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corvinafeathers · 3 months ago

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erm... Leon Kennedy because... Yes.

reader's dialogues are not prioritized in this. more Leon actually. can you tell I like Leon? this takes place in re4 and finishes in infinite darkness.

"oh, yes. oh, yes. They both reached for the gun, the gun..."

September 30th, 1998. It's a day Leon would never forget. the day his whole life collapsed, the hope of becoming a police officer. Shattered even before fulfilling it.

That day, the cop inside him had died, giving birth to a new him. No longer a police officer—an agent. Picked by the President to join an elite organization. They called it 'Division of Security Operations.' DSO for short.

Not that he had a choice in the matter, after all, it was his safety and Sherry Birkin's. He traded both of them for another life that would have him into death and battle.

After that, he was sent to be trained, to become a great agent. Suitable to become one of the President's shields against bioterrorism and whatnot.

The training, it was misery. Suffering, he felt it all. But at least in the meantime, it kept his mind off the tragedies that he witnessed in raccoon city.

Lucky—he considered himself. If it wasn't for the hangover, he would have been as good as dead as the zombies in raccoon city that night.

He endured six years, training to become a soldier. During those six years, he met another trainee for the DSO. [F. Name] [L. Name] she called herself.

From the times they've had the chance to encounter each other, Leon gathered three things about her. One, she's a lone wolf. Her presence during team activities is seldom, and she seems to dislike having to team up. She mostly works rogue. Two, she has a strict mental schedule she seems to follow. Three, she has an intimidating aura to her that makes it hard for others to approach her. However, her true strength lies in her nature.

Leon always finds himself studying her sometimes.

But, there are times where they get along well. Either way, they both had a silent friendship.

After six years of training under Major Jack Krauser, both passed all the training and were able to fulfill their duties before finally becoming full-fledged DSO agents.

Being a DSO agent comes with the responsibility of carrying out top-secret and important missions, and as of the moment, he and her are in the motion of carrying one out.

Moreso, more important than any other mission. Save the President's daughter, so were the orders. No space for any objections.

Now sitting behind on a cop car in Spain, Leon reminisces his memories of Raccoon City, the pain, the traumatic event. Nightmares that plagued him at night.

"So, tell me Yanqui, what brings you here to this horrible place? As close to nowhere." The local cop inquires, looking back at both of them in the backseat.

[F. Name] stays quiet, looking out of the window and to their surroundings. Woods, she notes. Leon rests his chin on his hand, "Let's say—looking for someone."

The man chuckles, "Must be very important—" he leans back in his seat, "—Chief gave the orders himself, help them he said."

Leon looked at him, "Well, I'm sure you boys didn't come out here to roast marshmallows..." The cops spare a laugh, and Leon shrugs. "... Or maybe you did."

The cop chuckles, throaty, "I'm gonna let you in on a little... Secret. People have gone missing here. Maybe it's been that way for a while now."

Leon's interest is piqued and so is his partner's. [F. Name] raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

Leon looks at [F. Name] from the corner of his eye, "Well, should just be another day at the office, right?"

The drive proceeds a bit longer before the car stops just at the entrance to the village. The older cop looks back at both of them, announcing his issue. "Nature calls, eh? Be right back."

The older one leaves the car and off to his destination. The other one laughs as they exchange words, taking out a pack of cigarettes, and offering it to the Agents.

He looks back to Leon, offering one. "You smoke?" Leon waves a hand in rejection, he moves his attention to the silent Agent. "You?"

[F. Name] looks back at him, eyeing the cigarette. "No thanks."

The cop tucks the pack back, lighting the cigarette between his lips. Leon turns his attention back to the surroundings.

It's been minutes, and yet... The cop hasn't returned yet from his nature break. The younger cop hums, "He sure is taking his time? Did he fall in?"

The cop looks back at the pair, "Maybe you both should go look for him?"

[F. Name] looks at Leon, who looks back at her. They both get out of the car, and into the cold winds of the night.

The cop leans back in his seat, "I'll watch the car. Wouldn't want to get a parking ticket, hm?"

[F. Name] grieves a sigh, Leon murmurs. "So much for the help."

Together, they both navigate the dark. Searching for the officer, they come across a house. They both enter and are met with a man. They trail behind him, Leon speaks up. Asking the man a question in Spanish. But the man keeps whispering in his tongue, ignoring his question and sitting by the fire.

[F. Name] looks around the house, and Leon spots an object on the floor, picking it up, he notices it as the ID of the cop. Bloodied.

Suddenly, [F. Name] yells out. "Behind you!"

Thanks to his reflexes, Leon was able to stop the axe in the man's hand from impaling his skull with his knife. He pushes him back, kicking him to the wall. Breaking his neck in the process and rendering him dead for good.

[F. Name] whispers out next to him, "Shit... What the hell?"

Leon looks back at her, but before he can even say a word, a scream tore through the air.

The Agents lock eyes, before nodding and walking to the basement. The pair investigate the room, finding nothing.

But, the creaking of wood beneath feet resounds, and their guns are immediately taken out. From the staircase, pops out the man whose neck was broken by Leon—wasn't he dead?

In a heartbeat, they release bullets to the slowly advancing man. They shoot him, once, twice, and more. Finally, after the nth bullet, he relents and falls to the ground.

"What the fuck...?" Says Leon, as he looks at the now corpse.

[F. Name] stays behind him, eyeing the corpse with intrigue and a hint of distaste.

Six years. Enduring six long years just for the sake of a mission, pretending to be a soldier. Guising herself into making others believe that the reason she became what she is right now is to avenge the death of those who perished in the Penamstan Civil War.

What bullshit. [F. Name] never cared about those things. The Organization, those shits never gave a damn. Prideful bastards who like to play God to feel superior.

It's become way too tiring to her, playing a good soldier just to obtain something that would destroy the world. Pretending to be a saint. Who gives a damn? Everyone in this world was stuck in hell either way.

That's why, [F. Name] deludes herself... That one day, she can just escape the mercenary life and live as a nobody.

Maybe she can die in the job too. At this point, Death is the only way to freedom from her views.

And that's also why, when she catches sight of a man dressed in a military get-up she clicks her tongue and shakes her head in disappointment. And that's also why before this mission comes to an end, she'll kill the rookie who escaped raccoon city and fake her death. Make it seem like both of them failed the mission.

That way, she can finally return and stop this false act of hers.

Leon scours the room, finding a window open. Intrigued and a bit suspicious, he walks up to it, gun poised in his hand.

However, before he could fully come up to it, a gun cocks behind him and the sound of heels hitting oak tore throughout.

"You can stop right there, Leon." Leon can almost feel his breath hitch at that voice. How?

"Wouldn't want me to use this, now." The voice adds, and Leon drops the gun in his hand, the firearm clattering to the ground.

Leon raises his hands up, "Well after six years, that is one hell of a greeting—Ada."

The woman clad in red, Ada, hums in amusement. "You don't seem surprised. Interesting..."

Leon plants his left foot one step, before he winds around and takes the gun away from the mercenary but she puts up quite a fight and it ends up with Leon pressing his knife against her throat.

"Try using knives next time," He breathes out, looking into her eyes. "Works better for close encounters." A little something he learned from Krauser.

"Impressive." Ada comments, a smile curling on her lips. Leon steels his look, "Who are you working for this time, Ada?"

Ada separates herself away from him. "Oh Leon," she starts. "You know I don't work and tell."

Leon scoffs, putting the knife back to its holster. Ada looks at him, before she speaks again. "Leave them. That girl's lost no matter what."

Ada adds one more thing that has Leon pausing in his footsteps. And his heart pumping. "Especially that woman. She's your partner? Leave her—she'll bring you down."

Ada walks to the window, "And maybe, I'll give you that greeting you want."

Leon ignores the last part, burying it into his mind. Ada leaves again, and he's left to his thoughts.

Where's [F. name]?

After all that training, Leon never imagined he would come across Krauser. Even more so here in Spain, he never imagined that Krauser would also throw away his humanity just like that.

"You know, you were always an asshole." Leon remarks, looking up at the Former Major who was perched up on high ground. "But at least you had some kind of code—some honour!"

Krauser looks at him, "Enough reminiscing." He jumps to a lower ground. "Move out and draw fire, soldier!" Was the only warning Leon got, before Krauser rained fire on him.

Not long after that, Leon and the man engaged in battle. Raining fire, blades clashing. It all ended in one way, Leon piercing the man's heart with a knife.

Krauser rasped out, "I trained you well... Leon."

Leon stood up, looking at the blade's shine, seeing his own reflection as he watched the blood drip down. "That you did, Major. That you did."

"Indeed." [F. Name] remarked, coming up from a corner. "Let's go. No use grieving a traitor."

Leon looks up at her as she walks away, looking back at Krauser's body he follows right behind her.

"Where did you go?" He asks, now walking beside her, matching her foot pace. She hums, "Took care of something."

Leon stays silent after that, thoughts pondering. About what Ada said... Why? What was the reason?

Leon shakes his head, dismissing unpleasant thoughts about his partner. I'm sure it was just nothing.

Really?

Leon finds out that Ada was right. When he encounters Saddler, he finds his partner with him. By his side.

"[F. Name]! What are you..." Saddler chuckles, placing a hand on the woman's shoulder. The Agent—was she really?

"You see, this Lamb had become one of my hands. In the meantime that you ran around, she made deals with me." Leon's eyes dart from Saddler to his supposed partner. [F. Name]... For what? But, why?

"Just give me what needs to be given to me, Saddler. I owed my part, you should owe yours." Saddler chuckles, before giving her a container. A sample of the Plaga.

Leon shouts out at her, "[F. Name]! What are you doing?!"

[F. Name] regards him with a look, a look of dismissal. "What I've been ordered to from the start," she smiles, though it lacks mirth and more venom. "Thanks for the hand. I'll make sure to write your obituary."

[F. Name] taps the container, walking by Saddler and shooting the grappling gun to higher ground and boarding a helicopter before leaving the island, leaving Leon and Ashley to fend for themselves. Say Hello to Krauser for me in the afterlife, Leon.

Leon looks at the vehicle she left in, her betrayal sinking its fangs deep into him. Releasing the venom that she had struck him with.

That's... That's just not right, [F. Name]

After that stressful mission, Leon comes back to the USA with the baggage of betrayal left by his former partner—and also a former friend.

He reports back to the DSO, telling them the details of what happened. As well as the betrayal of one of their own.

"Agent [F. Name] has betrayed the DSO. This proves after she had aided the Cult Leader Osmund Saddler and took a sample of the Las Plagas with her." He reported, still feeling the bitter sting of betrayal. The feeling as raw as a wound.

But, life still moves and rotates just as the way the world turns to give birth to day and night.

As the years pass, Leon is marked by life. Pain and grief making marks on him.

—2006, a hacking incident is reported in the White House. And Leon is called to investigate it, however, sudden issues arise and instead of the President greeting him, zombies are doing it instead.

He encounters another Agent, Patrick, was his name. There were two more Agents, Jason and Shen May.

They were called particularly to investigate, four of them, selected and trusted.

As they progressed, Leon learned that two of the agents—Jason and Shen May, were conspiring against Defense Secretary Wilson.

Jason had explained the situation to Leon after they escaped from the submarine. But, Leon had none of it and refused to help.

Which lead to now, Leon and Shen May came face to face with a mutated Jason confronting Wilson who sat on the metal floor holding his bleeding neck.

Claire Redfield was there too, bound by ropes on a chair. Thankfully, she was set free before the acid could even touch her.

On the floor, Wilson cried out, "Ah! [F. Name], help me! Get rid of this barbarian!"

Leon's Heartbeat quickened at that mention, before spotting a silhouette high up, a weapon in hand. Could that be... [F. Name]? Was she working with Wilson?

Before he could even process it, she had shot the mutated Jason, inflicting enough damage to allow Wilson to crawl away.

Leon was tempted to go after her, finally get the answer he's been depraved of. Especially when she locked eyes with him for a second before she turned away and disappeared.

But, there were more pressing matters at hand right now. They had to get out of here, and quickly before they too, get vaporized by the acid.

After all was done and dealt with, Leon meets with Claire again. She's wearing a cast, no doubt from the fall she took when they were escaping.

"About the chip..." Claire starts, looking at the Agent. "Do you have it?"

Leon sighs, "I thought you called 'cause you wanted to grab dinner."

Leon looks down for a moment, "I can't."

Claire retorts, "What?" Her brows furrow and she lets out an angry sigh, "So that's how it's gonna be? You do things your way and I do things mine?" She shakes her head, "... Fine."

She huffs, before turning away and leaving. Leon stares at her back for a few seconds before he turns away, one thought coming back to his mind.

Why is [F. Name] here? And why did she get involved with Wilson in the first place?

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil #leon x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader

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ebullientheart · 1 year ago

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dogs. aaron hotchner x reader

content — dogs🤍. fluff. humour. fem!bau!reader. brief mention of case. one swear. sorta sunshine!reader.

5 times you try to convince hotch to get a dog with you +1 time it works.

1. the scent dogs

a frazzled officer had handed you the leads of two sniffer dogs, running away on the insistence his captain was going to ‘kill me for letting them piss on his van again’. you had snorted sympathetically, meaning to tell him you’d love to help out but your unit chief would be expecting you; he was already running away.

you laughed and accepted your fate, wrapping the leads tightly around your knuckles and sitting cross-legged with them. they were eager for your affection and silly voices, even though they were squashing you in their best attempt at hugging. two large german shepherds, but probably the friendliest police dogs you’d ever seen.

“how do these things always happen to you, agent?”

hotch saw the way your shoulders stiffened, and regretted scaring you. the dogs seemed to pick up on this too, turning to the man with low growls at his interruption. you stifled your mirth at their reaction and twisted on the spot to look up at your slightly formidable, but currently intimidated by the dogs, boss.

you chanced a shrug, careful not to dislodge the canine leaning on your shoulder, “one of many mysteries, sir. wanna say hi?”

the look he gave you then was priceless; it was pure disgust. but at your giddy grin, he did crack the smallest of smiles on the hard stone of his face.

i wish i could make him smile all the time. no, shut up.

your mind was not on your side as you tried not to flush, instead burying yourself in between the dogs and letting them yip happily at the attention.

“don’t you just want one of them forever? or maybe both. look how cute they are!” you put your face between theirs.

hotch risked a muffled laugh and extended a hand, wondering how you were an adult. instead of putting your palm in his own, though you were severely tempted, you handed him the leads for the dogs.

“careful, there’s an angry captain on the prowl with a piss stained van. okay paperwork, bye!”

like the officer before you, you were gone before he could open his mouth to reprimand you. not that he was planning on reprimanding you. he was planning on asking if you wanted to get a drink post-case, but for now he had two other problems in the form of two disgruntled german shepherds.

2. the stray

the neighbourhood you were canvassing was not exactly upmarket. it had a high concentration of crime and poverty, and with that, plenty of malnourished animals that likely carried many diseases. no matter how much you loved them, and you did still love them, you were not planning to kneel down with them and touch. you weren’t carrying hand sanitizer.

“the unsub should be familiar to almost all of these people, he’s prominent in this community, so if- erm, shoo?”

seeing hotch startle back and weakly attempt to ‘shoo’ a stray dog was probably the highlight of your day. she was a small thing, possibly some kind of terrier, but too underfed to tell for sure. she sniffed at his ankles as though he’d have any food kept there, but besides that, made no threatening move. you took pity, unwrapping the sandwich you’d got from the hotel cafeteria to eat for lunch, and ripped it up into pieces to make it easier for her to chew. she wolfed it down and skittered off.

hotch frowned, “why would you give your lunch away?”

“she clearly needed it more than me. i hate people who abandon their pets….” you lamented, watching the assortment of strays on the outskirts of each alley. the dogs formed small packs, while the cats hunted alone, equipped with the ability to catch birds and mice.

the two of you kept walking, knocking on doors, when the idea struck you on the way back to the local precinct. you were only teasing, lacking even an ounce of sincerity.

“you should adopt one! i’m sure jack would be thrilled, and i don’t mind holding it on the plane home.”

he just deadpanned you and walked away at a pace you struggled to catch up with. eventually, he took pity as you had on the dog, and slowed down for you to fall in step next to him once more.

3. movie night

it had taken him quite a while, but hotch did eventually ask you out for that post-case drink, which turned into a few dinners, which turned into regular dates, until the two of you had a designated saturday night. this time, you were at his apartment watching a film he’d picked out from his limited stack of dvd’s.

“oh my god!”

hotch had left you alone for two minutes to get you a glass of water.

he raced back into the room, causing his hair to become disarrayed for probably the first time in his life, only to see you pausing the movie to point out… a dog.

he huffed, “are you kidding? my knees can’t cope with that, woman.”

you laughed, beckoning him over, “i didn’t mean to scare you, but look how cute he is.”

“i can see just fine from here.”

“suit yourself.”

but he caved, and crossed the distance between you. not to stare enthusiastically at the dog, but to kiss you on the cheek and press play on the remote while you were distracted by his affection.

you hummed, “i think i’m gonna get a dog.”

he raised a brow, “it’s never moving in here.”

now both completely ignoring the film playing behind his back, you smiled, “and i am?”

at the risk of sounding too forward and scaring you off, despite you being one of the most intense people he knew (and he knew garcia), hotch merely offered you a shrug and another quick peck before returning to the kitchen. you could hardly contain the glee on your face as you burrowed into the cushion you were clutching and tried not to let your thoughts get ahead of themselves.

4. jack’s plea

“i made a mistake.” hotch murmured to himself, watching you and jack bond.

as he once predicted, you were going to be the death of him. albeit a happy, glittery death.

your activity of choice to bond with the child you’d only officially met once so far, was to take him to a park. a dog park, where you volunteered in your free time. some people took their dogs there, others dropped them off with a volunteer for the workday. jack was jovially bonding with your daily pups, a young golden retriever, and an elderly pomeranian.

he tried to stack them, but you quickly intervened.

