what's necessary," he confirms blandly. The man can think whatever he wants; Mordecai isn't about to undermine something that makes him seem more unhinged; it'll keep actually dangerous men at a good distance and in a pinch, another's hesitation could be the difference between life and death. "Now, let me work."

"Of course," Gabriel smirks, retrieving his own hat from the floor and placing it directly back onto his head. Mordecai tries not to consider how many germs just transferred to the man's hair while carefully guarding his expression. Gabriel heads past him, pausing to place a hand on his shoulder and give it a friendly squeeze. "I'll leave you to do your thing. Take your time, though. We've got all night if needed."

A couple gentle pats and the cat heads out, singing softly as he heads down the corridor. Mordecai watches him go, eyes narrowed as he brushes the uncomfortable lingering touch off his shoulder, then turns back to the gurney. He doesn't look at the calico directly, running his fingers over the newly expanded selection of tools at his disposal, all chosen for a particular purpose and specific method of torture.

A pointed nail file is good for gouging, particularly at eyes or old wounds; a claw hammer makes breaking any bone he chooses easy; the butcher's knife is mostly for fear, though it cuts clean through muscle and sinew; scissors to poke, prod and slice, mostly to hold against the neck to intimidate; and pliers, for extracting teeth or claws from particularly difficult targets, or if the boss requested souvenirs.

His hand stops on the claw hammer, hesitating a moment as he weighs the different methods he could use on such an easy target, then extracts the implement and silently holds it up to the light. The calico whimpers and shrinks into his seat as its shadow casts across his face, ears flattened back to his skull and shivering with fear. A sideways glance has the kid squeeze his eyes closed and turn away, sobbing into his gag. 

Mordecai feels nothing but contempt for the excessive noise being produced. Dropping the hammer to his side, he steps around the boy and crouches in front of him, taking the kid's chin in his fingertips and forcing him to meet his stern gaze. Intense emeralds bore into wide ambers, unblinking, devoid of empathy, clinically detached. "You and I are going to have a discussion about what you've been telling the police now. If you wish your fingers to remain functioning, I suggest you tell me the truth. Understand?"

He does understand; he only has to break one finger to get the kid to crack. His pinkie, the least important one as far as dexterity goes. Not that he'll get to appreciate that kindness, the tuxedo thinks as he exits the factory, satchel back over a shoulder and file now updated with the provided information. He'll be decomposing in the bay before sunrise tomorrow.

An imminent demise is what Mordecai is counting on, so his own fabricated intelligence won't be questioned too deeply. As he steps into the setting sun, he hands the file to Gabriel and takes his money in exchange, tucking it into his jacket. He'll make sure that goes into the safe before continuing with his scheme tonight, in case the worst should occur. He would rather his family got the money than Fiores.

"Everything you requested, as always," he informs the white feline briskly, as he always would. He waits for Gabriel to nod in affirmation before he continues with the lie. "Though he also offered additional information regarding the habits of an old acquaintance, Mr Fiores. I intend to personally refute it before heading home."

The pure white feline hums curiously, pausing to inhale the last puff of his cigarette. "Probably just talking out his ass," he agrees as he exhales, dropping the cigarette butt to the concrete and extinguishing it with a heel. "I'll deal with him, you go talk to Fiores and set the record straight. I bet he'd like to see how much you've grown, eh?"

He's not concerned; that's a start. Mordecai huffs and turns to leave. "I'll make sure to keep you updated," he promises, then begins the half mile walk to the phone box, conscious of his pace and general demeanor. Now the difficult part.

#mordecai heller #lackadaisy #fanfiction #lackadaisy mordecai #lackadaisy cats #fanfic #hurricane heller #no beta we die like atlas may #tracy j butler #niche narratives #hurricane heller chapter 10

[andydrysdalerogers]

The Type You Save - O N E

Detective James Barnes hasn't seen the love of his life in three years. Since the night she was almost caught stealing a painting. He knows it was her and she disappeared leaving him confused and heart broken.

Alexandra Richards never expected to be pulled back into her old life two years after she left it. She had found love and a home and was happy. Until a note blackmailed her to take one last job. Three years later she walked into the last person she expected to see in San Francisco. Because he lived in New York right?

They always put family before everything. And he would do anything to get his family back. Because she's the type you save.

TW: mob, death, smut, rape intentions, angst, guns, family abandonment, dub-con, manipulation

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

“It’s interesting.”  

“What’s interesting?”  

“All of the evidence points to the mafia except that I’m sure the heist will be pulled off by a woman.”  

“What makes you say that?”  

James looks up at the ceiling while he continues to stroke Alexandra’s back enjoying her warm skin distracting himself.  Her head was on his chest, he could feel her star pendant on pressed against him skin.  

“James? You gonna answer or keep giving me lightening touches?” 

“Lightening touches?” 

“You keep running your fingers over my back and it always send little bolts of energy through my body.”  Alex smiled up at him. “It’s distracting to me and to you.”  

“Sorry love.  You just feel so soft.”  James kissed her head.  “The thief will probably be a woman.  The space, the timing, I would use a woman.  They can get into tighter places.”  

“Oh.  That makes sense.   So, has she pulled it off yet?”  Alex started to kiss on his bare chest.  

“Alex,” he warns.  He feels her smiling against his skin. “She hasn’t.  We have surveillance on the painting.  I think it would be suicidal to go in now. No clean entry and exit.”  

“Hmmm.”  Alex runs her fingers over his abs.  James takes in a breath. “So, when do you think?” 

“Next day or so.  I’ll be ready.”  He closes his eyes.  “Alexandra, what are you doing?” 

“Nothing babe.  Just enjoying you.”  

“I understand the lightening thing now.”  He flipped her so he was on top now. She giggled at him.  “And what are you laughing about?” 

“Got you right where I wanted you.”   

“Really? Who am I to disappoint you?” He leaned down for a searing kiss. Thankful they were still naked from their previous session of lovemaking, he reached down to line himself up with her and pushed in.  

She moaned from his length in her, the stretch unbelievable. “Jamie,” she whispered.  

