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rue-king · 4 years ago

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Family Found, Family Taken

(AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32892439)

Masterlist, Next Part

Summary: Gavin is tired, so tired. He is tired of being the bad guy, but thats just who he is he's mean and unapproachable. He can't be replaced, he just can't, work is all he has left to tie him to this world. It is the only thing that proves he's not as terrible as he feels.

But when the fancy RK900 unit walks in, along with a terrible string of murders, Gavin is pushed backwards. He can't on this way anymore, but he doesn't think he is capable of change.

This is his last chance, he is Gavin's last chance.

Warnings: cursing

Chapter 1:

Gavin Reed is a mess. A walking tragedy. Rough on every edge and totally banged up. From the scar on his nose to the little marks on his knuckles.

If the scruffy appearance and constant 5 o’clock shadow doesn’t make it obvious then the darker than night eyebags and shitty attitude certainly does.

He looks rough, but he's not a bad guy, at least not internally. He's a man who feels too much and is easily hurt, but he would rather die than ask for help or express himself. The man has more baggage than an airport.

He’s bitter and cold, almost aloof in demeanor. A rabid dog with a muzzle on at all times, marked “dangerous don’t pet” only by fault of trusting too much.

A stray, left wondering all by his lonely self fulfilling prophecy of isolation.

A grade “A” mess.

He drags his sorry ass to the Detroit Police Station everyday and works himself to the bone because that's all he knows. It’s all he is able to do in order to tune out all the thoughts that he knows will drown him.

Not a team player in the slightest, but he's certainly one of the best detectives the DPD has seen in a long time. Stupidly efficient, his brain makes connections in ways that are unparalleled by his human peers. Too bad no one in the building likes him enough to let him know it.

Another consequence of his own actions, he is an asshole and he knows it. The only person he can call a friend is Tina Chen, but even then he feels as though she could do better. They all can. He is mean and cuts people off, unapproachable and snappy. Truthfully he’s surprised she's still around.

If it wasn’t for Fowler's firm hand he’d practically live in the building, it's not like he takes breaks anyway, but alas he has a shitty apartment with two demon babies to get back to anyway.

Bright and early on a Monday morning the man, the myth, the legend himself walks his groggy ass through the doors of the DPD. The caffeine withdrawal headache already encroaches on his brain and he sports a fresh set of bandages over his abused knuckles.

He keeps his head low and heads straight for the breakroom, aiming to get a cup of the worst coffee Detroit can offer. His reputation around the office has always been less than great, but ever since the android revolution his peers have been walking on eggshells around him.

He doesn’t blame them, it's not like he tried to hide his anti-android sentiment. He huffs quietly to himself, why would he care what those assholes think about him.

He prepares his shitty coffee and walks over to his shitty desk in the shitty bullpen. He’s dramatic like that. He doesn’t bother the anticipatory itch he feels deep in his chest that eggs him on to dive straight back into work. Like a craving, a workaholic.

Days are long and hard now that there has been mass losses in employment and crime skyrocketed. Reed just has to solve it all himself. Masochist.

He sits at his desk reviewing the last notes he took at the scene of his most recent case. Double homicide, suspected breaking and entering, but nothing was stolen.

He hears loud belly laughter come from the entrance of the bullpen, in comes Hank Anderson and his sidekick Conner.

Reed glances at the clock and snorts a bit.

Won’t you look at that, Hank Anderson is early for the first time in about a thousand years.

He shakes his head, and goes back to his notes. Normally he would throw out a rude remark or two, but he simply doesn’t have the energy today so he settles for an eye roll.

He is drop dead tired. Insomnia is a bitch and he hardly has an appetite anymore.

“Good morning Detective” Conner calls in a stupidly cheery tone.

“Fuck off” Gavin mutters back, his words lacking their usual bite. He just sounds defeated, deflated.

Conner hovers for a second longer in front of Gavin's desk. A second longer than usual, too long for Gavin’s liking. He moves his head up to call Conner out, but is met with nothing but air.

Whatever.

Gavin goes back to work, shuffling lightly under his desk. He is focused on nothing. Staring blankly at his own words in front of him, unable to comprehend what he is looking at. His mind is somewhere else, caught between nowhere and here.

He looks away quickly and puts his head in his hands.

Breathe in and out. Just focus, you idiot. Focus.

He rubs his eyes harder as the frustration moves like tides within his chest.

This is an improvement from Gavin Reed, if it were a few months ago he would've just slammed his hands on his desk and stalked off to go smoke. Not that anyone cares enough to know it of course.

He breathes in deep again and sets his mind to try one more time before he swears he’ll scream or something,

“Reed! My office now!” A deep yell calls out, breaking his second of peace. Fowler, of course.

He audibly groans. He hasn’t done anything wrong so why the hell would the captain want to see him.

“Ohhh, someones in trouble~” Tina Chen calls out, she’s barely walking into the area. She’s late, again Starbucks in her hand.

Not surprised.

“Bitch” he retorts, making his way toward Fowler's office. Tina laughs lightly and blows him a mocking kiss. Gavin just rolls his eyes.

Conner and Hank rise from their work stations to start after him.

Oh great, fan-fucking-tabulous. Reed huffs some more.

He opens Fowler's door with a hard swing, his patience slips away from him quickly.

The bad buddy cop flick duo follows behind him closely. Gavin elects to stay standing, way too anxious to sit and just accept whatever shit Fowler will be throwing at him.

Hank takes a seat, the other is already taken by Conner.

He does a double take, Conner is right next to him. Two Conners?

The not Conner turns a fraction.

“The fuck is this” Gavin questions and recieves a scathing look from Fowler.

Conner shuffles quietly next to him, the movement capturing his eye as it always does. Why does he look anxious, the fuck is wrong with him.

“Reed shut up and let me speak before you go butting in, '' Fowler dictates before continuing on, “this is RK900 and he will be assigned as your new partner.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t do partners, you know this Fowler. What makes you think I need one, much less that tin can.” Reed is quick to anger, well at least he has some energy now.

Has he not been efficient enough on his own? Fowler can’t just give him some pity babysitter to fix him up like Conner did with Hank.

“You do what I tell you to do, Reed. He is top of the line and you, annoyingly enough, have the best solve rates as of now. So he goes to you.” Fowler is strong with his statements and doesn’t leave room for arguing. Which doesn’t stop Gavin.

“What the fuck! That should mean that I don't need the help of that asshole! Dump him on someone else, it doesn’t make any sense!”

“Well you better make it make sense or else you can hand your badge over, Detective.” Gavin clenches his jaw, his eyes lit with anger.

“You don’t get any special privileges Reed, especially with your disciplinary file.”

Gavin huffs again shaking his head. “Well that doesn’t explain why these two are here” he gestures to Hank and Conner wildly with his hands. He treads more lightly with his words, he’s an idiot and a dick, but he will not lose his job over something as stupid as this.

“I asked them here in case you reacted poorly to this decision, much like you did” Fowler draws.

Yeah, yeah he's disappointed, when is he not.

“Yeah, quite the show you put on there, Reed” Hank mocks.

Go back to playing house, Hank.

Reed fumes, grinding his teeth. He could be so much meaner, but he holds back. All the energy that the anger gave him rapidly left his body and he’s left with tired resentment. A cold emptiness that leaves him chilly and lacking the will to continue fighting back.

“Are we done here?” He asks in a low tone, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“Well yes-”

It doesn’t matter what came after that, Reed saw the green light to leave.

“He‘s not well, Lieutenant”

“Conner it’s…”

He walks faster, escaping the muffled voices.

He sits back at his desk and grabs for his coffee. Empty already, great. He goes to make another cup, desperately wanting to get his mind off of the shitstorm that just happened.

Every other partner Reed has ever had did not last, they just couldn’t tolerate his shitty attitude. Essentially he ran them all off, like nannys to a terrible toddler.

This one will be no different, android or not, no one can put up with him for long. At least that's how Reed reassures himself.

Before he knows it he’s back at his desk, hot coffee in his hand and an absurdly tall knock off Conner in his way.

“The fuck out of the way, tin can” Gavin grumbles not even looking up to meet RK900’s eyes.

He doesn’t move.

“Did you not fucking hear me? Are you deaf, asshole?”

He moves a fraction, and Gavin takes it with a slight shoulder check to get to his seat.

Stupid not-Conner and his ugly fucking white jacket. Was gray not terrible enough?

Another small huff to himself. He’s been doing that more and more today.

He goes back to his notes. 5 minutes has passed and not-Conner continues to stand unmoving in front of Gavin’s desk.

He tries to ignore it, but he can’t stand seeing the stark white shadow in his peripheral vision. Looming like a cage starting to close in.

“Can you not just fuckin stand there like a freak?” Gavin snaps, finally looking the RK unit in the face.

Maybe he isn’t like Connor. RK is sharp and cold with defined cheekbones and pale blue eyes. Connor is warm in demeanor and soft where RK seems impenetrable and well… intimidating.

“I am assuming that that empty desk is mine to use?”

Even his voice is different, this one is firm and lower in pitch compared to Connor’s.

Reed lags behind a beat, taking in all the information he can from what's before him. RKs suit is clean and pressed, untouched by the qualms of living. He looks shiny and brand new, but the disdain in his eyes says otherwise.

His posture is stiff and the collar on his neck more so, making RK look down with his eyes and a miniature head tilt. It makes him look condescending, physically and metaphorically looking down on him.

Gavin curls his lip, dislike drags within him. “If it gets you to fuck off than yeah, knock yourself out, tincan.”

An hour or two, or three, passes. Gavin manages to transfer his written reports onto his terminal. Using the work to blissfully tune out the presence to his right. RK900 staring blankly at the terminal with a flashing yellow light circling at his temple.

Gavin has so many questions swirling around his head, but has too big of a pride to ask them. Asking would mean being civil and he is NOT going to do that. Instead he’s elected to just simply pretend that his brand new partner doesn’t exist at all. That's all he can manage with the lack of energy he has at the moment.

Besides, it's not like his fancy new plastic counterpart is aching to talk to him anyway. He just sits there with his perfect posture in perfect silence. For once Gavin is thankful for his ability to just fall into his work, because it provides the perfect distraction.

(stay tuned for the next chapter!)

#detriot become human #gavin reed #reed900 #upgraded connor #god i love angst #angst #slow burn #enemies to lovers #i love these idiots #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer

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thejollyroger-writer · 4 years ago

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THE WASTELAND - Chapter Four: THE ATHENAEUM // THE CABIN, Part 2

Some triggers: this story is rated TEEN, mostly for violence. It takes place during wartime, and some of the characters go through some violence and torture. If you need more information about this, please just message me!

SUMMARY: In a world that has been saturated in war for as long as anyone can remember, Emma Swan has rebuilt her life as far away from the chaos as possible, opening her own maternity hospital after spending too many years in makeshift battlefield aid stations. But one night, a bloodied and battered soldier finds her hospital trying to get away from an enemy with a penchant for torture and a personal vendetta against him. With the help of Emma’s childhood friend Prince David and a motley collection of humans and magic-wielders, the quest to save Killian Jones’ life from the poison used by the enemy takes them to places even beyond the known world.

a/n: Now we’re getting into some really deep worldbuilding shit, and even deeper magic. This chapter took me so long to perfect, continually questioning the viability of the magic and magic-teaching and the Atheneaum as a whole... hopefully it makes sense to everyone else!

Header and the art for every chapter by the lovely @spartanguard – special thanks to @cssns for making this monster happen!

Prologue on AO3 // Prologue on Tumblr // Chapter One (ART) // Chapter Two (ART) // Chapter Three (ART)

Chapter Four on AO3

ART

– – –

“I’m so proud of you, brother,” Killian says, clapping his hand on Liam’s shoulder as he fixes his collar in the mirror of their shared barracks.

Liam meets his eyes in the mirror, flashing a large smile before reaching around to wrap his arm around Killian’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Killy.”

If anyone else ever even tried to call him ‘Killy,’ he would probably throttle them, but no one has ever tried. Only Liam has ever come up with a nickname for him, and though he knows the tips of his ears turn red on the rare occasion Liam calls him ‘Killy’ in public, he would always take ‘little brother’ over that any day.

It wasn’t a lie, though: Killian is proud of his brother. Very proud. Today is his promotion — both of their promotions, actually, though Liam’s is a much bigger deal than his own.

The youngest admiral the Nephilysis military has ever seen. The only dryad to even become a high-ranking officer in the navy. Gold’s son, Baelfire, even called him the ‘most skilled fae’ he has ever seen. All because he has honed his abilities in a way no one ever expected, combining his air manipulation abilities with his love for the ocean and working with an Elder and a Fae to create a whole new system for travelling: the airship.

So today is more than a promotion for the elder Jones brother; it is also the day Liam gets a ship of his own, the perfect and pristine Jewel of the Realm, whose flying technologies include the best of everything Killian and Liam, with the help of Merlin and the rest of Gold's elders, have created over the last eight years working for Gold.

The ceremony, though filled with age-old traditions, does not take nearly as long as Killian anticipated, even with both of them receiving promotions: Liam to Admiral of the Jewel of the Realm and a small fleet of ships equipped for air travel and Killian as Captain, serving directly under his brother for the time being.

The ceremony does not take long, but the meeting that he and Liam have directly afterwards, where they are getting their first assignments in their new positions, is proving to be the opposite.

Killian had assumed that the only business of the meeting would be giving them their assignments, and he had been dead wrong. Instead of only them, he and Liam found themselves meeting with Gold’s entire war council, which included the Elders for each Nephilim faction, other admirals and generals from all across the Wasteland — not to mention the Prince and his band of Elders and guards, much younger and less traditional than Gold’s men. It’s a stark contrast in the room, really, between the Elders who follow Gold and those who follow his son, between those in traditional Nephilysis uniforms and those in jeans and sweatshirts. Killian would never dare to show up to a meeting with Gold the Elder, the King of Nephilysis, the man that he serves under, wearing jeans. Hell, he would be embarrassed to even be seen by the King of Nephilysis wearing jeans — but he supposes that Baelfire and his collection of followers lead a very different, and much more privileged, life than he does.

Finally, after what feels like hours — though, according to Killian’s wristwatch proves to only be an hour and a half — Gold turns his attention to the Jones brothers for the first time.

“Now, as for the newest members of this council,” he says, his voice odd in a way Killian struggles to describe, though slimy comes to mind. He smiles, though there is not a happy thing about it, more sinister than anything else. “Many of you should already know about Admiral Jones’ work with his airships, so now it’s time to give him and his small fleet of Captains their first destination. I’m very pleased that we are now able to go to far-off places thanks to the hard word of Admiral Jones, and so it is an honor to finally announce that he will be leading an expedition to somewhere my advisors and I have had our sights set on for a while now.”

He says nothing beyond this, waiting for every eye in the room to be on him. The last to look up, Killian notices, is Prince Baelfire, who rolls his eyes when he realizes what his father is doing, but looks up at him nonetheless. Finally, Gold turns back to Killian and Liam, that same sinister smile on his face again.

“Neverland!’ he says with a laugh even more sinister that chills Killian to the bone.

There is just something about him that Killian strongly dislikes but he can’t figure out what. He realizes, perhaps a moment too late, that he may have let his disgust with him show on his face, and tries to wipe off all expression --and then realizes exactly what Gold just said to them.

When he turns to Liam, his brother looks just as confused as he feels. “How is it I’ve studied maps of the world practically my whole life and yet I’ve never heard of this place, this Neverland?”

Gold’s slimy smile grows, somehow. It takes all of Killian’s energy not to cringe, though he’s useless against the confusion he feels when the Prince answers Liam’s question instead of the King. “Well, because Neverland isn’t on any map, it’s not somewhere you can navigate to.”

It’s time for Killian to voice his concern, turning to the Prince. “Then how are we supposed to get there?”

But Gold himself answers instead. “There’s only one man who has ever made it to the island and returned, so he is going to join you.” He gestures towards the door just as a young man — much younger than even the youngest recruits, Killian notices — pushes through the door, as if on cue. Out of anyone in the room, his eyes meet Killian’s, a smile just as sinister, if not more, than the King’s, spread across his face. “Admiral, Captain, this is Peter Pan.”

Liam slams the door to their barracks behind him, the anger that he’s been trying to keep off his face suddenly obvious.

“He can’t be serious, can he?” he practically yells, furiously pacing between the close walls of their cabin. “That Pan, he’s — he’s just a boy. He speaks so highly of himself, as if he has more knowledge than anyone else in the room.”

“I hate to say it, brother, but I do believe there is more to that boy than meets the eye,” Killian responds, sitting down on one of the chairs in their common area.

Liam whips around. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t — he could be…” He shakes his head, then rests it in his hands. “One of the books I read recently spoke of these… these beings who don’t age, who are from all of these weird lands, and I thought it was fantasy, just a myth, but then I saw this—this boy, and I got this… I don’t know, this feeling that he was one of them.”

“Killy, that’s insane.”

“I thought it was insane, too, but now I’m not too sure.”

Liam pushes his fingers through his hair, huffing, but sits down next to him anyway. “What else did your book say about them?” he asks finally, the words coming out slowly.

“Dark magic, Liam. They’re creatures of pure black magic.”

Liam shakes his head. “King Gold does a lot of things, brother, but I cannot believe that he would go to that extreme.”

“That’s not all. Not only are they dark magic, but the places they come from are the same, are home to the darkest magics of the world, items and poisons and weapons. This Neverland, I’ve never heard of it, but I can only imagine that it’s one of these places.”

He is still shaking his head. “No. No, I refuse to believe it. King Gold is— he’s corrupt, yes, but dark magic? That’s insane, Killian.”

“I’m just telling you what I read.”

Liam stands up again, continuing with his pacing where he left off. “Dark magic,” he whispers, scrubbing his face with his hand, then he starts to unbutton the jacket of his dress uniform. “You don’t think King Gold would send us on a mission to collect dark magic, do you?”

Killian does, a fear that he feels seeping into the deepest parts of him — but he just shakes his head. He may think Gold is evil enough to send them to a land of dark magic, but to say it out loud, even to his brother, would be treason. Bad form.

The gates to the Athenaeum loom above them, shining in the golden sunlight of the dawn. It took them a whole day’s drive to get there, opting to go around the bulk of the city instead of through it, hoping to keep as much attention off of them as they can, even if it meant adding another four hours in the car.

Regina has never much cared for the second entrance to the Athenaeum, never afraid to travel through the city because of her immunity, both an atheneid and an Elder on the Gale Council. But she understands how careful Emma and Mary Margaret want to be, being so close to the Prince himself.

With a huff, Regina checks her watch. It’s been almost a minute since she knocked on the door, and there has still been no sign of movement on the other side of the gate. Finally, one of the gates swings open, revealing a dark-skinned Naphilm soldier in a dress uniform — something Regina hasn’t seen for years, since she was a young woman studying to become an elder and an atheneid. Something she never thought she was going to see again once she left Nephilysis behind.

"State your business." His voice is sinister, angry, but he is unable to deny them access once Regina shows him her credentials as an atheneid, which allows her access to the Athenaeum and no questions asked about her allegiance. He doesn’t let them any further than inside the gates, though, barring them from walking any closer to the building.

Even still, Regina rolls her eyes when he stands in the middle of the path, keeping them from going any further. "We're here for a meeting with Magistra French, she's expecting us."

He doesn’t budge. "You're going to have to wait here for her to come get you."

Both Emma and Mary Margaret take a terrified look around, noticing all of the Nephilim in uniform around the building, both as guards and simply sitting in the gardens in the gated area around the Athenaeum, more than either of them have seen in a single place.

Regina stands her ground, conjuring a fire ball in her right hand without breaking eye contact with the guard. "Both you and I know that's not the protocol." Her voice is hard, confident, one she has had more than enough practice with as a member of King George’s council.

"Gold has changed the protocol," the guard growls. He tries to make himself taller, tries to tower over Regina, but he is still a few inches shorter than her in her heels.

Her fireball grows bigger., her eyes wider "He doesn't have the power to do that, not here."

"Tell him that yourself and see how willing to listen to you he is."

A flash of fear crosses her face, and the guard laughs, only to be stopped by the doors behind him opening to reveal the Magistra herself. She, unlike the guards, is dressed much more casually, in a pair of black jeans and a yellow button-down top. After narrowing her eyes towards the guard, who has now stepped to the side, she smiles at the three ladies, her eyes landing last on Emma, holding there for a moment before returning to Regina.

"Please, Regina, come in."

She has a thick accent, different than Emma has heard, though she assumes it’s from the southern parts of Nephilysis, perhaps even the islands off the coast, knowing the accents get stronger the further from the Wasteland.

“Thank you for travelling all the way out here, ladies,” she says, leading them through the entryway to the building and through the stacks. “And on such short notice.”

“Thank you for seeing us,” Mary Margaret says, voicing the words that Emma is somehow unable to vocalize.

Instead, she is focused on the sights around her, the wooden stacks of books that stretch to the high ceilings. Emma has been to some of the smaller universities around the Gale, traveling with Johanna while honing her medical and magical abilities, or with David after she formally became personal aide to the prince, but none of them are anything like this, even the biggest ones in the Gale.

Emma has always wondered — silently, never voicing her questions — why this is the place that every Elder must come to study the arts under the Magistra, thanks to an order by one of the previous King Gold’s (Emma can’t remember which one, never needing to memorize it for academia.)

But she understands it now, following the Magistra and Regina through the building with Mary Margaret taking the rear. There are rows and rows of books in every direction, seemingly endless in the monstrous building. Every once in a while, the repetitive rows are dotted with a collection of tables; broken by a staircase, leading to another floor; or a small study room surrounded by glass walls, some of them covered in writing from the people inside.

Belle leads them up one of these sets of steps and down a small hallway, placing her hand against a biolock not unlike the ones Emma uses in the hospital to open one of the identical doors. Emma notices the large, intricate “M” carved into the dark wooden door as she walks through it, and her suspicions are confirmed when she finds herself in a large office, the walls lined with bookshelves only broken by a window that overlooks a small courtyard. The books, she notices, are some of the oldest she has ever seen, and meticulously organized in some sort of fashion that puts the dusty, cracked ones with pages visibly falling out near the edges of the bookshelf, allowing the bulk of the entire middle to be lined with matching sets and collections of different-colored leather-bound volumes. Many of them do not have words printed on their spines, some of them only letters, if anything at all.

Belle sits down behind the desk, folding her perfectly-manicured fingers in front of her. She allows herself to look at each of them for a few seconds, once again ending with Emma, but this time she does not look away.

"Your phone call sounded urgent, please tell me what I can do to help."

Even though the call did not come from Emma, the question is obviously directed at her, but when Emma fails to voice any response, Regina speaks up. "Emma, this is your story, I think it's only fair."

She takes a small breath, gulps, then clears her throat. For some reason, just the thought of relaying the story to someone as important as an Atheneid — as the Magistra herself — brings a new sense of realness to their situation.

And with that comes a new sense of fear.

From the first time she felt the way the wound on Killian's chest reacted to her magic, she found herself afraid to share it with anyone, sure that it was some sort of secret that she would never be able to discover the meaning behind. (Sure that Killian wouldn't be alive long enough to allow it, really.) And when she learned that it was her magic that did it, and not just light magic responding to the darkness and the poison in the wound, she was even more sure that this was not something to take lightly.

So needing to recall the whole story to the most important fae in the world at the hunch of Regina made her a little uneasy.

But she does it anyway, every eye in the room on her as she tells a shortened version: finding Killian in her office, her ability to heal his wounds save the ones seeping with dark magic, and describing as best she can what happens when she tries to use her magic on them, since this is the detail that made Regina so sure they had to come here.

At this, Belle's eyes go wide, and she jumps out of her seat and starts to search the wall behind her for something.

Emma is too stunned by her response to say even another word, though she did come to the end of her tale, save the very little information Regina gave them in the cabin before they left. Sensing either her shock or the fact that her recollection has come to its end, Regina takes over. "I remembered what you showed me once in one of the obscure healing books that you insisted I memorized, something I haven't thought about in years, and when I gave him a vial of SOMETHING she was able to extract the Dreamshade from his wound for just a moment."

Belle turns around from the shelf, bright eyes wide with both excitement and awe. "So you're thinking she's—"

Regina doesn't let her finish. "Yes, I'm almost sure of it, but I knew I had to bring her here to know for sure."

“Has she tried it with other poisons?”

Both Regina and Belle turn to her, waiting for an answer. “I’ve never dealt with other poisons. Only Dreamshade once before, and I never tried to do anything to it with my magic.”

Belle nods. “And what about this man? The one you healed? Are you also thinking that he's—"

"The one from the—"

"Yes."

"I'm almost sure of it."

“What about him?” Emma asks, having enough of their half-conversation.

“Did you try any other magic on him? Any other strange reactions?”

“What do you mean, strange reactions?”

Belle's response comes in a rush, more words than Emma is able to focus on as she thinks back to try to answer the questions: “How about when you tried to heal him, did anything else out of the ordinary happen? Any… energies that seemed off? Weird feelings from either of you, but especially you? Did anything work better than you expected, or seem to happen instantly when you know it’s taken more time in the past?”

The breath leaves Emma's lungs. She really wishes things would stop taking her breath away. Belle must sense something, must know that this has riled Emma's memory, and she watches her in anticipation across the desk.

"Well, yes," she says finally, once again able to regulate her breath. "Many of his wounds were less severe, just cuts and gashes on his chest, and many of them not only healed in response to my magic, but disappeared entirely. Not even a scar."

Belle's eyes go wide, even wider than they already were, and she turns back down to the book spread across the desk in front of her.

Silence overtakes the room, and Emma tries to decipher some of the writing that Belle is looking so intently at, only to find it written in a language that does not look familiar to her at all.

"Can somebody please tell me what's going on?" she asks, trying to keep her voice calm, but her heart is pounding wildly in her chest — another side effect from the events of the last two weeks that she wishes would just disappear.

Belle shuts the volume in front of her, folding her hands on top of it. With her head hung, she takes a breath, obvious in the rise and fall of her shoulders, before looking back at Emma.

"There's a prophecy," she says.

Emma scoffs, stopping her mid-sentence. "You're kidding, right?"

Belle shakes her head, but decides to tackle the subject from a different angle. "What do you know about your lineage?"

Emma scoffs again, this time rolling her eyes. "No, really, you've got to be kidding."

"I can assure you, this is no joke to me."

There's something in her voice, a hardness and a seriousness (and perhaps a dash of magic) that makes Emma suddenly very sure that the Magistra is telling the truth. "I'm — I'm an orphan. I know nothing of my parents, or of any part of my lineage. I was left on the steps of a university outside of the Gale when I was a few days old, raised by the Elders there for a while until I took to the streets."

Even after making Emma spill that, Belle says nothing for a moment, though her eyes search Emma's face for… something. Emma isn't sure what, and is even less sure whether she finds it or not.