“mistake? the only mistake was not letting me get matching boots for him and the dogs.”

hotch just looked at you blankly, lacking the heat of a glare, but clearly unamused with your antics. externally, at least, because on the inside he was definitely smiling fondly at you. you took that from his eyes.

jack, at that moment, rushed to you with the enthusiastic dogs on his heels. you didn’t miss the fact hotch didn’t flinch as they jumped at him, whereas a few months ago he definitely would of. you decided that was progress, kissed him on the cheek, and knelt down to speak to jack.

he whispered conspiratorially, though loud enough for his father to hear, “i want to take one home.”

hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, while you looked between the two gleeful you, “well, little man, these lovely guys belong to some other lovely people who would miss them very much.”

you weren’t going to promise him on of his own. it wasn’t your place, and you were not in the business of making empty promises; you’d all but accepted that aaron’s reluctance translated to ‘never gonna happen’. it was just fun to tease.

jack nodded, “that’s true. i like the big ones, anyway.”

that was not what his dad wanted to hear, but you were elated.

“finally,” you laughed, entwining your arms behind aaron’s neck when jack went back to play, “a hotchner after my own heart.”

he only laughed back, spinning you around so you both had eyes on the adventurous kid, and keeping his arm firmly around your waist. eventually, he responded, “we work too much for a dog.”

the fact he’d even got that far in thinking about it? you considered it a win.

5. clooney

morgan didn’t ask the team for favours all that often, but occasionally he asked one of you to dogsit, if he knew nobody else could check in, feed, walk, and so on. reid never took that bait.

one extended, long weekend, on which he planned to travel to a nice resort on his time off, he handed responsibility to you. at first, you’d been delighted, but not even a day into bonding with your new pal, you’d fallen with the flu. fallen being an accurate term for your dramatics. luckily for you, you’d recently moved in with aaron.

luckily for him too, because you made much better pancakes than he did.

so while you were ill and uncharacteristically miserable, he was playing tug of war with the dog, and cursing himself for thoroughly enjoying it. jack rolled around laughing, and he was struggling to fend off the invasive thoughts that were result of your persistence. he had once promised to dedicating the parts of his life that weren’t reserved for profiling to making you happy, and while that was usually an easy task, a dog would…

but he cut the thoughts off when clooney peed on his kitchen floor.

yeah, fuck no.

later on in the day, he ventured into your shared room to check on you. pitifully, you curled into his side of the bed and offered a morose sniff in reply to his gentle greeting.

“how’re you feeling, honey?”

you sighed, unfolding the covers from where they were tucked into your chin, “you know how you felt when jack accidentally hit you in the skull with his metal lunchbox? worse.”

despite your detailed description, aaron took your verbose approach to his question as a sign you were on the mend. he brought you another glass of water, and let jack give you a get well soon card, while holding your breath to risk contaminating him. on the front, a rough sketch of clooney, holding a flower.

“this is the best card i’ve ever seen, jack.” you assured him, propping it on your nightstand.

“if we had a dog, i could put him on the card!”

you nodded, “that is true.” aaron rolled his eyes.

he was saved by your chest racking cough, ushering jack out the room to let you rest. jack was happy to run back down to clooney.

aaron gave you ‘the look’; it meant calm down and go to sleep. he gave it to the team a lot.

you had to giggle as he went downstairs to jack’s onslaught of ‘can we get a dog? when?’. you were proud of your little ally as you laid back down.

having to work a case on your birthday was unfortunate but unavoidable. the team bought you a cake, which you really appreciated, and until the strangulations, there was a celebratory air to the unit. on the plane home two days later, spencer even offered to let you win at chess. you flipped him off for that.

in the car, you yawned dramatically. amused, aaron asked, “tired?”

you mumbled back, “jus’ wanna go home and see jack.”

he couldn’t ignore the way his heart tightened at that admission. glancing over to your sleepy face, he didn’t think he’d yet been this in love with you. if he regretted the decision he’d made on a phone call to jessica while in california, he would remember this moment. by the time he pulled into the driveway, you’d long since closed your eyes.

“honey, wake up. we’re home.”

you all but slugged your way to the front door, aaron’s hand between your shoulder blades, urging you onward. he carried both your bags, and tomorrow you’d apologise for not helping. today, you just wanted to check your stepson was tucked in for the night, then crawl into your own bed and collapse.

to your confusion, the tv was still playing. which wouldn’t be strange, jessica did put it on sometimes, but it was playing cartoons. you frowned, off to investigate. if you’d turned and seen aaron’s smile, you would’ve been more confused.

“hey, little man, what are you still doing up?” you opened your arms and he ran to them, while you gave his aunt a quizzical look. she gestured for you to turn around, jack giggling.

behind you, aaron held a gorgeous puppy, looking at you with round, brown eyes, inset in a face of smooth fur. his tail whipped back and forth excitedly as you reached out to hold him. aaron deposited him carefully in your arms, overcome with second hand joy at the expression on your face.

tearfully, from your exhausted state and fear of his answer, you asked, “are you kidding?”

he shook his head, while jack drew your attention again. he wanted to pet the puppy.

you lightly put him to the floor, where he ambled around with little grace, absorbing all the attention you had to offer him. at some point, aaron had to intervene and put jack to bed, but you stayed with the dog for hours on.

almost nervously, aaron asked, “do you like him?”

you gaped at the ridiculous question, “i love him. and i love you.”

there was a quiet moment, where he admired the happiness before him, and you hugged your new friend some more.

“can he sleep in with us, aaron?”

“absolutely not.”

#🤍ebullientheart #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #fluff #humour #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x reader #hotch fluff #dog #cute dogs #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader fluff #sunshine!reader #aaron hotchner x bau!reader #bau!reader #hotch x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x sunshine!reader #grumpy x sunshine

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1tbls · 11 months ago

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some rambling thoughts on shivers (red bolding mine throughout):

so shivers says this to harry after he has a dance-induced seizure in the church, right:

YOU - But who am *I*? Why are you talking to me?

SHIVERS - YOU ARE AN OFFICER OF THE CITIZENS MILITIA. *AGENTES IN REBUS*, WHEN YOU WEAR YOUR COAT, YOU WEAR MY SOUL.

SHIVERS - YOU MOVE THROUGH MY STREETS FREELY IN MOTOR CARRIAGES AND ON FOOT. YOU HAVE ACCESS TO THE HIDDEN PLACES. YOU ALSO CIRCULATE AMONG THOSE WHO ARE HIDDEN.

here's wikipedia on "agentes in rebus":

"The agentes in rebus were the late Roman imperial and Byzantine courier service and general agents of the central government from the 4th to the 7th centuries."

"Being outside the control of the provincial governors, some agentes ... were appointed as inspectors ... for which they gained a reputation as a secret police force. As their routine assignments brought them into contact with matters of great concern to the court, and as they reported back to the court on everything they saw or heard on their varied missions, the agentes can be seen to have had an intelligence function ... This role, as well as their extraordinary power, made them feared: the 4th-century philosopher Libanius accused them of gross misconduct, terrorizing and extorting the provincials, "sheep-dogs who had joined the wolf pack". Nevertheless, the vast majority operated quite openly, and the claims of the agentes operating as a modern-day secret police are certainly exaggerated."

hey shivers. why are you invoking the RCM as your secret police, via a term not just associated with collection of information, but with corruption and manipulation of power.

and, if you fuck up the dance check and call kim a slur, she says:

"SHIVERS - BY THE WAY, APOLOGIZE TO YOUR PARTNER AT ONCE. UNITY AMONG THE RANKS IS PARAMOUNT."

which sticks out to me, because earlier we have this encyclopedia check with noid:

NOID - "A life is true if it's free from fear and internal division among oneself. And others -- mankind has seeds of greatness in it. A germinal will come, a return to trueness. It will be hard core."

YOU - "How would you go about *returning* to this true life?"

NOID - "Beats and bright lights to shatter falsehoods. Nerve impulses for the collective body. We are very much alike in basic structure. A hard enough beat would awaken everyone to a truer calling -- in unity!"

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Rejection of the right-left axis, emphasis on *unity*, appreciation of some primordial mode of being -- what does that remind you of?

YOU - "Sort of like fascism then?"

now, i don't think either noid or shivers are outright fascist :p but i do think the purpose of this encyclopedia line is to highlight how those criteria are flawed and damaging, how they are red flags, whatever the intention.

some comparisons:

1. return to trueness. le retour. the return of... what? in both cases, truly quite vague except for the idea of some dramatic upheaval of the current order, the idea of "returning" to some idealized past state or event.

2. nerve impulses. shivers. "appeal to nature" type fallacy, appeal to a baser instinct... invocation of physical reactions as metaphor for political reactionism, perhaps?

3. unity. on the surface, shivers telling harry to make things right with kim is touching, certainly. but specifically "unity among the ranks" is an interesting framing 🤨 as though the crucial thing is that their forces are not divided for what's to come, regardless of kim's feelings, regardless of harry's potential racism.

likewise, noid's call for unity addresses... nothing at all. simply that everyone would be awoken from their petty, false divisions into unity. neither this nor his criticisms of left vs. right acknowledge that the division is not equal, that one side in most social power conflicts is invested in stripping the rights of the other... because that is simply not on the radar when the priority is unity above all else. in its way, unity is authoritarian where it does not abide difference or dissent in the interest of the of the stasis/power of the institution.

this is all to say. hey. let's talk about the inherent nationalist nature of la revacholiere, my problematic wife ♥️

#de tag #disco elysium #i feel like i could make this more coherent / essay-like but i just cant be bothered #im certain there's other shivers lines like this that had me like <__< girl........#racism ment /

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justrainandcoffee · 9 months ago

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Deal (Tommy Shelby vs. oc!Solomons) + (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc) Part 1

“You're a lamb entering the territory of a hungry wolf.”

Masterlist

Summary: Why is Thomas Shelby in front of Mrs. Solomons? Just business. Tommy just needs information. But first he needs to deal with Rose Solomons who, unlike her husband, has no sympathy for the man sitting in her office. And yet, they know how to make a deal. "A soul for a soul, Mr. Shelby."

Warnings: Mentions of dead, killing. Allusions to sex. Mentions of physical violence. Misogyny.

Words: 4.5k. || Special thanks to @look-at-the-soul who helped me today 🙃♥️.

1924.

Yesterday

"The bastard is a fookin' ghost!" yelled Arthur.

The Garrison was empty except for those members of the Peaky Blinders, allowed to be there. There was a person that they couldn't find. An Irishman called Nicholas Baker, possible member of the IRA. Last time they saw him, it was he when he shot a blinder and left him to die in the streets. He escaped before Arthur or anyone else could catch him.

Since then, the brothers and the rest of the gang were looking for him no succeed. Not just because he killed a man they know, but also because they were sure he was a spy.

"Maybe he's dead," suggested Isaiah.

"No. He's alive and living in London." This time, Tommy Shelby's voice could be heard all over the place. "And Elias is not the only person he killed. And his real name is Sean Patrick O'Finn."

Tommy dropped a newspaper in front of his brother and Arthur read it out loud.

"His own sister! He fookin' killed his sister!"

"And tried to killed his wife as well, according to the neighbours. She escaped." Tommy sat in his usual place as he lit up a cigarette and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He looked at Arthur and the rest of his men.

"We have nothing, then! He can be in middle of fookin' Russia by now." Arthur was frustrated as usual.

"I don't think so. I think he's still there in London, and as we know, police is useless. London is a big city and they don't care. People are killed every day" Tommy lit another cigarette "but I'm going to find him. And I'm going to put a bullet in his head, too."

"You don't know where to start, Tommy!" Arthur furrowed brow and look at his brother.

"Yes, I do know where to start. I need to talk to his wife."

"But do you know where this woman is, Tom?"

"Yes."

The Solomons residence in London was quiet. Rose was working and Alfie just arrived there over an hour ago. He was about to rest his back in bed when their maid announced that he had a call.

"It's Mr. Shelby," the woman said. She saw him do a grimace, but he said nothing to her.

"Thanks, Doris."

Alfie entered his office and closed the door behind before picking up the phone. Every time Tommy called it meant problems, usually for him. But this time what Tommy said, took him by surprise.

"Are ya mad?"

"I just need her this time, Alfie."

"She will kill ya, mate."

"No, she won't. Your wife isn't a killer."

"Maybe. But the women around her are. Honestly, Tom, they're a pack of fuckin' bloody wolves claiming for men flesh. You're a little lamb entering the territory of a hungry wolf. Rosie is the leader of that pack, if she gives the order next time I'll see ya it'll be in your own fuckin' funeral... If I find your body." On the other side of the line, Tommy opened a drawer and picked up some papers and started to take some notes. Sometimes Alfie exaggerated, especially if he was talking about his wife. As far as Tommy knew, Rose Solomons just worked helping women in need and in the streets fighting for equal rights. The few times he saw her in Alfie's place she didn't seem to be a menace to anyone.

"They're just women, eh?"

"My Rosie isn't just a woman, Tommy. She's me wife." Alfie sighed "Rosie will decorate the fuckin' Christmas tree they put on her workplace with your balls."

"I'll take a risk, then. Just wanted to inform you."

"Fine. But I'm not going to tell her yet. I prefer she knows it on her own… good luck then, Tom."

1924.

Today. London.

It's only 7am and the Solomons were making love for the second time in the morning. Rose didn't know what her husband was thinking, or feeling, that he had waking up so passionated but she wasn't complaining either.

"Alfie… I can't… god…" her back arched and her toes curled once last time until she fell on the mattress, completely satisfied. She could feel Alfie finish as well.

The man stayed on top of her few minutes more, catching his breath, before rolling on his back, laying next to her. Alfie opened his arms and invited her to be against his chest.

"Are you fine?" she asked kissing his neck.

"Feelin' like a God now, luv. Why do ya ask? You're talking like we never fuck like this before."

"I ask, because I know that sometimes you use sex to channel your frustrations and I just want to know you're fine."

"I'm perfect, Rosie. Gimme some time and we can repeat it."

She laughed. "No way you still have energy, Al. I can't, I've to work. Tonight, maybe."

In response, Alfie kissed her. That same night, probably she wants to kill him. He had talked to Tommy the day before and she didn't know. Alfie was just trying his best to calm her before the storm. Although spending time with her, it was always beautiful. The kiss continued until she pulled apart slowly. He caressed her cheek. Rose knew that Alfie definitely was hiding something from her, but she didn't know what. After one last brief kiss, she sat down in bed and then walked to the bathroom to take a shower.

Alfie stayed in bed, thinking about his friend going to his wife's place. In all those years, over a decade since it was founded, he visited her school just twice. Once when it was inaugurated, when they met each other again, and the other one after the war. They had an implicit deal: "You don't interfere with my business and I don't interfere with yours" even if they asked each other for some advice, suggestions or help. He was a bit worried about her, even when he knew that Tommy wasn't going to hurt her.

When Rose went out the bathroom, she found him sitting in bed, stretching his back, ready to have breakfast. She approached him and played gently with his hair.

"Thought you're going to join the shower."

Alfie put his hands on her hips and pushed her down on his knees. She was wrapped with a towel and when Alfie kissed her shoulder, he smelled the fresh soap on her skin.

"Ya didn't invited me."

"Since when you need invitation?" she chuckled and put her arms around him. Her hands were stroking the back of his neck. Rose was staring at him, "are you sure you're fine?"

"I am, Rosie."

"Okay," she didn't believe him, but she wasn't going to pressure him either. Instead, she kissed him and he reciprocate immediately. Her towel fell on the floor and she felt him ready to be with her once more.

Never two without three.

Arrow house

By the dawn of the next day, every Shelby knew where the leader was going. If they had any opinion about it, they didn't share it. A car was parked outside Arrow House with three men in it.

"I'm going now," announced Tommy. His black coat was over a chair and he took it. "Johnny Dogs and the Smiths are coming with me."

Arthur chuckled. "Johnny Dogs? And the Smith brothers? Ain't too much, Tom? Four men to visit just a bunch of pussies and tits? They're just chicks."

"Not according to Alfie."

"According to fookin' Alfie! The fookin' Alfie! Ya believe him?"

"Yes. Alfie will never allow me to be near his wife, if he didn't know now that she's safe. I know that. And if she's safe that means she's surrounded by an army."

"Are ya planning to kill them?"

"I don't kill women, Arthur. And I don't want problems with Alfie. It's just in case."

"So take me with ya!"

"Arthur, no offense but you don't know how to deal with a Solomons. Stay here and take care of the business, eh? I'll be back at night, probably or tomorrow."

"Tom! Tommy!" the eldest brother yelled but the other man already reached the door.

"Goodbye, Arthur. Tell Pol, that I left her a letter under the flowerpot."

Pebblebrock was Rose Solomons' former manor and prison hell at the same time. Now it was a beautiful school for girls and at the same time it served as a roof for some women who had run from their abusive homes.

As the owner, she was the one in charge even when she had several women in which she trusted working with her side by side. But the final decision on everything was always hers.

Alfie, and Tommy too, were right. The place and Rose, were surrounded by women specifically trained to kill. It wasn't uncommon for men to try to reach those who they already hurt. The rules were crystal clear MEN ARE NOT ALLOWED IN PEBBLEBROCK. The ones who didn't understand the warning were now resting eternally in a cemetery.

Men were only allowed if they were doctors or priests. The institution had nurses and two nuns who volunteered to help there. But sometimes a doctor was required, same with priests. Any other men should call for an appointment, only under that circumstances their entrance were allowed.

"Look at this fucking place."

From the road, Tommy, Johnny Dogs and the Smith brothers were watching the entire property. The gardens extended beyond their sight.

"Full of pussies, it's my fucking paradise. An all-you-can-eat-fucking restaurant" commented Gregory Smith. Except Tommy, the rest of them laughed.

Rose heard the crows. That was never a good signal.

"Now who?" she thought for herself. A lot of names crossed her mind, but none of them was the right answer.

Five minutes later a knock on her office's door brought the answer.

"Who?" she asked not believing her ears.

"Mr. Thomas Shelby, Mrs. Solomons" repeated the woman in front of her. "He says he needs you."

"The Thomas Shelby?"

But unaware of who he was the other woman didn't respond.

"Yeah, well. Tell him I'm coming."

"There are three other men with him, Mrs. Solomons."

Of course.

The day was beautiful. Cloudless sky and almost no wind. It'd be perfect if not for Tommy Shelby in her property.

"Didn't you read the sign?" she said greeting them "men are not allowed here."

"Good morning, Mrs. Solomons," said Tommy with deep voice.

"It is, Tommy. It is."

It always was intrigued him that a man like Alfie could be so devoted to a woman who barely reached his shoulders. His Rosie. Alfie Solomons could start a war against the king and the Pope if something happened to that woman.

Gregory Smith had another idea.

"We don't follow rules, sweetheart. We're the peaky fucking blinders."

