#but this does seem like exactly what I would expect from a bunch of archive nerds

[sinistertaperecorders]

somethings going on

[whysojiminimnida]

Remember When I Said Taehyung Might Not Be As Gay As We Thought?

Don't judge a man by his milfy wardrobe, he looks goooood.

It was... awhile ago. Maybe as far back as 2021 although I do not feel like link-searching it. It's in the archives if I didn't kill it.

Granted, there was a lot going on, then. There's still a lot going on and until now I had no desire to ever - EVER - return to this hellsite. Because Taekookers are fucking weird, yo. And some of y'all got a lil bit up in my shit too as I (fuzzily) recall. Which: it's whatever. I'm extremely unsocial, don't even answer my own DMs. And it's not personal, so I get it. I don't need or want to defend myself, but I will protect people I care about. With my absence, if necessary.

OT: I also totally kicked the big C while I've been out so that was nice. Yoongi the cat is pleased that his noms will continue uninterrupted. I will be in wigs for at least another year. It's all good. Oh LOOK at what we have here. Don't come at me for publishing this, I will explain.

I got it from actual media days ago, okay, and also: there was no expectation of real privacy. Keep reading. Or don't, I'm not telling you what to do.

ANYWAY. I had to come back, mainly to say TAENNIE IS REAL I TOLD Y'ALL IDK WHY NOBODY EVER BELIEVES ME BUT HERE WE ARE. I'm gloating. Honestly, it's so rude, I'd apologize if I cared. But I am rude and snorfling into my cheerios about this. Tae just made me so damn happy, is all.

LET THE MAN BE BI OR HETEROFLEXIBLE OR EVEN STRAIGHT IDC. Jennie clearly makes him happy. Look at his "I'm going to Paris to see my girlfriend" face!

And in that very specific jewelry look, no less. Foundrae. Again. Still. Hm.

Here's what I can tell you based on my limited third hand no sources no receipts this is probably utter bullshit usual disclaimer: It's a soft open, kids. This whole "oopsie we just so happened to get caught taking a lil walk in public with our managers in tow during which date at least one of us signed several autographs, what a surprise" is in fact a soft open for what will likely be a public confirmation PRETTY DAMN SOON. It might happen before I get this thing published, actually, depending on when I get it up. If it's before May 22 at noon my time, no idea. If after, well. Guess we'll see. Jennie's supposed to show up at the screening of HBO's The Idol that day, screening at the Grand Lumiere at 10:30 CEST. One wonders if she will arrive alone, or bring a plus one. It's a big ask, and if he does it they're probably getting married, that's how big a deal it would be. So I'm not holding my breath, but.

This seems like a reasonable prospect for a plus-one viewing. Might not be the only one but... Jennie's IN IT so.

I'M NOT SAYING THIS IS GONNA HAPPEN. I think it would be a fucking POWER move if it did, but I also do not necessarily expect that it will. It COULD. It... MIGHT. It might not. Either way they're a thing, I'm telling you. They are, have been, a thing. For awhile. And it is apparently quite serious - like up to and including talk of engagement serious.

Remember when a bunch of folk thought that one gummy bear dude was going to jail for "hacking" Jennie's phone only there's been no actual movement on any "investigation"? Yeah. Trickle truthing, they call it. Give 'em a little bit, let them deny it and yell and chew on it for awhile before you give 'em a little more. But c'mon, nobody's wearing half the love-themed couple pieces at Foundrae for no damn reason.

Seriously they got the whole collection almost and both have been seen wearing them almost exclusively. For a year.See airport pic above.

Look, I don't have inside info on Taehyung. I do not. I ain't hang with his friends and I don't know him personally. Never met the guy. But I know a PR move when I see one and this is exactly that.

We all know how toxic stan culture can be. Some ToadlicKKers (and a few of us house elves) are certifiably bonkers, if stan twitter is anything to go by. And the guys, the company, they expect a whole meltdown. They know this is not gonna make half their fans happy. I mean the tkkers have a point in that it looks like they wanted to be seen. BECAUSE IT'S A SOFT OPEN. What Taejen/Taennie/Jenhyung and the companies also know is that based on historic shipper behavior, this is gonna come back on Jimin, Jungkook, maybe Rose' and Lisa. And by extension, the other members. Maybe not as much due to their respective distance, but still. I bet by the time I finish this it will have already started.

Oh look there it is. Fuck those bitches, really.

Good LORDT. I'm not adding the audio, if y'all are that hungry for psycho hose beast Jimin hate hie thee to stan twt.

But, totally off-topic kinda...

... wouldn't it be cool if Jennie, who speaks great English, was hanging out with Troye Sivan and was like "so you know my boyfriend tells me that his bffs..." I'M JUST SAYING NETWORKING IS COOL AND FRIENDS OF FRIENDS GET THINGS DONE OKAY.

