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#Phone Box Convert into Coffee Shop
m4nd0l0r · 2 years
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Five Hargreeves Headcanons (That Have Consumed Every Single Space in my Mind-)
Description: “Live.. Laugh… Love the insanity the apocalypse brings me.” -Five Hargreeves, tired after a caffeine rush and/or from a drunken high. 2019. (this is canon.. HE TOLD ME HIMSELF)
Author’s Note: this is just how I’m dealing with writer’s block— i swear i’m still working on my upcoming Five fics- 😭😭 so uh have this for now i guess 🥲 no warnings btw!! its just me writing in lowercase a lot- a shit ton of crack and swearing- (five’s body is aged up- and his consciousness ranges from 30 to 50 in my works— however you decided which age you want for your experience :)))
Five Taglist (i forgot to tag im so sorry 😭): @ells-graveyard @noahspector @aelinismyqueen @sunweee @reinaeru @ne0boss @twauna00 @placidpluto @eichenhouseproperty @heartsforsuyin @ghostlywavelengths @technicallydifferenttraveler @seconds-not-decades @magical-girl-on-fire @emotionally-unstabel @peachy-wolfhard @its-loki-bitch @raven-fandomtrash @theilliterateskankula @magicstrange @ne0boss @venusrambles @whereintheworldisspencerreid @honeycombdumbass @mivzai @oscarisaacsleftballsack @zenithinthebin @peachteeaaa @rchaoz @wickedmystery @wordsandnerds @umbrellatte @666abby6666 @iameddiemunsonshair @starlightinhumanform @vennythearsonist @trashmouthsahra (if you want to be removed/added, pls tell me via pm!!)
he likes bitter coffee candy (if the mf cant get coffee he’d raid a candy shop rather than logically coming after a cafe-)
likes slasher films for how creative the deaths look (esp if its practical effects, he’s a sucker for those) (he likes nightmare on elm street, he gives me that impression for WHAT)
^ cos of this- i basically headcanon that in his commission days- he’d kill creatively- as if it were his canvas, my guy is an artist with blood 💪
idk why but he’d be an avid “gelato is NOT ice cream you idiot” typa guy (fucker knows italian and my ass RAN W IT)
he watches julia roberts romance movies (cos i like her rom films so im projecting-) (he def likes the maturity of the ending of my best friend’s wedding)
for some reason he considers mocha as chocolate rather than coffee (like the old man he is)
actually likes caramel, never tells anyone for no reason (fucking punk ass smh)
he’d say he hates animals but he’d give a pat to a dog/cat if he’d see one (but he’ll glare at the poor thing if it scratches him-)
from ptsd from the apocalypse- he tries to never indulge w small things like getting large amounts of food- cos he has the mindset that he “might need extra in case something bad happens”
he’d hate physical touch at first- flinching like a surprised cat on steroids— but he gets used to it slowly- and one person at a time
also i dont give a shit on what anyone thinks- FIVE IS A LITTLE SPOON IN HUGS— why you may ask? fucker is a touch starved ptsd filled mf- he needs those hugs ASAP- he would hold your hand 25/8 to reduce his paranoia i just know it (i PROPHESIZEEEE)
the first beer he drunk was a bottle he found in a post apocalypse alcohol store and the liquid was full w small grime and dirt- but he wanted to try some to “check off a bucket list”
LOVES dark comedies, he just does, he CACKLES when he watches one (but he only shows amusement when he’s alone, never w his siblings)
^ he’d also slap his thigh if he finds something soooo funny (old man behaviour smh)
has a personal vendetta against ppl who WOULDN’T put pineapple on pizza (klaus converted the grandpa and at first he felt gross eating it but as he continues he thought: “ok. this isn’t that bad.” the next thing you know, you see him on the phone calling the pizza place for 2 more boxes of hawaiian pizza—)
listens to edith pliaf RELIGIOUSLY (you would gift him a vinyl of hers and his eyes would SHINE) (the only time you saw his eyes the brightest-)
with modern music— he’d prolly like radio music (until you berate him and convert him to alt & indie rock)
has an odd fixation with guns and knives (like the papa he is) (would explain EVERYTHING ABOUT A SPECIFIC WEAPON) (he’s a nerd) (he’ll never admit it) (ever)
has a switchblade on his dominant arm pocket (he could use anything as a weapon, but he likes to be “prepared”)
like on s1, he’d pretend to be a kid and all innocent & shit to get free shit from strangers (you’d hop on the bandwagon and **nicely** ask him to get you stuff too.. he complains and says no but you’d see him on the next day with the shit you requested on his hands)
^ continuation with this— fucker prolly got a coffee machine cos he went up to some lady- went on, put a sad act, and went “oh no.. i dont got a gift to give to my dad.. he always wanted a coffee machine after ours broke” and the lady would have pitied his ass and bought a cheap but durable one for him— this would lead to a situation where the rest of the umbrellas try to take away the coffee machine away from his addicted ass-
viktor: should we?? do something??? diego: we’ve took THREE of those damn machines- what else can we do??? klaus: it’s like… he pulls it out of his ass.. you think he shits out coffee beans?? or is it just liquidated coffee at this point? you: i should call the ambulance before he falls off the window from the coffee… can’t deal with a cranky five.. luther: (is tired of it all and just wants to enjoy his married life) .. yes. please do.
in conclusion? never take away five’s coffee- he will drive you mad—
whenever he’s drunk- he acts like a goddamn sloth (esp if he’s comfortable with you- mf will CLING ON YOU LIKE SOME PARASITE—) (i wouldn’t mind tho 😏- i mean what?)
though as much as he likes bitter coffee- i see him DESPISE BITTER BEER, he would spit that stuff out of with the most offended face ever (all scrunched up like crumpled paper)
for my fellow filipino readers- he unfortunately SUCKS ASSSS when speaking in tagalog… you either tease the living fuck out of him about him or smile through your ear pain going “wow! galing! (amazing!)” (no he was not amazing he sounded like a screeching tire or smth- /lh)
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k-hippie · 8 months
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CHAMPIGNAC CC and STUFF PART 1
Before the upload of Champignac, let's talk about the CC used in the World ...
Let's face it, there is a little bit more CC used in Champignac than in our other Sims 3 Worlds, because we really wanted to create a French ambiance for a French flavored world :)
Don't worry : except 2 or 3 things, we still use the same creators stuff aka mainly ATS ( Around the Sims 3 ) and Cyclone Sue ( from TSR ) for the build part. And of course, our own stuff which is not huge :D like our Rabbit Holes you may find here on Tumblr ...
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Before any further, the fantastic towers you need to get in order to fully enjoy Champignac come from MTS ( Mod the Sims ) and have been converted from The Sims Medieval by Votenga ( MEDIEVAL TOWERS & BUILDINGS ) you may find there :)
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I hope you'll enjoy discover all these gems in Champignac ;)
our "Stadium" is the Football Club by Norn @ MTS and tumblr
the Junk Yard is based on : Old Art Deco gas station yard by flora2 @ MTS :)
le Marché Bio ( Bio Market ) is based on Farmers Market by efolger997 @ MTS
the Supernatural Tavern is based on Old Tomes bookstore by Vera J @ MTS
the Bistro of Champignac is based on Rattlesnake Juice by bellakenobi @ MTS
the Vampire Lounge is fully based on Pastor John's Church by Diwtay @ MTS
the beautiful City Hall of Champignac is a simplified version of a community lot by Jeanpass ( here on tumblr )
the Museum of Champignac we named : Villa Medicis is a creation of Petalbot ( Palazzo Venezia )
Let's talk now about the CC ...
As you already know ;) ATS made a lot of French stuff for the Sims 3. In fact, it's even THE Place to find everything you need to create a French flavored World :D so, here everything we used in Champignac
Set Exhibition & Museum Shop
Book - laying | Livre - couché Panel | Panneau Information panel | Panneau d'informations Label - standing | Informations Posters - rolls | Posters - rouleaux
Set Eco Café
High Stool | Tabouret de bar Tree Guard | Protection pour arbre Bar | Bar Counter | Comptoir Counter Island | Ilôt
Set Grocery - Fresh product displays - add-ons
Market display | Présentoir de marché Asian fruits | Fruits d'Asie Market display | Présentoir de marché Asian vegetables | Légumes d'Asie Market display | Présentoir de marché Autumn crops | Récolte d'automne Market display | Présentoir de marché Empty | Vide
Set Bakery Shop Part 2
Baguettes Display | Baguettes Baguette | Baguette Bread | Pain Shelf | Etagère
Set Bistrot Part 2
Price List | Tarifs des consommations Wall Menu | Menu Shelf | Etagère
Set City Urban Objects
Community Trash Can | Poubelle Communautaire Mail box (decorative) | Boîte aux lettres Phone Cabin (mirror) | Cabine téléphonique
Set City Newspapers Kiosque
Magazine Wall Rack | Stand de magazines mural Magazine Rack | Stand de magazines Newspaper Stand | Stand de journaux Newspapers Stand | Stand de journaux Stack of Newspapers | Pile de journaux Magazine - Arts | Magazine - Arts Magazine - House | Magazine - Maison
Set Beach Activity Add-ons
Beach cabin | Cabine de plage (Decorative | Décor) Beach cabin | Cabine de plage (Toilets | Toilettes)
Set Uglify your Town
Concrete bench | Banc en béton Park bench | Banc de parc
Set Canal Locks
Canal / Street Light | Lampadaire Canal / Box of books | Coffre de livres Canal / Box of artwork | Coffre d'art Canal / Counter | Comptoir Canal / Stand Canal / Bollard Canal / Fence | Barrière Canal / Gate | Portillon
Set Church : ALL Items
Set The Dailies Café : Coffee Bar | Bar à café University Set Gardening Shop : Painted Crate | Cageot peint
Set Scuba diving & Surf Club : Surf board | Planche de surf
Set Electric Scooters : ALL Items
Set Misc Vehicles : Scooter with slot
Set Bakery 4to3 : Baking Pan - Bread | Moule - Pain/Cake + Bread | Pain
Sims 4 to 3 - City Living Landmarks #2 : Telephone pole | Poteau téléphonique x 2
Set Chocolate & Tea Shop : Chocolate Box | Boîte de chocolats ( ATS3-object-chocolatier-chocolatebox-heart-open )
In theory, all those items are .sims3pack files and should be encapsulated in the different lots. Anyway, we shall provide a folder with the .package files we used, just in case ;)
As said in the Road Map previous post, the tech-hippie website is already online and running fine. And the Sims 3 Lounge is mostly back too :) oh ! and Champignac will be uploaded later into the night or tomorrow maximum ...
Welcome in France :D
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arctic-hands · 13 days
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My milk journey has been
First meal: rice porridge with breast milk
Start dropping weight and can't stay out of the bathroom by age seven, get told to avoid dairy so mom buys Lactaid milk for a year. Whole family despises it and Mac and cheese in particular is now terrible and avoided. I'm still very sick anyway
Be diagnosed with Crohn's at age nine. Resume consuming regular dairy
Twelve-ish: begin to feel a little distress at eating ice cream. Does not stop me from accepting a Dairy Queen cheesequake blizzard reward for single handedly winning a science class quiz game that was supposed to be played in teams but no one wanted me. By sheer force of will and remarkable sphincter control for an IBD patient, mange to wait it out get home that day before having a violent reaction.
Thirteen: throw up violently at school after having cheese sticks for my free lunch. Convince myself it was just the greasiness of the meal that set me off
Fourteen: go into high school conceding the point that I'm lactose intolerant. Unsuccessful at lobbying the head principal to provide lactose free strawberry milk. Start paying more money than a lunch would have even cost if I didn't qualify for free lunch at the snack bar for juice or V8 in order to not go thirsty at lunch. Repeatedly throw up when the only option for lunch other than the very popular spicy chicken every Wednesday that I couldn't tolerate mouth-wise or gut-wise was the same cheesesticks that I had in middle school
Sometime later in high school: discover the Meijer's house brand of lactose free milk actually tastes decent.
Seventeen-ish. Find a hair in the carton of Meijer's lactose free milk and swear off it forever. Try rice milk
(Also an aside at seventeen: develop celiac disease and I thanked my lucky stars that it was polite enough to have waited until I was done with wildly ableist school and too old to trick or treat)
I forget which age but I was a fresh and new adult: discover rice milk ice cream. Desperately pretend it tastes and feels like real ice cream.
Shortly after: try coconut milk. It's tasty, but hardly a neutral milk-like taste and doesn't go well when mixed with other ingredients. Coconut milk ice cream is likewise lackluster
Nineteen? Discover the boxed and shelf stable almond milk. Begin to have hope.
Twenty: find out they started making a cartoned and refrigerated almond milk that tastes brilliant
Twenty three? Realize I have forgotten the taste of dairy milk. Almond milk reigns Supreme
Twenty-six: find out what an environmental menace the non-native aimond trees used in American almond milk is to drought-stricken California. Feel guilty but also feel like there's no real way to avoid drinking almond milk
Twenty-eight: Oat milk explodes in the plant milk scene. I ignore this because there's a high likelihood of cross contamination with wheat in both the field crop and in the processing of oats in the same facilities of wheat. No major and common oat milk brands have any gluten free signage
Twenty nine: Oatly converts its American version to gluten free oats brown in dedicated fields and processing facilities. Try it and it's decent. (CAUTION: some celiacs have a reaction to oats themselves regardless of any cross-contamination. I, however, am not one of them.) Become mostly fully converted to oat milk but still keep ordering almond milk when I get an iced coffee because Dunkin and the anarchist coffee shop/bookstore never label which brand of oat milk they use and you're a millennial and despise phone calls
Thirty: Planet Oats is a bit cheaper so I try it on a lark and like it better. Be bummed that it comes in a smaller carton that Oatly and thus is more expensive in the long run. Start putting oat milk in my oatmeal and have a religious crisis because it seems like a decadent and cardinal sin. Remember I'm an atheist and it's okay to be a lil hedonistic and perverse esp where food is concerned
Nearly thirty-one: realize halfway in making this post that it's entirely boring and pointless and is too long for such an uninteresting subject but goddammit I've sunk the cost and will finish this stupid post.
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rhiannswork · 2 years
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a. butler novacane (reupload)
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warnings: lowercase intended, heavily based off novacane by frank ocean, rockstar!austin (not talked about a lot), yn has beauty and brains (aka a p.star and goes to college to become a dentist.) drug use, slight incorrect way of rolling a joint but oh well, kissing, austin just being a simp and lowk the reader is one too
you sat at your desk, using the light from the blinding lamp post in front of your window. finishing up a thirty-five page essay for school. the professor wasn’t holding back when it came to this assignment, any assignment really. it was one of the biggest essays of the year. the deadline was in a couple of hours. you had a few pages left, it started getting harder coming up with new ways to express your thoughts. you just needed a rest.
you’ve been up since dawn, since then you filmed a video for all the lazy pervs sitting on the internet in the late nights. spending some time at a coffee shop, making a couple of tips. you could’ve been finishing your paper, you would’ve been done by now.
you felt a headache slowly about to ruin your night. out of frustration you rushed the end of your paper and submitted it. you slammed your laptop shut, snatched your phone off the desk, placed your airpods in your ears and grabbed a metal rick and morty lunch box.
you threw on a solid black zip up hoodie and threw the hood over your head. you walked out of your studio apartment and walked to the park not too far from it. you sat on the black bench, crossing your legs and placed the lunch box on your lap.
you opened it and took out a hot pink cannabis grinder, you ripped open the ziplock and took out the herb and grinded it up. you took out a singular rolling paper and a filter, you placed the filter at the end of the paper. you added the ground cannabis inside and rolled up the paper.
you lit it and enjoyed the simplicity from mary jane. your phone buzzed twice, a message from a fling from months ago came upon the phone. it was weird you kept his number, seeing as that you left him. not vise versa.
he had gotten popular over the months, starting a band, touring, the whole thing. you needed to focus on your studies, the groupie lifestyle wasn’t for you. sort of hypocritical seeing as what you do is in the range of that. only thing you won’t get from that is a bachelors degree.
‘i need to speak with you’ you read, your eyes hung low as you could barely read the screen. you replied however with ‘why? what’s going on?’ you don’t even know why you’re giving him the time of day. this was worse than a headache.
‘where are you’ he messaged you back, totally disregarding your response. ‘outside my apartment. now can you tell me what’s happening?’ he left you on read.
your joint had been shortened to where it was no longer able to be at use. you tossed it to the ground and stomped on it a couple of times and walked back to the front of the apartment to go back inside.
you were stumped by the sight of a mid 80’s convertible benz. it beautiful, black and shiny. the lights of the lamp posts and convenience store ‘24/7’ sign hitting just perfectly. you were so effected by the car you didn’t notice somebody sitting inside of it.
“yn” the man inside the car spoke. it was a familiar tone but you couldn’t piece it together. “hm?” you replied, which you shouldn’t have. you stood there squinting your eyes, hoping to get a better visual. the stranger got out of the car, slowly towering over you. “it’s me. aus.” he furrowed his eyebrows at you, trying to make eye contact with you.
“austin? what are you doing here?” stupid question. “i really need to talk to you.” slightly stupid answer. “come inside, it’s cold.” very stupid decision.
you walked up to your apartment with austin following behind you. you unlocked the door and kicked the clothes and books out of the doorway. pushing them to piles of other clothes and books you have yet to attend to.
“as you can see, school has taken a toll.” you nervously chuckled. seeing as you haven’t spoken to austin in months. now he’s in your apartment. “i don’t mind. this is what my hotel rooms look like.” he smiled while sitting on the couch.
“new tat?” you pointed to his chest. he nodded and tugged at the neck of his shirt to show you the full tattoo. exposing a detailed butterfly with hearts for wings. “niceeee.” you sat on the couch beside him and turned your body to him. “—so! what’s going on?” you sighed, finally creating eye contact with him.
he didn’t speak. he took in the sight of you, your lips, your eyes— although they were hung low and had a tint of red. he had missed you so much.
“i got a class at eight in the morning and i would like to get a few hours of sleep.” you smiled apprehensively, growing worry to the amount of time it was taking for him to tell you the reason for his late night visit.
“if i’m being honest. i can’t live without you. i know we were just friends with benefits. i don’t have any means to go on if i can’t wake up knowing you’re mine.” he removed his eyes from yours out of shame. he felt like an absolute idiot, telling you about all the mushy feelings he felt for you.
you on the other hand, when austin told you all about his feelings, it reminded you of how you felt when you first became friends with benefits. now that you’d already repressed those feelings, you don’t know how to respond to that.
“yn please say something.” his voice was smaller than before he came inside. “well… aus…” you took a deep breath, preparing yourself as if you were reading off of notecards.