"The Peaky who?" Rose looked at the man "Who the fuck are you?"

"The audacity of this bitch. It's a Solomons, eh?"

"Gregory…" warned Tommy.

"Yeah. I'm a Solomons. Proud of it. But I'm quite dumb, Gregory. So I need your help, I only know how to count to two. Like, one, two… what's next?"

"Three."

BANG.

A woman stading behind Rose was holding a gun.

The bullet impacted his head. The man was already dead when his body collapsed on the ground. Rose just looked her pocket watch and then clicked her tongue.

"Men are not allowed here," she repeated. "You understand the warnings now or you what to be the next?"

Tommy looked at the dead body. The blonde woman behind Rose was staring at him and Tommy knew that she wasn't joking. One more step and it couldn't be any difference between a Gruyère cheese and him.

Tommy sent Johnny Dogs and the remaining man again to the car. He also gave his gun to his friend.

"Ya sure, Tom?"

"Just go, Johnny."

When Tommy turned around again, he saw the woman extending her arm, she moved her hand "gimme the fucking cap."

Again, Tommy did what she said. She gestured him to follow her.

The interior of her office was elegantly decorated. An expensive rug on the floor matched the wallpaper and the mahogany desk. Lots of books were perfectly ordered on the bookshelves. Rose Solomons invited him to take seat on one of her velvety armchairs. Tommy followed her with his eyes. Now his cap was over the head of a marble bust representing Aphrodite, just behind her, looking at him. The woman sat behind her desk and put her hands under her chin.

"We have a beautiful garden here. A greenhouse full of exotic flowers and plants. Was your man married? I'd like to send the widow some flowers."

"He wasn't."

"Better, then."

Her brown eyes never leave his blue ones and same as Alfie, he felt she was trying to anticipate his movements. But Tommy didn't express any emotion.

"So? What the hell is doing Thomas Michael Shelby here? My husband isn't here."

"Not looking for Alfie."

"That's fucking new considering the mutual obsession you have with each other."

Tommy curved his lips, barely smiling. "I'm here purely for business, Mrs. Solomons."

"I'm not the kind of person you do business with."

"You are."

Both of them remained in silence for several seconds. Probably she was unaware of it, but Tommy noticed some mannerisms in her that he had witnessed in Alfie before. She was thinking while playing with her fingers. Impossible to say who copied who.

"What kind of business? Illegality has no place here," she finally said.

"I need to know where a certain man is."

Before she could say something Tommy saw the door opening and a beautiful woman in her mid-forties, entered Mrs. Solomons' office. She greeted him with a movement of her head and then started to talk to Rose in French but she stopped her almost immediately.

"This isn't going to work now, Geraldine. The man knows french," she said pointing to him "same as Alfie he fought in France during years. Tell Edith to come. She speaks Hebrew."

Geraldine nodded before leaving again.

"You do that often? Speaking other language in front of strangers?" Tommy settled in the armchair.

"Don't you do the same? I'm sure that speaking Romani is very useful if you want to express something to a friend or relative but you don't want the other to know what are you saying. Don't judge me, Mr. Shelby."

Edith, Tommy asummed it was her, was barely in her 20s, probably she was still a teen. Young and with a cheerful face, the girl approached Mrs. Solomons and both of them started to talk in Hebrew, a language he couldn't understand. For a moment, Rose looked at him sideways.

"Thanks, Edith" she said and the girl left without looking at Tommy. "One of your men tried to sneak in my school. Or they're fucking dumbs or they're really ready to visit God."

"Fucking hell…" Tommy rolled his eyes before breathing deeply. He was sure it wasn't Johnny Dogs but the other Smith. "Listen, Mrs. Solomons, I didn't give the order. I didn't know."

"I know, he acted by his own. Good news is he's alive. Bad news is my girls are taking care of him. It depends on you what I'm going to do with him. Alfie knew you were coming, didn't he?"

"I called him yesterday."

Rose sighed "Yes, of course he knew. Of course he fucking knew," his actions that morning now it made sense to her. Not because it wasn't unsual for them to have sex in the morning, but because there was something in his eyes that his mouth wasn't saying. And after all those years together, Rose knew him very well. "Anyway… what do you want do with your man, Mr. Shelby?"

"Can I smoke?"

"If you go next to the window and put your hand with the cigarette out, I don't have any problem. But I don't want smoke here."

She saw how he stood up and walked towards the window. That one in particular faced one of the gardens where the rosebushes were. In spring and summer, the sweet smell of roses invaded her office and it was something that she really liked.

When that morning Arthur asked him why he took three men with him just to visiting a school and women's residence, Tommy was exploring his chances. Better Gregory Smith than him. He trusted Johnny Dogs, he was a loyal, obedient man. But the Smiths…

"Kill him if you want," Tommy finally said "if my man can't follow my orders, then he should face the consequences. This is your place after all, Mrs. Solomons."

"Edith told me he was screaming that he wanted to avenge his brother."

"Yes. The one you kill it was his brother." Tommy glanced at her. A ghost of a smile was on his face.

"I never killed anyone, Mr. Shelby."

"You don't need to hold a gun and shoot to be a murderer. Most of the murderers just give the order behind their desks."

"Well, he'd be alive if he hadn't been an asshole. It's all about the rules, Mr. Shelby. The sign is there for a reason and if you ask me, you don't seem very concerned about your man's death."

"Rules, eh? Something tells me you're not very fond to follow them, either, Mrs. Solomons. How was the prison?" Tommy blew another puff of smoke out the window, but kept looking at her.

"Pretty cold. Full of cooties and rats. I named one in your honour, that's a tradition that we the Solomons have. Name a goat, name a rat… How's Arfah, by the way? Alfie misses him."

"Thanks for the honour, Mrs. Solomons. Arthur wanted to come. I told him he doesn't know how to deal with a Solomons."

"Oh," she grinned. "And you do?"

"I'm pretty confident about it. It worked in the past."

"I have no doubts about it. But I'm not my husband, Mr. Shelby. I don't fall for a pair of blue eyes and a chiseled face and most of all, I don't trust men."

Tommy threw the remaining of his cigarette in a basket that was there and walked again to the seat in front of her. He crossed his legs and rested his hands over his stomach.

"Do you want to fuck me, Mrs. Solomons?"

"Yes. Just bring me a bottle of cyanide to accompany the moment. And then I want to hug a black mamba. Your place or mine?"

Tommy chuckled. "Wherever you prefer, sweetheart."

Far away from being intimidated by the confidence he was exuding, Rose just scratched her chin.

"Alfie accepted? I mean, if this is the way you deal with a Solomons..."

"Never asked."

"Oh, you should have. The answer maybe could suprise you. But, let me tell you something, Tommy. Can I call you Tommy?" he nodded. Rose left her armchair and approached the man. He followed her with his eyes. Her face was now in front of his, their noses were touching. Both pair of eyes were staring at each other. Tommy felt her breath on his skin "I know who you are, Tommy. Reputation precedes you. I know how you do business with women. But here's the thing: I'm not them. And yes, I'm a Solomons, yes Alfie and I we have lot of similarities. But I'm not Alfie. I'm not interesting in you as a man and if your cock is the only thing you have to offer me, you're wasting your time here… sweetheart." Rose inhaled deeply "God! I never killed anyone, but I swear the devil keep tempting me. How about having your head as a trophy hunting hanging on this office? But…" Rose moved her head back again "as I said, I'm not a murderer."

"Alfie is a lucky man, Mrs. Solomons," Tommy said once she returned to her seat behind the desk.

"Is he?" She tilted her head.

"Believe me." Tommy straighted on his armchair "and I'm sure If something happens to him, I'm sure you're going to heard the devil that keeps telling you to kill someone."

"Be sure of that. If anything happens to my Alfie, the only one who can stop me is Alfie himself. I hope nothing happens to him, EVER. You know about it, don't you?. Your late wife, we knew what happened. I can't imagine the pain."

"No, you can't imagine. But I'm getting over it." Tommy cleared his throat "Mrs. Solomons, I need information."

"In exchange of…"

"Mutual respect."

Rose snorted. "Yes, sure. Alfie could be delighted when I tell him. Information means business, Mr. Shelby. And whiskey is for business, innit?"

She opened a cabinet in her desk and put a bottle of whiskey with the Solomons logo on it. Behind her, were two glasses that she grabbed. A rose was engraved on them.

"I didn't know you drink," he said.

"Only in very few occasions. I prefer just tea for the rest of the day. So? You tell me."

Tommy drank a sip of whiskey before talking again. In his mind the image of Elias dead on the streets of Small Heath appeared again. Contrary to Gregory Smith, Elias was a good man. Her widow was pregnant and a payroll wasn't enough for the woman to compensate her for her husband's death. Yet, it was the only thing that Tommy could do.

"I'm looking for Mrs. Baker."

"There are several, Tommy. It's a very common name. Any details?

"It's an Irishwoman. I don't know her appearance but her husband killed her sister-in-law. It means his own sister."

"Sonia," mumbled her, "but the last name isn't Baker. It's O'Finn. Although she said that prefers her own surname. I'm going to keep that information to me until you tell me what the hell is going on."

From the murdered committed in Birmingham to the one in London's underground. Tommy told her about his suspicions that O'Finn was a member of the IRA and how he, Tommy, was now a target of them. Again.

"If that's true," she replied "then no matter what, your head already had a price and it's not going to be me the one hanging it on my office, but them. Nowadays it's very easy to send a message to the other side of the map. A telegram or a phone call… I don't understand why do you want to talk to this woman if he already communicated with his people."

"Because I don't think he did that. He's hiding. He's a fucking rat."

"Ok. Well, there's a lot of problems first. Mrs. O'Finn, she's not in conditions to talk. Even if she can, you're not allowed to be near her and this is not negotiable. These women are under my wing. Not you, not fucking Churchill can be near them. I don't give a fuck if you bring an order from the fucking president of I-don't-know-where. Understood? I have women specialized in talk to women with the kind of trauma that Sonia has, so, think about twice before suggesting another way to do this."

"The less people know about it, the better, Rose."

She pointed to the door, silently. Tommy sighed. "Fine. But I prefer that you can be present. And me too. Or at least I want to hear everything by myself."

"Agree. We have a place we can use. I need to tell you, or better say, reminder you that Sonia is highly traumatized. Yes, she's alive but the price she paid…" Rose stood up again but this time she walked to one of her bookshelves and picked up a carpet, although to do it she had to climb a ladder. "Tommy, I don't have this rule of "men aren't allowed" just because I'm fucking misandristic bitch, I'm not. I believe in equal rights. I fight for equality. I have that sign because people here, women, kids… are afraid of your kind. I have a register for every single woman that lived here since 1911 when I inaugurated this place. Open the folder."

Tommy obeyed and his first reaction was exactly what Rose hoped to get "Shit…"

The first page was the document of a woman who lived there in 1914 before volunteering as nurse in France, Rose never saw her again. Her name was Rita Brown, 20 years old. She escaped from her house because her father was an abuser. He ended up cutting her face marking a cross on her.

"I don't allow men, because we don't know what kind of bastard will cross that gate. Your man, that Gregory, he's not the first. Dozens before him, I'm genuinely surprised that if you talked to Alfie yesterday he didn't mention my women."

"He did."

"So you knew."

Tommy nodded and Rose studying his face laughed . Suddenly she understood. "You bring this bastard on purpose! You fucking did! You wanted him dead. Fucking hell, Tommy. I heard things a lot of things about you and I'm still impressed. The brother, too? You wanted me to rid off the other guy, too?"

"Why not?"

"Fine. I don't give a shit. One less." She returned to her seat and rang a bell. The same young girl called Edith appeared. Both of them talked in Hebrew again and Edith went out again once they finished. "We have an agreement, it seems. Now my payment."

Tommy opened his coat and placed two payrolls on her desk.

"I appreciate the effort," she said no looking at the money. "But I'm not interested it in cash, although if you don't want it. I can use it to buy something for the school like a new piano for the girls and some violins. A donation."

"I don't want it," he confirmed "then what's your price, Mrs. Solomons?"

"A soul for a soul, Mr. Shelby. I want a man dead."

"Who?"

"Churchill's right hand man."

Next part.

...so? 👀

#alfie solomons #tommy shelby #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons x ofc #peaky blinders #tom hardy #peaky blinders x oc #alfie x rose #Thomas Shelby #cillian Murphy

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buggieboyofficial · 1 month ago

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A Dream About Shapeshifters.

Just has a dream where its College Ford, Stanley, and Fiddleford. Ford was talking about what his senior thesis was gonna be with Fiddleford. He was thinking about isolations chambers and filming random people houses without their consent n' shit, and Fiddleford was trying to talk him into doing something else because filming people in their houses is a crime, but he seemed like he was getting MORE into the idea the more Fiddleford was trying to talk him down from it.

Cut POV to Stanley who was chatting up this girl who was camping around the state or something for her senior thesis. She had set up camp in the middle of the sidewalk for some reason, and Stan listens to her ramble and the dream starts to meander about her adventures where she camped on this huge rock or something, but it was a dumb idea because it was hard to pack up her camp because the rock was just big enough for her tent or something. And as her talking gets more and more meandering and she is fully not paying attention to Stanley he gets board, and out of nowhere fucking poodle walks up to Stanley and asks him if he wants to look at his wears.

Stanley looks around, shrugs and follows this dog over like 10 feet away before it starts growing bigger teeth and growling at Stanley. Stanley starts running away and grabs a pillow from the girl's camp who is still talking about her adventures and fully distracted as if Stanley is still there. Stanley beats the dog away with the pillow but every time he does the pillow gets more destroyed, and the dogs teeth get bigger and it's starting to look less like a poodle. By the time Stanley has the right mind to drop the pillow and run in the other direction, the 'dog' has red pinpricks for eyes, and teeth that look like anglerfishes' teeth and the body of a mangey wolf instead.

Stanley fucking books it back to Ford and Fiddleford who by now has invertedly talked Ford into illegally filming people as his next project and perhaps using the isolation chamber some other time. They witness Stanley run past them with a torn-up pillow away from a Shapeshifting dog in awe and follow after them with different intentions.

Meanwhile, Stanley finds a guy with a gun in an ominous black trench coat who looks like he'll save the day, so Stanley points out the approaching dog and tells him to fucking shoot it. The guy pulls his gun but then the dog shifts into a person that looks a lot like a policeman. The guy and the policemen both turn to Stanley and start smiling saying that he got away this time. They clarify that they were always curious how someone would respond if a dog walked up to them to try selling them drugs. Most people would assume that they were high or just ignore the dog, but Stanley went with them. His reaction was so refreshing that the shapeshifter started acting like a feral dog in order to protect Stanley from going to jail but he just kept fighting so he had to get more and more aggressive for him to get the picture. They told Stanley he was free to go and sent Stanley on his way who was happy to not be in prison but became more disturbed with each step he took.

Stanley ended up being upset now knowing that there are shapeshifters in the Police force.

Ford was upset because the shapeshifter was also a police officer, and he couldn't capture it for his thesis.

Fiddleford was just glad that I was about to wake up.

And then I woke up.

#ford pines #stanford pines #stan pines #stanley pines #fiddleford mcgucket #shapeshifters #gravityfalls #dreams

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sandcobangevent · 1 month ago

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The Wolf In Sheep's Clothing

by @hihungry-imdad and Gonk

John and Sherlock kneel over the body of Phoebe Saint, a woman in her late 50s. An hour before, she’d been found by her neighbours dangling from her 4th floor balcony with a rope around her neck. The police would have figured it was suicide, but the neighbours swear they saw a figure move away from her window as they looked up. Now, she lay in an open bodybag on the floor. Sherlock breathes in heavily and sighs before turning his gaze to John.

“Watson,” he says, “tell me how she died.” John gives him a puzzled look, then glances between Sherlock and the body before clearing his throat.

“Well, strangulation. She would’ve asphyxiated from the pressure on her neck, and the force of her jumping down from the balcony would’ve broken the bones as well. Terribly sad, really, to see someone go like this.”

“Yes, Watson. I’d agree with you. If she had committed suicide.” “What are you on about, mate? Have you taken too much of your unprescribed medicine?”

“No, Watson. Look closer at her. See the details hidden below the obvious. Look between the lines.”

Watson peered closer at the woman, trying to grasp whatever Sherlock was so keen on proving. He could see the bruising on her neck and that scratchy redness of rope burn. Sitting back, he was about to speak when his eyes suddenly darted to the ring finger. Pausing for a moment, he looked closer and saw a very slight indentation on the skin, back by the knuckle in the shape of a band.

“She was married?” He asks, turning back to Sherlock. Sherlock stared at John like a proud parent.

“Yes Watson! She was in fact married.”

“Okay, how does that prove she was murdered? Unfortunately, being married doesn’t always stop people from doing this.”

“The indentation should prove it all, actually. She’d worn a wedding ring for quite some time—a number of years in fact—but due to the fading mark, she has apparently not been wearing it so often. Yet, there are still photos hung around her flat of her and a man in which they are both wearing wedding rings. So why take off your ring?” John paused for a moment to think before chiming in again.

“She was seeing someone else, wasn’t she?” He finally asked.

“Precisely Watson. She’d fallen out of love with her husband, sought out another man, and gotten killed for it. She also has small strands of rope below her fingernails, as well as rope burns on her fingertips.

“She struggled.” John somberly gazes at Mrs. Saint as he says this. Sherlock stands, then walks to one of the framed photos and takes it off the wall. Then, he walks over to one of the police officers at the scene and says, “Your murderer is Mr. Saint. Here's his photo. If the neighbours are correct and he was here as 999 was phoned, then he shouldn’t be too far away. I suspect you’ll find him within the hour.” He turns back around from the now confused-looking officer and walks over to John.

“Come Watson. We’ve finished here.”

“There’s really nothing else we can do?”

“We’ve given the police the name and description of the murderer. I’m not going to go running into the dark chasing a dangerous criminal when he’s going to get himself caught. Now, before you bore holes in that poor woman's face with your eyes, let's head home.”

“Right, yeah mate. Let’s go.”

Back at 221b, John lays in bed staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The night was dreary, as rain hammered down on the city below and wind seemed to rattle every bit of the flat. A thick fog rolled through the streets below, heavy and choking and dark grey. It felt as if the world outside had disappeared into a cloud.

The soft knocking on his door startled him, and a moment later Sherlock walks in, fully dressed.

“Come on Watson! Pack a bag; we haven’t got all day. We’ve got to catch the train,” he says excitedly.

