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crimsonwolfie · 4 years

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Best Mistake — Hamish Duke x Reader (x Knights)

Requested by @mysticalcrownbear

Prompt: The Knights accidently summon you, (the reader) a succubus when trying to summon Zecchia. You have a strong liking towards Hamish Duke, and he’s very much into you too.

Word count: 2,095

Hope you guys like this!! Sorry if it’s crap - requests are open!!

Masterlist

Best Mistake Part 2

“It’s not that they have all our stuff...they stole it. So - let’s steal it all back” Jack whispers as he leans forward, straightening his posture in seriousness.

“Are you suggesting a magic heist?!” Randall says, stalking towards Jack

“Yes. A magic heist” Jack replies as he steps up from the couch. Both boys shine a ray of mischief in their eyes and madness in their energy

“MAGIC HEIST! MAGIC HEIST!” They both chant, as Hamish and Lilith begin joining in synchronisation

“MAGIC HEIST MAGIC HEIST MAGIC HEIST!” The Knights chant like toddlers demanding candy.

—

“Well you didn’t think to warn us about that?!” Lilith hissed, eyes dark with fear and damage after the images she’d experienced. Hamish, Jack and Randall all sat with Lilith in the Blade and Chalice collectively recovering from their fear corners. Lilith rocked slightly from side to side whilst Jack was holding a pack of ice on the side of his head. They were tired, scared, drained...but desperate. They couldn’t get into the vault without being stuck in the “fear corridor”. Hamish chugged a swig of his whiskey, slamming the glass down onto the table with force, trying his best to forget what he went through -

“Stupid Ricky Simarco and his stupid fifth birthday party” he groaned, eyes fixed into a trance like state

“What did you see?” Randall asked Lilith, who replies with a simple “nothing”.

“Nothing?” He asks again, confused to why she didn’t see anything

“Nothing.” She confirms, although her shaken state says otherwise.

“Okay, since we can’t get through to the vault, i found the perfect solution” Jack enthusiastically gushes. “We summon a demon! There’s loads of different types to summon and i think i found the perfect one!”

The fellow knights all look around at each other in suspicion...could this actually work? Or is Jack literally insane?

“It’s name is a Zecchia” Jack points towards a yellow dusted page in an old, crippled book “it’s a baron demon, meaning it steals anything that the summoner desires it to”

“Won’t we have to do something for it? You know, a catch?” Lilith questions, her big brown eyes looking up to Jack

“No! You see that’s the beauty of it. We call it, they show up, we pay the toll and they’ll do our bidding!” He replies almost as if it was complete rocket science. “You just gotta follow the protocol perfectly”

“I’m in-“

“-Me too!” Hamish and Lilith both declare with their whole chests, meanwhile Randall starts struggling with the decision...

“Nope.” He announces. “No thanks. No way. Nope. Not a demon. Not ever.” Adamant as ever, he puts his hand on the table as a way to stand against the debate. He gets up and walks away before the others can stop him.

“We’re still doing this.”

“Yeah totally”

“He’ll get over it”

Hamish, Lilith and Jack all stand around the summoning circle, ready to summon Zecchia, the thief demon.

“Zecchia, appear before us so that we may negotiate the fee for your service to empty the vault of the Hermetic Order of the Blue Rose and remand those goods into the possession of the Knights of Saint Christopher” they all chant in synchronisation. Below their feet is a demon trap, purposed to trap the summoned demon in order to negotiate wisely. As soon as they finish the chant, a sound of wind brushes past them...but shorty followed by silence.

“Zecchiaaa?” Jack quietly echos into the distance of the house, uncertain if the summoning ritual worked or not. The 3/4 knights walk around the hallway wondering where they went wrong.

“Maybe we messed up the incantation?” says Lilith

“We did everything right?” Hamish replies

Suddenly, the door bursts open as Randall rushes in, slightly out of breath

“- guys STOP don’t do this-” He shouts as he blows out the candles nearest to him on the floor “-Alyssa and i were discussing demon summonings and-“

“-and you suck at it” you pipe up.

Emerging from the shadows of the staircase, you quietly and elegantly walk down, eyes never leaving the people below you...but one in specific - the man dressed in the waistcoat. You’re wearing a red, laced spaghetti strap bodysuit that’s tucked under a pair of tight fitted sheer black leggings (clearly i’m not going to have you wear only underwear and a bra like every other succubus - *que that not on MY WATCH vine* we are more PG here y’all - also may i add, your body size does not matter here. All body types are beautiful and you should love your body, don’t fall for these skinny stereotypes! Curvy girls are breathtaking too!!! <3 okay back to the story lmao). With midnight black wings as beautiful as can be and horns impeccable in sight, you stare with your big Y/E/C eyes as your long Y/H/C, silky locks fall past your shoulders. The sound of your black stiletto heels click and clack on the wooden floorboards, as further silence echos in the walls. The Knights are struck by your beauty, chocked for words at what they’re seeing in front of them. You swiftly bring your wings to your side, stroking your arms as you approach the people below you.

“You’re not what...we...expected” Randall slurs- i mean drools ;)

“That’s because i’m not” you sigh, bringing your arms across your body. “You summoned me, a succubus. Not Zecchia. But hey, you’re not the first...you’re meant to use alcohol as a summoning ingredient. She’s a sucker for it...senses it from many realms away” you continue, shaking your head and rolling your eyes playfully. Looking around the room, you can’t help but keep looking back to the tall man who has a perfect complexion and long, dirty blonde hair with blue crystal eyes. With lips so succulent...you want to kiss all over them and run your hands through his locks, as he uses his large, soft hands to roam around your body-

“So who did we summon?” Your thoughts are interrupted by the small, gorgeous lady to your right. She has blue streaks in her black hair, and a cute little button nose that you want to just *boop*!

“I’m Y/N, a succubus” you smile delicately at the woman in front of you, glancing back to the man who caught your eye before.

“And you are?” You question, turning your attention to the male on your right

“I’m Lili-“

“Not you! This handsome gentleman in front of me” you point with your long, ‘black as night’ painted fingertip towards the tallest man.

“I-i’m Hamish. Hamish Duke” he replies, cheeks blushing a gentle shade of crimson.

“You’re really hot” you tease, biting your lower lip in hot anticipation at your dirty thoughts. Hamish’s eyes widen at this, bringing his hands towards his front slightly.

“I could say the same for you, love” He gulps. He doesn’t know this, but you can actually read his thoughts; images of him pushing you up against the wall, his hands on your ass as your legs wrap around his middle, lips working sweet magic as you’re caressing his face and hair...leaving small, wet pecks on his neck as he moans your name out loud, thrusti-

“Hey, i’m Randall” the tall, pretty brunette calls out, stepping towards you. He brings his hand out to shake, to which you accept. A huge grin is painted across his face as his hand touches your dainty one, Lilith just rolls her eyes and huffs.

“Okay okay let’s wrap this up here” she remarks, pulling Randall away from you. You turn to see a shorter male, who sports platinum blonde hair that falls to the side of his face. His eyes are wide, mouth slightly parted and eyebrows furrowed.

“Are you alright, pretty boy?” You ask, genuine concern across your face. Randall giggles like a school boy at your words, repeating (and i quote) “hehe pretty boy heheee” quietly in the sidelines whilst pointing at Jack.

“I....uh....hi” Jack replies, fixing his hair after noticing you were looking at him

You lightly laugh “hi, cutie”

You look back over to Hamish, as his filthy visions are still happening

“I can read your thoughts, you know” you laugh as he blushes bright red and covers his front completely now

“It’s okay, i liked them” you continue in a husky tone, stepping closer towards him with your hands in front of you, gasping to be touching him.

He reaches his hand out towards your stretched hand, gently touching your fingers and delicately wrapping his large ones round them. You both intertwine fingers, as gazes are locked onto you both. He pulls you towards him, his head tilting slightly in awe at your appearance.

“Uhhh...okayyyy?” Lilith gawked as the rest of the Knights share glances of pure confusion and slight panic.

You chuckle lightly at Hamish’s actions, as

he wraps his arms around your lower back, swaying from side to side.

“You’re beautiful” he whispers into your ear which sends excited chills down your spine. He smiles looking down at you.

“What is happening right now?” Jack asks the others, who shrug their shoulders watching like hawks. Lightly, you plant a small kiss on his lips...which Hamish returns, only with more passion and lust. The kiss deepens as his hands grip tighter and your thrusting into him for more becomes intolerable, until you both need to release for air.

“Uhh Hamish? Y/N? Hello?” Randall waves his hands in the air trying to signal Hamish, but proves useless. As you’re heavily gasping in air, you notice Hamish’s mouth - your red lipstick has smudged all over his mouth

“BRO you look like a clown!!” Randall cracks up, laughing hysterically. Jack and Lilith snort upon seeing Hamish’s state, but he doesn’t care. He quickly and forcefully grabs you again and drops you bridal-style whilst passionately making out with you once again. Jack, Lilith and Randall all look back up from their laughter fits to see you two basically eating each other’s faces. Suddenly, it’s not that funny anymore - just disturbing.

“Okay that’s enough, Ham-burger” Randall shouts. Nothing.

“Yo Hamish dude stop” Jack sings, which again does nothing to Hamish and you.

“Yeah this is now how i thought my Tuesday was going to go” Lilith says as she gestures towards you two. “Is he enchanted or something?!”

“I uh...maybe?” Jack mutters

“Maybe i am too” Randall eyeballs you and Hamish “wait...i said that out loud didn’t i?” he quickly looks down and plants his face with his hands. Yeah...he was totally thinking of a threesome at that time.

Begrudgingly you break the contact between yours and Hamish’s soft lips and lift yourself up from his arms, yet he continues leaving sweet, soft kisses on your neck.

“I know what you’re thinking, cutie” you look up to Randall, who squeals in embarrassment and mouths ‘don’t tell them’ towards you, making you laugh.

“What were you thinking about?” Jack asks

“Basically he was thinkin-“ you begin

“NO no NO DON’T say anything” Randall barks out, breaking Hamish from his trail of leaving kisses down your neck

“You know what nevermind” Jack grunts as he scrunches his eyebrows up in discomfort.

“Okay this is getting too weird now. Hey, Y/N can we get Zecchia please” Lilith asks, seemingly annoyed

You sigh loudly, clearly annoyed that your fun was about to be wrapped up “fine. But i want to see you again” you say, stroking Hamish’s hair out of his face.

“Why does she have to go? Can’t she stay for a little longer?” Hamish pleads, but is shut down by Lilith giving him a death stare whilst growing towards him.

“It’s okay, she’s right. Okay well this was amazing. Call me again” you say as you wink towards Hamish, who’s knees buckle slightly. You walk towards the middle of the room and straighten yourself up, lifting the strap of your top back onto your shoulder.

“Nice to see you, lovelies” you give a little wave with your hand, then click your fingers and disappear. The Knights all glare round to Hamish, who straightens himself up and buttons his waistcoat back up.

“Have fun there buddie?” Randall quips, smirking slightly at his friend

Hamish doesn’t say anything, he just looks down in embarrassment

“Oh, and you might wanna-“ Randall gestures for him to wipe his lips, as Jack and Lilith silently chuckle from the other side of the room.

It’s safe to say, you left your imprint on Hamish Duke...and he won’t be forgetting that any time soon.

Let me know what you guys thought, and of you want any more fanfic :)

#hamish duke imagine #hamish duke #hamish duke x reader #the order season 2 #the order imagine #the order #the order netflix #randall carpio #randall carpio x reader #the knights of saint christopher #lilith bathory #jack morton #alyssa drake #lilith bathory x reader #jack morton x reader

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bluegreenandpurple · 3 years

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A beard through seasons- Chap 2

Second installment of this four chapter series... let's see what moment is Ron's beard bringing to us!

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters from HP Books nor do I get a single pound/penny/peso (money) out of this. Rated M because of Hermione's thoughts.

You can also find this work in AO3 and FFN.

Chapter 2: The dad’s beard

Hermione Granger-Weasley hadn't slept one single night alone since five years ago when the news of the conception of her daughter had been delivered to her husband. When Ron found out that he would become a father, he made a resolution to never miss a milestone of his child’s life and spend as much time as he could with his family. And so, he resigned his position with the Aurors and took a full-time job with George in the joke shop. Although, at the insistence of the Minister himself, Ron agreed to keep a connection with his former work as a Consultant for special cases and Professor of Strategy and Planning for the Auror Training Program.

Hermione Granger-Weasley hadn't slept one single night alone in five years until two weeks ago when her new position as Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had required for her to present the British Wizarding Community’s advances in the abolition of blood-related laws and regulations for the International Convention of Magical Law.

Actually, Hermione Granger-Weasley hadn't slept one single night alone in five years. Because whatever she had been doing the past two weeks surely couldn't be counted as sleeping. The king-sized bed of the hotel room seemed extremely big and frighteningly deserted without her husband. Despite applying impeccably performed warming charms one after the other, the bed remained cool. And the silence. Hermione could sleep with cold, she had done it countless times during her younger years in the Horcrux hunt. But, as had been proved during said hunt and reaffirmed in the past two weeks, she couldn’t sleep without the soft soothing sound of Ron’s light snores.

Each night for the past fortnight, Hermione had spent hours in bed recalling the warmth of Ron’s body and the comforting feeling of his arms encasing her in a fortress where only his signature smell and his purring breaths could trespass. She would concentrate on every sensation in an attempt to convince herself that he was there and overcome her insomnia. But he wasn’t there and she would subdue herself to night after night of what little hours she could accomplish of restless sleep.

When time passed and Hermione was finally able to return to her loved ones, she was bouncing on her feet in anticipation. The second she stepped out of the fireplace, she heard the muffled voices of Ron and Rose coming from the second floor. Eager to see her family, she sprinted and took off her cloak halfway up the stairs, discarding the garment on the floor. This level of disorder was anomalous coming from her, but the familiar smell of her home combined with her husband and daughter's voice had made her desire for Ron’s warmth and her children's stickiness almost unbearable.

Hermione followed the sound towards Rose’d bedroom and was frozen on her spot at the sight of her family. She was itchy to go and hug them but the scene on display was so adorable that she had to take a minute to commit it to her memory. Ron and Rose were sitting on the petite chairs of her tea time set and she was decorating his beard with a variety of her hair clips. He was curled on himself in an unnatural position, with his knees almost beside his ears and his hands resting palms down on the carpet, probably for balance. He would've been more comfortable on the floor than scrunching to fit on the chair, but Hermione had the suspicion that he was doing it for their daughter.