“i have had my moments, plenty, where i’ve needed you, not sexually… just needed to hear your voice, have you hug me… all of that and you know— i had to push all of those feelings down. i needed to study and the direction you were going i just… can’t follow you.” you let out a sigh of relief as you relaxed your posture. the weight that was placed on you a few minutes ago, was lifted, but then placed on you yet again as you waited there for austin.
“i could’ve helped you know. financially.” “nooo i don’t need your money aus.” you chuckled. “after you left, i didn’t know if i could every feel that happy again. fame, sex, money, getting high. it couldn’t suffice to the feelings i had for you, yn. i’d give up everything to be with you.” he wasn’t kidding either. it’d wouldn’t be any better if he dropped his career for you. if you could barely support yourself, how could you possibly support austin along yourself?
“now… how come you didn’t tell me this the moment you felt it?” you sat on your legs and managed to keep eye contact. “i didn’t want to stand in your way.” “you wouldn’t have aus. i wouldn’t have let it happen… i’ve been a mess for a while. now that you’re here, i’m having this realization. you are what i need.”
it was true, it hit you like a damn metro train. maybe it was the grass that made you fess up to austin, whatever it was, you said it. it was silence, you could slightly hear your own speeding heartbeat. you didn’t even know that he was the missing puzzle piece, but his soft wavy, lengthy, hair, his wifebeater that flaunt his fit arms, his tan skin and the little facial hair he had was drawing you back in.
“aus please say something…” you softly laughed. he just stared into your eyes as the corners of his mouth turned up, taking in the feeling he had been searching for.
he stared into your eyes, not saying anything. you noticed he began darting his eyes from your lips to your eyes. you unconsciously did the same, from his ocean blue eyes to his cherry red lips.
the space between you and austin became little, connecting your needy lips to each other. he cupped the side of your face as his other hand grabbed your waist, pulling your waist, bringing you closer to him. your hand coming in between you both, pushing him away.
your foreheads pressing together, your eyes were unable to open. “you okay?” his voice became hoarse. you nodded as you attached your lips once again only more passionate than before. both of his hands went to your waist as you laid on your back, with your lips still in contact.
his lips followed all way down to your neck, lightly nibbling at your skin and placing marks softly on your neck. your fingers wove through his hair, softly gasping and moaning. “aus it’s too late… for this…” you giggled, pushing his shoulders. “i know, i know, you’ve have class in the morning.” he pecked your lips. “couldn’t you—“ he placed another. “skip it…” he placed one last kiss, making last longer this time. “just once?” his eyes grew pure as he stared into yours.
“you’re such a dork austin.”
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wanderella-w · 1 year
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Bye Emma, hello restday (day 29-31)
On day 29 we walked from Gorran Haven to Carlyon Bay, around 19km. We made our breakfast porridge using the hot water kettle at the camp site (saved some dishes and gas) and said goodbye to Emma, who was brave enough to get up with us at 6am even though her bus only left at 9:30. On our walk on that grey day we came through Mevagissey after 5 km and we had a coffee there to wake up properly. I still had some memories of the town from our 2016 family holiday. Now we felt ready for all the ups and down (regarding elevation) the day had in store for us. It stayed grey but the views of the coves and beaches were still quite pretty. We came through Charlestown, a town with cute little shops, and as we got closer to Carlyon Bay there were quite a lot modern villas on big properties and a golf course. For our campsite, which was free according to the wikicamps app, we had to walk inland and found ourselves walking along a busy street in between a gated industrial site and a gated children's play paradise. Quite a difference to our usual surroundings on the path. The campsite belonged to an Inn and the lady there told us that they were not actually a campsite but a 'pit stop' for motorhomes. We could camp there for free anyways and we had a big choice of perfect grass pitches so we were happy:).
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The Inn itself was quite cozy and they had a nice vegetarian menu (haloumi burger, madras curry & vegetable stew), therefore we took our chance to have an a bit too early but delicious easter meal sponsored by Margreet en Jobst. It was raining outside but in the Inn there was a nice and cozy atmosphere and after dinner (for dessert) we moved to one of the couches where stayed all evening reading our books. Talking about books: This morning I said to Rosa that it was a bit annoying that I didn't have a book for our upcoming restday anymore, after I gave it away in Falmouth... when five minutes later we came past and old phone booth converted to a book swap case! Rosa immediately spotted one book lying on top of others that she said she would absolutely recommend and it wasn't even too big! It was possible to buy books for a donation into the money box at the public toilets, and as I didn't have a book to swap anymore, I did that. The universe took care of me, as Rosa said.
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That night I didn't sleep so well as it got cold during the night and my sleeping bag wasn't properly closed at my back - so in the morning I felt like my cold had come back. Luckily, as mentioned above, we would soon have a rest day.
The next day (Thursday), Rosa already left the path after 4km in Par to go to our shepherds hut, the designated place for our rest day, and she did groceries at Aldi on her way there. I still wanted to complete the loop around Grubbing Head to Fowey, from where I would take the Ferry to Polruan and then the bus to the hut in Pelynt. It was a nice day and the walk wasn't long but it was quite tiring anyways, maybe because of my cold.
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The bus which I wanted to take from the ferry quay didn't come so I took another one that didn't go to Pelynt directly. After a few stops the bus driver said that I would miss my connecting bus in Polperro and that I could better walk from here ("It's all flat, take the second right"). I thanked him for the tip and got off. The 2,5 miles walk turned out to be a bit more adventurous than expected because at some point I took a path which was marked with a sign saying 'public footpath' but which obviously wasn't really in use anymore. I arrived at our hut with wet feet again due to a small river crossing, but it didn't matter as it turned out we could do a washing at the campsite and it was nice weather so I could let my shoes dry. After a shower I enjoyed the late afternoon lying on the bed with the windows open and our delicious meal in the evening for which Rosa had done excellent shopping.
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Today, the 7th of April, is our restday and we mainly spend it reading, drinking tea and doing some small to-dos. It's great! Also we discovered it's exactly one month ago that we started our hike!
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hostbd · 1 year
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gouldolzjonasson · 2 years
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loiswolf · 2 years
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Day 44 July 14 Plaster Rock - Saint-Hilaire 113kms
This morning I had to ride a few kms back out of Plaster Rock on the road I came in on yesterday. Then I turned right to cut across to Grand Falls. Yes, Plaster Rock was a bit out of the way but it was the only place I could find accommodation. It wasn’t even cheap. The original price looks alright but then they add on taxes and it’s in Canadian dollars. Convert it to Australian and it’s way more than I like to pay. However, there is no choice so I have to live with it. I guess the Airbnbs are a lot cheaper ( tonight definitely is) and I had a free night with Thomas, so it all balances out.
Here is a photo leaving Plaster Rock
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It was even prettier when I rode in yesterday but I was on the home stretch and I didn’t want to stop. Yesterday was pretty tough. Back in 2014 when I first toured Europe I made a rule that any day with hills should be under 100kms. Yesterday was 130kms and I was pushing to do it quicker than usual because of the 2 hour delay at the hospital. ( so you can stop shaking your head Rodney and saying I’m getting old. I think I’m doing pretty well)
So of course the road over to Grand Falls was hilly. This photo was taken at the top of one of the climbs so you can get an idea of how high I was climbing…..and not just once!
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Fortunately the road became almost flat once I was through Grand Falls. I had done 40kms and was going to stop at the McDonald’s ( a very sleek modern McDonalds with a McCafe ( very rare over here )), or the Tim Hortons a bit further on. It felt so good to be riding on a flat road that I decided to push onto Saint Leonards. Big mistake!
It was about 20kms to Saint Leonards and I rode all the way through without seeing anything. I finally stopped to check the map only to discover it was up on the highway. I should have turned off about 5kms back. I wasn’t prepared to backtrack that far so I sat on a log and ate a cake from my bag ( I bought a box of 6 last night and they are coming in very handy)
Hoping there would be somewhere for a coffee in the small towns ahead I pushed on. At 70kms I saw a bar so I pulled in there. The lady offered me instant coffee so I beat a hasty retreat. None of the little towns had anything in them. They were very uninspiring. Eventually at 85kms I came to this little place.
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I enjoyed another cake, some not so sparkling water and a quiet read on my Kindle. I’ve had worst breaks.
Another 15kms to Edmundston where I was hoping for a supermarket to buy something for dinner. After seeing all the other small towns I figured there wouldn’t be anything at Saint-Hilaire. I was right. There was also nothing in the centre of Edmundston. I stopped outside a shopping centre to ask a kind old man where I might buy some food. His cranky wife stood about 20m away with her arms crossed and a face like thunder while the lovely gentleman continued to make suggestions. None of them were any good so I suggested he get back to his wife while I continued on.
I stopped at 3 little convenience stores and none of them even had a piece of fruit let alone a frozen meal.
Eventually I reached my destination.
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It’s an old Rectory.
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Sam and Jean-Francois have done an amazing job of renovating it.
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Jean-Francois was out the front when I arrived. He kindly phoned Sam who was in Edmundston and knew where the supermarkets were hidden. He purchased 3 frozen meals for me as well as the kiwi fruit I wanted for breakfast. I’m all set for tonight and tomorrow night now.
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Red Phone Box Convert into Coffee Shop in London
Today, Lucy and I visited 'Walkmisu',  a tiny hole in the wall cafe just outside Russell Square Park in central London.
Here a Red Phone Box Convert into Coffee Shop.  It's an italian cafe which also sells tiramisu - an italian dessert made with coffee, biscuits and marscepone cheese.
Phone Box Convert into Coffee Shop
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checkeredflaggirl · 3 years
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What the drivers make me think of
My opinion, you can add in the comments
Team Mercedes
Lewis Hamilton
carpets, new sneakers, smell of tea herbs, winter mornings, bomber jackets, magazines, tigers, color indigo, wallpapered walls, industrial kitchen, oil, aviator sunglasses, dresser full of colognes, stainless steel
Valterri Bottas
Swans, woods, pine tree smell, the color of clay, sunset through a window, ceiling to floor windows, wooden floors, fur, newspapers, boat sports, coffee cream, Moscow mule
Team Red Bull
Max Verstappen
Lions, grass smell, warm water, coffee beans, shaving cream, balconies, flower baskets, clean towels, horse races, mimosas, brunch, fireplaces, marble floors, sculptures, orchestra concerts
Sergio Perez
Parrots, colorful fabrics, flutes, jungles, sunsets reflecting on water, black and white tiles, roof tiles, white walls, light sheer curtains, lemonade, morning dew smell, pottery, hibiscus
Team Ferrari
Charles Leclerc
Cannes, old photographs, vintage cameras, photo albums, the smell of paper, vinyl record playing, doves, white mugs, chandeliers, lattes, piano, journals, black and white films, rings
Carlos Sainz
Boots, tiles with intricate designs, cactuses, terracota, Mallorca, palm trees, canaries, citronella candles, sandals, brown colors, cinnamon, roasted pork, powdered sugar, guitars, orange juice
Team Mclaren
Lando Norris
Neon, cinemas, midnight, digital clocks, boxed juice, blackout curtains, blue colored walls, comfortable bed, navy bedsheets, white socks, hoodies, joggers, athletic wear, AC, online shopping
Daniel Ricciardo
Flannels, granola aesthetic, teva sandals, deers, x games, jet skis, ATVs, Fox apparel, American Apparel, oversized tshirts, Patagonia, gloves, lumberjack, waterfalls, bungee jump, the band Foster the People, tattoo shops, leather, vans sneakers
Team Alpine
Fernando Alonso
Mansions, family crest, stables, red wine, gold jewelry, candles, tobacco, Cuban cigars, wine cellars, mirrors, oil paintings, dinner time, fur, expensive rugs, roses, arched windows, drapes, baroque style decor
Esteban Ocon
Cottages, country side, small flowers, flower crowns, picnics, cheese platters, pears, marble fountains, linen, glass cups, pearls, small gatherings, old radios, hand fans, soft breeze, clean scent
Team Aston Martin
Lance Stroll
College, jet set lifestyle, wedges, expensive watches, neck pillows, planes, Ibiza, waking up at noon, parties, bachelor life, ray ban wayfarer sunglasses, the movie 21, coming home past curfew, blindfolds, silk pajamas
Sebastian Vettel
The band Journey, Rocky movies, Christmas, family dinners, warm food, a study at home, black coffee, granite toppers, comfortable couch, fireplace, first day with snow, golden retriever, pancakes
Team Alfa Romeo
Kimi Raikkonen
Eurodance, la Bouche, the movie a night at the Roxbury, clubs, sequins, disco balls, vip areas, buying drinks for your friends, having a designated driver, sunglasses at night, monochrome wardrobe
Antonio Giovanazzi
White wine, grapes, vineyards, lunchtime, tennis, hair products, carousel, saxophones, hair brushes, feathers, sheeps , milk, wooden windows, staircases, dimly lit restaurants
Team Alpha Tauri
Yuki Tsunoda
Skincare, pastel colors, watercolor paintings, clothing with no patterns, summer rains, festivals, karaoke, body creams, slippers, rooftop bars, arcades
Pierre Gasly
Champagne towers, New Year’s Eve, gold confetti, missed phone calls, music vibrating on the walls, supermodels, glasses breaking, loud laughs, live music, basement parties, sweating inside a club
Team Haas
Mick Schumacher
Surfing, boats, windbreakers, dry fast clothing, sunscreen, wet suits, bonfires, marshmallows, the movie Point Break, jeeps, soft sand beach, red cups, hiking, pura vida bracelets, pineapples
Nikita Mazepin
Gambling, casinos, blackjack, counting cards to win, security cameras, bodyguards, bags of money, movie John Wick, cyberpunk2077, bartenders, colorful drinks, bloody knuckles
Team Williams
George Russell
Bakeries, victorian england, the sex pistols, punk, studs, black boots, earl grey, turtle necks, boarding school, knee socks, convertible cars, shooting sports
Nicholas Latifi
Chocolate factories, glass jars, laundry day, knitted sweaters, black umbrellas, brownies, vanilla ice cream, mittens, baking, nespresso coffee machine, football matches, violins
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For You
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Summary: Y/N waits all night for Spencer to come home
Warnings: Angst... maybe swearing, but I honestly can’t remember
Words: 2,451
A/N: My LPC and Masters are kicking my ass... I hate it here :)))))))
PART TWO HERE  PART THREE HERE
Master List     Permanent Tag List
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Shoving the last Dorito in your mouth, you leaned off the couch to grabbing your phone from the coffee table. Your thumb swiped across the screen to accept the call. Muting the TV, you sat up and put the call on speaker, smiling as you heard his voice.
 “Hey, Y/N/N” Your boyfriend of three years greeted you.
“Spencer” you smiled into the phone, more than happy to hear from him. “I didn’t speak to you yesterday, I missed you.”
“Yeah, sorry, we caught a break in the case” he apologises. “Did you know, only ten-point-seven percent of murders are committed by women, who tend to kill for reasons such as personal gain or jealousy. Our unsub actually went against the statistic.”
“So, you caught them then?” you asked, biting your lip to conceal your hope.
“Yeah, yeah, we did!” he confirmed, and you were sure that he was nodding. “We’re at the station at the moment but we should be leaving soon. I’ll be home around-” There’s a moment of pause while you assume he looks at his watch. “Around seven, seven-thirty. Definitely no later than eight.”
“Oh, Spencer, that’s great!” you grinned, standing up from the couch. “This week has dragged by without you.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon” he assures you. “I have to go though, there a bit of paperwork that needs to be finished before we can leave.” “Okay, no worries. I love you, bye” you say.
“See you soon, love you” he hangs up.
 You turned of the TV and quickly got to work cleaning the apartment. It wasn’t dirty, not really, but your breakfast dishes were in the sink and you didn’t take the trash out last night. You had also neglected putting away the laundry and had thrown your coat and bag over the back of a chair, rather than hang them up.
 Coming home to an empty apartment had demotivated you this week, making you not bother to keep up with the little things. Though you always missed Spencer when he was away on cases, this week had been especially trying.
 You hung your coat up, moving your keys into the little bowl by the door. The laundry was seen to next, the tops separated and hung up while the pants were neatly folded and placed in the draws. Plates were quickly cleaned and dried, put into their place. You wiped down the sides, brushing the crumbs into the bin before quickly running the trash out.
 Coming back into the apartment, you washed your hands before moving to the fridge. Having only went shopping a few days ago, it was still well stocked, and it had all the ingredients for Spencer’s favourite meal.
 You had grown up with a dad who loved to cook, who had wanted to be a chef. Due to his severe eczema, which he used to tell he had to be ‘wrapped up like a mummy’ for, he was unable to pursue his passion. As such, he had cooked delicious meals at home for you and your mom, passing on recipes and filling you with a passion for food.
 Cooking was something you found relaxing. You knew enough recipes by heart to not follow a recipe, but, instead, a pattern within your mind. You could cook your favourite dish without the need to measure herbs or spices, mind zoned out while you prepared the ingredients.
 When you had began dating Spencer, he was basically living on coffee with the occasional take-out. Within two months of your relationship, his freezer was fully stocked with frozen home-cooked meals. While his slim physique remained, he did gain a healthy amount of weigh and appeared to look healthier.
 It hadn’t taken you long to find out that his favourite was a slow roasted rack of lamb, with rosemary roasted potatoes, butter roasted carrots, broccoli, peas and mash potatoes. You had served the roast lamb at Easter, where Spencer proceeded to spend nearly thirty minutes telling you about the origin of eating lamb at Easter.
 “It’s actually related to the Jewish Passover, from when the Egyptians painted lamb’s blood on doors during the plagues of Egypt. When some Jewish people converted, they caried on the tradition. In fact, in Christianity, Jesus…”
 Coming from a diverse background (various religions were practiced in your family, some married and converted, others converted, an adopted cousin kept practicing his religion, thus you celebrated many different religions) you knew the some of what he was saying. However, you loved to hear Spencer talk.
 Spencer could talk about anything and you would listen. You loved to hear his voice; the way his voice became higher when he got excited. You liked to lean back against the couch, your feet in his lap as he read to you. His voice lulled you into a calm and relaxed state, it put your mind at peace and made everything seem right in the world.
 You cleaned the lamb, patting it dry with paper towels become setting it on the chopping board. You trimmed the fat, leaving only a small layer which would cook and add flavour to the meet. Pouring a tablespoon of oil into your hands, you gently rub it into the lamb before adding the spices, careful not to overwork the meat.
 The meat was transferred into a dish before moved into the hot oven.
 You then moved onto the vegetables. You coated par-boiled potatoes with oil, salt, pepper and rosemary become adding them to the oven. Carrots were peeled and cut, put into a tin-foil bowl with a teaspoon of butter and a sprinkle of sugar. Folding the tin-foil closed, you slid that into the oven too.