“Uh, why exactly are we doing that mate?”

“Because Watson,” Sherlock pauses for a moment, a grin stretching across his face. “The game is afoot!” He turns and bolts out of John’s room, slamming the door behind him.

John takes a moment to register what actually just happened, then slides out of bed and stretches. Glancing over at his clock, he actually wasn’t the least bit surprised when the time staring back at him read 5:20 in the morning.

“Hey Sherlock!” John yells through his door as he dresses, “Do you mind telling me what we’re getting into, mate?”

“I can tell you on the way, Watson!”

“Yeah, or you could tell me now! Sherlock?”

John finishes getting dressed and throws a pile of clothes into a suitcase, alongside his recording equipment. Swinging his bedroom door open, he sees Sherlock talking on the phone.

“-yes. Mhm. Of course.” Sherlock slides his phone back in his pocket and slides his suitcase over near the front door.

“Who was that?”

“Lestrade.”

“What did she want?”

“Mr. Smith was arrested. A bank camera caught him sulking about trying to catch a bus, and he was picked up shortly after.”

“Lestrade called you for that?”

“No, but I thought you might want to know. We’ve already wasted too much time; I’ll fill you in on the way Watson.”

“What about Archie?”

“I’ve already asked Ms. Hudson if she’d be able to watch him for us. Now come on.”

"Yeah, alright I'm coming mate.”

Hurrying out the front door in the middle of the night with two suitcases (one of which may as well have been a hamper), John and Sherlock sped off in the direction of the subway. The rain had stopped by then, though the air still felt moist, and the pavement was still damp. The fog was present, but not nearly as bad, and the two men soon found themselves descending the Baker Street Station and boarding a train. John sat down exhausted and already sweating.

“You know… mate,” he panted out, “a little… warning… would’ve been nice.” Sherlock took harsh, short breaths, clearly stifling his own exhaustion, but they eventually tapered out to more normal breaths before he released a composed sigh.

“I did say we were in a hurry, didn’t I Watson? Now settle in; we’ve got a bit of a journey ahead of us.” John coughs a little, then clears his throat and breathes a heavy sigh.

“It’s on you if I don’t have any proper clothes.”

"Yes, yes, alright.” The pair sit in silence for a moment as the train rolls into a stop.

“Where are we getting off Sherlock?”

“Paddington.”

“Paddington?”

“Yes. We’re catching a train to Ilfracombe. We’re investigating a series of murders. Lestrade called for me specifically, which by proximity means you as well.”

"Aw, thanks mate, that feels great.”

“You’re welcome, Watson.”

“That was sarcasm.” The train finally breaks from underground and stops at Paddington station. The pair exit swiftly and make their way over to their next train. London rushes by them as the train exits, the early morning lights blending into a

sea of bright yellow-tinted eyes.

John uses the extra time to catch up on his much-needed sleep, while Sherlock examines the landscape as they pass through town after town. After hopping one more train and catching a bus ride, they arrive at their lodging; a house on the beach across from the Chapel of St Nicholas lighthouse. It was bright out now, as it was almost 10 in the morning, and after another short call from Lestrade, Sherlock and John headed to meet with the police and examine the bodies.

“Ilfracombe,” Sherlock suddenly blurts out, “is a seaside town on the north coast of Devon known for its dramatic cliffs, rugged coastline, and historic charm. And there've been four murders in the span of a week. It doesn’t feel right.”

“It’s definitely a strange place for a sudden serial killer to prop up. You wouldn’t think anything is up by looking around. It’s so peaceful here.” Walking along the road towards the police station, they pass by a section alongside the beach, and the waves of the Bristol Channel lap gently up and down the soft sand, scaring off seagulls picking for crabs that scurry along the long stretches of beach. The clouds partially block the sun, but in the cool October air, the slight warmth is greatly appreciated.

“Yes, Watson. I’d have to agree.”

The bodies were all laid out on tables in a row, their belongings on tables next to them. The room was chilly, and John’s arm hair would be standing up even if it was warmer. The pair walk around the tables, giving the bodies a once-over before Sherlock walks over to the first victim and pulls the cover back all the way, revealing a clean-shaven, pale-faced man in a green sweater, brown pants, and black loafers. The sleeves of the sweater were rolled up to his elbows, and the indentation of a wristwatch could be barely seen on his left wrist. Inspecting the table of belongings, Sherlock locates the watch, its hands not moving and no ticking sound coming from within. Next to the watch is the man's wallet, and flipping it open, Sherlock is presented with the ID as well as a crumpled note that falls to the table.

“Ian Harris. This would be the antiques dealer,” he says to John while picking up the note.

“What killed him? I can’t see any wounds on his body.”

“Pufferfish poison.”

“Really? How would he have ingested that?”

“It’d have to be slipped into something he had. Here, the police report says he was found dead at 2:00 pm in his store with two cups of tea on his coffee table. Forensic analysis states the time of death was noon. Whoever was there with him poured the poison in. This is unintelligible; can you read these scribbles?” Sherlock hands John the unfurled note to read. The letters are squiggly blobs, as if the ink was smeared and then dunked in water.

"Blimey, this is really poorly written. I think I see a p there at the front. Could it be a shopping list or something? Maybe it says ‘Peanut butter’.”

“Hmm, good point. I’ll have to come back to this.”

“What about the other victims?”

“Well, each murder is connected in some way. Mr. Harris was murdered with poison that came from a fish. One of the next victims was a fishmonger, Kelvin Baker, and his wife Nina the other. He was found with a gun in his hand and a bullet in his head. She was strangled with a leather belt. Can you guess what the fourth victim's profession was?”

“A leatherworker?”

“Exactly, and not only that, but look at the belt.” Sherlock walks over to the belt that killed Nina and points to a symbol to the left of the buckle.

“What is that? A bull under a tree?” John asks.

“No Watson, well, actually yes, but the important part is that specific symbol. Eric Clarke used this symbol in all of his works.”

“And now he’s dead.”

“Precisely.”

“What does this mean, Sherlock?”

“Whoever is behind this, whoever is going around killing and tying all these victims together, they want to be hunted.”

“They want to? Who would want to be found after doing all this?”

“I suspect it's an art to them. That, or some kind of sick twisted game. Either way, with them still out there, the potential for more murders grows every second.”

“How did Clarke die?”

“A cleaver. Cuts along the throat and knife embedded in the back. The handle had a symbol made of bull horns.”

“So a butcher is the next victim?” Sherlock pauses for a moment, then pulls out his phone.

"Yes, Watson, he certainly was.”

It takes Sherlock and John around 15 minutes to arrive at the butchery. Police were swarming the place, taking pictures at every angle, and they could see a crowd forming inside the meat cooler. Pushing past a few other cops, they come face to face with a man tied to a chair and blood dripping from his mouth. The butcher was still wearing his apron, as well as a jacket over top jeans and thick work boots.

“Oh good, you’re here,” the officer standing next to the chair says as Sherlock crouches and tilts his head to see the face of the victim. He’s tall but skinny, and his shoulders seem to bend forward at an odd angle, like he’s hunching over. His eyes are a dark brown, and his hair is tucked under a police cap.

“Are you Inspector Berkley? I got your text,” he says, still inspecting the mouth of the butcher.

“Yes, that's me. Lestrade’s reached out and told me to allow you to help us catch this nutter. Bloody tragedy this is. I can’t remember anything like this ever happening before. Even in the town's history, it’s just ship disasters. To be honest, this whole week has left me quite knackered. We all feel like we’re chasing some boogeyman. No one’s got a clue who could be behind it; it’s left everyone quite desperate.”

“Who was he?” Sherlock asks.

“William Allen. He was the owner of this shop.”

“What have you been doing to try and keep people safe?” John chimes in.

"Well, we placed a townwide curfew for nine, and we’ve implemented patrols to spread out and report if they see anything suspicious.”

“And they haven't reported anything?” The captain breathes a heavy sigh and turns his attention away from John and back to Sherlock.

“No, we haven’t seen anything. This whole thing is putting my men severely on edge. I'm honestly worried about them freaking out while on patrol. Lots of them are so jumpy nowadays.” John also turns back to Sherlock, still examining the body.

“You alright mate?” John asks him.

“He’s had his teeth pulled out with these forceps.” Sherlock pulls a pair of bloody forceps from an inside pocket of the jacket. “He also has a faint smell of alcohol, the culprit of which could be this small flask.” He sniffs the top a few times before turning back to the captain. “I believe that would be a whisky.”

The police captain leans over slightly to smell the flask as well before standing back up and nodding his head slowly. “Will was... troubled. Had a drinking issue. It doesn’t surprise me he’d keep that on him.”

“And what’s this engraving on the side of the flask?” Sherlock asks Captain Berkley, pointing to the symbol of a shield with a red cross.

“Oh, that’s from The St. George. I’d seen Will there a few times before. He must’ve frequented it more than I thought he did.” Sherlock places the alcohol on the floor and inspects the forceps. They appear brand new, and aside from the blood, they have no other marks or scratches. However, there’s a fine white powdery substance stuck on one of the tips.

“Can you see anything mate? Any clues for who the next target is?” Watson chimes in, leaning over Sherlock and trying to follow his gaze.

“Unfortunately, I believe there may be two,” Sherlock replies, “and if we are wrong, then there will be another body in the morning.”

Sherlock turns and rushes out of the butchery, into the street outside, then down and around the back of the building and stands on the beach, watching the waves and thinking over the details. He pulls out the note that was in Harris’s wallet and stares at the blurred text, trying desperately to find answers in the scrawled note. John follows and slowly walks up next to Sherlock.

“What is it, mate?” He asks as he approaches.

“Just, still trying this out,” Sherlock says, flashing the note to John.

“Okay. I still think it’s a shopping list. Anything you can think of about the case though?” Sherlock pauses, then puts the note back in his pocket and looks over to John.

“Harris died at noon,” he says. “He was found at 2:00, but he died at noon.”

“Yeah, that’s what the report said.”

“What time is it right now, Watson?” John pulls out his phone and checks the time.

“It is... its noon.”

“The Bakers were found at 12:16 in the morning, after the gunshot was heard by neighbours. Clarke was found at 9:20, after regulars noticed his shop still wasn’t open.”

“He died at midnight, didn’t he mate.”

“Yes Watson. I don’t understand. Why connect all these people? What is the point?”

“Besides the murder weapon tying into the next victims, do we have any other clues? I mean, it feels like this time we’ve got two. But how can there be two clues if there’s only supposed to be one killer?”

“I can think of two reasons. One, we’re being forced into a blind 50/50 situation. However, we could have cops protect one of the potential victims.”

“Protect one? Wait a moment, you’re not actually suggesting that we guard the other?”

“I’m not suggesting Watson, and we can ask some officers to come with us. Though I doubt they’d be of any use.”

"Mate this isn’t a bloody James Bond movie! Five people are dead, and we’re on the verge of finding another tonight.”

"Well, would you rather we spread the police to cover both and have one die anyway?”

“I’d rather not be in the path of danger, Sherlock. We already went through that dealing with Abe Slaney. For fucks sake, I got shot in case if you don’t remember! I’d just prefer us to be a bit safer.”

“We had no other option with Slaney. He was already suspicious about coming to the hotel, and he would’ve sneaked out had we not stopped him. In case you don’t remember, I already apologised for that. I’ve said before that I didn’t think he would actually shoot, and when he did, all I could think of was you.” Sherlock breathes in deeply and then sighs exhaustedly. John looks away, slightly warmer than before.

“What’s the other reason?” John asks him.

“What?”

“You said there might be two reasons; there were two clues. What’s the other reason?” Sherlock pauses for a moment, then turns away from John and looks into the sea.

“Misdirection.”

Later that night, the police take Ned Palmer (owner of The St George) and Kristy Palevnos (owner of a private dental clinic) into their custody at the police station for safety. Officers are positioned on surrounding rooftops, some of which have trained sniper rifles. Hidden cameras are placed at the bar and dental practice, as well as the homes of Ned and Kristy. Sherlock and John are once again stuck in the surveillance room, as they have been before. Sherlock bounces his knee excessively, clearly upset at the circumstances.

“It’s gonna be okay mate,” John says, taking his eyes off one of the camera feeds and looking to Sherlock. “They’ll catch whoever’s behind this and put an end to this mess.”

“It’s not a mess, Watson. Everything in this case has been able to link together. It’s all intentional, like a message. I cannot think why someone would do so, nor why we haven’t been able to find anything regarding identity or locations in advance. I feel like a rat constantly chasing a wafting aroma of cheese, only to meet dead ends inside this maze.” Sherlock leans back in his chair, placing his hands over his face, deep in thought. The two officers sitting in front of John were absentmindedly watching the screens, talking to each other casually about lunches. John wrinkles his nose at them and shakes his head.

“I mean, honestly guys, there's only a serial killer on the loose,” he says under his breath. “Can you believe this? We’re trying to find a serial killer, and these two are talking about, 'Oh, I prefer ranch dressing with my salads!’ yadedadedoo. Rubbish.” Sherlock sits up slowly in his chair and removes his hands from his face, placing them in his pocket. A moment later, he pulls the note out once more and strains his eyes to try and see the letters. There, as he holds the note up to a light, lines poke through, casting a shadow of letters on the table below.

However, the letters are not the same blotchy mess as the note, but small, neat shapes that form the phrase “Pda cwia eo wbkkp."

“What the bloody..." John says, trailing off as he continues to examine the note.

“Knife in the back... Watson grab me a pen and paper. Now!” Sherlock is suddenly energised, and as soon as he is given what he needs, he begins to write down different letters. John peers over his shoulder as he writes T, h, e, and g.

“Sherlock what's up mate?” He says worriedly. A moment later, Sherlock stands up and starts pacing around the room. John looks at the phrase that has been written down.

“The game is Afoot? Sherlock, what is going on?”

“It was a cypher. You’re talk of salad dressings and how Eric Clarke died. A Caesar Cypher, Watson.” Suddenly, Sherlock feels his phone start to buzz, and taking it out of his pocket reveals a phone call from an unknown number. Not wanting to hesitate, he answers. There’s a moment of silence, as both people on either side of the line just breathe.

“Sherlock Holmes.” The voice was deep and rugged, clearly a man’s. “Who is this?”

“Iknewnpu. E dwra okiapdejc pk owu. Ykia pk pda hecdpdkqoa.” The phone beeps twice, and as Sherlock lowers it from his head, John can see the screen says “call ended.” Sherlock looks visibly shaken and drops his phone as he looks to John. “You okay mate? What’s going on? Sherlock?” John's questions go unanswered.

As Sherlock stands there, the room slowly becomes static, and black dots float around inside his vision. He knows John is speaking, but everything is muffled, as if he were underwater. His lungs seem to shrink, and every breath draws them tighter, as if he’s suffocating. He looks down at his hands and feels how numb they are. Suddenly, something flashes in his head. Something unimaginable, a feeling so foreign to him that he was now struck with fear. He couldn't believe it. He forgot. He forgot. The man that had nearly ruined his life two years prior. The man that played with him like a toy. His spider, who had cast a web for him to fly into. The one that escaped him. Deep within his mind, he imagines himself suspended in an ocean, thrashing desperately to reach the surface, until a hand plunges into the sea and pulls him upwards.

Suddenly, the numbness in his hands disappears. The static in his vision vanishes, and he hears John asking him if he’s okay. Sherlock blinks twice, then feels the warmth on his cheeks and realises that John is holding his face, his fingers laced behind Sherlock’s head, keeping him upright as he kneels on the floor of the surveillance room. Sherlock gasps loudly, finally being able to breathe in properly. John moves his hands to Sherlock’s shoulders, bracing him as he catches his breath. Sherlock coughs loudly and spits onto the floor before slowing his breathing and swallowing.

“Take your time, mate. You’ve just had a bloody panic attack. Breath. You’re okay. You’re safe.” Sherlock nods slowly, closing his eyes for a second before blinking again. John helps him to his feet, and Sherlock tries to wipe some dirt off his jacket.

“What happened?” John asks again softly.

“I’m afraid this situation just got even worse.

At one in the morning, Sherlock and John run outside the police station. There’s been no movement on any cameras, and none of the lookouts have seen anything suspicious. The pair sprint down the street, towards the harbour and towards the Chapel of St Nicholas.

"Why... are we running to the lighthouse, mate?” John asks as they stop to catch their breaths near a boat.

“The man... over the phone. I’ve heard that voice before. Two years ago, I was in another case with a serial killer, only last time it was in Birmingham. A line of murders, only connected by the murder weapon and next victim. They were carried out by a self-proclaimed rival of mine. His name was James Moriarty. He managed to escape and went completely off the grid until now, when he decided to continue his spree.

As my ‘rival’, he would leave clues specifically intended for me to find and solve. He wanted me to hunt him, luring me deeper and deeper into his maze. The last time I had seen him, he was standing on the other side of a railway track from me. He told me that I had disappointed him and that he hoped I’d be better in the future. That it was too easy to escape my grip. Not catching him was my biggest failure.”

“So why are we going to the lighthouse?”

“‘Iknewnpu. E dwra okiapdejc pk owu. Ykia pk pda hecdpdkqoa.’ That was what he said to me over the phone. When I asked who was there, he responded. It was a caesar cypher. It translated to ‘Moriarty. I have something to say. Come to the lighthouse.’”

“So he’s admitting to everything then?”

“I doubt it will be that simple. Moriarty is no fool. This is likely some kind of trap.” “And we’re just going to willingly walk into it?”

“Good job Watson; you’ve caught on.” Sherlock flashes a slight smile at John as he continues up the path. The lighthouse is visible now, just on the other side of the hill. Its stone foundation slightly hangs over one edge of the cliff, and John can see stairs curling up to a door. Wind flows gently up from the beach, though in the given circumstances it lends to a more intimidating atmosphere. Dark clouds loom overhead, threatening to spill the water contained inside at any moment. Over the ocean, lightning flashes; the thunder rolling made John jump slightly. At the top of the hill sits the lone chapel, made of pale brick and covered on one side in a thick layer of bright green vines. It looks more like a house, except for the small white dome sticking up from the back half of the roof. The windows are all dark except for the dome, which periodically flashes a bright green light to the ocean beyond. Yellow lights positioned farther down the hill illuminate the ground around the chapel, and John takes a moment to look out on the sea. He can see the wall of rain slowly moving towards the town, falling onto the waves below. He stands there for another moment , watching the storm, before walking over to Sherlock who stands at the front door, his hand hovering over the handle.