Hermione’s heart warmed watching as Rose was adorning his father's facial hair with a grin so wide that her eyes were closing from happiness. He was cottoning to her about how beautiful he felt with his new beard style and Hermione chuckled internally as she focused on said beard. She could clearly remember the last time Ron's beard had stolen her attention for so long. It was the day she’d noticed that he was no longer a boy, but a man. And now she was realising that her man had become a full proud and accomplished father. No, not a father. Her colleague's husbands who they continually complain about for not contributing to their children’s care were fathers. Ron was a dad. A fully committed, capital “D”, Dad.

‘Are you done ogling me, or shall I give you a few more minutes?’ Ron was glancing at her from the corner of his eye twitching his lips with the effort to stop a smile.

Hermione shook her head amused by his boldness. Oh, you are so full of yourself, are you? Well, two can play this game . She thought, and narrowing her eyes at him, she asked, ‘What makes you think that I was looking at you?’

Ron chuckled, triggering a reprimand from Rose at the sudden movement of her model. He apologised to her and promised to remain still before he answered, ‘Because if you would’ve been looking at Rosie with that eyes, love... I’ll be calling child support and the Aurors.’

Hermione gawked but recovered quickly, deciding to ignore her husband's ridiculous comment and walked into the room. ‘‘Where is Hugo?’ She queried, noticing the absence of her youngest son, as she squatted next to Rose and wrapped her in a bear hug. The little one immediately left her task at hand to snuggle into her mother.

‘He’s already asleep. Little Rosie here put her brother to sleep - with my help,’ Ron hastily added, as Hermione’s incipient protest died in her throat. ‘And now is my turn to give her night night.’

They ended up putting Rose to bed together, stealing glances at each other, trying to convey through their eyes all the longing from the last two weeks. Once in their bedroom, Ron and Hermione fell into their well practiced bedtime routine. As usual, she was first in bed. Ron didn’t know it, but she had trained through the years to perform the routine in record time so she could watch him peel off his clothes with no interruptions. Contemplating as Ron undressed was one of those little simple pleasures of life.

Whilst Hermione rejoiced with the view of her naked husband, she remembered the story Ginny had told her about the name she’d heard her coworker’s daughter called Harry. Ginny had been so full of herself recalling how she’d caught the girl saying to her friends that Ginny’s husband was a total DILF. When Hermione asked what that meant, Ginny’s grin could have lightened an entire city. “Dad I’d Like to Fuck”.

Hermione surveyed her husband. He was absolutely a DILF. If she’d been a teenager she was sure she'd have a crush on him. She had had a crush on him when they were teenagers and he was still a work in progress. If she’d have to choose, Hermione was completely sure that Ron had never been more appealing than he was at that moment. He didn’t have the body of his early twenties but he was still stunningly fit compared with her colleagues’ husbands. And maturity had brought an air of wisdom that mixed with his sarcastic humour made him more attractive than ever. In addition, seeing him as committed as he was to Rose today, made his sex appeal rise to the sky.

‘Ready to sleep, love?’ Ron had suddenly stopped mid-movement putting on his pyjama bottoms. One leg in the air, contracting his entire body to remain balanced. Hermione bit her lower lip to contain a moan at the sight of is firmed and perfectly sized for a small hand arse.

‘I think there are some other things I’d like to do with you before we sleep.’

Ron’s eyes went wide with want as he dropped his pyjamas and as he kneaded his hands he huskily said, ‘Then what are we waiting for?’ Then jumped on the bed and crawled between the sheets.

#ron weasley #hermione granger #romione #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #ron x hermione #hermione x ron #ron weasley x hermione granger #hermione granger x ron weasley #ron and hermione #hermione and ron #romione fluff

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wolfpawn · 3 years

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Not as it Seams

Done for a request sent by @colifower "Loki using a seam's ripper on Thor's clothes"

Elena loved her job tending to the fashion needs of the Aesir royal family. She loved assisting Queen Frigga in designing grand dresses, working on Thor and Odin’s clothes to get their attire to work with their armour, but Prince Loki was the most fun to work with. He had impeccable style and taste and appreciated the work of the palace tailors. He often came in discussing what he needed and spoke with them rather than merely telling them what he wanted and expecting it done.

“What is that device?” Loki was looking at the small item in her hands.

“This?” She held it up causing Loki to nod. “A seam ripper which does exactly what it’s named and rips seams.”

Loki’s eyes lit up at the explanation of the device. “Interesting.” For the rest of the time he stood waiting for his cloak to be sized correctly, he remained silent but looking at the instrument on the table close by.

When he was finished, Elena was entirely unsurprised when he walked over to it once more. “I wonder if I could borrow this for a short time?” Knowing better than to decline such a request for a item worth so little, Elena walked over to her desk and pulled out another one. “Perhaps you would like it better in green?”She held it out for him. “They are inexpensive so don’t fret returning it.” She was half saying it because it was true, half because she feared what he would do with it and she did not want to get blamed if it could be linked back to her.

With a deep chuckle, he took the seam ripper and left the room.

Elena had practically forgotten about the seam ripper Loki had procured from her when the reason for him acquiring it came to the fore.

Loki had been on Vanaheim for a solid four weeks when Thor burst into the tailors’ rooms looking red-faced and bewildered. “What has happened my clothes?”

Elena and a few of the others that worked there looked at him worriedly before noticing parts of his clothes seemed to be coming apart...at the seams. With raised brows and a look to match her workmates, though a deeper understanding as to what was happening, Elena walked forward to look at the attire. “Your seams seem to have fallen apart, Your Highness.” “How? Is it seidr? I bet it is, I wager Loki is to blame.” Thor snarled angrily, not admitting to them that this became embarrassing because he had been attempting to talk a maiden of the court to go to his rooms with him and she had laughed as he flexed only for the side his attire to fall open.

She studied the clothes closely and shook her head. “No, the thread is snapped in a few places.” She pulled out some of the thread for him to see. “There is no foul play afoot, as you can see, it is simply pulled apart, nothing more. I would assume seidr would fizzle it to nothing or snap it cleanly. This is just frazzled. I think I recall this clothing, it is quite old at this stage, it looks like it has had a few adventures too.” She indicated to the few areas that needed patching previously. “I would wager in moments of playful sparring with your comrades, you have pulled it harshly from you and discarded it to the nearest surface, with your muscle growth since this was made, I am sure that has pulled on it so.” She smiled.

Loving that his ego was being stroked by the implications of her words, Thor moved his head side to side slightly in agreement. “Well, it has been some time and you know, clothes are not meant to last forever, I suppose. I better leave it so.” He pulled it from himself and gave it to Elena who nodded back at him. “I will require new garments, are you the one that usually does such?”

“Not for yourself, Your Highness, that tends to be Lady Geraldine,” Elena explained, unsure how the prince would not notice the Light Elf that made his clothes from the Vanir and Aesir that also worked in the rooms.

“Is she here?” “No, Your Highness. It is her day off.” Thor swore. “You start them, then.” Unhappy at threading on Geraldine’s work but knowing she could not decline a direct order from Prince Thor, Elena took his current measurements and started her work.

Thor was nothing like Loki, he did not assist in any manner. Loki seemed to know where she needed him to place his arms and when she did the inseam of Thor, he seemed to think she had different thoughts with her hands there. “Perhaps you rather go somewhere more private with that?” Elena rolled her eyes internally at his stupid remark. “I will say to you as I say to every man that makes that joke, regardless of where you want me to do this, it needs to be done and I am not interested in wasting time. I can do it correctly now or guestimate it if you make me wait but that results in incredibly tight groin areas that tears easily at best or damage your, Crown Jewels when not done correctly.” Thor winced at her reference. “I am just doing my job, so please let me do it.” Feeling embarrassed by her admonishment and nauseated at the image she had put in his head about tight pants harming him, Thor said nothing after that. She moved his limbs as she needed them and took notes. Walking over to Geraldine’s table, she took her notes for Thor and checked them against her own.

“Your last had your measurements done with Geraldine eighteen months ago, your numbers are mostly similar, your neck has increased somewhat, metaphorically and physically.” She added the last three words quietly, though not so quietly as for others to not hear causing the other tailors and seamstresses to chuckle. “I will add these to her notes and begin the basics as per the instructions she has here. She will do the more intricate work when she returns to work. She is off for a few days, you should have them ready to try within the week.”

“So long?” Elena wondered what level of service Geraldine was being forced to work at. “That is standard practice outside of emergencies, Your Highness.”

“What are emergencies with clothes?” Thor asked.

Elena merely held up his destroyed clothes he no longer could wear as an answer.

“What will I wear back to my rooms?” Renée, a seamstress, brought over a riding cloak for him. “If I may, Your Highness.” Thor studied it and put it on. “This is for someone more slight of frame than I.” “It is Prince Loki’s,” Elena explained. “It was in for repair but with him being off-realm for so long, he has not collected it yet.”

Remembering that Loki was gone and certain he had worn the clothing since Loki’s departure, Thor grumbled and mentioned something about having them brought to his rooms when it was done before walking out of the tailor’s rooms.

Elena looked at the other tailors and seamstresses present before shaking her head and sighing. “I guess I better get started on this, then. Renée, could you get me…” She looked at Geraldine’s notes to see what fabrics Thor preferred and gave the seamstress her instructions.

Loki walked into the room with a smirk on his face. He had waited three weeks after court began to gossip about his brother’s clothes seemingly fell apart where he stood speaking to a lady of the court.

Elena, who had been working on a clasp of a coat that Loki’s hand servant had sent to be repaired before Loki’s return, turned on the sight of black and green leather in the tailor’s rooms. She noted Loki walk past her desk and inconspicuously drop the green seam cutter as he passed without breaking stride. “Your Highness.” “I have to have a few new pieces commissioned.” He declared. “When are you free to take my fresh measurements?” “I can fit You Highness in now if that would please you?” “Excellent.” He used his seidr to alter his travelling clothes to something more comfortable and stood as he knew Elena liked him to do to start his measurements. “Have I missed much in the world of tailoring in my absence? I hear my brother had the palace all a din.” “Apparently, Prince Thor was over eager with his attire and tore his seam in a manner that relieved his clothing from its duty of concealing his torso.” She responded, barely able to conceal her grin as Loki embraced his own laughter. She took the measurements of his inseam and around his thigh as he stood still, with him ensuring she had enough room to do so. “He also was of the impression that my current actions are somewhat sexually based.”

Loki stared at the tailor in startled shock. “Norns, I am not sure if it is ego or stupidity or even both with that fool.” He chuckled to himself. “I am sure you set him straight.” He moved so she could check both thighs were equal in size.

“But, of course.” She rose to write the measurements, Loki checking on her notepad to see how he had altered in the few weeks away. “The usual?”

“Please.”

She nodded and while he was close to her, she whispered in his ear. “Next time, try the groin of his pants where it attaches the front and back. It will either rip as he bends down to show his rear end or when he sits and tears to reveal his less than attractive underwear." Loki's eyes widened at the idea.

After doing all that needed doing, Loki went to leave again bidding Elena farewell as he did.

When Elena went to put her notebook back on her desk, there was no sign of the green seams ripper on her desk causing her to laugh slightly to herself as she shook her head.

#Loki fic #wolfpawn #Not as it Seams

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grilledcheeseandguavajelly · 4 years

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Mildred Ratched x Wilhemina Venable -- Hair Headcanons

(That no one asked for)

This was initially part of the big Ratched x Venable fic, but as I adjusted it and moved things around, I found that it didn’t quite fit. So I thought I would post it as headcanons instead!

~Enjoy, my little peaches 😉~

Tag List: @thatgirlintheleatherjacket @shineestark @duchessfics @darling-dontforgetme @midnight-lestrange @nerdaroo @pradababey (and @welshdragonrawr because it’s Mildred and they’re legally obligated to listen to me rant about her)

Neither of them noticed when it happened. How it happened. But they grew a bit older.

Just a smidge.

And as the stories shared grew shorter and more meaningful, as they learned to read each other’s minds and know each other through actions over words, the rest of the world became infinitely more dangerous.

Every time they stepped outside their door, there was a greater risk that someone was going to get between them. Tear them off of one another and cane them down to submission.

Each day made them more vulnerable. Each night strengthened that bond. So, little by little, piece by piece, each woman helped the other refortify herself against the possibility of hurt.

It didn’t matter how long the dresses were. It didn’t matter that gloves were pulled on and stockings got thicker. What mattered was that when they looked in the mirror, they were always pristine.

And their hair was their armor.

It didn’t start so tight.

When they had first met, Mildred had pulled her hair out of the way and twisted it back at the top, letting her natural curls fall over her shoulders and bounce lightly as she walked.

Then, once she got the job at the institution, it shifted to something a bit tighter, Wilhemina pinning up those loose curls and keeping them out of the way. A nice, modified chignon just below her collar.

“Quite becoming.”

Mildred hummed, weighing the knot. “I’d say so.”

But days went by, and weeks went by, and little by little, her hair was pulled even tighter.

Wilhemina was a whiz with a comb and some pins, and Mildred always loved taking an extra moment in the morning to see the art she had created.

But there was one morning, when Wilhemina smirked even before she was finished, Mildred watching her carefully from the mirror at the vanity. And when she turned, admiring the back of it, she noticed the tiny rose curls twisted into her usual style.

She wanted to kiss Wilhemina, to thank her properly. But something about her hair like this, everything settled into place — Her life was balanced. Home and work. And this hair, this simple, elegant, perfect hair, separated the two.

She wasn’t Millie in that mirror. She was Nurse Ratched. And she felt like she could conquer anything.

Wilhemina’s had evolved in quite the same way.

The days of pulling her hair up and twisting it out of her face, half up, half down, were over.

A few months in, right when Mildred’s hair had started to change, Wilhemina had noticed what the power of that did to the other woman.

And so she had asked for a taste herself, sitting in the vanity chair and letting Mildred tease it up into two flawless sections, pulling it back tight into a high ponytail and twisting it into a singular barrel curl down her back.

Everyone had noticed her that day. Everyone’s eyes had widened and then fallen away as she passed by. And while insecurity usually would have clouded her judgement, this time, this time, Wilhemina had no doubt it was because she was exuding power.

Something changed, in those little moments sat across her vanity. Something settled deep in her chest with the way Mildred’s fingers combed through her hair, her soft words of praise and admiration drawing a hard, firm line to separate them from the dangers of the outside world. Building a wall.

And after Wilhemina had gotten a taste, she realized that she needed more. What came to be her signature ponytail morphed into something entirely different and suddenly so familiar.

It was the day after she had picked those little rosebuds into Mildred’s hair, twisting the curls so carefully she could have cried. And instead of pulling her hair into a tight ponytail that morning, Mildred’s hands on her shoulders stopped her.

“I want you to try something different,” she said as she took the comb from Wilhemina’s hands. “I want you to know what this kind of power feels like.”

And then she had it teased up again, but split entirely down the middle, combing it from the sides and pulling it tight into two French rolls, meeting in the middle and joined neatly at the nape of her neck. Held impeccably with pins and hairspray.