"And they were the ones who helped you hone your abilities?"

Emma shakes her head again. "I'd left the university by the time my abilities started showing themselves, and it wasn't until David — until the Prince helped me find an apprenticeship with the palace healer that I started to focus on medicine."

"And you've never attempted any art other than the one that showed itself then? Terren, or dryad?"

The question catches Emma off guard. From everything she's heard about the Elders, and about the Magistra in particular, they are supposed to be able to sense these things about a person without having to ask.

"Well, actually, I've — I've never really been sure. Plants, sure, and I've never much tried with the wind or whatever, but I once saved David by using a large boulder to protect us, and I've calmed some waters, but I've mostly just harnessed my own energy for healing purposes."

"Plants, earth, water," Belle mumbles, turning her chair around to face the bookshelf once again, this time finding one of the more used volumes, with a cracked spine and unattached pages in every direction. She places it on top of the other on her desk, but does not open it. "Plants, earth, water… energy." With the last word, she meets Emma's eyes once more, her whole face seeming to light up. "Regina, I'm assuming you've come to the same conclusion I have?" she asks, not even looking over at Regina.

But Emma does, and the wide smile spread across her face just makes Emma more curious.

In the silence, Mary Margaret gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth. "Of course," she breathes.

“What?” Emma says, at the end of her patience. “What conclusion have all of you come to that I somehow still can’t see?”

“See,” Mary Margaret says, completely ignoring Emma’s question. “Emma didn’t have… formal education, really, so she was never fully introduced to all of the factions, and probably never really heard about all of it, so it makes sense that she never—”

“I am right here,” Emma practically yells, stopping Mary Margaret’s words in their tracks. “Now, what the hell are you talking about?”

“A Vis,” Belle says. “Emma, I think you have the Gift. I think you’re a Vis.”

A Vis. She’s — she’s heard of them, sure, maybe read about them once or twice, but…

A Vis. The rarest of all magic-wielders, with the ability to create their own energy instead of just using those around them.

“As rare as Vis are, it’s pretty common for some of those with the Gift to simply go through their lives thinking they are just a simple fae.”

Emma has so many questions. How, mostly. How has she gone her whole life without knowing this? 30 years, almost half of that time as a fae.

As a Vis.

She doesn't have enough time to process this. When Regina said they had to come to the Athenaeum, the last thing she expected was something like this. She assumed it was to find a way to save Killian.

Killian.

"What does this have to do with Killian?" she asks, the first words spoken for almost a minute.

Both Belle and Regina turn to her, wide-eyed, not understanding the question.

Mary Margaret does. "Yeah, you said he had something to do with this, right?"

"Oh," Belle says, closing the book in front of her again. "No, that's not related to the Vis thing. If you're… well, if you're the Savior that the prophecy foretold, then there's reason to believe he's your True Love."

"You can't be serious."

"Athenaeid do not joke about prophecies, Emma," Regina scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

"But true love? Is that — you can't mean —"

Mary Margaret cuts in, stopping her sputtering. "Does that mean we can save him?"

Belle opens one of the books in front of her again, silent for a few moments before shaking her head. "I really can't say for sure. True Love is a fickle thing, and Dreamshade even more so."

"And True Love is the most powerful magic there is," Regina adds, a brightness in her eyes that Emma has never seen before.

(She's not too fond of it, either.)

"What the hell does this even mean? That I can—what—true love's kiss the poison away?"

Belle and Regina share a silent glance. Belle wets her lips. Regina raises her eyebrows.

"Well," the Magistra mumbles. "Yes, there's a chance of that."

A loud, gasping laugh escapes her chest, one she just couldn't keep down. "This is crazy. Absolutely insane."

"There's a chance it's much more complicated than that, too, though," Belle says quickly, trying to save Emma from spiraling too far. "In fact, it's much more likely to be more complicated. Something more along the lines of your being the only person who can save him."

It works. This is much easier for her to wrap her mind around, unlike the rest of the information Belle and Regina have sprung on her in just the last half-hour. This, at least, makes sense. More sense than her being one of the most powerful types of fae, or the fact that there's a prophecy. This, at least, she can deal with.

"So now, she needs to be trained, right?" Regina asks, and Emma feels her heart beat in her throat.

How long could that take?, she doesn't have the ability to ask. There's a time crunch, she has to save Killian, she can't—

"Well, if she wants to save this man from Dreamshade, she certainly doesn't have time to stick around here long enough to master anything," Belle says, once again saving Emma from the spiral she was threatening to get lost in. "Honestly, you should get back to the rest of your group and make way towards Neverland as soon as possible, in my opinion."

"What?" Emma blurts out, even though she agrees with everything the Magistra just said. "You're just going to drop this information on me and… send me away?"

Belle shakes her head. "Of course not," she says cheerily. "I have to come with you."

Killian’s heart is in his throat as David knocks on the door to the cabin. He thought he was going to be okay, back here where Smee was killed and he was kidnapped, but he’s thinking the worst: that no one will open the door. That all of his friends, practically everyone he has left, are gone, taken by the same for that he barely escaped from. For what feels like forever (but in reality can’t be more than a few seconds) no one answers the door.

And then there’s a thud on the inside, followed by the muffled “Bloody hell” that can only belong to Will Scarlett. Killian and David exchange a smile, an almost-literal weight lifted from Killian's shoulders, and the door opens.

At first, Will can’t believe his eyes, which are practically bugging out of his head (Killian’s pretty sure it’s the longest he’s ever seen Will not speak). He doesn't blame him, though, because he can only imagine the conclusions they drew about Killian when they returned that day to find him missing, with Phillip dead on the floor of the kitchen.

It's the first he's thought of this, really, since he has been spending so much time trying not to hype himself up with the thought of them surviving an attack from Pan and Baelfire, but now that he knows they did, he wonders. What did they think when they returned back that day? They all knew his history, knew that he spent the first years as a soldier working for Gold. Did they think him a traitor to his newest allegiance, think that he returned to the Nephilysis army that betrayed him all those years before?

He hopes not. The only thing he has ever wanted to be is a man of honor, and he hopes that the men he has spent the better part of the last ten years with understand that.

Killian is pulled from the worst-case scenario in his mind when, instead of saying anything, Will practically jumps through the door and wraps his arms around David, who, after a moment, hugs him back.

Killian smiles. Even if they believed the worst of him in the weeks he's been away, returning at the Prince's side is a sure sign his allegiance has not shifted.

"Holy shit," Will whispers, shifting his hug from David to Killian, then he says it again. “I saw someone coming up towards the cabin on the radar but I never expected—”

From behind him, Robin emerges from the kitchen, dish towel slung over his shoulder. "Will, who was at the—" And then he meets Killian's eyes over Will's shoulder, then David's. "Holy shit."

"That seems to be everyone's response here," David says, rushing through the doorway to embrace his oldest friend.

"Why didn't you say you were coming? You could have contacted one of us?"

"Honestly, mate," Killian says, taking his turn in giving Robin a hug. "We weren't sure if any of you would even be here, since I was kidnapped by Baelfire from here. If it was still safe, or if any of you were still alive."

"Who else is here?" David asks, closing the front door as he finds a way to ask the question that Killian was too afraid to: was anyone else killed when they came for me?

"Graham was out back somewhere, but I imagine he should be in any—"

Robin's words are cut off by the man in question coming through the back door and calling out: "Is someone here? I got a notification that someone drove through the sensor in the driveway and I—" He comes around the corner, holding his phone out in front of him, but when he sees Killian and David standing inside the door, his words stop. For a moment, the entire cabin is shrouded in silence, waiting for someone to break it.

“What are you doing here?” Robin asks, and David wraps his arm around his shoulder.

“I think we should all sit down,” David breathes. “This might take a while.”

“So, what, we just have to find this Merlin guy?” Will asks, his mouth still full from the last bite of his sandwich.

“Christ, Scarlett, don’t you listen?” Robin scoffs. “Finding Merlin is the first step.”

“And the easiest,” David mumbles.

Killian leans forward on his elbows, momentarily forgetting about the worst of his injuries, though he is painfully reminded almost immediately. “Once we find Merlin, hoping he still has my brother’s ship hidden away somewhere, then we have to fly to Neverland.”

“And what if — pardon me for asking, but what if he doesn’t have your brother’s ship?” Graham asks, always the most level-headed of them all.

All eyes turn to Killian, who turns his gaze down to the table.

But David speaks up with an answer: “Then we just have to find another way to get to Neverland.”

The room is silent for a minute, until:

“I thought you said this ship is the only way to get to Neverland?” Will asks, once again missing the feeling in the rest of the room.

Killian nods. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Another beat passes, all attention on Will, waiting for him to understand what Killian is trying to say.

“Oh.” He scrunches his face, a soft embarrassed red spreading across his already-red face. “So what’s our plan then?”

Killian turns to David, who gestures for him to take over. “Well, our only hope is Merlin, and I haven't been able to get a hold of him. There's rumor he's somewhere in the Northern Mountains, hopefully still with The Jewel of the Realm, and I have a pretty good idea as to where, so I suppose that's our next destination."

The room falls silent again, each of the men around the table trying to decide just how to feel about all of this — Killian’s torture, the need to travel to new lands, to fly. But David doesn’t let them ruminate for long.

"Pack your things, fellas. We probably have a few days still, but we leave as soon as the ladies meet us here."

TAGS: @shireness-says�� @cssns @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @teamhook @darkcolinodonorgasm @cocohook38 @ultraluckycatnd @facesiousbutton82 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @tiguanasummertree @angellifedeath @pepperpottss @mariakov81 @scientificapricot @kday426 @xarandomdreamx @ohmightydevviepuu @xhookswenchx @nikkiemms @carpedzem @superchocovian @resident-of-storybrooke @snowbellewells @courtorderedcake @captain-emmajones @killian-whump @officerrogers – want to be added or removed? let me know!

#my writing #captain swan #cs fics #cs ff #cssns #cssns 2020 #wordsbymeganmichael #slow burn #world building #fantasy #dystopia #kind of?#original world au

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scarpool-gmk · 4 years ago

Text

6 Part 2

Title: Godly Marine: Killed Author: Scarpool Fandom(s): NCIS, Percy Jackson & the Olympians Pairing(s): Gen Rating: PG/K+ Summary: Chapter 6 Part 2 (8/13) — Staff Sergeant Michael Kahale, Marine Corps Mechanic and Son of Athena, was murdered. Annabeth Chase is determined to find out who did it and why. She, along with Percy Jackson, Grover Underwood, and Clarisse La Rue, infiltrate NCIS where they team up with NCIS Agents Leroy Gibbs, Anthony DiNozzo, Timothy McGee, and Ziva David. Complete Genre: Fanfiction, Mystery, Drama, Humour, General, Action Warnings: N/A

-Κλαρίς-

Clarisse had to hold in laughing as she saw Annabeth's eyes bulge in fascination as Gibbs used the iris scanner. With a hiss and a clunk!, the doors unlocked. He heaved the door open. "Welcome to MTAC, agents."

"Wow," Annabeth whispered as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"Sweet secret base you guys got going on," Clarisse praised.

"Thanks!" McGee beamed like he was the one getting complimented. "It's decked out with some great technology sensors. It's completely separate in terms of technology, components, and connection from the rest of the building. Best monitors, state-of-the-art firewall, and the-"

"You guys do any movie nights in here?" Clarisse cut in.

"I-well no. I mean, uh, maybe? I wouldn't know anything about that," McGee spluttered.

Clarisse smirked. "I'll take that as a yes."

"McGee," Gibbs said, saving his agent, "Connect us up with the Staff Sergeant's C.O."

McGee hurried to do as he was told, working with a row of tech. Clarisse wouldn't want to get too close to any of those. Could probably get the entire monster population of the East Coast fixated on their position with those many wires. Annie, Prissy, and Goat boy wouldn't appreciate it. Would make one heck of a battle story, though.

Gibbs, Annabeth, and Clarisse stood in front of the huge screen.

"Morning, agents," the commander said when he flashed on the screen.

"Nice to meet you, Commander," Annabeth said.

"I would rather have not, Special Agent Lima, Gibbs. I take it you still haven't found out who took out my mechanic."

"No, Commander," Gibbs said, "And it seems your mechanic was into a case of his own."

"What do you mean?"

"We believe he was following leads that might uncover cartel movement in D.C.," Annabeth explained.

"Can you tell us anything about anything the Staff Sergeant was involved in?" Gibbs asked, "Any ops that he was assigned?"

"No, sir. This is the first I'm hearing of this. He was designated to go on tour; we were called in to head into NAMRU-6."

"Peru?" Gibbs questioned.

"It was going to be smooth sailing," the commander affirmed. "A secret mission…He was one hell of a mechanic, and even then…"

"Commander?" Annabeth pushed.

"He was too smart for his own good. He wasn't going to be a simple Staff Sergeant for long. In fact, I'm surprised he held out for this long. His excellent, strategic mind and fighting skill, especially in close combat, had placed him in the fast lane for promotion. He may have wanted to be a simple mechanic, and I know he declined several offers, but as good as he was, he gained the attention of those who could force him into positions."

Clarisse frowned. Sounds like Michael had been way too noticeable. She didn't even think that the Navy and Marine corps would inspect mechanics that thorough. How did they test his strategy making?

"Sounds like he was a special case," Clarisse said, "Did he get any flak from his crewmates because of it?"

"Not really, ma'am. He wasn't exactly a social person to begin with."

"He never got into any disputes with anyone?" Clarisse asked.

"Only one, but I've learned to keep them apart."

"Reason?" Gibbs asked.

"Uh, they just didn't see eye-to-eye."

Clarisse almost snorted. Translation: he had no clue. What kind of Officer in Charge was this guy?

"Who's the soldier?" Annabeth asked.

"First Lieutenant Adrian Rodriguez."

"He antagonize a lot of people?" Gibbs asked.

"No, sir. He's actually very well-liked. It was very strange that he turned confrontational with Kahale. Same with Sergeant Kahale."

"And you have no idea as to why this was." Gibbs didn't phrase it like a question. At least they were all on the same page.

The C.O. on the big screen shrugged. "Those are two of the sea's finest. Rodriguez is soon to become Major. They don't have so much as an excuse to hang around each other anyway."

This time, Clarisse didn't bother hiding a sound of disbelief.

"Where is he?" Gibbs asked at the same time as Annabeth said, "Tell us about him."

Clarisse stepped back so the two could glare at each other better.

"He's a skilled Marksman," Commander Oblivious replied, "knows a lot about on-the-spot- field medic stuff…sings pretty good, too." Clarisse shared a glance with Annabeth. That sounded familiar. Annabeth would probably say that it was a textbook definition. Nerd.

"But he has not left the ship," the commander continued, "he's been on board the entire time."

"Then call him over," Gibbs said, "Maybe we can help solve what his problem with Michael Kahale was."

"You can't think-"

"The more we know about our victim, the better we can predict his movements and motives," Annabeth consoled.

The commander ceded the point and nodded at some staff who promptly left the room, presumably to find the First Lieutenant. He turned his attention back to the NCIS agents.

Gibbs continued on questioning him. "Did Staff Sergeant Kahale ever mention an Annabeth Chase?"

The man on the screen frowned. "The name rings a bell; give me a sec." He shuffled some papers around. "Oh! Yes, as one of the emergency contacts. Right there under his father. Annabeth Chase, relation as his sister."

Annabeth showed nothing. Instead, asking, "What is the contact information?"

"A phone number with a New York area code."

"Read aloud the number, please."

The commander read out the numbers as Annabeth instructed. Clarisse immediately recognized it as the mainline to the Big House.

"It's a different number than the one he called," Annabeth said.

"McGee," Gibbs called, giving silent instructions.

"Already on it," McGee said, "Number is to a farm, Delphi Strawberry Service. Located in Long Island."

Clarisse mentally cursed and tried not to self-consciously fidget at the glare Gibbs gave Annabeth.

"But he never spoke about his family. Or friends. Or life. Again, not the most social guy."

There was movement in the back, as the staff member came back with a soldier, who promptly stood at attention.

"First Lieutenant Rodriguez, meet NCIS Agents Gibbs, Lima, and…"

"La Rue," Clarisse supplied.

"First Lieutenant," Gibbs greeted.

"Sir!"

"At rest, First Lieutenant," Annabeth said.

Gibbs started the questions as Rodrigues shifted his stance. "What's your relationship with Staff Sergeant Michael Kahale?"

The soldier frowned, confused. "He was a mechanic assigned to this vessel, sir."

"We're told that you were uncharacteristically disruptive around him."

"Yes, but I haven't been in confrontation with him, as per C.O. orders. If he's said-"

"First Lieutenant Rodriguez," The C.O. cut him off, "Sergeant Kahale was shot two nights ago."

"Shot?" Rodriguez said in shock, "But… we're home…"

"We know that you've been on board the entire time," Annabeth said, "We just need to know more about who Michael Kahale was."

"I-I understand, Ma'am."

"What made you dislike the Kahale, First Lieutenant?" Clarisse asked him.

"It's not that I disliked him, ma'am. Kahale was actually a good guy. Introverted, sure. But he was a good soldier, amazing smart, and easy to talk with. But I…" He faltered. "I don't know. For some reason, the friendly conversations always turned into some sort of fight? Like a challenge I couldn't lose to? I guess?"

"Don't sound sure of yourself," Annabeth noted.

"I can't explain it. Every time, it just led to a fight over any stupid, little thing. I honestly don't know why. I don't expect any of you to understand."

Clarisse heard Gibbs sigh tiredly and mumble, "Oh, I understand perfectly."

"Can you give us some examples of what you fought over?" Annabeth asked.

"They were stupid, ma'am. Like over the name of a future vessel. He thought it should be named USS Zeus. I said it to be USS Jupiter. We also fought over his position. Kahale was a good Marine but could've been even better. But he kept at being a non-commission mechanic because he had an issue with the control of our Superior Officers. I know he even declined a promotion to Warrant Officer. He disliked how strict military life was and preferred the more laxed nature of the machinists. He believed that individuality and improvisation held more value in the field than the collective skill of the group and rigid structure. He did not trust others with making decisions for him and disliked giving orders himself. But I know several of my brothers who have similar opinions, and I've never fought them over it."

Annabeth nodded, humming softly and deep in that brain of hers.

"Did he ever mention some sort of mission?" Gibbs asked.

Rodriguez blinked. "No. Nothing ever like that."

"Mexican Cartels? Arms dealing?" Gibbs fished.

"What? No!"

'Freaking Hades,' Clarisse thought, 'I hope this information isn't supposed to be kept low profile.'

"What about mythologies?"

The First Lieutenant stiffened. He was definitely a demigod. Clarisse would have to see if Chiron knew an Adrian Rodriguez.

"What do you mean?" Rodriguez tried playing off.

"Gods, Roman myths, Greek heroes, monsters, that sort of stuff."

"No."

"Then that's all we need from you, for now, First Lieutenant," Gibbs said, taking a glance at Annabeth.

"Catch who did this to my mechanic, Agents," the Commanding Officer said before the connection cut off.

Gibbs didn't waste any time.

"What am I missing here?"

Annabeth lifted an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"Some random mechanic gets murdered hours away from his assigned vessel because he was uncovering an entire operation that was way out of his league. His dying words were to some girl whom he listed as an emergency contact with a Long Island number. Suddenly, I've got NCIS agents from a Long Island branch I've never heard of. This case has brought too many outside factors, and I have the feeling my team is out of the loop on specific information that can make this case more manageable."

"We know as much as you do," Clarisse retorted, "And missing information comes with the job. This is a mystery. We investigate and find the answers, complications and all."

Gibbs considered her for a moment before relenting and leading them back out of the heavily secured room. "Fine. I'm going to head to the bar. McGee, get DiNozzo to call the Strawberry Farm. I also want the personal files of First Lieutenant Rodriguez and his C.O. Ziva! Gear up." He looked around at the rest of the agents expectedly.

"Er, trying to squeeze out info of Cartel movement in the area," DiNozzo said, "Not much luck."

"Talked to Abby," Ziva picked up next, "Her professors were able to translate some more of the notes. This Doughnut place is apparently definitely arms dealing with the Reynosa Cartel. Sinaloa involvement is suspected. Middle East connection is pure speculation. Michael also noted that he believed he was found out because he smelled."

DiNozzo made to comment but was silenced by a look from Gibbs.

"I'm still IDing all of Mr. Tarsibo's victims," Grover said.

"And customers," Gibbs added.

"…And customers…"

"No mention of Monster Donut on the web," Percy reported, Annabeth's laptop in hand, "Making sure that if anyone finds it, we'll be the first ones to know."

Gibbs nodded and then headed towards the elevator with Ziva in tow. Clarisse admired the way his silent command to get back to work hung in the air. Except for one problem.

Clarisse was back in the bullpen. She hated it.

-Ζήβα-

Ziva was debriefed about the meeting with the commander on the way to the Drowsy Owl.

"If the Staff Sergeant was being seen by superior officers and the Commanding Officer didn't know anything," Ziva said, "Perhaps our Staff Sergeant was granted a mission."

But why give such an advanced and dangerous mission to a mere mechanic?

"Michael Kahale had been in service for five years," Ziva said, answering her own question. "They had given him training- maybe advanced secret in-training. Kept him officially as a mechanic, using it as a cover."

"But why send him on a case that without providing him resources?" Gibbs asked.

Hm. True. Michael Kahale had lacked money, cover, and backup. The time limit was horrendously short; what he uncovered in such a short amount of time was astonishing. If he hadn't ended up dead, she would have thought that it was a controlled mission.

"You said that First Lieutenant Adrian Rodriguez responded to the mention of mythological connection. Is it possible that whatever mission the Staff Sergeant was on, was not external but internal? An internal audit? But if Rodriguez was his target, he would have responded to the reference of cartel involvement."

"What if the Cartel wasn't initially apart of this operation?" Ziva thought back to her previous line of thought. "What if Rodriguez was involved? As Michael's partner. The First Lieutenant is thought of highly as well."

"Don't get caught up on theories," Gibbs warned.

"Maybe I should just follow my gut," Ziva teased.

"It's always worked for me," Gibbs said.

"What does it say now?" Ziva asked. She looked at him when he did not answer.

"It tells me that the Long Island Agents know something that they aren't sharing."

Ziva frowned but said nothing.

They came up to the store. "See if anyone has seen Tarsibo," Gibbs said.

"Not many people to ask," Ziva grumbled.

Reshaun Sachs was beginning to blindly invite them to choose a place to sit until he looked up from pouring a pint of bitter. "Let me guess," he said, "Navy cops."

Ziva and Gibbs flashed their Identification.

"This about the young Marine or something else?"

"Same one," Gibbs said.

"Didn't realize you had such big teams."

"Neither did I."

Ziva sent Gibbs a look and decided to change the topic, unfolding the blown-up photo of Tarsibo.

"Do you recognize this man?"

"Sorry. No."

"He seems to be a customer of yours," Ziva pushed, "He may have been here during the past week."

The bartender frowned, "If he passed those doors, I would remember. Especially from this week." Ziva nodded. She didn't find him to be lying. There were other ways waste from this place could have gotten to the car rental.

"Do you mind if I talk to your customers?" Ziva asked

Sachs shrugged. "You can, but all of these guys are regulars that just come for their lunch break."

Ziva assumed as much. She left Gibbs to converse with the man.

Sachs was surprised that they had found traces of his business as far away as East Maryland. Like Gibbs, Ziva was getting her own list of negative answers.

She walked around the bar, trying to envision it on a full night with businessmen, college students, and Mrs. Kahale with her entourage. It was an open area, which meant open conversations that could be the center of attention or hidden by those that took that position. The only place that was really hidden was the way to the restrooms, which had its own hidden hallway that led to a back exit. That was where Ziva excused herself to answer her buzzing phone.

"What is it, Tony?"

"Get into any bar fights, yet?" Tony used as a greeting.

"It is still a bit early, but it has happened before."

"Well, don't go too hard on them. People who go this early are there to drown something."

Ziva thought of the three businessmen in the bar hunching over their drinks. He was too right. "As I'm sure you know, Tony."

"I'm not that old," he said.

"You are what? Forty?"

"No!"

"Mmm, but I'm close. How many years am I off?"

"…Two. I'm still young, just have a few years of experience."

Ziva hummed. She didn't tell him that she had more years until she hit thirty.

"Well, I'm sure you didn't call me just for this."

"No, I'm here to update you so you can update Gibbs."

"Why not call him instead?"

"Figured he'd be doing some unofficial interrogation. And I would never break that rule."

"Well, what do you have."

Tony sighed, "Pretty much nothing. Got in connection with the Director of the Strawberry Service, a Mr. Dee. Took forever to get a final answer. 'I have a faint recollection of an Annie Bell.'" Tony droned in imitation, "'Yes, the girl is quite a trouble seeker, although she is one of the brighter ones I have had to deal with. Says a lot about them. However, she left. I don't expect her to be back for a while.' That was fifteen minutes into the conversation. He ends with an 'I grow tired of your pitiable blather.' And just hangs up."

Ziva snickers. "Doesn't sound like a reliable witness."

Ziva could imagine Tony shrugging in the squadroom, "It's what I got."

"Alright. Thanks." Ziva hung up the phone and accidentally stumbled when she bumped into something. Or rather someone "Oh, sorry I-" Ziva stopped as she got a look at who she almost toppled. It was a young man who had just come out of the lavatory. He was of an average built, a bit on the shorter side with a head full of blonde hair. He was in some sort of customer service uniform, a nametag still latched on. But Ziva only gave it an unconscious look over. No, she was more captivated by his eyes. They were a sickly green, and the iris seemed alive, swirling like snakes in a pit. And were those scales on his cheekbones?

"Agent?"

She blinked, and all those features were gone. Snake filled eyes replaced with light hazel ones. No scales either.

"I'm sorry," She told the man who had snapped her out of her stupor. Just what was that? "For bumping into you," she specified.

He smiled at her, "No problem."

She watched him leave her, heading for the back exit. How did he know she was an Agent? Was her badge showing? No… Who was he? She searched her brain for the answers. Wait. She had seen his nametag before getting distracted by his face. (She shivered at the recollection. Was it something she ate?) Then it hit her; the nametag had a cheesy 'Hi, I'm Tommy' in Comic Sans Font. It also had a logo of a one-eyed monster munching on a doughnut.

"Monster Donuts," Ziva breathed out in realization. The back door slammed shut. "Hey!" Ziva shouted, "Wait!" She ran toward the door. Before she exited, she remembered that the store was arms dealing, and anyone connected to it should be handled as armed and dangerous. Pulling out her firearm and quickly collecting herself, she slammed her way out and was met with… no one?

Ziva surveyed the area, circling in a three-sixty. There was no one there. How could he have gone that fast? He was only out of her sight for a few seconds.

Gibbs was not going to be happy with her.

After making sure to uncover any possible hiding places, she went back inside empty-handed.