“Ready?” he asks, looking back to John. John nods, not questioning the gun Sherlock holds in his other hand.

The door creaks open loudly, echoing into the chapel. It’s pitch black inside, and as John turns his phone torch on, the light bounces not against a wooden or stone floor but against a bright pool of red that smears from the entrance further into the chapel. Sherlock and John look at each other for a moment, contemplating, before Sherlock calls out into the darkness.

“Hello!? Is anyone there? James?” The wind outside presses against the building, air finding small gaps in windows and chilling the inside. The hair on John’s arms and neck rise slowly, and he can feel the bumpiness of his skin under his sweater. It’s small and cramped inside; two spare rooms aside from the main one with only two pews. Sherlock kneels down to look at the red marks.

“It’s blood. Someone was dragged through here with substantial bleeding. Fairly fresh as well, had to have been in the last hour.”

“Which would’ve been midnight,” John says, a grim expression on his face. Pointing his torch to the other end of the room, the pair follow the drag marks until the spot on the floor turns into a puddle, and at the center of the puddle sat a large burlap sack. John grabs onto Sherlock's hand and leans into his arm.

“Sherlock, I really don’t like this mate.”

“I… feel like I need to open it.”

“Are you serious? We need to leave and call the police!”

“I already have Watson, before we came in. I saw the blood pooling at the bottom of the doorframe. They’ll be here in a few minutes. We have to find Moriarty before that happens.”

“Okay. Open it.” John releases Sherlocks hand as he approaches the bag. It sags to one side, and the bottom is the same color as the puddle surrounding it. Sherlock takes the string tying the bag together and slowly pulls it apart, like a bow on a christmas present. He reaches his hand out for the torch, and brings it to the opening of the bag.

“It’s… a sheep's head?”

“A what?”

“There are slices of meat underneath the head. There’s something else too, near the bottom. It's reflecting the light.”

“Can we hurry just a little, mate? I don’t really like standing here in the dark.” John glances around, trying to focus on adjusting his eyes. I am definitely going to need new shoes, he thinks to himself.

“One moment.” Sherlock holds his breath, then reaches his hand inside the bag and grasps a hold of something small and cylindrical. Pulling it up from the sack, Sherlock points the torch at the object as John leans over to get a better look. It was a bullet, 9mm and intact.

“What does it mean mate?” John asks. Sherlock looks intently at the bullet, trying to pry open the wall of the maze and find the exit. Suddenly his eyes shoot to the front door. He quickly puts the torch out.

Through the wind, John can hear the jostle of the door handle, and the creak of the door slowly opening. Every millimeter fills John with more dread, and as a dark shape creeps in, a flash of lightning illuminates the face of the figure.

“Berkley?!” John asks, “Blimey mate, did you have to freak us out like that?” Inspector Berkley flicks his torch on.

“Oh, heh, sorry John. Although I think it’s just you that I spooked. Sherlock looks al…right.” Berkley’s voice trails off as he locks eyes with the bag of meat. “What the hell is that?”

“That,” Sherlock replies, “is a burlap sack with a sheep’s head in it.”

“Okay. Is that supposed to be a message?”

“I’m not sure. It just appears to be a bag of meat.” John glances over at Sherlock with a confused expression, which Sherlock responds with a stern look before looking back at Berkley.

“Well, you called for backup. Was the killer here?”

“No, he wasn’t,” Sherlock says as he stands and starts walking towards the door. He suddenly spins, wheeling his balled up fist into Berkley’s left cheek and causing the inspector to stumble over, dropping his torch and bouncing his head against the wooden floor.

“Jesus christ mate!” John yells as he picks up the torch and points it at Berkley. Sherlock is on top of him a moment later, pressing a gun against his forehead.

“Phone the police Watson! Tell them James Moriarty has been caught!”

The man that had claimed to be Berkley sat outside with his back against the wall of the chapel. The small ledge on the roof protects John and Sherlock from the rain, and they watched as police lights zoomed through the streets of the town, towards the lighthouse. Moriarty was silent, his hands tied behind him with shoestrings that Sherlock stole from John’s shoes. When John looked over at him, he could’ve sworn he saw Moriarty smile.

When the police arrived and placed Moriarty in the back, he turned to Sherlock with a toothy grin and said “I’ll be seeing you then.” Sherlock stared deeply into his face with deep resentment, then shut the door. It was only after John patted him on the back that he noticed his whole body had tensed up, and he relaxed as he sighed.

“How did you know Berkley was actually Moriarty?” John asks.

“It’s annoyingly simple really. The bullet was a 9mm. Cops carry Glock-17s, which fire 9mm. The sheep’s head was the give away.”

“How so?”

“The Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing. I’m dumbfounded at how blatant this whole case has been. And yet at every step I tricked myself into thinking it can’t be as simple as it seems to be.”

“I think you’re being too harsh on yourself mate. Didn’t you say Moriarty was some mastermind? Maybe he wanted to mess with your head. Make you doubt the obvious. You’re also overworked, I can tell you that for certain.”

“It can’t be this easy. I feel so… unfulfilled. He must have something up his sleeve.”

“What could he do mate? He’s in cuffs in police hands, there’s nowhere he could go.”

“He’s gotten away before.”

“He wasn’t arrested before.”

The rain has slowed now, resting into a light sprinkle. John watches Sherlock as the cop cars drive away, staring at how the rain drops hang gently over his eyelashes.

“Well Watson,” Sherlock says turning to John, “how about we get some rest before we leave tomorrow?”

“Are you actually going to sleep or will you find a random beam to hang upside down on?”

“I guess you’ll have to figure that out for yourself.” Sherlock offers a slight smile, which John reflects and grabs his hand.

“Yeah. Let's go mate.”

#sherlock & co #sherlock and co #john watson #sherlock holmes #mariana ametxazurra #event #fanart #flash bang #fanfiction #flashbang event

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randomficrecss · 1 year ago

Note

Hi!! Can you recommend some of your favourite sterek fics?

sorry it’s taken so long but yes absolutely!! one of my favorite ships to read about :) lmk if you’ve read all of these already

Sterek Fic Rec

first of all i would recommend reading anything by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

We've Written Volumes (in Blood and Scars and Ink) by notthequiettype

E | 25.9k | 1/1 | hurt/comfort, injuries, sexual content

Stiles is on his back on hard-packed dirt. He's cold and there are leaves stuck to his neck and there's a four inch gash in his side that he thinks he can feel his ribs through. There's so much blood around him he feels like he's floating on a pond and everything is so much dimmer above him than it was a minute ago, which is saying something because he's in the dark center of the forest in the middle of the night. And the worst of it is that he's alone, totally alone with the smell of his own blood drowning him and the soft side of him run through by a tree.

As his eyes slip shut, the last thing he thinks is, "This is going to kill my dad."

Illuminated by ZainClaw

T | 5k | 1/1 | hurt/comfort, love confessions, first kiss, fluff

"Because I'm falling in love with you and it's scaring the hell out of me.”

Hallowed Grounds by damnfancyscotch

M | 109.5k | 16/16 | full shift werewolves, hurt stiles, slow burn, alive laura hale, magical stiles, BAMF stiles

Everything in Beacon Hills is the same when Stiles comes home from college.

Well, except for the fact that he's a published author now, Scott is halfway across the world with a travelling circus, Erica's epilepsy has been cured, her boss offers him a job too, and there's this weird black dog that seems to be following him around just to judge him.

Oh, and the murders, of course.

But other than that stuff... totally the same old BH.

Suspicious Minds by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)

E | 40.1k | 1/1 | wolf derek, single parent stiles, alive laura hale

“Don’t feed Balto your pizza,” Stiles mildly warns his daughter.

“Derek.”

Stiles pauses, mouth open and cheese sliding off the pizza as he parrots, “Derek? Who’s Derek?”

His daughter rolls her eyes, like Stiles has just asked her the dumbest question ever. “The wolf, Daddy!”

“You changed his name?” Stiles asks in surprise. Usually she’s pretty set about naming things. Her doll’s name was decided two seconds after receiving it, the car has been Alonzo for three years now, and the toaster ‘Pop’ for the last six months.

Meg nods, prodding the sliding cheese back on top of her slice. “Yeah. He told me his name is Derek. And that he doesn’t really like Balto.”

“Is that right?” he asks, eyeing the wolf who seems far too interested in watching a pair of animated moose arguing. It’s official. This wolf is weird. This whole situation is weird.

Separated from Laura after being cornered by some hunters, an injured Derek finds himself being rescued by Stiles and his young daughter. In more than one way.

After The Storm by matildajones

M | 41.3k | 4/4 | kid fic, werewolf reveal, slow build, police officer stiles, hurt/comfort

Derek's mind flits to Stiles’ face. It’s a hard face to forget and for some reason Stiles is one of the only things Derek can think about without feeling like he’s lost something.

Erica grins. “When are you going to see him next?”

“He’s a cop,” Derek says gruffly.

“So?”

Derek remembers being at the station, he remembers all those fucking people who thought he had killed his own sister. Laura. He hates all of them, and says as much aloud.

Erica hums. “Sounded like you didn’t hate him.”

Dealing with the death of his sister, Derek spends most of his time helping out his family. He meets Stiles and as soon as Derek's willing to admit his attraction towards him, he discovers that Stiles is dealing with his own problems at work. He needs help - help that Derek's all too willing to give. There's something about Derek with his strange, glowing eyes and quick ability to heal that makes Stiles trust him when maybe he shouldn't.

#sterek #sterek fics #fanfic #fanfic rec #derek hale x stiles stilinski #derek hale #stiles stilinski #teen wolf fic rec #teen wolf #fanfiction

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clickerflight · 1 month ago

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Voltober 18. Come Sweet Death - Sonder story

Author's Note: Another bit from Sonder Story with @writing-whump Is a very good time! This actually takes place before our writing starts. This is a part of Cody's backstory.

Masterlist - Voltober 17

Content: wolf whumpee, wolf whumper, minor whumpee, fear, 3/4ths of a death wish, execution, eviscerated, kind of sort or hospital whump if you squint at it

@voltober

Bleeding Out | Near Death Experience | Death Wish/Self Sacrifice

Cody sat shivering in a holding cell at the precinct. He rubbed at the terrible bruise forming on his arm where the chemicals in the dart used to subdue him interacted badly with his blood vessels. It reacted badly in all of him, actually. He was exhausted, he couldn’t stop tearing up, and he had thrown up everything he’d tried to eat in the last four hours.

He sat against the cold wall, pulling his knees to his chest and ignoring the chatter coming from the other cell. There were more people in there, all human. Wolves got their own cell, so they didn’t kill anyone if they decided to act up.

The silver bars radiated cold that Cody tried to get as far away from as possible. It was making him feel even sicker on top of the dart that had forcibly crushed his shadow.

He wished he could go back to this morning and warn himself of what he would be going through. To tell him to have a bit more restraint, to just never leave his room in the first place. All he wanted was a bit of sun and fresh air. He slipped out, but the twins noticed and they followed him to the local park, laughing and jeering as they followed him, never catching up to him but never far enough away to ignore.

When he had sighed and turned to face them, they got in his personal space, mocking him and his weak control over his shadow, pushing him around.

Cody wrapped his arms around his knees tighter when the words they said rang in his head. “Awww, are you gonna cry to your family pack? Oh, that’s right! You don’t have one! You’re lucky we agreed to have you here. You know wolves like you get killed just because they can’t control their shadows, right? Bet you’ll be gone within the year. What do you want us to bring to the funeral?”

Cody trembled. It was true. He’d only survived this long because of leaders who rolled his shadow down so the assessors wouldn’t realize how little control he had as a wolf. He had cheated the system to keep living, and it had come back to bite him. He had lost control there in the park, in public. He’d fought the twins and hadn’t been able to calm down until the police got there, called by the terrified humans.

And now he was here, waiting quietly after getting his mugshot and fingerprints taken, hoping the leader of the pack his social worker had placed him in would come to get him. At the same time, he almost hoped Kai would just leave him here forever. He was terrified of what the punishment would be for this. Wolves were only allowed to live with humans in cities based on how well they could control their own people in the packs. Cody losing it in public like that was a strike against wolves as a whole.

What if Kai killed him for it? Cody didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to think that the culmination of his life was just to be lonely, to suffer, and then to die because no wolf spent enough time or energy on him to teach him how to be a wolf himself.

No one would even care if he died. Or, if they did, they would be glad it finally happened.

Cody whimpered, burying his face in his knees, tears welling up in his eyes. He couldn’t take this anymore. Maybe he would be happier if he was dead. Somehow, he couldn’t really believe that.

He looked up as he heard footsteps in the hall, recognizing one of the pairs of steps at Kai’s.

He stood up, staring at the floor as the leader of the pack appeared, two police officers just ahead of him.

One of them unlocked the door and said, “We usually leave this sort of decision up to the packs, but you might want to make some serious decisions about this one. I haven’t seen a pup go so crazy in public like that before. You might want to get him checked for madness.”

“Oh, I will make certain he is handled,” Kai said, his shadow spilling into the cell and hanging threatening around Cody’s feet.

Cody silently stepped forward, trembling. The cops spoke with Kai for a moment before Kai left, his shadow hanging around Cody like an escort.

Cody swallowed hard, trying to keep his breathing soft and careful as tears spilled down his cheeks. He was so scared. He was so scared and he had no idea how to get out of this situation. He just wanted this all to be over, however it ended.

It was dark outside, and rainy.

Kai flipped up his collar against the rain while Cody could only fold his arms as the freezing rain soaked into his t-shirt.

Kai didn’t speak as he walked through the quiet city, the unaffiliated street wolves shying away from his commanding shadow.

Cody could only follow, the rain replacing his tears as a strange sort of numbness descending over him. Emotional exhaustion was familiar to him at this point, and he welcomed it to protect him from whatever came next.

Kai stopped by an alley and gestured for Cody to go down it.

Cody hesitated for a moment too long and Kai grabbed his arm and shoved him down the alley, following him in.

“Do you take me for a fool, pup? We take you in after every other pack in the area kicked you out, and you do this!? Do you know how bad this makes us look!?”

Cody was barely listening, but he nodded anyway.

“It is a wonder that you haven’t been executed before now,” Kai snarled, taking a step forward and backing Cody against the brick wall. “I think it’s about time I do everyone a favor.”

He grabbed Cody by the throat, lifting up against the bricks.

The numbness was gone as quickly as a startled hummingbird. Cody gagged for air, grabbing onto Kai’s wrist and kicking his legs. He was going to die! Kai was going to kill him! Cody tried to beg, but didn’t have enough air to do so.

“What a waste of time an energy on all of our parts,” Kai growled. “Goodbye, pup.”

Kai’s shadow seemed to fill the entirety of the world and pain exploded from Cody’s stomach.

Kai dropped him to the ground, staring down at Cody as the huge gaping wound in his stomach spilled out blood to mix with the rain.

Cody reached his hand out after Kai as the pack leader turned and left him to bleed out.

Cody keened, reaching down to the wound, only to touch things that were never meant to be touched by his own fingers.

He gasped and tried not to gag, afraid that more of his organs would try and come out if he did so.

He realized too late that he wasn’t breathing as stars started around his vision, the edges darkening, and when he tried to get air in, the pain that lanced through his body forced him to shut down.

………………………..

He never expected to wake up, but he did. He woke in a hospital, his stomach sewed up, his organs where they rightly belonged, and wrapped in blankets that only seemed to emphasize how cold he was.

A nurse smiled kindly at him. “Good morning. How are you feeling.”

Cody stared at her before trying to sit up more against the pillows, stopping when his wrists caught on something. He looked down numbly at the straps around his wrists and the nurse tutted. “Sorry dear. Sometimes when wolves wake up it can get kind of scary so we have to be careful. Let me take those off for you.”

She reached over him, careful not to touch him, and undid one cuff, then they other. “I was just checking on you, but I can go get you something if you need. Are you thirsty?”

Cody stared up at her and nodded faintly, folding his hands together.

“Alright. I’ll be right back.”

The nurse left him alone in the hospital bed, after nearly dying. He turned his head and closed his eyes, lifting a hand to cover his face as he started to cry.

VTB Part 19

@percy-frayer because I know you are curious about Sonder story

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somberjoon · 8 months ago

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METANOIA [8]

✩ pairing: wolf hybrid nj x cheetah hybrid reader (f) - eventual ot7 x reader

✩ genre: soul-searching , romance🔞 , found-family , healing , angst , happy ending

✩ word count: 8.8k

✩ chapter warnings: uncertainty in behavior and emotions , anxiety , TW // panic attack with nightmare description of assault / sa (this is not explicit or detailed at all but talks of the suffocating feeling of touch) an asterisk * at the start and end of the section that includes this. inclusion of minor wound (bruises and small cuts) description. lots of feelies and talking this ch.

✩ summary: She doesn't know. There is so much about her and her cheetah that she hasn't had the privilege to understand. Unknown backgrounds and unknown emotions clash with feelings of want- hopes of being herself unapologetically. Namjoon seems to be someone that can help her- but can the rest of his pack truly be what she has wanted and needed?

✩ cover: me

ch.1 , ch.2 , ch.3 , ch.4 , ch.5 , ch.6 , ch.7 , ch.8 , ch.9

✩ disclaimer: i can't predict what anyone will think, but please understand that some important topics that need discussing as a pack in these circumstances are left out on purpose. If you can't figure it out now then it'll be a nice surprise lol.

Namjoon

The rush to put on better clothing for the chill of night goes by in hushed words from Seokjin and a now awake Hoseok.

“You’re not being detained are you?”

“No, they don’t have a warrant or anything. Whatever happened, it was probably Maria or Y/N herself that mentioned me and they just want information about events.”

“Namjoon I don’t like this.” Hoseok spills.

“I know, something doesn’t feel right- but I need answers and I at least have my job under my belt to know what my rights are. I’ll be okay.”

“Let Seokjin go with you.” Hoseok still pushes.

“I don’t want to put him in that situation-”

“Can you hurry up?” Seokjin seems to manifest in conversation, dressed and ready to go. “Of course I’m going with you.”

With Hoseok’s extra encouragement to bring the oldest of their pack with him, Namjoon and Seokjin leave in their own car, driving towards an unknown fate.

At this time, the bustle of a police station is nonexistent. It’s an eerie feeling being searched and taken back to a room in…silence, really. The silence also makes him wonder where Y/N is, as he hasn’t even gotten a scent of her here. The passive woman that leads him to the room is the one that ends up asking him the questions.