When she was finished, Wilhemina’s hands gripped into the wood of the vanity. Because this was it. And she could feel it. And she understood.

It was perfect, smooth as silk and pinned up tightly. Two sister curls, reminiscent of her barrel curl but so much more controlled. And the front still looked the same. Wilhemina still recognized herself. But when she looked in the mirror, her chin was sharper and her cheekbones were harder.

And Wilhemina didn’t miss the way Mildred left a few pieces free at the nape of her neck, her baby hairs combed down out of the way, so that she would still have something to twist her fingers into when they kissed.

Mildred smirking behind her set it in stone.

“Ravishing,” Mildred murmured, fingers tightening on her shoulders.

Wilhemina tapped her cane in response, a sickly smile pulling at her lips.

Hardened. Protected. Safe.

The good thing about having a partner style your hair every morning is that they know the most effective way to undo it when you get home every night.

Mildred had memorized every stroke of hairspray, fingers always raking through and softening it in seconds.

Wilhemina never missed a pin, spinning those perfect little twists around her fingers and popping them right out of place.

And then they were on each other, no time wasted as sloppy, messy, controlling kisses — slamming against the wall and grabbing by the shirt — slowed into something delicate and soft. Their daytime selves, their protected selves, literally pulled away as armor was discarded.

By the time both of their perfect updos were tugged free, the stresses and the pressures of the day were usually diffused.

They would sit calmly over dinner, always touching, always sneaking small caresses in the safety of their sanctuary, discussing whatever was left pricking at their minds.

And one would inevitably wind up twirling strands of the other’s hair around their fingers with the knowledge that they would be able to use it to a completely different advantage once they fell into bed.

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half-bakedboy · 3 years

Note

Hello! I would love to request a Shadowhunters Malec ficlet that’s AU - Human that somehow incorporates a first meeting with instant attraction in an unexpected place/environment/circumstances. Thank you!

The Main Character (read on ao3)

Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Rated: General Summary: “You know in those dumb romantic comedies where the main character’s ex-boyfriend arrives at the most inopportune time when the main character looks like a trainwreck and has still not gotten over their feelings for said ex?” Alec said frantically, trying to ignore the eyes he felt burning into his back.

When Alec woke up on Saturday morning, a very large part of him - possibly all, if he was being honest with himself - had wanted to snooze his alarm clock and pretend that it was just another day in his quiet apartment. There would be no one to be seen or heard except for the small snores from the mangy cat he had rescued a few months earlier, and he would be surrounded by peace.

When he peered open one eye to glance at the time, he saw Church sitting on his bedside table with one paw up, ready to swat, and he decided that the day would have to happen whether he left his bed or not. He wasn’t about to deal with his sister’s disappointment if he didn’t arrive at the shop on time and figured he was better off pulling on a tattered sweater and jeans than feeling the wrath of Izzy.

It wasn’t that Alec didn’t like accompanying his sister on her shopping adventures, far from it. He had never cared for sprees, especially when it meant spending time with his family, but the planned outing of the day was just another reminder that his little sister was about to get married. His twenty-something baby sister was about to make their parents proud, and Alec? He was in his mid-thirties, with a mediocre office job, and spent most of his mornings attempting to figure out how to effectively press his coffee with the fancy machine his mother had gifted him when he moved out of Andrew’s home.

And, of course, Alec had to make himself even sadder by sending his thoughts into a spiral as he remembered his ex-boyfriend who had shattered his heart into a million pieces mere months ago.

He shook his head to rid his mind of hurt when Izzy’s bright voice shouted, “Alec!” She nudged at their mother’s arm and bragged, “See, I told you he would be here, looking…” Izzy’s voice trailed off and Alec couldn’t blame her. Maryse had booked them a meeting with one of the most prestigious wedding planners in New York and Alec had barely bothered to put on a clean shirt, let alone match the put-together outfits his family wore.

“I don’t know why you need me here,” Alec grumbled as he sat beside Izzy, shrugging off the comforting hand she rested on his shoulder. Maryse sighed heavily but it was enough of a response to know he had, once again, not met her standards. Izzy rolled her eyes but the smile never left her face. Alec had always admired that about his sister though, so he was grateful his presence hadn’t ruined the moment for her.

“You’re here because you’re my best man--” Before Alec could interrupt and mention how ridiculous it was that Izzy didn’t just have a maid of honor like most other brides, Izzy pressed a hand over his mouth and said, “And you’re the only person I know that will make sure this wedding planner doesn’t take advantage of me.”

“Oh, Isabelle,” Maryse scoffed, “Mr. Rey would never do anything of the sort. He’s the one who requested your father and I bring his name up to you. He may be the best in his field, but we’re the best in ours and he wouldn’t dare take advantage of my daughter like that.” She nodded in finality as the man who Alec assumed was the prestigious Mr. Rey appeared from a back office, an annoyingly wide smile on his face.

He cradled Maryse’s outstretched hand in his, placing a soft kiss to the back of it, before he said, “Mrs. Lightwood, as beautiful as ever.” Alec held back the urge to vomit at the nicety and shared an almost telepathic look with his sister that clearly stated their instant dislike for the man. “And you must be the blushing bride!” He exclaimed, gathering her hand in his to give her the same royal treatment. Alec hoped he would bypass the kissing when it was his turn.

“Isabelle Lightwood,” she introduced herself proudly as she stood. “And you’re Mr. Rey, I presume?”

The man waved a dismissive hand and scoffed as he responded, “Lorenzo, please. Mr. Rey is reserved for my soon-to-be husband.” Alec rolled his eyes but stopped abruptly when Lorenzo turned toward him. “And you must be the gorgeous partner I’ve heard so little about,” he praised as he eyed Alec up and down. Husband material, Alec thought bitterly as he smiled through gritted teeth.

“Brother,” he corrected easily. It wasn’t unusual for strangers to assume his sister was his significant other, so he didn’t overreact at the insinuation, opting instead to raise his eyebrows at Lorenzo like an unspoken threat - of what kind, Alec would let Lorenzo figure out himself.

“Well, Maryse, you didn’t warn me your entire family was this stunning or I would have worn my good suit,” Lorenzo teased as he took a seat on the other side of the table. Alec should have known the day would be a test to see how long he could go without rolling his eyes and sighed as he sagged back into his chair.

As the girls and Lorenzo chattered about Izzy’s “vision” for her special day, Alec decided the metal chair was entirely too uncomfortable, so he stood to explore the office and get a better read on the man they were dealing with. Alec would have immediately pegged the man down to be a psychopath based on the sparse decorations around the room, but he saw a framed photo of him with a dog squished between his knees and figured he had to have some feelings to take care of a pet.

Beside that frame was another of an equally decorated man, both of them clutching awards for something Alec hadn’t taken the effort to squint at. The man was quite possibly the most beautiful person Alec had ever seen. His suit fit him like a perfectly crafted glove, the lapels sparkling with what looked like silver glitter, and his face was adorned with bold makeup to match. Alec’s breath caught in his throat as he leaned down to get a better look at the man’s sharp features and impeccably styled hair when a throat cleared behind him.

“You know,” a smooth voice said as Alec straightened, “it’s really a shame that only engaged men come into this office.” When Alec turned, he saw the man in the photo dressed slightly less formally - but no less extravagantly, somehow - with his hands propped on his hips in defeat. “They say that 15% of people meet their spouses at work, but I just don’t have that luxury,” he commented with a shrug of his shoulders as if rolling the disappointment off of them. He offered up his manicured hand and Alec could do nothing but stare blankly down at it.

“My sister is engaged,” Alec said without much thought. His stupidity showed in the way the man’s eyebrows rose and a teasing smirk replaced the pout on his lips.

“That’s very exciting for her,” he responded, pushing his hand just a little closer to Alec. “I’m Magnus Bane, and you are?” Alec let Magnus’ smooth skin connect with his as their hands clasped together. If his entire body erupted in goosebumps, he was the only one who had to know.

“Alexander Lightwood-- Alec--” He corrected with a furrow of his eyebrows and a rapid shake of his head. Focus, Lightwood, don’t be an idiot, Alec chastised himself as he stared into Magnus’ eyes. He hadn’t thought it was possible for a human to have such golden eyes but there Magnus was, standing in front of him in all of his flawless glory, and Alec couldn’t be too sure he wasn’t meeting an angel on earth.

“Well, Alexander, I’m assuming that lovely raven-haired goddess over there is your sister,” Magnus commented as he gestured toward Izzy.

Alec cursed to himself and muttered, “Straight,” trying to hide his disappointment behind his closed lips.

“Not quite, darling. Bendy in all of the ways that count, really,” Magnus teased as he pulled his hand away from Alec’s increasingly clammy one. He hadn’t realized their hands had still been latched together and pushed back his embarrassment at the lingering shake.

Magnus started to say something else, presumably about his sister’s wedding, but when Alec glanced back over at the table, he felt ice shoot down his spine. Kissing Lorenzo, who was probably going to be the most consistent person in Izzy’s life for the next few months, was none other than the man responsible for Alec’s current loneliness. Panic surged through him as the men pulled away from each other, the fondest of smiles on their faces as they stared longingly at one another.

As if sensing his discomfort, Magnus rested a gentle hand on Alec’s shoulder and said, “Are you alright?” Alec jumped backward, his hip knocking into the table the frames adorned and sending them crashing to the ground. He had known the others’ attention would have been grabbed so he maneuvered himself in front of Magnus, hoping all they could see was his back.

“You know in those dumb romantic comedies where the main character’s ex-boyfriend arrives at the most inopportune time when the main character looks like a trainwreck and has still not gotten over their feelings for said ex?” Alec said frantically, trying to ignore the eyes he felt burning into his back.

“And the other, clearly more likable, main character comes to the rescue as the more attractive stranger who helps the other main character get through the disaster that his life has turned into?” Magnus responded easily as he glanced over Alec’s shoulder. Alec glowered at him but quickly ducked his head as a familiar voice muttered his name. He had heard Andrew speaking with Izzy and Maryse and had known it wouldn’t be long before his cover was blown, so he took a deep breath to prepare himself.

“You gonna help me out or are you gonna secure my place as a side character for the rest of my life?” Alec asked as he met Magnus’ shimmering eyes. Magnus seemed to consider him for a moment, tilting his head as he stroked his trimmed goatee with his fingertips. Alec hoped his gaze portrayed just how desperate he was to prove to Andrew he had moved on, even if it was the farthest thing from the truth.

“That’s your family over there, yeah?” Alec nodded before his eyes widened in panic. There was no way they could pull this off with Izzy and Maryse lurking in the background. Before he could call his ridiculous plan off, Magnus rested a gentle hand on his arm and threw his head back in laughter. Alec leveled him with a confused glance that earned him an eye roll from Magnus. It was unfair how attractive Magnus was even when his eyes were full of judgment. “We’ve been on two dates and I’m very infatuated with you, just as you are with me. Nothing committal enough that you would have spoken about me with your mother, but enough to show blondie over there you’ve begun to move on.”

Alec was about to argue with him before Magnus’ words seemed to spark something inside of him. “You’re gonna do it?” Alec asked as he pressed his palm against the back of Magnus’ hand that lingered on his bicep.

Magnus nodded before he said, “Absolutely.” There was no doubt in his tone and in the way he glared over Alec’s shoulder with unabashed heat in his gaze. “Lorenzo has been driving me insane, reminding me that I’m single while he is going to marry his prince charming,” Magnus spat. Alec flinched at the mention of marriage and Magnus’ eyes darted back to his, a softness in them that Alec hadn’t expected.

“Sorry, I just--” Alec took a deep breath and closed his eyes before glancing back over at the prying eyes of his family and the man whom he’d thought was the love of his life. “Somehow, Andrew has found a husband in the last few months while I’ve learned the names of the entire staff at my local ice cream shop,” Alec sighed with a shake of his head. Magnus chuckled sadly and slid his hand up to Alec’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly but seemingly with enough intimacy that a throat cleared behind them.

“Well,” Magnus said with conviction, “now you’ve got a person you’re dating who is very much looking for a new ice cream shop to enjoy. So,” Magnus dragged his hand down Alec’s arm before tapping at his hand. Alec flipped his over and gladly accepted Magnus’ warm hold as he smiled down at the very surprising man.

“Alexander, are you going to say hello to Andrew or continue to ignore him in favor of…” Maryse’s voice trailed off as she raised her thin eyebrow in Magnus’ direction.

“Hey, Andrew,” Alec said and to his embarrassment, his voice cracked with what was probably leftover emotion. Magnus gripped the back of his sweater where no one could see, and Alec felt immediately calm at the touch.

“Alec! I, uh, didn’t expect to see you here. Izzy was just telling me about her engagement, you must be so happy,” Andrew said as he smiled at Izzy. He was grateful for the glare Izzy was sending Andrew’s way and just a little off put by the way Lorenzo clung to Andrew as if he couldn’t read the clear tension that had risen in the room.

“I am very happy, for many reasons,” Alec responded as Magnus wrapped himself around Alec’s arm and beamed over at the group.

“He’s such a flatterer,” Magnus cooed, slapping Alec on the chest dramatically, causing them both to burst out into laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation they had found themselves in. Alec thought it might have been the most authentic laugh he’d had in months and he shook his head to clear that thought as Magnus started speaking again. “I’m Magnus Bane; Lorenzo’s associate and a friend of Alexander, here,” Magnus said as he held out his hand to Andrew.

Andrew’s eyes widened as he stared down at the offered shake, accepting it tentatively. “I didn’t realize you were dating someone, either of you,” Andrew said before he turned back to Lorenzo. “You never mentioned Magnus had a boyfriend,” Andrew said with an almost accusing tone in his voice that Alec couldn’t quite decode.

“My associate has never mentioned a boyfriend,” Lorenzo said with his usual grin on his face. “And a Lightwood, no less.” His tone was clearly impressed and Alec was just a little happy at the way Andrew glared down at his fiance.

“We’ve only been on a few dates and you know my affinity toward labels, Ren,” Magnus said sweetly. Alec wasn’t sure what he had gotten himself into, but judging by the way Andrew averted eye contact with everyone in favor of staring at his shoes, he figured he was suddenly in the middle of a rivalry he had known nothing about.

“Alec, you didn’t tell me your new date was a wedding planner!” Izzy said excitedly, the glint in her eyes showing Alec that she had figured out exactly what was happening. He sighed in relief and relaxed a little under Magnus’ hold. “Magnus, I’m Isabelle. What do you think about planning my wedding?” Alec gaped at her, his eyes widening almost wider than Maryse’s as Lorenzo sputtered from his spot beside Andrew. Alec saw Andrew wince as Lorenzo’s nails dug into his arm and a small sense of satisfaction rushed through him over his shock.