“Do you know how much I love it when you call me Jamie?” he said with slow thrust.  

“Probably as much as when you call me Allie.  Which you hardly ever do.” She took each thrust and matched, loving to hear him groan.  

“Oh Allie,” he moaned and sped up his motions.  “I love you so much.”  

“I love you, Jamie.” She nibbled on his neck, and he grunted.  

“Cum for me Allie.  Please baby.”  He reached down to stoke her clit, drawing out the pretty moans he loves.  

“Jamie, oh god,” she squealed as she released over him.  He thrusted a couple more times and then filled her up.  

“Fuck Allie.”  He slowed and pressed his forehead on hers.  “My little doll.  I love you.”  

“I love you.”  

They fell asleep in each other’s arms.  Perfection.  

*~* 

Steve walked over to James’ desk in the precinct.  “So do we have a lead on who it could be?” 

“Possibly. I think it’s someone they’ve used before, but this thief has been inactive for a few years. Her MO hasn’t been seen in New York.  Last time was in Pittsburgh. Before that Boston.” 

“No name?” 

“Just an alias.  And it’s funny.”  

Buck, how is it funny? 

“It’s ‘The Cat.’ CatWoman.” He chuckled. “Like from the comics.”   

Steve laughed as well. “That is funny. Did Pittsburgh or Boston have any photos?”  

“Just some grainy surveillance photos.” He stood up and looked out the window.  “Shit, when did I become night?”  

“About an hour ago.”  Steve looked at his watch.  It’s almost 8.  

“Shit. I was supposed to meet up with Alex for dinner.  She is going to kill me.”  

“Give me five Bucky. Then I’ll lights and sirens you home.” He put a file on his desk.  “Boston sent a list.”  

James reviewed the list and two names stood out.  

Christian Johnathon Grey 

Alexandra Nicole Richards.   

“Bucky is that…” 

“Oh fuck.” James grabbed his gun and badge.  “We got to find her now!” 

*~* 

A nightmare.  His worst nightmare comes to life.  James raced through the empty offices, gun in hand. All of the investigating, all the time effort and resources and it was 30 minutes ago he figured out the man behind the heist. And the woman he was sending in. He knew she had a past.  She never talked about it, just small comments here or there.  He always made a note to ask but he never did.  God he wish he had. Maybe it wouldn’t have blind sided him.  He assumed it was bad.  But not this.  What did Grey have on her to do this?  “Steve, I’m approaching the office.” 

Copy, still have surveillance and they aren’t picking up anything.   

Please God, don’t let her be in there.  James slowed as he approached the door.  

“Bucky, how did she get involved? How do you know it will be here?” 

“I just know.  We’ll talk about this later.  Breaching the door.”  James opened the door and looked.  He didn’t see anything and turned to walk back out when he saw a figure in the doorway.  Dressed in a skintight black suit, googles perched on top of her dark hair, a mask covering her face. She looked like a cat, causing him to snort.  But he knew those eyes.  And the necklace around her neck, peaking from under her suit.  

He turned off his comms. “Alex.   Allie, please don’t do this.”  

She tilted her head and waved the case in her hand. She wore gloves and for a moment, James was proud of his girl for least trying not to get caught.  She moved around him, spinning him until her back was now to the window.   That’s when he noticed it was open window.  

“Alexandra, I can still help.  We can fix this. We can go home.  Please baby, don’t do this.”  James lowered his weapon. 

His cat burglar tapped the watch on her wrist.  She blew him a kiss as a tear fell. James’s phone beep and he looked down for one second.  One second for her to make it to the windows and jump.  

“No! Alex no!”  He watched as she extended her arms and the squirrel suit picked her up and she floated away.  He bowed his head.  He checked his phone. 

A: I’m sorry Jamie, I have to leave town for a little bit. I did this for family. Family over everything, remember that.   I’ll call when I’m safe.  I love you and I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.   Allie. 

Steve rushed in.   “Alex?” 

James turned on his comms. “It wasn’t her.” James looked up at him.  “It wasn’t her because she would have listened to me.”  He looked at the frame of the missing painting.  “Check it for prints.  I need some air.”  He pulled the comms from his ear.  

Steve followed him out as the CSI team came in.  When they got into the stairwell, Steve stopped James.  “Bucky?” 

“I didn’t want it to get out that it was her.  It was Alex.”  He handed off the phone.  “Grey blackmailed her.  He had to have.   And I’m not stopping until we figure out what happened.”   He took off his watch, a gift from her and looked at the inscription. Family over everything. He looked at Steve.  “I can do this alone if I have to.”  

“End of the line Buck.  Always.  Let’s go get that son of a bitch.” 

*~* Three years later *~* 

She smiled at him when she gave him the watch.  The scene morphed and she was in her catsuit, watching the tear fall.  She jumped and she was gone.  

He woke up with a start, sweat on his forehead.  A nightmare. James sat up and looked around.  His room still felt unfamiliar, cold.  Alex had left their apartment warm, her style a comfort.   But he was hardly there the last year or so.  The memories were just too much. Perhaps the threat he and Steve had received from the mob was a good thing.  

Except now he was farther away from mob boss Christian Grey. His only link to finding Alex.  Three years since she literally jumped out of his life.  No leads on her whereabouts. Just a rumor that she was out west.  But he and Steve relented, hitting place after place, looking for anything.  Eventually, they took down 80 percent of Grey’s businesses. If he couldn’t find her, he would take down the man that split his family apart.  

Grey issued a hit on them.  $2 million for each.  The police commissioner wouldn’t allow them to sacrifice themselves, so he got them jobs in San Francisco.  “Barnes, Rogers, you are the best, but this would be a fucking shit storm if Grey is able to take you out.  I’m sorry but you’re out of the NYPD.”  

“Sir, please don’t so this.” James pleaded with the commissioner.  “He’s the only link to her.”  

“Barnes, I know it’s been hard without Alex, but this is for the best.  She would kill me if I let you die.” He placed his hand on his shoulder as James bowed his head, hands on hip.  “That’s why I’m sending you to the west coast.  Your new commissioner, Stark, owed me a favor. I’m sorry.”   