“We apologize for the timing that the officers showed up at your house. After finally getting some information from Y/N it had already been 7 hours of silence from her. I can’t give many details right this second, but after we get some more information I can let you know.”

“Of course. Is she still here at the station?”

“No, she actually didn’t even come here originally. She’d been in the hospital for some injuries.”

Somehow, his heart sinks deeper into the pit of his body and his stomach makes its way towards his throat.

“Is she- is she okay?”

“Okay is a…hard word to use. Physically, she doesn’t have any long-lasting injuries, but mentally-” She doesn’t even need to finish for Namjoon to understand. It wouldn’t be any better if she was only hurt physically somehow, but knowing that whatever this was is just another huge blow to her mental health is sickening.

“What do you need to know?” Namjoon asks, trying to get to the point but still keeping his composure.

“We have information that yesterday at approximately 12:00PM Y/N and you can be put in the same place. I was seeing if you could give us a rundown from the time you two met for the day to the time she got home.”

Namjoon knows no specific words or details will be given to him just to see if the information matches both Y/N’s and Maria’s or Richard’s. So, he tells it honestly- the truth.

“I picked her up around 12PM, she had a class at the hospital that she wanted to attend and I was the one available to Y/N that could take her. So, I picked her up and she didn’t seem to like the outfit she was wearing- she wears comfortable clothing but, she just seems- not sure about what to wear to certain functions or events. Before the class, we had time to stop by a small clothing shop, just one in the strip mall. We picked out an outfit and she got to the class in time, which was at 1:15PM and lasted about an hour.”

“Do you know what kind of class this was?”

“Sexual Development class, a free one that- I think her doctor recommended it.”

“Okay, continue with the events please.”

“During the class she had forgotten her phone, so I stayed outside the hospital, thus we were able to leave right away and go to my pack’s home for a visit. We, Y/N and I, had been trying to plan a visit to my pack home because of the growing friendships between me and her and another one of my pack members. She was anxious about it because she doesn’t really like meeting new people, she doesn’t trust easily, especially men. But, she blended in well, and because everyone was welcome with each other, it was a good visit. The cheetahs hung out, then we had dinner and then she seemed tired so I offered to take her home around 7PM.”

“Did Y/N show any odd behavior before you took her home?”

“To be honest, she seemed reluctant to have me leave her home alone. I’m not sure if Richard was home at that time or anything, but I- I should’ve checked before I left. She didn’t say anything though, she didn’t ask me to stay or tell me if she was uncomfortable being alone.” Namjoon stops to bring himself back together, the thoughts of what could’ve happened fight their way to the front. His regret is immense at the moment, even when he doesn’t know what exactly happened.

“Did you see anyone outside of her home? And, you said you didn’t know if Richard was home, but were there any signs that anyone else was there?”

Red alarms immediately go off in his head. Because- no. He didn’t make sure, but-

“I stayed at that house, parked in the driveway for 15 minutes after she told me she was okay and locked the door. I wanted to make sure that she didn’t change her mind or-” this woman is a hybrid, she should understand if he says this. “I just felt like something was wrong, and I’ve known enough of her to see when she’s uncomfortable or when she doesn’t want to say something. I should’ve made sure she was okay.”

“Luckily, Y/N is safe now. And I can see that the storylines do add up. Your words were the last ones we needed. But, later on your pack could be asked to testify if the judge decides this isn’t a clean cut case.”

“Can you tell me? What happened?”

“If you guys are close, and if she trusts you as much as I think she does- she’d probably want you to know from her.”

Unlike the police station, the hospital has more people in it now that Sunday morning has started. Seokjin accompanies Namjoon now that he can, already heading towards the room with Maria’s approval to the front desk that he could be a visitor. To be honest, he feels entirely too invasive in the moment, but his worry isn’t only bubbling but ready to boil over at not making sure Y/N is alive and not on her damn deathbed.

It’s easy to spot the room from a distance, as Richard sits in one of the hallway chairs with his elbows on his knees in a bent position. Obviously, he is in an uncommunicative mood- even as Namjoon passes by him, he says nothing. Instead, he looks through the glass of the door to see Maria sitting on one of the visitor benches in the room, looking at the hospital bed that’s blocked from him by a curtain. With his presence, Maria looks to the door to find him without him having to knock. She hurries to meet them outside with the door shut behind her.

“I’m so glad to see you.” Maria says with such relief, wrapping him in an unfamiliarly tight hug. Without a second to think, she’s giving Seokjin one as well. “She’s not verbal at the moment. To be honest, she’s only been verbal to give her statement to the police.” She looks into the window even if she can’t see Y/N from it.

“I don’t want to make her uncomfortable being here-” It’s all Namjoon can think now that he’s actually here. He was really only her friend and someone that was with her only some hours of the day. “I just wanted to see how she was doing and-” He can’t just leave. God, no matter how out of place he feels being here, he can’t leave her right now.

“Namjoon. You’re the only person she’s asked about.”

“What? Why?”

“She didn’t want to even mention you guys to the police. But, that would’ve been even more suspicious. So, she obviously told her whole story and- she asked if I could ‘let her know when Namjoon is questioned’. I’m guessing she was preparing for another devastating blow, because I told her this morning and she just broke down again.”

Of course she didn’t want any of them involved, just to keep them out of it, she’s willing to lie.

“I think you should see her.” Maria says when Namjoon doesn’t respond. He looks to Seokjin in question, his hyung already knowing why. But, Seokjin only gives him a few reassuring nods and squeeze to his upper arm.

The door shutting behind him finalizes the choice he made. He could turn back, he could leave knowing that Maria is here for her. But, just last night he thought the same thing- and it didn’t work out then. The pull towards her is too strong.

Rounding the curtain gives him a view that’s a lot easier to process than he imagined. She’s curled up on her side with only her bun peeking out of the top of the blanket. She’s so small, even with her gaining weight and eating well- she’s still so small. His light steps don’t seem to stir her and he really doesn’t want to startle her, so his best shot is waiting, observing.

A cushioned chair sits conveniently in front of the resting Y/N, Namjoon sits with light movements. He can finally see her eyes above the blanket covering her. Even like this he can already see a small healing cut next to her eye near her temple. He wants to know every part of her that was hurt- he wants to magically heal her of the wounds she was given, mentally and physically.

It doesn’t take long for Namjoon to see Y/N take a few tentative sniffs above her blanket, eyes shooting open to land on Namjoon’s.

Tears. It’s as if they were waiting to fall no matter what. He watches devastatingly with nothing to do. No sign of approval of his touch or words, no utter of his name- just tears. This was the final blow for him as well it seems. He can only say one thing.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, leaning closer to leave him less than a foot away from her. “I’m so so sorry.” Tears prick his own eyes, his wolf begging to touch, to soothe. His restraints are wearing thin as they just stare at each other. He has no queue to touch her, he has to wait and hope that she reaches out or just stays silent in her needs. He doesn’t even know if that’s what she needs, but he hopes she does. He hopes that he could be comforting for her, be here for her and calm her in some way.

“I’m so sorry I left you there.” That's all he can say. Even more tears fall from her silently, begging for something. He’ll just need to pry like he usually does, he’ll do it forever if he needs to.

“Is there something I can do for you?”

“What if I hurt you?” It’s the quietest mumble of a question, somehow sounding clear despite her tears and the barrier of the blanket.

“You won’t hurt me.” Namjoon says without even thinking, voice staying at a whisper. “What do you need? Do you need something from me?” He tries not to beg, but really anyone could hear it in his voice.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Even without a response he’ll keep trying. He won’t make the same mistake. “Let me help you.”

It's not an immediate response, but Y/N slowly reveals herself. Her blanket is pushed back to show simple clothing the hospital most definitely provided. He doesn’t mean to look, but the hospital shorts show purple bruises that randomly spot the top of her thighs. They're large- he tries to push away the thought of them looking like hands.

She's asking in her movements as she slides closer to him, her legs dangling over the side of the bed now. He pays attention to her eyes, only her eyes as his peripheral catches more cuts and bruises that he's sure she doesn't want him to see.

"Whatever you need." He says at her pause in movement. He takes the chance of guessing what she needs, opening his arms in an inviting gesture.

Her silent tears turn to sobs just as her hand reaches out and takes a hold of Namjoon's extended hand. He closes his grip like it's a life line just as she does to him.

With slower movements than he'd like for himself but enough for her to not hurt herself more, she's finally showing what she wants. Climbing into his lap, legs bracketed around his thighs and body pressed into his finally. Finally she's in his arms- his own arms locked tight around her to keep her there. Her wet face and hurried breaths are pushed into his neck, as close as she can get. Finally, her tail wraps around him instead of squeezed around herself.

"I got you. I'm so sorry." He says over and over again like a mantra.

Seokjin

He doesn't mind waiting for Namjoon, but the company isn’t the best. To be fair, he finally got some time in silence as Maria takes a phone call, but it's still a hospital- hospitals are never comforting.

"I know, yes I understand we'll have to come in and discuss- that's the protocol!?"

Maria's frustrating outburst is more than enough to cause a few heads to whip her way. and this landing on Seokjin just a few chairs away.

"Okay. Well, I don’t know when we’ll both be able to come in, maybe later today or tomorrow. Can I just call you back when we are able to come in?”

“Thank you, bye.” She finishes her call and turns to sit right next to Richard who Seokjin really isn't comfortable sitting next to. Even if there is a spacer seat. Despite their whispered conversation, he can hear it.

“The protocol for her case is immediate re-homing.” She whispers in a heartbreaking tone. “We could fight for her later on, but as of right now our house is deemed unsafe for her- for any future cases that may need a home.”

With the pain in her voice, Richard is still silent. Seokjin almost wants to shake the man into some fucking sense. But, that’s only his instincts talking- he still has no idea what the story is. And now, he’s thinking about where Y/N will go.

Somehow he already knows.

Namjoon

Usually with Y/N attached to him, it’s hard to think properly. But now, with her safely in his arms, he’s thinking more and more about how to keep it this way. Despite that, dread fills him at the thoughts around the organization- he knows that Y/N can’t stay in that house, no matter what it was, she was hospitalized and there is police involvement. There is no way she’ll be able to stay in that house. He doesn’t even know if Y/N knows that yet.

She had just gotten into a situation that was helping her and she finally had support that was pushing her towards a healthy life and healthy relationships. He couldn’t rid her of the friends she made when she loses a home as well.

To be honest, Namjoon has no idea how long it has been since he's sat here, but Y/N has fallen asleep a while ago and Seokjin hasn't even tried to get a hold of him.

Knowing that he needs to at least talk to Seokjin, Namjoon makes the hard decision to stand and gently detach Y/N from him. In her sleep she unapologetically reaches for him with greedy hands, unlike what she does in her waking state. He can't help but smile despite where they are and the unanswered things that happened.

Slipping out to see Seokjin is a breath of fresh air he didn't realize he needed. He'd spend all day and night making sure she was comfortable, but it's still exhausting seeing someone you care about in such shambles. He'll be strong for her no matter what- and he'll be lucky to have others there for him.

"How is she?" Seokjin's tired voice asks just across from her room door in the visitor seats.

“She doesn’t want to talk- she doesn’t have any serious injuries. But she was comfortable with me, so that’s a start.” Namjoon says as he sits just next to Seokjin. “Where did they go?” He motions to the empty chairs that once held Maria and Richard.

“They went to grab breakfast from the cafeteria.” Seokjin checks his phone just as he answers. “Taehyung has been begging me to let him come sit outside her room. I wish I felt comfortable with him coming, but I think it’d be bad if we had too many people here right now.” Namjoon knows that if Taehyung came then Jimin would want to come, and if Jimin came then Hoseok would feel obligated to come and keep watch over them. He can’t have that many people here right now.

“It’s a good call, especially because we don’t know exactly what she needs or wants at the moment.” The silence stretches between them as if they’re both waiting to have this impending conversation. All it takes is one look to Seokjin for the fox to know exactly what he wants to say.

“I heard Maria talking to Richard about the organization and what happens next, Namjoon. I already know what you’re going to say.”

“It’s not immediate, especially not when she’s in the hospital, but-”

“But, this is not a conversation we should be having with just the two of us.”

“You know I need you to know first right now, I need to know if this is something that would be possible.”

“You would make it possible- I know you too well. I’ll let you figure out what you want to say, and what you need to tell the others. But- I’m on your side.” Seokjin gives him a light shoulder bump that lightens the mood just the slightest.

“I didn’t hide anything from you or the pack.” Namjoon says suddenly, knowing that if he says to the pack what he wants to say, he wants his hyung to know that it wasn’t a long-awaited bomb-drop. “Anything I want to say when we talk to them, it’s not something I- I would never wait to say it in a time like this.”

“I know. I guess that was something I talked to Taehyung about and not you.” Namjoon gives him a questioning look. “Before I called you yesterday inviting Y/N, I talked to Taehyung about my worries. I let my fears get the best of me in times that I should have put Taehyung and you first. I don’t mind if you or him, or anyone, meets another person. We can’t control that- obviously, I mean we have a pack of seven. But, I will support you no matter what. I will take care of her as well, just as another part of the family.”

“You’re making me emotional at the worst time.” Namjoon lets out a nervous laugh at the realization that his feelings aren’t just settled into his skin anymore. His feelings for Y/N aren’t just an afterthought when he’s around her- it’s now something that will be out into the universe to fuck him over. “I just want us all to be comfortable- and I just want her to have a home. That’s all she needs right now, I want to be that for her.”

Seokjin looks at him with something akin to pride. Namjoon tries to catch it for as long as possible.

“If she’s okay with that, I will help you make that happen.” Seokjin says.

Y/N

It feels like she’s suffocating- just as it did last night. Just as it felt when his hands were around her neck- on her legs, on her stomach, on her. All she can see is black, but there is the feeling of him here- a feeling of those few times when they tried to take advantage of her with no roof over her head and nowhere to flee to. They always gripped on tight, underestimating the strength her cheetah gives her. It’s not usually enough strength to completely fight them off, but it’s always enough to have enough time to run as far as she can.

The darkness is pushing on her chest- just after having a dreamless sleep, a resting sleep- trying to pry things from her she would never give them. They don’t deserve it, it’s not for them. It gets harder and harder for her to breathe. In this darkness, she doesn’t even have anything to fight off, there’s no way out- there’s nothing she can do.

“Y/N.”

‘No, leave me alone. Please.’

“Y/N.”

‘Please. Please don’t touch me.’

“Y/N!”

Suddenly there is an actual hand on her arm. She was asleep and he had time to touch her when she couldn’t stop him.

Her eyes shoot open to bright hospital lights, trying to move as quickly as she can to get away from the arm that touches her- trying to crawl up the bed and see who it is this time.

Namjoon.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, you were just having a nightmare.” His hands are in the air defensively. It’s just him and she’s fine but- why can’t she breathe? God, why can she still feel him on her. She can feel the weight of him on her chest, pressing all the air from her.

“Y/N you need to breathe slowly. You’re going to make yourself pass out. Breathe in through your nose and out your mouth.”

She’s trying. She doesn’t want to feel like this, she doesn’t want to be unconscious and vulnerable again.

“Can I touch you? Can I help you?”

Her response doesn’t leave her lips like she wants it, not when she’s gulping down air like this. Instead she’s scooting closer, trying to find relief in him again. She needs it, no matter how much she doesn’t want to rely on him.

His arms are immediately going to work. One slips behind her neck to find that magical muscle, the other pushes her frizzy curls from her face to pet at her hair with soothing words.

“In through your nose and out your mouth. Just focus on this feeling. Focus on my voice. Give yourself something to pinpoint.”

She can barely listen to him, but the feeling of him against her neck is hypersensitive. It seems his touch always is no matter how simple it is. It’s the only thing she can seem to focus on, her lungs filling at a rate that is less and less painful.

“There you go. Look at me.”

She does look up at him now that it hurts less to breathe. She's terrified she'll see pity, though with how everything has always gone for her, sometimes she wants it- craves attention even if it's with an aching heart and empty promises. This time she only sees her Namjoon. The wolf with kind eyes and an even kinder soul. He's looking down at her with such cherish that it completely distracts her from the panic that was eating her up.

"Good. Do you feel better?" He wipes at her face, picking up wet stains that she didn’t even realize were there- but thanks to the scratch near her eye, the skin is sensitive. He's not even grossed out about how she looks or the things she can’t get a hold on yet. He’s so gentle no matter what she’s given him, no matter what he sees himself.

“Yeah.” She gets out with a hoarse voice. “I’m sorry.” She whispers after hearing her own voice.

“Don’t be sorry, it was a nightmare- we all have nightmares.” That she can’t change, she’ll always have them.

“I’m sorry you had to take care of me.” She specifies, looking away from him and not wanting to see that caring look on his face anymore. She doesn’t get far when the hand from her neck slides up to direct her face back to him.

“I would not be here if I didn’t want to- I always want to care for you, no matter how it looks. Even if you need something small- something useless- it’s you so I’ll take care of it.”

She can’t bear him saying this now. Y/N has believed him before, somehow a man has whittled his way into her mind and heart in ways she’d never thought was possible. But, him saying it as she looks like this and reacts like this- after she’s done something horrible- is unbearable.

“Okay.” Is all she can say with a teary-eyed nod. If she looks at him any longer she’ll cry more than she has in the last couple days, so she turns away, and he finally lets her.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He asks, changing the subject, doing her a favor without knowing.

“There’s some water in the minifridge.” She replies slowly. Everything is still cloudy and annoying, but Namjoon never asked for irritation, so she'll be nice for now. He grabs one of the chilled water bottles and opens it for her with a satisfying click before handing it to her within seconds.

“Are you hungry? Maria left some food for you, she’s waiting outside if you need her.”

“I’m okay for now, just tired.” She says meekly. She looks up to find him assessing her with a gaze that seems a little too invasive. She can’t help but tell him more upon seeing the look. “I haven’t been able to sleep- with the nightmares.” She admits.

“You seemed okay until I left you, I’m sorry. I needed to check in with Seokjin-hyung without letting him into the room.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Instead of any more easy conversation that they usually have, there’s silence that only seems to grow at what has been unsaid. They’re in a damn hospital for crying out loud. Namjoon literally got questioned by the police and she won’t feel safe for a long time. It’s all waiting to be spilled right here in this uncomfortable bed in the most uncomfortable room.