 Potatoes were peeled, chopped and put on to boil. You cut the broccoli into smaller pieces and add them to a pot and put them onto boil too. Peas remained in a saucepan, covered in water, but you would turn them on in a little while.
 You grabbed the latest Doctor Who DVD that Spencer had brought the week previous. You put the first disk into the DVD player and set the box beside the TV. Leaving the screen on the menu page, you left the room and went for a shower.
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 You looked at the clock again.
 20:37
 You sighed and looked down at your food which was damn near cold. Your stomach rumbled and you picked up your fork. You weren’t going to wait any longer. While the food is delicious, you don’t enjoy it. You don’t focus on the flavours as you chew and swallow, your mind focused on your thoughts.
 Where was Spencer?
 You had called his phone multiple times, but it had just rung out. You had called JJ, but she had left work before him. When you had phoned his work and spoken to his boss, Hotch had told you that Spencer had already left for the evening, and suggested you call Derek as they left together. Just like Spencer’s phone, Derek phone had rung out too.
 Finishing your food, you took your plate to the sink. Rising the plate, along with the pots and pans, you then filled the sink with bubbly water. Grabbing the sponge, you began to clean.
 Your mind was torn on whether to be worried or not. One the one hand, Spencer had said he’d be home – you checked the clock – over an hour ago but he still wasn’t here. He wasn’t at work and he wasn’t answering his phone. You bit your lip. Anything could have happened to him. There could be a problem with the subway, maybe he got injured on the way home, or something else could have happened.
 Spencer’s an FBI agent though and is licenced to carry a gun. Not to mention, he’s a literal genius. If he got into trouble, you had no doubt that he would either be able to get himself out or be able to contact someone to raise an alarm.
 Your mind told you that he was with Derek, that they were together and gotten distracted one way for another. They were like brothers, and easily got carried away and forgot about the time.
 Spencer had to be fine. He had to be.
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Hanging his bag on its hanger, Spencer closed the door. He toed off his shoes, pulling his arms from his cardigan. It had been a long night, a long week, in fact, and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed. He smiled at the thought of crawling into bed and curling around you, of cuddling into you and breathing in your scent as he fell asleep.
 Spencer used to love going on cases but after he met you, that changed. Now, he wanted to get them over and get home as soon as possible. He missed you every moment he was gone. He missed waking up with you, with your toes pressed into his leg as you sought out his warmth. He missed reading to you in evenings, gazing at your peaceful face as he spoke the words from memory. He missed the kisses before bed, the giggles you’d make when he would tickle your side as you both laid beneath the duvet.
 He walked down the small hallway and into the open-plan living room and kitchen. The first thing his eyes land on is the small dining table. His mouth parts a little as he looks at the single plate of food, a knife and fork beside it. it was his favourite meal but he knew it was stone cold, yet he remembered the taste and his mouth watered at the sight.
 You had cooked for him.
 His stomach began to twist as he turned towards the front room. The TV was on, displaying the menu for a DVD from his new Doctor Who collection, whose box sat beside the TV. Then he saw you, sitting on the couch and watching him.
 His stomach dropped. You had been waiting for him. You had cooked him his favourite dinner, put on his favourite show and were waiting for him. He had told you he would be home by eight, and it was nearing one-thirty in the morning. The guilt in his stomach twisted like a knife as you stood up.
 He knew you were mad; he could see it in the hard set of your jaw. He could also see the sadness swimming in your eyes as you looked at him. He had let you down, and he knew it wasn’t something you were easily going to forgive him for.
 “You said you’d be home at eight” your voice was low, soft, but he could hear the sadness in your words.
“Yeah…” he agreed, he had said that. He had promised that.
“Where were you?” you asked. “I was worried, you didn’t call or anything.”
“Erm… Derek, he…erm… wanted to go to a bar” Spencer replied, looking down at his mix matched socks.
“So you went? You went, knowing that I was here, waiting for you” you shook your head, looking away from him in an attempt to hold back your anger. “You went to a bar with Derek, after telling me you would be home by eight? You didn’t even let me know! I’ve been waiting for you, Spencer, I cooked you dinner and everything.” “Y/N… I’m sorry” he reached out to you but you held up your hand, taking a step back.
 He had gone to a pub. A pub. He didn’t even have the decency to call you, or even text, to say that he wasn’t going to be coming home when he said. He had left you to wait for him, to worry for him. And though you’ve hurt, you’re angry. Angry that this is the way he is treating you. He doesn’t even like pubs, so why would he leave you to go to one?
 This isn’t the first time he’s done this either. He had done the same thing a month ago, just went out with his team after telling you that he’d be home for dinner in an hour. You had fell asleep on the couch waiting for him that night.
 “You always do this to me” You shook your head, looking at him in disappointment. And, looking at your face, Spencer thought that was worse that seeing you angry.
“What?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowing.
“Abandoning me, you do it all the time!” You say. “You get called on a case and you don’t tell me, you leave me waiting at a restaurant. Stood up. You don’t tell me when your cases get extended, you tell me you’ll be gone two days but its six.”
“Y/N-” he begins, but you quickly cut him off.
“I don’t mind you going to clubs with Derek. I’m fine with cancelling plans because of work, I don’t mind that you’re called away” you tell him. “However, you don’t communicate with me. You stand me up, all the time. You don’t even call, and I’m tired of it. I did this for you Spencer.” You spread your arms out to gesture at the food and TV. “I try to do stuff for you and it goes to waste. Dinner reservations, movie nights, personal museum tours. They could have been rescheduled or the deposits refunded, if you had spoken to me. I… I’m tired of this Spencer. A relationship can’t work without communication.”
 Spencer’s mouth is dry at your words, his own eyes stinging as he gazes sadly at your face. He can see how much it has affected you, how hurt you are but his actions. You were right though, he never called or texted you to let you know he wouldn’t be there for any of those things. His mind played over your words and his stomach twisted as the final sentence registered in his brain.
 “What are you saying?” his voice is scratchy as he forces the words out, his fists clenched as he struggles not to cry.
“Maybe… Maybe we should take a break… for you to consider whether you can be committed, in all aspects, to this relationship” your voice is quiet as you answer him, your own eyes swimming with tears. “I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight, and then tomorrow… Well, Natasha said that I Could spend a few nights at hers.”
 Spencer watched as you turned away from him, walking towards the spare room. You didn’t look back as you closed the door, and, finally, the tears fell from his eyes. This was it, he had lost you because he failed to do the most simple thing in a relationship. You were leaving him.
Permanent Tag List: @sskhair​​ @sammypotato67​​ @spencerreids-wife​​ @yoongi-holland​ @bucky-babygirl​​ @youareperrrfectls​​ @alexxcorona113​​ @tired-draculina​ @rachelxwayne​ @itsmoony​ @shigarakis-fifth-hand​ @andreasworlsboring101 @fantasticalfuchsbau​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @ourmrswonderlandlove @loverboyreid​ @kburgenstein​
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vanmccannonlyfans · 3 years
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Cocoon
part i.
But in hell, there was relief in the utter helplessness. Here, your actions had both consequences for yourself, and others. You weren’t sure which was worse.
“How do you have so many of these?!”
Alicia had 10s of boxes of tests in her suitcase, as if they were hotel shampoo bottles or restaurant breath mints. The pink floral branding stuck out against the sea of black leather and denim that comprised her wardrobe.
“Get em in bulk on amazon, cheaper that way and saves me a trip to the store.” As if bulk buying pregnancy tests was as casual as ordering toothpaste or tampons.
You moved to the bathroom to take the test, stepping over used towels strewn across the floor. You were glad you were doing this in a place so impersonal, however uncomfortable. Whatever the outcome, good or bad, you would be able to leave without any memories tainting the space, never to return and have to relive the feeling. If this was your bathroom at home, you’d be reminded every time you had to go.
Alicia camped in front of the mirror, smacking her lips together after every layer of strawberry gloss, the wand alternating between tracing her plump lips and pumping the tube for more product. Leaning against the fake granite hotel counter, she fussed with her raven black bangs and adjusted her top.
“Is it ready yet?” She asked, without averting her eyes from their own contact, her lips now more reflective than the mirror.
“I can’t look..” The room was twisting more than your stomach as you picked up the test, double vision making it impossible to count the number of lines.
Was there just one? Two? How dark does the second one have to be?
“Does this look positive to you?”
Alicia cocked her head at the test, brow furrowed.
“The second line is faint...but it’s there.”
“Fuck,” You exhaled as you fell against the wall, exasperated.
“Didn’t you always want to be parents?”
“Well yes, but...not so soon. We don’t even have a place to live...”
Life on the road was hollow and lonely, even with your best friends. Playing shows every night to strangers who saw you as enigmas, then returning to cold hotel rooms to sleep until the having to get back on the bus or plane for the next event, repeat ad infinitum until you had crossed off a laundry list of places you had stepped foot in but not actually experienced. It all seemed so fun and exciting until you realized that you didn’t know anyone anywhere and were too tired to do things even on days off, and ended up just sleeping the day away and ordering in pizza. It wasn’t a viable situation for raising a child, and hardly sustainable for an otherwise healthy adult.
-
You laid on the scratchy quilted comforter, each tick of the clock intensifying your anxiety, like a bomb about to detonate. Every second brought you closer to confronting a situation that felt neither fully real nor fantasy. Like your whole world depended on what he would think.
The beep of the key card brought you back down to earth from the peaks of your existential dread. You couldn’t wait to be held, comforted, told it was going to be alright, even if neither of you had any idea what to do. His touch was a balm to your aching soul, one that no antidepressant could rival.
Van entered without a word.
“Baby?” You called to him, as if he couldn’t see you.
He remained silent, dropping his guitar case on the ground. After what felt like eons, he looked up toward the window behind you, as if you were invisible.
“I think you should go.” His eyes were sallow, skin dehydrated from all the smokes and shitty fast food and beers every night.
“What?” The single word came out like a croak, your voice evading you. First you couldn’t be seen, now you could hardly be heard, as if you were dissolving from material reality. As if only his acknowledgement made you real. “Van--”
“No,” He cut you off, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, the other on his hip, swiveling him towards the wall. His adams apple rose and fell without a word, bobbing like a buoy on a choppy sea.
“I don’t want to fight about this. I just want you to leave.” He looked down, running a hand through his hair before tucking it under his armpit as if he were chilled.
You were in disbelief. The same man who had invited you to accompany him across the world was discarding you as easily as you had tossed the test that said you were carrying his child into the bin.
“But Van--”
“JUST GO!” He belted, shaking the room with his volume. You had never heard him yell like that, hardly had ever seen him genuinely angry.
You struggled to catch your breath, hot tears erupting from your eyes.
“--I’m pregnant.”
There was a loud crack as Van’s phone hit the wall, leaving a mark.
“STOP LYING!” He thundered, grabbing your shoulders.
He was finally looking into your eyes. His were red and glassy and you could smell the last cigarette on his skin, so much so that you found yourself on the floor throwing up, then running to your suitcase like a wounded animal, then in the brass elevator, then out the lobby and into the street. You weren’t sure where you were going or how you would get there, just that you wanted to be gone.
When your legs finally collapsed from exhaustion, you found yourself out of breath in front of a bodega, simultaneously sweating and shivering from the physical and emotional trauma. You went in to buy a bottle of water and drank it in greedy gulps while scrolling on your phone to take your mind off of your predicament. At the top of your inbox was a flight confirmation, forwarded from the band’s manager. It was a plane ticket back home.
-
The sterile, unfriendly design of airports had always thrilled you. They were an exciting gateway to a new place in the wide world you hadn’t explored much of. You had never even been on a plane before Van had toured outside of the UK. The complete lack of rules and disregard for conventional social norms enchanted you; how strange a place to have bars open at 6am next to designer shops and restaurants more expensive than you had ever eaten in. Van would order bailey’s in your coffee while he had a morning beer, before sneaking tipsy kisses in cheap seats at 42,000 feet.
Now the airport felt like a portal to hell, sucking you back to the place you had escaped from.
You hadn’t told anyone you were coming home, or that you had broken up, or...anything. You hadn’t spoken a word to anyone besides the cab driver who asked which terminal to drop you off at. You weren’t sure who you would tell first, what you would say. If you opened your mouth, nothing would come out. Except maybe some incoherent stuttering and word salad, which fit how you felt inside--both numb and acerbic, cold to the touch but teeming with a pain so primal and acrid it could kill a horse. The water in your stomach felt like it was curdling, and you hoped you could make it through the flight without throwing up.
-
The cab dropped you off on the corner of your parent’s property where the guest house loomed, hardly visible through the gloaming. You fumbled with the key, hoping it hadn’t been changed since the last time. The door rattled open to dusty furniture and soupy air; musty and untouched as if it had been abandoned. You and Van used to sneak in here in for quickies and hold clandestine parties, lighting candles instead of turning on lights to not tip off your parents that you were present. The stain from when someone dropped a bottle of whiskey still marred the floorboards, and you wondered if anyone had been in here since you left.
You had hardly surveilled the place before the door snapped open behind you.
“Fuck, you scared me!” It was your brother, shaking the dew from his trainers. “Why are you back? I thought you would be gone until next year, at least.” You sucked in the thick air, scanning the room for alibis. Stretching the last few moments before you had the acknowledge that you now walked the earth all by yourself.
“Oh, you know. Just felt homesick.”
Your brother respected your lie, letting it dissipate in the stale air like the smoke from a snuffed wick.
“I never liked him, anyway”
-
Your parents were happy, albeit a bit startled, to see you. They had converted your room to an office and all of your old things from high school, like notes from Van and old chemistry notebooks, were collecting dust in the attic. It was good to have the guest house to yourself, to be miserable in peace without the lingering tension of having to acknowledge the reason for your return, or to have anyone ask why you were throwing up so much and sleeping for 14 hours at a time.
Your dreams were so deep and lifelike that you had trouble discerning reality from fiction in your own memory; your nightmares even worse. Once you dreamt that Van had come into the guest house bedroom with a cup of tea asking how you’d slept, how his baby was doing. When your eyes had burst open, you were cold and alone. Anguish gripped your stomach, forcing it’s contents up your throat then down onto the floor.
Other times the dreams were of him fucking you.  Most nights it was just replays of your breakup, repeating every time you fell back asleep after being jerked awake from the sheer horror of that moment, worse than any organic monster ridden nightmare you had ever had. Each iteration more fresh than the last, as if someone was rewinding it over and over again on a cassette tape, starting at a high pitched blur then ending only when you could feel his hot breath ghost across your face.
Some days you woke up so paralyzed by your grief you wondered if you were in hell. Each moment was unbearably painful and eternal, the mere act of breathing felt sisyphean. But in hell, there was relief in the utter helplessness. Here, your actions had both consequences for yourself, and others. You weren’t sure which was worse.
-
The clinic was on the outskirts of town, far enough away you weren’t likely to run into anyone unless they were there for the same reason. The ultrasound tech didn’t make eye contact a single time, snapping her gum as she dispensed the chilly ultrasound gel in a single deft shake.
Your chest tightened when you heard the heartbeat for the first time, eyes prickling with tears. The rhythmic thump, thump, thump ticking through the monitor flooded your heart with a profound sense of relief.
Finally, something that was yours.
-
Tour stretched on, every night sold out. Press junkets, radio shows, interviews, and photoshoots were plastered all over social media, news papers, television, even the bus station adverts and shop bathroom posters. You quickly learned not to check your phone outside of calls and avoided the media. It was easy when you hardly had the energy to lift your head in the first place. Isolation was easier than breathing, and a lot less painful.
You had learned the hard way when you had tried reading the paper each day. You could leaf through mindlessly, until page 6 which always featured a half page spread of Van and a nameless girl, all uniquely the same. They always took similar form, as if made in a factory by formula: tight jeans and low cut blouses, cakefaced and bottle blonde; each one skinner, prettier, and younger than the last. Some looked like they had school the next day. You stopped reading the paper.
-
When you told your family you were pregnant, your mother cried--whether out of shock or happiness, you weren’t sure. Your brother punched a hole in the wall, then went outside to smoke. Your father just sighed--a long, deep sigh that validated his disappointment in your circumstances and choices.  His reaction was the most heartbreaking.
Unlike your mother’s reaction, you knew unequivocally that his was one of disappointment.  You were supposed to go to uni, maybe Oxbridge or a fancy American school or even elsewhere in Europe where you could learn a new language and lounge on picnic blankets in the sun with a bottle of wine and fancy cheese while mulling over your Literature seminar readings. You were supposed to be interesting and clever and successful and far away from here. Instead you were back where you had started, some wash up’s discards, nothing to show for it except a new dependent on your taxes.
Your brother followed you back to the guest house, determined to argue as ever. He was a man of few words until he was upset, and then every word cut like broken glass.
“Are you sure you want to keep it? It isn’t too late for you to finish up and go to uni.”
You had almost forgotten that you basically dropped out to follow Van on tour.
You had told your family that it would just be a couple stops, then you never came home. Until now.
-
One day your mother phoned in a rage after receiving a letter from the school that you had been expelled on the grounds of truancy. You remembered you told her you were turning in your work remotely—an obvious, bold faced lie.
Your relationship with Van had changed you from a studious rule follower to a fool, lucky in love, dropping out of high school to accompany someone else building their dream. Loving Van was like climbing a tree, higher and higher with no thought of how you would get down. But now you were flat on your ass, with another between your legs.
Your personality change had sparked concern in your friends in family, allegeding that you were “not that type of girl” to abandon everything for a man.
“I’m not really sure what type of girl I am,” was your only response.
After all,how could you know who you were meant to be when you were so young? Being with Van, being Van’s, was fun and exciting in a way you had never experienced. You’d never really dated, and didn’t have a lot of friends outside your brother’s friends, which was how you met Van. He was always nearby, goofing around and causing trouble.
Your earliest memories of Van were of riding bikes through town, collapsing in the cool grass when your legs turned to jelly and you could hardly peddle anymore. Van would blow dandelion seeds in your face while you giggled and rolled away from him. All of the hours spent under the gushing lemony sunshine ended in grass stained knees and freckled cheeks that lingered long after the popsicle drippings had been washed from your fingers.
That was the beginning--the familiarity; the quintessential bedrock of love that matures as you do, which each outgrown shoe and lost tooth. The type of childlike innocence entwined with companionship that warms your stomach just to think of, having had such a pure memory to call your own; an endless syrupy summer’s day that no one can take away from you.
-
As you grew and changed from girls and boys to women and men, your love morphed right along with it. There were many long stretches of time you hadn’t seen him at all, either from busyness with school or a row with your brother. But whenever you saw him again, that warmth returned right back to you, starting in your stomach and burning up to your sternum, bright and effervescent.