That was two weeks ago. Steve and James found a big apartment to rent, they met with their new division and were adapting to being inspectors of the San Francisco Police Department. He looked at the clock.   Six AM.  He sighed and got up.  Might as well go for a run and grab coffees. He got up, got into his sweats and stretched.  He looked at the picture of Alex and kissed it, tradition before he left his home.  “I love you Alex,” he whispered.   He grabbed his keys, wallet and phone and was out.  

He put the map on his phone, still getting a bit lost in the neighborhood.  It was still a bit misty, the fog not having rolled all the way back out to the water.  So different from New York.  He ran until he hit five miles and close by his apartment.  He stopped at the corner coffee shop and ordered coffees and Danishes for him and Steve.  He glanced around the shop out of instinct.  

*~* 

Alex took the morning since she was by herself.  A rarity nowadays.  She went down to her favorite shop and took a table in the back.  The shop looked over the city, the bridge in the background.  Three years in the city but it was quiet. She hadn’t seen anyone from her past, though they tried.  Nate had tried reaching her on her secure email.  Walker had sent a threat.  But she managed to avoid Grey’s best men.  She pulled up her tablet to check on James.  

She had an alert set for him and Steve.  She read about all of his busts, trying to bring Christian down.  She closed her eyes, remembering that last night.  How broken he looked when he realized she would be the one to steal the painting.  She thought she had walked away from that life. She had found her family in James with Steve acting like her big brother. Family over everything, she reminded herself.  She did what she had to do to protect them.   

Returning to her tablet, she noticed that for the last couple of weeks, their names were not in the news.  This concerned her.  She hacked into the NYPD police database, and she saw that their named were no longer listed as officers.  She sat back, nerves taking over.  She searched the obituaries, but James and Steve were not there either.  She made a call to her best friend.  

“Nat?” 

“Ale, its early,” she heard the grumble of Natasha Romanoff, hacker Extraordinaire.  

“I know Nat I’m sorry.  I’m just freaking out right now.”  

“What’s going on babe?” 

“James and Steve haven’t been in the news for a few weeks, and I can’t find them anywhere.”  

“Ok hang on.”  She heard Nat get up and start tapping.  “Ok, I went into the personnel database.  NYPD should really work on securing that better.”  

“Nat focus please.”   

“Sorry, sorry.  Looks like there was a hit put on them from Grey.  $ 2 Million.  Jeez, that’s steep.”  

“I was expecting that.” Alex shook her head, fear starting to run through her body.  “Did they do something?” 

“Yeah, they were terminated from the force and transferred to another department.  Says files sealed.”  

“Can you get around?” 

“No, this went into the commissioner’s private server and at least that is secure.”  

“So, they’re alive?” 

“Yeah, just transferred.”  

“It’s ok.  At least they are out of New York.” Alex breathed a sigh of relief.  “Thanks Nat.”  

“No problem, babe.  Hey are you out?  Where is…” 

“Wanda,” she simply said.  

“Gotcha.  Ok.  Well relax.   I’m sure they will pop up again in the news. Heroes tend to do that.”  

“I’m sure.” Alex hung up and sipped her coffee, starting out the window lost in thought.  

*~* 

James leaned against the counter, enjoying the view.  The San Francisco Bridge was still something he was a tourist about.  He wanted to visit it, do the tour and stuff.  He took another glance around, habit as an officer making him check his surroundings.  He noted the older couple, seated together on the same side, holding hands.   His heart ached at the sight.  He noted a young woman with long dark hair.  She reminded him of Alex, her hair longer than Alex though.  A father and son chatting about school.  His name was called for his ordered.  

He got up and went to the register to pay.  He looked again at the young woman and her head turned slightly. Her profile was familiar, her long lashes framing her eyes.  He sucked in a breath.  “Alex,” he muttered.  He went to approach her.  “Excuse me?” 

Alex looked up to see a face she wasn’t expecting.  The bangs on her face changing her look but the colored contacts she wore also helped, leaving her eyes currently green.  “Yes, can I help you?” 

“Sorry, you looked like someone… I’m sorry,” James apologized.  He turned away but glimpsed a necklace.  

“It’s alright,” she said.  She got up quickly.  

“Wait,” he grabbed her arm and studied her.  “What’s your name?” 

“Nicola. Can you please let me go?”  She twisted, allowing the pendant of the necklace to show.  She got her arm free, and she exited the shop.  

James froze. The pendant, a star in rubies.  The exact necklace he had gifted her on her last birthday together.  “I’ll be back for this,” he told the waitress.  “Excuse me.”  He ran out of the shop. 

Alex walked quickly, trying to remember to breath.  He isn’t supposed to be here.  He’s supposed to be in New York.   Except he had a hit on him, and he was moved. She felt a hand on her arm, and she was pulled behind the building.  “What the fuck Alexandra?” 

NEXT

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

@amiquette

#andy's shenanigans #andy's hea #bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #the type you save #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fandom #sebastian stan fanfiction #bucky x ofc #Steve rogers #detective AU

[sheetsonfire]

Dead and Waiting | Part 7

Fandom: Chicago PD

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Genre: Drama, angst, romance, thriller

Warnings: smut, violence, harassment, swearing, gun mentions, fire, injuries, sickness

Word Count: 3691

Requested By Anon: hi! can i request a jay halstead x reader where you work in intelligence with him and for some reason (maybe undercover work) you have to fake your death and no one knows, not even jay… but you end up returning once it’s safe again and he’s mad but also relieved?

thanks and totally understand if you pass over this request &lt;3

This is Part 7, click for Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 8, Part 9 (FINAL PART), EPILOGUE |

A/N: TRT = Tactical Response Team / TR Officer = Tactical Response Officer

-

It had been a week since your funeral, and a week since Jay was allowed to return to active duty. Following the funeral, the wake, and Jay’s impromptu surveillance on that apartment he had found, Hank had agreed to help Will keep an eye on his brother, finally letting the doctor get back to work. Though Will never begrudged caring for Jay and helping him with everything, Will found himself needing the distraction and the return to normalcy too. There was a heavy atmosphere over a lot of people's heads.