“Isabelle, we’re here to meet with Mr. Rey--” Izzy glared at her mother before gesturing to where Magnus and Alec were still pressed together. Neither of them made a move to separate.

“It would make far more sense for Alec’s plus one to plan the day of my dreams, don’t you think, mother?” Maryse didn’t say anything in response which Alec was grateful for but, when he glanced down at Magnus, a mischievous smirk was in place of what Alec had assumed would be a look of rejection.

“Ms. Lightwood, I would love to discuss that offer at a later time, but I think I’ve got a more promising date in my near future,” Magnus said before turning toward Lorenzo and Andrew. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna take an early lunch break with Alexander here, yeah?” Before Lorenzo could deny him, Magnus tugged both of them out of the front door, laughter echoing through the air as they made their way down the street.

“What just happened?” Alec said as he inhaled the crisp New York air deeply, a sense of happiness he hadn’t felt in a long time overwhelming him.

“You have gained a date to your sister’s wedding and I have snagged an upscale event that may finally get me out of Lorenzo Rey hell,” Magnus responded easily before he turned toward Alec. “On a scale of one to ten, how surprising was this morning?”

Alec thought for a moment as he pushed his hands into his pockets and faced Magnus. “I ran into my ex-boyfriend while my baby sister met with a wedding planner and now…” Alec trailed off as he met Magnus’ gaze, “I’m hoping to buy my knight in shining armor some ice cream.” Magnus grinned up at him but tilted his head with a quirk of his eyebrow as if reminding Alec he hadn’t answered his question. “Ten out of ten in the best of ways,” Alec responded as he held out his hand.

Magnus fit his into Alec’s and somehow, his smile widened as he said, “I usually score off the charts, but ten out of ten ain’t bad.” Alec threw his head back in laughter and wondered just what he had gotten himself into.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t wait to find out.

#malec #my writing #quickbright #thank you SO MUCH #this was such a joy to write #and i hope you like it <3 <3 #commissions

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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

Text

Rose Bushes

One: Higher Power

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?

#criminal minds #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x reader #cm #cm fic #fanfiction #fanfic #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jj #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #david rossi #bau #bau x reader

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elmidol · 4 years

Text

Happy Birthday, Micah

[Phillip Altman x Micah (or Reader, but the name is used)]

Happy birthday, @strongtwiheart

tw: None. Just some fluff and occasional innuendo.

word count: 1.8k

There were some mornings that it struck you just how natural it was to wake up beside him, to join him in the kitchen for breakfast or coffee. It was strange to think that there had been a period wherein he had been absent from your life. Phillip Altman had spent that time continuing to live as a playboy, behavior that had ended after the death of his father and he had had to live with the consequences of his choices. That had helped him to become who he was now, had led him to you. What you thought of life before him was in terms of growth; it was faded, much like your early childhood. Which was funny, in a way, given that such thoughts led you towards the fact that recently Phillip had insisted the two of you purchase a character-themed waffle press. It had been admittedly cheaper than others due to it being on clearance, and seeing him happy always brought a smile to your face.

On this particular morning, you did not wake up next to him, however you could smell the waffles baking and knew he was waiting for you in the kitchen. You stretched your arms above your head, freshened yourself a bit, and then headed out of the bedroom to join him. Along with the waffles, you smelled the coffee. Your favorite brew and in a mug you were rather fond of. Phillip had his back to you. He stood at the ledge on which the waffle press was stationed. Beside it was a measuring bowl filled with batter, on the opposite side a plate with fresh waffles. He had a half eaten one in his hand. Your smile broadened.

“Good morning,” you said while stifling a yawn. Phillip twisted around, returning the greeting as he gestured with his head toward the cup of coffee that was waiting for you. “You’re up early.”

“Did it get cold in there without me?” The way his voice took on a new pitch whenever he teased you made your heart flutter. Warmth spread through your body. You felt so comfortable with it, as though you had been wrapped up in a blanket of affection--because, you knew, you had been. The way he looked at you was obvious. There was attraction, hints of lust, but something else. He valued and respected you. He had told you how his sister, Wendy, had raised him. They were close, and you had bonded with her. It was Wendy who had put into words for you how you felt with Phillip when she had stated how he looked at you from her point of view: he looked at you as though you completed him, because you did.

You lifted up the coffee, the surface not too hot as it warmed your hands, and leaned against the opposite ledge. “Yes.” You did feel complete now that you were again in the same room that he was. “You’re making a lot of waffles.”

“I worked up an appetite,” he replied, giving you a smirk this time. You ran your tongue along your lips, your eyebrows momentarily rising. You had not expected anything less. Phillip pushed aside the container of batter, opened up the press, and withdrew the waffles that had finished cooking. He reached over to unplug the appliance. As he did so, you moved into a chair that was set up at the small table in your kitchen. Phillip picked up two forks from the drawer, grabbed up the plate of waffles, and brought all of this along with his own coffee mug to the table. You marveled at the size of his hands, at how much he could carry in a single trip. Those same hands that delivered you pleasure, that held you, that often enveloped yours.

He slipped into the chair across from yours in unison with setting the plate down in the center of the round table. The forks slipped in a controlled fall from his hand onto the surface beside the dish. You reached forward to grab one of them. Phillip, meanwhile, grunted, set down his cup, and rose long enough to procure any toppings either of you might want for the waffles. Then he was seated on the other side of the table from you again. He was dressed in sweatpants and a comfortable t shirt . Nothing that indicated he had plans to go out, although that did not mean he wouldn’t dress later. His facial hair was well kempt, trimmed to his preferred length. You enjoyed watching him, taking in all these details as Phillip reached for one of the waffles.

Those brown eyes, so deep, gorgeous, warm, lifted to meet yours. “Micah.” You blinked slowly, almost owlishly, at him. Released a soft hmm of acknowledgment. “You awake?”

“Yeah. I’m just watching you.” He snorted, his head bobbing in repeated nods, and he chuckled out a yeah, I caught that. Relaxed, light, nothing judgmental. He was simply making conversation with you.

You let out a startled yelp as your chair shifted towards the right. Phillip chuckled, eyeing the way your hands had gripped the table. Shaking your head, you stood to finish what he had started doing with his feet; you moved the chair closer to his so that you were side by side rather than across from each other. You made the suggestion that the pair of you could head over to the couch, but Phillip only leaned to the side, setting his cheek on top of your head and then straightening up. You withdrew your hands from the coffee mug that you had reached for in favor of grabbing his face and bringing him down for a kiss. His lips were smooth against yours in those three quick pecks.

“Look at us. All cute and domestic.” It was hard to not groan at this joke, what with how his chest puffed up a bit. He was half-serious with what he had said.

“Well,” you began, deciding to join the mirth, “that is one of the reasons I love you.”

Phillip placed a hand on your head, his thumb skimming behind your right ear. “I love everything about you. Your cute scar here.” His thumb stroked it in reverse. The caress coupled with his words made your heart stutter in your chest before it set to racing. “It’s one of the reasons I love you.”

“O-oh?” He had told you this before, however it had been a while. And it caught you by surprise whenever he would bring it up. So specific, so endearing. He was perfect. Phillip pressed his mouth against yours. This kiss was more than a simple peck. He kissed you deeply, your mouths joining together in a familiar dance. His thumb caressed back and forth along the scar. He murmured again how much he adored it. “I love your hands,” you whispered back. “And your eyes.” His lips ghosted over yours. “Your mouth.” Now they kissed you for--you did not know what number you were at. You could kiss him for all eternity and never grow tired of it.

As the kisses slowed, you rested your forehead against his. “Do you love the coffee I made you?” he asked. His sense of humor, his impeccable timing, how he knew just what to say. You loved that.

“Yes, I love the coffee you made for me.” Phillip slipped his arm around your shoulders, rubbing you gently so that he did not jostle you as you grabbed hold of the mug. You sipped the warm liquid, felt its heat as you swallowed. It complemented how he made you feel on an emotional level.

Neither of you picked up the forks that were beside the plate of waffles. Phillip appeared to have temporarily lost interest in the food in favor of focusing on you and the coffees that you were each drinking. It was perfect for the weather outside. It was chilly. The thermostat indoors would read at a higher temperature, the heater audibly thrumming as it kept away the cold. The coffee worked to ward away any lingering chill that might have existed. You cuddled more tightly against Phillip. You looked at the waffles merely to consider the faces of the characters that were visible from where you seated.

The characters were another example of why it was difficult to remember a time before Phillip. Both of you could recall watching the show. Your conversations would have fooled third parties into thinking you had been together while watching the episodes. The memories blended together well enough that sometimes the two of you forgot that you hadn’t been with each other. Such occurrences would result in laughter when realization struck. You both shared favorite and least favorite characters for the show as well. Phillip liked to eat the least favorite character first. That way if there were leftovers then it wasn’t them taking up space in the fridge or freezer. That was a quirk of his that you found endearing.

“Hmm.”

“What?” he asked before sipping on his coffee a bit noisily. You nudged him so that he quieted. “What?”

You pointed with your chin at the pile of waffles. Your hands were on the warm mug and you did not want to remove them just then. “I was thinking that we could always use the other three slots and not the fourth. Then we won’t have to worry about there being any left.” Here you looked over at the ledge. “Especially with how much batter you made.”

“That’s another thing I love about you. So smart. Big brained.” You scrunched up your nose at his words, albeit not in disagreement. Phillip placed his cup on the table and you set yours down beside his. Wrapping your arms around him--or as much as you could given his size and your angle--you closed your eyes and inhaled his scent. “Stealing my shirts.”

“They’re comfortable,” you countered. They fit just right. This loose t shirt was the same style as the one he wore, however it was a different color. “You love that I wear them.”

“I do,” he conceded. “I like taking them off of you too.” Despite his words, he did not make a move to do so. You appreciated what he was implying and that he did not bare you to the cold. “What are your plans for the day?”

“Well, first, I’m going to help you finish making the waffles,” you said. A pause then you corrected yourself. “First, I’m going to drink my coffee. Making more waffles is somewhere down the line.” He offered to put a lid on the batter so that the two of you could instead go over to the couch and cuddle after eating. You were plenty willing to go along with that plan. All that mattered was that the two of you were together. So long as there was that, it would be a perfect day. “Now you’re the one who’s big brained.” His laugh was deep, rich, and everything you wanted in that moment.

#phillip altman x micah #phillip altman x reader #phillip altman fanfic #phillip altman fluff #happy birthday #first time writing for phillip #i hope it works

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sceptilemasterr · 4 years

Text

MW Act 3, Scene 4 - L.A.R.A.

Title: Most Wanted: The Hollywood Killer (A CIU Screenplay)

Main Pairings: Dave x Sam

Other Pairings: N/A

Genre: Full Rewrite

Rating: PG-13 for violence, blood, swearing, alcohol, and sexuality

Summary: At the L.A.R.A. gala, Sam and Dave are reunited and share a dance.

Previous Scene: It All Comes Together

Masterlist: Link

INT. L.A.R.A. BALLROOM - NIGHT

The L.A.R.A. gala, set within the historic Beijing Theater, is decorated lavishly, fit for a who’s who of Hollywood celebrities. Well-dressed men and women mix and mingle throughout the ballroom. Dave, Rebecca, and Rhea walk in through a side entrance, looking around for anything suspicious. Dave and Rebecca are both impeccably dressed Hollywood-style, while Rhea looks slightly uncomfortable in the old prom dress she is wearing. Rebecca places a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

REBECCA: Breathe. It’s okay. I know it’s a lot.

RHEA: I... oh my God! So many celebrities... I think I might faint--

REBECCA: Seriously. Just take a breath. We’re on a mission, remember?

RHEA: Oh, right! Sorry!

Rhea takes a deep breath, steadying herself.

REBECCA: Better?

RHEA: A little. Thanks!

REBECCA: Anytime. Now, let’s keep an eye out for...

Her voice trails off as she spots Dave making his way over to a poker table, where Ryan Summers and several other celebrities are fully engrossed in a heated game. Rebecca groans.

REBECCA: Dammit, Dave...

RHEA: What’s wrong? He might be able to get some good intel from those guys, right?

REBECCA: You’ve been spending too much time with Dave, haven’t you? He’ll be there all night if we let him. C’mon, let’s--

She is interrupted by a sudden commotion from outside. She and Rhea turn their gaze toward the entrance, where they see Cassandra Leigh emerging from a limo outside.

RHEA (excited): Wow! Is that the Cassandra Leigh?!

REBECCA (unimpressed): Do you have any idea how many celebrities are gonna be here tonight? If we stop to gawk at every single one of ‘em, we’ll be here all--

She stops talking and her jaw drops as Sam emerges from the limo behind Cassandra. Sam is nearly unrecognizable in a beautiful, flowing red dress that is the envy of every celebrity at the gala. Sam takes a pose with Cassandra, smiling and waving as the paparazzi swarm the two of them.

REBECCA: Is that--

RHEA: Sam?!

Dave looks up from his poker game and spots Sam. He is mesmerized by the sight of her.

DAVE (stunned): Holy...

RYAN (knowingly): No way. I know that look. Reyes, of all people?!

DAVE (annoyed): Don’t you say a word, Summers.

As everyone watches, Cassandra and Sam continue into the ballroom, pushing aside paparazzi as they do so.

RHEA: Okay, Sam and Cassandra Leigh? I’ve gotta find out what’s going on there--

Rebecca rests a firm hand on Rhea’s shoulder.

REBECCA: Whatever Sam’s up to, she’s probably going for it undercover. I doubt we’d help by rushing in, guns a’blazin’.

Rhea starts to respond, then stops herself.

RHEA: ...You’re probably right. So, what now?

REBECCA: We mingle. Try and figure out who Hayley’s “enemies” might be... people Tull might think he’s “protecting” her from.

Rhea shrugs.

RHEA: Honestly? If I had to pick people Hayley Rose had a serious reason to be upset with... well, I’d just be listing the people Tull already got to. Who else could be left?

REBECCA: That’s what we’re here to find out. Come on, let’s go find some--oh. Oh no.

Rebecca suddenly looks out across the ballroom. Rhea follows her gaze--to see Dave walking straight toward the middle of the dance floor, where Sam is chatting with Aly Griffin and a few other well-dressed partygoers. Rhea cringes at the sight.

RHEA: This won’t end well.

REBECCA: Don’t I know it. (sighs) Better get over there before those two start drawin’ all the attention to themselves.

The two women make their way through the crowd as Dave approaches Sam.

ALY: Dave! Hey, glad you could make it! (turns to Sam) Where are my manners? Sam, this is--

SAM: I know who he is. Believe me.

ALY (awkwardly): Oh! Uh...

SAM: Dave, what the hell are you doing here?!