Your relationship mutated from platonic to romantic one night at a house party. Alcohol was still a novelty to you and two bottles of beer was your limit. You and Van were sitting together on a couch, the dim room filled with your other friends, illuminated only by fairy lights and the occasional flicker of a lighter. Van was telling ridiculous stories all while gesticulating wildly, each one making you laugh harder than the last. The combination of the alcohol and throwing your head back with laughter so many times had made you feel like you were on a rollercoaster, vertiginous and bubbly.
As if you hadn’t had enough, you got up to get another drink and fell back down onto the couch--except you missed your original spot by several inches and landed squarely on Van’s lap. You laughed out loud at your clumsiness. If you were sober you would have been so embarrassed! But your lowered inhibitions helped you see the humor in the situation. The room was aglow and the world was still big; the energy of youth electrifying the room.
Van instinctively placed a hand on the small of your back to steady you, and quickly jerked it up towards your shoulders as to not make you feel uncomfortable. A twinge of excitement seared in your stomach. You had never really touched before, and this felt nice in the most unexpected of ways--as if you had found something you didn’t know you were looking for.
You studied Van’s face, having never been so close to it. The perfect slope of his nose, the confetti of reddish freckles across high cheekbones, the pink pillowy lips that outfitted his wide mouth.
He must have been staring at your lips, too, because they clashed together as if drawn by magnet. There was no saying who kissed who as your heads met, puckering together needily. You wrapped your hand arms around him, leaning into his warm body so that your heads were resting on the couch, lips married together. His mouth tasted sweet like fairy floss, the room spinning like a carousel. You weren’t sure how long you made out for, but it felt like you were alone in the room full of people, coiled in the sweetest embrace that made time stand still. When you finally came up for air Van was grinning like he knew something you didn’t, gingerly tucking your hair behind your ear.
“I hope your brother didn’t see that,” he joked, making you blush.
You didn’t remember much of how the rest of the night went or how you ended up in your own bed the next morning, but the mere thought of having kissed Van so publicly both thrilled and mortified you. Surely people would talk--or were they all too drunk to notice? Did this mean he fancied you, or was it alcohol fueled happenstance?
At school the next week you heard his voice echoing in the halls, and turned to see him hanging on another girl while fraternizing with a group students the same year as Van and your brother. He tickled and teased her before hugging her from behind, then kissing her cheek with fervor. White hot shame flared inside you, ruddying your cheeks. You hurried home in a daze, scolding yourself for being so naive. He was a flirt and you were a fucking idiot for allowing yourself to be involved with someone like that--your brother’s friend, no less.
But the next weekend the same booze soaked gathering reoccurred, this time with more warm bodies packed into a smaller room. You sipped from a can while exchanging small talk with a girl from your chemistry class, wondering if you should leave or have another drink. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Van had arrived with the same girl from earlier, making a scene as he greeted his friends.
You decided to have another drink.
Cracking open a fresh can, you turned away hoping Van wouldn’t notice you. You smiled and nodded while your classmate blathered on, not registering a single word she said, unable to concentrate on anything other the imaginary tension in your head. The slick condensation beading on the aluminum can was your only anchor to reality as your body flushed from the discomfiture as much as the humidity. Though you hated to admit it, you wanted to be the girl next to him. Instead you slurped more beer, hoping to reach a level of inebriation where someone else started looking better.
Eventually the heat of the room became too suffocating to bear, and you excused yourself for a smoke. The noise of the party was barely a low thrum from the cement patio, despite being eight feet away. You sat on the very edge of the pavement, stretching your legs out into the dewy grass. The damp chill grounded you, your heart rate descending as you exhaled into the ether. The stars scrambled against the inky sky, floating in and out of focus as your nerves melted away with each crisp breeze. You were more drunk than you thought, but it felt nice out here where you weren’t being choked by calefaction and confronted with Van with the other girl.
The first drag of your cigarette was interrupted by a body shuffling next to yours, thumping down beside you on the cement.
“What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here by yourself?” It was Van.
You scanned over the back of your shoulder to see if the girl was around you. She was not.
“I’m alright,” you sighed, tapping the ash from your cigarette onto the curb.
Van wrapped his arms around his crossed legs, shaking his hair out. From under his fringe, his eyes searching your face for clues to decode your expression.
You exhaled the smoke so at least there would be something between you to shield you from his intent gaze. The chirp of crickets in the distance filled the silence. Snuffing the butt out on the cement, you got up to leave without a word. Van grabbed your hand, stopping you in your tracks.
His expression nearly broke you, wide eyes begging for an explanation, confused as it was hurt. Letting out a deep sigh, you weighed your options: stay with him and exchange meaningless platitudes or leave. Leaving seemed like the better choice.
“I’m going home.”
Van sprang up. “You shouldn’t go alone this time of night after drinking. I’ll walk you home.”
Secretly, you loved the initiative he was taking. He wasn’t asking, he was announcing. This type of attention and caretaking were foreign to you, even as the kid sister and tagalong. No one ever fussed over you. Even though Van was known for being sweet to everyone, you were pleased as punch he was fussing over you.
Dark was the night as you trudged home, guided only by the flaxen incandescence of streetlamps and drunken intuition. For a long time neither of you spoke, reveling in the quietude of the sleepy town in the dead of night.
Van broke the silence. “So how’ve you been?”
“Same as it ever was,” you sighed, still uncomfortable with the hidden motive of his small talk. “Is your girlfriend gonna be upset that you’re walking me home?” Van laughed to himself, even though it wasn’t a joke. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
Only partially did those words alleviate the tension that had been badgering you all night. The alcohol poisoning your bloodstream was making you bold.
“So you just kiss all your friends like that,” You kicked a bottle down the road. Van’s head jerked up, turning towards you.
“Let me kiss you not as a friend then.” You stopped dead in your tracks. Of course he could be bolder than you. For the second time that night, you looked into his eyes and saw he was serious. You could feel yourself freezing in place like a deer in the headlights, but your bodies were being pulled together as if magnetized. Van grabbed your face as your lips married; exchanging greedy, hungry kisses. His arm migrated around your lower back, pulling you into him, subsuming your bodies as one. You kissed as if you couldn’t breath without the other’s air, desperate and smacking.
Even when your lips finally parted, your figures remained cocooned together. Your noses brushed at the tip, studying each other’s faces. Never had you seen Van so still and ruminative before. He brushed his thumb across your cheek before imparting a final kiss.
“How’s that for not friends?”
-
Soon Van was coming to your house to see you more than your brother and their friends. He would meet you in the hallway to exchange forbidden kisses, risking demerits and suspensions. Now instead of lurking on the outskirts at parties you were right next to him, the center of attention, with his arm wrapped around you.
You could tell your brother wasn’t comfortable with your arrangement, but he never said anything discouraging. You had never smiled so much in your life, and people sometimes didn’t recognize you next to him. You drank more and wore less. School began to feel like a prison, entrapping you 8 hours a day when you’d rather spend time with your sweetheart. Even in subjects you loved, you couldn’t focus. You tried to study while the band practiced, but you’d always get distracted by how cute Van was and his never ending questions about their creative direction. You started helping manage their shows, calling venues and arranging transport and making sure every piece was in its place.
Soon you were helping out so much that you were hardly home and rarely saw your other friends. As the band became more successful, you would occasionally skip school to accompany them to far off gigs and events, reveling both in the rebelliousness of playing hooky and the sheer delight of watching your favorite person achieve their dreams.
-
One of your favorite teachers had warned you against following Van, confronting you during office hours when you had dropped in to ask about an assignment.  There was genuine concern in his expression, as if you were his own child that was making a stupid mistake.
“I shouldn’t be saying any of this, but you really should rethink your decision to leave. You could go to a great school and study whatever you wanted. You’re brilliant and clever and could charm the most stoic of souls. There are plenty of people in the world like Ryan, who will want to harness your energy to use for themselves. Don’t let them.”
You had thought he was just jealous, or perhaps had a tiny crush on you. You smiled at your past naivety. He was right. Your brother agreed.
“He picked you because you were hardworking and clever and too sweet to realize he was taking advantage of you! You were the best girl at that school and he fucking knew it. None of the girls like Alice or Nia would have lasted longer than a second with him! They would have crumbled from not being the center of attention, nor do they have a brain cell to show for it. He wanted someone to support him and do all of the hard work while he took credit for all of the glory. I mean, he didn’t even arrange you as a manager or assistant like Larry so you could get paid by the touring company!”
You hated when your brother was right, because it was a gut punch every time. He was a man of few words, but those choice words stung.  You had organized much of the band’s earlier endeavors, like communication with agents and venues and examining contracts for faulty clauses and loopholes. The band was hardworking and talented, but still too hungry for success to make good judgements on their offerings. Without you, they surely would have fallen prey to a lecherous label under a contract that would have destroyed them.
“I know it wasn’t malicious, because he can’t pull his head out of his ass to think about anyone else. He surely knows you could achieve more without him, the thought just never occurred to him because it’s his world and the rest of us just live in it. And now you’re having his child in the town he abandoned while he’s living out his rockstar fantasies. Did he ever even call you to make sure you made it home, and the plane didn’t fucking explode with his unborn child on it? Does he even fucking know your pregnant? Does he even care?”
You turned away so that your brother wouldn’t see the hot tears in springing from your eyes.
“You can go now,” you mewed, hoping he would take the hint.
“If he sets foot in this town again, I’m going to fucking kill him.”
It was a promise.
-
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jonah-aesthetic · 3 years
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That One Pt.3 I Jonah Marais
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Jonah Marais X Reader / Ivette X Daniel Seavey
Plot: Jonah kidnaps the reader into showing her who he is. They’re something like friends as she faces the deal her dad gives her to change her career path. Ivette couldn’t be more supportive for her best friend. 
Word count: 5.6k
Author’s Note: Um this series is longer then I thought oh well I’m proud of it. I wish I put in more Jonah, but next part with hopefully have that as your relationship blossoms. Um I just realised Jonah is a pianist and not a guitarist I feel so dumb for making that mistake. Not edited.
Rating: 16+ 
One Two
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Days continued to past by like seasons, painfully slow. As if you were waiting for the October breeze in the middle of summer. Finals came and gone shedding you of dreading nights of studying, coffees with seven espresso shots, and long early 2000s playlists. You haven’t heard from Trey since the night of the party and you assumed weren’t going to hear from him again. 
You were still furious with Jonah, he had you in his bed and said nothing about it. He was probably use to having girls in his bed and didn’t bother making an excuse. Your heart grew fonder from him as the days went on as your brain’s resentment bloomed stronger. The great battle between the brain and the heart has begun. 
“You know you could come with us.” Ivette’s voice sliced through your thoughts. You both were curled into each other on your double bed in your one person dorm. A soft white fleece blanket cover in orange pumpkins engulfed the both of you, Bottles of pop scattered all around you as well as bags of candies and chips. The light was off as you both watch To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before for the tenth time this week. 
“To the gala?” You asked with an amused eyebrow. The gala in question was the annual auto auction for richest families in the city. This year it was a 1956 Breathtaking Chevrolet Corvette Convertible. Gorgeous metals, pristine cherry red paint, and an engine purred like nothing before. It was a car that you’d probably kill for.
“Yes, I know you hate them-” 
“I don’t hate them, I severely don’t like them. There’s a difference.”  
“There’s really not. Anyways it’d be fun if you came. You’d get to mingle with hot Richies and maybe take one home for the night.” Ivette made her voice as innocent as she could. Leaning more into your side with brown puppy dog eyes. 
“You’re going with Daniel I don’t want to crash the date and Julie thinks Jonah and I are together.” You sigh looking at your moving feet under the thin blanket. They poke out revealing your still healing wounds, starting yo close with nothing but tiny scars. Jonah was very precise with disinfecting them. Without him they would’ve been infected deeply right now. 
“Okay, it’s up to you.” Ivette didn’t push. She knew there was something going on between the two of you. Your best friend didn’t know exactly what but it was something, she didn’t tell you what to do wanting you to figure it out on your own. Sometimes you wish she’d push ans prod at you about it, but at the same time you were grateful for her. 
“I love you.” You say giving her a small smile, she returned the words and hugged you close to her. Your phone rang and buzzed on your night stand cutting the moment you were sharing with your best friend. You felt Ivette move as she reached for it,  confusion etch into her dark brows. “Who is it?” you ask.
“Its..It’s your dad.” You sat up at the information, shock running in your veins. “What.” You asked dubious, you grasp the phone into your hands not believing what she had said. Your dad’s name glowed at the top on the screen with the a blank picture. He didn’t deserve one. You glanced at Ivette, she shared the same expression you did. Then you answered it.
“Y/n How has the semester been going?” His voice was almost robotic. Of course the only thing he cared about was the family legacy that you didn’t want.
“Why are you calling me?” You ask coldly remembering  the last time you interacted with him. In your room throwing everyone of your paintings is a box telling you that this wasn’t a career path he wanted you on. He never saw the hours you spend on them, never cared to actually look at what you brought to live. 
He found a premed program and you were going to attend weather you wanted to or not. Of course he told you he didn’t want to see your life fade out and he was doing this because he cared about you. Your dad continued to put your life’s work into the attic with no further discussion. At that point you were mentally drain and didn’t fight him on it. 
“Look I know I haven’t been fair to you. I just..I didn’t want to see you sit there and do nothing with your life. I thought painting was a hobby not a passion, but I went up into the attic recently and saw them tucked into the corner. I was amazed at what you created with a brush and a little colour.” His voice had more expression in it. 
“What are you getting at? I was busy,” You say glance at Ivette sitting against the head bored observation written in her eyes. Chewing at her raw finger tips. 
“If you can sell one of your painting for two grand you can drop out. And I’ll put you through art school.” He sighed like he was already regretting his discussion. 
“Are you serious?” You asked not being about to control your excitement. He was giving you a chance even if it was just a sliver it was something. 
“Yes you’re miserable I know this because you haven’t said anything me for two years.” regret dripping in his voice.
“Two grand for one painting?” You asked as if you didn’t hear him word for word.
“Yes those are my conditions, don’t make me regret it.” The line goes dead and you stare at the wall flabbergasted still processing the information.    
-----------
I pressed his body against the wall with the all the strength I had. He could over power me with any wrong move I chose to make. The silver tip of my dagger tug into his throat, olive skin sizzled under the touch of it making the Alpha seethe at the pain you were inflicting on him. 
Do you think you can over power me little Omega the humour in his question was like venom
Where is Kaden I growled at him, the anger and fear raiding off me. 
I killed him, I couldn't have my precious mate fall in love with a pathetic human 
Without thinking you ran the dagger across his throat, the skin parting and burning at the touch of it. Red blood erupted from the cut, flowing down the blade and my hands. Shock was written in his eyes and a whimper left his lips. 
I loved you he accused as his blood choked out of his mouth and bubbled at the fresh cut on his throat. I never loved you it was a lie to get him back. I seethed at him, 
Ungrateful I gave you this kingdom. I ga-  the dagger found the way into his heart cutting off his wretched words. Warm blood splattered across my face and it felt like sweet sweet revenge upon him. I plunged the dagger deeper into his chest, feeling the way it pierced through his heart. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, body falling limp to the ground your grasp on him faltering. 
I felt the second he died, the breaking of the matting bond and the power of the alpha swarm into my body. Redemption w-his green eyes stalked onto me-wait that didn't happen!
The Presence of Him tore you from the beautiful universe of werewolves. Ink appeared on the pages of the book between your fingers again. Jonah leaned against a book shelve half covered by your book. You narrowed your eyes and glared at him. Sighing heavily you reluctantly put your book down, you were at a good part and wasn't exactly happy to be interrupted. 
“What do you want? I’m currently busy.” You Grumble at him from a bay window inside the library. The sky was reaching a midnight blue as the stars gleamed and sparkled. Lights inside didn’t shine as bright as the ones at Chocolate Shop, those ones were luminescent. Threading through Jonah’s curls and making them gorgeously lighter. His eyes were a bright green that seems to call your name-stop!
“Sorry to interrupt, must of been a good part from the expression you were making.” He says leaning against a book shelf watching you from your little nook. The leather jacket he wore circled his lean biceps flawlessly, He wore all black. His bruises before had faded and healed clean as the grey lion pendant dangled at his chest. 
“You did. But now that you’re hear might as well get on with it.” You say now wondering what expression you were making awhile reading. 
“Ivette didn’t tell you? Her phone must be dead.” Confusion was displayed on his sharp features. At the small mention of Ivette being in trouble you scrambled for your phone. Mind scattering on what could of possible happened to her when Daniel was on watch. Heart picking up speed as you found that the useless device in your hands was dead. 
“What happened to her?” You ask abruptly, getting to your feet and forgetting about your book. “Calm down, she’s fine. No limbs missing and all her blood is in tact.” Jonah says easing your raging mind. “Ivette’s tire pressure was too high, she ran over a massive rock and it exploded.” 
“Well what are you waiting for lets go.” You insist walking past him urgent to see if Ivette was truly okay. Sure Jonah said she was but you had to see for yourself. “Your book.” Jonah called over his shoulder, still in the same position watching you amazed. “Right my book.” You mumble to yourself as you go back and retrieved it on the velvet cushion. 
Jonah’s Jeep had the harsh contrast of Ivette’s Range, while hers smelled of cherries and light vanilla Jonah’s had smelled of sandalwood and cinnamon. The heavy aroma of a male was evident in the seat of the passenger seat. Radio hummed like that night of the party, Jonah’s fingers drummed to the beat. His rings clanking against the steering wheel and you wondered what they’s feel like dancing on your soft skin. What would his warm fingers feel like gripping your chin while he made you look into his green eyes. Stop. 
“What street was it on?” You asked still looking outside the passenger window. Head resting in your palm watching the trees pass on the highway. You wondered what happened to Ivette’s heels, because they weren’t sitting on the floor of Jonah’s vehicle anymore.
“I lied.” Jonah says coolly, your head snaps to him. “What do you mean you lied?” Your voice furious. “Ivette is at the fraternity watching Frozen 2 with Daniel and Zach.” His voice nonchalant as he kept his eyes on the road. 
“Stop this car Jonah or I swear I’ll jump out.” You threatened, your hand on the door knob. “You’re not go-” You unbuckle your seat belt, pulling the door open. The interior light beams on. His face falls watching you scoot closer to the door. The adrenaline from the rage you held for him blocked all rationality. The pavement races past the tire as the wind kissing your legs and cheeks, whipping through your hair with a wicked breeze . 
The Jeep swerves as he grabs your wrist yanking you back in the car.  The vehicle behind him honks as he swerves the Jeep again to reach across from you and slam the door shut. The silent anger on his stone cold face deflates yours. you finally got under his skin. You smile to yourself as you look out the window again. 