Hank had tried his resolute best to keep Jay in the bullpen and ease him into things, but anybody who knew anything about Jay Halstead would understand what a task that was. Thankfully for the sergeant, the special task force - the one he had put together whilst Intelligence were on compassionate leave - had done a respectable job at staying hot on Jeremy Sr’s tail. This meant that in the week of Jay’s return, Intelligence's new case was the one case Jay had his mind on. They were drawing ever closer to capturing and arresting the mastermind behind it all, the perpetrator of your ‘death’.

As per their agreement, Jay had been partnered with Hank, and they found themselves in the older man’s SUV. Jay was sitting shotgun with his fingers tapping restlessly on the door handle, his eyes fixated on the dark shadows of movement in the upstairs window of the building, their target was at home. Multiple sources from the preliminary surveillance had confirmed the sighting of a second figure, shorter than Jeremy and possibly female. The working theory was that Jeremy had Caitlin Birch under his control and in captivity.

With a pin-drop silence they were listening to every word Burden Sr said to an associate on the other end of the phone, hearing how about “that mess from a few weeks ago has been all cleared up, everything is ready to proceed, I have to take care of one more inconvenience first”.

The point had been to try and get further incriminating evidence on audio surveillance before executing the warrant they already had. Right now, hearing him talk about your life as a mess that was cleared, hearing him talk about the illicit activity he had planned to carry out further, and hearing him talk about potentially getting rid of the suspected hostage he had inside… well, it spoke for itself. They were getting sentence after sentence of pure gold.

It did nothing for Jay’s mood, however, with each passing minute he felt just about ready to crawl out of his skin and leap from the car to the top floor of the building. He was itching to put an end to that foul being that still walked the earth whilst you didn’t.

Their current location was a different spot to the one Jay had been staking out the nights before. And what Jay hadn’t known whilst he was dealing with your funeral was that Hank had been receiving constant updates from the TRT on the case. Your case.

Hank watches through his night vision binoculars as the TRT silently, in the dark of the blacked-out street, made its way towards the apartment building. It was an apartment in a well-to-do area, the penthouse no less. But rather foolishly Burden Sr hadn’t changed cars when he changed apartments, a cocksure move that had backfired. The team could only surmise that he thought law enforcement would have gone out of the city to look for him, rather than stay focused inwards.

The vehicle they had confirmed as belonging to Burden Sr sat parked on the street, it was sleek and new, just the same that had been coming and going from the apartment before this one. Now, Adam and Kim were locking the wheels with clamps, moving with the TRT to pry open the door, silence the alarm almost immediately and open it up to begin evidence seizure. 

Looking at the front door to the apartment building, Hank watches another officer pry open the card-only access, slicing away the failsafe bolt with a laser cutter. Kevin goes in with them as they ascend the flights of stairs to the penthouse, he can feel Jay’s body thrumming with energy. The energy that is being held back by the invisible leash Hank put on him; they wait in anticipation as they receive hushed updates from the team’s leader on the comms.

“Sergeant Voight, we’ve got some movement going down the back stairwell on the West, an individual matching the suspect's height and clothing is attempting to flee via the emergency exits, no sign of the second individual. We are in pursuit, officers are waiting at the bottom.”

Hank leans forward in his seat, eyes tracking each and every movement outside the building, commanding into the radio, “Stay on him, do not let this son of a bitch get away!” 

Jay eyes Hank, nostrils flaring, his thoughts rapid-firing across his mind. “Sarge, it’s not right. It’s too obvious that he’s making another play. Why would he leave without a hostage? We didn’t hear screams, gunfire, anything…no reason to think she’s not still alive. He's got someone else decoying, I know it.” 

Before Hank can even query what Jay’s theory was, your fiancé is reaching for the door handle and climbing out of the SUV. 

“This is Detective Halstead with Intelligence, be advised of a possible redirect from the suspect. Intelligence officers are moving towards the East exit, TR officers hold your position on the West.”

“Jay!” Hank hisses, walking at speed as he follows him in the direction of Adam and Hailey whom Jay is already silently flanking down and motioning for them to follow, Kim moving off to assist Kevin. “We talked about this!” Hank tries to grab Jay’s shoulder, fearing what would happen if he didn’t keep stride with Jay.

“Sarge, I know this asshole. He wouldn’t do something stupid like use the exits nearest to his apartment, and he wouldn’t leave his leverage behind. He’s gonna have found a way to loop back through the apartments and come out on the East, somebody is obviously helping him. Now you can either come, or go back to the SUV, but I’m not sitting there and watching this thing fail.”

Hank relinquishes his grip on Jay but steps in stride with him, Adam and Hailey silently eyeing each other as they walk either side of the pair. Ready to intercept or help if need be.

Kevin's voice comes in over the radio, “Sarge, we have someone in custody, but it’s not Burden. I repeat it is not Burden.” 

Jay eyes Hank for a split second before taking off towards the East exit, ignoring the calls of his name as Hank, Hailey and Adam followed.

With thundering footfalls of boots on pavement, Jay comes to a skittering halt when he spots someone he recognises to be Caitlin Birch, being held by her hair, as she’s dragged towards another vehicle.

It made sense now, under the reactivated streetlight Jay could see Caitlin was covered in bruises and marks, both old and new. Burden would have undoubtedly seen Caitlin as a betrayer to his whole empire and, instead of simply killing her off, he had brought her along for the consequences of everything blowing up in his face. She was wide-eyed and terrified, legs Bambi-like as she tried to find some sort of footing with the motion of being dragged. 

Burden’s free hand produces a gun to her head and Jay steps forward, about to draw his gun but hesitation wheedles its way in. Caitlin was in danger, and he couldn’t afford to provoke the man holding her. He knew that, but he also knew that you’d want him to do everything he could to protect Caitlin. So he was left with no option but to try and talk down the man that had ruined everything, no matter how much the anger bit into his nerves.