DAVE: I’m--uh--

Aly looks curiously at Dave as he tries to come up with a response, shocked to see him outside of his usual confident demeanor. Sam stares at Dave as, behind him, Rebecca and Rhea approach.

DAVE: Look, it doesn’t--I think I should be the one asking you that question! Last I heard, you were storming off for a flight back to Texas!

SAM: Oh, is that what this is about? You just couldn’t wait to be rid of me, is that it?

DAVE: What?! No--

SAM: Well, too bad, pretty boy. Beckham or no, I’ve never left a case unfinished, and I ain’t about to change that now.

DAVE: I... not that I don’t sympathize, but this really isn’t the time for--

ALY: I’m sorry, you two know each other? Have I missed something?

Dave and Sam are both startled out of their argument, remembering Aly is still there. Dave lowers his voice and explains:

DAVE: Er, right, sorry. This is Sam Massey. U.S. Marshal and former partner with me on the Tull case.

SAM: Gotta be honest, I can’t say I realized you’d be here, Reyes. Can we go somewhere for a sec? Privately?

At a nod from Dave, Rebecca motions to Rhea, and they back off.

DAVE (sighs): Fine. Just don’t draw too much--

He is cut off as the music changes to an elegant waltz. A D.J. announces over the loudspeakers:

D.J. (ON SPEAKER): And bringing it down a little, here’s a nice and slow one for all you happy couples out on the dance floor!

As couples begin to pair up and begin slow dancing around them, Sam and Dave look at one another awkwardly. Sam coughs.

SAM: I, uh...

DAVE (whispering): Should we try to, uh, escape?

SAM (whispering): I think it’s too late for that.

Dave shrugs and clears his throat.

DAVE: In that case... ahem.

He bows dramatically and extends a hand toward Sam.

DAVE: Deputy Massey. May I have this dance?

ALY: Oh come on! Why is EVERY guy I’m into already taken?!

Sam struggles to keep from laughing as she takes his hand.

SAM: Why, of course, Detective Reyes.

The two of them begin waltzing, slightly awkwardly at first, before finding their footing. They fall into a smooth rhythm, resuming their conversation in hushed whispers as they dance.

DAVE (whispering): So. Mind explaining what you’re doing here? Did Beckham reassign you to the case?

SAM (whispering): Don’t I wish. Naw, I’m just a private citizen enjoying a gala. A gala where there happen to be plenty of celebrities who might be targets for our... mutual friend.

DAVE (whispering): Well... can’t say much, but let me tell you, you’re onto something. That notepad from the trailer... forensics ran it. They found “LARA” written on the top page.

At Dave’s words, Sam begins scanning the room covertly while they continue dancing.

SAM (whispering): Wanna make a promise? If either of us find a lead, we tell the other. Deal?

They dance several moments in silence while Dave deliberates.

DAVE (whispering): Deal. I may still be mad about that move you pulled in the trailer, but I won’t say no to some capable backup.

SAM (whispering): Same. Gotta admit, you ain’t half bad in a fight.

DAVE (whispering): Right back at you. (louder) And I have to say, you look... well... absolutely stunning.

This time, Sam allows herself to giggle a bit.

SAM (awkwardly): Oh! Thanks. And, well, uh... you don’t look so bad yourself.

They dance in silence for another moment or two, until...

D.J. (ON SPEAKER): Aaaaaand that’s enough of the slow dancing! Put your hands up for some hoppin’ beats!

The couples around them start splitting apart as they dance to the energetic EDM that starts playing next. Sam and Dave take advantage of the confusion to split off again. The camera follows Sam as she heads toward the bar, when she notices Hayley in the midst of a very heated argument with her agent.

HAYLEY: Ugh! You are so... How dare you?!

BROOKS: Hayley. You know I only want what’s best for you--

Hayley stomps her foot angrily.

HAYLEY: Bullshit! I know you’ve been talking with other starlets; you just wanna replace me!

BROOKS: Replace you? I would never--

HAYLEY: SHUT UP!

As Sam watches, Hayley bursts into tears and sprints away from her agent, straight toward the gala entrance. After a moment’s hesitation, Sam sprints after her, shoving patrons out of the way.

SAM: Hayley! Wait!

Hayley sobs as she rushes through the doors, completely oblivious to Sam’s shouts. As Sam approaches the exit, Dave approaches, jogging alongside her.

DAVE: Rebecca’s already calling in for backup to protect Brooks. He might be Tull’s next target!

SAM: Good thinkin’. We’ve gotta warn Hayley!

DAVE: Exactly. No tellin’ what a creep like Tull might do to her...

The two of them burst through the doors into the L.A. night air.

_______________________

Next: Street Pursuit

CIU Tag List: @brightpinkpeppercorn @endlesshero1122 @bbaba-yagaa @acidsugar0

MW Tag List: @griselda1121

#most wanted the hollywood killer #choices most wanted #choices stories you play #csyp #most wanted rewrite #ciu project #choices interconnected universe #fanfic #dave reyes #sam massey #sam x dave #rebecca mckenzie #rhea sarkar #hayley rose #aly griffin #ryan summers #jamie brooks #btw the dj's voice is 500% present mic's #just saying

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dainty-baneberry · 4 years

Text

Prompt #26: When Pigs Fly

(Lower La Noscea, Eorzea. Post 3.15 Heavensward and the Scholastic quests.) Candlekeep Quay was a sleepy little port on the edge of Lower La Noscea In years past only the candle-keeps of Oschon's Torch made use of the port. When the nearby and much more heavily settled Moraby Drydocks were damaged in the Calamity, the Quay was pressed into service and expanded. Once the flood of artisans and supplies had seen to the repairs of the Drydocks, Candlekeep Quay was once again forgotten. Dealing only with the most pedestrian of domestic cargo. It was “guarded” by a handful of greenhorn Yellow Jackets. The most pressing thing they had to concern themselves with was the occasional drunk argument over one of the local girls who was a renown flirt. It was of great surprise to those that were station there, then, that at half past the bell of 6pm Storm Sargent Orrick arrived on the ferry from Aleport. He claimed to have been hailed there by a Yellow Jacket named Sylskaetsyn who had penned an urgent missive regarding a crate of contraband that arrived with no name. Sylskaetsyn, confused and having penned no such letter, then became the sole witness to a most peculiar murder. A cloaked figure, dressed all in black stepped out from a pile of barrels, shot Storm Sargeant Orrick at close range in the chest, and disappeared into the wilds of the Salt Strand before anyone could react. Inspector Briardien adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose as he bent down to inspect the corpse of the late Storm Sargent Orrick. At barely 2 bells old it was still considered fresh. The blood splatter from the wound suggested that the weapon used to dispatch the man had been of high caliber. The slender Elezen man's brow puckered a little; “Tell me, Sylskaetsyn, do you note anything unusual about the Sargeant's shirt?”

“Other than its got a dirty great hole through it... can't say as I do.” Sylskaetsyn observed. “Scorch marks.” Inspector Briardem pointed at the tell-tale markings. “And not caused by black powder, as one would expect from a projectile revolver. This wound was created by a magitek weapon.” “Magitek!” Sylskaetsyn fully started back a step. “S'wot Imperials use, ain't it? Ain't none of that round here.” “To an extent, aye, indeed it is.” Inspect Briardem rose, adjusting his glasses again and his silvery gray hair besides. The Ishgardian Elezen man was impeccably neat at all times. “There are only two peoples on this Star whom are known to use weaponry that would create a wound with this pattern etched into the victims clothing. Those in the Imperial army, as we have already deduced and Ishgardian Machinists. And if you were to ask me if either are likely to answer whom might have done this, I should ask you when did pigs start to fly.” “Machi-what?” “Precisely.” the Inspector waved Sylskaetsyn's question away. He had already anticipated that the unpopular Ishgardian discipline would be a complete unknown in this backwater Eorzean port. “Tell me, do you happen to know if the good Sargeant had any enemies?” “D'ye have a week?” a female voice snorted, fairly dripping with disgust. “And there weren't nowt good 'bout him neither!” “Do forgive me, I do not believe I caught your name?” The elezen man peer down his nose at the pretty, if somewhat shabbily dressed miqo'te woman. Her blue black hair was tipped with white and her uniform marked her as a Mealvaan's Gate assessor. “A'zumyn.” The woman stated clearly, striding over. “If you check the dead man's pockets you'll find a book of names of people he were extorting.” That raised Inspector Briardien's eyebrows sharply but he almost instantly collected himself to rifle through the slain Storm Sargeant's pants. As promised within one of the pockets he found a slim, leather bound notebook. The Inspector had no qualms about flicking through the pages, noting 18 different names. All of which appeared to be miqo'te names by the tell tale letter prefix that denoted their tribe. Bar one.

A singular Roegadyn name, Delicate Willow, stuck out like a sudden scream in near silence for how jarringly out of place it appeared. “Would you be so kind as to explain to me the manner of extortion the late Orrick was engaged in?” Inspector Briardien requested politely, his eyes still lingering on the name Delicate Willow, even as he smoothed down the front of his cobalt blue bilaud from where it had wrinkled when he bent down. His instincts were tingling. He could not say why, or how but he just knew that this event was somehow related to her. She may not have been involved in the actual killing act. She may even be wholly unaware of it but she was the lead he needed to follow. He was certain of it. “T's a simple enough scam. Loan a little coin to someone down on their luck, nothing official, just between friends. Then make it so its real hard for them to pay it back. Add a interest, a couple late fees and the next thing the mark knows the have an unpayable debt on their hands.” A'zumyn explained. “He almost got me with it, only my mentor at the Arcanists Guild stepped in and returned the coin he loaned me before he had a chance.” “The Admiral banned piracy but the bloody worst of them never can quite give it up.” Sylskaetsyn spat. “So I see.” Inspector Briardien murmured. Delicate Willow. Delicate Willow. The name reminded him of something. Delicate... Diaphanous...Airy....Elegant...Dainty. A bolt shot through Inspector Briardien, stiffening his spine suddenly. In an instant his mind was awash with with visions of a finely built woman. He had been surprised to see her, an Au Ra, in Ishgard of all places. And with one of Stephanivian Haillenarte's Machinist weapons on her hip. A carbine style, Briardien recalled. Long barreled, but slender and easily able to fit under a flowing cloak. “Sylskaetsyn, would you describe the cloaked figure you saw as “tall” ?” Inspector Briardien questioned leadingly. “Just the opposite, in fact! It all happened so quick, its hard t'say with confident what I actually saw with my own two eyes but, I do recall thinking the person might have been a wee little thing t'be hidden behind those barrels for Twelve knows how long, and none of us be any the wiser.” “Yes. Such stillness and dedication to their tasks suggests that this was the work of a professional. This was very clearly an execution by who had been watching the Quay for a long time, and knew not only to send a letter signed in your name but the exact ferry that the Storm Sargeant would arrive upon. The single shot with a magitek rifle, the quick, clean escape, all these pieces can lead us to only one conclusion. The killer was Frumentari.” Inspector Briardien announced, adjusting his glasses. “Frumen...wha?” “Spies of the Garlean Empire.” “Oh!” “Storm Sargent Orrick no doubt plied his ill-begotten game on the wrong mark and, rather than risk being unmasked, the operative saw the threat to the mission eliminated.”

It made perfect sense to Sylskaetsyn. He may have been the most senior Yellow Jacket in Candlekeep Quay but he was still green, having barely made is 25th Rank before being assigned to watch duty in the forgotten port. He had been almost certain he was going to be set up for the Storm Sargeant's murder until Inspector Briardien had unexpectedly arrived and mostly competently taken over. “I shall see this book of names turned over to the proper authorities so that they may attempt to uncover which of the names may be the Fox in the Hen House. I shall leave you to your reports and...corpse disposal.”

Inspector Briardien informed Sylskaetsyn with a collected Ishgardian bow before he turned towards the Pier. There was a ferry to Aleport with his name on it departing in the next 5 minutes and the Inspector was well desirous to be on it. “Yes! Thank you, Inspector! Not sure what we would have done if you hadn't happened along. Never would have noticed all that, the stuff about it being a professional wot done it, if you had not pointed it out.” Sylskaetsyn insisted, suddenly remembering his manners to thank the slender Elezen man and reply with an Eorzean salute.

Inspector Briardien's reputation for brilliance of mind, especially when it came to deduction, was clearly well deserved in Sylskaetsyn opinion. Inspector Briardien gave a cursory nod, which unseated his glasses and required him to adjust them on the bridge of his aquiline nose once before. As he moved toward his transport a thin smile graced his lips. He was not a betting man. He did not believe in the sport of gambling, or wagering against luck but he would place coin on Delicate Willow being a relative of some sort to the woman known as Dainty Baneberry. Inspector Briardien was no Dragonslayer, nor a Knight. He was technically a noble born but House Manseauguel of Ishgard was not one of any particular note. Yet he knew what the Warrior of Light, the Survivor of the Dragonsong had done for Ishgard. It was impossible for a man of his intellect to be blind to the future she had granted them. An Endless war, ended by her hands. A multi-generational cycle of violence broken so that peace could be known between man and dragon. An ancient crime finally exposed to the world, and those who would continue it made to answer for it. By her doing. Somewhere between Candlekeep Quay and Aleport, over the deepest part of the ocean and while the crew of the ferry were busy navigating through the dark, a small, leather bound notebook did slip from Inspector Briardien's hands and plunge, unseen, into a watery grave. A thin smile fleetingly quirked up the corner of Inspector Briardien's lips; “Ishgard remembers, Warrior of Light.”

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxivwrite #writeseptember

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primad0nna · 5 years

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My Everything || Valk/Ela

Valkyrie and Ela oneshot in which Valk visits her beautiful girlfriend and asks her an important question. { written for my amazing gf @gay-for-iq <3 }

This post contains: Drug usage, mentions of NSFW content, and lotsa fluff

Her house smelled like weed, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. Getting high was a hobby of Ela’s and she admired it. It brought her back to the days where Valk and Ela would sit in Valkyrie’s backyard and share a blunt or two, giggling at anything and everything. On the weekends they’d always go out longboarding then at sunset they’d go to their favourite secluded spot by the lake, pull out a bong and smoke until the stars came out. Valk inhaled deeply and set her backpack on the kitchen table, a single rose in hand, exhaling with a grin on her face. There was loud music blaring from the speakers, the beat sounding familiar. Once she realized it was Run Wild by Thutmose she started grooving her way to the living room. Ela was playing the air guitar in her sports bra and PJ pants. It was cute; something nobody really gotta see.

“Having fun?” She raised an eyebrow at Ela, twirling the flower in her hand.

“Can’t hear you.” Ela replied back, still jamming to her song.