“Why would you think of doing something like that?” The roar of his voice made you flinch. You didn’t dare look at him knowing he was burning holes into the fabric of your shirt. That angry passion for your well being was attractive to say the least. 
“Honestly Jonah why do you care all of a sudden?” Your voice flat. If you acted like you had no feelings for him maybe you’d be able to trick your heart into thinking it was real. 
He said nothing as if he didn’t have an answer. But he had multiple and had no idea which one to pick. He didn’t and let the silence fill in. He glanced at you every ten minutes that passed, you could tell by the way the leather groaned at his movement. He drove forty-five minutes out of town just to show you the view of it on a massive cliff. 
He yanked the steering wheel all the way to the left taking a sharp left. With fast hands he spun it all the right and reversed to the edge of the cliff. You watched him with observant eyes as Jonah popped the trunk, unbuckling himself as he got out of the Jeep. Not saying a word to you as he crawled into the back. 
Why did he bring you here? why had he reacted the way he did when you were trying to hop out of the moving Jeep? Although you had to admit that it was a tad bit too much, even for Ivette. There wasn’t a clear answer for him. 
The open of the passenger door had you jumping out of your skin. Heart skipping a beat, confused you didn’t sense his presence reach you. Looking up at him with doe eyes, his complex soft in the moonlight. Not an ounce of anger in sight. 
“Come,” his voice gentle offering his right hand to you. The softness of him reminded you of how he took care of you that night at the ice cream shop. Cleaning your wounds and feeding you ice cream. Maybe that’s why your chose to place your hand in his. Warmth crawled up your forearm and stopped at your shoulder blade. His hand fit in yours like a puzzle piece like it was meant to be there. 
Silently Jonah guided you to the back of the Jeep, keeping you close to his body as he parked fairly close to the edge. You leaned into him closer once your foot kissed the edge and dirt flung off the cliff. Breath catching in your throat as your heart dropped in your stomach. “I got you.” Jonah whispered pulling you closer into his side. You looked up at him, all you saw was his jawline but you were beyond grateful he didn’t feed you to the cliff. 
Your fingers ached to gasp the back of his neck and pull him to your lips. He was making it harder each day to resist the urge of him. Warm hands wrapping on your hips had you gasping, digging into the fabric of your shirt he lifted you onto the back of his Jeep. Blankets coated the hard plastic floor of the Jeep making it more comfortable. 
The view of your city in the dead of night was breathtaking. Street light, traffic light and store light illuminated it. Like is had been the only star left in the sky. “Gorgeous isn’t it?” Jonah’s breath hits your neck and you now realised how close he was sitting next to you.
“What am I doing here, Jonah.” 
You turn your head to him, noses almost grazing each other. You’re meet with his eyes and a small sigh leaves your lips. The green was the exact colour of an oak tree leaf, small flecks of brown floated into his flawless swirls of green. You could spot each individual stand of his curls upon his forehead. Light stubble mingled onto his jawline reaching his cheeks vaguely. There was a faint scab on his eye from a previous wound you wouldn’t of spotted out if you weren’t  so close to him. 
Fuck. 
“I wanted to show you view of the city, stunning from the outside at a certain time. But if you reach inside you can spot all the flaws it has to offer and yet you’re still in love with it.” Jonah swallows harshly and you could see how his Adam’s apple bob. You finally pull your gaze away from him hearing your heart pound in your ears. 
“It’s the point of view you look at it. You could despise it from the pollution it causes and end up leaving. Or you could love it know it’s flaws and help take care of it.”  You spot Chocolate Shop close enough to see the glowing brown letters. 
“You only see the outskirts of me, I’m here to show you the inner point of view of thee Jonah Marais.” You turn to him again and raised your eyebrows at him amused.
“and who is Thee Jonah Marais.” You mocked him playfully. 
“I’m serious. Let me show you and you’ll find out along the way.” He shrugs his shoulders as in question towards you. 
You’re quiet looking at him searching for anything. Not green eyes looked to the side and there was no biting of the lip. Zero fidgeting and zero wavered octave in his voice. He wasn’t playing around like you thought he was.  If he was willingly to reach out, trick you, and make the effort to tell you then you’d let him with no resistance.
“Who is Jonah Marais?” You asked, 
He tells you the entire story of his life, every year of his life he could remember. How he was just a kid in his room going live on Younow to finding his the guys and starting a band with them. How it was a rocky begging with barely any gigs to being booked every weekend for six weeks at a time.To adopting Sawyer and moving out for college. Jonah held this rock star persona about him scared to let people in. You were so wrong about him and you felt like shit for it, maybe he’d forgive you for it. 
Now You were curled up into the corner of Jonah’s Jeep covered in blankets. The cold breeze of the night air getting to you. He strummed his acoustic guitar that he seemed to always have tucked into the back seat. Fingers changing against the strings making a beautiful melody. He sat at the edge of the Jeep letting his legs dangle off, his back to you as he hummed. 
I can’t even hide it 
I haven’t stop thinking about your lips
mm, your lips, yeah I losing my mind
It’s been too long, I’m missing your kiss
yeah, your kiss
Jonah’s voice is soft as it tangles with the stings of the instrument perfectly. Almost the same octaves of an angel, gentle and flawless. No scratch that a god the sound pulled you to him which felt slightly strange to you. Your body wanted to be by his side watching his fingers pick at the strings. Instead you nuzzled into the blankets further. 
you
you’ve been there through it all
you answered all my calls
you
I can’t believe I let you go
Beautiful, you let the thoughts of him flow freely. Not scolding yourself for thinking them. It was like you were meeting him for the first time, a side of Jonah you’ve never seen before. Even his vaguely muscular back was perfect, They were most likely sculpted by god himself if Jonah wasn’t already him.
Tears and slamming doors
I’m falling, now on the floor
Begging, begging please
you don’t want me no more.
A small innocent yawn passing your lips halted Jonah’s voice and finger picking. Looking back at you with a tired glance full of worry. Looking into his green pools you yawned again like a kitten and Jonah couldn’t help but swoon. Sleep was swarming your body and Jonah could tell by the dopey smile on your face. But all you wanted was him to start playing the guitar again. 
“Don’t fall asleep again you’ll end up in my bed again.” Jonah warns, 
That makes you stare at him blankly full attention on him, “How did I wake up in your bed again? ‘Cause all I remember is the ice cream and the lights were out after that.” 
He tells you, including the part where you woke up, Coddling Sawyer’s head in your lap. Throwing an old t-shirt at you in hopes you’ll change out of your dress. Prepping the couch for a hard’s night sleep.You wanting him to stay until you fell asleep, but not wanting to sleep. 
“Oh.” You look at the blanket not wanting to look at him. “I asked you to sleep in bed with me?” You voice so much softer then before. “Yes.” was his only response. You believed him, who would he lie about something so small. You’re upset with yourself that you let your feelings take the steering wheel. 
“Look you were intoxicated and half asleep, everybody wants someone when they’re like that. Don’t beat yourself up.” Jonah says scooting a little closer, placing his guitar down, tiny reassurance that it really was okay.
“Thank you.” You glance back up at him giving Jonah a delicate smile. He returns it, “Let’s get you home, the sun is rising.” he says offering you a hand. Just past his head you spot light blues and pinks blending in with the bright yellow of the sun. You spent the entire night with Jonah and you didn't even realise, Talking with him only felt like an hour, give or take. 
“I guess it is.” You say letting your hand slip into his. You flinch at the warmth it caused to bloom in your shoulder blades, you haven’t gotten use to it. 
---------
Ivette drove you to your parents house the next weekend. You needed to pick a painting to sell or at least put it up for bidding. Your car was still in the shop. It’s been months and you’re about to give up on it. But Ivette was gladly willing to drive you said it was a quick road trip. 
The attic’s floor creaked with every step you took searching for that breathtaking painting. You would see between to floorboards into the den and began to wonder if it was safe to be up here. “What about this one?” Ivette’s optimistic voice left you perplex. Glancing up you sighed staring the painting in the eyes. 
“No body in there right mind would pay two grand of a a faceless watercolour painting of Phcahontas.” 
“I would.” Ivette shrugs before putting the canvas back into the bin that said watercolour. You shake your head and laugh playfully. “That’s because you’re my best friend Ivette.” 
“Yes, and the painting your selling I’m buying.” 
“Um. No, you’re not...Ivette I swear if you buy this canvas. I won’t speak to you for a month.” You threaten digging through the landscape acrylic paint. 
“It’s only a month.” Ivette says pulling up a cafe picture done in all pencil crayon. You and you shake your head. 
“I’m serious. I have to do this on my own.” You say honestly, flicking through watercolour ocean life. Multiple bins were full of stories you created with your hands. Divided by the media you used to make them and the surface you made them on like canvas or card-stock. 
“Fine. What happens if you sell it for lets say five-hundred-thousand?” She asks her attention mainly on picking out art piece she thinks are worth it.  
“None of my paintings are worth that, but if and that’s a big if. Pay you back for all the things you gave me.” You say still digging and now realising they were sorted into years. Damn you painted anything you could think of. 
“No you’re not!” Ivette basically yells at you and your eyes widen in shock at the random out burst. 
“Okay you fucking psycho. I would get a vehicle. A used one that would run on four wheels just fine.” You say really thinking about it, that’s what you loved about Ivette she listened to you and never judge you for anything. 
“I think that’s a perfect stat.” She purred like that was the answer she was looking for. An hour whizzes by scavenging for the most likely candidate and goofing around with Ivette. Skipping directly over painting of your family you did, surprisingly there’s a lot. Like the one with your dad painted into the king of hell, or Ivette painted as a goddess. 
“I think I found it!” Ivette shouts so loud it causes the family dog to bark. Your face is blank as you stare at the canvas hanging from her finger tips. The second painting you had painted for spirit animal week back in high school. First you painted a doe. Your art teacher said it was un-gradable by how perfectly you captured yourself in it. 
That lion dangling from your best friend’s fingers was of Jonah’s spirit animal. You had a brief thing for him back then and if anyone saw it back then they’d know exactly who it was.  he always carried himself like the king. That school was his domain to say the least, not to mention he always wore the lion pendent around his neck. The same one he wears to this day. 
“That’s the one.” you say reluctantly. If you were going to sell an art piece for two thousand it’d be this one. You’ve spent hours on that one piece, it was your most dedicated painting as embarrassing as it was to admit. 
You took a few pictures of the painting before packing it into the trunk of Ivette’s Range. Posting it on a few website for bidding you hoped it go for the wanting price. Giving her a small nod Ivette started the hour drive back to campus with a coffee run.
------
The sun stretched through the massive window of Ivette’s gorgeous loft. Kissing the top on her glass table top. Notes and text books of your other classes spread along the glass leaving small gaps between. Nothing big was coming up but you liked refreshing your brain with the keyed information. This hack saved you from getting confused in your college courses, only god knows how perplexed in high school classes. 
Sure your dad gave you a sliver to dodge all of this but you weren’t going to relay on it. Of course you prayed to the sun and the moon that it would sell. And that’s why the painting sat in your dorm room waiting to rot. 
Taking a sip of your iced coffee you sighed in bliss, nothing like a well made coffee to chase the worry away. On the couch you could spot Ivette’s head tucked into Daniel’s shoulder. God they were so fucking cute. 
“What’s the colour scheme for the gala?” Daniel hummed into her forehead before planting a kiss there. “I was thinking somewhere between red and white?” It was a question, a chance to see what Daniel was okay with.
“I think red is amazing. Wine, ruby, burgundy, or blood?” He answered her with a question. She Beamed at it the knowledge for the colour. “Ruby.” She said before bringing her hands to jawline and pull him to her before kissing him. 
Your attention turning back on the notes in front of you. Ivette was undeniably happy with him and you wished she had the courage to stay with him this time. No matter what she says she deserves to finally be happy with him. 
“Y/n?” Your whips up and eyes connected with hers. “You should come, I know you said no already. But it’ll be fun. You’ll be my plus one since the Seavey’s are invited.” Her eyes softened and formed into her famous puppy dog eyes. Bottom lip rolling out into a pout, a pleading that worked for a good percentage of the time. 
“It’s in two days. I don’t have time to gather a worthy gown.” You resisted her charm. “I can make a quick call or two.” She practically begged you. 
Daniel glances at you with a mischievous ocean glint in his eyes. Flashes a smirk before leaning into Ivette, what was this one up to now? He’s always in the centre of Jonah’s treacherous plans. He whispers into her ear and a small wave of shock washed over her. She’s nodding before Daniel has a chance to pull away and agree to what he said to her. 
“Fine It’s up to you.” Ivette shrugs trying to brush of the fact Daniel whispered his evil plans in her ear. Which were differently about you if he had to whisper them to her. 
“Whatever you’re up to Seavey keep me out of it!” You narrow your eyes at him. Wide doe eyes Daniel begins to throw his hands up in surrender. Trying to seem innocent but failing miserably and looking suspiciously guilty. “I Wouldn’t speak of such crime.” 
He winks. 
-------------
You haven’t gotten wind of their devious plan for twenty-four hours,  you felt safe enough to say you were in the clear. You took a seat at your favourite coffee shop Golden Biscuit, the one Trey worked at. You asked about him and they had said he stopped working a week ago, the day of the party. which felt oddly suspicious. 
Trying to bury yourself back into the steamy werewolf romance your phone buzzed on the table top. Shaking the entirety of it yet you reluctantly reached for it. Ivette’s name flashed at the top “This better be life or death.” You mumble to yourself. 
“Where are you!?” You could hear the tears and desperation wrapping in her words. It was rare for Ivette to call you in hysterical breathes of cry. But you knew exactly what it sounded like a the first breath that left her lips. 
“Hey calm down. I’m at the coffee shop. What happened?” Your voice soft as your attention was on the situation at hand. 
“Bonnie sent me the wrong size! I need your help to fix it please!” You could hear her hiccup in her distressed striped voice. “Just take a breath, I’m assuming your in my dorm. Hold tight Ivette I’m on my way.” You soothe knowing how important these galas were to her. It was the one night a year where she could replenish her statues of a Richie and not feel guilty about it. 
“Okay, okay.” she says finally breathing through her nose. “I love you.” You say into the phone gathering your book into your bag and your coffee into your hand.”I love you too.” She replies back sounding less hysteric almost making you halt at the sudden change in her voice. You waved it off as a mind trick continuing to rushing out of Golden Biscuit and towards campus.  
Shouldering the door open you clatter to the floor of your dorm with an exaggerated oof. Chest tight and legs feeling like jelly as you pull yourself up, door wide open as your keys dangle from the knob. A few passing students pier in with wondering eyes. You huff before kicking the door shut closing it on anymore prying eyes. You’d remind yourself to fetch your keys later.
As soon as you collected your breath you saw no sign of Ivette and her hysterics. You rolled your eyes knowing she tricked your gullible little ass. Those theatre class we really paying off, Ivette really knew how to act and knew you’d come running in her signs of panic. 
A large crisp orange box sat a top your bed along side a black bag. Cautiously your hands reached for the gift bag pulling tissue paper out. Glancing inside you spot your silk green dress and Ivette’s heels. In your hand the dress condition was pristine as if it’s never been worn. Confusion your hands dart for the heels and you began to inspect them, not a single blood stain upon the velvet straps. Were these replaced?
Setting the thought aside you begin to open the box, a top white tissue paper was a clean envelope. Inside the wax seal was the Marais family crest, breaking it you fingers find a letter inside written in delicate swirling loops. 
A little birdie told me your dress size. Now forgive me for the colour there wasn’t much option in a day’s notice. Daniel and I will fetch the both of you at her house. By the way I took your green dress on a trip to the dry cleaners. 
- Jonah Marais
As soon as you think you’re in the clear it rolls into view. He didn’t give you a chance to say no, clever you didn’t think you could because the gala was tomorrow night. All Jonah brought was stress upon you and your perplexed feelings. But now you felt more friends then enemies but there was still the instinct to stay clear of him.
sighing you places the letter down and unwrap the tissue paper. A gorgeous sapphire ball gown with a sweet heart neckline sit inside. mesmerised by it’s workmanship you grasp it in your hands.  Silky texture nothing like your green dress,this was higher quality thick in fabric and softer. You wondered the price. It stayed a mystery because no tag dangled off the dress. Ivette most like told you about your fear of her expensive gift and removed it with his hands. God those hands plucking the strings of his guitar.
This wasn’t a reality it was written deep in some fantasy book you’ve read before. You were dreaming or you’re hallucinating, that’s the only explanation. It was a rare occasion you got the man and the gown, This shit was only in between the pages of fiction. 
-------------
Thank you so much for the people who have stuck with this series you’re god sent I swear. 
Which was your favourite part? Do you guys like the other elements of the story like the reader selling the painting and the Gala? or are you all about the romance?
Don’t be afraid to message me if anything offended you with my POC characters. This is a safe space for everyone and I want to make it right!
Taglist:  @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @someinsanefangirl​ @evans-dejong​
26 notes · View notes
starbuck09256 · 3 years
Text
Paperwork and coffee
Fictober day 13
After detour before chinga
tagging @today-in-fic
I look over the mountain of paperwork in front of me. For months I thought about how that was the one thing I wouldn’t miss when I was gone. Needless forms poor trees whose sacrifice was wasted on blue and black ink littering pages of information already on pages 6 and again on page 10 and one more time on page 15. I wonder how Mulder does it, somehow some way that man always has all the paperwork done and on time. Mulder is a lot of things but he isn’t careless about the x-files. He makes sure every single thing is properly filed in his mess of an office. Organized chaos, I sigh heavily wishing I had just let Mulder fill these out too. I bit my lip looking at the clock, it’s still early only 9 the fact that he isn’t here yet makes me wavier about going to get a coffee. Will this be any less painful with a soul full of foam and creamy espresso. My appetite has returned in more ways than one. I chide myself again for making a pass at Mulder. I need a vacation, a real one. I’ve always wanted to go to Maine in the fall, see the leaves scattering in the wind swirling around the colors of sunset. I could use a giant Lobster with melted butter in every crevasse. A convertible so I can breathe the sea into my body. I push the paperwork aside, boot up Mulders computer and start to look for a small bed and breakfast where you can see the shore through those craftsman style windows. I turn the radio on low as I click through each page. Check the obscene large vacation time I have. I think of Mulder having to be forced to take 5 days off, I remember the giant Elvis sunglasses he bought me and think of taking a picture with them on the trip. Maybe I even buy him one of those giant Lobster claws. I chuckle to myself and the door clicks. Mulder is smiling at me. 
“What’s funny?” he asks as he is balancing a coffee and donut bag in his hands.