Gibbs frowned at her as she entered. Ziva trusted him to connect the dots and directed her words at Sachs.

"You didn't say you had someone in your restroom."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Gibbs change his stance, a mixture of weariness and drive to get the truth. However, the bartender seemed utterly confused. "There was? Oh, I had completely forgotten…"

Ziva shared a small look with Gibbs. Sachs seemed muddled all of a sudden. Strange and convincing. Ziva hadn't thought this man to be a good actor.

Ziva described him, more for Gibbs's benefit than Sachs's. "Yes, about this tall, blonde, green eyes, wearing a Monster Donut uniform."

Sachs's face lit up in realization. "Yes! He was one of the guys that the woman hangs out with, the one that the other agents knew, a Mrs. Kahale." His eyebrows scrunched together. "I can't believe I forgot about him coming in…"

Ziva shared another look with Gibbs. Either this man was telling the truth, or he was the best actor Ziva had encountered. Gibbs, although not outwardly changing his calm demeanor, seemed as dubious as she was.

"If he or anyone else from Monster Donuts come in," she said, "Please call us."

"They are connected with this Marko Tarsibo guy? What have they done?"

"A number of things," Ziva said.

The man gave an inquiring stare. Ziva expected that how dangerous they were could affect his business if he let continued to let them be customers at all.

"They are connected to arms dealing, Ziva said. "Also, have a connection to the death of multiple murders, including children."

"They've killed kids?" The statement seemed to call Sachs back from his confounded state. "You said that this guy was a part of this and that he was a car dealer, right?"

The agents nodded.

"The kids, were they middle-school-age? Older girl with Asian features?"

Ziva scrambled for her phone, bringing out the profiles of the most recent child victims. She shoved the phone in the man's face. "Are these them?"

"Yeah, I know them. They had come in, ordered some soda, burgers, and fries. They looked pretty street-savvy, I kept my eye on them to make sure no one slipped them anything or took an order for them. I got something about how they were headed for the Carolinas, I guess they needed a ride. That woman, Mrs. Kahale, spoke with them for a bit. I didn't hear what was said, but if they needed a ride and she knew this dealer, she could've gave them to him."

The NCIS agents didn't give him time to finish as they rushed out the door.

-Περσεύς-

Percy would never get an office job. He thought being a Federal Agent would have been so exciting. Sitting on a desk doing the same thing over and over again was killing him. He kept getting distracted by the happenings outside. (Hey, those windows were huge. Not his fault the outside world was more entertaining.) He couldn't help but feel a bit guilty every time Grover would snap him out of his daydreaming. He was supposed to be helping make official profiles of each victim, so that a) the families could be notified, b) Dr. 'Ducky' could analyze and create a deeper understanding of General Botsaris and his victims, and c) so that Annabeth could report back to Chiron, and they could contact the families of the demigods.

Percy did have to admit that Tony's conversation with Mr. D was quite funny. Although, he was only able to hear one side of the conversation.

'No, not Annie Bell. Annabeth.'

'No, I am not here for strawberries.'

'Yes, wine sounds wonderful, but-'

'So, did she work there or not? What do you mean, who? Annabeth Chase!'

And it just continued. Percy had cracked up as the agent repeatedly smacked his head on his hand while talking to the exasperating god. If only he knew how it felt to deal with Mr. D on a weekly, sometimes daily, basis.

Unfortunately, that was what felt like an hour ago. McGee had sent a file to Tony a while later and was on his way to escape to 'help Abby run prints.'

"I'll be using the system," McGee told Grover and Percy, "Hopefully, it won't slow down too much."

"It shouldn't be a problem." Annabeth walked in, looking a bit disgruntled after her talk with Chiron. "Although we are using the same system, it's coding and routes have changed, meaning it can still use the data and have access to an ever-updating network while not really using the same path and program you'll be using."

Percy would have totally zoned out from that explanation if it wasn't for Grover nudging him to make another profile.

McGee made a face. "You can do that?"

"Not really. It's the computer."

"What are the specs?" McGee leaned in to check Daedalus' laptop's design. "What's the brand? I don't recognize it."

"It's experimental."

"Huh, well I'm going to-"

"Not so fast, probie," Tony called.

Percy looked up. Tony had better not been calling for him. He eased up when it was apparent he was talking to McGee.

"Rodriguez also uses disposable, pre-paid phones," Tony said, "But he makes regular family calls. If we searched his family's phone records, we would find a record of regular calls coming in but from different numbers? Wouldn't that be the case if Michael did the same?"

"But we already checked the Kahale's phone records, Tony," McGee said.

"No. We only checked Patricia Kahale's, and she said she didn't even know Michael even joined the Marines. Daddy, however, had a better relationship."

"And when Percy and I spoke with him," Annabeth said, "He gave me the impression that he knew about Michael joining."

"McGee, pop up the man's phone calls," Tony said.

McGee shared his screen on the plasma. Window screens flashed on and off as McGee used keyboard shortcuts lightning quick, even using long sequences of code that Percy didn't know could be memorized.

"Okay, filtering for numbers that are no longer in service."

"Wow, that's a long list," Percy said. They weren't going to have to go through some sort of procedure on each one, were they?

"He is a lawyer," Grover said, "He must get tons of scam and calls from one-time numbers."

"It doesn't matter," Annabeth said.

"What do you mean it doesn't matter," Percy asked. Was Annabeth okay? How bad was the call with Chiron?

"I mean, I've found what we're looking for." She pointed to a six-minute call starting 12:52 A.M. yesterday morning. That was right before the approximate time of death.

"It's not the same number the Staff Sergeant used," Tony said.

"A spare phone," Clarisse said, "He uses one phone call on a pre-paid, dumps it, and then uses the second to make another call."

A demigod technique. Annabeth and Chiron told him of it when he went outside of camp. The only time it was safe to keep a phone after making a call on it was in or right by camp. Otherwise, it was a traveling beacon for monsters.

"The father made the call," Tony said, "McGee, can you find the location where the burner picked up?"

McGee clicked a couple of times. "Washington, D.C."

"Alright," Tony said. "I'll call Gibbs, and we'll pick him up."

"Sweet, let's go," Percy said.

"Wait, Percy," Grover said with big eyes, effectively killing Percy's hope. "I still need your help with this."

"It's fine. We got this," Tony said, him and McGee rushing toward the elevator.

Percy watched them as they disappeared with a ding. Great, the three people that were the least qualified for desk jobs were the ones left at the desks. At least they had Grover to stop them from accidentally blowing up the place and being labeled as domestic terrorists, yet the way the satyr was inhaling those paper clips didn't bode well.

The phone at Tony's desk started to ring. The four of them stared at it for a second. "Should we get Tony back?" Percy asked.

"Ugh," Clarisse rolled her eyes. What? What did he say? Gods, she was just so annoying. 'And rude,' he added as he watched her get up and answer the cop's phone, but he already knew that.

"Yeah," Clarisse greeted. She was silent for the ten seconds as the caller spoke. Percy wasn't even surprised as the daughter of Ares slammed the phone back down without another word.

"They found Botsaris's car," Clarisse said.

'That at least deserved a 'Thank You,' was Percy's immediate thought.

Annabeth jumped up. "Let's go."

Finally! "Did you get the address?" Percy asked, excited to get out.

"Duh."

Grover looked around as all of them got ready to head out. "Um, should we tell-"

"No!" Clarisse and Annabeth both said, or growled in one case.

Grover held his hands up in surrender. "Okay."

Percy made sure everything he needed was on him and swept the desk clear of a small pile of broken pen clips. When had those gotten there?

"Let's kick some butt!" Clarisse grinned. Percy couldn't agree more.

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#scarpool #fanfic #fanfiction #Godly Marine: Killed #NCIS #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #PJO #Crossover #gen fic #PG/K+#Writing #Complete

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years ago

Text

ancient names, part x

ancient names, pt. x

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt x: how large the teeth

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~7.2k (yes I am a clown)

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Gore/violence, forced used of psychotropic drugs to induce hallucinations, spooky scaries (hi October!), implications of sexual assault though nothing specific, and uhhhhhhh liberal use of a shotgun. And you know, the usual things that come with Far Cry 5. Also, proofreader? I hardly know her.

Notes: So this chapter took quite a while to get around (thank you, writer's block), but it's here! And a spooky update, just in time for October, too! Yes, Elliot is hallucinating basically this entire chapter. What's real?? What isn't??? The world may never know.

I pulled a lot of inspiration from a LOT of medias/myths, so if you think you know what it is I would LOVE to hear from you and see if any of it comes through in my writing the way I want it to!

Special thanks to my lovely @starcrier, who has been a true homie throughout my wrestling with this chapter, and all of the lovelies here on tumblr and on AO3 who have sent in their feedback, chatted with me, and just all in all provided me with the support and inspiration I really needed to get this chapter done! I probably sound like a broken record by now, but the fact that I have managed to write this many chapters at all after finishing my first chaptered fic in a VERY long time just a few months ago is insane to me and certainly would not have happened without y'all.

Okay, sappy notes over. Enjoy! Thank y'all so much again!

She is twenty-four, and she cries under the tent of blankets that Joey has made for them.

It feels like she is seventeen, again, in a little fort that they make, but there are key differences: they are in Elliot’s apartment in the city, and Joey’s face is somber, and in the dark Elliot can feel the guttural, gut-wrenching grief sounds shaking her down to her skeleton.

Blanket tents were never for crying in, before. They were never a place to say, between gasping breaths, that she didn’t know why she let a man that she trusted touch her even when she didn’t want him to. How can she? If someone has never experienced the paralyzing fear of being completely out of control, of being helpless, how could it ever make sense?

Elliot knows that it doesn’t. She knows that Joey doesn’t understand completely, not really, and that it hurts her feelings that Elliot flinches when she moves too quickly, and that it stings to say the name of the man she had been dating—that his name tastes sour, like a venom, on her tongue now—and that when Joey tells her that she needs to tell someone what he did, it draws a noise of agony out of her not unlike the way an animal trapped sounds.

She does not sleep that night, or the next night, or the next, and finally when she is tired enough to be worn down she goes to a therapist. She has to, Joey says, or she will never get a job working with the law in Hope County, and Elliot knows she’s right so she does.

There are a lot of things that the therapist says. Trauma hits her the hardest. It blinks, a neon sign above her head, assigned to her so that all will know: that she is Trauma, that she has it, that it sits in her bones and makes a home out of her. Is that all I will ever be? She wonders. Trauma? Is that all that I have, now?

Each day is a series of motions, one after the other: waking up, getting up, standing and walking and breathing and existing, all the time. Each of those motions exhausts her. She files a restraining order; she goes to therapy; she takes the sleep medication but that is all she wants to take because otherwise she will feel too much unlike herself. She finishes her training with a clean bill of health from the doctor and her therapist and she packs her apartment, which hurts worse than maybe anything else, because each book and blanket and trinket packed away is a constant reminder of the person who had been there, who had stolen her safety from her in the very place that she was supposed to always feel safe.

But Hope County is waiting for her, and that is what she will take comfort in: that there is always a place for her, there.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was the worst-case scenario. In any other universe, in any other life, she would not have let herself be convinced to approach an enemy unarmed. Not even John’s flippant confidence that she could make a weapon out of anything instilled in her the idea that things would be alright, in the end.

That had been the only thought that could keep her going. Once I get Joey and get the hell out of Dodge, everything will be okay, her brain would say. Get Joey, get out. That’s all there is to it.

But that wasn’t all there was to it, anymore, and she knew that; she knew it while her heart hammered in her chest, while her skin itched and burned where the redhead had touched her like he was dripping in acid, while the blood rushed through her head in a violent tidal wave that made her feel like she was going to puke. They had stuffed a wet cloth into her mouth and hauled her away, out of sight of the Seeds, and now she sat—alone, tied, the cloth spit out onto the floor of the cabin they had left her in.

She was somehow both unaware of how much time was actually passing and fully confident that it had only been a half an hour; if she moved her head too fast (which was to say, at all) the world wobbled and swam around her. Elliot finally relented to burying her face into her knees and closing her eyes to try and stop the swimming nausea.

The door clicked open. She saw Ase, first, and behind her loomed the redhead. The woman was taller up close than Elliot would have thought—probably bridging five foot ten—which made the redhead much taller than she had thought, too.

I could kill her, she thought furiously, through the strange haze that had fallen over her. If I got my hands on her, I could.

“Hello, mor,” Ase said. Elliot saw the warmth blooming in her voice, like an aura welling up out of her, red and searing; the realization that they had certainly dipped the cloth in something that would ultimately be worse than just dying-by-chemical-ingestion hit her hard, sending her heart fluttering in a panic. It was the same brand of panic she had felt when John had found her in the field; wildly out of her control, as if she were being puppeted by something else, something larger than her.

The redhead closed the door behind them, and Ase closed what little distance that remained between the two of them, crouching in front of her. Elliot tried her best to muddle through the panic and muster up some hostility, but it was hard, when it felt like the floor was both sturdy and melting underneath her.

“Fuck you,” Elliot managed out, her mouth feeling like it was full of cotton balls. It didn’t seem as though her words had any effect on the blonde, and for a second she panicked, wondering if she had even said anything at all in the first place or if it had just been in her imagination.

“You left Kian with a few nasty bites, didn’t you?” Ase asked, her voice welling with amusement. “I did not want to stuff a tea-soaked washcloth into your mouth, but we couldn’t have you drawing any more blood.”

Elliot’s gaze slid to the redhead—Kian, she thought venomously—and the movement of her eyeballs felt like they were hitching unsteadily in her skull. So they had drugged her, again. What the fuck was it with cults and drugging people?

The woman reached for her, and instinctively, Elliot flinched. The gesture came a few seconds too late; the drug in her system, whatever it was they had soaked the cloth in, was already starting to wear her down.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Elliot said, as Ase untied the rope around her feet and then her hands, “if you want me to stop biting people.”

“I am not worried,” Ase replied sweetly. “You’re already looking more docile by the minute, mor.”

Elliot swallowed thickly; to do so took concentrated effort. “That isn’t my name.”

“It isn’t a name at all,” the blonde agreed unhelpfully, tossing the ropes to the side and coming to a stand. She smoothed her hands across the dark fabric of her dress, and then extended a long, elegant hand. “Now, do you want to see your friend?”

She felt her heart stutter painfully in her chest at the woman’s words. After having been tricked and toyed with by John, it was strange to think she was finally in the home stretch that she had been trying to reach these last few days; that finally, finally, all of her toil and trouble was bringing her back to Joey.

Briefly, the idea that she could take Joey and run--leave the Seeds to their own devices--fluttered through her brain. Leave the Seeds to clean up this mess on their own. Hopefully, the Resistance had already bolted out of Hope County and were well on their way elsewhere. If she grabbed Joey and got out--if she could get in touch with law enforcement outside of Hope County--

Elliot stared at the Swede's hand and tried to gather her thoughts up in one place. It felt too much like they had become marbles, spilling out of her hands every time she tried to focus. She took a breath and then forced herself to a stand, blatantly ignoring Ase's outstretched hand. Just the act of using her legs to stand felt a little like being on stilts; the world lurched and ground to a watery stop around her, and only confirmed, infuriatingly, what Ase had said--that she was in no shape to bolt, or fight for that matter.

"Come along, then," Ase said pleasantly, taking a few steps away from her. Those few steps made it look as though the ground stretched out for miles between them, and her stomach twisted. The blonde looked at her over her shoulder and smiled.

"Kian, help our friend," she murmured. The redhead stepped forward and reached for her, ever obedient to his master, and Elliot immediately gritted her teeth and took an unsteady step backward.

"Kian, don’t," she bit out, mimicking Ase’s honeyed tone as much as she could. And then, less sweet: "If you touch me again, you'll walk away with a lot more than a bite mark, fuckhead."

Kian flashed a smile that felt like a snake against her skin and gestured for her to go on ahead. "Go on, then."

Just being in his proximity again made her skin crawl; it felt still like his hand was around her throat, the heat of his breath against the shell of her ear. Even in the dizzying haze that had settled over her, she felt her heart leap uneasily into her throat at the memory.

Before she realized what was happening, Elliot's feet had carried her out around Kian and out of the cabin, trailing the beacon that Ase had become, a strange green aura undulating around her. I hate this, she thought, watching the way the trees around her shifted and bled into the night sky.

"How—how long was I in there?" She asked, falling into an uneasy pace next to Ase.

"A few hours," she replied, looking over at her. "Felt shorter?"

Yes, Elliot thought, but the word didn't come to her mouth. The ground slid under her feet; the world around her pulsed in time with her breaths, stretching and cinching in equal parts until she found herself standing in front of another of the cabins. In the distance, the sound of the lake water lapping at the shore echoed over and over in her head.

Ase pushed the door to the cabin open, and inside sat Joey Hudson.

She looked tired, days of exhaustion sitting heavy on her face, a dark shadow of sleeplessness and makeup both ringing her eyes. Joey had always been pretty, and now was no exception; the brunette, though her clothes were dirty and her eyes fluttered with tiredness, was just as lovely as she always was. The sight of her had Elliot’s head and heart swimming with emotion, rising up thick and high in her throat until she thought she might come unglued right there, in front of a psychotic woman.

But with the feeling of being on a seesaw unseating her nonstop, and the desperate, aching reminder of the person she had been missing all along, Elliot didn’t think almost anything about Ase. As far as she was concerned, in that moment, the woman ceased to exist; the same choking feeling that she’d felt when Jerome had said, you can tell me if it’s not okay. A relinquishing. A lifting of her burden. You don’t have to Atlas this thing alone.

“Joey,” Elliot said, the woman’s name coming out of her mouth hoarse and heavy. Joey’s eyes fluttered tiredly and she mustered up the closest thing to a smile.

“Hey, El,” Joey replied. As Elliot crossed the space between them and immediately crouched to kneel in front of her, the smile warmed into something more genuine. In an effort of lightness, the brunette said, “You should have called, I would have cleaned up.”

Elliot felt the soft, wrecked little sound, so close to a sob, more than she heard it; it was a choked almost-laugh, her hands fluttering absently as though unsure of where to land. “I tried,” she managed out, as thinking and speaking became harder, her jaw stiff and unyielding. “I tried, Joey—”

Joey nodded and said, “I know.”

“I will leave you,” Ase said lightly from the door, “but, Elliot? You only have a short time before you become fully open to the influence. I would drink some water.”

The blonde turned, leaving and closing the door behind her, leaving just the two of them there. By then, even while the world swam around her, and she thought she could see little sparks of orange light flying off of Joey, she threw her arms around the brunette and hugged her tightly. It took a minute for her to realize that she was crying--happy, relieved tears, the kind that came suddenly and without warning.

“I was so worried about you,” Elliot murmured between sniffles, pulling back and immediately searching for restraints. There were none. Unlike John Seed’s version of Joey’s captivity, no duct tape covered her mouth, nothing bound her hands together; she was just sitting in there—probably knowing well enough that running would have been a worse idea. “I thought John had you, and then he got me, and then he said he’d pawned you off to Faith, and—”

“Slow down,” Joey laughed, the sound not quite reaching deep enough in the cavity of her chest to be a real one. “You have crazy eyes, El.”

“They gave me something,” she explained, pressing the heel of her palm against her eye. “They did it once before, but it was stronger then.”

Joey handed her the bottle of water she had been nursing, uncapping it for her. “They gave it to me too, once,” she replied. “But not again. Maybe I didn’t give them the response they were looking for. Elliot, these people are--there’s something really wrong here. They keep talking about this thing in the woods, asking if I’ve seen it...”

Elliot took a big swallow of the water, shifting on her knees and then taking another. She felt absolutely parched—the water tasted a little funny, but she wasn’t sure if she trusted her own sense of taste right in that moment anyway. “We have to get out,” she said. Whatever the cult believed in or practiced didn’t matter; what mattered was getting the fuck away from them.

She was certain she could hear Ase’s voice just outside. She lowered her voice, trying her hardest to make sure she was whispering, “We were hoping to—I mean, I was hoping to—the plan went wrong, Joey, I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. But we can still get out.”

“Where’s everyone else?” Joey asked. “Sheriff Whitehorse, and Burke, and…”

Her voice trailed off absently, and Elliot could feel the brunette’s eyes on her. She hesitated, taking Joey’s hands in her own before she replied, “I don’t know.”

“Then who is ‘we’? Jerome and the others?”

“No, Jo, it’s--”

The door clicked open behind them, echoing once, twice, three times in Elliot’s head before she turned to see Ase looming in the doorway. Long, dark, the sharp angle of her jawline and the high slope of her cheeks making her look more severe, more beautiful than before.

“It is time for you to see,” she said, her voice light. “You will have time with your friend later.”

“What about Faith?” Elliot asked, struggling to her feet. “I want to see that Faith is okay too. That you haven’t—”

“After,” Ase replied, her voice startlingly ironclad.

“Joey comes with me.” She tried again, tried to force her voice to firmness, to assertion. But Ase only smiled, tranquil now despite the hardness of her voice. She crossed the small space between them, looming in Elliot’s vision--eclipsing all other light, taking away all sense of anything else outside of her.

“She stays,” Ase replied, not unkindly. “This is only for you to see.”

She crossed the distance of the cabin between them and reached for Elliot, taking her hand. The contact made Elliot’s skin buzz. She was so tired--so tired of this stretching and pulling of herself, so tired of the way their drugs made everything somehow more than what she could handle and forced her to handle it anyway.

“Joey—”

Elliot turned back to look at the brunette, reaching for her as Ase pulled her along; Joey had pulled herself to a stand and was trying to follow after them, saying something like, it’s okay, I don’t mind coming, really, more practiced at polite coercion than Elliot was. Before Joey could reach the door after them, Elliot saw the broad, tall form of Kian blocking out the doorway, saying something to Joey in Swedish.

“Hey! Leave her alone, you fuck—”

Ase pulled on her hand, hard, yanking her until she was stumbling after her sleek figure. Out in the night, where the air was chilly with an early-Autumn coldness and Elliot could see her breath floating out of her mouth, she almost felt at peace for a second. Everything was still. Incredibly still, the way the surface of a pond was before a stone landed.

One step at a time, she walked her to the edge of the campground. They broke the treeline, hand-in-hand, until they could see Sacred Skies Lake stretched out below them. Elliot craned her neck to try and see the cabin where they were keeping Joey, but the trees blocked most of her vision of the campground.

“Look, there,” Ase said, interrupting her thoughts. She gestured down at the far treeline. When Elliot turned to look, she saw nothing; only darkness in the still woods. Too still, she thought now—still in the way the forest was when a predator had arrived and all the prey had fled.

The lake rippled below them, and then smoothed out, dark and clear as glass. She tried desperately to see--really see, not just what the drugs were making her see, as though she could brute force her way through the barrage of sensations overwhelming her.

And then: “Hey!”

It was a woman’s voice, thrown from somewhere down by the lake. Elliot felt apprehension crawling across her skin. She didn’t know why it was making her nervous, but she strained to listen for it again all the same.

The voice said again, “Hey, Elli!” and she felt her stomach drop. It was her mother’s voice, the sweet Georgia drawl that her mother had always sported, calling to her from the woods. Calling for her.

“Mama?” Elliot managed out, her voice thick and hoarse and bubbling before it even left her mouth. She felt Ase’s eyes on her, inquisitive, but all she could think about was I have to get her out of here, what is she doing here? Why isn’t she with the others?, so louder this time, she went, “Mama, I’m here!”

She took a step forward. It was Ase’s hand that stopped her, a gentle shake of her head. Elliot looked back at the woman for some kind of answer, but her expression was empty of anything that might have been helpful; on it was only the serene, delicate smile of a woman enthralled.

There was a stretch of silence. Something dark shifted in the trees. Something big, rippling leaves and branches as it moved.

And then: “Mama?”

It was her voice.

It called, again, “Mama, I’m here?”, and the pitch and timbre felt the same as her own voice, like she’d shouted into an echoed canyon, but it was wrong. It was all wrong. It sounded like something trying her out, feeling out the way she sounded. Practicing.

The air bubbled around her with some kind of emotion. It popped, pulled tight, stretching over her vision like saran wrap, until it hurt to keep her eyes open, until she thought desperately that all she wanted to do was close her eyes—but she couldn’t. She had to stay awake, stay clear, stay conscious. For herself, for Joey and Boomer and for—

(Whether you like it or not, you and I are on the same side.)

It called, from deep in the treeline beyond the lake, again. “I’m here!” The voice pitched and pulled between words, like whatever it was kept trying to get the exact cadence of her words—trying her out, tasting. Sliding beneath her skin.

“What the fuck is that?” Elliot whispered. Ase smiled serenely at her, and gave her hand a squeeze.

“Look harder,” Ase murmured. “You will see It.”

She took a step forward, her heart thundering in her chest, trying to see beyond the utter stillness of the forest. Nothing moved; nothing breathed in time with her, anymore; where the drumbeat of the world had once felt it was intrinsically tied to her, she was now cut off from it, in a cold, dead space somewhere beyond.

Something in the trees shifted again, and rumbled.

“It has been waiting for you,” Ase murmured, coming up behind Elliot. Her voice was silky, warm, spinning a web around and around her until it made her feel—

Safe.

“What has?” Elliot managed out, swallowing thickly.

“We call it the Father,” she said. “It talks to us, when we are open to it. In voices we recognize, in the voices of our loved ones, so that it does not scare us.”

Her hands were on Elliot’s shoulders, gently squeezing, and she thought she was going to throw up. The trees in the distance warped and bent, swallowed up by something big and dark and humming, the vibration of it melting around her thrumming beneath her skin.

“It tells us, Elliot, that the end of the world is here. Your own Eden’s Gate knows it, do they not?” Ase’s voice was more urgent now; Elliot didn’t have time to think about how she said your own Eden’s Gate before she was plunging on. “They know it. The only difference between us and them is that we serve It, that we help to usher it in. Just as we once took, so do we give back to It—life, cyclic and infinite. You know it. You understood the words, in the flowers, didn’t you?”

My heart aches for you.

Be gentle with me.

I come soon.

“You’re fucking crazy,” she said, the words coming out slick with panic, spilling out of her before she could stop them. Her shoulders scrunched up to her jaw to try and brush Ase’s hands off of her. “You’re insane. You—crazy bitch—”

They were John’s words, not her own, but it was all she could muster up; the woman’s face remained light and serene, turning Elliot to look at her now.

“It waits for you,” she insisted, her voice wobbling around Elliot like the reverb of a bass drum. “I told you that you would always come back to us. I knew when I saw your color.” Her gaze swept over Elliot, almost affectionate. “White, in perfect balance.”

“Stop touching me,” Elliot managed out, pushing Ase’s hands weakly off of her. The strange thrumming persisted under her skin, a violent cacophony as she tried to block out the sound of her own voice beckoning her from the woods. Hey! Mama, I’m here! It said, begging her to follow, begging her to investigate.