“Jeremy, you know this won’t end the way you’ve planned, release her and we can work something out.”

Burden snarls, pressing the gun harder against Caitlin’s temple. “This whore betrayed my son, I had to kill him for his stupidity, and now I’ll have to kill her. Just like I had to kill your detective. She was yours wasn’t she?”

It feels like the air around him gets sucked away, jaw clenched as he stares out the man before him.

"Oh yes, we know all about your lying little bitch, in cahoots with this one." Burden yanks at Caitlin's hair again, and a small whimper escapes her as she rolls her already damaged ankle whilst trying to squirm away.

Jay’s heart and blood pressure leap, body vibrating with pain and rage, he so desperately wants to produce his weapon and fire without contemplation. 

Burden is unphased by the threat around him, choosing to taunt Jay further,

"The CPD remains with its gaps in the fortress, Detective. It doesn't take too much to find things out. Such a shame you won't get that lovely wedding now..."

Jay darts forward before skidding to a halt again as Burden cocks the gun under Caitlin's jaw, "What the fuck did you just say? Huh?!" Jay is so close to snapping, itching to run forward and deal with the fallout. A hand clasps his shoulder.

“Jay, don’t.” Hank’s voice is stern, and level, he trusts Jay's control implicitly but he knows everyone has a limit. Knows how quickly this could all get away from them. The last thing everybody needed now was an investigation from Internal Affairs on why Jay was allowed to command the situation and get a civilian killed.

Jay doesn’t acknowledge Hank but doesn’t advance, nor does he point his gun either. He bites back a comment about Hank choosing his moment to show restraint, he knows better than to do that, even in this moment of unfiltered distress.

Hailey and Adam are communicating with the rest of the officers, Kevin had gone to make his way through the building and come out behind Burden, and Kim coming round the opposite side of the block. 

Hank steps forward, taking his hand off Jay but keeping close.

“Jeremy, I’m Sergeant Hank Voight. It’s over, Jeremy. We can make things happen for you, but you have to let Caitlin leave alive.”

“Make things happen? I am not stupid, Sergeant. You’ll make nothing happen, and I am better off making arrangements myself. Now I’m taking this rat with me and we’re leaving. Attempt to track me and I’ll blow her brains out.” 

There’s a beat of silence and Hank turns to Jay, talking quietly.

“Find a TRT sniper, ask for his weapon, go to the roof.” It feels like an order but it also feels like Hank giving Jay a chance for retribution. Jay hesitates, he doesn’t like the feeling of Hank basically giving him permission to murder your killer. It’s a little too ‘eye for an eye’, he really didn’t want to play that way. 

“Jay, he’s going to kill this girl if we try something on the ground, whether it’s you or someone else, we do need a sniper. So you can go, nobody is going to see it any other way than you protecting this girl, they’ve heard his demands.”

He reaches out, squeezing Jay’s shoulder and hesitation still lingers across your fiancé's eyes. No matter the job it would always affect him, in some way, when taking somebody’s life. Jay glances at Jeremy who remains with an iron grip on Caitlin, he had no intention of being dissuaded from the path he was taking and Jay’s duty was to protect the woman in his hold. 

Jay exhales, nodding curtly at Voight as he disappears toward the tactical vans, disappearing behind a row of trees out of Burden’s eye line. 

-

[Elsewhere]

You were doing better this week, it has been nearly two weeks since everything had been totally snatched out of your control. Your pneumonia was starting to ease off, and the shots and the IV antibiotic had seen to your progressing recovery. Gradually you had been able to stay awake for longer periods, eat more substantial food, and even some mobility in your arm was coming back.

Truth be told, the more you physically improved it felt like a greater battle to stay together mentally. Being without your life, your fiancé, your friends and colleagues alike, your need for a routine and a sense of purpose was starting to scrape at the inside of your head. It felt like your whole reality just got further away with each passing moment, not ever knowing when or if it would come to an end. You only hoped that Burden bastard was stopped sooner than later.

In the meantime you’d been trying to keep occupied in recuperation, daytime TV gave you terminal boredom and a sense of detachment, so you opted to ask for a radio where you could listen to classical music that filled the daily silence. You weren’t allowed a phone or a computer, not even your suggestion that they put blocks on the computer or phone made them consider it. They didn’t trust that you wouldn’t attempt to find a workaround and make contact with someone at the district. 

You had, however, been allowed a notebook. A notebook that helped write endless ages of case notes, things that you remembered from day one of being undercover until now. ATF had taken your statement once you were well enough after waking up in the hospital, but these were notes you were going to keep for Intelligence and for when you could get home. Amongst the notes were also letters, letters to friends, to family, to Kim, to Hailey, to Adam, to Kevin, to Jay… You were on Jay’s right now, trying to feel a closeness to him by writing for him.

[“I am sure you are going out of your mind right now, and I know I’d be the same if the roles were reversed. Please don’t give the others too much of a hard time, I know they’d do anything for me too, so be patient with them. I am holding on for the day I can tell you I’m still here, Jay, I can’t wait to hold you and reassure you that everything isn’t a nightmare. Because let’s be honest, it feels like a nightmare right now doesn’t it? 

I am being treated okay here I guess, but I can’t help feeling they’re keeping so much from me, there’s a coldness here. It’s almost like a mistrust, a sense that I’m somehow the enemy… I don’t know, I find myself wishing more and more that Hank would show up and mess their shit up. Isn’t that funny? The thing we spend our time stopping him from doing too extremely. I long for the day you come through that door, Jay, to be able to hold you again is all I want. I-”]

Your focused scrawling is disturbed by the door to your room opening, your head snaps up and you’re met with the faces of Stensing and Huffman, they have an expression on their faces you hadn’t been privy to before now. You recognise it as relief.

The two agents step into the room and you put your pen and paper to the side, eyebrow raised in curiosity,

“Can I help you, fellas?”

They exchange a glance.

“He’s dead, detective. They killed Jeremy Burden. You will be free to return to Chicago and to your unit in the morning.”