 I get up to help him. It's the good coffee from the coffee shop 3 blocks over. I take a sip and Mulder places his cup on the desk with the bag he’s standing close and chewing his lip. We didn’t talk about the wine or the cheese, or singing a song in the middle of the night, or what it really means for us that I’m still here, waiting. I gesture with my hand, sigh and smile up at him. 
“I was thinking about those Elvis glasses you bought, and umm maybe going on vacation. After everything that I..well we went through I could use some sea air. I was thinking maybe Maine.” 
I look up at him and he stares at me and touches my hand on the desk. 
“I love Maine,” he whispers. He traces my fingers and then his hand is up brushing against my cheek. 
“You do?” my voice is breathy like it’s lost in the fog. 
He nods and his face is leaning down to mine. I’m transfixed in my spot with one hand on the desk as he closes the gap between us, and then his lips are on mine and his fingers slide back into my hair and his tongue sweeps into my mouth. I can’t help but whimper against him as my own hand goes up to pull him closer. He pushes against me his body is warm and while normally I would be relatively alarmed at being trapped between a man and the desk right now I’m desperate to be closer. My body aches for more and oxygen as he explores my mouth. He pulls away caresses my hair with his other hand. I bite my lip in confusion. What just happened? What does that mean? Why after all this time of all the chances was it here in the office with a coffee. 
“I’m sorry.” he says and I am trying to think of a thing he did wrong. 
“What? Why? Do you..” the lump in my throat is so large and I want to run. 
“I should have done that earlier, so much earlier. You came into my room with wine and cheese and this morning when I was brushing my teeth, I just haven’t been able to stop thinking about how much I wanted that...this. Uh…..us.” his voice waivers at the end. 
“I’m an idiot, Scully. I have no idea why you are still here with me or how you don’t know how much more you deserve but I’ll try to make it worth your while for as long as I can.. And I can start with taking you on vacation to Maine or wherever you want to go.” 
I can’t help grinning at him. I loop my arms around his neck, try to tilt up to his impossible height and kiss him deeply. His hands press into my back and I try to remember if kissing was always this good, and why I’ve gone so damn long without it. I realize of course that it’s because I waited so long for the one man I swore I wouldn’t kiss, swore I would not let him be a repeat of past transgressions. But now as my tongue lovingly strokes his and his hands roam up and down my back spreading warmth all over my body. I realize I was the bigger idiot for thinking that I could ever not fall for the one person who is my equal. When we pull apart this time both grinning and a little shy. I let my fingers travel up his shirt to the soft blue tie that I got him 2 christmases ago.
 “So umm..” he’s nervous and chuckles as I slide my hand up and down his chest. 
“When are you thinking we could go?” I look past him to the pile of paperwork that is figuratively looming over my ability to leave with Mulder in tow right now. 
I could leave now to pull Mulder into my apartment and not leave for a week. I tap my hand lightly on his chest and sigh. I want to leave now, I want to explore every single inch of him with my fingertips and I want his lips everywhere and the last thing I want is to smell his cologne and feel his eyes as I sit awkwardly in that chair dodging papercuts like the plague. I look at him with a still sadness that I can’t just tell him to lock the door. 
“I have so much paperwork…” 
I want to cry because he is stroking my wrist and chewing on his lip that has a slight smudge of my lipstick on it.  He looks over the pile, the pile that waits on my normal clean in box that surely would never have more than 20 papers at one time. He laughs and I want to hit him. That he would wait until the one time I would absolutely have to stay in the office before turning me into a reckless employee who would leave at 9:45 just because she desperately needs a tryst with her otherwise platonic partner. I want to slap him in the arm for laughing. But he has pulled my fingers to his mouth and is kissing them and sucking on them a bit and watching his tongue has me slightly transfixed. 
“Scully…” my name spilling off his lips as he leans down once more and offers me a quick peck which is the last thing I need before the daunting task in front of me. 
“Honey, I just have to file those, I already finished all the paperwork.” He laughs again and picks me up spinning me around in our much too small office. We wouldn’t be able to do this if we had another desk down here. But he starts to kiss me again and his lips travel down my neck finding all my sensitive spots far too quickly. 
“What?” I can barely mutter as my body hums in deep pleasure. His hands find the top of my shoulder and he gives them a squeeze. 
“I did all of that already, even your parts. You’ve been sick for months, working when you could barely stand, I figured the least I could do was your half of the paperwork, you  are so very stubborn so I took over almost all of your stuff months ago. You already finished your version of the reports right?” I nod I had at least kept up on our case reports and my 3-4 page megar reports that certainly didn’t contain the dramatic prowess they once endured. Mulder picks up the phone and is already talking to Skinner. 
“Hi  I think Scully and I should take some vacation time after everything with Blevins and that seminar.  We have no new cases worth following up on so I would like to put in an immediate request for myself.” he looks at me holding up a 1 or a two. 
My lips fall apart, oh my god. Two full weeks with just him and I and his mouth and I can’t even control my own fingers as they hold up two. The grin I get from him could light up space. He passes me the phone. 
“Hi sir, yea just with my recent recovery I think it might be a good idea for me to take advantage of some time as well as things to settle here.” 
I can’t believe I’m doing this, that we are doing this. Mulder is already locking filing cabinets and eagerly shuffling the paperwork that I thought would be my nemesis. He is leaning over and clicking on some website I had up and pulling out his wallet. I forget sometimes how he can be when he has a mission, uncompromising, unyielding oh god. I will most likely be his mission later. I feel the flush in my chest as he takes another sip of coffee and hands me mine. I sip and it’s perfect, subtly sweet but clearly he has heard me say that I’m still cutting back on the sugar, but it’s creamy with a nick of cinnamon at the end. The sip calms me down and allows me to focus on finishing the rest of the conversation which is just that Skinner has no problem approving what we need since Belvins is dead and he has better shit to do than babysitting Mulder over the next two weeks anyway. I nod and find Mulder tapping his foot at our printer looking anxiously. He grabs the papers off the printer and drapes his jacket over his arm grabbing the bag of pastries and putting in his mouth.  
“Thanks sir,” he mutters into the phone and grabs my hand eagerly with the one free one he has left. I grab my coffee as he throws my coat at me pulling our office door and ushering me out. 
“We can slow down you know.” 
But god we have been going at glacier speed for years and truthfully if I had more coffee in me I probably would have bound up the stairs faster and already be tapping my foot while he fumbles for the keys. 
“Do you want me to go slow at first Scully?” He says he is already halfway up the stairway leaning down towards me. 
“How slow?” and his voice has dropped an octave I’m now on the step above him. 
He cups my cheek and kisses me so painfully slow I realize now I should have just locked the door downstairs so that the anticipation wouldn’t kill me. I shallow hard as his lips leave mine. “I’m driving.” I mutter taking the last three steps quickly and grinning at him from the parking garage door.
 “We gonna get a convertible Scully?” I already am halfway to my car with the keys ready to bring us and the car to life. 
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maribatlife · 4 years
Text
Without Context Pt. 3
Prev
AO3
Shorter wait this time guys!
Tag List:
@bee-wrecker
“This is unbelievable. You’re probably the only person in Gotham who wouldn’t recognize that name. Wayne, as in Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham.”
“Oh, is he your dad?”
“Pixie, never change. But the rest of the family is going to want to meet you soon. I let you know when.”
“Sure, my schedule is wide open.” He gave her an expectant look. “Oh, duh, you need to be able to contact me. How could I forget that? Silly Marinette, hehehe.” She babbled as she wrote down her phone number for him.
“Thanks Mari, I’ll text you later.” He said as he put his helmet back on and swung off the balcony.
As Jason left, Marinette realized how late in the day it was getting. “Gah, the shop! How could I forget!”
“Marinette, Marinette, MARINETTE” Tikki shouted. “You’re the owner, you decide when you open.”
“But the customers….” And she rushed down the stairs.
The day was fairly slow, a few people popped in to see the new shop. Jason texted around noon to set up dinner for Friday.
Right before she was about to close, 3 women entered the store. Marinette let them browse as she set up for the next day. “Is there anything I can help you with?” She asked, having run out of busy work.
“Actually, yeah,” the girl in purple replied. “Our,” she paused, clearly trying to think of the right word. “Brother just met his soulmate.”
“And you’re meeting them soon?” Marinette finished.
“Exactly! Plus, I’m sure there’s going to be a huge fancy-ass party as soon as his dad can get everything together.”
“Your site said you do commissions?” The one in the wheelchair asked.
“I do, the ready-wear can be fitted and ready for the end of the week, and commissions are dependent on the final pattern. I have a look book here if you would like to browse for ideas. We can schedule a consult appointment for later in the week...” she trailed off.
“Oh, right, I’m Barbara, this is Stephanie,” she gestured to the blonde in purple, “And Cassandra.” She motioned at the young Asian girl with them. “Later in the week definitely works for the consults.”
“So you met your Soulmate?” Stephanie asked as she browsed the racks.
“Yes, a few days ago.” Marinette sheepishly admitted. “He startled me and I screamed in his face.”
“Well, it’s better than mine,” Stephanie laughed. “Mine scared me at night and I smashed him in the face with a brick.”
That night, while embroidering on her couch, Marinette heard a thump from her balcony. Seemingly ignoring it she placed her hoop on the coffee table and reached for the bracelet she kept in her pocket. As she turned around, she saw the giant shadow, entering through her balcony door. Batman, she thought. What the actual f-
“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” his low voice boomed.
“Oh look it’s the man with a giant batsuit,” She sassed back.
“It’s Batman.”
“The man with a giant batsuit.” No way was she going to let him know that he had actually frightened her. “What do you want, furry?”
“What are your intentions towards Hood?”
“Well I figured that we would ride off into the sunset together and live happily ever after.” Her saccharine voice biting through his armor. “Oh, maybe we could raise unicorns and exist off candy all day long.” She dropped the tone, “Go jump off a roof. Our plans are between us and if you want to know you should try building a better relationship with Hood. Now get out of my apartment before I call the cops.” She turned back and continued her embroidery. After he left, she locked the sliding door, no more unexpected visitors tonight. She had barely covered a petal of the flower, when she heard another thump, this one significantly lighter. One of the birds she thought.
On her balcony, Robin struggled to open the door. He had managed to get it unlocked but did not realize she kept a barrier on the track to stop it from opening.
She sighed before getting up to open the door. “What do you want Draco?”
“My name is Robin. I do not know this Draco you refer to.”
“You poor, uneducated child.”
“-tt- How can you be worthy of my brother?”
“Take it up with the universe, kid.” Robin was visibly getting angry with her, but she was done.
“I challenge you to a duel,” He snapped, hand flying towards his sword.
“Nope, nope, no you don’t.” Nightwing swung down and grabbed the sword out of his hand.
Unhand my sword Nightwing. She must prove her worth to join this family.”
“Robin, that is not how any of this works. I’m so sorry, Miss.” He directed towards Marinette. “Baby Bird and the Bat have issues respecting privacy. Have a good night.” He called out as he jumped off the balcony, dragging Robin with him.
“You know what,” Marinette told the kwamis that had gathered around her as she secured the door again. She cast a forlorn glance at her embroidery sitting abandoned on the coffee table, “I think I’m just going to go to bed. It’s too late for this.”
Early Friday morning, the 3 women from earlier came by to pick up their altered items. A few hours later, Marinette had worked herself up into a full panic. “Tikki,” she whined from the depths of her closet. “What am I going to wear? What if they hate me? Gahh, I can’t do this right now!”
“Marinette, whatever you choose will be fine.”
“But Tikki, this isn’t a normal meeting. This is meeting my soulmate’s family! It has to be perfect.”
“What about the Chat dress,” Plagg interjected. “It’s black and don’t you always say you can’t go wrong with black?”
She dragged out a 50s style off the shoulder Swing dress with a built in alternating neon green and black tulle petticoat.
“Oh and the Ladybug heels,” Tikki dragged out the aforementioned deceptively simple black shoes. Marinette had painted the sole and shank of the heels to mimic her original Ladybug costume.
“Hmm,” she mused. “What to style it with?” She quickly added a few loose waves to her hair, before hesitating. To bring Kaalki’s glasses or not? At a nod from Tikki she grabbed them and they shifted into a pair of cat-eye glasses. “Alright, I think I’m ready.” At that moment the doorbell rang. “Oh, that must be Jason.”
“Marinette,” Tikki said from her bag, “Don’t forget the Macarons!”
“Right,” she grabbed the box. “Thanks Tikki.”
Jason stood, leaned against the hood of a cherry red convertible. “You ready to meet everyone?”
“Can you go over everyone again on the ride?”
“Not a problem,” he opened the door to let her in. “First, we have Bruce and Alfred. Alfred raised Bruce after his parents were murdered. He knows everything and is amazing.”
“And Bruce is your dad, right?”
“Yes, he might go full Brucie on you.
“What is full Brucie?”
“Oh that’s what we call it when he acts like a total dumbass. Dick coined it, he was the first one that was adopted. He’s now a Cop in Bludhaven. After me, B took in Tim. He’s sixteen and already graduated High School, right now he’s working at WE in R&D. The last of us is Damian, he’s Bruce’s bio son. His mom showed up a coupla years ago and told B, “surprise, it’s a boy!” He’s an angry little shit.”
“Do they know that I know?”
“Nope, figured we could have fun with that. That’s why you’ll get the Brucie treatment.” Soon they pulled off the long mountain drive onto a private road where an ornate gate stood open, waiting for them.
“They’re watching us as we pull up right?”
“Oh, most definitely.” Jason parked the car next an imposing staircase, leading up to the soaring Gothic entry.
“Wow,” Marinette muttered under her breath. “I wish I had my sketch book.”
Jason chuckled as he led her up the stairs. “You’ll have plenty of chances to sketch to your heart’s content.” As they reached the top step, the double doors swung open to reveal an older man in a suit. “See spies everywhere,” Jason murmured in her ear.
“Master Jason, welcome home. This must be Miss Dupain-Cheng.”
“Hello Monsieur Pennyworth, please call me Marinette.”
“Of course, Miss Marinette, if you call me Alfred.”
As they walked into the entry, they heard a cry of, “She’s here!” As, who Marinette could only assume was Dick, flipped off the second-floor balustrade, swinging on the chandelier on the way down. “Hi, Marinette, right?” He held out his hand to her.
“You must be Dick.”
“Aw, is Jay-bird talking about me?”
Marinette got a teasing glint in her eye. “Oh yes, he mentioned how you can’t stop yourself from jumping off of high places.”
Before she could continue, she was interrupted by a wordless scream of unadulterated rage. “Drake, get back here and face your punishment like a man!”
Two boys came running down the stairs, the younger chasing the older with, wait is that a katana. They really weren’t any good at this whole secret identity thing, were they, thought Marinette.
“Really Demon Spawn, you’re going to do this today?” Jason said as he plucked him off the ground. Dick was just pinching his nose in exasperation.
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Rose Bushes
One: Higher Power
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Word Count: 8.5K+
Author’s Note: This is my first Criminal Minds fic, so please be gentle. It’s also the longest chapter I’ve ever written, and others will follow in this vein. I hope you enjoy, and if you want tagged just let me know!
Warning: discussion of murder and suicide, graphic description of murder.
More chapters can be found right here. [updated every week]
Woodbridge, Virginia.
She gardened when she was anxious, and while she never particularly liked the task, and had never thought of herself as someone who would own a garden for long enough that tending to it became a hobby, the whole thing was rather therapeutic. Pulling out weeds before they took hold of her flower beds, pruning her pastel rainbow of rose bushes along the south border, keeping her herb garden on the kitchen’s window ledge freshly watered and healthy. 
That morning, she was hunkered down over her garden’s stone pathway, clearing away loose clumps of grass and moss that spoiled the cleanliness of the stone, when her landline rang from the kitchen, the noise travelling to the young woman through her open kitchen window. She took a few more moments to scrape away the last of the moss with an old knife before pushing herself up to her feet and jogging back into the house, a two-storey on Maybury Drive.
It was the sort of house you’d expect more than one person to live in, especially a woman of her age. It had grandeur and class and a level of warmth that one would expect from a home owned by an upper-middle class family, the nuclear life of a boy and a girl, a mother and father. Instead, the sole resident had converted rooms no doubt meant for children into an office and a library, turning her own abode into a workplace. Neighbours who had visited in the past would tell you the whole building was impeccably clean, the kitchen counter tops alone exuding an air of wealth no one in the neighbourhood could match. The place was entirely monochrome, white and grey and black, the only colour seeming to appear in her garden, which she was clearly quite proud of.
No-one else in the county had rose bushes like Miss Y/N Clarkson.
On the particular morning that the phone rang, and Miss Clarkson heard it through the kitchen window, other forces were at play. When she finally answered the landline, she listened instead of talking. The call was expected, and something that led to the young woman in her mid-twenties, spending her early morning gardening, to rush around clearing away her weeding tools. It caused her to shower once more that day, to take time on her makeup and curling her hair, when the plan for the day had been progressively more tiring labour in her backyard. The phone call made Clarkson pick out and put on her most recently dry-cleaned suit and take time to repack her matching handbag three separate times.
Her heels clicked on the white tile floors as she headed for her front door, taking a pause to scan her reflection, ensuring she was presenting perfection to those who saw her. Her morning had begun at 03.56, and after two hours of gardening as the sun rose, and a little over an hour getting ready for the day ahead, Clarkson left her home at 07.24, confirmed by the clock in her peripheral vision. She left her home, locking the doors behind her, taking her time getting to her car, a sleek sports style vehicle, sitting her bag on the passenger seat, heading down to her post box and grabbing the mail to take with her, though it was doubtful she would get to reading any of it. 
That morning, at 07.26, Clarkson left her home and made the 27-minute drive from her home to the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia, every spin of her car tyres propelling her toward endless mounting possibilities. The radio played in the background, the reports filled with what the untrained ear would assume were statistics, perhaps a stock market report. When the radio finally fell silent mid-drive, Clarkson changed the station to a local news channel, her fingers drumming on their steering wheel in time with the music’s beat. It helped drown out the thumping in her chest, the ringing in her ears, and allowed a release for the energy in her system that caused her stomach to twist into knots.
Miss Y/N Clarkson was not the specimen of woman who would admit she was scared, quite stubborn in her belief that fear was an enemy one had to overcome to achieve greatness, but the fact of the matter was that she was scared shitless. She hid it well, a composed woman thanks to her former career; but she continued to tap the wheel as songs switched, matching the new tempos and giving her attention to the road before her.
All she had to do was make it to her destination, and she could work out the rest later. So, focusing on the road and the music instead of the urge to vomit was the best way to go, and she was determined to do that well.
She liked the suit she was wearing.
--
Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI Academy. Quantico, Virginia.