Breathing became harder. It felt like she was gulping in lungfuls of water, eeking out whatever oxygen she could, but no matter where she looked to try and get Ase out of her mind she only saw dark trees; bending and curling and pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

“Mor,” Ase said, taking Elliot’s face in her hands like a lover would, “Mother, that’s what you are. For us, to us, while we serve It.”

“Fuck you,” she spit out, but her voice cracked instead, the fear welling up inside of her like a tidal wave. “I’ll—”

Ase shook her head. “I told you, it is a cycle,” she whispered, pressing their foreheads together. “Wherever you go, wherever you run, It will wait for you. It waits for us all, Elliot, and it will have you. As It gives, so too, does it take.”

She opened her mouth to respond when the loud crack of a gunshot echoed just a few feet away. Ase’s head snapped around viciously, her hand still gripping Elliot’s face with a firm, unforgiving hold; even in the dark, even with the drug wreaking havoc on her system, Elliot recognized the filthy backwater whooping of Peggies.

The flash of headlights through the trees suddenly brought everything back to life, the sound roaring in through Elliot’s head like someone had flicked the mute button back off again.

She turned to look back at the lake. Whatever had been lurking there was gone, now. The sound of feet hitting the dirt, shouted words in a foreign language, and the sweeping realization that they might yet still get out of here sent her heart hammering.

Ase pulled on her, hard, until she was stumbling after her. She craned her neck to try and see if she recognized anyone, to see if she could see one familiar face, but where the gunshots were echoing was already far enough that she could only see the brief flicker of headlights.

The door to the cabin opened. Warm light flooded her vision, splintering behind her eyelids as Ase pushed her inside and said, with a sudden and violent amount of poison, “Stay.”

Everything felt like she was swimming in molasses; each movement harder than the last, each breath taking more and more of her concentration. The door slammed shut. In the time it had taken Elliot to will her venom into existence, Ase had released her hand and swept out of the cabin, leaving her alone with Joey. Through the curtains, she could see dark shapes shifting and melting, one into another, and she took in a stuttering breath.

“Are you okay?” Joey asked immediately, reaching for her. “What did she say? When they did it to me, she kept asking if I could see—but it was just trees, out there, to me. El, look at me.”

“We have to get out,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, cracking with panic. “We have to get the fuck out of here, Joey. These people are—so much worse than Eden’s Gate—”

Voices catapulted in volume outside, tires squealing and doors slamming. All of it felt too loud, even with a wall between herself and the violence—like someone had cracked the volume up to one-hundred and then pulled the knob off.

“What the fuck? Are those Peggies?” Joey whispered, glancing out the window. “I do not want to be in the crossfire of two fucking cults. Elliot, when are the others coming? Where are they?”

Elliot swallowed thickly. As the sounds of cacophony increased outside, reminding her that she had made something like a deal with the devil, she took in a deep breath. She didn’t have time to think about the woods, or whatever it was she thought she’d seen in there, or the way that Ase had gripped her face and said, It waits for you.

“Right,” she said, trying to push those thoughts somewhere far down and out of sight. “So, listen, Joey, about the others, they’re—gone.”

Joey stared at her. “Gone?” she repeated. Horror started to creep into her tone. “Like—dead—?”

“No, I mean—they’re gone. Or they should be,” she added quickly, heading towards the window to look out, “I told them to evacuate Hope County when I ran into these crazies the first time.”

“Okay,” the brunette began, slowly, “so… before, when you said we and—that you had a plan…”

“Right,” Elliot replied, her head swimming a little. “Yeah, a plan. Remember when I said that John got me—”

Joey shook her head, not because she didn’t remember but because she already saw where this was going. “Elliot—”

“—and then he told me that he pawned you off to Faith, and—well, Joey,” Elliot managed, “there wasn’t any way I was going to lose one iota of a chance of getting you back.”

“Fuck,” Joey groaned, pressing her hands to her eyes. “Fuck, Elliot, please tell me you didn’t—”

“Well, look, Joey—”

Something rattled the door. It struck Elliot with a note of panic that they had been locked in, and she didn’t know if in that moment she felt worse to know that they had closed them in or if it was a comfort, considering the chaos that was probably ensuing outside.

Worse, something in her head said. It always feels worse, to be trapped.

Someone banged on the door three times, and then through it came a blissfully familiar voice: “Elliot? Are you in there?”

Elliot felt a wave of relief wash over her. She never thought she would see the day where hearing John Seed’s voice would bring her relief, let alone comfort: but it did.

She hurried to the door, rattling the doorknob for good measure. “Yes,” she replied quickly, the words coming out a bit hoarse, so she tried again, louder this time: “Yeah, John, I’m in here. Can you break the window?”

“I’ll do you one better. Get back from the door.”

She did as he said, reaching for Joey just mere seconds before she heard a concussive splintering of wood and metal from the other side of the door, which swung open shortly thereafter. She was not wrong to think that the outside was chaos; she could hear it more clearly now, but almost none of it mattered, because John Seed was standing there with a shotgun in his arms.

“You could have just broken the window open,” Elliot managed out, around the complicated mess of feelings welling up inside of her and her tongue feeling two sizes too big in her mouth. “Idiot.”

“That’s a lot of attitude you’re giving your rescuer,” John replied, cocking the shotgun with an affirmative click, click, the plastic shell clattering onto the front porch of the cabin. “What are you standing around for? Let’s get moving, hellcat.”

“I’m not going with him,” Joey bit out venomously. “That psycho kidnapped me and held me hostage!”

“Oh, Hudson, that was so long ago,” John drawled, glancing over his shoulder at the erupting chaos behind him. “Keep up with the times, won’t you? Elliot and I are partners, now.”

It shouldn’t have felt dirty, hearing John Seed say that to Joey—because they were partners, because he didn’t have to come for her if he had Faith already and he did anyway—but it did. It felt traitorous.

“You fuckhead!” Joey snapped. “If any of our friends are dead, it’s your fault!”

“Okay!” Elliot announced, her voice high and panicked. It felt weird to be the middleman, the one demanding that everyone be calm. “Okay, let’s just—everyone shut the fuck up, okay? I am hours into a fucking drug trip and there is no time to debate the moral ethics of teaming up with a cult leader to escape another cult leader!”

Joey’s jaw clenched as she stared at John, her eyes narrowing, Elliot’s hand still firmly gripped in hers. She looked at Elliot for a moment, and then—

“Fine,” she ground out.

“Great,” John replied.

“Awesome,” Elliot said, taking in a deep breath. “Joey, is there any medicine in the cabinet? We should grab it.” She paused, looking at John for a moment, her gaze sweeping over him. He was unmarked. Unscarred. Splattered with blood, but it didn’t bother her—rather, assured her. “Did you—did you get Faith?”

He watched Joey let go of her hand and cross the room to gather up what few things she had—the half-drank water bottle, some pills from the cabinet in the bathroom that may or may not have expired, Elliot thought—and then he said, “First thing. She’s waiting for us down by the lake.”

“Good,” Elliot murmured, nodding and swallowing thickly. For a second, a strange silence stretched between them, and then John took a few steps into the cabin and he reached for her.

“They didn’t hurt you?” he asked, his voice dropping in volume, his fingers brushing her jaw and tilting her face to get a look at her neck where Kian’s fingers had dug into her skin.

She felt her lashes flutter, the feeling of his fingers skimming the still-tender spots sending strange vibrations rattling through her skull. Her skin didn’t crawl the same way it had when Kian had grabbed her, but heat did bloom in her face, and she felt it crawling all the way down her neck. His gaze darted over her face, lingering on her mouth for a heartbeat in their close proximity.

“Stupid,” she muttered, brushing his hand off. “Of course they didn’t. You should be checking on Ase’s little boy-pet.”

John grinned, the expression drenched in something close to pride. “I should have known.”

“Let’s go.” It was Joey’s voice that interrupted, slicing right through the moment, dousing out the flames Elliot felt in her chest. The brunette grabbed her hand and pulled her through the doorway, out into the cold, black night—a night swelling and vibrating with sound now, no longer ruptured by a stillness that sat like condensation in her lungs but noise, bubbling and sparking in the air like electricity.

Joey stopped, ducking and pulling Elliot back behind the next door cabin when the sound of gunfire pierced through the night. John slipped just ahead of them and said, “Hey, maybe let the guy with the gun go first?”

“Maybe the guy with the gun should be covering our asses instead,” Joey retorted. She pushed the water bottle into Elliot’s free hand and nudged her ahead. “C’mon, get a move on, Elli.”

John glanced back at her, and his expression said, Elli, huh? That’s cute. Elliot glared at him, but there was a lightness in her when she did—it didn’t matter, that infuriating way he cocked his grin at her, like he was equal parts pleased with himself and proud of her ferocity. It didn’t matter, because she could see the hilltop where Ase had shown her the lake, and once they got down they were home free, and John Seed could feel however he wanted to about her.

She had Joey. She would be free to go, and leave the Seeds behind her.

Shouting clipped through the air in the distance, and John glanced back behind them, exhaling through his mouth. No doubt the members of Eden’s Gate that were creating this diversion (and that’s what it was, a diversion) were getting mowed down, obliterated by the organized, methodical killing that the Family was capable of.

Elliot glanced back. Through the gaps in the trees, she could see bodies dropping and crumpling against the ground, pulled and yanked out of trucks that had been driven right up against the clearing. Lambs to the slaughter, she thought hazily, her fingers slipping out of Joey’s hand. What am I, then?

Wherever you go, wherever you run, It will wait for you.

Someone screamed. She saw the light of it, pinching off of them in sharp, rapid bursts of yellow, swimming through the air until disappearing into the night sky above her where the boughs of the trees stretched impossibly far. Each massacre, each bloody slaughter ending life after life, the residue filtering through the air in ghostly wisps of color.

As It gives, so too, does it take.

“El,” John said, taking a step down the hill, “we have to go.”

“Joey?” she asked. “She--”

“On her way down the hill, already.” He reached for her, hand outstretched, ignoring that she seemed to keep losing time. “Let’s go.”

Elliot paused at the top of the hill; her gaze darted, without much thought, to the treeline—it’s nothing, she thought to herself, I just want to check.

Something lurched in the treeline. Big, breaking and snapping trees, and Elliot felt a breath slip out of her, violently departing her lungs.

“John,” she began, uneasily, “I don’t think I can—”

“You’re fine, El, just keep—”

Joey called something from down below them; irritation flickered across John’s expression, and he turned away from her to take another step down the hill and call back, “Yeah, we’re—just sit tight down there, Hudson…”

Elliot took an unsteady step backward, and just as she did, she felt someone grab her arm.

“Not you,” Ase hissed at her, yanking her hard until she stumbled back from the hillside. There was a frantic, wild energy about her now, infernal, bubbling up out of the calm, polished veneer. “Not you, mor, not this time. You get to stay and see what you’ve done.”

Elliot felt cold earth and pine needles beneath palms, prickling through her jeans as she hit the ground. Her stomach lurched; she thought she was going to throw up, but when she turned around to see Ase stalking towards her, a different kind of nausea welled up in her. For the first time in a long time, Elliot felt real, cold fear in her, searing through her like a venom.

She wanted to call for John, or Joey, or anyone—but her jaw felt like it was wrenched tight, and violent sparks of light were rushing off of Ase right in front of her eyes.

“You’re insane,” she managed out unsteadily, the heat in her voice whipped away by the panic inside of her.

“I told you,” Ase said, taking two steps closer to her, “no matter where you go, you will always—”

Something loud and concussive echoed. Elliot heard flesh and sinew tear until the pressure of something greater; the arterial spray of it peppered her vision, splattering across her face until the world looked like it was doused in red film.

Ase’s expression went slack as she sank to her knees in front of Elliot, and in the dark of the night, Elliot could see the blood splatter of the gaping wound in Ase’s stomach just before she slumped forward. She wasn’t dead, yet—as John took a step forward, cocking the shotgun again, Elliot thought about the way Ase’s stomach had been spilling out of her.

“John?” she asked, feeling very small and very far away. A part of her brain was vaguely aware of the sounds of the firefight echoing in the night, of voices shouting closer to her, but she couldn’t think about any of that. All she could think about is the way John was looking at her, the shotgun propped up and ready to fire again, though he didn’t. Not yet.

Something brushed her hand. Elliot looked back and saw Ase’s glassy eyes, her fingers brushing Elliot’s, reaching for her. Blood dripped out of her mouth, and the green light that Elliot had thought she’d seen around her now was beginning to dim. Her lips parted, her gaze flickering absently over her face.

“Do you see?”

Ase interlaced their fingers. The earth below her stretched out, pulling her, sweeping like a neverending conveyor belt that only managed to make her sicker.

Another concussive blast muted out the world. She heard nothing but the ringing in her ears as the back of Ase’s head caved in, their eyes locked and their fingers interlaced, like friends. Like sisters.

“No,” Elliot said, the sound coming out of her like some kind of agonized noise, “no no no—”

Something firm and warm gripped her shoulders. A hand reached up, pushing against her jaw until she was forced to turn her eyes away from Ase’s mouth moving silently.

It was John. Eclipsing her vision, filling it up until there nothing else. John, pulling her to her feet, wiping the blood from her face and saying something—something that she couldn’t hear, her head vibrating with the residue of the shotgun blast that had covered her in gore—pulling her to the hillside, pulling her down.

The world swam and melted around her as John pulled her down the hill, one hand gripping hers and the other steadying her as she stumbled and swayed. She tried to look elsewhere, anywhere that wasn’t John, John who had looked like maybe he was hesitating and then had blown Ase’s head to pieces, but she couldn’t.

At the bottom of the hill, Joey immediately grabbed her away from John. “El? Elli? Are you okay?”

She didn’t know what to say. The feeling of Ase’s fingers reaching for her, interlacing with hers, stuck to her ribs. Elliot thought about the curve of the back of Ase’s head, concave from the shotgun shell, the carmine spray of the woman’s wound coating her face.

“If you want to stand around down here and chit chat, that’s fine.” It was Jacob’s voice. When had Jacob gotten there? Why was he there? She watched him grab Faith’s hand and pull the girl along, heading further down to the lake. “We’re leaving.”

“When—” Elliot began, still dazed, feeling like the world was becoming a watercolor painting around her. “When did Jacob—”

“Drink some water,” Joey said, holding the water bottle out to her, “and we’ll talk about it later, but right now we need to move, Elli.”

She nodded numbly, clutching Joey’s hand as she started to walk, John’s radiating warmth on the other side of her. Elliot glanced at him through the corner of his eyes for any indication that he felt, at all, any emotion about what he’d just done—but he only looked quietly troubled, his fingers brushing hers as they walked.

He’d said to her, grinning slick, yours must surely be the sin of wrath. But she didn’t feel so very wrathful now, Ase’s blood on her face and the world falling apart around her. She watched him, glancing around through the trees, checking the chaos behind them, the slaughterhouse he had led his lambs to.

Not this one. John’s voice, hissing in her ear, as she gasped around lungfuls of water. This one’s not clean.

John’s hands on either side of her face, gripping, grounding her to the earth when she felt like she was going to float away, when it felt like the earth was slipping out from beneath her feet. John, not grimacing or flinching when her nails dug into his arm to keep her present, to keep her anchored.

Which one are you? she thought, staring at him until her eyes burned, until he looked over at her inquisitively. Which John are you?

John, glowing with pride at Joseph’s praise. John, irritably telling her to smoke a cigarette because he knew from one casual conversation that it would relax her. John, his fingers brushing the skin just below her collarbone, saying maybe we’ll tattoo it here, just over your heart. John, calling her a killer.

By the pricking of my thumbs.

#far cry 5 #john seed #john seed x deputy #john seed/ofc #far cry fic #my writing #john seed/original female character #am i clown? yes #does that stop me from posting as much as i would like? also yes

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psychologyofsex · 4 years ago

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The True Story of How I Became a Sex Educator and Researcher

Our professional biographies tend to serve as a “highlight reel”—they only say the great things we’ve accomplished and don’t reveal the struggles, challenges, and uncertainties that went into building a career. To lift back the curtain on this, the Society for Personality and Social Psychology (SPSP) recently asked a number of scholars to submit their official bios along with their “unofficial bios” that reveal an extremely different version of the story with more twists and turns.

You can read some of the examples here. Although I didn’t participate in it, I thought it would be fun to do something similar on the blog. So here goes—I’ll start with my official bio, followed by the real, behind-the-scenes story.

Official Bio of Dr. Justin J. Lehmiller

Dr. Justin Lehmiller received his Ph.D. in Social Psychology from Purdue University. He is a Research Fellow at The Kinsey Institute and author of the book Tell Me What You Want: The Science of Sexual Desire and How It Can Help You Improve Your Sex Life. Dr. Lehmiller is an award-winning educator, having been honored three times with the Certificate of Teaching Excellence from Harvard University, where he taught for several years. He is also a prolific researcher and scholar who has published more than 50 academic works to date, including a textbook titled The Psychology of Human Sexuality (now in its second edition) that is used in college classrooms around the world. Dr. Lehmiller's studies have appeared in all of the leading journals on human sexuality, including the Journal of Sex Research, Archives of Sexual Behavior, and The Journal of Sexual Medicine.

Dr. Lehmiller has run the popular blog Sex and Psychology since 2011. It receives millions of page views per year and is rated among the top sex blogs on the internet. In 2019, he launched the Sex and Psychology Podcast. It ranks among the top sexuality podcasts in several countries and has been named one of “11 sex podcasts that will help you get better in bed” by Men’s Health.

Dr. Lehmiller has been interviewed by numerous media outlets, including The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times, The Chicago Tribune, The Boston Globe, CNN, The Atlantic, The Globe and Mail, and The Sunday Times. He has been named one of 5 "Sexperts" You Need to Follow on Twitter by Men's Health and one of the "modern-day masters of sex" by Nerve. Dr. Lehmiller has appeared on the Netflix series Sex, Explained, he has been on several episodes of the television program Taboo on the National Geographic Channel, and he has been a guest on Dr. Phil. Dr. Lehmiller has also appeared on numerous podcasts and radio shows, including the Savage Lovecast, the BBC’s Up All Night, and several NPR programs (1A, Radio Times, and Airtalk).

He is a popular freelance writer, penning columns and op-eds for major publications, including The Washington Post, Playboy, USA Today, VICE, Psychology Today, Men’s Health, Politico, and New York Magazine. He has also interviewed several prominent authors, journalists, and psychologists about their work for his blog and podcast, including Dr. Sanjay Gupta, Lisa Ling, Drs. John and Julie Gottman, and bestselling authors Christopher Ryan (Sex at Dawn) and Lisa Taddeo (Three Women).

Unofficial Bio of Dr. Justin J. Lehmiller

When Justin’s parents asked him what he wanted to study in college, he said “psychology.” He had taken a couple of psychology courses in high school that he found to be absolutely fascinating; however, his parents discouraged him from this because getting into a PhD program was tough and uncertain and, if that didn’t work out, they didn’t see much potential in a Bachelor’s degree in psychology. They encouraged him to pursue a career in occupational therapy (OT) instead because a family friend said “they needed more men in the field,” and also because his parents saw it as a path to job security with a pretty good paycheck.

He applied to a 5-year combined Bachelor’s/Master’s program in OT at Gannon University and was admitted. Incidentally, he was one of two men in the entire program. He spent a year and a half in it and made straight As in every course, including biochemistry and physics—but he wasn’t happy. He recognized the importance of OT to society, but it wasn’t his passion. After showing his parents that he was taking college seriously and earning good grades, they allowed him to switch his major to psychology.

Upon completing his Bachelor’s degree, he only applied to Master’s programs in psychology because he didn’t think he had the chops to get into a PhD program right away. The inferiority complex was strong in this one, so he didn’t even try. He applied and was accepted to Villanova University’s Master’s program in experimental psychology. He was not competitive enough of a candidate to receive an assistantship initially, although he eventually received one after another student dropped out.

He really wanted to study social psychology at Villanova, but there was only one social psychologist on staff at the time and several interested students. The only option for him was to beg one of the clinical psychologists to let him do a social psychology study for his Master’s thesis.

As he began looking for PhD programs to apply to, he met Dr. Chris Agnew at a meeting of the American Psychological Association. Chris was studying romantic relationships and Justin thought that sounded like a fun thing to spend his life doing. Plus, Chris was a super cool guy who seemed like a fantastic mentor. He applied and was admitted to Purdue’s social psychology program, although he was initially waitlisted (and rejected from all but one other program). Justin’s plan was to get his doctorate and become a college professor. Teaching and research sounded like things he could probably do.

Justin was assigned to teach a Health Psychology course at Purdue during his first year. He had never taught a class before and quickly realized that he was very uncomfortable with public speaking. The class was a disaster. Attendance dropped 60-70% within the first couple of weeks. He had no idea what he was doing and dreaded going to class each day—and he received poor evaluations in the end.

Around the same time, Justin submitted his first academic paper to a journal, it was promptly rejected and came with this review: “This manuscript is fatally flawed and of marginal utility, which is a shame because potentially interesting questions could have been asked given the topic and timing of the research. The tone of this manuscript represents the worst in scientific misconstrual, particularly because the claims are silly, wrong, or not warranted by the data.” Justin clearly sucked at both teaching and research—and if he couldn’t do those things well, how would he ever become a college professor?

He also started hearing horror stories from advanced students in his program who couldn’t find jobs and were sticking around for 6 or 7 years in the hope of eventually landing a job—any job. All of this led Justin to question what the hell he was doing with his life. Maybe he should have listened to his parents after all? Chris encouraged Justin to stick with it, though, as did his friends and mentors.

The next year, Justin got assigned to be a teaching assistant for a human sexuality course taught by Dr. Janice Kelly. It changed his life. He had to lead weekly discussion sections with students and answer their sex questions (a subject he knew next to nothing about, having attended Catholic schools most of his life). He read about sex extensively and instantly knew he had found what he really wanted to do with his career. He saw it as something fun and interesting—but also a way that he could make a real difference. He realized how little most people actually know about sex, and how education can correct so many harmful myths and misconceptions.

An opportunity to teach his own human sexuality class opened up the following year, and he took it. This time around, teaching was different—he was passionate about the subject and the students were, too. He had no problems with attendance. He ended up teaching this course six times before he graduated and eventually received a teaching award for it. He found that he loved being a sex educator.

He also found a solution to his public speaking anxiety: he started taking a beta-blocker (propranolol) on public speaking days, which removed physiological symptoms of anxiety. This allowed him to feel like himself in front of a crowd and, after just a few months, he no longer needed to take the medication—the anxiety had gone away completely.

He started conducting his own sex research, too, including a series of studies with Dr. Kelly on friends with benefits. His research skills improved and his studies started getting accepted instead of rejected.

He eventually landed a job at Colorado State University as an assistant professor, where he stayed for three years and continued his work as a sex educator and researcher. His partner couldn’t get a job in the area and had just taken a job in Boston, so Justin applied for every academic job within two hours of Boston. He was turned down for all of them. As a last-ditch effort, he applied for a teaching position at Harvard but had absolutely no confidence in it. He almost didn’t submit the application, but his partner encouraged him to do so. Justin had applied to Harvard’s PhD program previously and was rejected—if they didn’t want him as a student, why the heck would they want him as a teacher?

To his great surprise, he got the job at Harvard, where he stayed for three years. However, he had given up his tenure-track job in Colorado for a teaching position in Boston with no job security. So he decided to reinvent himself just in case things didn’t work out. In his spare time, he started a blog, wrote a human sexuality textbook, and became a freelance media writer. Communicating about sex science to the public became his hobby and was going to be his backup career in case the college professor thing didn’t work out.

Eventually, Justin’s partner wanted to move to Indianapolis for a job opportunity, so they left Boston. But Justin didn’t have a job at first and his backup plan wasn’t yet enough to be a full-time job. He knew the Kinsey Institute was nearby, so he drafted a letter to the director in the hope of establishing a connection, but he never sent it. He had a severe case of imposter syndrome and did not feel accomplished or experienced enough to have anything to do with what he saw as the premier hub for sex research in the world.

Much to his surprise, the associate director of the Institute reached out to him after he moved to Indiana to explore opportunities for working together. It was actually his hobby/backup plan that caught their eye—they were interested in working together to disseminate sex science to the public and were impressed with what he had done with his blog and social media.

Justin affiliated with Kinsey, but also jumped back on the tenure track with a job as the Director of the Social Psychology Program at Ball State University, which fortuitously opened up about 4 months after he moved to Indianapolis. After 3.5 years, he decided to leave full-time academics and do his own thing. His science communication hobby had managed to grow into a full-time job and it was no longer feasible to do that and academics. Plus, he found that the science communication work was really where his passion was. So, the backup plan officially became “the plan.”

Justin now spends every day finding new ways to help educate and inform the public about the science of sex. He’s still not sure how things ended up this way, but wouldn’t trade his current job for anything.

Want to learn more about Sex and Psychology? Click here for more from the blog or here to listen to the podcast. Follow Sex and Psychology on Facebook, Twitter (@JustinLehmiller), or Reddit to receive updates. You can also follow Dr. Lehmiller on YouTube and Instagram.

Image Source: 123RF

You Might Also Like:

How Do You Become a Sex Researcher?

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Sex Question Friday: What Is A Sexologist And How Do I Become One?

#sex education #sex research

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voidstilesplease · 4 years ago

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falling for coincidences

For @sterek-kinkmas day 6: Cheating

Tags: Alternate Universe-Soulmates, Angst, Non-graphic sexual content, Triskelion as soul mark

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count: 1,048

But it is such cruelty to place them together in a universe where they share one mark that means nothing at all.

It's wrong, they both know that, but they can't resist.

They keep colliding, and now they're both in too deep.

***

The concept of soulmates is more a myth now than real because only a small percentage of the world's population still bear soul marks. And even if one has it, only one out of a hundred goes hell-bent on finding their other half. Some even go as far as covering them with a tattoo to deny their existence. They're no more than blemishes now.

It's a peculiar phenomenon, and no one has concrete, scientific evidence why these marks appear on anyone. And so, therefore, speculations rise about its nature. Modern researchers have dubbed them now as coincidental identical birthmarks that appear randomly and don't signify a fated spiritual connection to others.

So, yes, they're more a myth now than real.

But Stiles has a mark -a small triskelion on the soft skin of his left inner wrist. He admits that at some vulnerable point in his life, he wished soul mates weren't just coincidences and that he would meet the other person sharing the same mark. But as he grew older and understood that the chance of that ever happening was nil to none, he gave up on such mundane and fairytale thoughts.

Then he meets Derek Hale. Again.

Stiles had known Derek before since they both hailed from a small town in California, Beacon Hills. Derek is five years his senior, a popular character at school, and born from an affluent, influential family. Stiles is younger and more a passing figure in a crowd as compared to Derek's limelight. So, it's no surprise that they never crossed paths for anything meaningful that would involve a conversation that wasn't one-sided or composed of three words in total. Much less, exposing their identical soul marks.