…

[Back in Chicago] 

Now that Jay had disappeared off into the treeline along the street, Jeremy shifts uncomfortably whispering something into Caitlin’s ear. He eyes Hank with a scowl, flitting his gaze back and forth between Adam and Hailey who remain flanking Hank. 

“What’s the matter, did I say something I shouldn’t have?” He snarls, kicking Caitlin to her knees from behind her legs. 

Hank holds out his hands in placation, “Jeremy, Jeremy listen to me, I’ve sent him away, it’s just you and me now, we can have this conversation respectfully…Just don’t hurt the girl anymore.” 

“I don’t think I quite believe you, Sergeant. In fact, I think your little detective friend hasn’t wandered off to sulk at all, so I’m going to teach you all a lesson. FIVE-... FOUR… THREE…I will pull this trigger if you don’t call off your little plan, RIGHT NOW.” 

Caitlin is sobbing uncontrollably, no matter how much her kidnapper tells her to be quiet, eyes squeezed shut as she waits for the inevitable. Hank doesn’t move, he doesn’t reach for his radio to tell Jay to pull back. He knows that Jeremy knows that he can’t kill the only thing stopping the officers on the ground from firing their weapons. 

“TWO!” Burden roars, mumbling angrily and incoherently to Caitlin. 

And then... A gunshot. 

Silence. 

The world is still for a split second before Hank, Hailey and Adam take off running toward Caitlin and Jeremy Burden’s now very still body. 

“Caitlin, Caitlin are you hit, are you hurt?” Adam bends down to pry her from underneath Burden’s body. 

“No-no… I wasn’t hit, oh my god, oh my god…” She begins sobbing again and Adam helps her to her feet, carefully supporting her weak body as Hailey comes round her other side to help.

Between gasping breaths, Caitlin asks with trembling words, “Is it- is it over?” Hailey squeezes her gently, speaking softly, 

“It’s over, Caitlin, nobody’s going to hurt you anymore.” Caitlin nods, still unable to control her shocked whimpered sobs as she limps towards an ambulance. Hailey and Adam exchange a glance as they spot Jay almost robotically reappearing from the apartment building, handing the rifle back to the officer he’d taken it from and trudging back towards Hank's car. 

Hank bends down beside Jeremy Burden’s body, making sure there was in fact no pulse before calling over officers to roll the crime lab. He stands once more, motioning over Kim and Kevin who were now breaking off from their group of TR officers. 

“I want you two to run point here, I’m going to take care of Halstead. Meet us back at the district.”

“Copy you, Sarge.” Kevin nods, 

“Yes, Sarge.” Kim gives a sympathetic smile, patting his shoulder as she follows Kevin towards the staging area to speak to other officers.

The senior officer scans the crowd of law enforcement looking for Jay, spotting him crouched by the SUV. With a look to Adam and Hailey who are standing by Caitlin’s ambulance, Hank nods and motions with his palm, silently requesting that they stay with her. He receives another two nods as he makes his way to Jay.

As he gets closer he can hear Jay trying to take calming breaths, he keeps his approach careful and relatively slow, “Jay?” He queries softly. Jay lifts his head with tired and red eyes, hastily swiping at his tears he stands back up. 

“Job's done, Sarge. Where do you want me?” He sniffs, mouth set into a thin line, the walls to his emotions going back up with speed.

“I want you to come back to the district with me, bro. We’re going to debrief, and you’re gonna get you the time you need.”

“Sarge, that’s not necessary, I-”

“Jay, this isn’t a negotiation. We’re going back to the 21st. We are only just beginning to give ATF hell for everything that’s happened, I need you to have your head on straight.”

Jay is quiet for a moment, considering Hank’s words before nodding curtly, his eyes full of fire once again as he climbs into the passenger seat.

En route to the district, it’s quiet, Jay toys with the rings around his neck, sighing as he closes his eyes, trying to imagine your voice or your touch, wishing that him ridding the world of Jeremy Burden made it all hurt any less. It didn’t. 

Hank’s turning into the street that takes them to the 21st when the caller ID on his car springs to life. The name “Huffman ATF” flashes and Hank answers, eyeing Jay for a second. The detective sits up straighter in his seat, listening intently, anger already filling his veins before he’s heard what the agent has to say. 

“Voight.”

“Sergeant Voight, this agent Huffman. I’ve heard from your higher-ups that you managed to seize and kill Jeremy Burden today?”

“The killing wasn’t planned, agent, but yes. We got the job done, no thanks to you. Did you even know he still had Caitlin Birch?”

“Well, we had our assumptions, but our primary focus was on securing the weapons and the individual responsible.”  

Jay and Hank scoff at the same time at Huffman’s callous statement, not at all surprised given their attitude throughout. 

Huffman continues, “I’m sure we’ll have some very productive conversations and liaisons now that you have helped us so wonderfully with the seizure of Burden’s property. We have reason to believe there are other locations that may provide us with other suspects, targets and all relevant information.”

“We will not be working with you until we’ve filed a formal complaint, agent. Is there anything else you want before I get back to actually doing my job?”

The agent sighs at the other end of the line, 

“I wish you played more nicely, Sergeant. I really do… Yes, there is something else. It’s a sensitive topic, however, can we meet in person?” 

“We can meet, but I need to know what it’s about.” Hank’s tone is terse, eyeing Jay who’s probably two seconds away from inserting himself into the conversation with a stream of questions and grievances alike.

“I’d rather discuss it in person, I will send you the address.” 

“Listen, Huffman, I am trying to play nice here. I think I deserve to know what I’m actually coming to see you for.”

There’s hesitation, but Huffman relents. Giving the simple words, “It’s about your detective, Y/N Y/L/N… See you soon, Sergeant.”

And with that, the car’s speaker goes quiet, the line dead.

-

End of Part 7

tags: @briannareneea985 - @mrspeacem1nusone - @elius-learns-to-write - @burgstead - @samanthavitale - @let-me-luve-you

#jay halstead x reader #jay halstead #one chicago #chicago pd #dead and waiting

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Serializing the first chapter of Red Team Blues

My next novel is Red Team Blues, which comes out on Apr 25; it’s easily the most “commercial” book I’ve ever written — a “grabby thriller” (to quote my publisher), or, as Molly “Web3 Is Going Just Great” White put it, “don’t start reading it at bedtime if you have to be awake for something the next morning.”