“Did they tell you what happened?”

“I should go and let Maria come in.”

They both speak at the same time.

“What?” Y/N asks first, voice a little high in wanting. Why would he just leave suddenly?

“Oh, no they didn’t tell me. I didn’t know if you’d want to so I did ask but, after some clarity of realizing that you’re okay, I just want to wait until you tell me as much as you want to give.”

His response is like whiplash after his announcement of leaving, so instead she keeps the conversation on one topic.

“I don’t want to tell you until I’m out of here. I hate it here.” She admits. Anything is better than the drabby shelters she’s been in and out of- and definitely better than the dried-up bridges she’d sleep under. But, this place always feels so cold and unwelcoming. It reminds her of her first visit to the hospital and seeing doctors for the first time. It was so invasive despite being needed- even if she was thankful, it was all so fast.

“Whenever you want.” Is all he says in a voice that proves he’s just tip-toeing.

“Why did you want to leave?” She finally asks.

“Maria said you weren’t being verbal with her, so I just thought maybe you wanted to talk to her, especially because you haven’t seen her for a few hours. I just want you to be comfortable.”

She could never get mad at him- she probably could in the right circumstance- so she just gives him a sigh that gives in to whatever he says. He’s right in a sense anyways.

“Yeah I should talk to her, you should get back home to your pack anyways. I’m sure they’re worried about you.” She answers with honesty. She can’t keep him here away from them just because she doesn’t feel safe yet. Even if the only place she has felt safe is in his arms, she can’t burden him with that.

“I’ll go let them know-”

“Just Maria.” She says far too quickly.

“Okay, just Maria. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He leaves with an air to him that was far more tentative than earlier. Where did it go wrong? What line did they cross that has them both walking on eggshells? It always feels so fine with him, airy and refreshing in a way that allows her to finally breathe and have no worries in the world. Why is it that it changes so quickly sometimes? What is being left unsaid that she’s too inexperienced or immature to realize?

“Hey sweetie.” Maria comes in with the normal softness she had even before this happened. But this time, Y/N can tell that she’s been crying. Her eyes look tired, red-rimmed, and far too down-turned to just be a caring stare.

“Hi.”

“How are you feeling?” She asks, causing Y/N to place the blanket back over her body to stop the chill of the room from finding her unprepared.

“I’m okay.”

“That’s good.” She sits in the same chair Namjoon did when he first came to see her. Again, an edge of tentativeness creeps into her mannerisms. He hands fidget in her lap and her eyes begin to water again. Y/N immediately pushes forward at the sight.

“I didn’t think it’d come to this. Ya’know I thought I could make a safe space for you. One where you’d never have to worry about getting hurt.” Her lip wobbles in a way that has Y/N’s own eyes watering up in response. “I’m so sorry this happened. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.” It’s inevitable when flashes of last night creep into her mind. She closes her eyes, pushing them down and down until later when she can fight them on her own.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I will take the blame, if it helps to take some of the blow.”

“That’s not fair, you know that’s not fair.” Y/N almost pleads.

“I knew there would be more consequences, if not directly made in my direction, definitely in yours when the organization paired us together. I mean- I knew there’d be legal proceedings that I’d have to handle that I really would do anything to get us out of, but I know they’d be hard on you. So, when the organization called earlier-”

Her choked sob that she swallows to keep going on has Y/N panicking now. Thankfully, it’s not enough to cause her the same panic as before, but it’s definitely enough to have her sitting up straighter, her ears perked and tail wrapped into an unbearably tight hold.

“The hospitalization mixed with the police involvement isn’t taken lightly- as it shouldn’t be- but the organization has protocols in place. With our case, there will definitely be a rehoming done.”

Y/N really didn’t know what exactly the protocol would be, other than the very few more common occurrences that the organization workers informed her of incase she needed to report them without the homeowners knowing. The shock of how quickly everything is moving has her completely blocking out Maria. She can’t comprehend just how awful it would be to transition to a new home in a time like this. She can’t fathom how Maria feels and- to be horribly honest- she’s worried about how Maria and Richard will cope with whatever it is they are exactly going to go through. Despite what she feels for Richard, she can’t help but feel like this was her fault.

Namjoon

Stepping into the house after everything this morning is like walking into quicksand. The feeling of being pulled farther and farther into some irreversible thing is sickening. Not because of the unavoidable situation, but because of how many things could go wrong now.

Taehyung is on him in seconds, trying his best to scent and pry answers out with pleading eyes and whimpers.

“Let’s get everyone together and talk, so I only have to have this conversation once.”

Luckily everyone is home, with some that have work schedules on the weekend- such as Yoongi who coaches kiddie basketball and had two early games this morning- it is hard to have everyone together before noon. But somehow it’s happened and he’s extremely lucky to see his pack all in one place. The events of today have made him so eager to make sure his pack is safe and home. Even if they all watch him with different levels of questioning eyes, he’d rather they be safe and expectant than not here at all.

“So far, legally, it seems to be a clean case- though I still have no idea what exactly happened.” He’s speaking before he even realizes it, standing in front of everyone sitting and standing in the living room.

“Y/N is…okay. She’s not comfortable in the hospital so she doesn’t want to tell me yet, but she’s just- she’s hurt yes. She’s bruised and scratched in ways that will heal, but it’s really just her mental state that can’t be healed measurably.”

Namjoon seems to pause for no other reason than anxiety. He really didn’t think about this enough, this conversation in this circumstance. They’re all so patient as they wait, even Taehyung who has to be squeezed between Jimin and Hoseok to sit still.

“When I introduced Y/N, it wasn’t with ulterior motives other than to help her build relationships. Yes, I was also interested in a friendship with her before this- that and the opportunity for Taehyung and her to have each other for their cheetahs was all I wanted. But, I have to be honest with myself. And with you all.”

He gets a reassuring squeeze of his hand from Seokjin that makes him take a deep breath he didn’t know he needed. It’s never been him that brought up another potential pack member. It’s always one of his sociable mates that seem to be glued to someone or have a certain glow when they get home after a one-off encounter. He’s never minded it, he even welcomed it as long as they were a good fit for his home and all the people he cared about. But now, it feels like rejection is imminent.

“Y/N is someone that unexpectedly made me feel so warm. Even if I was away from her, I always wished that she was thinking of me the way she thought of me and it’s- embarrassing honestly. Because I had just met her, and I wanted to get to know her faster than I thought was possible. I didn't want to say it in this context, I didn't want it to feel rushed and unprepared because I really do care about you guys and your opinions more than anything, but I also really care about her- in a way that feels filled with potential."

"Hyung." Jimin suddenly speaks up, catching Namjoon's attention immediately.

"I don't mind- I don't think any of us mind that you found someone you're interested in. I think it's obvious we enjoy having a big family- and Y/N was so sweet. But…this only feels rushed because it sounds like you have something else to propose." Jimin says while a few others in the pack nod at his addition. Namjoon can only give a heavy sigh before proceeding.

"I'm sorry this happened this way- I will do it another time. When things hopefully work out or fall apart. I promise I'll come back to this. But, the most important part to discuss is- because of this incident, Y/N will need to be rehomed as soon as she's out of the hospital and ready. Until then she'd be in a shelter that's far too cramped."

"Namjoon, are you saying that someone we met once is to be rehomed with us?" Yoongi asks, using a tone that proves this conversation is not going to go as smoothly as planned.

"I'm not stating or implying it's underway. It's something I am suggesting that we talk about the possibility that our home is a safe place that she needs until she can get her feet on the ground or wherever it takes us. But, for now, a safe home."

"I want her here." Taehyung states without looking at any of the others.

"I'd love to hear more thoughts." Namjoon almost pleads.

"Is she even going to feel safe here?" Hoseok asks, looking wearily at the pack around him.

"I still have to talk to her after this, but I want her to at least have options. Her here, safe in this house, would be the best for her- other than that I'll have to figure it out if you guys aren't comfortable."

"She's really nice, and I felt okay around her. I know you guys make me feel safe. I want her to have that as well." Jungkook speaks up, seeming to have an overall effect on the group. Reminding everyone that they've done this before.

They've taken Jungkook in when the shelter kicked him out and in his attempts to flee he ended up hiding in their backyard as a bunny, nibbling on Seokjin's plants to get some type of food. He wouldn't shift for weeks, and it had Taehyung so perplexed by the little bunny's tolerance for lack of skin to skin contact.

"If we all agree, how would we care for her? She's not going to feel safe automatically, and she's going to need care that we aren't familiar with yet." Yoongi says logically.

"I work from home and will take full responsibility for her. I just want everyone to feel comfortable with her and for her to have a place to heal and keep her relationships. I want everyone to be okay with that before going through."

There's a thoughtful silence, before Seokjin speaks, starting the final decisions.

"I will help Namjoon take care of her, I enjoyed her company and I think that it's best to help others when we're so closely presented the opportunity to- no matter what it leads to."

"I still think the same. She'll be safe here, it's what's best, especially since she's a cheetah." Jungkook agrees again.

"I want her here." Taehyung plainly says again.

"I think her safety at the moment would be best, and Namjoon's judgment is the reason he's the pack leader. I trust you, Joonie-hyung." Jimin adds.

"I agree, and she was sweet and seemed like she needed us to bring her out of her shell, I think she could thrive with hybrids." Hoseok joins.

Everyone seems to turn and look at Yoongi at the same time, knowing that his disapproval changes the whole situation. Namjoon would come up with something else if he didn't want her to stay with them, he's okay with that as long as he can provide something for her.

"I trust you Joon-ah, I told you I don't think you'd ever hurt us. You know I'm just protective of our peace. As long as we can deal with everything as a pack, not just you and her with her needs and changes in behavior- I'm down. We are a pack, we act like one, even if she's not an official member yet."

Namjoon holds onto that 'yet', all the agreements, and the hope he has that Y/N takes this home into consideration.

Y/N

“Alright miss L/N, I’ll be your attorney in any possible cases that may be opened for testimonies and questioning. At the moment, there is enough evidence for detectives and a judge to have a tight self-defense case- but Leonord’s wife could sue for a few reasons and that is her choice, so in those cases I will be defending you free of charge through the re-homing organization. Sounds good so far?”

The lady is quite nice, despite having to sit in the most uncomfortable chair and being in another bright room. Y/N is just happy to have information on everything when it seems no one wanted to tell her anything. She’s still getting flashbacks to last night, to how similar it was to those other times- the only difference being the confidence she was able to obtain having healthy relationships and a roof to live under.

“Sounds good. But- I have a question.”

“Of course.”

“Do you know anything about the re-homing situation?”

“Legally, the organization has to immediately extract you from the home you were in where the incident happened. Even if this was a random incident, or if there was a happenstance that was not the homeowner’s fault or cause- the organization has to deem that home unsafe and thus wants to keep the hybrid’s wellbeing in mind above all.”

“Don’t people have to know about what I did when getting information to home me?” The lady gives her a flash of pity at that, immediately causing Y/N’s stomach to drop.

“Yes, the potential homes will need to know why you are being re-homed with as much information as legally available. But, you case is not-”

She cuts her off after she gets her answer, zoned out to think about all the ways she would be perceived in a time like this. She wouldn’t be re-homed. She’d end up in another shelter that has hybrids packed in like prison cells. She’d have to figure out who is safe and who’s not based solely on looks and conversations she’d rather not have at all.

“Miss L/N?” The attorney says, finally pulling Y/N’s attention onto her again.

“Sorry, I’m listening.”

“I have questioning records containing a Kim Namjoon? You know him personally, correct?”

“Yeah, he’s from the organization, we’re…friends. I was visiting him and his pack yesterday before I was driven home and-” She stops, knowing that the attorney knows everything already.

“I work with him, through the law firm. He’s in charge of hybrid cases in our offices, specifically for hybrid shelters.”

“Okay.”

“I would talk to him about information in the re-homing process.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think he’ll have more information for you that will help you in the process.” She gives her a small smile that she can’t even figure out in the context.

“Sure.” Is all she can say, confused and temples pounding from everything I’ve had to process in the past 24 hours.

‘Wanna have dinner together?’

Y/N stares at the confusing text from Namjoon. He does remember that she’s in the hospital, right? The fleeting thought of Namjoon sending this to another girl has reeling into more thoughts that make the first one not so fleeting. Just to make sure he’s not insane right now, she answers.

‘Yeah.’

It takes no time for her hospital room door to open and Namjoon to already be waltzing in with a bag of goodies she can’t pinpoint but can smell. And god, do they smell good. By the time he's up close and opening the bag she can't help but pinpoint her focus on the food he's pulling out rather than whatever he's saying. He finishes opening the containers with a little wave of his hands and pride on his face.

"Seokjin made everything, it's still warm since he just made it, but I thought I'd share it with you."

"What if I had said no?"

"I would've left the food and went on my way after checking up on you. Either way you're fed and I'm happy."

"I'm starting to see how much you and Taehyung have in common." Y/N states, giving him a small smile that in turn stops Namjoon in his tracks for some reason.

"Yeah, we, uh, we were the first of the pack. We found each other in a shelter." Namjoon says, taking his container of perfectly portioned foods and starts to eat.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, it was only a few years ago that I finally got out of there thanks to the organization. There's a lot more to talk about, but, yeah we were the first."

"The organization? You were-"

"A case? Yeah. I was in a shelter for a year, the longest they kept predators like me. The organization puts money into those in the shelters that are about to be kicked out to fend for themselves. I got lucky, extremely lucky. I met Taehyung in there and promised him I’d be back no matter what. I worked to push away all my hate for humans and what they’d done to those like me- I worked alongside them and was able to carve a place for myself in society. It took me almost exactly a year, but Taehyung is a year younger than me so I was able to get to him in time. Well, perfect timing- because his time as a predator was also up and instead of having to pay a large sum to a shelter that definitely didn’t deserve it I was able to just show up on the day he was released by them with nothing provided for his survival. I had my own little apartment by then and was able to afford to regularly donate to the organization. I scored an amazing job with lots of training, and with Taehyung’s help I was able to shut down that shelter and rehome all those inside of it. Sadly, a lot went to the organization’s shelters. But, they’re the best bet they have, really. They got the care they needed there, nonetheless.”

Hearing Namjoon’s story for the first time clicks things into place that seemingly weren’t as snuggly fit in as she thought they were. His kindness towards her no matter how she acted towards him, the amount of time and effort he put into volunteering and thus her, and the amount of truth behind his words when he voices his thoughts and concerns for her. It all finally presses into the crevices that were ready to fall apart in time of being disappointed. It’s as if a glowing hue of blue settles around him as she stares at him, watching him eat, watching him move. It’s odd to feel this way about someone, when she never had the luxury to even ‘like’ a person before. Now, she feels something deep in her gut- something that wants her to memorize every piece of him, every little breath and quirk of his features.

“What’s that look for?” Namjoon asks with an amused smile, pulling her out of the trance. But, it’s not a trance when that safe aura sticks to him even when she’s paying attention to the mundane current happenings.

“I don’t know.” She says honestly- she has no clue what it all means. But how awful would it feel if it ended? “You’re just, admirable.”

“I just wanted to do my best for him and myself.”

“That’s hard for a lot of people.” She says, mostly referring to herself.

“Nah, people just don’t give themselves enough credit. We’re all here just trying to live and search for something fulfilling.” Namjoon shoots back.

“Yeah. I guess.” Her heart clenches at his words. Fulfilling. Whatever she has with him could just be fulfilling, thus it’s a reason for her to keep trying.

“Namjoon.” She tries to get his attention. He only looks up at her in question.

“I met an attorney. One that mentioned she works with you.” She stirs around her still uneaten rice and veggies to get some courage to go on. “She told me to ask about the rehoming situation? Do you know why?”

His look alone is enough to tell her he does, but he doesn’t immediately say anything.

“I, uh, yeah-” he sets down his bowl of food before going on, preparing himself for something that she’s suddenly scared to find out. “I contacted her earlier today. That’s honestly, probably, why she got to talk to you so quickly. I kinda- Well I kinda asked her what the process would be like to suggest a home for you that isn’t on the official list, but is home to a volunteer.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if there’s any perfect way to suggest this, but- I knew about the protocol the organization has in place for something like this, and I knew you would need to be rehomed. I’m in a position where I could- help.” He pauses before finishing. “Well, we could, my pack.”

“Namjoon.” She can’t get anything else out.

“I talked to them after leaving this morning. I just needed to discuss it and make sure that this was something that they were all okay with, and we are a large family so it needs to be well-conversed. They all are okay with it, and I know it’s going to take a ton of effort and planning and consideration on my part- I’m not taking this lightly at all. That’s the only reason I contacted her so fast, I just wanted to make sure that this was something that could be done before even bringing it up to you. I don’t want to ever give you false hope or feel like you can’t trust me or what I say- so I’ve really thought about it and all the guys have as well. We could share our home with you if you’d like. I’d like you to be a part of it.”

She can’t tell if it’s a feeling of instant relief, so quickly having left her body that she’s nauseous- or she’s just nauseous in general over the thought of her actually having this option. It could also be the fact that Namjoon truly cares with his whole being, it feels like. Living with his damn pack after a police investigation done on her that had him questioned. Living with his pack after meeting them once and sharing little awkward conversations. Living with his pack of seven guys that all seem to be totally okay with it. It’s the first that drives her the most mad.

“You don’t even know what I did.”

“You said you didn’t want to tell me right now. I respect that- and I trust you, Y/N.”

“Why? Why would they all agree and why-” She can’t even comprehend the consideration they’re taking.

“In the most basic way possible- we are hybrids that have been in shit positions before, they all vary and they all have their own story to tell, but we care about each other no matter what. We know what it’s like to not have anyone, or to finally find someone and try to lock onto them to keep safe and protected. It’s the animal in us that needs to form a pack, and that isn’t something as simple as human words can tell. It feels right- having you around.”

If he tells it in that way- animal instincts and such- it makes more sense. But it still doesn’t excuse the human part of her that did what it did. Hell, she’s sure her cheetah played a large role in what she did. Right now, though, she wants to hold onto this hope, and she wants to have something that isn’t just temporary or pity-filled. This is the best choice she has, being safe in the pack home, with Namjoon and Taehyung especially. She’ll have a chance to learn more about her cheetah more often and she can finally learn about other hybrids. If anything, Namjoon will hear what she did and will decide against keeping her there, and then she can figure it out. But for now, she has a chance to be safe. That’s all she wants right now.