Derek left town after graduating and barely came home since going away to college. Stiles is partially the same, but it's more because of the job assignments he lands that he rarely visits home.

But they cross paths again, in the same town they grew up in, as professionals this time -Stiles, an FBI consultant, while Derek is a lawyer. This time, no one is a fleeting shadow, and no one holds the beam above his head.

This time, Derek notices his soul mark.

This time, Stiles's innermost, irrational desire to believe in soul mates rekindles.

They catch fire, and they both burn.

It burns in Derek's eyes and the way he runs them in Stiles's face, memorizing every spot of mole, and jut of bone, and twitch of eyebrows. It burns in Derek's fingertips and the way they press in Stiles's skin, assertive and possessive, aiming to leave marks of his creation apart from the predetermined swirling lines in his wrist that are twin to the ones in Derek's back.

It burns in the thrust of Derek's hips and the way he stretches and fills Stiles like they are for this purpose -to fit beautifully that each slide into him is like a puzzle piece falling into place. His thighs cradle Derek perfectly, and Derek slots into the junction of his neck and shoulder. His toned body forces Stiles's legs wide apart, and the rippling muscles of his shoulders and arms make for good purchase to Stiles's scrambling hands. If he doesn't hold on tight, he might float away from the delicious, unforgiving force of Derek's fucking.

Derek lowers to his elbows sometime later, framing Stiles's head, surrounding him inside and out. His hips stutter in their pace but not losing accuracy, hammering to the right spot, and Stiles loses his head in the haze. He has had sex before, but he can't remember a time he got mad with euphoria and ecstasy.

Stiles comes untouched when Derek brings Stiles's wrist to his lips, kissing, licking, and biting at the mark there. He worships it, as Stiles worships its counterpart. Derek loses his rhythm completely when Stiles clamps down on him, crying his bliss, and he follows, whispering:

"I love you."

~•~

It's wrong, they both know that, but they can't resist.

They keep colliding, and now they're both in too deep.

***

It's the first time Derek says the words, but it isn't the first time he has shown it. In the months following the first time that their roads crossed again after years, finding out their soul bond, and falling into bed together to appease the crawling sensation in their skins, Derek's treatment of Stiles has considerably developed.

Derek cooks him breakfast, brings him lunch, and takes him to dinner. Derek also loads his fridge with all of Stiles's favorite food and makes coffee exactly as Stiles prefers to take it. Derek even watches the movies he claims he hates but sits for the whole duration anyway because Stiles wants to indulge himself. He argues with Stiles about cases -relenting when he knows he's missed an angle and apologizes with kisses. Derek fucks Stiles and transitions effortlessly to making love to him.

It's a beautiful progression of a relationship of two people that the stars have proclaimed to live intertwined.

Stiles doesn't say it back, but he knows he loves Derek too.

~•~

It's wrong, they both know that, but they can't resist.

They keep colliding, and now they're both in too deep.

But Derek is married.

He has a wife.

They're going to have a daughter.

"I married too soon," he says, hugging Stiles from behind, telling him his regrets. But Stiles thinks it's unfair to his wife and future child.

But it is such cruelty to place them together in a universe where they share one mark that means nothing at all -where it's all but a coincidence.

~•~

It's wrong, they both know that, but they can't resist.

It's wrong, and they both know that.

It's wrong.

~•~

"Derek, this is wrong," Stiles whispers, lying on his back, watching the filtering moonbeams streaming in through the open window of Derek's room. "They don't deserve this."

Derek is silent for a long while, chest rising and falling in heavy puffs. Then, "Do we?"

Stiles knows the right answer, but he doesn't say it.

Stiles hates himself, but he's in too deep with this coincidence.

***

They're in too deep for it to be just coincidence.

~.~

#sterek #sterekkinkmas #sterekkinkmas2020 #stiles stilinski #derek hale #fics to write

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alextriestowritestuff · 5 years ago

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Mark of Athena Re-read

Hey guys! If you’ve been keeping up with my last couple of posts, you’ll know I’ve been re-reading the Heroes of Olympus (HoO) series by Rick Riordan, starting with the Son of Neptune. If you want to my thoughts on it (spoilers included) and my background with the series, click here. I made a little bit of rant post about my feelings about the HoO series overall so far and you can find that here! This post will be about the Mark of Athena (MoA) and as always, spoilers abound.

Soooo y’all...I think this book is worse than the Lost Hero. I feel so bad for saying that bc I hated tLH (Like I’d give that book 2 stars) but god, this was so bad. No wonder I forgot what happened when I originally read it. Before I get into it, I will say I’m usually not negative in my ‘reviews’-I’ll give credit where it’s due (I did that in tSoN with Hazel and Frank who weren’t really my fav characters to start with) but this book has very little redeemable aspects imo. So I’ll start with the thing I was most irritated about: Piper.

Piper...Piper...Piper. Gods, none of her chapters ever passed the Bechdel test. I DESPISE her and I hated every single one of her chapters. With characters like Frank, I admitted that sometimes his chapters were a bit boring but I never hated the guy’s narration. Piper, however, is an insecure hypocrite. Let me show you.

So at one point, Annabeth, Piper, and Hazel meet up with Aphrodite. The POV is Annabeth’s and while Aphrodite is talking to them, it seems like Piper is just embarrassed to have her around.

“Mother!” Piper said. “You’re embarrassing me.” “Well, I don’t see why,” the goddess said. “Just because you don’t appreciate my fashion tips, Piper, doesn’t mean the others won’t. I could do a quick makeover for Annabeth and Hazel, perhaps silk ball gowns like mine—” “Mother!”

And a few lines later she says again “ ‘Mother, Piper said, “is there a reason you’re here?’” (30).

Okay so someone tell me why this girl says 10 pages later “But also, Piper was secretly hurt not to have her mother to herself. Aphrodite had barely looked at her. She hadn’t said a word about Jason. She hadn’t bothered explaining her conversation with Reyna at all. It was almost as if Aphrodite no longer found Piper interesting. Piper had gotten her guy. Now it was up to her to make things work, and Aphrodite had moved on to newer gossip as easily as she might toss out an old copy of a tabloid magazine” (40). LIKE GIRL MAKE UP YOUR MIND. Do you want your mom’s attention or not? But I’m highkey interested in what Aphrodite said to Reyna tho.

Let’s talk about Reyna for a second. First off, I feel so bad for her?? Percy turned her down-fine, he has a gf. Then I thought Jason had feelings for her but he says this in MoA, page 19: “It’s just…I never felt that way toward Reyna,” Jason said, “so I didn’t think about its making you uncomfortable. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Pipes”. Like damn can Reyna get any love?? I get that he doesn’t like her anymore since he met Piper but to have never liked her? That’s rough. And notice how this quote is from page 19, but again on p. 40, Piper is still so insecure in their relationship. I don’t she’s listened to a word he said at all. Then towards the end of the book, she says oh I love you but she literally didn’t know the man’s age prior to that. Like what?? Did they even kiss this book? I think like once lmao. Also speaking of the birthday thing, Piper says this while she waits for Jason to blow out his birthday candles.

“Well?” she urged. “Blow out the candles.”

Jason did. Piper wondered if he’d made a wish—hopefully that he and Piper would survive this quest and stay together forever. She decided not to ask him. She didn’t want to jinx that wish, and she definitely didn’t want to find out that he’d wished for something different.

Me @ Jason: This your girl? Come get her. Because Imma hurt her feelings. What do you mean you want him to wish to stay together forever? He should wish for Gaea to you know die so everyone can be safe. If I ever met Piper in person, I’d fight her. ON SIGHT.

In a related note, I’ve got nothing to say about Jason. He was fine. He passed out alot during this book, didn’t do much for how hyped his powers are supposed to be. I will say when he and Percy were possessed and they fought each other, Percy totally won that fight. He knocked Jason the hell out and was about to end his whole career until Piper got Blackjack to knock him out. But overall, I think Jason’s rather bland and him and Piper have NO chemistry. But I don’t think he deserves insecure Piper as a girlfriend. She’s a whole ass child of Aphrodite and she’s worried about her relationship...let me move on.

My main issue with the book lies in the structure and plot. The previous two books had 3 narrators and each set of trio had a specific prophecy assigned to them-i.e: Percy, Hazel and Frank had to free death, retrieve the eagle. The prophecies are a catalyst to get them to go on the quest. And then obviously, we have the overarching prophecy of the seven that will come to fruition in small chunks until the last book of the series. That’s fine. So the issue with MoA is that now Rick is handling seven characters + Coach Hedge (like why was he necessary??). He has 4 POVs which threw me the hell off bc we had 3 in the previous two books and honestly, I think we could’ve gone without one of them (Percy’s actually). As a writer, it’s hard to balance multiple characters in the same setting constantly. If they have a conversation, one or two of them will have less lines because other characters have already said them. Therefore to give everyone adequate ‘screen time’, Rick had to separate them by keeping groups of three or two on their own side quest. As a result, however, reading the book felt like I was being brake checked constantly. Ex-We follow Percy, Frank, and Hedge to an Aquarium then we follow Annabeth, Hazel, and Piper to meet Aphrodite, then they encounter the Romans, then Piper and Jason meet Hercules and get the horn and so on. Like they’re constantly shifting and doing stuff but not going as a group so it feels like I’m constantly trying to catch up. There’s too many pit stops for my liking. And I deadass have no idea what most of it had to with the MoA prophecy.

This disjointed-ness is what makes me rate it lower than tLH. Because while I didn’t like Piper or Jason in that book, it was still cohesive. There was a plot and it was followed. Another reason I might feel this way toward MoA is because Rick has a formula and it’s starting to be predictable. Think about the original Greek myths-there’s one main demigod like Hercules, there’s a quest, there’s godly interference so it makes sense the the PJO/HoO characters have the same thing. But all this talking to gods (esp gods we’ve already met like Aphrodite) is taking up so much space and slowing the plot. It also didn’t help that the minor villians in this book are all unlikeable?? All they did was talk. Otis and Ephialtes. Porchy and Keto. Arachane. All they did was talk. Here’s how to defeat a PJO/HoO villain: con them to help you/let you go or fight them. That’s it.

This book is where I started to really regret reading the series. Like I was just over it. The plot was somehow slow and all over the place at the same time. The last couple of chapters were good because I was like finally, something relevant to the prophecy is happening.

Let me leave you guys with some positives about this book though:

1. Annabeth’s POV. What a gal. When she faces Arachane, Annabeth mentions that she doesn’t have an active power like the other Seven but she has her intelligence. And I’m like yes girl, you are brave and everything I want to be. I would read the PJO series from her POV over this series.

2. Percabeth. They kept promising to come back to each other and my heart melted. Percy was so worried about letting her go follow the Mark but he knew it’s what she had to do and he let her go. And ugh, them falling got me all over again. And like just their chemistry is off the charts. Piper and Jason could never.

3. Percy’s comments about Luke. Percy realizes that he’s around Luke’s age when Luke went all ‘Gods are bad, their children are pawns’ and like I get chills from reading that passage because you can tell Percy’s tired. He can’t have a life because of these quests, he’s constantly moments away from dying. He never really got a chance to be a teenager. And I get he wants to help people and keep the world from being taken over by bad guys but he’s also human. He’s seen demigods die...he’s traumatized. Like Percy, I really understand Luke better now (right idea, wrong execution) and l see how tired Percy is.

4. The Leo/Hazel/Frank disaster of a love triangle. Like I’ve mentioned before, I want Hazel, a THIRTEEN YEAR OLD child, to be left the hell alone when it comes to romance. But because Uncle Rick insists on pairing up everyone, I have to oblige. So here I am. The amount of times I cackled at Frank and Leo’s digs at each other is astronomical. Like shots were fired, no one held back. I was like is this even MG/lower end of YA anymore with all this salt?? Over the years I’ve been spoiled about the series so I know that Leo somehow ends up with Calypso so I know nothing will come out of the love triangle (and it seems to be wrapping up bc Leo and Frank complimented each other’s abilities toward the end there) but passive aggressive-ness was peak.

5. Every single conversation between Reyna and Annabeth. Like two powerhouses talking about wanting to save their camps and the world. I loved it. Hands down. I hope they can be friends when this is all over.

6. And lastly, the reunion of Percabeth. The Judo flip. The fact that Percy talked about having a future with her.

Thanks for reading if you made it down here and I’ll see you guys in a couple of days with my House of Hades update. This book and the one after it I’m reading for the first time ever so I’m going in semi blind (like I said, I know some spoilers). I’m currently on chapter 2 or 3 of that and ermm, it was a weak intro but I’ll keep going :) rooting for Percabeth to make it through.

#Mark of Athena #Percy Jackson #Percabeth #HoO #Read with me #alextriestowritestuff #writeblr #not writing #reyna ramirez arellano

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epicstuckyficrecs · 5 years ago

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Weekly Recap | September 23-29

Complete

💙 When You Move, I Move by 2bestfriends (Shrunkyclunks, PWP | 20K | Explicit): As September ushers in cooler nights, Bucky asks for a little more heat. (Sequel to Like Real People Do)

💙 Alcohol: Oh Yes You Fucking Can! by caleprwrite (Modern AU, Office romance | 19K | Explicit): Bucky has a problem. The mandatory team building retreat for Stark Industries executive leadership is just one week away, and he’s been assigned Steve Rogers as his partner for all of the obligatory Junior/Senior Executive activities. Yeah... paired with that Steve Rogers, the new Chief Design Officer with the Great Ass and the Killer Smile and the ridiculous amount of charm that oozes from practically every pore of his flawless, pale Irish skin. They’ll be spending an indeterminable amount of time together and Bucky has yet to find an effective means of containing his thirst, at least one that doesn't involve strict avoidance. In other words, Bucky is fucked.

💙 seduced you and left you bruised and ruined (you poor sad thing, you want a better story) by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (Shrunkyclunks, SHIELD agent Bucky | 15K | Explicit): It's always one step forward, two steps backward. (Part 5 of 💙couldn't get the boy to kill me)

Knit One, Purl Two, Is How I Say "I Love You" by Ignisentis (Canon | 4,6K | Teen): Bucky looks up from the book he’s reading at the sound of the familiar gentle clacking of the wooden needles Steve has always preferred to use when he’s knitting. He used to knit back in the day whenever he wasn’t drawing. He said it helped calm him down, that he liked making things, especially for Bucky, that it made him feel like he was contributing more since it was hard for him to hold down a regular job. He used to knit Bucky socks and hats and scarves whenever he could get his hands on some yarn. He’d always wanted to make a sweater but never could get the same kind of yarn in sweater quantities. Now, though. Now Bucky has a handful of sweaters that Steve’s made for him.

where the dread fern grows by silentwalrus/ @silentwalrus1 (Canon divergent, magical realism | 6,7K | General): Sam's gotta buy a wedding present, and nothing but elf booze will do. (Part 1 of a greenhouse in brooklyn)

march of the pumpkins by silentwalrus/ @silentwalrus1 (Canon divergent, magical realism | 2,3K | General): Halloween in Brooklyn, bog witch style. (Part 2 of a greenhouse in brooklyn)

A man for a lifetime, a king for a day by verzacefatale/ @verzacefatale (Canon divergent, WW2 | 1K | General): Bucky’s never been overseas before, and if it wasn’t for what he knows is waiting for him when he gets over there, he would welcome it.

It's Been a Long, Long Time by dixons_mama (pre-TFA | 1,1K | General): Steve wondered why Bucky had invited him to the dance hall after-hours.

Reading in progress

avalanche by pieandsouffles/ @amerrichavez (Uni AU | 46K | Explicit): super-straight fraternity presidents. super-meddling friends. what could go wrong?

WIP

Sex With Benefits by verzacefatale/ @verzacefatale (Modern AU, FWB | 1/? | 3K | Explicit): Bucky makes a movement that encompasses the ehness of banging dudes and hooking up with friends. “It’s not that big a deal. We’ll fuck, then eat pizza and watch Real Housewives of Rhode Island. You can be an honorary homo.”

💙 This Side of the Blue by notlucy/ @notlucy (Mermaid AU | 39/44 | 141K | Explicit): A trick was the only explanation for what Steve saw floating there. This figment of his childhood. This myth. This legend. Within the tank, the siren bared its teeth.

💙 Political Animals by crinklefries/ @spacerenegades, Deisderium/ @deisderium (Modern AU, politics | 8/10 | 73K | Explicit): Okay, so the real problem is that you shouldn’t fuck your arch-rival, political enemy, and the person you loathe the most in the world where you work. Or like, at least, you shouldn’t keep doing that.

Not In That Way by onymousann (Canon-divergent, post-Endgame | 3/5 | 20K | Not Rated): “I think— I want to stay. After the jump. I want to stay.” Or, Steve’s epic stupidity and bad decision-making have unintended consequences.

#stucky #stucky fic #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #stucky fic rec #weekly recap

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jbcnks · 5 years ago

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BASICS.

Name: Jameson “Jamie” Banks

Gender / Pronouns: Cis male / he, him

Species: Human

Age: Thirty-four (34)

Occupation: Consulting detective for Blackrock PD

Personality: Determined, fair, enthusiastic, bossy, stubborn, abrasive

HISTORY. tw. racism, death of a family member, grieving, murder, i guess technically cannibalism.

You are born one bright spring morning. Your mother always tells you that when she brought you home, all the flowers had bloomed in her garden, welcoming you into the world. Brian is born two years later, on a fall evening. Your parents leave you with your aunt while your mother gives birth to your little brother -- you don’t actually remember this part, but your parents tell you that you were thrilled to see him.

Winthrop, Washington is as small as small towns get. People there don’t always treat your family with kindness, and you learn that you are different from a very young age. You are nine when someone smashes the windows to your parents’ restaurant, and when the sheriffs get there, you overhear them telling your parents there’s nothing they can do. When you get back home, you tuck Brian into his bed first before climbing into yours, though neither of you get much sleep that night.

Brian is a much better student than you are. You do okay, but it’s clear from the very beginning that you’re more physically gifted. Baseball is big in Winthrop, and playing for your high school’s team is one way for you to blend in. Everything seems fine, until one day, your brother comes back home with an broken arm and a bruise on his cheek.

Your initial plans to go to the city for college is put on hold for the next two years, until your brother graduates. It doesn’t feel good to leave him behind despite what your parents tell you, and only when your brother turns eighteen and manages to snatch up a scholarship at UW, you move out to the city with him, jumping into an associate’s degree program for criminal justice.

There are good and bad parts of Seattle. You’ve never been a big fan of rain or cold weather. You do like a good cup of coffee, and the dating scene isn’t half bad. Once you join the police academy, you think the worst thing about Seattle is the crime rate. Four years later, you’ve fully established yourself as a real police officer in the Seattle Police Department and Brian goes into social work. And you naively tell everyone you meet that the worst thing about Seattle is the rent.

The real worst thing about this city, you learn a few years later, is that it never stops, even for a moment. You can’t stop long enough to grieve, you can’t even stop long enough to breathe. Brian dies when he is only twenty-eight years old.

How do you tell your parents that your brother’s been murdered? That he’d been walking down the street at night and he was just trying to help someone -- always trying to help -- and that the robber had a gun on him? How do you tell them --

-- they said they can’t do anything about it right now. I’m so sorry. No, I’m okay, I’ll -- I’ll be okay. Mom, is dad -- Mom, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Winthrop feels the same when you come back for Brian’s funeral. Quiet, peaceful. You hate it there. You speak at the funeral. You don’t remember a word that you say.

You don’t fully understand it yourself, but you kiss your parents goodbye and go back to Seattle a week later. It feels like a betrayal at first, putting on your uniform for people who didn’t seem to care much for Brian. But you can almost hear him telling you to keep pushing because now there’s something he has to change. And Brian had always wanted that -- to change this horrible, poisoned world no matter how many times Jameson had told him it was an impossible dream.

You cry when you become a detective. They think you’re happy, but you’ve never been so fucking sad.

( Grief comes to you in waves, in dreams. You never let it fester for too long because you know it will swallow you up if you stop running. )

The problem with running that fast is that you don’t exactly know when to stop, or how. Your eagerness impresses your captain for awhile, until he realizes that you have a chronic inability to forgo cases that have hit a dead end. You’re like a pitbull, Banks, he tells you, you don’t know how to let go. It makes you laugh because you don’t realize that he’s not complimenting you. So sure, you’re a bit of a thorn on your captain’s side, but they can’t do much about you anyway because you work hard and your clearance rate is off the charts.

You’re driving to Winthrop to be with your parents for your brother’s birthday when you see something on the side of the road. Thing of legends, of myths, of nightmares and you see the wolf holding someone by their neck. When you stop your car and walk out with a gun in hand, you swear you see the wolf turning into a person before running away into the woods. You chase after them - whatever thing that was - but you’re too slow and eventually, you make your way back to the body, and call for backup.

You realize you sound like your head isn’t screwed on right, and you recall those are the exact words your captain uses when you first tell him about what you’ve seen, and that they can’t rule this as an accident. You now also realize that you probably should have kept your mouth closed, because the next thing you know, they’ve assigned you to some missing persons case and are sending you to some bumfuck nowhere town called Blackrock.

As soon as you land in Blackrock, you go straight into the filing cabinet and read through every single case, open and closed. You still hate your captain for sending you to Blackrock, but you’re beginning to realize that there’s much, much more to this town than any of you had thought.

HEADCANONS.

Jamie has several tattoos, though none of them are visible with clothes on. The most meaningful one is for his brother -- his initials over his heart, fairly small. The rest are here and there, beginning with a regretful stick-and-poke he got from a friend in his 20s.

His brother Brian was probably the nicest person Jameson knew and he had such a soft spot for all the kids he worked with as a social worker. Brian would tell Jamie quite a bit about many of the kids and their home life that it really did open up his eyes about the system and its frequent failures.

After Brian’s death, Jameson threw himself into his work and for a little while, didn’t see his parents as much. But now, he tries to call them as much as he can, and always tries to make it back home for the holidays.

He has a black lab named Kyoto that traveled with him to Blackrock. Kyoto is a lady and when she was a puppy, they’d tried to train her to be a search & rescue dog but she failed her tests and he ended up adopting her.

He really doesn’t want to be in Blackrock. So he will probably complain about Blackrock here and there.

Technically, he’s only supposed to be working on Addison’s case, but he’s realized that there’s a lot of suspicious shit going on in Blackrock. Addison’s case is still a priority, but he’s definitely also looking into the other open cases, and some closed ones that don’t seem to make sense to him.

So yes, he does not get much sleep.

Jamie doesn’t really drink and doesn’t smoke at all! If he drinks, he’s either really stressed or on a rare day off.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

First arrest: He hasn’t been in Blackrock long, but he thinks there’s not enough being done around the town. [ This person ] was the first arrest he’s made since coming to Blackrock.

Thorn on his side: [ This person ] isn’t necessarily his priority, but they do seem to keep getting into trouble and to make things worse, they seem to do it right in front of him.

Person of interest: But of course, his main focus is on the missing persons (aka Addision) case, and [ this person ] seems to be involved one way or another. Or perhaps it’s someone who knew Addison, or someone who might have had motivation to hurt her.

New friend(s): People he’s instantly clicked with, or perhaps he’s become friendly with. He frequents Ugly Mug Cafe, and when there’s a game on, Last Drop Bar. He’s really not that scary -- only when he thinks that you’re hiding something.

Old friend: Jamie has known [ this person ] when he was younger/when he working in Seattle, and by pure chance, they’ve both ended up in Blackrock.

One night stand: When he first got to Blackrock, he may have gotten drunk one night out of frustration and took [ this person ] back home. He thinks they’re nice, but the thing is, he’s not actually looking to pursue anything -- mostly because he knows he has to focus on his work.

Sports buddy: He still likes baseball. Someone please play catch with him and Kyoto or at least watch the game with him when he’s off duty.

#idk why i wrote this one in second person #and also i am too lazy to graphic rn #( & shipper. )#( & about. )#look at his teeth how are they so nice?

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xavantina · 6 years ago

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I got my hands on a copy of the new Euroman for @idontfindyouthatinteresting, and I took the opportunity to translate some of the interview as well. I tried scanning the article, but my scanner is broken, so you’ll have to make due with iPhone pics of the photos until someone with a working scanner gets in the game.

Rest of the photos and the interview under the cut.

The interview itself was a monster of a thing with lots and lots of flowery descriptions of random scenery, so I cut it down to just the questions, though a few highlights of the rest include:

When he was knighted the Queen of Denmark told him she liked Flame and Citron and he was like ‘fuck yeah’.

He rolls up with his classic bedroom eyes, mismatched tracksuit, and worn sneakers, and just needs a smoke before they go in.

The reporter thinks it’s pointless for a hairdresser to style Mads’ hair because it’s amazing already.

Mads goes around introducing himself to everyone in the room with “Hi. My name is Mads.”

He speaks very fast in Danish.

Onward with the questions:

Q. You were an unknown dancer for ten years before you became an actor. In terms of staying grounded, has it been an advantage for you that you had your breakthrough at such a mature age?

A. Yes, I think so. I probably wouldn’t have had problems staying grounded even if I had been 20 years old. But I think it’s harder for a 17-year-old today, where you can have your breakthrough on a whole different platform and gain three million followers, or whatever the hell they have. It’s obvious that if everyone thinks you’re cool, and you’re told so a bit too often, then you start thinking ‘yeah, I am. I’m cool’. It’s easier to handle being recognized in the street when you’re 32, than when you’re 17. I think.

Q. Your James Bond co-star Jesper Christensen has said that he can no longer enter a public space and just sit there observing, because everyone is always staring at him. He can no longer gain inspiration for his work from real life– from ‘ordinary people’ – like he used to. Do you feel the same way?

A. It’s a terrible loss. It’s not that I’ve always been preparing to be an actor, but I’ve always been curious. Even as a child, I would sit in different places and watch what was happening over there, human behavior, the way they looked and the way they walked. Always. And too often I started copying people when I saw them. I would sit just like them for a while, just to try how it felt. That’s over now. Whenever I’m out somewhere, 50 people are sitting around staring at me. Then I have to worry about scratching my nose, and there’s 40 camera phones in my face. Then I have to go to a different country.

Q. Don’t you get recognised abroad?

A. They know me around the world to various degrees. There are definitely many places where they don’t care at all, but James Bond, Star Wars, and Marvel movies, all of which I’ve starred in, have a great reach. The happy result of this is that people become curious about me as an actor, so I’m often stopped abroad because people know me from The Green Butchers or The Hunt. That’s super cool.