“Reid, I swear to God if you didn’t get me something good…” Derek Morgan marched over as Dr Spencer Reid muddled his way through the door to the BAU offices at Quantico, doing his best to balance coffee and pastries along with his own work bag. Out of intrigue more than kindness, Morgan snatched the food and coffees from his co-worker, setting them down on his desk and quickly distributing amongst the team. Coffees made to exact order for, by the scribbled names on the cups, Emily Prentiss, JJ, himself, Reid and David Rossi; a chai tea for Aaron Hotchner, which he was often reminded by Reid was just ‘tea tea’, since chai was the Hindi word for tea, and a bottle of water for Garcia, who quickly snatched her own drink from Morgan before taking the man’s chair, spinning around in it. When Morgan moved immediately on to finding the best muffin in the bag, he did a double take, looking back at the drink holders, Prentiss stealing the best muffin of the bunch when she was sure Morgan was distracted enough.
“I win!” She proclaimed, walking back to her desk with a swing of her hips, sharing a smile with JJ, who had come over to collect her own coffee. Hotch and Rossi were due to arrive any minute, Reid deciding to take down orders last night to ensure everyone got what they wanted. Reid even got up twenty minutes earlier to fit the coffee shop trip into his schedule.
“Reid, why is there an extra coffee here? And why doesn’t it have a name?” Morgan questioned the younger, much skinnier, man, causing the three women to look over at the duo. There was never extra coffee.
“Hotch ordered it.” Reid said quickly, gesturing to their superior as he walked through the door, Rossi following behind, both picking up their own drinks and swiftly disappearing into their offices, Hotch leaving the mystery beverage he had ordered untouched still, now the only unaccounted for drink on Morgan’s desk.
“I think I can explain this one.” JJ sighed, attention quickly turning to her as she took a gulp of her latte, trying to wake up as quickly as possible. She had been working late the night before going through possible cases for the team, picking out one before she went home for a debriefing that morning. “It seems we have a new recruit joining us.” She said with a light shrug, heading towards the conference room to prep for the morning meeting.
“Garcia-” Morgan started, but the brightly dressed blonde was already heading for her own office, shouting a quick “On it!” as she power walked towards her fortress of magic.
“I wonder who he is…” Reid wondered aloud, sitting himself down and biting into a croissant, chewing thoughtfully on the bread product like it might give him some sort of answer. Considering the genius of the kid, it was entirely possible.
“Why do you so quickly assume it’s a he?” Prentiss asked pointedly. “We could use another woman around here, level the playing field.”
“Statistically speaking, the FBI has almost four times as many male special agents as it does female. It’s far more likely that a new recruit will be male, and by the drink I ordered for him, probably older.” Spencer began typing away at his computer, looking up about a minute later to find Morgan and Prentiss still looking at him for further explanation. Reid coughed. “It’s English breakfast tea, not coffee. The only other person I know that drinks dirt in a cloth bag is Larry on seventh, and he turned 48 last month.” Reid said quickly, almost rambling as if he were trying to apologise for the delay in response through his talking speed. Prentiss and Morgan shared a shrug, and JJ waved them over from the walkway, the three picking up their pastries and coffees before following Rossi into the conference room. Garcia appeared behind them, but no one sat down, JJ getting straight to the point.
“Three months ago, a fire in the Shadyside rec centre killed fourteen children.” She set a newspaper clipping on the table before the team, folding her arms as they all examined the headline and subheading of the page.
“I remember that.” Morgan commented.
“What does that have to do with us?” Rossi asked, making eye contact with Agent Jureau. JJ might have been in charge of offering the team cases, but he needed to know why they were called, whether or not it was something to turn down.
“Well, over the past three months there’s been five suicides. All of them lost a child in the fire.” JJ explained as Derek picked up the article, scanning over it slowly. JJ glanced down at her own notes, making sure to get it right. “The last one was Paul Baleman, he was found electrocuted in his bathtub yesterday.” Reid took JJ’s notepad from her, glancing for a second at the note to read it. “I received a request for our help.”
“Why do they need our help? They’re suicides.” Morgan asked, feeling like he was stating the obvious.
“All of the suicides were within two weeks of each other.” Reid spoke up, answering Morgan’s question on behalf of JJ. “It could be some kind of pattern.”
“Detective Ronnie Baleman, Pittsburgh P.D. thinks that something’s going on.” JJ continued on, and Morgan shrugged.
“Well, of course he does.”
“Why do you say that?” Prentiss asked, taking her own turn to look over the file.
“He’s related to that man, right?” Rossi asked, and JJ sighed, avoiding eye contact.
“His brother.”
“A cop who doesn’t believe his brother committed suicide.” Morgan stated the obvious once more, taking a sip of his coffee. “Come on, next case.” He instructed JJ, turning to leave the room.
“Now, wait a second.” Prentiss spoke up, causing Morgan to stop in his tracks. “Five suicides in the same neighbourhood within months? That’s a serious spike.”
“Suicides don’t spike after a tragedy.” Rossi seemed to agree with JJ and Prentiss on this one, and Reid soon followed, armed with statistics.
“Quite the opposite, actually. Following World War one and two, right after Kennedy was shot, and following 9/11, suicides plummeted. Within a society, external threats usually create group integrations.” Reid info dumped on the team as Rossi’s eyes scanned outside the window. Hotchner was taking the day for himself, finding time to see his son Jack after Haley filed for divorce. He only needed a day, and Rossi knew the team would do fine without him for a few hours. Another body caught his eye, dressed in a suit as expensive as his own, stopping at Morgan’s desk to take the English tea that had been ordered for a secret new recruit. She glanced up as she took a sip, nodding towards the window before disappearing back out the door, taking a moment to talk with Hotchner before the pair separated.
“People come together…” JJ said softly, and Rossi tuned back into the group conversation with a tilt of his head.
“So if there’s a reason for doubt, which there obviously is, don’t these families left behind have a right to know?” Prentiss argued like a lawyer, making her closing statement in favour of taking the case.
“Yes, they do.” Rossi agreed, Morgan quickly stepping in.
“Ok, sure, they deserve to know but let somebody else tell them. Like social services.” The dark-skinned man retorted, clearly not for taking on this case at all. Rossi took a moment, closing his eyes to think for a few seconds before fully turning his body to face the team, coming to his decision on the matter.
“Contact Detective Baleman. Let him know we’re coming.” Rossi ordered, JJ nodded with a small smile, glad the case was being taken on. “Thank you, JJ…” Rossi added with a quick nod, moving towards the doorway. It was wheels up in thirty to Pittsburgh, and he had a few more files to sort through before they left.
“Uh, Rossi?” Garcia spoke up for the first time, tucked in the corner of the room just listening in, and the older gentleman sending her back a smile. Ever since Garcia’s new boyfriend, Kevin, had asked to sit down with Rossi and have a man-to-man talk, the pair had gotten a lot closer. “The new recruit…” She started, the rest of the team looking to him for answers.
“Will be joining us in Pittsburgh once their processing is completed.” Rossi informed them with a half-smile playing on his lips, running a hand over his hair, making sure it was all in place before leaving the room.
“They really are pushing this new guy straight into the deep end, huh?” JJ commented, starting to collect all the necessary information into boxes, looking up from her task as Morgan scoffed.
“We have a couple of suicides in the middle of Nowhere, Pittsburgh. This isn’t the deep end, JJ. This is barely the kiddie pool.” Morgan said with confidence, like he was so sure this trip would be a waste of time, and he jogged out to his desk to collect his things. He stopped on the walkway, a smirk on his face as he looked between Prentiss, JJ and Reid. “Our new recruit has already stopped by.” He said, gesturing to his desk, the tea sat there no more than ten minutes ago having now vanished into thin air.
--
As the team sat on the jet, working through possibilities of who could have caused these deaths if they were not suicides, a call came through on the laptop. Rossi, unaware, left for the bathroom, and Reid took charge to accept the call and position the laptop for the team, or the four younger members, to view.
“What you got for us baby girl?” Morgan asked, knowing this wasn’t about the case. All the five of them could talk about was the new recruit, this mystery man who would soon join their ranks. Garcia smirked, typing away on her own end.
“So, I did a little digging into FBI hires within the past month, going through everything to find a match for our unit, and there is one, I repeat one, probable candidate but the information is in a sealed file. I’ve been trying to get into it for the last half hour, turns out it was my own code that locked the thing, and we all know how good I am.” Garcia explained, shrugging her shoulders a little. If her facial expressions were anything to go off, they wouldn’t know any time soon, and would have to wait and be surprised in Pittsburgh.
“You tried, Garcia…” JJ sighed, folding her arms. The team shared the same reaction, not liking the idea of not knowing. They were profilers, they could know an unsub better than anyone just from a few clues, and they couldn’t find out who their new colleague was?
“Oh! I did, however, get a last name. I think. Clarkson. C, L, A, R, K, S, O, N. Any of you got ideas?” She pitched a last-ditch effort, and Reid looked up.
“Wasn’t there a guy called Clarkson on Fourth? Black hair, round face, sort of… Fat?” Reid suggested, and Prentiss scoffed.
“He got fired a month ago for misconduct in the Cyber Branch, not likely he would be handed over to us.” She shook her head, quite confident in her deduction that it wasn’t that man. “There has to be something we’re missing.” As she spoke, a knocking came from Garcia’s end of the line, the blonde looking back and giving the team a wave goodbye before logging off.
Garcia didn’t get visitors to her castle often, and when she did it was usually members of the BAU, or Kevin on occasion. But the BAU was out, and Kevin had assured her he would never bother her when she was busy, so Garcia wasn’t sure who to expect when opening that door.
“Apologies, ma’am, but are you Agent Garcia?” The door swung open and Garcia was addressed by a woman, fairly soft spoken, in a wardrobe so completely contrasting with her own she couldn’t help but admire her. A black pant suit, with a light grey high neck blouse, and heels as high as Garcia’s.
“I am…” Garcia responded after looking over the woman, just trying to figure out who she was. Maybe a head of another branch, or a corporate outsider? Someone with the CIA? If so, why on Earth was she asking for her? “Are you sure you’ve got the right person, ma’am? I mean, are you not looking for Agent Hotchner?”
“He and I spoke on the phone, and earlier this morning; he’s taking a personal day. I’ll be travelling with him tomorrow to Pittsburgh. I wanted to introduce myself to you before I left.” The woman held out a hand, the first part of her not completely flawless. The extended hand had a large scar on the back of it, and Garcia shook it gingerly, welcoming the woman into her palace with uncertainty.
“I’m sorry, I’m confused. Are you an auditor of the team?” Garcia confessed, trying to figure out why the woman looked around her office with such intrigue, why she stopped to study a digital file of their newest case.
“What? No… Do I really look like an auditor? I was hoping for something a bit more threatening with the outfit than the auditor.” The woman said with a breezy laugh, and the dots slowly pieced together in Garcia’s head.
“You’re not a man… We thought you’d be a man…”
“Have I disappointed?”
“No! Finally, we have even numbers. Hello, Special Agent Clarkson, it is so nice to meet you.” Garcia walked over and quickly shook Clarkson’s hand a second time, much more eager in her disposition now knowing she was, in fact, talking to the new recruit.
“I was hoping you could send me over information as the team relay it from the ground. In return, I could get us some lunch?” Clarkson suggested, Garcia sitting herself down and relaxing in her swivel chair, beginning to type once more.
“First rule of befriending yours truly, buy me food.” Garcia smiled back, and Clarkson nodded, leaving the technical analyst to her job. With approximately an hour to kill until lunch, it would give Clarkson a chance to map out the building, discover her new workplace for the first time without the distractions of colleagues. Despite her years of service, despite relationships, despite many things that would suggest otherwise, she preferred the life of a lone wolf to that of a social butterfly. It was easier on the mind, the soul, the heart and the wallet.
Clarkson’s traversing around the Quantico FBI Academy led her to certain conclusions about the team she was about to join: Garcia was famous amongst the tech staff, and rightly so, and had recently been shot; Prentiss and Morgan had made a name for themselves in the gym, with their own whiteboard tucked away by the sparring mats to track their progress whenever they trained; JJ was a swimmer in her free time, using the Academy pool, though she hadn’t been in the last week according to the log book; and Dr Reid had managed to read the entirety on the FBI’s library, not only being their most frequent patron, but he had managed to read everything at least twice. She knew of Rossi and Hotchner before joining, of course, the latter an old work friend, but it was nice to learn a little more about those her own age on the team.
Only after a stop by the canteen to pick up lunch for herself and Garcia did she return to the BAU. Her plan was to eat with the blonde, run over the case a little more, when her new Bureau issued mobile started to ring. Clarkson knocked on Garcia’s door, passing her over a box of Singapore noodles before walking off with her own Chow Mein, sitting at the empty desk in the office and answering the phone.
“Sergea- Special Agent Clarkson, Federal Bureau. Who is calling?” Clarkson answered the phone with a sigh, and a small chuckle came from the other end.
“You’ll need to work on that, Clarkson.” The voice was deep, stern, and ever so familiar. 
“Give me a day, sir… I thought you were taking personal time?” She asked Hotch, powering up the computer on her desk. Strauss had spoken to her that morning, setting out instructions for getting herself a place in the system, direct orders for gaining access to classified documents.
“I am. We’ll be flying out first thing in the morning. I thought I would call, see how your first day was faring?” While the pitching and tone never wavered, a trait she had always envied of Hotch, he was sincere in his words, and it caused Clarkson to smile.
“As well as one might expect. I still have plenty to do before we fly out, I’ll be kept occupied.” She assured, typing in her login information on the computer before her.
“Remember to speak to Thomas about being issued a gun. I know you are only accompanying this first case but being armed is more than recommended.” Hotch continued on, and with a final thanks and confirmation of flight times and locations, Clarkson ended the call, making her first job to email Garcia about any new information on the case the team had received. Within minutes, photos from the first crime scene, because Clarkson had learned quickly there would always be another crime scene coming, were on her screen, captioned by Garcia with details of the suicide, victim names, everything else that could be provided.
It was an odd case to begin on, Clarkson knew as such, but she sat at her new desk, going through file after file the entire day, receiving occasional updates from the team on the ground through Garcia. And as the day became evening and then night, Clarkson was invested, riveted, and borderline excited to be in the BAU, to be in a workplace with such an interesting focus, to deal with cases like this that just confounded so many others.
Shadyside Police Precinct, Pittsburgh.
The following afternoon, with another body and increasing pressure being placed on the BAU for a profile, the team had just returned from a morning at the newest victim’s house, analysing the scene, to the local police station, Dr Reid working with interest through the suicide notes recovered from the crime scenes and comparing them with sample texts. It was undeniable that the victims had written their notes, but something was off. It seemed that Detective Baleman wanted to understand the science behind Reid’s close examination of the notes, he and JJ coming to check the young doctor’s progress.
“Anything to tell us if these were suicides or not?” JJ asked, arms folded as she walked around Reid’s workspace: he had taken up a full table and multiple boards in the corner of the building.
“These are some samples from Deidre Nollard, the jumper.” Reid walked over quickly to present the evidence. “Let’s see, we have an insurance form, a letter she wrote to her neighbour a month ago, a birthday card she wrote to her husband a week ago, and her suicide note as found on her body.” Reid explained, JJ leaning over to examine them.
“Suicide note matches, right?” Baleman asked.
“It’s definitely by her own hand, but she’s professing regret. Look.” Reid scooted past JJ to read the note aloud to the pair of them. “Uh, ‘I’m sorry I let you down’. ‘Please forgive me’. ‘I disappointed you’. And so on. But the handwriting, the forensic analysis is saying the exact opposite.”
“What do you mean?” JJ asked, trying to see what Reid could see.
“Um… Well, you see how the handwriting slants uphill? It’s a clear sign of optimism. The same with how the spacing is so consistent. And these long T-bars, those indicate an enthusiastic person.” Reid pointed to each aspect of the handwriting as he spoke, and JJ nodded along.
“Not someone who would take a swan dive off a five-storey walk-up.” Baleman chimed in, seeming to like that Reid’s findings led him somewhere other than suicide.
“Look, even if we had alerted the media-” JJ started. She tried not to hold it on herself that more people were dead, they couldn’t have been sure that it wasn’t a coincidence the deaths happened weekly.
“Now we’ll never know. Like I said, that’s on me. But, hey, now we have the proof that these aren’t suicides. Those notes, were they coerced?” Baleman asked, and Reid made a face, trying to understand the situation himself.
“If you were to force someone to write their own suicide note, these are words you generally wouldn’t use.” Spencer said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“I’ll take that as a no. And… My brother’s journal?” Baleman asked, and JJ looked over. This man was too personal with the case, she knew it, but at this point they couldn’t stop him.
“It’s extensive, I… I haven’t even-” Reid began.
“Another no.” Baleman decided for Reid, looking up at JJ. “Can we inform the media now?” He asked.
“I have.” JJ nodded, giving the detective some form of relief. A knock came on the panelling, and the trio turned to look at Derek.
“I need you all outside.”
The team congregated outside within a few minutes of Morgan’s ask, accompanied by Baleman, a black unmarked car pulling up as the circle formed on the lawn outside the precinct. With the fast-paced case and all their focus on work, the younger team members were only reminded of the new recruit’s arrival with Hotch as they stepped out the vehicle, though Morgan and Reid had been very, very wrong in their assumptions.
The new recruit who followed Hotch was an attractive female, dressed more like a businesswoman than a profiler, and looked about the same age as Spencer. She was very good-looking, and it took a second for everyone, including Baleman, to focus back on the conversation they were supposed to be having.
“This is SSA Hotchner and SSA Clarkson, they’ve just arrived from Virginia.” Rossi introduces the pair to Baleman, who nodded a hello to both.
“What have we got?” Hotch asked, getting right down to business, glancing back at Clarkson. The look they shared was a conversation: him asking if she was ready, her responding she most definitely was. 
“Including extended families, over one hundred individuals within the Pittsburgh area were affected by that fire.” Rossi said quickly, informing the two agents of more recent discoveries. Clarkson’s eyes scanned over the team she would now be working with, studying their stances, their expressions, trying to get a read on who these people were before she spoke to them .She pulled a small notebook from her pocket and a pen, beginning to write in shorthand as her fellow teammates spoke.
“So, this unsub is targeting grief, then?” Hotch stated as a question, but the rest of the team were sure of it. It was a clarification more than anything, and needed too, since Baleman looked confused.
“Grief?” He asked.
“An event.” Reid spoke from behind Baleman. “A single event in this unsub’s life led him to end the life of someone he believes had to die. From that moment on, he created his own sense of morality - what is right and what is wrong - and he rationalises what he did with that first kill over and over again by targeting people he believes can’t be saved by anyone other than himself. He decides who lives and who dies, and this gives him an all-consuming sense of power.” Reid explained.