You know that girl has the scoop. If Tae knows it, she knows it. Oh heeeeyyy Troye.

Also OT: I love that Taekook have been hanging out a little more lately. It's refreshing. I genuinely think having Jennie in his life has been good for Tae in several ways. And you know, I'm kinda surprised Taennie has lasted this long. I didn't honestly think they would. It warms my decrepit, sad old heart a bit. Turns out I have a lot more to say so IDK IDK, if I feel okay about it I might be back. Right now I'm just waiting for the official Taennie nod and the continued total meltdown.

[arbitrarygreay]

"Why Jpop?" archive links

Ray Mescallado was the foundational influence on how I view fandom, and I have linked and reread this particular series of posts countless times over the years. Given that all of his blogs are now offline, one can only find these posts with direct urls to put into the Wayback Machine. So here's the compilation of what may be the best ode to "Cute Japanese Girl" sub-cultures on the internet. Part One: An Introduction

And sometimes the question creeps on me unbidden: Why does my taste in music suck so much? Are all those cute, unattainable Japanese teenage girls worth such a price? So what is it about Jpop exactly? Do I really think the music sucks? (No.) Do I think it's inferior to the music I used to listen to? (That's a case-by-case basis, isn't it?) Is it really just because I like to watch cute teenage girls? (Um...) Am I becoming a Japanophile and just refuse to admit it? (Well...) There's a bunch of different reasons - as well as some "natural" conclusions which aren't as natural as people may think.

Part Two: It Ain't Because of Anime

In my head, anime and Jpop inhabit different imaginative spaces, different kinds of pleasure, from one another.

Part Three: The Rules of Attraction

Like hip hop's more commercial side, it seems more honest - more bracingly refreshing - to consider music as part of a larger system of commerce and art. Taken in that perspective, refusing to take advantage of all the performance and marketing possibilities is both stupid and self-destructive.

Part Four: Kawaii Sexy Kakoi

Popular culture becomes a way to express and contain individual wishes that would run against community wishes. However, it isn't a fulfillment of those individual wishes - rather, it inhabits an imaginative space that's very distinct from reality and reality-based aspirations.

Part Five: The Cult of Authenticity

The pose of authenticity doesn't fit into something as brazenly artificial, as something aggressively commercial, as Jpop. And in a culture where so many people strut to seem "real", when the word real has to be placed in goddamn quotation marks to denote the pose and not the actuality - well, the warm smile of Jpop's open capitalist ambitions is a welcome relief. (And perhaps it's even more compelling for non-Japanese, who are able to isolate the Jpop experience from the larger commercial matrix.)

Part Six: Shiny Happy People

Strangely, then, Jpop is a great way to keep me grounded about the world around me. Or at least not be such a self-righteous prick about the people and situations around me.

Part Seven: The Collector

Because the best part about Jpop collecting is that we're talking about idols here - performers who want that kind of attention lavished upon them. It's difficult to imagine someone becoming an idol singer and claiming, "This is too commercial. Maybe we shouldn't do a commercial for Pocky or Chupa Chups - it'd ruin the music, the integrity of our sound."

Part Eight: That Whole Japanophile Thing

A strong interest in another culture is often considered suspect, a sign of some intense dissatisfaction. We live in an increasingly global world, but there are some people who want to narrow that global view out of one kind of myopia or another: the myopia that claims one's native country is the best and nobody can say otherwise, and the myopia that claims some other country is the best and so I'll make up for having such a shitty native country by acting like a jackass in worshipping that other, idealized country.

Part Nine: Concluding Remarks

If there's anything to be achieved from prolonged examinations of pop cultural preference, it's a widened awareness - a heightened sensitivity - to the fine points that make popular culture so powerful... and ultimately, so contentious. I don't expect that explaining why I like Jpop means other people will go, "Aha! Now I have the key to enjoying something I'd previously thought was caterwauling commercialized crap. Thank you for this invaluable service, Ray."

[writingwithcolor]

What Does Our "Motivations” PSA Mean?

@luminalalumini said:

I've been on your blog a lot and it has a lot of really insightful information, but I notice a theme with some of your answers where you ask the writer reaching out what their 'motivation for making a character a certain [race/religion/ethnicity/nationality] is' and it's discouraging to see, because it seems like you're automatically assigning the writer some sort of ulterior motive that must be sniffed out and identified before the writer can get any tips or guidance for their question. Can't the 'motive' simply be having/wanting to have diversity in one's work? Must there be an 'ulterior motive'? I can understand that there's a lot of stigma and stereotypes and bad influence that might lead to someone trynna add marginalized groups into their stories for wrong reasons, but people that have those bad intentions certainly won't be asking for advice on how to write good representation in the first place. Idk its just been something that seemed really discouraging to me to reach out myself, knowing i'll automatically be assigned ulterior motives that i don't have and will probably have to justify why i want to add diversity to my story as if i'm comitting some sort of crime. I don't expect you guys to change your blog or respond to this or even care all that much, I'm probably just ranting into a void. I'm just curious if theres any reason to this that I haven't realized exists I suppose. I don't want y'all to take this the wrong way because I do actually love and enjoy your blog's advice in spite of my dumb griping. Cheers :))