Q. Is it important for you to get recognition in the business? And do you?

A. A foreign colleague whom I have great respect for told me that he and three friends would sit down and watch the Pusher trilogy every weekend. That made me happy. Recognition from colleagues is important. Recognition from yourself is just much more important. You can get into a cycle where you go around constantly patting each other on the back because you need it so badly in my line of work. We’re judged all the time. It’s really hard, and so we probably have a tendency to praise each other more than we should. You should be happy when other people think what you’re doing is great, but you need to remember to consider what you think about it personally. ‘Was this what I wanted? Yes, okay, fine. Next time I might go in this direction instead.’ That’s important. And it’s the same if what people are saying about you sucks. There are many opinions out there. And if you start reading on social media you’ll never get to bed. You should stay away from that.

Q. Where do you find material and inspiration when you can’t go people-watching anymore? Do you have a memory bank you draw from?

A. Probably. I can also sit and watch people on screen, television and so on. But inspiration should primarily come from the script and the director. But I really miss sitting around and watching other people, and I certainly miss them not staring at me. I don’t try to hide though, I never wear a cap or anything. Sunglasses annoy the hell out of me, so I don’t use those at all. Luckily I‘m forgetful: I walk outside in the morning and don’t spend a second wondering how it’s going to be when I arrive somewhere – whether I’ll be recognized, I mean. That’s not just something I’m saying. I get in my car and drive somewhere and enter wherever I’m going, and don’t think about it at all. It’s not until people do this (Mads widens his eyes and turns his head) and do a double check that I’m reminded what it’s like. And that’s good, because otherwise I’d never leave the house.

Q. But you haven’t always been famous – in Hollywood you were a total unknown in the beginning. As the unknown from a small country did you have to work to earn the respect from people around you when you did your first foreign films?

A. I never consciously considered that I had to do something to make them listen to me. If I thought something could be done differently, I haven’t been afraid of going up to people and telling them. Obviously it’s not like it is in Denmark where I can just call Thomas Vinterberg up and say ‘hey, I just had an idea, won’t you come over?’ A Hollywood director on a big movie has maybe 30 actors on his list and everybody wants something from him, so the scale is different. But I still speak up, if there’s something wrong, and only if I’m serious about it. If I’m not serious about it, we just start working on whatever we’re doing.

Q. Are you treated differently on set now that you’re a bigger star?

A. Yes. I was very surprised with first time I was part of a large foreign production. We were on set, and I approached someone from the light-crew to ask about something. Then he looked down at the ground and didn’t answer. Turns out there had been this big name actor, whose name I can’t be bothered to mention, who had just done a movie with this crew, and the crew was under strict orders to never look this actor in the eyes. So there I was, a product of all this. Those were the kind of things I had to get used to. Luckily I found out that if I just focused on my work in the same way I usually did my surroundings would relax pretty quickly. They care more about things abroad than they do in Denmark. I’ve had some pretty weird experiences on foreign jobs. For example, I’m often assigned a so-called handler. Someone who meets me at the airport and helps with checking in and stuff like that. Which is fine, if you’re in Beijing and your have no idea where you’re going. But on foreign gigs I’ve also tried being a assigned a handler at Copenhagen Airport, who is supposed to follow me and help me. That’s pretty absurd, since I’ve checked in 2000 times before in Copenhagen and know how to do it. A handler is always dressed really nicely too, so everybody at the airport ends up staring at me even more. That’s a weird service.

Q. How about the treatment you receive from the other stars, or the business as a whole? How do you experience the hierarchy in Hollywood?

A. When I worked with Benedict Cumberbatch in Doctor Strange and with Daniel Craig in Casino Royale it was their first big films as well, so the hierarchy wasn’t crazy. I’ve been spared from meeting someone abroad who was a real hot shot or just tired of doing what they were doing. There are plenty of people with attitude, plenty of large personalities, but I’ve met very few proper divas who are impossible to work with. The few I have met have been here at home. It’s actually a myth, that this is a diva business. If you did an inquiry and compared us to bus drivers or doctors for example, I think actors would rate much lower than them on the diva-scale. We’re very conscious about not behaving like divas, so everyone tries to act natural. Nobody wants to be branded like that. And when one finally comes along, which obviously happens, then it’s so exciting, and it sounds like the whole business is infected with them. But holy shit, man, how many little kings in their little kingdoms have you met driving the 8 Line?

Q. Your generation, which had its breakthrough 20-25 years ago, has taken up a lot of space back here at home and internationally. You’ve become…

A. You can say ‘old’. We’ve gotten bloody old.

Q. Has it only now become clear how much space you take up?

A. No. I think it was obvious from the beginning. We were a generation that grew up with a big fascination for certain foreign films. Many of us had Martin Scorsese and Francis Ford Coppola in common. There weren’t’ many Danish films we could relate to. [here follows a whole bit about Danish movie history that no one outside Denmark will care about, so I’m skipping it] We felt like we were living in the 50’s. We were watching foreign movies like ‘Taxi Driver’ and saying to each other ‘is this from 1975?’ What have we done in Denmark this year? It was crazy. Completely crazy. Obviously something had to be done. And it was. We grew in different directions but suddenly the gap wasn’t so wide… I mean, we were no longer being told what it was like to be a teenager by an 88 year old director. We were the same age and we communicated directly. Just like Scorsese and De Niro in the 70’s. Same age, let’s go, rock’n’roll. Obviously it’s hard for the next generation, who comes after us, to just change things as well. Because we did the right thing. So now they either have to copy that approach, or improve it, or come up with something completely new. It was easier for us, if I’m being honest. We said ‘Hey, have you seen this before?’ and people went ‘No, we haven’t. Cool!’ But we had to do it. And we were allowed to do it, first and foremost. Some things went wrong, some things went right. But it was really important.

Q. You and your brother both seem like you’re very down to earth. Is that a result of growing up on Nørrebro?

A. Yes, I guess. No… Where the fuck did Pilou (Asbæk) grow up? He has some higher ‘a’s than I do, when he taaaaalks. But he’s damn well down to earth too. So I think it’s a Danish thing. If you try to rise a bit above other people, it won’t be very long until you’re pulled back down.

Q. Have you tried it?

A. No. As a Danish person it’s very hard to demand only to be served the yellow M&Ms without people laughing at you.

Q. Can’t it be limiting, that we’re like that? That everything has to be so down to earth.

Pause.

A. It’s funny, because we’re different than the Swedish. They have a whole different way of engaging with their stars. The Swedish are down to earth too. But when Swedish actors sit down to talk like this, like I’m doing now, and a journalist enters the room, that they start (Mads straightens and adopt a somber tone) speaking like this. And the things they say become great philosophy. They also start to move (he waves his arm theatrically) like they were on stage at the Royal Theatre. When I see that I think ‘what the fuck just happened?’. The Swedish write with great reverence about their stars as well. They have a huge amount of respect for what they give us. Swedish stars have a whole different status in society than we do in Denmark. They like putting things up on a pedestal, and they’re allowed to do that in a totally different way then we are. You can’t do that here. And thank God for that. But you can also say, that in Denmark you don’t always respect people for what they can do. Sometimes people will go ‘Fuck man, I can do what Caroline Wozniacki does. She’s the worst I’ve ever seen.’ Okay? I mean, it’s nice that we’re down to earth in Denmark. But it’s grotesque to say that ‘What Wozniacki does, I can do just as well.’

So that’s how I spent the last five hours of my life...

#Mads Mikkelsen #translation

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rayslablr · 6 years ago

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Hello, rayslablr here!

First of all, I want to apologize for being inactive these days but it has been chaotic with a lot of assignment from university that I didn’t find the time to post original content in here. Secondly, just a disclamer: this are the things I do, they might not be any help for you but you don’t loose anything with trying besides it can motivate you to find what really works for you.

As students is common that we sometimes don’t have the time to properly study and do our assignment correctly hoping we get a good grade, but that is because we have other extracurricular activities to attend. Maybe you have intruments lessons, or you have choir practices or any sport practices, or perhaps you work and study at the same time.

Having so many things to do you sometimes try to schedule but end up leaving some stuff to work at night. That is totally fine, some people are more in the morning side and other in the night time side (I’m more of the last one)

Planning for a productive night doesn’t mean having an all-nighter, I don’t recommend that at all because is not healthy for the body and your mental health. Even though you might think that you get all your tasks done, what happens after that night? What are the implications for the next day? So for that I give you a few tips that might help when have tasks to do at night:

Before I begin, let’s talk about what is productivity?

PRODUCTIVITY:

According to the Merriam-Webster site, productivity is “the quality or state of being productive.”, and what’s productive? As state in the same site being productive is “yielding results, benefits, or profits”; “ yielding or devoted to the satisfaction of wants or the creation of utilities”

For the Cambridge Dictionary site, productivity is “the rate at which a person, company, or country does useful work.”

Finally, as indicated by the Business Dictionary, productivitu is “a measure of the efficiency of a person, machine, factory, system, etc., in converting inputs into useful outputs.”

What we can gather from these concepts, roughly and vaguely, is that productivity not necessarily has to be associated with doing homework or any kind of assignments, it can also mean doing one push-up, making the bed, walk or breathe exercises, and endless other things. Being productive means that we’re using out time wisely by focusing on what matters.

SKINCARE:

I know that sometimes skincare is the least of our problems, and after studying at night we feel exhausted that we forget to wash our face. It has happened to me a lot and I truly regret it. #AcneHasEnterTheChat

By doing your skincare night routine you start to feel good that you are taking care of yourself, and that idea of productivity can motivate you. So keep it going while you're still active. Do your skincare routine after having dinner or any other extracurricular activity, that way you can start fresh with your productivity process. The sooner you'd do it you have another less thing to worry about so you can properly focus.

When you splash yourself with water your brain actives because your skin is warm so water cools it down making you relax and it awakes you. Take that opportunity to stay active so you can take your time and divide it for things that matter.

Side Note: Always wash your face with lurkwarm water!!

Side Note 2: If you ever want a blog about skincare let me know because I really love that topic and I’m all for it

COMFY OUTFIT:

Pajama. Shorts. Sweater. Underwear. What ever you feel comfortable with. But never do things in your bed if you really want to work on something otherwise you’ll fall asleep.

This is simple. Just wear an outfit where your body doesn’t feel tight or uncomfortable, where you can stretch and feel relax. It has happened to me many times where I forget to change clothes and start working with my jeans, long shirt and shoes on, after a few minutes I get up from my sit and try to stretch without success and I keep doing my work; after other minutes I do the same and that is just distracting me more, so after a long moving day imagine how your body would feel.

Imagine getting inside a narrow hole, how do you feel? It feels uncomfortable, like you need air or you need to move, well that is how your body feels. At night. After all of the activities you did throughout the day. Tired

So let’s make it easy, just change! That way you won’t get distracted or focus your attention in moving around or trying to find the a comfortable spot to work.

PRIORITIZE

We led busy lifestyles meaning that not every activity we have would be completed so don’t feel bad about that. Plan ahead of time, and know which activities you will leave for the night. Be realistic, it’s night time, you’d feel tired so don’t give yourself a lot of tasks, and if you have one big activity divide it into mini tasks so you don’t overwork past your limit. Every day review your list of tasks or your to do list and figure out the importance of each one of them. Figure out if all of them are worth your limited time and energy, you don’t necessarily need to pull an all nighter.

A tip for you is to organize your activities by categories, this allows you to recognize which task is more important than the others. What I like to do is an ABCD categories, meaning:

A: Crucial --> I need to do this right now

B: Less important --> I can do this in a few hours

C: I shoul get this done --> Essencial task but I can do it tomorrow

D: I still got time --> I can do it the day after tomorrow or next week

This way you can analyse which tasks you can leave for the night and which ones you’ll do in the morning.

Another tip is giving yourself a time limit to decide until what time you will have your work done. This works for me, it might not work for you, but I always tell myself to stop working (even if I haven’t finish) around 11 pm max. so I could sleep more and don’t get exhausted. By the way, this also helps for your skincare; your skin cells start rejuvenate at 10pm and stops at 2am the next day, so it’s a way to help your skin stay fresh, young and healthy.

HYDRATE

This one is simple, JUST DRINK WATER!! There’s nothing more to say, water helps you stay energized and that transforms in motivation to be productive. So give your body a happy boost you’ll thank yourself later.

Here are some beverages that helps you stay hydrated in case you want to try different things.

WET RAG

Get any rag you find, get it wet then squish it to take away the excess of water, next put it in your freezer and wait 20-30mins after that put it around your back side of your neck and that is everything you need to do! Very simple! Now, why?The back of your neck absorbs the heat of the environment quicker than any other part, and by doing that you get agitated or some kind of discomfort because you’re warming your body so it gets relaxed to a way of tiredsome.

So if you put around that area a cold wet rag you make your body cool down and helps you improves your circulation, ease stress and increase the alertness, in short words it keeps you active. Think about this: when you shower with lukewarm or cold water it wakes you up inmediatly and that is what happens with the wet rag but in a minor scale.

If you ever heard of the myth: “If you feel sleepy get your face wet”, well that is true, you wake up when you splash water to your face but sometimes that effect only lasts for a few minutes, if you want the whole experience put it in your neck for at least 15 minutes.

Another benefit of this, that you can do it at any time you wish, is that a heated neck is a big enemy for the pores. When your neck is hot it inscreases your natural control sebum making your pores enlarged which leads to wrinkles, pimples and more, so try this! Try putting a cold wet rag around the back of your neck because is very benefitial!

POMODORO

You heard of this before. You can work for 25 minutes and take a break of 5 minutes, this completes the cycle and this 30 minute period is then called a “pomodoro.” After four pomodoros, you take a longer break (15-30 minutes). Of course, the great part about ths method is that you can custumize it to your liking; you can take more time (without excessing) or less time if you are in a hurry. There are a buch of app you can search in the app store (I use Forest because not only it helps you not procrastinate but you’re helping the world by planting real trees) and even google extensions when you’re working in your computer.

Here are other blogs that can help you understand this method:

“The Pomodoro Technique” @studious-simplicity

“How to: my pomodoro technique” @aestaeric

That is everything that I have for today, I hope these tips are somehow a help for you and that you have lots of days full with productivity and happiness which is the most important.

rayslablr out!

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rachello344 · 6 years ago

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A glossary of fandom terms that have either been taken from literary criticism (incorrectly) or that I use that are either no longer in use or have... different definitions now.

If anyone has any terms they’d like to see added or words you come across that have confused you, please drop me a line. I’d be happy to add to this whenever. It’ll all be under a readmore so that I can edit it when needed. ^^

Discourse--Literally a discussion, like, the act of discussing. That’s it. More specifically, people will say, “the novel here participates in one of the many discourses on gender” or something like that. Essentially linking one occurrence to a wider conversation. Literature and Media do not exist in a vacuum, but neither can one work make a trend, but I’ll get to that. Just call it wank or meta. Use the words we have, don’t take words from academia, especially when you don’t understand their context.

Romance--One of many genres of fiction. This is a story that centers around a romantic relationship between two or more characters. I could tell you about how all genres are crutches and constructs we assign to make ourselves feel better, but that might be moving too fast. For now, what’s important is what a romance isn’t. A romance is NOT some kind of idealist model that must serve as a positive example for the Youth. That would be Utopian Romance fiction (which is boring because stories need conflict, but that’s my own opinion on the matter). A romance only needs the major plot conflicts to hinge around the romantic (as in not platonic, this could be love or lust or some combination thereof) relationships between its characters. Pride and Prejudice is a romance. Captive Prince is a romance. The Foxhole Court, while containing a romantic subplot, is not a romance. Harry Potter is not a romance. A story can have romance without being a romance. Compare romantic comedies with action movies, as an example. But, don’t think that a romance can’t be tense or unhealthy or whatever. Fifty Shades is also a romance, remember. If you wrote out the Joker and Harley Quinn’s story, only focusing on them, their story would be a romance. It’s more complicated than that, obviously, and there’s nuance, but I think you get the picture. Regardless of your moral views on the love depicted, a romance is nothing more or less than a story about the development of a romantic relationship.

Fetishization--I hate seeing this word thrown around. This literally means that something has been made into a fetish object on a cultural level. You can have the fetishization of purity in American culture, for example. And you can have the fetishization of homosexual relationships in pornography intended for heterosexual audiences. However. A single work of fiction is not fetishizing anything. It may contribute to an overall trend, but this is not a word to use for single entities. This is a cultural trend word. Sure, it can be used for subcultures, but whenever I see this word used, it’s used to mean that some work of fiction or other is bad for displaying a queer sexual relationship in any kind of (perceived) perverse way. Please stop using this word incorrectly. As a kind of burgeoning critical theorist (i.e. English grad student), it is incredibly frustrating. You’re using words you don’t understand in ways that undermine the hard work being done by people in my field. Unless you’re going to read Marx and Lukacs and learn what the word “reification” means, I think you should use another word. In most cases, what is meant is that some group people don’t like are showing an interest in something perceived as not belonging to them, whether that’s true or not. I think if we unpack that a little, we can all find better ways to phrase things. Fetishization is an accusation thrown around, not the analysis it’s meant to be. And, frankly, it needs to stop.

Normalization--This is thrown around so often I hardly know where to begin. This is not a word that can be used for a single object, again. This is a word meant for trends. For example, we could talk about the fact that male violence in our culture is normalized and so no longer taken as seriously as it should be. A fictional work depicting something you don’t like in a way you perceive as positive and uncritical does not mean that it’s normalizing it. A single crime procedural does not normalize crime. You could say that the trend of always showing cops to be in the right, no matter the extreme actions they take, normalizes the liberties they take in the real world, making it difficult to speak out against police brutality and other such abuses. But again, that’s the genre as a whole--procedural cop dramas could all contribute, but one of them is not going to be normalizing on its own. That isn’t how that works. Just say that you find whatever it is unpleasant to read because of X or Y trope. Or talk about how the TROPE is normalizing something. That’s totally legitimate. The trope of X normalizes Y behavior in Z culture/situation/etc. and this is harmful because W.

Romanticization--This does not mean that something bad is shown in a romantic light. This is another big trend word. Cultural myths about heterosexual marriage and related gender roles contribute to the romanticization of domestic abuse. A single work of fiction depicting an abusive relationship in any kind of perceive positive light is not romanticizing abuse. Cultural narratives about women needing to be convinced can romanticize the act of rape, especially from the male perspective. One work of fiction cannot do this. It has to be on at least a genre level, if not cultural or societal. Again, subcultural too, but you have to make the argument apply outward. The BL/Yaoi trope of having a Seme character force an openly reluctant Uke character into sex romanticizes sexual assault. One BL using the trope can contribute to it, but it isn’t romanticizing anything on its own. It’s not powerful enough to be capable of that.

Wank--The word once used to describe what is now called “discourse.” It’s usually a circle jerk of complaints about some fandom or another or the people in it. Every example of so called discourse I have ever seen was actually just wank wearing a new hat. Don’t put on airs or borrow credibility. Call a spade a spade.

Meta--Analysis on a series or character. Some of these are better reasoned than others, but the only way to truly rate them is in how well they use their evidence (and how much evidence they have) to support whatever claim they make. These are often essays, but can be a couple paragraphs, sometimes with pictures as evidence along with quotes from the source. Some “discourse” falls into this, but only very rarely. Most people call meta either meta or analysis instead.

BNF--Big Name Fan. This is THE person in your fandom, generally an artist, occasionally a fic writer or other content creator. You’ll know them when you see them. This is the person everyone follows. Their headcanons are so widely accepted that they almost always become fanon (whether you like it or not). Some of these people are super nice and use their powers for good. Others can become divas, mad with the power the fandom has given them. Regardless, there is almost always drama brewing around them (whether they like it or not, unfortunately). I recently saw some commenting on people actually asking other fans for permission to hold certain headcanons. Someone with that power is a BNF. That is a TRADEMARK of a BNF. Their fandom credibility and respect is so high that people see them as some kind of authority figure. Be wary of people who go along with this. They’re not to be trifled with, and frankly, it’s safer not to engage.

TPTB--The Powers That Be, otherwise known as the writers/producers/creators of any given series. These are the people that create Canon and produce Word of God.

Canon--Anything that explicitly happened in the confines of a series. Basically, the events of any given series in whatever form the standard is. I.E. episodes of a TV show, books in a book series, etc.

Fringe Canon--Works that are connected to the series in question, but not part of the standard form. Often includes movies, novelizations, guide books, etc. Can be considered canon, but isn’t something every fan will see/have access to, so can’t really be considered The Canon. Can also includes things that are implicit in the text, so something that can be argued in meta but that not everyone will agree on.

Word of God--Something said by TPTB that remains outside of canon. I.E. interviews, panels, and other things said at conventions or for PR. Common mantra, “PR is not showrunning” meaning that Word of God often has little to do with what happens within the series. Example: Some sub-textual evidence of Dumbledore being gay does not make his being gay canon (it makes it fringe canon, imo). Rowling saying that he was gay in an interview is here considered Word of God. You can take it or leave it, because no one in the series says the words “Dumbledore was gay” or any other variation that would make it explicit canon.

Headcanon--Something that you decide about a character. This isn’t canon and often has no strong basis in canon. It can include sexuality, gender, religion, favorite color, anything not covered by canon. You can also have headcanons that contradict canon.

Fanon--Headcanons that have become Too Powerful. These are things, good or bad, that have been accepted by a probably absurd number of people. Some of these can be great, especially when the series has some seriously bad writing, but if you find yourself disagreeing, this can be the worst thing you ever have to deal with. Especially when people who subscribe to it insist on its being canon...

Ship--Any feasible romantic relationship, canon or non-canon. There are of course platonic variants, but those are usually specified (broship, brotp, etc.). Most often two people, but more recently polyshipping has come into vogue. To Ship (v.)--For me, this does not apply to canon ships no matter if I like them or not. Shipping is transformative. To me, more than anything, shipping (as a verb) means you consume or create transformative media centered around that relationship (most often non-canon or not explicit canon, but could include canon, it just needs to be an active not passive interest in the relationship).

Canon Ship--The series endgame, usually (but not always!) straight. This is an explicit couple. They are in a relationship. They kiss (or something) on screen. You can still take it or leave it, but that doesn’t stop it from being canon.

Rare Pair--This is a ship that has some basis in canon, but is extremely unpopular. Some people include anything with less than a certain number of fic on Ao3, but it varies by fandom. I’ve been into rare pairs with less than 10 fic written for them, so anything around 500 still seems like quite a bit in comparison. Your Mileage May Vary (YMMV), but you’ll know it when you see it.

Crack Ship--These people have probably never spoken. There is no reason for them to be in a relationship other than the fan’s preference (often aesthetic or story-related). A crack ship is often random and completely baseless. A crack ship is not simply a ship that won’t be canon. Most ships will never be canon. This goes beyond that into the ridiculous. As a recent example, Keith x Zarkon would be a crack ship, while Keith x Hunk is perfectly reasonable (if rare).

Multi-shipping--Shipping characters together without a strong preference for one combination over another. For example, shipping your fave with every possible romantic partner, not just one (or more in a polyship). This includes Everyone x Character type things, not just “I could ship them with literally anyone.” Both count.

OTP--One True Pairing. The ship you love above all others, canon or not. For me, I have exactly one of these per fandom, but I know other people use it differently now. This used to mean that you ship the thing exclusively. You might like art for other ships with the characters in this OTP, but you’re not that into it. This used to be THE ship. The characters in this OTP were not shipped with others, and other relationships were used for jealousy or plot reasons, not usually because you enjoy the other ships. This is the ship you go to war about.

OT#--Same as above, but there are more than two people involved. So, the one polyship you hold above all other ships (poly or not).

BrOTP--Platonic version of the above. These are the ride or die friendships of the series. You don’t see them as in love, but they absolutely love each other. There’s devotion and loyalty and affection--or you just think their friendship is the best/greatest/funniest and you don’t see them ever ending up together romantically. You want these characters to be BFFs, not lovers.

#fandom meta #my meta #Glossary of Fandom Terms #Lemme know if I missed anything big lol #I've been sitting on this for over a year XD

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reignsrkive · 6 years ago

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𝔅𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔖𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡.

[𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩/𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔥𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔵 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔲]

Jung Hoseok x female reader

Genre: Angst, Smut.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Strong language, graphic gore, sexual descriptions.

Description: Bloodstained wings, bloodstained hands, and bloodstained memories. The triad of misery, infamy, and death. Little did they know that even if the two sides were considered polar opposites, they weren’t that much different after all. It was until the two met, the sharp edge of wood almost penetrating her heart, that the truth got out and keeping secrets wasn’t just a tactic anymore. It was vital.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

§ The wind flirted with her jet black hair, swaying between her short wavy locks that fell only a little past her heavy shoulders. Her hips moved along with her feet, her height not that great, but her dominance and confidence could be felt within even a bigger distance. Everyone’s eyes were always on her, wherever she passed from. People would look at her in admiration, infatuation but fear and hatred as well, as she came back from her missions to report to Azazer.

She gave people confident glares, reaching the area in which her uncle sat at this time of day- at night. She threw the man in all black that she held from his wrists in front of Azazer, the stranger already marked by her, blood dripping from his lips and under his eye from a cut she had made herself with her boot. “Angel. All yours” She replied harshly.

“Well, what do we have here?” Azazer stood up from his seat to inspect the wounded angel. He kneeled down in front of him and made him look at his eyes by tilting his head up with his index fingers, as his eyes turned a bright yellow, making the angel reveal its white wings. “Where did you find him?”

“He was inside. One of your incapable guards apparently didn’t notice a man in all black come in, sometime in the day. Maybe you should be careful who you assign jobs to. You’re already bad at your own job, at least hire people that will create a good image for you” You said, your tone cold and monotone as you felt no shame at the way you talked to your own relative. At the end of the day, he deserved it and it was nothing new to anyone, nothing the other demons didn’t know already. Nevertheless, in comparison to you, they felt too much fear to go against him.

You didn’t. There was nothing he could do to stop you. Sure, he could kill you just like he did to your parents for being “insurgents”. But he knew better than to ruin his legacy. You were that. After him, you would be the one to take his place. He knew nobody could do a better job than him, besides you. If he killed you, hell would literally become hell in all of its glory and anarchy would be the only word known between the demons, devils and every other demonic creature there was. “I found him ready to inject some kind of drug to one of your trusted- angels thinking that all of us dress in all black is ridiculous. Thought they were smarter than this”

“He was a spy” You added. “I got him to confess. So go ahead and kill him, just like you do to every one of the angels we find, instead of getting them to confess shit” You said ironically with a cold smile and watched him slaughter the spy with his sharp nails, cutting his throat with one swift move. The lifeless body fell to the ground with a thud and the white wings got stained with the crimson red blood, their whiteness getting less and less bright as the power they held faded away entirely. You turned around expressionless, ready to move on before he stopped you.