Ela was a free spirit off duty and also very creative. Every painting on Ela’s wall was made by either Ela herself or from one of her favourite painters. There was a particular painting Valkyrie liked. It had two naked girls painted on it in a very provocative pose Nobody else really knew it was the two of them except for her, Ela, and the artist. Everything in Ela’s house was different and very unique. She had a modern look but some of her shit was oddly shaped and that’s what she liked. Ela was very unique and once you really got to know her off duty, she was a beautiful human being... who could also punch your teeth in.

The way Ela moved was smooth and on beat. Valk liked to joke and say she could dance better than any other white girl she’s seen. That always ended with Ela chuckling and shaking her head. The song ended and the green haired girl paused her music. “You’re late, you know.” Ela raised an eyebrow, waltzing over to her girlfriend, taking the rose out of her hand.

“Sorry, babe, the florist, uh..” Valk scratched the back of her neck.

Oh god it was that beautiful smile Ela gave her when Valk did something small like this. It always made her heart flutter and her knees weak.

“Well, English wasn’t her first language. Let’s just leave it at that.” She could feel the hearts bubbling around her and her arms began shaking. This girl made her weak, as previously stated before, and her mind foggy. Ela was on her mind all day and sometimes she’d miss important details to missions just because her mind was elsewhere... But it was all worth it.

“Hm.” Ela let her playlist shuffle.

Oh no.

I’ll Still Have Me by CYN started playing. It was such a beautiful song and she was surprised Ela even had it on her playlist. Ela must have stolen it from Valk’s playlist while she wasn’t looking. Sure Valk seemed like one of the boys but she did love her slow songs too. Valk offered a hand and persuaded her to dance with a sweet smile. Ela gladly took her hand and swayed to the beat. Valk looked deep into Ela’s eyes, sighing happily. Ela was her safe place and her home. She was her person.

“I’m surprised your hair isn’t in that tiny ponytail.” Valk raised an eyebrow at her, admiring the messy hair she had.

“Oh you missed it, darling, it was up for a little bit but it must’ve fallen out while I was napping.” Ela shrugged.

“You look-”

“If you’re going to tell me I look beautiful, you’re going to get punched.”

“Well, I was going for ‘adorable’ but that works too.” Valk scrunched her nose.

There it was; the chuckle and head shake. And just like that her knees felt like they were going to give out on her. Her hands were definitely shaking and she knew Ela could tell. Ela wrapped her arms around her girlfriend’s neck, head resting on her neck. You know, the typical slow dance. Valk placed her hands on Ela’s hips and buried her face into Ela. Every human being has their own scent and Ela’s was her favourite smell in the world. It was so comforting and it made her feel like everything was going to be okay.

For the time being it didn’t feel like time was going at all. These are the moments Valk loved. Having her girlfriend close to her and in such an intimate way just felt so right.

I will see you in part of me and who I was back then If I don’t have you, at least I still have me. And if I don’t have you, at least I still have me.

“What’s the rose for?” Ela whispered, rubbing her finger on the stem and letting her thumb break off one of the thorns.

“Do you remember that promise I made about sending you a rose for everything I love about you?”

“You’re still adding on? I should at least have a 10 by now.”

“Two dozen, now, actually.”

“Hmm, then what’s today’s?”

“You feel my hands shaking? That’s because of your smile. I love the smile you give me when I say something stupid or romantic. Whenever you smile it’s like the heavens are telling me that it’s safe and the world will be all right.” Valk’s cheeks were a bright pink and she could feel it.

Ela’s head was filled with all the reasons she loved her and she could feel a smile creeping along her lips.

This first one is simple. I love your style.

You’re unlike anyone I know and you’re your own person.

You don’t let anyone control you and you take charge when you feel like something could possibly fail.

You’re very creative and talented in the arts. I could never draw and I admire you when you’re painting. You’re so focused and determined to get your drawings just the way you want it.

You might be a professional soldier but you still pushed to keep your hair colour. That’s so beautiful.

You can handle yourself well.

This is a touchy one but even though your father didn’t favour you like he did Zofia, you still love him like he did and visit his grave when you can. Especially on Father’s Day.

Your skin is so soft and it’s so delicate. I could suck on your skin lightly and you’ll get a mark so easily. I’m surprised your concealer can cover up all the hickeys I’ve given you. That leads to my next five. I love the way you moan in my ear while I’m fucking you. I love how you whimper while I’m eating you out. I love when your legs shake afterwards and you walk like you’re drunk. I love your lips on mine and my skin. Most of all, I love how you whisper ‘I love you’ even when you’re out of breath.

I love how you we can laugh at scary movies together and how dumb people are. You know, because they haven’t had military training like we have. I’m pretty sure that person would be dead in minutes if they crossed us.

I love your face on Christmas when you open the gifts I picked out for you. You don’t take things for granted and it’s not about what I’ve gotten you. It’s the thought that counts and you appreciate every little thing.

I love the way your face lights up when your favourite artists post new projects.

This one might be odd but I love how you fight. The way you, well we, but it was mainly you, beat that dude’s ass at the bar for calling us faggots and abominations. That was hot. You are so strong.

You’re a great solider and your aim is impeccable.

You’re very independent and you don’t need me or anyone but you want us to stay.

You’re so good with kids when they approach you and ask you about your hair. It was cute when the little girl asked when the pictures were gonna appear on her skin and when her hair is going to turn green. Also how you interact with my little niece is adorable.

You don’t notice this one but when you really get focused on something you stick your tongue out and suck on your lips.

You always leave an extra tip to add on what I give. My favourite game we play is “Tip the Bill” and even then you do it.

You always offer the last hit even if I say ‘I’m done for now’.

By the time Ela was done daydreaming about all the roses she has received, the song was over and Valk had taken her chin with her index finger and thumb and looked deep into her eyes.

“You’re my world and my rock. Nothing could ever come between us. And now I think it’s time for you to know how I really feel.” Valkyrie placed a small kiss upon Ela’s lips.

“This has been the best 5 years of my life and I know I’ve said this before but I couldn’t be happier. You are so kind, badass, and just amazing. You’re everything I could ever ask for. I love you and all of your flaws. Everything has fallen into place just perfectly. We have gone through all the good and terrible. We might fight and it might get ugly at times but we always make sure to never go to bed upset. I hope you can forgive me for everything I have done, which I know you have already but it’s nice to know that you’ll say it, and every mean thing we have swapped to each other. And I am so very happy you got the house you’ve been eyeing for a while. It fits you well. You’re the woman of my dreams and my prayers have been answered.” Meghan knelt down on one knee and pulled out a ring from her jacket pocket, looking up at her girlfriend lovingly. “Elżbieta Bosak, will you make my last dream come true and be my wife?”

Ela gasped and turned a bright red, covering her mouth with one hand. She screamed and nodded her head. “Of course!” She exclaimed. This day couldn’t have gotten any better.

Valkyrie put the ring on her now fiancee’s finger and got up, cupping Ela’s cheek and kissing her deeply. A single happy tear streamed down Ela’s face as she kissed Valk just as passionately. It felt like her soul had left her body and burst into fireworks. Now it was Ela’s turn to feel weak in the knees. The rest of the night was spent watching movies and smoking as much weed as their lungs could handle.

#rainbow six siege #rainbow six siege fanfic #valk/ela #ela bosak #valkyrie #meghan castellano #elzbieta bosak #fanfic #oneshot #r6s #mine

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safrona-shadowsun · 4 years

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A Courier and the Sea: Kul Tiras

{Completed Rp between myself and the amazing “C” over at @theconstructsworld. Thank you for reading if you do...! Long post, will be put under }

"I've heard that you've been lingering around Boralus. Is that true, lovely Sea? It's been a while."

A faint smile gently teased at his lips as eyes focused upon the familiar face. For such a minute shift in expression, his entire demeanor seemed to suddenly change into something more welcoming and friendly. He allowed the silence to cling to the space between them while that curious gaze studied her. “You have changed.” It wasn’t a question, but an observation. Slowly he wets his lips as his gaze passes over her form once more in a studious manner. “Or have become what you were always meant to be.”

Pallid fingers loosely clasp together at his waist, finally nodding in response to her question.

“Yes.” The man could easily pass for a Quel’dorei or a Sin’dorei, allowing him the ability to wander through both Horde and Alliance territories without drawing much attention. Any that did feel the need to question him often found themselves suddenly speechless once that icy gaze fixated upon them. “It is an intriguing city. The humans that reside here are much taller and wider than those back in the other lands. Is it a place you visit often yourself?”

The Void-touched courier was held in place for those few moments those icy blue eyes arrested her with their study. What you were always meant to be. The crease of a brow gave a touch of expression to cool composure, a hint those words had hit something past the surface of business. As the topic shifted and he inevitably spoke of himself, Safrona smoothed herself over, engaging ‘Sea’ with carefully crafted words and professional charm.

“A courier is often here at the need of many. The import business is an active one, and travel is a necessity to maintain connections and make new ones, yes? All shapes, all sizes, all voices. All quite…intriguing.“

Her eyes had slipped down to the small screen of Ethereal make cradled in her arm, but soon those violet pupils were pinned again to the mysterious C, lambent with some idling curiosity.

“What of the experience do you find the most interesting, mmn?”

His comment wasn’t meant to be probing, at least not to him, it was in his nature to say most things that were on his mind and for some reason this new ‘appearance’ seemed to suit her quite well. Given she seemed to ignore the topic, he too moved on from it. For now.

“Is business good then, yes? Have you added much to your trade?” He gives a brief scan of her body, pausing on the device she held in her arms before his gaze greets hers once more, accompanied by a gentle smile. “The city smells very different from any other. Every corner smells heavily of the sea or what is contained within. It is inescapable and overwhelming.” Not that he wanted to, the way he spoke sounded as if it were rather enjoyable to him. “It makes the residents smell very different as well.”

He thoughts drift away for a few moments, not bothering to fill the silence between them before continuing, “Have you spent much time there yourself?” With that question, he leans forward. Not enough to provoke any sense of alarm, but instead to sniff the air around her as if he could tell by her scent alone.

A merlot eyebrow perked quizzically as he would lean closer to sniff at the air around her, but Safrona did not move, more bemused with the innocence he seemed to mold to his actions. The Courier was a presence of both sound and smell to those that took notice, a combination of the natural overwhelmed by the unearthly. The savory aroma of the liquor she stained her hair with most prominent, the Thalassian Bloodwine with its licorice taste, as was the subtle, static hum that was the Void she was more obviously infused with. And just beneath that wine aroma, to the most sharpened senses, one might be able to pick out the odd scent of burning leaves…

“Boralus adds its own business, yes, especially when it comes to alcohol. The Azerothian mainland is always craving newer tastes, and I enable the eager crafter to provide, and the afficionado to take part. You can always taste what makes a land in their alcohol, learn much about a person by what they prefer to drink. But it’s sweeter still to introduce something new, and broaden tastes.”

Her eyes floated back to her datapad, seemingly entering information with a tap of fingers, lightpoints flashing at her fingers upon its glass-like surface. “Do you have a particular taste you enjoy? In drinks or …fashion? The Kul TIran’s coats seem to be a popular want, I’ve been noticing.”

His senses had sharpened over the years after he learned how to make better use of them. At first there had been a distinct lack of taste and smell, or perhaps he just didn’t know how to differentiate between the various flavors and scents; it was impossible to know. His palate had become more honed since, finding more pleasure in particular flavors over others. Not that he had ever found anything he didn’t like or wouldn’t eat, some foods were just more exciting in his mind; usually things that carried a variety of flavors and scents all mixed together.

For that reason, he hovered closer to the Courier in an attempt to pick out and place all of the interesting scents she carried on her person. He slowly reached out, hovering a hand near the side of her shoulder; not touching, but simply feeling the magic she radiated now. Nostrils flared before he returns his hand to his own personal space as if nothing weird had just occurred.

“What is that word? Afficionado? Is it not a word stored in my memory.” He was still technically ‘young’ and learning; never afraid to ask questions about things he did not understand. He awaited her answer with a curious gaze, eager to learn something new. “I enjoy the taste of bitter.” He nods in confirmation of his own words. “It makes my tongue feel strange, but a good strange yes?”

At her question regarding fashion, that icy gaze drifts downwards to his obviously expensive suit. Perfectly tailored to fit his slender form and quite flattering, the dark colors make his eyes pop even more. “I enjoy suits. I enjoy the way this material feels against my flesh..” He brushes his fingertips along his opposite sleeve. “And I enjoy the way that others around react to it. I am treated well. What is it that you enjoy most? For taste and fashion?”

Violet eyes rose up from the datapad to pin almost haltingly to that icy blue gaze, stilling completely as his pale hand reached to touch the air around her. The unnatural resonated against his skin in a low, barely detectable frequency, a world-shifting vibration that was felt more than it was heard. The unassuming smile at Safrona’s lips quirked to tightness, straightening as he breathed her in.

“A…connoisseur, yes?” Safrona gradually pulled herself from the uncommon closeness to casually explain. "Someone that might count themself a master of taste. One who lives for a certain taste, you could even say. But, there are many tastes, and there will always be one out there that tells you your own is wrong.” A chuckle withered out of her now as she cast her gaze to the side a moment. “An aspect of living that applies to many conflicts, I’m sure. Some things must always be the eternal argument, mn?” Her gaze stole back to the eponymous “Sea”, leaving the pure blue stare to rove over his garments as he would give them his attentions. The hard, near bitter smile smoothed once again in agreement of the Gilnean style that was adopted.

“What I enjoy…varies. I find I’m drawn to what pairs with my mood the most at the time. Sometimes it’s the smooth, savory taste of my Bloodwines I like. And other times it’s the sweet burn of a Bourbon I like. But clothes, ahh, that never changes. I also like what feels good on my skin, like you.” Silk, velvet, and supportive pieces of a worldly style all the professional’s own indicated she matched touches of luxury with necessity, laced with a subtle embroidery of an enchanter’s fingers.

“But luxury for me is nothing without the sensibility of durability. I travel and end up in not so smooth situations weekly and my wardrobe has to keep up with me. You dress impeccably, lovely boy.” Her interest had her inclining naturally nearer, though she made no attempt to touch where her gaze studied. “But your tailor must be hungry for gold, trying to follow up on delicate upkeep for that handsome suit, yes? Or do you have talent with a needle yourself?”

He listened intently at the learning lesson; a new word, a new place, these were always things that keep his attention without fail. Learning was probably his favorite thing to do next to exploring and lucky for him the two went hand in hand. "Yes, I understand. It seems strange that one would tell you your tastes are wrong when tastes, by their very definition, are personal to a singular being." He smooths his fingertips along the edges of his jaw while his gaze drifted somewhere behind her. "The living are curious creatures." He mused mostly to himself, as if it were a thought said aloud.