“So they’re not going to stop anytime soon.” Baleman confirmed.
“Well, that’s assuming there’s someone to actually stop.” Derek commented. By his closed off body language, and matter-of-fact tone, Clarkson could tell straight away Morgan was sceptical of a killer in Shadyside.
“And if there is,” Hotch spoke up, “he’s convinced he’s on a mission of mercy, and even after he’s caught, he’ll maintain he did nothing wrong.”
“He?” Baleman questioned.
“White male, mid to late thirties. He’s polite, forthcoming, doesn’t stand out.” Rossi rattled off the profile quickly. “And we believe his victims, these families, are all letting him in.”
“My brother and his wife weren’t letting anyone in. If anything, they were closing themselves off.” Baleman disputed, and Rossi shrugged.
“Well, this unsub has found a way in, one that’s very hard to trace.”
“In every case there was no evidence of a struggle, no attempt at escape.” Derek added.
“He finds a personal connection and uses it to buy time.” Hotch sighed.
“My officers need to know this.” Baleman said with a nod, readying to head back inside, when Clarkson finally spoke up to stop him, glancing up and closing her notebook.
“The BAU has found that Angels of Mercy are often people in the medical profession, as well as law enforcement.” She spoke up, the team looking over at her in surprise, for the majority of them it was the first time hearing her voice.
“Cops.” Baleman scoffed, and she nodded.
“Which is why we’re meeting out here, Detective Baleman.” Clarkson added, gesturing to the street corner they were congregated on.
“Now, we’re only fishing. We don’t want to point a finger.” Rossi quickly followed up, but Baleman shook his head, shrugging.
“Point it. I don’t give a damn.” Baleman was beyond a point of community with his department, that was more than clear.
“If that’s what it’s about, let us figure out where to point it.” Prentiss said reassuringly, and Baleman nodded a little.
“I asked Garcia to check into emergency responders around the scene of the fire.” Reid informed Hotch and Clarkson, the subject changing back to an update.
“Good, Prentiss?” Hotch looked over at the brunette, who straightened up a little.
“He’s smart. He knows all about these people’s schedules, their routines.” She informed the team, and Clarkson went back to noting things down.
“Look, if this unsub does exist, this is a guy who’s all about control. He chooses how they die, when they die. He even positions them exactly how he wants them to die. That makes him hypervigilant, a guy who’s always on the lookout. Risk averse, unseen.” Derek seemed to entertain the idea he was so against.
“The only way to stop him is to find out how he’s managed to get into all of his victim’s lives.” Prentiss added.
“We find that out, we’ve got our killer.” Rossi sighed, the profile complete, Baleman, Hotch and Clarkson now fully aware of the facts.
“We can start bringing people in, find the connection.” Hotch gave the go-ahead. The team slowly dispersed, heading back inside, Clarkson finding herself falling into step with Prentiss and who she could only assume was Jareau. Garcia had been good enough to send over files on each of the team members.
“Not the most ideal circumstances to meet under, but I’m Jennifer Jareau, JJ for short.” the blonde held out a hand to Clarkson, who shook it gently, the same introduction occurring with Prentiss.
“Y/N Clarkson.” She informed them, three sets of heels hitting the police station steps in time with each other. As she entered the chaos that was a police station mid-morning, Prentiss and JJ led Clarkson towards a back office that had been made available to them.
“I need to start making phone calls, I’ll get to know you properly at dinner.” JJ promised, grabbing herself a coffee before heading back out into the bullpen to make the calls to the families. Prentiss looked the new recruit over before helping herself to a cup of coffee.
“I would offer, but you don’t drink it, do you?” Prentiss checked, and Clarkson nodded, taking a seat on the table. Prentiss smirked. “Thought so. Reid had us all convinced you were an old white guy because you drink Earl Grey.” The words cause a smile to form on Y/N’s face, she couldn’t deny it was rather amusing. “So, where are you coming from? Not FBI, obviously, we would have known you before now.” Prentiss’ intentions became a lot clearer as she sipped her coffee. This wasn’t friendly chatter; it was an interrogation. Luckily for Clarkson, she was very good at those.
“Agent Prentiss, I admire the tactic, truly, but isn’t it your job to profile people?” The words were borderline a taunt to the brunette, but the tone of voice and smile on Clarkson’s face dismissed ideas of hostility. Prentiss herself was a private woman, it seemed Clarkson shared the same attributes, and as such, this was now a game. Not just for Prentiss, for the team as a whole. There were things to be uncovered about Clarkson she would never share willingly, Prentiss knew it.
“Game on, Clarkson.” Prentiss accepted the challenge, but before they could go further, a knock came on the meeting room door, followed by Derek opening it quickly.
“Emily, JJ says the first family will be here in a minute.” Derek told her, and Prentiss quickly left the room. Clarkson looked at Derek with a raised eyebrow as his eyes scanned over her body. “Newbie, we have another victim. Ready for a crime scene?” He offered, and Clarkson jumped up, following him out to the black SUV waiting for them. As she left, her eyes drifted towards the far corner of the room, where the lean man around her age, Dr Spencer Reid, stood surrounded by boards and paper, before following Derek out to the car, nodding to Rossi as they all got in and headed, with Morgan driving, to their next location.
As Morgan sped through traffic, lights on, a call came through on Morgan’s phone. He passed it back to Clarkson quickly, and the young woman answered the phone, putting it on speaker.
“Garcia?” She said.
“Go ahead, hot stuff, talk to me. You’re on speaker.” Morgan called, and Clarkson leaned forward with the phone so all three of them could hear the technical analyst clearly.
“Hey. So, Prentiss was looking for some narcotics, my burning love hunk, and I scored humongously.” Garcia stated, and Clarkson did her very best not to laugh at the pet names Garcia and Morgan had for one another. There was a whir of a chair moving before Garcia started again, Clarkson pulling out her notebook once more. “I ran every toxicological panel known to man on the victims and came up with zilch, which means he must be knocking them out with a neuromuscular agent.”
“With a what?” Morgan shouted so Garcia could hear him clearly.
“A paralytic.” Rossi said from the passenger seat, saving Garcia the trouble.
“Yeah, yeah. Something like succinylcholine or vecuronium, one of those ones that would metabolize in the body so quickly, it wouldn’t be detectable. Plus, plus, also, and I called me up Mr Coroner and said, how would you do this? And he says, by injection. So I say, hey, guy, wouldn’t that leave a mark? And he’s all ‘hold up’. And then he goes and looks at Beth Smoler’s body and finds the mark. A hole, right in her hairline.”
“Ok, so you have to be in the medical profession to get a hold of those drugs, right?” Derek asked, and Clarkson frowned. The conclusion was too quick.
“Not really.” She spoke up from the back. “You can get anything online nowadays, right Garcia?”
“The monochrome marvel of a woman is right, boys.” Garcia agreed.
“This drug leaves no trace?” Derek had to be sure.
“None.”
“Even if the coroner was looking for something, the evidence was gone, and Beth Smoler didn’t see anything coming.” Rossi sighed, thinking to himself as they pulled up at the crime scene.
“No sir, she completely saw it coming. They all saw it coming.” Garcia sighed, and Clarkson could hear the hesitation. She didn’t want to say it.
“Sir, neuromuscular blockers paralyse the muscles, but it does nothing for the mind. These victims were awake until the unsub killed them, they just couldn’t move.” Clarkson explained quickly, and Rossi glanced back at her. He was aware they had a new recruit; he had discussed it with Hotch, but he had no idea she would be so knowledgeable on the first case. She wasn’t even meant to be helping in this case, rather observing and taking in the atmosphere.
“So he sedates them, then quickly engineers their suicide.” Rossi nodded, Morgan turning off the engine and taking the phone back from Clarkson.
“Well, if that’s true it means this unsub’s not looking for the glory of the kill.” Morgan and Rossi got out of the car in sync, Clarkson following a few beats after them, back to scribbling in her little notebook.
“No, but unfortunately for our victims they’re wide awake when he decides it’s time for them to move on.” Rossi flashed his credentials to the police officer stationed by the tape, ducking under the yellow barricade and heading into the house. Morgan followed, quickly thanking Garcia as he shut off the phone, and Clarkson took a second to put away her notes and do the same, the feeling unfamiliar. She had never become acquainted with the action of showing credentials or a badge, or slipping on latex gloves, never been all too versed in being the most important person on a crime scene, but she knew she would get used to it soon enough.
Much like she would get used to the smell of blood and gunpowder that hit her like a brick wall as she entered the house, Rossi and Morgan already with the Medical Examiner to her right, their newest victim having been shot in the head. While Clarkson was familiar with blood spatter, brain spatter was another thing entirely, and it took her a moment to process the scene before her.
“Don’t worry if you need to take a second.” Derek spoke up, his eyes having been on her for a few moments now. He was aware of how hard a crime scene like this could be for someone’s first time. Clarkson shook her head, taking a deep breath before walking over to join them, the ME just beginning to explain his findings.
“Barrel was placed right there, under the chin, he shoots, and the bullet went up and through the small and hard palate of his mouth, then exited out through his-”
“Cranium.” Rossi finished for the ME. “Check the back of his head, his hairline.” Rossi instructed, and the ME tilted the victim’s head until he found what they were all looking for. “There, see it?” Rossi pointed, and Clarkson looked over Derek’s shoulder to view the find: a hole, right by his ear.
“A puncture wound. Caused by a needle.” The ME and Rossi said the last word at the same time, Derek looking over to a nearby police officer.
“Did he leave a note?” Morgan asked, the evidence being handed over. As he took the note, Clarkson’s brow furrowed, a frown forming on her lips. “What do you see?” He asked her, Rossi looking back at the pair.
“It’s… It’s probably nothing…” Clarkson admitted. She didn’t want to follow a dead end; she didn’t need to ruin her first investigation.
“If you see something, Clarkson, you tell us.” Rossi ordered, standing up beside them.
“This isn’t a suicide note.” She said definitively. “Could you get Dr Reid on the phone?” She asked Morgan, who nodded, following outside and dialling Reid’s number.
“Morgan?” Reid sounded surprised by the call.
“Clarkson… Dr Reid, it isn’t a suicide note. It’s an amends. You write them in support groups, a way to confront what you’ve done and move past it… I think the unsub has been attending meetings and finding parents.” She said quickly, Morgan looking up at her as she spoke.
“I was coming to the same conclusion… None of our victims' notes ever say goodbye.” Reid said on the other end of the phone.
“Could you have Garcia looking for any meetings tonight? These parents have full time jobs, it’s more likely they’ll be attending evening groups, between.” She looked at her watch. “Between 5 and 9 pm. Might be an idea to get in touch with organisers as soon as we can.” She decided.
“I’ll call her now. Hotch will want you back here, we’ll have the search organised by the time you get back.” Reid said quickly, ending the call to get in touch with Garcia. Derek looked over at Clarkson, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s your first day, and you’ve made a connection none of us would have thought of for another week.” Morgan said with a puzzled look, trying to understand why this woman knew so quickly what these notes were.
“There are support groups for everything, Agent Morgan. Drugs, alcohol, sex, anything you could think of.” She responded, walking towards the car, Rossi exiting the house as she opened the SUV’s back door.
“So which one were you?” Derek asked, hand on the door, looking into her eyes as she took off the gloves.
“PTSD.” She answered, her demeanour changing as Rossi jumped in the car. Morgan nodded, closing her door after Clarkson was in the vehicle before getting into the driver’s seat. He was curious as to what caused a woman so young to need support groups for PTSD, sure, but Derek knew better than to confront her about it on her first day.
Instead, they drove in silence back to the precinct, and then split themselves over the eleven separate main support groups in a two-mile radius of Shadyside, their afternoon spent trying to find out confidential information about who their unsub might be. It was coming on 5 o’clock when the team got back to the precinct to share their discoveries, all finding a common story between the groups: a story about his brother, and a family so poor they shared the same bedroom until the age of 15. Said his name was Peter, his father was a professor at Brassard. It was, in short, a horrific tale of molestation.
“If it’s true, it could be what started our unsub on his mission of mercy.” Hotch spoke up after each team provided what details they had, Clarkson having been with him and Morgan didn’t say anything.
“If it is, we know it didn’t end well.” Rossi added. “At least not for James, the older brother. This guy says his older brother slashed his wrists one night and he watched him die.”
“Ok, so we’ve got two names: James and Peter.” Prentiss offered as a positive, since at least they were getting closer to a possible lead.
“And a university: Brassard.” Hotch added.
“That should make it easier for you Garcia.” JJ sighed, the eccentric blonde on the other end of the phone beginning her search.
“If the unsub’s father really taught at Brassard, chances are he’s local.” Rossi suggested, Reid making a noise from the back corner that drew the attention of the group.
“Reid?” Hotch questioned. The younger man took a second to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear before walking from his spot at the back of the room, stopping beside Clarkson, who was sat at the table with her notebook.
“Angels of mercy repeat the same event over and over again.” Reid declared, and Morgan spoke up, arms folded and a frown on his face. He had come to agree that there was an unsub at the crime scene, and Clarkson found it interesting to see the change in his attitude: now fully behind the theory, he wasn’t wasting any more time on solving the case.
“What are you getting at?”
“Well, if as you said, the story’s true, then he’s leaving one key piece of information out, the event that started it all.” Reid explained, hands stuffed in his pockets as he looked over to see what Clarkson was writing, confused by her use of British shorthand instead of American.
“The brother didn’t kill himself.” Clarkson spoke up, closing her notebook and looking back at Reid, whose eyes quickly darted away, trying to look like he hadn’t just been caught red handed. “Peter killed him.”
“The fire caused such grief and suffering that it became a trigger.” Reid shrugged.
“And unable to stop himself, he targets someone he believes needs his help.” Morgan finished the thought, Reid nodding along.
“First, he keeps to some kind of timeline, a few weeks, but the last two kills were within days.” Reid added, and Clarkson looked back.
“So, he’s devolving?” She said with a slight air of uncertainty, but with Reid’s nod assuring her that she had got it right, her face once again became expressionless.
“Got it!” Garcia’s voice came over the telephone, followed by some typing. “It’s from 1984, it’s the Brassard College university newspaper.” 
“Wait, Garcia, they lived on campus?” Prentiss asked, the rest of the team subconsciously leaning in to hear more.
“Yeah. Says here that James Redding was the youngest suicide in Pennsylvanian history. And his father Charles Redding was a professor… Creep.” Garcia mumbled the last word. Prentiss was on her feet now, walking around the table, glancing over their evidence and case files.
“Is there any possibility that while we’ve been talking, you’ve been multitasking?” Prentiss asked, a smile hidden in her voice.
“What, track down his current address?” Garcia’s voice was smug, but there was right to be. Morgan and Prentiss let out chuckles, the latter doing so as she finished the phone call.
“I love you, Penelope Garcia.” Prentiss grinned, and Clarkson noted it was the first genuine smile she had seen on any of her teammates since she and Hotch arrived.
“Ha. Get in line.” Garcia said over the phone before hanging up, phones buzzing with the address, Garcia’s computer sending out a mass text to the BAU.
Prentiss, Hotch, Rossi and Morgan headed out to the unsub’s address, leaving Reid, JJ and Clarkson in the station, the former of whom was taking great interest in Paul Baleman’s, the detective’s late brother, journal. Clarkson had managed to find a nearby grocery store and had taken up JJ on a proper introduction over dinner.
“So, where did you grow up?” JJ asked, taking a bite into the chicken club sandwich, suddenly grimacing and pushing it away. Clarkson, without a beat missed, switched their sandwiches. JJ smiled gratefully, double checking it was ok before taking a bite of BLT. “I don’t know why, but the chicken club doesn’t taste right...”
“It’s mustard mayo, not regular mayo.” Clarkson commented after taking a bite herself, swallowing her rather tasty sandwich before speaking again. “Born in Maine, moved to Virginia in my teens.” She explained, taking a drink of her water and looking over to Reid with interest, seemingly skimming through the journal.
“I read 20,000 words a minute, and have an eidetic memory, Agent Clarkson. I am reading, I just do it very fast.” Reid spoke up without a question needed, and Clarkson nodded.
“We haven’t been properly introduced.” She said. “I’m Y/N Clarkson.”
“I know. We’ve met before.” Reid looked up, and Clarkson had an amused look on her face. JJ raised an eyebrow.
“Reid, none of us know her.”
“Dr Reid lectured at Georgetown two years ago.” Clarkson took another sip of water.
“Agent Clarkson was the only person who laughed at my class joke.” Reid said, a small smile appearing on his face.
“Which was?” JJ asked, looking between Clarkson and Reid.
“During a lecture titled “Ritualistic Tendencies of Cults and the Communally Insane”, Dr Reid decided to stop mid presentation, and he says.” Clarkson cleared her throat. “A campus advisor asks their student what class they are having the most difficulty with, and the student replies the bourgeoisie.” Clarkson couldn’t help the smile on her face as she retold the joke, which sent Reid at the other end of the table into a bout of laughter. JJ looked amused, more by Reid’s pure enjoyment of the joke rather than the joke itself. “And while the joke has a rather funny punchline, what actually made me laugh was in its delivery. This man decided to stop mid-sentence because he said the word class, told the joke, and then continued to discuss “class” A narcotics a cult in Idaho took before slaughtering half of their rural farming town.” Clarkson explained, and only then did JJ laugh, and, in tandem, Reid’s chuckle died away.
“So did you study sociology?” JJ asked, and Clarkson shook her head, taking another bite of her sandwich.
“No, I was visiting Georgetown to hear Dr Reid speak.” Clarkson confirmed.
“What did you study then?” JJ asked, but before she could get an answer out of the new recruit her phone rang. “Hotch?” she said, putting her cell phone on speaker.
“Our unsub has been detained. You can pack up the case. We leave tomorrow morning.” Hotch informed the team, Clarkson getting up quickly to begin untacking the boards. Reid and JJ watched her speed at clearing the boards with awe, not sure if they should interrupt her efficiency. Within fifteen minutes, the entire case had been packed away in boxes, sorted by victim, the boards tidied away into storage, and any trace of the FBI being in the building gone.
“I’ve seen Morgan take three hours to pack up a case.” JJ commented once Clarkson had finished, and Reid sat back in his chair, looking the new recruit over. He had yet to find a member of the BAU who seemed so meticulous, and it concerned him. She had taken the time to wipe down tables, the coffee machine, erasing their presence from the room entirely. Clarkson simply smiled at JJ’s comment, taking the boxes out to the car, Reid again noting her deliberate actions to not touch the doors with skin, kicking the meeting room door open with her foot, and pressing her elbow to the precinct entrance. Had it been anyone else, any other job, Reid would have ignored it, but something felt wrong.
Who had taught Y/N Clarkson to cover her tracks so well?
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