“Y/n,” He said. “Good job. You’re making me proud. Come to my office tomorrow morning. There’s something we need to talk about”

You rolled your eyes and walked away, your steps barely audible. You walked towards your den- as they liked to call them just for show-, which was a simple apartment. They did everything for show. You shook your head and noticed the presence of a taller figure walking beside you all of a sudden, but you felt at ease at him beside you. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble”

“So? What will he do? Torture me is all he can do or take away my rights- but he knows he can’t do that because it will be no use. He can torture me and mark me as much as he wants, I don’t give a shit” I shrugged. “He’s already marked my insides, the rest is nothing”

Yoongi rolled his eyes at your stubbornness and nudged your shoulder, trying to lighten up the mood and get the tension out of you. “You should get a boyfriend, a girlfriend, something. Hell, let it be a human. Again”

“You’re really going to bring that up? It’s not my fault they fall in love with me! And in my defense, he was hot. So was the girl I had to taunt a couple of months ago” You said with a small laugh as you opened the door to your apartment and let Yoongi inside before locking twice. “It’s just humans- they forget. You know they were just flings if I want a human I get deported and my power is taken away. The human life is not for me”

Yoongi laughed and nodded. “My girlfriend is great. I suggest you get someone to calm you down because I can’t be that person anymore”

“I don’t need anyone. I need to get Azazer to realize he’s ruining each and every one of our statutes, along with our moral values. This is why demons have been misunderstood and looked at as entirely evil. Our job is to keep the evil in the world at a level that it doesn’t get out of hand. We are assigned to taunt people and test them, to be their devils for a period of time in order to give them experiences that actually help them go on with their lives. But no- Azazer thinks just because the myths humans have written about us make us look evil and as lovers of death, we should be that. Just because he is a psychopath, doesn’t mean we all have to be” You ranted, completely in rage.

“Can’t we just kill him?” Yoongi groaned.

“We both know that if it was that simple, my parents would have done it already,” You said. “But sure, god forbid being actually fair. Sure- my dad shouldn’t have fallen in love with an angel, but she wasn’t an enemy. She actually wanted to help!”

“Hey, I need to go- Azazer has me on some new person tomorrow. We’ll talk? In the meantime, don’t burn anyone alive just because you’re mad” He said with an amused smile.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Sure, idiot. I can’t believe this is my best friend. Go get laid, we both know these are excuses”

“We gotta do what we gotta do to survive” He shrugged with a smirk and with a snap of his fingers, he disappeared from your apartment.

The air felt chillier than usual, tingles running down your spine as you got out of the scorching shower and let fresh clothes slip on your tan skin. You brushed your hair in the mirror, your blue eyes reflecting with a shine from your anger, a slight red hue to them from your raging emotions. For a single second, you spotted a small dot of light behind you, as if your eyes twitched and played games with you. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion but shook your head anyway.

The atmosphere seemed different than usual; even if your door and windows were locked just like always, there was some sort of energy emitting into the room that was both friendly and lethal at the same time. You scanned your bedroom, your eyes turning grey as you did so, but there was no sign of anything or anyone hidden around you. You gulped down some water, trying to forget it- It’s probably the built up rage that is tripping you out.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

§ You barged into Azazer’s office as if it was no big deal, your audacity as big as your ego, but also your right to act as you wanted towards him. “What do you want now?”

He laughed lightly and gestured to his trusted assistant to leave the office, letting you have your peace- if there was any left. “Good morning to you too, dear niece”

“It’s future Mistress to you, but whatever floats your boat before you say your last words I guess” You faked a smile and it dropped immediately as soon as he laughed. “It’s funny to you?”

“Yes, it is actually. How a little girl like you thinks she can take me down. Ah, just like your father. I must admit my brother was capable and strong- though too emotionally driven. You on the other hand; you’re heartless. We all know by now, but you lack evil in you” He said.

You raised an eyebrow at him and clapped your hands together, making him start choking. He tried to breathe but failed as you applied pressure onto his throat. He reached out for his glass of water, but you clapped twice and made it stop. “Be careful who you underestimate Azazer. Now tell me who you need me to kill so that I don’t have to breathe the same filthy air as you”

“I want you to be sent into Heaven and-”

“Not a chance” You laughed before he could even finish his sentence.

“You’ll be sent to Heaven as a messenger from one of their departments from Earth. You will be sent as one of their trusted humans. All I want you to do is bring me Ion, alive and well” He said. “Since you believe you’re all mighty and brave, it should be easy for you. I’m giving you three days”

“You want me to act human? Seriously? If I’m going to go in, I’ll probably be monitored by someone” I said.

“Exactly. You know you’re the best for this job. So, be useful for once” He shrugged and sat down on his seat. “Three days. Chris will be with you”

You shook your head and groaned. “Fine. Three days you say? Three days it is” You got out of the office and walked to your apartment, well aware that Chris was walking behind you, monitoring every movement of yours, knowing he had to be cautious and report you the moment you do anything suspicious. You opened the door and got inside, turning around to him as soon as you closed it. “Have anything for me?”

“Clothes are on your bed,” He said firmly.

You knew for a fact that the moment you stepped inside to change, he would come with you since Azazer was that much of a dick- thinking you might pull an act in there alone. So you did, and the motherfucking creep kept eyeing you up and down. As soon as you were disguised, wearing all brighter colors of clothing, your makeup way different, just like your perfume, you started your way towards the gates, a long journey ahead.

You weren’t going to just sit in a car with this asshole, but you knew exactly how to take him down. As you were a few minutes away from reaching the gates, you cleared your throat and let out a flirty sigh. “Chris...”

“What?” He asked harshly.

“We should take a break before we go. I’m kind of nervous- in need of a distraction. You and I used to work together. Remember all those parties we had fun at too? You always wanted something from me, but I never gave it to you... Maybe I should give you a chance. You know, for courage” You said.

He raised an eyebrow and pulled over, turning around to look at you. “If this is your way of going against Azazer again I-”

You stopped him by having your hand sneak its way on his thigh and on his crotch, starting to stroke on it, your lips next to his ear, your hot breath fanning his face. “Oh come on... You’ve even told me once when you were drunk, that you wanted to fuck me so much I forget the dominance I put on as a show, right? Let’s see if it’s all an act, Chris. You know you want this”

He cursed under his breath and turned around to kiss you. You felt your body tense up at the awful feel of his dirty lips onto yours but had to do it anyway. You knew all of the high-class demons by heart and manipulating them was just a piece of cake. You pulled away from the kiss and kissed him behind his ear, making him moan from how you touched him, only to take all of that pleasure away in one move. Your teeth got sharper at your command and you opened your mouth, taking his ear in and biting it off entirely. The blood trickled down his head, some of it on your own clothes as he screamed in pain.

You opened the window and spat his ear to the ground, spitting the blood out as well, as you let your claws come out of your usual nail length. You forced them into his chest, piercing into his heart, the darkness in his eyes fading away fast. You took your hand out and cringed at the almost black color of his blood, in comparison to the crimson red hue of an angel’s. You took the water bottle from the middle of the car and cleaned your mouth, spitting the water out. You quickly got out of the car and snapped your fingers, knowing it now must be on fire in some dessert. You rolled your eyes at how easy it was for you to get what you wanted- maybe this was your chance to win.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

§ You had changed into a better set of clothes as you had already passed your security check from the guards. You were quickly sent to the office of Ion, your target. Ion was just like Azazer. He was what Azazer was for Hell. A leader, a representative and he who decided how things happened. It was a fact that he was a way better one than Azazer, but from your countless missions, you knew that he wasn’t as good as everyone thought. Angels were always shown as good, as those who brought light, happiness, peace. The truth is, their white wings were in fact red. Stained from the blood they had shed of others, trying to get their way. They were just as manipulative as demons and devils, if not even more.

You smiled as a blonde secretary in a white dress took you to Ion, his stance dominant just like yours was. Nevertheless, you were careful at how much confidence you showed. You needed to show the good part of it, the part of it that would, in fact, show him he can trust you with whatever he thinks you are helping with down on earth. “Y/n,”

“Mr. Ion” You smiled back at him. “So great to finally be here with you. Was about time we met”

“Indeed. I’ve heard a lot of things about you” He said. “Since today is just bad timing and my day is busy, I’m going to skip everything that you already know and introduce you to your guide, that will be here with you. Hoseok, come on in” He said and his eyes focused behind you.

You never thought angels truly appeared like this. As if they emitted light into a room, as if their smile could charm you the moment you saw it and their eyes made you feel warm and secure. At the same time, something was bugging you at the back of your stomach, your gut screaming at you that there was something about him that felt off. “Ah, finally. This is the Y/N”

“And you must be my guide?” You asked, holding your hand out for him to shake. He smirked lightly and shook your hand, the feeling sending small sparks onto your skin.

“Hoseok. Jung Hoseok. Your personal angel in command” He said. “Ion, they are asking for you already. You should go, I’ve got it from here on”

Ion nodded before greeting you once more and the door behind him closed. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as you turned around, pressure being put onto your chest. You looked down at your chest to see a piece of wood, its point sharp and lethal, being pressed against your heart, your white dress stained with a small dot of blood, that got bigger as more pressure was put onto it. You looked up at Hoseok, hissing in pain, feeling unable to use your powers. With his face inches away from you, his eyes sparkled in a way that you have never seen before in anyone.

“Now it’s just you and me”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

§ You gritted your teeth and locked your jaw in place as Hoseok’s firm arm rested against your neck, blocking your airway partially, the stain of blood on your chest getting bigger as he kept applying pressure, just enough for it to hurt you. His eyes were a dark brown, so dark his irises were barely distinguished. You struggled to keep yours their normal ocean blue colour, trying to keep playing your human character. “Y/n... You think you’re really getting away with something like this?” “I don’t understand. Do I know you?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure you’re trying to pierce through my heart” “Yet you’re showing no sign of pain,” He said. “You’re good at this, aren’t you? You fooled too many people already, but little do you know” “What exactly are you trying to say here, Hoseok?” “You think I wouldn’t know you? The y/n? I’m not just some angel, babe. I’m more than that. You know how you are one of the greatest in Hell? Consider me your equal in Heaven” He said. “I don’t-” “If you keep putting on the act of being human, save it for someone who will actually believe you. I’m sorry to tell you that that’s not me” He said, his voice harsh but smooth as honey at the same time. His voice brought the image of a soft hue of blue in your head- just like the colour of the morning sky, mixed with a deep fiery red- reminding you of the blood that trickled down the angel’s slaughtered neck that had intruded Heaven only yesterday, painting a purple forest of intricate flowers and broken pieces of wood, mixed with the smell of pain and blood in your own, already colourful mind. The silence lasted for mere seconds, but the way you focused on each other’s eyes, how your gazes were set trying to unravel all you were thinking of, made your skin tingle and a blaze of fire go through your body. “Who are you?” You asked. He smirked widely and all of the pressure was lifted off of your body, as he pulled away, taking the sharpened piece of wood out of your chest and making it disappear with one snap of the fingers. You gasped at the loss of the feeling and breathed out for air, your eyes never leaving him as he walked towards the chair of Ion’s desk, sitting down as if it was his. He crossed his legs and rested his arms on each side of the spinning chair, the smirk still present on his pink lips. “I am glad you finally asked. I know you’re smart, strikes me to see you get so stuck in front of me. Jung Hoseok. Angel. But also devil hunter. Specially assigned to monitor you. A high-class devil, going around and killing people, taking away their powers. Biting off ears?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“So you monitored all of my moves?” You raised an eyebrow back. “What did you expect me to do, bite his dick off? He’s like Azazer’s pet, he’d do anything he asked him to. I couldn’t come here on a mission and have him bothering me and possibly even making me fail it”

He chuckled a little and nodded. “Right. Maybe we should go somewhere more private to talk about our intentions”

“Our intentions?” You asked crossing your arms across your chest.

“You will understand as soon as I tell you. Don’t be impatient. You might be independent and dominant, but so am I” He said. “Let’s go. We’ll have to teleport, we can’t have you walking around with a blood-stained dress, or with that evil look in your eyes. Not everyone is as smart as I am, but you can’t even hide your lack of emotion”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

§ You looked around, knowing he has taken you to what seemed to be his apartment. It looked clean, but also very fun. Interesting. Besides how intriguing he seemed to you, his apartment felt warm, almost welcoming even to you. If these were going to be your last days here, you might as well make them count. You didn’t know what exactly his intentions were yet. “So are you going to tell me if you want to kill me or not?”

He let out a chuckle and walked to his kitchen, but you stayed there. “I’m not going to follow you”

“If you want to know, I advise you to come with me. Your choice” He said.

You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms in front of your chest. You waited for him to come back with an annoyed expression on your face. You weren’t going to do as he told you, you would stand your ground and show him that you can fight back, whatever he wanted from you. He came back with a laugh and shook his head at you as he stood in front of you. his height hovering over you. “If that’s what you want”

“How long have you been stalking me for?” You asked him.

“The proper name is monitoring, but call it what you want. Not that long, but long enough to know your ways. You really are something else, aren’t you? People are not that wrong about how you are one of the most heartless devils there are. But somehow even if heartless, you spare lives and you’re fair. Strikes me. You’re just like your father. Your mother was more feeling dominated” He said, crossing his own arms in front of his chest.

“Do you really think you have the right to talk about my parents?” You asked him. “You want something from me. If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it already, you wouldn’t have brought me here. Aren’t you breaking rules if you were assigned to kill me? You’re a devil hunter, you kill us”

“You weren’t assigned to me by a superior,” He said, putting his hands in his pockets. “I assigned you to myself. And you’re right, I do want something from you. I don’t like you but, you could be a lot of help”

“Good to know that feelings are mutual,” You said, coldly. “How could I help? You’re planning to kill Ion or something?”

“Not just Ion. Azazer too” He said.

You raised your eyebrows at him, thinking he was dumb to make thoughts like those and let out a hearty laugh. “Ah, good one Hoseok. Your expectations are really high, but I guess we can all dream. And who are you even to be able to do that and seek for my help?”

“I’m the leader of a very strong group of people,” He said. “Including some of yours. It might come off as a surprise, but most demons and devils hate Azazer’s guts. It’s the group your own parents had made”

“The what?” You asked, your lips parted. “My parents didn’t-”

“Your parents had a group. You were just too young for them to tell you. They assigned it to my family and my mother eventually gave the leadership to me, thinking I was fitting for the position more than she is. The group had died down and was forgotten until a few months ago when I brought it back. It’s going great, but we need more than just half of our populations combined to kill both of them. We need you” He looked into your eyes, waiting for a response at his words.

You took in a deep breath and nodded. “And what makes you think I believe all you said? You could be pulling all of that crap right out of your ass for all I know, and using my parents against me” You pointed out.

“Because you wouldn’t care if it was your parents’ plan or not. You hate both of them, you want them dead and you want to take Azazer’s place. I seek peace between us and for both of our jobs to be done properly. You seek justice. That goes well together, don’t you think?” He asked you.

“Sure they do. But do you have any plans? Because you act so mighty in front of me, do you actually know what it takes to kill a Hell Master? It’s not that simple. You literally need to take their heart out and burn it in the Golden Goblet” You said.

“I know” He nodded. “That’s why I need you to help me”

“You need me?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I do need you too. Not just the others. I might be strong, but having someone equally as strong beside me is vital. We both want to win. So why not just help me, y/n?” He asked, the distance between the two of you less than what you remembered it to be.

You looked up at him, keeping your stance as dominant as possible over his, which was overpowering. You felt it in your whole body, how powerful he was, how he could actually even manipulate you if you let him. “Fine. I’ll help you”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

§ “You can stay with me for these three days,” He said, walking to his kitchen again. This time, you followed behind. Without having to ask, he poured you a cold glass of water and offered it to you, leaving it on the table. “Ion wanted to get you a guest room in his mansion, but I didn’t trust that knowing you might agree to work with me. So I offered”

“I don’t need to stay here. You obviously hate my guts, so why have to deal with me more than just when we work together?” You asked him.

“I think I can take three days of you” He smirked. “I followed you around for many more than that. I know you by now, maybe better than your own best friend” He said, taking out things from his fridge. “Hungry?”

“Sure” You shrugged. “So what exactly do you know then? If you think so highly of yourself that you are knowledgeable of me”

“This Yoongi guy. What’s he to you?” He asked, his eyes not meeting yours for even a single second.

“What is that kind of information to you?” You asked him, intrigued.

He looked at you and raised an eyebrow. “I might know a thing or two. I’m curious. I need to start liking you if we’re going to spend time together. It’s not going to be just these three days”

“It is going to be just these days. After we’re done, you and I go off to Hell and Heaven and never meet again. Simple” You said. “He’s just a special friend of mine”

“Special” He laughed lightly. “Fucking around with someone qualifies them as a special person in your life then?”

“It’s not just that. He was there and he stayed there, in comparison to other people in my life that were ungrateful. He never left and he’s still beside me. That makes him special. The rest doesn’t matter. It was all emotionless, just a getaway. So you have no right to judge that and question it to me. You’ve never just fucked around? I bet you’re the kind to have relationships, but I also bet you have been like that” You told him.

“I’m not judging you” He shook his head, as he cut tomatoes to make a simple pasta with homemade tomato sauce. “And I haven’t had many relationships anyway. Just two and only one mattered”

“Ongoing I suppose? Does your girlfriend support you?” You asked him.

“My girlfriend is dead,” He said, his words harsh and cold as if he just closed a door in your face and shut you off from his heart.

You sat on the counter next to him, making him raise an eyebrow at you. “From what?”

“Killed. By one of yours” He said.

Your lips parted to speak, but there were no words that would be enough for him to make him like you. Although this had nothing to do with you, you felt as if he hated you for this exact reason. And somehow, a part of you wanted for him to at least find you tolerable if not pleasant. “Did she do anything?”

“Yeah,” He said. “She cheated on me on a mission in Hell. Isn’t that enough of a crime?” He laughed, his laugh dark and full of hurt. “But she failed her mission and got caught the moment she was going to steal some documents. She wasn’t exactly made for those kinds of missions. Or any missions. She was calm. Angelic in all of its meanings”

You bit your lip and got off the counter, feeling a wave of pressure and tension between your bodies and the atmosphere lingering in the air. “Would it be okay with you if I took a shower? I suppose my luggage is probably here already”

“Yeah, go ahead,” He said. “End of the hall. You’re going to be sleeping in my room. Probably one of greatest mistakes, but I might die in this plan anyway. So who’s it going to hurt if I let you in huh?”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

§ The hot water run down your skin like the clear water that runs in rivers, between harsh and sharp rocks, giving it a gentle touch between the cruel reality. Your lips parted as you let your head fall back and the drops of refreshing and calming liquid caress your face. You took in steady breaths, the thoughts in your head trying to drive you insane. What was going to happen was big and maybe the person you chose to do it with wasn’t the best. You didn’t even know the guy, so why did you even agree? Why didn’t you give it time?

You couldn’t. The truth was that you had to do something now if you wanted to win and not be a slave of your own uncle for the rest of your life- and not only you but many more innocent devils and demons. If three days passed and you didn’t bring him Ion, he would have you executed for all you knew. Everyone always thought he would never kill you because you are useful to him. You are indeed a precious belonging for him, but he has changed to the worst. He has no mercy any longer, killing people in front of huge crowds with no concern over the younger ones.

The handle screeched a little as you turned it around to stop the water from running any longer and you stepped out of the shower, wrapping a clean white towel around your naked body, the cloth hugging your curves. You put on a new set of underwear and pants, pulling a tank top over your head, to hear rustling behind you. You turned around as you pulled it down and saw Hoseok leaning on the door frame, his legs crossed just like his arms, his eyes fixated on your figure and then your captivating blue eyes. “Did you need anything?” You asked him, taking a few steps towards him.

He shook his head and looked down at his feet for a second. “No” He replied, licking his lips. “Just... The food is ready if you want to eat”

“Okay...” You said, your bodies only a few inches away, something that happened so naturally that your brain didn’t even process it happened until now, that you felt the energy emit off of him “Are you sure it’s just that, Hoseok?” You asked, your voice low and steady.

“No,” He said again, the same tone in his voice. Low. Deep. Raspy. “Somehow... there’s more that I want, but it’s not words that I want to express”

You looked at his lips for a mere moment, as they looked perfect. Their shape was sculptured a way that made you lick your own. Big enough to make them look like small pink pillows. Glossy and smooth enough to make you want to get as much of a taste of them as you can. And the thing was, it wasn’t just his lips. It was everything he was from head to toe, inside and out even if you didn’t know it all. His nose, his glass like skin, his small but piercing eyes, his silky black hair. The way his body was perfectly aligned and all it got out to you. His energy wasn’t just calm and welcoming. It was so different and intriguing that you wanted all of it, all to yourself, even for a single time.

“Do you want something?” He asked.

“We all always have a desire” You simply replied. “And it’s never enough as soon as we make it happen. And it’s more than just one”

The next few movements happened so fast that you didn’t have the time to decide if you wanted them to happen in the first place. Hoseok took a few steps towards you, making you take a step back and the door was slammed closed by his foot as he took your arms and turned you around, pushing you up against it. His palm rested on your cheek as your foreheads rested onto one another’s and he looked at your lips, brushing his own against yours. “You must be desirable to a lot of people. Can’t say I blame them”

“Same goes to you, Angel boy” You smirked at him. “Bet you’ve committed as many crimes as I have with those looks”

“You have a lot of assumptions of me too, I see,” He said, his lips pulling up at one side. “You’re not going to force me off of you? Tell me to know my place, huh? I thought you were supposed to be a dominant person, future Hell Mistress”

“Hmm... I am. But I’m not going to do it” You said. “I don’t want to” You whispered in his ear, coming back down to look at his eyes.

He crashed his lips onto yours and they molded just like sea water kisses the golden sand smoothly, perfectly. Naturally. Like puzzle pieces fit together just right. You pulled away just to look at him and raised an eyebrow. “We just met. Maybe this is your technique to get me killed”

“Did just meeting someone ever stop you?” He asked.

“Valid” You shrugged and kissed him again.

As you tasted his lips again, a small gasp escaped your lips when he pulled away this time. “Aren’t you going to say that shit about how I’m an angel and you’re a devil and that’s forbidden? You’re a fucking royal devil, y/n”

“You think I care?” You asked. “Just give me what we both need”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

§ Two of the three days passed too quickly for your liking and the angst of the situation built up around you and Hoseok, minute by minute. What happened the first night, had kept you two at an edge the whole time you were a little too close to one another. You knew it. Just like you said at the mercy of his presence, desires- even if claimed- are never enough. You were greedy; greedy for more of him and how good he tasted. Not just how his lips tasted, or your lips on his skin, but how his soul tasted, being revealed right in front of your eyes and being given to you in a single night.

One day you didn’t even know him and the next it felt as if you could have known him from the moment he was born. Just like he felt with you. You stole glances the first chance you got and even if he caught you or you caught him, your eyes lingered on each other for more than enough seconds for many more thoughts to pop into your head and chills to take over your whole entire being.

The plan was set and so was everyone. Ion was first to be taken down, and you were more than sure it was the easier case. Hoseok could kill Ion with his eyes closed, he trusted him like the back of his hand. You were so surprised to see that almost the whole population of Heaven was on with the plan. Everyone else who wasn’t was captured, killed and made to disappear and forgotten. It was a secure plan and it happened quickly with no further demands or fuss.

This was the difference between Devils and Angels. Angels agreed and understood one another. They knew what was vital, what was enough and when they needed to stop. Devils, on the other hand, were greedy, egotistic creatures that wanted the best they could have no matter the cost. You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t a victim of that gene. Selfishly enough, in a time where everything was a life or death issue, your mind was set on what happened with Hoseok after this was hopefully over. You were greedy to get him to be beside you again, see him raw and uncensored and that was selfish- to distract yourself when you needed to protect the rights and the lives of your people, the people that trusted you.

Swift movements, barely audible steps, and loud whispers brought you to the moment you waited for, for as long as you remembered. You stood with Azazer in your hands, dark blood running down his hoarse skin as the slits in his neck were cut deep from your claws. The blood dripped down from your own hands and a laugh escaped Azazer’s mouth, his eyes tired but still as dead as he always looked inside. “What is it now, niece. You’re finally getting what you always wanted. Why are you holding back? I’m all your to see burn alive. Or have you finally changed your mind?”

Your lips parted and the sight of your parents being killed in front of your teenager eyes run through your mind, again and again, your own screams echoing in your ears. Everything stopped around you and your hands felt weak. Azazer taking advantage of your throbbing flashback balled his hands into fists and made a golden rope appear around Hoseok’s neck who was standing beside you, holding Azazer’s head down. Hoseok fell to the floor behind him, choking, trying to get a word out. “Y/n, d-do i-it,” He said, hissing in pain and coughing out small droplets of blood as his neck was crushed.

A yell escaped your mouth the same moment a tear fell down your tear duct, giving your hand the order to go through your own blood relative’s chest and take his heart out. You gasped as you saw the heartbeat in your palm, Azazer’s hand falling to the ground, the red in his eyes becoming a dull white and the colour of his skin being drained out by death. You took the heart and threw it in the Golden Goblet as soon as Hoseok was let to breathe and you cried out, seeing the organ burn to ashes.

You cried. For the first time in thirteen years, actual tears made your skin wet and sobs escaped your mouth as you covered it with your bloody hands.

The triad was completed, at that moment.

Bloodstained wings. The wings of both sides dripped in blood, the white and black feathers mixed together in the pool around Azazer’s blood. But of countless other innocents or criminals’ vital substance that used to flow in their veins, giving them extraordinary powers, rights, responsibilities and simply; life.

Bloodstained hands. The hands that were stained with red, deep or light, filling hearts and minds with guilt, pleasure, justice or sadness. Lives that were even taken with bare hands, just like this one.

Bloodstained memories. The memories of parents being slaughtered in front of a child’s eyes, its own uncle indifferent of the pain he caused. The memories of a loved one turning to a different person than the one they knew, and being caught in a lie and killed in front of him.

This might be the triad of misery, infamy, and death, but only as long as morals are set to the side. But if used with emotion and mercy, it can be the triad of peace.

Hoseok held you in his arms as you gasped for breath and his head rested on yours, his eyes closed. “It’s okay. It’s over. It’s all over”

As you watched him walk off out of the gate of Hell to go serve his duty in his own world, he looked behind him and turned around, only to have you walk up to him again and kiss his lips, the taste familiar and at this point, a reminder of what home feels like. “Don’t you dare not come back to me”

“Or else?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Or I’ll kill you” You playfully hit his shoulder, letting him walk off. Walk off away when you actually needed him, but knew you had to do your own job. When were you going to see him again? He was an angel sent to you, just like what your mother was to your father. Their story ended in death and yours started with it. All you could do was hope it would continue soon and end completed.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

AU: I hope you guys enjoyed this concept. I got inspired from the season greetings 2019 photoshoot because the boys looked like angels. I needed a break from requests and felt the need to do something creative to spark my productivity. I really did enjoy writing this, it’s all yours now babes!

P.S. If this does good enough, I’ll write three additional parts. The plotting of how they took down the leaders, their pasts and the aftermath.