Once again his eyes traversed her choice in clothing as she spoke on it, focusing mostly on her choice in footwear. "Do you do much traveling by foot? How often are you having to replace your shoes?" Maybe a strange question, but C himself preferred walking over any other form of travel. While his shoes did not show any wear currently, it was a problem he often had and ended up barefoot by the end of his journey. When she leaned in closer, he mimicked her movements, allowing the touch if that is what she were after. He never minded touch, at least the kind that was expected and not sudden. He rather enjoyed sharing a closeness with those in which he was acquainted, especially the ones that radiated magic.

Head tilting at the mention of gold, the peculiar man appeared as if he were quite wealthy but that was not the case. In fact, he never carried a single gold on his person. "Sewing is not within my set of skills at the moment so I visit a tailor for all of my clothing. I get my suits for free." Said as if this were completely normal. It was to him, at least.

"Curious...ahah," Safrona breathed a slight chuckle in repetition of him, eyes casting out to the city lights of Boralus just down the fork in the Kul Tiran path they stood at now. "People are many things on an individual basis. I find it curious that I always seem to find you at a literal crossroads. Fate is sometimes funny like that, yes?" That lambent violet traced back to pause on Sea a few considering moments, as if trying to place the meaning herself. There was almost an expectancy in that gaze, but it quickly passed to approach the more obvious conversation.

She nodded when she was asked on her footwear, a seemingly normal enough question on her own merit as she scraped a small line in the path with the point of a black boot. "I'm not travelling as I used to, but I still do find myself on foot quite a bit when I am. No doubt footwear becomes important for the well-traveled. I used to go through boots like glasses of wine. Which is not quite as satisfying. But with an enchanter's help, I have the same pair of boots now for a year or so, which is lovely really."

Scarlet eyebrows lifted up slightly at his admittance that he acquired such expensive suits freely. "Your generous tailor should have the names of a few enchanters in their circles. In my experience they tend to work hand in hand. But if you're looking for an enchanter, I can point you to the one I go to in Dalaran if that holds your interest. They can definitely have your clothing or your shoes augmented for durability."

His icy gaze peers down one path and then the other, lingering on the road that led to a seedier part of the city. "Perhaps it is an unspoken metaphor that you meet me at a crossroads when experiencing a crossroads in your own life." His eyes drift back towards her, unblinking and now focused on her own gaze. "Are you? At a crossroads? Maybe a difficult decision with an impossible choice. You always strike me as the type that has taken the road less traveled..." The melodic tenor trails off as does his gaze once more, focusing on nothing in particular behind her. "And that has made all the difference." He smooths a hand down the front of his vest, sliding pallid fingers into a pocket to wrap around the pocketwatch contained within.

When his gaze does finally return to her there's a pleasant smile on his lips, "Yes, enchants. I have heard of this, I will inquire of the tailor, thank you. I am not terribly fussed with durability as I am rather fond of the feeling of the ground beneath my bare feet." He looks down to his polished shoes, tapping his toes faintly against the cobblestone. "But many establishments claim a 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' policy which I find very interesting that pants are not included among the other articles of clothing. That seems to be the most important piece of a wardrobe to remember when out in public, no? Or something that covers the lower half of one's body as it seems to be shameful to flaunt parts of the anatomy that everyone possesses." The amusement was obvious in his expression, some of the societal norms still confused him.

And her eyes had followed out the icy floe of his too as they stretched down the forked paths, remaining there as the light melody in his voice touched on words that had meaning. "Paths less traveled? Yes...yes I suppose I have. And am." The admission lilted wistfully from her, a sound and smile that was sourced from something besides that practiced professional she exuded. She hadn't remembered where she heard those words before, or the author that had written them, but they had resonated with her in the moment of their reading as they did now. The "Sea" spoke poetry.

A silent inhale, and she folded her arms loosely at her chest, arms lost within the cloak of burgundy that mantled her shoulders. Another breath of a chuckle escaped her as she gave him the easiest words she could from the cluttered altar of her mind. "There are always choices to be weighed in my life, for as long as I can remember. But yes, I did always stray the way most would not follow. Tonight...tonight I am on the well-tread path though, yes? I know where I'm going just as much as I know the address of the package I have in hand." Curiously, there was no very obvious package to be seen, but the Courier's eyes still lay on her destination in the city one of the roads would inevitably lead her through. "My feet may feel to wander elsewhere though. Away from the well-known paths."

These were words that grew more and more into a considering murmur as she trailed off. Yet as she glanced his way to find his eyes meeting her once more, Safrona closed her lips into their little smile again, refraining to let the waiting Sea speak. Her eyes travel down to his fancy shoes as he explains his dilemna, blinking once or twice as that token innocence is so masterfully delivered. The top off of his amusement sets her to begin to counter, only to close her eyes as she caught herself in some wordless chuckle. "Trousers are just...expected, lovely boy. No one ever believes they need to spell that out on a sign. You didn't wander in to a store without pants and get yourself kicked out, did you?"

His head tilted curiously, much like an animal's does when they hear an unfamiliar sound, as if the very action itself may make him understand. Eyes darted over her form, silently gathering information for a few quiet moments before responding. "What is it? The current predicament that you find yourself in? I hear that speaking such information aloud can sometimes bring clarity and answers." He wasn't trying to pry, C didn't seem the sort to do so, nor did he seem the type to spread any sort of private information regarding anyone. He kept to himself mostly, as did his master, he was just interested in stories - in lives - that were not his own. A collector of stories, he would say.

He wets his lips briefly and looks down at his trousers: Expensive materials, neatly pressed, fitted perfectly. He dressed as a noble might dress at a fancy party and was rarely seen in anything else. "No, I was told before I was allowed to wander on my own that it is frowned upon. It always seemed like a silly rule to me, we are all the same underneath." Lips curl into that oddly warm smile as fingertips trail along the sleeve of his suit jacket. "I suppose it is one way to show status. I have seen the well dressed often look down upon those in commoner clothing or rags. It makes me wonder that if perhaps we were to shed these..." He pinches the cloth of his button-up shirt, giving it a little shake, "...modesties, then perhaps many would be treated different."

"Mmn..." was the considering utterance as Safrona let her gaze focus somewhere past the creases of embellished fabric Sea wore, glazing over into her own headspace. "Most are very...visual people, yes. Judging by what first comes to the eye. But judgement can go past fashion to the very skin you wear, unfortunately. And that's less easy to change."

The Courier let some dry air of amusement leave her lungs, lips tugged to their faux smile as she let her gaze tick past her company and follow back on down the well-travelled road. "Most are trained to their stigmas no matter what you wear, lovely boy. In some places in Stormwind, I'm barred simply because I am what I am on sight, which is in their eyes, someone not to be trusted, along with the rest of my kind. And there is nothing I can do that will change their fear, ignorance or mistrust. The same could be same for Silvermoon, which is all, in its entirety, now banned to me. Even Dalaran is becoming questionable since Khadgar's gone into hiding. The wars sow their grudges deep into many."

"Question is, I suppose...do I continue walking that well-tread path among them, trying to settle my little places of business in the walls of places that were never really home. Or...?" Her gaze went off to the other path that lead away from Boralus. "Or do I settle on a whim of idea to build my own little place where any feet may come through? And where in all the world would that be, really?"

Her void-star gaze met back to the serene sea of his own. "As a fellow soul struck by wanderlust, what do you think?"

"That is true..." He considers quietly for a moment, fingertips trailing along the sharp edge of his jaw in thought. "It does not have to be difficult to change the skin you wear." An idle comment without explanation, not that this was anything new for him. Strange things went on inside his mind that he rarely explained so he left it at that and moved onto his next thought.

"There is always a reason for those fears though, they do not appear out of thin air just because you have become something...different." He gestures to himself, "Many see me and make assumptions from what they know of elves with blue eyes and pale skin. They know what others like me have done in the past, they know what I may be capable of and it is likely the same for you. Unusual and foreign magic can be a frightening thing to the non-versed. I am not saying it gives them an excuse but people are generally sheep, so I understand the hesitation and the distrust. However, I welcome it and I thrive in it. The sort that turn in fear or scowl make it easy for me to know who I do not wish to interact with." Or those that could be considered an enemy.

Again he goes silent and pensive in expression to think over her predicament. Fingertips idly trace along the edge of his lapel as his gaze focuses somewhere far off in the distance. "Does it matter what others think of you?" A brow raises, eyes focusing once more on her. "I am not sure I am a good source to ask, I enjoy my travels too much to give it up...but I also have not been out in the world for long. Much is still new, much is still unknown and I wish, above all else, to learn. I do not think remaining in one place would allow me my desires. If you have found yourself well traveled and in need of a change then perhaps that would be the better choice for you. What is it that you prefer?"

'...Not difficult to change the skin worn...'

The initial commentary drew the Courier's eye, and the perk of a quizzical brow as her breath stilled. Her eyes studied the subtle nuances of his porcelain face as he proceeded to attach to the next thought that would come to him, and she wet her own lips as her gaze would avert, letting herself slowly breathe into her nod.

"Sheep...though they may be," she answered through a half-smile, "I'm afraid the nature of business depends on my ability to relate and not seem too foreign or suspicious, and to have insight into what is wanted and be depended upon to get it. So, in a way yes, it does matter what others think of me. It is by their coin that I able to support myself and my people, and maintain a sense of security in this world."

A slight shrug of a single, slender shoulder, let the courier's voice release on a softer sigh. "But at the same time, I know there is a part of me that will always be this restless thing, looking for more than the mundane trade entails. There is more to life than wine, and alcohol. There are...places that hold echoes of old ancients and their secrets. And worlds beyond this veil, and souls yet to be known. And there are the demons and things skittering in the darkness that would destroy it all, if they could, of course. At times I want more, and at times...I'm tired of it all."

She lifted her gaze to Sea, that beautiful blue gaze that was still fresh, and so seemingly earnest. "I sometimes wish I still felt that...newness, like you do. That wonder about the world. Just don't let it disappoint you, or grow too attached to any one sight, yes? Things, people and places all have the habit of change, and forgetting who you are, no matter how much you might invest in them."

He nods in understanding, it was much the same for him. While he wasn’t exactly what one would call ‘relatable’ by any means, there was something about him that intrigued people, sometimes even eased their minds despite his peculiarities. His innocence was authentic thus drawing away the suspicion of many. The gullible were endless. “So you wear your welcoming smile and speaking your calming words, shepherding the sheep whichever direction you wish them to go. They do not question it because they trust you. Yes…” His smile turned a little more mischievous, an odd look for him. “I understand.” Whether or not that is what she meant, that is what he picked up from it.

“If those are curiosities of yours then you should explore them while you can and while they still exist. While I am familiar with the term ‘regret’, I do not believe it is something I have ever felt or can ever feel but it seems like something you would not wish to live with. The mundane will always be there for you to return to, that seems to be a constant in this world. Mundane is easy and safe.” He wets his lips as unblinking eyes rake over her form, it wasn’t done in a lewd manner but almost as if he were looking for something in particular. “This world and many others hold many mysteries waiting to be discovered, would it not be nice to be one of the few to know the secrets life has to offer?” For all the innocence that seemed to radiate around him much of the time, in that moment he had a look about him that was wise beyond his years. Innocent expression, old soul.

“Do you wish to feel that again? To see things as I do, through my eyes?” Fingertips reach for his tie, smoothing it down to tuck into his vest better before grazing the lapel of his suit jacket. “There is always something new to see, something ancient undiscovered. I am not disappointed by this world, I am more so disappointed by the inhabitants that dwell here. So many take much for granted.”

The rather dapper gentleman was nothing if not insightful, and with it was with a touch of momentary bewilderment that the professional was again brought to stare on this unassuming figure as innocence gave way to something teasingly knowing. Safrona gave him a playfullly chiding look in turn. "Yes, people trust well enough when you offer something that is wanted. But business is a two...sometimes three way street of getting what is wanted, yes? Satisfied client, satisfied customer, satisfied...heh, me. But something tells me you have your way around people on your own merit. And that seems fairly fitting given your name, Sea. I wonder how many ebb and flow to your influence, mmn?"

Faint amusement dulled on the heart-shaped face as Sea gave a conundrum of words that sent her to a space of deep consideration, violet eyes narrowing slightly in the moments that he seemed to speak something strange. Something old peering by a mask of innocence was studying her. Most observant eyes may have stopped at the scarab-shaped adornment in her long braid, the slight, momentary shimmer of something contained within a jeweled carapace. Magic and mythic themes were not entirely uncommon in fashion among Azerothian's certainly, but the scarab design was echoed in a neck piece as well, the Void Elf obviously placing meaning in it that had gone unspoken. By the time his eyes might find her face again, he would only find a faint smile returning, armor for secrets that were yet to be earned.

Her gaze followed the shape his hands made, smoothing down his tie, gathering careful words. "I...feel we all exist to learn something new, don't we? Knowledge is the greatest power someone can have. But, some have died for it, sacrificed for it, and destroyed themselves for it. And yes, people often take what they have for granted. And I am...uncertain if I would wish to see through the eyes of a man that does not feel regret."

It was difficult to dampen the truth around the man, or simply give him easy, universal answers as she might give another, and it was only just occuring to Safrona how odd that felt. But it was the same aspect of Sea that made him so compelling. She chuckled quietly to herself as she fixed both eyes on him again. "You are a very interesting man, Sea. For that, I have no doubt. But for now I need to be back on the well-trod path and be about the regular business. Until we meet again, yes? And who knows? Maybe next time, you’ll be showing me something new.”

#Rp #The Construct #The Courier #IC #WrA #World of Warcraft #Kul Tiras

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years

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Mutilated Mannequin (Part 22)

Azula’s festival dress is form fitting and reaches just above her knees with a hem lined with a shimmery fringe of electric blue. Well aware that much of the festival and viewing party will take place outside, she finds herself the custom leggings that match the complexion of her skin. She slips them on and goes to fetch her necklace. She isn’t sure that she needs a necklace at all. The collar of her dress is eye-catching enough with its line of glimmering rubies. The entirety of the dress is adorned with many zigzagging fingers of that same electric blue. It starkly contrasts the bright red silk of the dress and glitters in the light.

She wears her hair up and spices it up with blue and red glitter. It is slightly curled. Her mother has worked the better part of the evening to style it for her before wandering off to check on Zuko--who, with the help of their father, should be in his tux.

She hasn’t yet seen her entire ensemble, but assumes that it suits her better than her homecoming dress did and she is glad that she hadn’t wasted wearing it then.

Azula closes stands before the mirror for a very long time with her eyes closed. The skin beneath her fingers is still so rough and somewhat lumpy. It alleviates her nervous anticipation none.