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/17/have-you-tried-not-spying/#unsalted-hash

Red Team Blues is the story of Martin Hench, a 67 year old, near-retirement forensic accountant who specializes in unwinding Silicon Valley finance scams, who stumbles into the most dangerous job of his life. He gets embroiled in cryptocurrency heist that exposes the finance rot at the heart of tech and the way that it curdled the dream of technology as a force for connection and good.

I’ll be doing a giant tour (San Diego, LA, Burbank, Berkeley, San Francisco, PDX, Mountain View, Vancouver, Calgary, Gaithursburg, DC, Toronto, London, Hay, Oxford, Manchester, Nottingham, Berlin); you can follow the upcoming dates in each day’s edition of my Pluralistic newsletter; here’s today’s:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/17/have-you-tried-not-spying/#bragsheet

And to whet your appetite, I’m going to spend the next week or so syndicating the first chapter of Red Team Blues, starting today. In this installment, we meet Martin Hench and the Unsalted Hash, his “foolish and ungainly” tour bus, just as he’s being roped in for the job of his career.

I hope you’ll consider pre-ordering the book! And if you read the book, I hope you’ll post a review or recommendation to your social media or blog. There is literally no greater favor you can do for a writer than to tell the people who trust your judgment about a book you enjoyed. It’s gift more precious than gold.

Here’s where US readers can pre-order the book:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

Here’s pre-orders for Canadians:

https://services.raincoast.com/scripts/b2b.wsc/featured?hh_isbn=9781250865847&ht_orig_from=raincoast

And for readers in the UK and the rest of the Commonwealth:

https://uk.bookshop.org/p/books/red-team-blues-cory-doctorow/7225998?ean=9781804547755

And now, here’s today’s serial installment:

One evening, I got a wild hair and drove all night from San Diego to Menlo Park. Why Menlo Park? It had both a triple-­Michelin-­star place and a dear old friend both within spitting distance of the Walmart parking lot, where I could park the Unsalted Hash, leaving me free to drink as much as I cared to and still be able to walk home and crawl into bed.

I’d done a job that turned out better than I’d expected — ­well enough that I was set for the year if I lived carefully. I didn’t want to live carefully. The age for that was long past. I wanted to live it up. There’d be more work. I wanted to celebrate.

Truth be told, I also didn’t want to contemplate the possibility that, at the age of sixty-­seven, the new work might stop coming in. Silicon Valley hates old people, but that was okay, because I hated Silicon Valley. Professionally, that is.

Getting close to Bakersfield, I pulled the Unsalted Hash into a rest stop to stretch my legs and check my phone. After a putter around the picnic tables and vending machine, I walked the perimeter of my foolish and ungainly and luxurious tour bus, checking the tires and making sure the cargo compartments were dogged and locked. I climbed back in, checked my sludge levels and decided they were low enough that I could use my own toilet, then, finally, having forced myself to wait, sat on one of the buttery leather chairs and checked my messages.

That’s how I learned that Danny Lazer was looking for me. He was working the usual channels — ­DMs from people who I tended to check in with when I was looking for work — ­and it put a shine on my evening, because sixty-­seven or no, there was always work for someone with my skill set. Danny Lazer had a problem with his Trustlesscoin keys, which relied on the best protected cryptographic secrets in the world (nominally). So I messaged him. One rest stop later, just past Gilroy, I got his reply. He was eager to see me. Would I call on him at his home in Palo Alto?

My pathetic little ego swelled up at his eagerness. I told him I had a big dinner planned the next night, but I’d see him the morning after. Truth be told, putting off a man as important as Danny Lazer, even for twenty-­four hours, made me feel more important still. I could tell from his reply that the delay chafed at him. I felt petty, but not so much so that I canceled my dinner. My dear old friend was a lively sort, and it was possible we’d walk from the restaurant to her place for an hour or three before I returned to the Walmart parking lot.

Dinner didn’t disappoint, and neither did the fun and games afterward. It was a very nice capstone to a very successful job, and a very good prelude to another job for one of the nicest rich men (or richest nice men) in Silicon Valley.

Danny was old Silicon Valley, a guy who started his own UUCP host so he could help distribute the alt hierarchy and once helped Tim May bring a load of unlicensed firearms across state lines from a Nevada gun show. He’d lived like a monk for decades, writing cryptographic code and fighting with the NSA over it, and had mortgaged his parents’ house back east to keep himself and a couple of programmers in business in a tiny office for a decade while he and Galit lived in a thirty-­foot motor home that needed engine tuning once a month just so it could trundle from one parking space to the next.

It was a bet that there would come a day when the internet’s innocence would end and people would want privacy from each other and their governments, and he kept doubling down on that bet through every boom and bust, living on ramen and open cereal boxes from the used food store, refusing to part with any equity except to promising hackers who’d join him, and then the bet paid off, and he became Daniel Moses Lazar, with a 75 percent stake in Keypairs LLC, whose crypto-­libraries and workflow tools were the much-­ballyhooed picks and shovels of the next internet revolution. Keypairs wasn’t the first unicorn in Silicon Valley, but it was the first one that never took a dime in venture capital and whose sole angels were Danny’s parents back in Jersey, to whom Danny sent at least $100 million before they made him stop, insisting that they had nothing more they wanted in this world.

Galit picked out a big place in Twin Peaks that you could see Alcatraz from on a clear day, gutted it to the foundation slab, bare studs, and ceiling joists, completely rebuilt it while being mindful of both Danny’s specification for networking receptacles throughout, and Galit’s encyclopedic knowledge of the Arts and Crafts Movement. One day, as she was bringing out some Mendocino grig and a cheese board for the two of them to enjoy from their half-­built porch, she gasped, complained of pain in both arms, then her chest, and then she collapsed and was dead before the ambulance arrived.