Masterlist

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lockandk3yfiction · 6 years ago

Text

Title: Wolf in Sheeps Clothing

Date: November 4, 2018

My piece for @bnha-halloween-bb ! I collaborated with @mixspixs and you can find their artwork here!

Rated: T

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Kirishima Eijirou

Word Count: 5,280

Part One of ???

(Read on AO3)

A huff blew throughout the air, ruffling the chemistry notes that sat upon the dining room table before two agitated students. Kirishima tapped his pencil onto the paper, his knee bouncing and bumping against Bakugou’s own. Groaning, Kirishima fell back against the seat rest, his head bumping against Bakugou's arm. Chancing a glance, he peered under his hair, in awe of Bakugou's sharp brows and set jaw. The blonde picked up the pen Kirishima had dropped, trailing it along the sheet of paper discarded earlier. Eyes trained on the problem at hand, Bakugou didn't notice the admiring stare directed his way.

Red orbs studied the small wrinkles no one else would ever have gotten close enough to see, the way Bakugou's skin creased in thought. A smile flitting his lips, Kirishima bit back a sigh, letting his eyelids flutter. The quiet of his home broke eventually, Bakugou's lips parting as he kept his gaze locked on Kirishima's homework.

"You're drawing the wrong chemical element."

"Wait? Am I?!"

Mouth gaping open, Kirishima scrambled to pick up his notes. He flipped through their textbook, counted down the periodic table and flipped back to their assignment page multiple times. Muttering and scratching his brain for any sign of his saving grace, a choked cry escaped him.

"That can't be!? I swear this is Barium!”

“You’re supposed to be drawing the physical properties of Boron.”

“Agh!”

Slumping down on the tabletop with his hands clutching and mushing his red hair, Kirishima groaned. He had truly put all of his efforts into the wrong diagram. What a fool. “...is that at least how you draw Barium..?”

“Yeah.” Bakugou let out an exasperated sigh, tugging Kirishima’s paper out from under his head. “Here, moron.”

With a little pout, Kirishima’s arms fell from their resting place on, opening up his eyes to what Bakugou had started to do. He watched as the blonde erased what he had drawn earlier, turning the pencil over to write. Encased in a scribbled circle, Bakugou wrote the letter b in capitalization. The correct symbol for Boron. Finding the back of the book, Bakugou followed each row and column up until he found the square that matched said letter, pointing idly at the atomic number of five.

“See. You’re doing too much work. Digging your brain out to figure out what makes up Barium when it’s atomic number is higher than-”

Bakugou’s words drawled on deaf ears, Kirishima’s focus changing from the inked on pages to the blemished skin of Bakugou’s neck. All he could hear was the buzz of a voice, stifled into static under the thoughts in his mind. None of which had to do with science anymore. Hidden behind Bakugou’s ear, a grey-ish shade compared to his complexion, Kirishima could see the shape of a wolves head imprinted just out of Bakugou’s hairline. It wasn’t a tattoo, Kirishima had learned that years ago. No, it was more of a birthmark.

The lines were fine, curves following the descent of the wolves snout. Its ears perked, pointed forward at attention, it's fur bunching at the neck where the wolf began to blend into Bakugou's own skin. The texture seemed just as smooth and supple as Bakugou's own skin. An urge to feel it, to see whether or not they were the same overtook Kirishima.

His fingers rose, tentatively touching the skin on Bakugou's neck, noticing as the other boy flinched. He'd always done that, always acted a little scared at the first touch of someone else. Kirishima chuckled, his lips curving upward, causing the dimples in his cheeks to rise. Index finger petting under Bakugou's hair, it crawled up toward the mark behind his ear. Tracing the outline of the image, eyes half-lidded and mouth agape, Kirishima lost fell into a trance.

As his hand busied itself, Bakugou exhaled a sigh. He closed his eyes, folding his arms as he let Kirishima do as he pleased. Let him into his personal space, wiggling his way closer to Bakugou in more ways than one. There was no way to fight it, no reason to attempt so. Ever since they were young, Kirishima had always found a way to lower Bakugou's guard. Like any other moment, he was at the redhead's mercy til Kirishima would get bored. Knowing him that wouldn't be anytime soon.

Feeling knuckles nudge his earlobe, Bakugou arched his neck away. He provided more canvas, a better look at the mark on his neck. The mythical creature would almost whine in satisfaction, lower its head to receive more grace. This was only a mark though. Not a true beast in its full glory. An image that lingered on Bakugou forever, that carved its way onto his body since his days in the womb.

Still Bakugou's cheeks burned, his brows tensing and untensing. His breathing would come out shallower, a song of the night. Much like he would sleep soon. Fall asleep in the gentleness of Kirishima's touch. A shiver ran up his spine, a small gasp escaping Bakugou when Kirishima had prodded a little too roughly at his tendons. Growling, Bakugou bared his gritted teeth.

"Hey... You like wolves, yeah?"

"You're stating the obvious, dumb ass." Bakugou hissed, slowly opening his eyes. Pouting with his bottom lip jut out, Bakugou stares at Kirishima.

“Than you’ll know about werewolves?”

“What are you going on about?”

“Well…” Kirishima straightened his back, removing his hands to place them on his knees. “Since you know so much about wolves than what do you think werewolves would look like in real life! Would they be furry burly ol’ men like in those retro horror films?! Or would they walk around Twilight style!?”

“Are you really comparing shit to some sappy fuck of a movie.” Bakugou narrowed his eyes at Kirishima.

“Don’t bust a movie about forbidden love between human and beast!”

“Never say it like that ever again. I guess they’d look more like a normal wolf.”

“So it is Twilight style!”

“Stop calling it that!”

A guess wasn’t quite the truth if Kirishima knew any better. There was only so much as a normal human being like himself could understand or comprehend.

He wasn’t marked like Bakugou.

Grabbing his trenchcoat, Bakugou walked through the halls with Kirishima following his tail. The redhead was smiling like an idiot with big doe eyes and a hint of pink on his cheek. As they’d stalked closer to the doorway, they would pass frames of old memories. Photographs of the two throughout the years, of Kirishima’s family and his other friends hung upon the walls. Glimpse into the past, of a time simpler to Bakugou where they’d go chasing butterflies and come home with scraped knees. Now he was chasing deer alone. Hiding secrets from his closest friend.

“Be careful walking home. I don’t want Auntie and Uncle calling us because you won’t answer your phone.”

“I’ll be fine, Kirishima.”

Kirishima stood behind Bakugou, towering over him as he tied his shoes. His eyes would roam Bakugou’s hunched over frame but like most times that he sees the blonde off, Kirishima’s eyes would linger on one of Bakugou’s garments. His murky green trench coat, a favorite of Bakugou’s to wear. He could tell not only by the many times Bakugou had worn it but from the many rips and tears it had. The hemline of Bakugou’s sleeves were missing completely; the fabric had torn just before his wrist. The bottom that hung just above his knees looked as if it may have been stepped on, dragged from and bitten off. It had Kirishima frowning.

“Be safe, not fine.” Kirishima grumbled, poking the crown of Bakugou’s head before standing back up.

Scoffing, Bakugou tilted his head up, cheeks brushing the fur of his collar as he looked up at Kirishima. Shaking his head, Bakugou’s boots clicked as he stood up as well. Hand holding the door handle, Bakugou ruffled Kirishima’s hair before stating one more sentence before leaving.

“I’ll be safe.”

Door shutting behind him, Bakugou bounded down the porch steps, feet meeting the cement floor. He didn’t stay long on the sidewalk though, turning his head every which way before jogging across the road. The clock read twelve past nine before he left Kirishima’s home. Running off from the warmth of a fireplace into the brisk fall winds, a tremor ran up Bakugou’s spine.

Looking over his shoulder one last time, Bakugou gave a half-baked smile at the slow to blur the vision of Kirishima’s home. He’d be going too far away to even smell its lingering scent soon. A hand covering the mark on his neck, Bakugou breathed in deeply, shuttering an exhale at the dull pain forming in his head. Hunching his back, hands pulling his hood over his head, Bakugou walked align with the forest opposite of the neighboring homes.

A keen whine echoed in the dead of night. Twigs cracking under feet, muscles and joints popping.

Tugging on the hood of his coat tighter, Bakugou ducked under the trees and ferns of the forest. Pointed ears covered in fur protruded from his hair, the thumping of a tail hitting the backs of his thighs. The mark on his neck glowed under the moonlight.

Kirishima had always told Bakugou stories and myths, ever so interested in the paranormal that he was sad to think didn’t exist. There were tales of bloodsucking monsters and invisible men. Legends about sea creatures larger than ships and humans that could shift into beast. Lengthy claws and treacherous fangs, pale skin and peeling corpse. Halloween tricks that weren’t only costumes and could happen year round.

He’d babble miles upon miles to Bakugou about the shows he’d watched and the books he’d read. He’d pester Bakugou with questions, coaxing out his thoughts on the matter about whether they’d exist and Bakugou would lie.

He’d lie and say that such things were impossible. Impossible to the naked eye.

Yet Bakugou knew full well of the truths.

He bared the mark of such mythical creatures.

The mark that came in many shapes and forms with a different transformation associated with the person that bares it. With colors like white blotches or deep burgundy dots parallel of one another. It was unexplainable, like witches magic. Perhaps the first to bare a witches hat were the ones to curse themselves, to bestow upon the unwilling a style of life that must be hidden.

Though that would be impossible to confirm for not even the eldest of vampires could remember. This was simply the way of life in which two beings can be born on the opposite side of the same coin. Humans lived out their days along well-kept beast that only showed their true forms in the dead of night.

Bakugou sniffed at the air, the back of his hand rubbing mindlessly under his nose. The rising moon had cast light overhead, illuminating the patched ground in its glow. Shadows of the trees, danced as Bakugou neared the center of the forest. The growing winds blew at his coat, his hood slipping off from his head. Ears standing perked, they twitched with his nostrils. Many scents mixed with the night air, noises crinkling at fallen twigs. One with his senses, Bakugou’s eyes peered out into the distance where those just like him had stood to meet.

Wolves taller than they should be crouched beside men with attributes like Bakugou’s own. Daring eyes, pointed ears, each with fangs short and long. Tails that curved and swayed, jagged claws. Much of them were older, a few that could possibly be his grandfather but most were those in their mid-years. Bakugou’s seen them all before - at the hunting grounds, in stores, in his classroom. The one sure fire way that he sees all of their true forms though is in this secluded area.

No normal human would dare to enter the woods after nightfall and none have ever seen one creature in any form other than the mask they hid behind. Not even Kirishima. Bakugou’s chest rose as he breathed in deeply, entering the crowded circle of bodies.

They were all family, not by blood but by trait. A bond that could only be broken by betrayal and lies - Bakugou shut his eyes. Secrets were only kept between members of the pack, not apart. Tales were tales. Legends are legends. The truths, however, would always carry alongside each and every wolf that stood here today.

Bakugou opened his eyes, nodding along with the other pack members in greeting. This was their ritual, meeting multiple times a week for discussions. Bonding - that’s what they call it - is what makes the pack strong. It’s what holds all its members together in an intense grip. This was stronger than family ties.

Bakugou knew that well, for his father had left the pack years before he was born. The stories told were always so contradicting, however. Bakugou’s father didn’t tell it the same as their pack leader and Aizawa’s version was so much different in comparison to both. If there was one story he ever believed in, it would be the one that Aizawa tells. He trusts the man much deeper than he does any other pack member.

Lifting his head, Bakugou angled his chin until his eyes met Aizawa’s gaze. This was his teacher, after all, an expert in both normal day history and the timeline of mythical creatures. Aizawa tugs his wool scarf above his lips, silencing himself as he turned back to their pack leader. Doing the same, Bakugou watched as the burning campfire flickered, its flames dancing in the night.

It seemed as though hours had drawled on with talk of upcoming events and the hunting feast they would soon partake in. It had driven the youngest member to boredom, his gaze half-lidded and lips curved downward into a frown. There was nothing exhilarating in meetings like these as if they were only to count upon previous affairs. The night dragged on without interruption, wolf howls signaling the end of their gathering. Some bodies began to stalk off while others stayed, mingling about with the pack. At one point, the campfire had been covered with dirt, suffocating the heat of the flames.

Bakugou had ambled his way toward an all too familiar face, Aizawa’s hair left in a tangled mess. Untamed like his wolf, Bakugou supposed.

“Sensei.”

Aizawa turned from the member he had previously chastised, for what reason, Bakugou did not know nor care.

“What is it, Bakugou? If this has anything to do with worlds history, then could it not wait until class tomorrow.”

“I’m not like Kirishima.”

Bakugou’s exclamation caused the air to still with a chill, ears that were of neither their twitching in the direction of the two. Baited eyes of a silver-haired man watched with intent as the two spoke, a sour expression plastered on himself.

Bakugou had arrived home near midnight after the packs meeting had ended. All but one light had been turned off in the house, a rattling in the kitchen signaling that one of his parents must be awake. Shutting the front door as softly as Bakugou could, he took his trenchcoat off to place onto a hook by the wall. His tail and ears had long rescinded, his fangs dulled back down to their typical bluntness and hands declawed.

Shuffling into the kitchen, Bakugou had tilted his head to the side. His father stood before him, back facing the entryway with his hands washing dishes in the sink. It seemed all too late to Bakugou for him to do so, dinner usually over by seven. When Bakugou normally comes home from meetings with the pack, his father would already be tucked away in bed, his mother beside him with a book in hand.

This time, it seemed Masaru was the only one awake. Bakugou did not hear his mothers yells about coming home late so she must have been sound asleep. So why was it that his father had stood with his back rigged.

“Welcome back, Katsuki…”

“Hey?” He didn't mean for it to seem questioning. Curiosity was a wondrous thing, however, sneaking up in the voice and stance of its beholder.

Masaru shut the faucet water off, his shoulders rising and falling as he took a deep breath. “Don’t say ‘hey’ like that. Just because I’m old does not mean I can’t stay awake this late.” His chuckle didn’t quite meet his eyes, baritone and lacking jester.

“Dad?”

“Your mother and I are worried… I’m worried, Katsuki.”

Bakugou’s brows pinched together, his hands resting on the countertop as he waited for his father to continue. Masaru wouldn’t look at him, the two standing side by side only inches apart and he wouldn’t look at his own son. Bakugou bit the inside of his cheek, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. Whatever it was Masaru had to say must have… it must have taken a lot out of him to muster the words to say.

Bakugou knew his father well, he knew each little quirk of his. He understood what certain actions meant, understood when he was at ease and when he was not. Now, watching as Masaru stared down at the sink, his mouth set in a thin line, Bakugou knew he was not comfortable with a situation of some sort.

“You don’t have to be a part of the pack, Katsuki…”

“But I haven’t done wrong. I can’t leave.”

“You don’t need to be kicked out to leave the pack, Katsuki!”

“Yes, you do! Isn’t that what happened with you!?”

“I left because your mother was pregnant!”

“You were kicked out because the pack leader didn’t like my mother! You were kicked out because he doesn’t approve of your mate!”

“Katsuki!”

“It’s true! Sensei told me all of the truth!”

Another secret unraveled and unfolded. The pack once had another Alpha, one with old morals and stingy thoughts. Those he did not approve of, those that challenged him or did not bow down were banned from ever being members of the pack. Bakugou’s mother, Mitsuki, was banned from being a part of the park. She was a ferocious one that had spoken her mind in every circumstance, that had been detested by the leader at the time.

Masaru was never like that, had always been one to follow his alpha. He followed their leader up until the day he met Mitsuki, had listened to each of the leaders words until he had fallen in love Mitsuki.

“I… I wanted to leave.” Masaru balled his fist, gritting his teeth and lowering his head.

“Aizawa-sensei said the Alpha wouldn’t let you…” Bakugou felt he may have spoken out of term.

Bakugou had always gon into these kinds of fights with his mother but not ever with his father. He had a softer tone, some would call him timid. It had developed after years of fighting with the pack, of trying defend himself up to the point that he didn’t know how to fight anymore. It hurt, Bakugou frowned, his eyes welling with tears.

Bakugou couldn’t stop the urge to cry, tugging on Masaru’s sleeve as he rested his head on his father's shoulder.

Would he suffer the same fate?

Bakugou stayed quiet for most of the next day. Not once did he raise his hand when he knew an answer in class, he hadn’t bother grinding a curse out at ghost boy Deku. He didn’t talk to friends as they passed him by in the halls, didn’t even yell after being smacked on the back by Sero.

All he could think about was his conversation with his father and Kirishima’s smile. The same smile that appeared a foot away from his face, shocking red hair obstructing his site.

“There you are, Bakugou! Man, I’ve been looking all over for you.”

The sun's rays blinded Bakugou as Kirishima leaned away from him. He no longer provided shade to the blonde whose back was against a tree, hiding far into the back of the school.

“Maybe I didn’t want to be found.” Bakugou scoffed.

“Nonsense.” Kirishima pouted, crossing his legs as he sat in front of Bakugou, putting a tray piled with food between them. “Here. I brought extra cause I had an itch you didn’t go to the cafeteria.”

“That’s none of your business,” Bakugou grumbled. Still reached out for half of the sub sandwich on Kirishima’s plate, the redhead grinning widely at him. “Come on! Don’t you miss me?” Kirishima bit down on his sandwich, mayo spilling from between the bread and down his cheeks. “We haven’t seen each other all day Kaminari said you looked down?” “Do I look down to you?” He growled.

“Yeah.” Bakugou glared, certain that if he could bare his fangs at the other, Kirishima would cower in fear. Instead, the redhead poked him on the forehead, laughing as Bakugou batted his hand away. “Come on, Blasty! You can tell me anything. What’s wrong?” Bakugou jut his bottom lip outward, eyebrows set in a frown. Anything was a lie. There were things Bakugou could never say to Kirishima, all secrets that could only be kept between his family and the pack. Shaking his head made Kirishima’s face falter, the hand outstretched between dropping. “Bakugou..?” “Wolves mate for life, you know that.” Bakugou rushed to get the words out, any sort of distraction a dire need. He pointed at the mark on his neck, the wolfs head a proud proof of what Bakugou truly was. A beast hiding in sheep's clothing. Kirishima arched his brow at the sudden change of topic, uncertain what Bakugou was trying to get at. “Yeah, so?” “Imagine if people were the same. They only find a lover once and that’s it. The two of them being together for all eternity just like a wolf and his mate.” Kirishima opened his mouth to speak, closing it when he found no words. Bakugou was being romantic… Talking about love and mates and how they could only fall in love once. Kirishima smiled timidly, his shoulders shrugging upward as he looked away with a flush on his cheeks. “I wouldn’t mind having a mate like that, Bakugou. It sounds… nice.”

Somehow, the topic ended there. Kirishima sat a little closer, Bakugou stopped being quiet. They talked, they joked, they basked in each others company. Kirishima started to pet at the mark on Bakugou’s neck again, smiling fondly at him as Bakugou told him more about wolves. Behavior had come into the conversation and while listening to Bakugou talk about territory and head alphas vs. normal alphas, Kirishima couldn’t help but think that Bakugou could act similar to a wolf at times.

Night had fallen quicker than Kirishima had thought it would, leaving him walking alone in the dark. He had planned to be home earlier but Aizawa had asked that he stay after school to aid in cleaning duty. His stomach grumbled as he walked, a pout on his lips. He didn’t even have Bakugou by his side and they always walked home together. “Stupid cleaning duty!” Kirishima kicked a pebble onto the road, his body swaying with the motion. Stumbling to catch his balance, Kirishima squealed, nearly dropping the bag of beef buns in his arms. “Phew…” He sighed in relief, looking up. Then he was standing straighter, eyes focused on the road ahead. His attention was captured by the familiar trenchcoat Bakugou had always worn. With the coat in rags and an ugly green, not in a million years could Kirishima mistake it. “Bakugou!” Kirishima yelled as he watched the hooded figure enter into the woods and his breath caught. “Bakugou! Wait!” His legs sprinted into action, arms wound tightly around his market bag. Eyes blown wide, Kirishima couldn’t stop, not after witnessing his best friend going off into the forest by himself. No one in their right mind should do that. The woods were full of wildlife creatures, some as small as a bunny and others as large as bears.

“Bakugou!” Worry filled Kirishima’s lungs, a cold shiver running down his spine. “Bakugou!”

Why would Bakugou go off into the woods at this time of night? He couldn’t possibly where he’s going or what creatures lurk inside. Feet bouncing off the last gleam of a street light, Kirishima dove off the way Bakugou had gone. He didn’t look both ways before crossing the road, hyper focused on the trail ahead of him. Bursting into the forest, Kirishima yelled out for Bakugou once again. Adrenaline filtered through his veins, the grassy floor crinkling underneath his feet. His heart beat like a drum, eyes stinging from the wind that blew against his face. Faster, he needed to be faster. He needed to be by Bakugou’s side, to know he’s safe, to figure out why. Gaze trained above, Kirishima didn’t notice the uplifted root beneath him. His foot had got caught on it, his breath hitching as his body lunged forward. Kirishima cried out, hitting the ground with a resounding thump. Groaning, Kirishima tasted dirt on his tongue, could feel where his cheek had been scratched. His beef bun laid discarded and crumbled beside him, stomach growling at the site. Body quivering, Kirishima shut his eyes. He closed himself off from his surroundings, trapped by twisted tree roots and hooting owls. Leaves rustled nearby - Kirishima clenched his fingers - the sound of a twig breaking underfoot not that far away. He laid still, afraid of what was to come, afraid of how his life would end. He had already lost Bakugou with no way of finding him in the woods. His ankle ached, sympathizing with the shallow pain in his heart. How Kirishima let all of this happen? How could he watch as Bakugou entered the woods and then get himself injured by chasing after? Kirishima whimpered, biting down on his lip. Footsteps crackled at the ground, the sound growing closer. Torturously slow, dragging on Kirishima’s fated demise. With uneven breaths, Kirishima shut his eyes. A shadow stood over him, the muzzle of a beast sniffing the air and nudging at his hair. Entertaining the thought that it might be a deer, Kirishima willed himself to open his eyes until a rigid growl entered his ear. Kirishima stiffened, eyes wide as he stared up at a rather large wolf. Covered in a golden mane, its crimson red eyes bored into Kirishima’s own. Its muzzle pulled back in a snarl, dripping slobber over the human's cheek. Kirishima whimpered, shutting his eyes as he tried not to wail. This would be his final resting place, where his bones would decay after the wolf would have him for dinner. Snarling again, the wolf pulled back. It turned high tail, scurrying off into the brush but for how long would it be gone. Kirishima shuttered a gasp of fresh air, tempting himself to move. Cautiously, he rolled over onto his hands and knees, wincing at the burn of his ankle. With no telling of when or if the wolf would come back, Kirishima knew his situation was unfavorable.

If only he hadn’t saw Bakugou walking into the woods alone.

If only Kirishima hadn’t rushed in to chase after him.

Knitting his brows, Kirishima strained to keep his eyelids open. His ankle thorbed, shoes suddenly tight, no doubt from swelling. Whining, Kirishima rubbed at his ankle, the beating of his chest loud in his ear. The song of the forest fell into dead silence. A stillness took over the air, choking the heavy breaths of Kirishima lungs. Leaves stopped swaying, the night owls off in other places.

Kirishima’s eyes flickered, turning and twisting where he sat in attempt to find the golden mane wolf once again. The image of those bloody red eyes and bright white fangs pestered at Kirishima’s memory. The way its maw had been arched in a snarl, how its growl resonated in the forest as if it bounced off of invisible walls. He shivered, curling in on himself with his head resting on a bent knee.

There’s no way he could of gotten up. No way he could save himself. Murmuring the phrases, embedding them in his mind, Kirishima bit his lip.

“You goddamn idiot!”

A roar like a bellow echoed in the dark, surrounding Kirishima in a wave of nostalgia. Eyes widening, his fingers trembled, head shortly rising. Footsteps thudded against the ground, the bushes rustling behind his back. Kirishima’s eyes began to well, his breaths slowing down, shoulders slacking. The chirping of crickets came alive as if signaling that Kirishima still had time. Stifling a hiccup, Kirishima wiped at his cheeks and nose.

“What the fuck are you doing here!?”

“Bakugou…”

His injured legs still stretched out, Kirishima turned his torso to the side, craning his neck in the direction of the voice he’s known for years. Yet… the figure that met him wasn’t quite the same as his best friends.

Standing with his hands holding his pants, shirt and coat hanging off of one arm, was Bakugou Katsuki. His chest was bare to the world, only half dressed as if he hadn’t had clothes on moments before. What a curious sight for a man in the woods at night though that’s not what had caught Kirishima’s attention. His best friend wasn’t afraid to show off and they’d shared swims in the pool many times. There were differences to his body.

A tail swayed in jerky movements behind him, the base having started from the blondes lower back and fur curling at the ends. Ears a darker shade protruded from Bakugou’s hair, twitching as he glared down at the redhead. Swallowing his saliva, all Kirishima could do was watch as Bakugou towered over him, inched closer to where his body lay still on the ground.

“Bakugou..?”

Bakugou’s coat dropped into his lap, the boy eerily quiet as he knelt down before Kirishima. Their eyes did not meet, one gaze directed towards an injured leg and the others bewildered at animalistic ears. Lips agaped, Kirishima could not tear himself away from the pointed tips. Even Bakugou’s feet lacked any shoes and it had Kirishima itching for answers.

“I saw you go into the forest…”

Hands rested above Kirishima’s ankle, what felt like claws digging into his pant legs. Long jagged nails would not be far off from the rest of Bakugou’s attributes. Resting his hands in Bakugou’s coat, Kirishima bundled the fabric up to his chest. His shoe was unknotted, removed from his foot whilst a warm palm lifted his bruised muscle. That same warmth radiated in the pit of Kirishima’s stomach, clutching Bakugou’s clothing closer to himself.

“I got worried…”

“So you thought tripping on your feet was gonna help.” Bakugou scoffed.

“It wasn’t like that!” Yelling out in denial, Kirishima’s voice cracked. “I thought you would get lost or hurt or even eaten by that- that wolf I saw!”

The ears upon Bakugou’s head lowered, tilted forward as his eyelids drooped. At first, Bakugou didn’t speak. He preoccupied himself with his hands on the others ankle, unrolling Kirishima’s sock to disperse any restraint on his swelling. The cold night air battered at Kirishima’s skin, his arms holding on tighter to Bakugou’s coat.

“I thought I was going to die...”

“I wouldn’t kill you…”

Voice softer than Kirishima has ever heard before, he looked across the short distance between them. Brows kneaded inward, lips formed into a frown, Kirishima waited for Bakugou to say something else. Waited to listen to Bakugou’s end of the story.

“Kirishima… Don’t be afraid of my wolf… Don’t be afraid of me...”

#bakushima #kiribaku #bnha #key writes

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