She lets a few more moments pass her by before she opens her eyes. She both wishes she hadn’t and wishes that she had done it sooner. She wishes mostly, that she would have looked at herself earlier, that she would have given herself time to get used to the damage dealt. Most of the scar tissue is gathered on her cheek left cheek; a long and thin raised line where the blade had once dragged. In some places there are still lumps. Small lumps, but bumps sizable enough to be noticed with ease. Strangely contrasting the lumps, that cheek is sunken. Far too thin. Thin enough to make her look almost malnourished.

Though the scar tissue is less on the right side of her face, she thinks that, that side looks profoundly more horrific. It is just as thin, perhaps moreso, and makes her wish that she still had her babyfat. At least then she had looked healthy. She considers for the first time, and all too late, that the puffiness that she had hated so much was perfectly natural.

Movement on that side is still terribly limited, rendering that half of her face slack. It is that slackness that seems to create the lack of symmetry.

Azula’s stomach lurches, she never did like asymmetry, it always made her headache. It instilled within her this unbearable desire to recreate the symmetry and her head would throb until she did. But, God, she can’t create symmetry on her face.

She wraps her arms around herself, leans against the wall, and slides to the floor. She had expected to dislike her new face, but she hadn’t expected it to make her feel physically sick. She lets out a small, gasping sob.

She should have waited until after the festival to ruin her night.

She feels queasy and anxious and suddenly it seems like a trick or a joke that Katara wants to spend any time with her, much less take her on a first date to a festival.

“Azula!” She hears her mother shout. She tries to pacify herself. “Katara is here.”

She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and stands up, her stance is unsteady and somewhat weak as she makes her way towards the door. By the time she reaches the staircase, Katara is already halfway up it. She greets Azula with a bright smile, those big blue eyes seeming to sparkle under the chandelier’s light. Her dress is more practical with long sleeves and a long train, made of navy blue velvet. It is simpler than Azula’s own having only a few faux diamonds at the neckline and a trim of fake white fur on the sleeves and at the hem. Still, the dress is lovely and it fits her better than any excess glitz could ever.

She wears her hair down in deep brown waves. Thin strands of her bangs are held back with two small, pearl hair combs. A few more pearls are weaved into her hair, Azula can’t tell if they are genuine.

“Hi Azula. You look nice tonight.”

Azula doesn’t believe that, not for a second. But she believes that Katara does and she says as much.

“Are you ready to go?” Katara asks.

“I need to put some makeup on.”

She must sound terribly glum. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Azula insists.

“Let me help you with your makeup?

Azula nods. “I hope that you’re amazingly skilled with makeup because…”

“I promise, it won’t take that much makeup to make you look beautiful.” She takes a limp Azula into a hug. Her head hangs over Katara’s shoulder as the girl rubs her back.

“You can say what you really think.” Azula informs softly. “I already know…”

“I am saying what I really think.” Katara holds her ground. “That dress looks nice on you.”

“It would look nicer on someone who has a flattering face to go with it.” She folds her arms over her chest.

Katara’s expression darkens and that enthusiastic glimmer in her eyes is gone. “I thought that you were done with that…”

“Yes. But then I actually saw what it looked like.”

Katara’s eyes go momentarily wide. “You mean that tonight is the first time you’ve seen your face since the surgery?”

Azula gives a slow and forlorn nod.

“Oh, Azula.” She almost sounds like her mother. “What are we going to do with you?” She adds a small and sad laugh.

“Fix my face?” Azula mumbles. “It’s gross.”

Katara takes her by the shoulders and moves her so that she can look into her eyes. “I don’t want to change you, Azula. I don’t have any trouble looking at your face. Sokka doesn’t either. Chan and Tylee… and Mai. I think that you’re the only person who thinks that it looks gross.” Before Azula can open her mouth Katara adds, “Jet’s opinion doesn’t count and Yue’s we can consider but…”

“It’s questionable.” Azula finishes she forces a laugh. “I’m skeptical of anything Yue says.” She stands and beckons for Katara to follow her to her bedroom.

“I promise, you look fine. Your face doesn’t bother anyone that matters.”

“It bothers me.”

“I think that you just have to get used to it.” Katara guesses. She picks up two lipsticks. “Which one do you want?”

Azula points at the bright red, Katara is already applying it when it occurs to her that such a bold choice in color will draw unwanted attention to her face. She hopes that the lipstick will be bright enough to keep their focus on her lips rather than her ravaged cheeks.

“You don’t understand.” She says after Katara swaps out the lipstick for some eyeliner. Katara quirks a brow and Azula takes that as her cue to continue. “Look at my room.” She gives her girlfriend a chance to take it in. It’s immaculate cleanliness and the tedious and orderly fashion in which all of her belongings are arranged from the alignment of her shelves, dressers, and bed to the collection of trophies on her dresser and crystals on her nightstand. Even the stuffed pandas on her bed and the fairy lights wrapped around the bed posts are perfectly straight. There is an impeccable balance about the room. “It’s all symmetrical or at least balanced. Everything is where it is supposed to be.”

“I can tell.” Katara replies. “You’d hate Sokka’s room.” She dabs some eyeshadow gently atop Azula’s lids.

“I don’t like when things are lopsided or out of place. It hurts my head. It’s like this itch that won’t go away until I straighten whatever it is up. I can’t do that with my face. It’s literally going to drive me insane.”

Katara puts the makeup brushes aside and takes Azula’s hands. “You’re going to be fine.” She looks around the room. “How about this, you can wear one of those masquerade half-masks to the festival. You family has crazy cash, I’m sure that your dad could buy you a bunch of those masks until you’re comfortable looking at your face again.” She seems to grow more excited with each word. “It could be your thing! I don’t know anyone else who spices up their school uniform with a mask. I’m sure Pathik would make an exception to the dress code for you. He likes you.”

“I guess that, that could work.” Azula replies. She picks up the mask that came with her dress and slips it over her face.”

“But since it was my idea I want you to do something for me.”

Azula rolls her eyes. “What?”

“Just promise me that you’ll look at your face, without the mask, at least once a day. Even if it’s just when you brush your teeth or comb your hair in the morning.”

“Perhaps.”

“You have to get used to seeing yourself like this. I don’t want you to have to cover your face forever.” She pauses. “I want you to appreciate yourself for who you are. For that to happen, you’re going to have to…”

“Accept it first.” Azula finishes. She inhales deeply and removes the mask once more. “I’m still going to steal your mask idea though.”

“You really like attention, don’t you?”

“I like to...make myself known.” She clarifies. “I feel like people will remember the person who comes to school wearing a different mask every other day.”

“Every other day?”

“Yes.” Azula says. “I’ll tolerate looking at the asymmetry for a day and then I’ll give myself a break from that. Is that a problem.”

“No!” Katara says quickly. “That’s...that’s actually more than I thought you’d be willing to do.”

“You thought that I was going to be dramatic about this didn’t you?”

“You were definitely dramatic. ‘It’s literally going to drive me insane’.” Zuko mocks from in the doorway. Azula chucks her mask at him. “Jesus.” He rubs his arm, that goofy grin never leaves his face.

“I thought that you’d want to take baby steps, is all.” Katara answers.

Azula crinkles her nose. “If I’m going to do something, I’m going to put a real effort in.” She turns back to Zuko. “Where’s Mai?”

“Fussing with Tom-Tom again. You two are probably going to have to meet me there.”

“You’re our ride, dumb dumb.” Azula collects her mask and finds her favorite perfume; a rose fragrance in a dragon shaped bottle. “Do you want a spray.”

Katara holds up a different perfume with a seashell bottle, “I’d like to try this one.”

“Go on.”

While she is there, she might as well start now; she takes another breath and spares the mirror a look as she gives the perfume bottle a few pumps.

.oOo.

“It’s beautiful!” TyLee gasps. “It’s been such a long time since I really looked at the stars.”

“Your gymnastics season is almost over, yes?” Azula asks.

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

“You can follow Katara and I to the astronomy club.”

“Oh yeah! I could do that!” She replies.

“Do you guys want to try candle making?” Zuko cuts in, he jabs his thumb in the direction of an activity stall.

Mai shrugs, “I’ll tag along.”

“I like scented candles.” TyLee tugs Chan towards the stall.

Azula exchanges a look with Katara, “do you want to make one together.”

“I’d like that.” She smiles.

Azula finds that she likes working with the wax, it warms her hands as she shapes the candle. Katara had insisted that they use blue wax and let Azula pick the shape. Ultimately she decides to make a simple pillar candle. She fades different shades of blue wax into each other while Katara etches in stars of silver glitter. It smells of blueberry and ocean spray. Both Yue and TyLee have created candles of pink; TyLee’s is a bubblegum scented pastel and Yue’s a bright pink, peach smelling abomination. It grows worse still when Kei Lo adds a touch of red apple.

Expectedly, Mai insists on a black candle that smells of licorice and cherry.

“Where’s your brother anyways?” Azula asks.

“He and Suki wanted to do a little holiday shopping before coming here, that’s why I told them to drop me off at your place.”

“And Aang?”

“I think that he and Teo are trying to convince Toph to come. She says that she gets tired of pointing at random spots in the sky and claiming to see aliens.”

“She knows that there are other things to do here, right?”

Katara shrugs and then takes a step back to look at their candle. “I think that we’re done.”

Azula moves it to the drying rack to be picked up at the candle lighting hour. Katara takes Azula’s hand, “why aren’t you wearing gloves?” She asks.

“They don’t match my dress.”

“Your hands are freezing!” She exclaims. “Take my gloves or let’s go get a cup of hot chocolate. Geeze, my mom would kill me if I came out here without gloves!”

“I’m not cold.” Azula denies.

“You are too.” Katara huffs. “You’re shivering.”

Azula gives a soft and stubborn pout. “I’m fine.” She insists, her words accented by teeny puffs of fog that do little to help her case. The smoky wisps trail in brief bursts towards the sky. She watches them drift, fading away before they can even reach the strings of soft gold lights that connect one food stall to the next. The strings of light bob in the same snowy gust that shakes the paper lanterns. She supposes that the atmosphere is very pleasing. Beneath her feet, the ground is a mess of star shaped confetti and silver glitter, not that the glitter is necessary with the natural sparkle of the snow accumulating on the ground.

Every twelve feet or so is a small fire where people gather and warm their hands. Katara is pulling her in the direction of one of them. She rustles around in her oversized backpack and pulls out a blanket. “Here, take this.” She wraps it around Azula and steals a look at the nearest food stall. Azula slips her a handful of cash. She gives Azula a brief hug and makes her way to the stall.

Azula sits there listening to the crackle and pop of the flames. She supposes that she is happy to be wrapped in the blanket. Her hands were beginning to grow red. Katara returns with two steaming cups of hot chocolate. “S’mors?” She offers, gesturing to the sticks.

“Yes, that sounds nice.”

As Azula sips her drink, Katara twirls two marshmallows over the flames.

.oOo.

Azula is rather quiet and Katara has trouble gauging her mood. She is fairly certain that the girl is content. At the very least, her teeth aren’t chattering anymore. Katara doesn’t think that she has ever seen someone get so cold so fast.

She watches the girl tinker with her telescope and then with her own. If only having one free hand is slowing her down, she sure doesn’t show it. Azula looks up from her work and Katara can finally gauge her emotions. She does look rather elated, more so than Katara has seen her look in a while.

They are only minutes away from Sozin’s comet passing. Katara looks down from the top of the hill; from top to bottom it is alit with hundreds of flickering candles. A sea of twinkling flames and thin wisps of smoke.

“We’re all set.” Azula notes.

Katara can’t imagine how thrilled the girl must be to finally see the spectacle that gave her family such an esteemed name.

“Sozin’s comet will be the first to fall and then the rest of them should appear.” Azula remarks with more enthusiasm than Katara has ever heard in her voice. Every now and again she leans into the telescope. Katara decides that it is best to make her way over to her own.

It happens quickly; a flash of brilliant orange in the sky as the comet flares into view. It is humbling to view such an old object. One that very well could have been around since the dawn of man. From such a distance it looks so small. Even still it is beautiful to behold with its fiery tail and the trail of dust and debris it leaves behind. Katara follows it with her telescope until it dips below the horizon and out of view.

It was such a fleeting moment, but then, the most glorious moments usually are. A second or two of splendor, a minute at most and then all is ordinary once more. She supposes that the universe knows that beauty is best appreciated when it is a rarity to be seen. Even so, the moment isn’t entirely over.

Just as Azula noted, the sky becomes crowded with many falling stars. A rain of them that leave silver-blue lines in their wake like contrails of an aeroplane.

“Wow this is…”

“Magnificent.” Azula finishes.

Katara thinks that there is no better word.

She feels arms wrap around her torso and a blanket falling over her shoulders. Azula isn’t quite tall enough to rest her had in the crook of Katara’s neck so she presses her mostly healed left cheek against her back.

Content to finally see Azula initiating physical contact for once, Katara doesn’t move. Not until it occurs to her that her girlfriend is slightly trembling again.

“Let me warm you up?” She offers.

Azula takes a step back. Katara takes her blanket and wraps it around herself. She then takes Azula into a hug and wraps the blanket around the both of them. Azula peers up at her, snow clings to her lashes. Katara never realized how small the girl was until then. She gives Azula a cheerful smile.

The comets still burst overhead, she can see them reflected in Azula’s eyes as the girl stares up at them. She doesn’t want to interrupt her viewing, but at the same time, she craves their first real kiss. So she cups Azula’s less delicate cheek and leans in.

Azula doesn’t flinch or draw back as Katara had anticipated. The girl closes her eyes and lets Katara guide her through what she assumes is the girl’s first real kiss. Katara can’t tell if Azula’s face is rosey with the cold or because she has never been kissed before.

No matter, she seems to be at peace.

She sniffles.

“Let’s look at the comets for a few more minutes and then get inside before you get yourself sick.” Katara suggests.

“I’m fine.” Azula insists, but she doesn’t protest when Katara begins to pack away their equipment and she doesn’t put up a fight when Katara begins tugging her towards the banquet hall.

Katara herself is relieved to be out of the cold, she was beginning to shiver herself. She watches Azula wander over to the chocolate fountain where she greets TyLee who has a rather absurd amount of chocolate covered fruit already gathered. Chan says something and the three of them laugh. She wishes that she could have heard it but she is thrilled to see Azula in such good spirits, especially after seeing her look so dismal and beat down.

“She seems happy.” Mai notes.

Katara nods.

“What did you do to her?” Zuko flashes an amused grin.

“I gave her some hot chocolate and a blanket...and then a kiss.”

“Hey, thanks for doing this for her.” Zuko says. “She really needed a good night like this. Even if she doesn’t tell you, it means a lot to her.”

“I know.” Katara smiles. “I can tell.”

#Avatar #Azula #Katara #Azutara #TyLee #Zuko #Mai #Fanfiction

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