“I have another deal to make.”

“Lemme hear it.”

“If I accept and you hear what I’ve done and you change your mind afterwards-” Namjoon looks as if he’ll speak but she gives him a pointed look. “If you change your mind, then I will find an alternative through the system and deal with my own consequences accordingly. If I accept and you hear what I’ve done but feel as though it doesn’t change your comfort, then I will need something to do. I can’t live with you for free as someone who’s not a part of the pack. Whatever you decide that fits my schedule, I will help around the house.”

“As pack leader-” Namjoon holds out his hand for her to grab onto, his warmth immediate and addicting. “You have a deal.”

#bts au #bts fic #namjoon au #namjoon x reader #bts x fem!reader #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #bts hybrid au #bts hybrid fic

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spotsandsocks · 1 year ago

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WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the lovely and talented @spaceprincessem @honestlydarkprincess @daffi-990 @wikiangela @hoodie-buck

The Lost and The Found (Shifter fic (again) sorry ) let’s say hello to Athena 😊

A noise cuts the tension and all heads turn to the opening of the fire house. The police siren sounds out once and then Athena climbs out of her car and saunters forward.

Buck feels better immediately. Hen must have called her; Bobby’s mate and police officer combined. He tries hard not to grin. He wouldn’t want to go up against his “step-mom” in any of her forms.

Athena’s wolf is the largest of them all and a beautiful deep gray. Her eyes are golden when she changes. Nowhere near as cold as the brown eyes fixed on the invaders to her pack’s home are now.

“Do we have a situation here?” She stops, hands resting on her hips, eyebrow quirked in query.

“Officer.” Bobby greets her smoothly, no hint of his feelings for this woman on display. “I’m sure there’s nothing here that need trouble you.” He turns from his wife to face the intruders again. “These people were just leaving, nothing for them here.”

The smile on Athena’s face is as cold as her eyes. “Excellent, I’ll walk them out.”

@monsterrae1 @underwater-ninja-13 @rogerzsteven @shortsighted-owl @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @loserdiaz @bekkachaos @thekristen999 @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz @buddierights @wildlife4life @thewolvesof1998 @heartshapedvows @wildlife4life @stagefoureddiediaz @eddiebabygirldiaz @exhuastedpigeon @weewootruck @housewifebuck @giddyupbuck @the-likesofus hope that’s everyone if you want to play tag u it

#buddie #buddie wip #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fic

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spicymotte · 9 months ago

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New Babylon Hellhound // Teaser 02

more from my first draft for Anton's debut story :')

(content warning for murder.. because this is a crime story)

The Museum of History and Science. It's an expensive building, looks a bit like the ancient buildings of the Romans - that's what Anton thinks to himself every time he's here - not that that happens very often.

"Hey, whoa-" A policeman steps forward as the private detective approaches the tape. "Not for civilians."

"Seriously, Benson?" Anton snorts. "You know damn well who I am, asshole." But the policeman doesn't move. He looks at the private investigator in front of him with silent disgust and licks his muzzle.

"Commissioner Viva's orders," he finally says, his lips curling into a smug grin. "No civilians." He stresses the words carefully, hoping to hit a sore spot. He doesn't.

"And what do you call this, hm?" Anton reaches into the inside pocket of his coat and pulls out his wallet, holding up his detective's licence. "If you can read, pooch, I'm not a civilian."

At the word 'pooch', the policeman's neck muscles tense, his fur bristles under his uniform and the top button of his shirt quivers with tension.

"Which one of us is the pooch, huh, hellhound?" he growls, baring his front fangs. "Some detective you are if they don't even want you in the lower circles of hell."

"At least I'm not a crossbreed," Anton replies, leaning forward so that only a few inches separate him from the deer wolf's trembling muzzle. The policeman's growl becomes deeper and throatier, a clear warning; the other wolves begin to watch the two men more closely. Anyone who messes with one of them will have the whole pack on his back.

"That's enough." A sharp voice disperses the crackling tension before it can explode. The wolves' ears twitch back to where Commissioner Viva stands at the top of the stone steps. Her mere presence is enough to bring the pack to its senses and bring a reluctant but obedient calm to her team. "Pinej, to me. You're not going to let us work in peace anway."

Reluctantly, Benson takes a step back and lets Anton slip under the tape. He quickly reaches the top of the stairs, under the stern gaze of Team Wolf.

"Why are you dragging these dogs with you?" Anton asks the Commissioner as she leads him into the museum. "We both know they're not the brightest lights. And with all that stench of blood, their noses are worthless, too." The reception hall is swarming with police officers; the rest of Team Wolf, as well as forensic experts from Police Headquarters, are present and going about their business. Securing evidence, keeping civilians out and looking important in their blue uniforms. Viva doesn't answer right away, but she sighs, knowing he's right.

The large whale skeleton hanging from the ceiling hovers over them like a bad omen - then it hits Anton's nose: The foul stench of rotting flesh and blood. The stench is still faint here, but it hints at how bad it will be in the main exhibition. He won't be allowed to smoke here, not with a commissioner as strict as Viva - so Anton doesn't even have to try. Though as he follows the woman, he fumbles in his coat for the dirty handkerchief that has been stuck in one of his pockets for weeks.

"The mayor insists on having the best noses at the crime scene - you know, for the press," Viva replies, leading him past the colourful souvenir shop and down the central corridor. Her tone is tired and tense, as if she's had a hell of an early morning. "No matter how stupid it is to send a pack of wolves to such a bloody crime scene, damn it. They can barely hold it together as it is…" The snakes in the Medusa-born's hair begin to hiss angrily and Anton takes half a step to the side, out of biting range. The heads snap at him, trying to make room for their frustration; they weren't poisonous, but a bite hurts.

"The director was killed?" he asks. "My source tells me it's not a pretty sight."

"Your source is right," Viva replies as they arrive at the large double doors outside the main exhibition. "Eleanor Marv was tortured, killed and finally hanged post mortem." Before they go in, Viva turns to Anton. Her gaze is firm, but also tinged with concern. "This is going to get ugly," she says. "She was the first pixie to work in such a high position. The press will be on this like flies."

Anton grumbles in agreement. "I read about it in the paper. The first pixie as director of the museum - there were some people who didn't like it. Lots of suspects."

"Hundreds," Viva confirms. "From all walks of life. I reckon somebody paid some poor soul from the Bottle District to make this mess. It wasn't done professionally, more sloppiness than anything else."

The investigator nods in understanding. If someone wanted to remove Mrs Marv from her position, it makes sense to get some poor sod with nothing to lose. That waters down the trail and does the dirty work for you. No wonder Viva brought him right in. This case will end up in the really dirty ditches, Anton can feel it.

"Let's go then." A policeman opens the door for the two investigators and the first breeze from the room hits them with a bitter stench. Anton immediately presses the dirty handkerchief to his face to ward off the worst. But the smell quickly passes through the fibres and settles at the back of his throat, where it remains like a disgusting fuzz.

"How long has she been there?" he asks in a hushed voice.

The room is large; it is an exhibition of the treasures found in an ancient royal tomb in South America. Golden artefacts are displayed in glass cases, with information about their origin written on small cards. The treasure is estimated to be at least 1900 years old, making it one of the oldest artefacts in the museum. It consists of hand-forged plates and cups, hair ornaments and bracelets. They are made of gold and decorated with precious stones; quite pompous and valuable. Then, the main attraction of the exhibition: a set of two daggers, with intricately carved obsidian blades, obviously intended to be wielded by the king. This naturally attracts the crowds, all wanting to see this great treasure. Bathing in the golden glow of the exhibition, which would only be on show for a limited time. But in the middle of this exciting exhibition, hanging by a heavy wire rope around her wrists and neck, was the now former director, Eleanor Marv.

#New Babylon Hellhound #my writing #hi hello thank you for reading #this is from my first draft teehee #btw NBH Voume 01 will be free once it's done! no dollaroos to pay!

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unknownworlds4 · 1 year ago

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As we near the end of pride month, I would like to celebrate a number of LGBTQ+ figures that may be unknown to some.

Alan Turing (1912 - 1954)

Alan Turing was British mathematician, cryptologist, and computer scientist who is credited as the founder of modern computer science and artificial intelligence. During World War II, he worked for Britain’s Government Code and Cypher School at Bletchley Park, leading the effort to decrypt German naval intelligence. Turing created a number of methods and devices that helped crack the German Enigma Code and allowed the allies to read German intelligence and allow allied ships to avoid U-Boat ‘Wolf-packs’. Turing’s work was pivotal in helping the allied victory in the war. Sadly, Turing was arrested in 1952 for homosexual acts and convicted of ‘gross indecency’. He accepted chemical castration as an alternative to prison. In 1954, was found dead from suicide by cyanide poisoning. It’s believed that Turing’s work helped shortened the war by several years.

Harvey Milk (1930 - 1978)

Harvey Milk was a politician and the first openly gay man to serve in public office in the United States. Milk moved to San Francisco in 1972 and took up residence in the Castro District, a neighborhood that was heavily populated by lesbians and gay men, and opened a camera store called Castro Camera. Milk became involved in politics because of civic issues and policies that drew his ire. Homosexuality was still heavily persecuted in the city at the time. In 1973, he announced his declared his candidacy for city supervisor. However, he faced a negative reception from the established gay political scene and lost the election. He lost his second election two years later. By this point, Milk had become a leading figure in the gay community, known as the “Mayor of Castro Street”, and had allies that included Mayor George Moscone, Assembly Speaker Willie Brown, and future Senator Diane Feinstein. Finally, in 1978, Milk was elected to the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, inaugurated January 8. During his tenure he was involved in a number of issues including childcare, housing, and police reform. Sadly, he only served eleven months in office before he, along with George Moscone, was assassinated by former supervisor Dan White, who was against many of Milks policies. Today, Harvey Milk is considered an icon of San Francisco and a martyr of the LGBTQ movement.

Rose Cleveland (1846 - 1918)

Rose Cleveland was the sister of U.S. President Grover Cleveland and, as such, acted as First Lady of the United States from his inauguration until he married Frances Folsom in 1886. After leaving the White House she became a teacher, writer, and lecturer in Indiana. At age 44 she started a romantic relationship with wealthy widow Evangeline Marrs Simpson. They exchanged numerous letters, some with explicitly erotic imagery. The relationship cooled after six years after Simpson married Episcopal preacher Bishop Henry Whipple, despite Cleveland’s protests. After Whipple died in 1901, their relationship resumed. Cleveland and Evangeline moved to Bagni di Lucca, Italy in 1910, where they cared for Evangeline’s ill brother and settled there after his death. They lived there together until Cleveland died during the 1918 Influenza Pandemic. After her death, Evangeline wrote “the light has gone out for me…the loss of this noble and great soul is a blow that I shall not recover from”. Evangeline died in 1930 and is buried in the cemetery in Italy next to Rose. Many of their letters remain an important part of LGBTQ history.

Andy Warhol (1928 - 1987)

Andy Warhol was an American artist, director, and producer who was a leading figure in the pop art movement of the 1950’s to 1970’s. This movement focused on combining fine art with elements of popular culture, hence the name pop art. Warhol’s paintings focused on mass produced consumer goods and celebrity portraits. Warhol’s most famous pieces include Campbell’s Soup Cans (1962), Green Coca-Cola Bottles (1962), Marilyn Diptych (1962), and Mao Tse-Tung (1972). He also directed and produced experimental films including Empire (1964) and Chelsea Girls (1966). His New York City gallery, The Factory, was a popular gathering place for artists, musicians, actors, socialites, and celebrities. In 1966, he became the manager of rock band The Velvet Underground, which became the house band of The Factory. In 1969, he created Interview magazine, which features interviews with celebrities, artists, musicians, and other creatives. Warhol lived openly as a gay man before the gay liberation movement and had a series of male partners. He said his sexuality was a major influence of his work. Warhol died on February 22, 1987 due to complications from a gallbladder surgery. Andy Warhol is regarded as one of America’s most famous visual artists.

Gladys Bentley (1907 - 1960)

Gladys Bentley was an American blues singer, pianist, and entertainer during the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920’s and 1930’s. Her career took off after performing at Harry Hansberry’s Clam House, a well known gay speakeasy in New York City. She gained popularity as a black, lesbian, cross dressing performer. She performed in men’s clothes and was backed up by a chorus of drag queens. She sang with a deep, growling voice, and took popular songs and added her own raunchy lyrics while flirting with women in the audience. Despite being openly lesbian in the beginning of her career, she later started wearing dresses and married during the more conservative 1950’s in order to adapt to the mindset of the time period. Bentley died of pneumonia in 1960 and is remembered as an icon of both the LGBTQ and Black communities.

Willem Arondeus (1894 - 1943)

Willem Arondeus was an openly gay Dutch artist and writer who fought for the Dutch resistance against Nazi occupation during World War II. Prior to the war, he wished to work as an artist, but he found very little popularity, so he turned to writing instead. After Germany occupied The Netherlands, Arondeus joined the Resistance Movement, publishing underground periodicals and forging documents. His most famous endeavor, was his involvement in the bombing of the Amsterdam Civil Registry in 1943. The Civil Registry was established following the German invasion and occupation of the Netherlands in 1940 and was used to keep records of all residents of the country and identified those who were Jewish, resistance members, and those who could be called up for forced labor. On March 27, resistance members, including Arondeus, entered the building by disguising themselves as police officers and sedating the guards. They then piled all the documents on the floor and set of explosives. They fire department delayed putting out the fire and then doused the whole building with water. 800,000 ID cards were destroyed in total. Unfortunately, someone betrayed Arondeus and he was subsequently arrested, tried, and sentenced to death. Before his execution, his last words were “tell people that homosexuals are not cowards”.

Gilbert Baker (1951 - 2017)

Gilbert Baker was an American artist and designer who is the original creator of the LGBTQ Rainbow Pride flag. He joined the anti-war movement in the 1970’s where he met, and became friends with, Harvey Milk. Milk commissioned Baker to create a flag that could represent gay pride. Using the American flag as inspiration, Baker hand sew the original flag, which had eight colored stripes (two more than the modern version). Each color represents a different aspect important to the gay community: (from hot pink to violet) sex, life, healing, sunlight, nature, magic, serenity, and spirit. The flag was first flown in San Francisco on June 25, 1978, for gay pride day. Baker died in 2017, and is regarded as a major figure in the pride movement. Today there are many different variations of the Pride flag, with each one representing a different group from the gay community

Larry Kramer (1935 - 2020)

Larry Kramer was an American playwright, author, film producer, and gay rights activist, who worked to bring awareness to the AIDS crisis in the 1980’s. He began his career writing scripts for Columbia pictures, winning an Academy Award for the 1969 film Women in Love. After witnessing the disease later known as AIDS spread among his friends, Kramer became involved in gay activism. In 1982, Kramer co-founded Gay Men’s Health Crisis, now known as GMHC, which provides social services for those infected with AIDS, along with testing, legal assistance, and mental health support. It’s currently the largest AIDS assistance organization in the world After, growing frustrated with the government paralysis and apathy towards gay men, he wanted to engage in further action, so in 1987, he helped found the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power (ACT UP). ACT UP is a direct action protest organization that works to change legislation and public policy to end the AIDS crisis. ACT UP soon had chapters in cities all over the United States. The movement then spread internationally, with separate movements being established in other countries including the United Kingdom, Canada, France, India, and Germany. In 1992, Kramer wrote the play ‘The Destiny of Me’, which follows a character from his 1985 play ‘The Normal Heart’ seeking experimental treatment for AIDS. The play was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize. The Normal Heart debuted on Broadway in 2011, and was adapted into an HBO movie in 2014. Kramer died of pneumonia on May 27, 2020.

Bessie Smith (1894 - 1937)

Bessie Smith was an American blues singer, nicknamed the ‘Empress of Blues’. She was the most popular female blues singer of the 1930’s. Smith stated her career busking in the streets to help her family financially. In 1912, she auditioned for a music troupe that included blues legend Ma Rainey. She was originally hired as a dancer. Smith began her solo career at the 81 Theater in Atlanta, Georgia. She signed with Columbia Records in 1923. She made 160 recordings for Columbia, accompanied by some of the most famous musicians of the day including Louis Armstrong, Coleman Hawkins, Fletcher Henderson, and Sidney Bechet. She became the highest paid black entertainer of the day. Throughout her career, smith was apologetically herself, having affairs with both men and women. Some speculate her bisexuality was hinted at in the lyrics of her songs, including ‘boy in the boat’: “when you see two women walking hand in hand/Just look ‘em over and try to understand/They’ll go to those parties/Having the lights down low/Only those parties where women can go”. Sadly, her career was cut short in 1937, when she died at the age of 43 due to injuries sustained in a car accident enroute to Chattanooga, Tennessee. Her funeral was attended by more then 5,000 people. In 1989, she was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, with an entry saying her reign was “definitive, unprecedented, and glorious”.

James Baldwin (1924 - 1987)

James Baldwin was an American writer who gained critical acclaim across multiple forms, including essays, novels, plays, and poems. In 1953, he published his first book ‘Go Tell it on the Mountain’, a semi-autobiographical novel which tells the story of a young African American man who grew up in Harlem, New York City, and his relationship with his family and the Pentecostal Church. In 1998, Modern Library ranked the book 39th on its list of 100 best English language novels of the 20th century. In 2005, Time Magazine included the book in its list of the 100 Best Novels from 1923 (when Time was first published) to 2005. In 1956, Baldwin wrote ‘Giovanni’s Room’ whose main character was a gay American man living in Paris, France, who began an affair with an Italian bartender named Giovanni, whom he met at a Gay bar. Gay and Bisexual men are also frequently featured in his other works. His unfinished manuscript Remember This House was expanded and adapted in the 2016 Oscar nominated documentary I Am Not Your Negro, which won the BAFTA Award for Best Documentary. His 1974 novel ‘If Beale Street Could Talk’ was adapted into a movie in 2018, which won Best Supporting Actress for Regina King at the 91st Academy Awards, where the film was also nominated for Best Adapted Screenplay and Best Original Score. King also received Best Supporting Actress at the 76th Golden Globe Awards and 24th Critics Choice Awards. Both the National Board of Review and the American Film Institute included it in their top 10 films of 2018. Today, James Baldwin is considered one of the most famous LGBTQ writers in American history.

#history #queer pride #pride month #queer stuff #queer history #lgbtq #bisexual #homoseuxality #gay pride #pride 2023

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