It had been a good marriage: twenty-­two years and no kids, because there was nowhere in their old RV to put them unless they wanted to hang them from the rafters. She’d been his rock while he’d built up Keypairs, but he’d been hers, too, rubbing her feet and helping her deal with the endless humiliations that a woman doing administrative work in Silicon Valley had to put up with. He didn’t see it that way, though: after he took possession of her ashes, all he could talk about was how they’d wasted nearly a quarter of a century chasing a fortune that didn’t do either of them a bit of good, and it had cost them the time they could have spent in a beach shack in the Baja while he did two hours of contract work a month to pay for machete sharpening and new hammocks once a year.

A procession of Silicon Valley’s most powerful leaders and most respected technologists filed through the Palo Alto teardown they’d bought to perch in while the Twin Peaks project was underway. People who weren’t merely wealthy but famous for their vision, their sensitivity, their insight. They argued with him about his crushing regrets and tried to tell him how much good he’d done, both for Galit and for the world, but he was unreachable. A consensus emerged among the Friends of Danny that he was not long for this world. Not that he was going to kill himself or anything but that he would simply stop caring about living, and then nature would take its course.

They were right — ­given all facts in evidence, that was a foregone conclusion. But there was one hidden variable: Sethuramani Balakrishnan, who was twenty-­five, brilliant, and had made a series of lateral moves within Keypairs: customer support, then compliance, and finally Danny’s PA, a job she was vastly overqualified for.

She helped him flip the house, then to turn Keypairs over to a management committee carefully balanced between hackers who’d been with Danny since the PDP-­8 days, people with real managerial experience and proven experience growing companies and running big teams. He got rid of all the shares he’d taken in over the years to sit on advisory boards and stuck everything into Vanguard index-­tracker funds — ­the ones that didn’t buy a lot of tech stocks.

As far as anyone could tell, Sethu didn’t try to talk him out of any of this, just offered efficient, intelligent, and supremely organized help in getting Danny’s life’s work out of a realm in which it had to be actively managed by someone with Danny’s incredible drive, insight, and technical knowledge, and into an investment vehicle managed by an overgrown spreadsheet, one that would multiply his money ahead of the CPI, year on year, until someone built a guillotine on his lawn.

What Sethu did talk him into was buying a condo around the corner from that Palo Alto teardown, an eight-­story place, quiet, built on the grave of another Palo Alto teardown that had been snapped up by property developers in the glory days before NIMBY planning ended all high-­density infill within fifty miles of Stanford.

THIS IS THE LAST DAY for the Kickstarter campaign for the audiobook of my next novel, a post-cyberpunk anti-finance finance thriller about Silicon Valley scams called Red Team Blues. Amazon’s Audible refuses to carry my audiobooks because they’re DRM free, but crowdfunding makes them possible.

[Image ID: A squared-off version of Will Staehle's cover for the Macmillan edition of 'Red Team Blues.']

#pluralistic #red team blues #books #novels #technothrillers #thrillers #crypto #cryptocurrency #crypto means cryptography #fiction

[transhawks]

I've been wondering about this for some time now, but how did Dabi figure out who Hawks' mother was? I'll admit i don't remember the details of the manga very well, but when i watched the new season that came out, it seemed to me the plan Re-Destro came up with to plant spies into the Comission failed after the HPSC lured him out and he killed its president. Is that explained in the manga at all? Or perhaps i misunderstood it?🤔🤔🤔

Please take this with a grain of salt. I have a feeling we'll be actually told why eventually, because Hawks remarks on it manga-wise.

For now, here's my best guess:

Dabi was obsessed with his own father. I have no doubt that he was incredibly obsessed with watching his father's fights and likely did so after his death, though this would have been when he was still young, likely when Natsuo was a very young baby.

It seems that the Thief Takami fight was like...memorable somehow. And given he was a murderer, not just a thief, it's clear that Keigo's dad had notoriety.

I think Dabi might have recognized the red feathers as similar to the feathers on Takami's arms and just decided to go on a hunch because Hawks's lack of biographical info is weird, actually. The thing about investigation and any avenue of trying to gather info about a person's motives, it's important to leave no unturned stones.

Anyway, so, when you have a hunch, you look into it, right?

Let's be a bit clear on some stuff:

Thief Takami was a two-man team. Tomie was clearly helping him in certain ways. It's implied that he relies on her for finding jobs and this might be linked to her quirk. There's other strange wording around that whole chapter that make me suspect she had absolutely fascinating propensity for tracking people.

We're also not sure what he did prior to having to hide with her. Perhaps he had a team, etc. Dude wasn't like a one off criminal, clearly, and that means he had connections.

So, uh, what does this mean? Well, let's think about it this way: Dabi has a lot of reach now. Giran, the many PLF members, etc. Imagine he starts asking about Thief Takami, seeing if Giran has any contacts who knew the man prior to his arrest and maybe even after, in jail. Maybe Takami mentioned in trial documents or something that he had help though never elaborated, etc.

There's just a lot of possibilities and areas where someone might have found out he had a criminal partner and possibly a first name.

The thing is, and the HPSC were kind of dumb for this, it doesn't seem like they changed her first name. There are quirk databases. I doubt the tech skills of the PLF wouldn't able to get into one of these. Then you look for anyone who matches - eye quirk, surveilence, age range, etc. Of course if you have a name, you put it in even if it seems it's a long shot that she'd still be using it.

(she was)

My view is the HPSC simply didn't cover their tracks well-enough when it came to Keigo's background. Likely it was just a bit less important than the other shit they do cover up. Tomie's quirk was in a quirk database, her first name likely the same, if you knew what you were looking for, cross enough names in your list to check them out. It's possible she wasn't the only woman approached by Dabi and Dabi's people, by the way, but he eventually found her.

Until we get confirmation otherwise, that's been what I think might be the most understandable explanation. When you are able to have a wide reference point of info and willing to dig deeper, you can find out a lot. I'm fairly good at social media stalking stuff myself through this sort of method myself.

#asks #takami keigo #hawks #ukai tomie #thief takami #takami tomie