We assume this is in reference to the following PSA:

PSA to all of our users - Motivation Matters: This lack of clarity w/r to intent has been a general issue with many recent questions. Please remember that if you don’t explain your motivations and what you intend to communicate to your audience with your plot choices, character attributes, world-building etc., we cannot effectively advise you beyond the information you provide. We Are Not Mind Readers. If, when drafting these questions, you realize you can’t explain your motivations, that is likely a hint that you need to think more on the rationales for your narrative decisions. My recommendation is to read our archives and articles on similar topics for inspiration while you think. I will be attaching this PSA to all asks with similar issues until the volume of such questions declines. 

We have answered this in three parts.

1. Of Paved Roads and Good Intentions

Allow me to give you a personal story, in solidarity towards your feelings:

When I began writing in South Asia as an outsider, specifically in the Kashmir and Lahore areas, I was doing it out of respect for the cultures I had grown up around. I did kathak dance, I grew up on immigrant-cooked North Indian food, my babysitters were Indian. I loved Mughal society, and every detail of learning about it just made me want more. The minute you told me fantasy could be outside of Europe, I hopped into the Mughal world with two feet. I was 13. I am now 28.

And had you asked me, as a teenager, what my motives were in giving my characters’ love interests blue or green eyes, one of them blond hair, my MC having red-tinted brown hair that was very emphasized, and a whole bunch of paler skinned people, I would have told you my motives were “to represent the diversity of the region.” 

I’m sure readers of the blog will spot the really, really toxic and colourist tropes present in my choices. If you’re new here, then the summary is: giving brown people “unique” coloured eyes and hair that lines up with Eurocentric beauty standards is an orientalist trope that needs to be interrogated in your writing. And favouring pale skinned people is colourist, full stop.

Did that make me a bad person with super sneaky ulterior motives who wanted to write bad representation? No.

It made me an ignorant kid from the mostly-white suburbs who grew up with media that said brown people had to “look unique” (read: look as European as possible) to be considered valuable.

And this is where it is important to remember that motives can be pure as you want, but you were still taught all of the terrible stuff that is present in society. Which means you’re going to perpetuate it unless you stop and actually question what is under your conscious motive, and work to unlearn it. Work that will never be complete.

I know it sounds scary and judgemental (and it’s one of the reasons we allow people to ask to be anonymous, for people who are afraid). Honestly, I would’ve reacted much the same as a younger writer, had you told me I was perpetuating bad things. I was trying to do good and my motives were pure, after all! But after a few years, I realized that I had fallen short, and I had a lot more to learn in order for my motives to match my impact. Part of our job at WWC is to attempt to close that gap.

We aren’t giving judgement, when we ask questions about why you want to do certain things. We are asking you to look at the structural underpinnings of your mind and question why those traits felt natural together, and, more specifically, why those traits felt natural to give to a protagonist or other major character.

I still have blond, blue-eyed characters with sandy coloured skin. I still have green-eyed characters. Because teenage me was right, that is part of the region. But by interrogating my motive, I was able to devalue those traits within the narrative, and I stopped making those traits shorthand for “this is the person you should root for.” 

It opened up room for me to be messier with my characters of colour, even the ones who my teenage self would have deemed “extra special.” Because the European-associated traits (pale hair, not-brown-eyes) stopped being special. After years of questioning, they started lining up with my motive of just being part of the diversity of the region.

Motive is important, both in the conscious and the subconscious. It’s not a judgement and it’s not assumed to be evil. It’s simply assumed to be unquestioned, so we ask that you question it and really examine your own biases.

~Mod Lesya

2. Motivations Aren't Always "Ulterior"

You can have a positive motivation or a neutral one or a negative one. Just wanting to have diversity only means your characters aren't all white and straight and cis and able-bodied -- it doesn't explain why you decided to make this specific character specifically bi and specifically Jewish (it me). Yes, sometimes it might be completely random! But it also might be "well, my crush is Costa Rican, so I gave the love interest the same background", or "I set it in X City where the predominant marginalized ethnicity is Y, so they are Y". Neither of these count as ulterior motives. But let's say for a second that you did accidentally catch yourself doing an "ulterior." Isn't that the point of the blog, to help you find those spots and clean them up?

Try thinking of it as “finding things that need adjusting” rather than “things that are bad” and it might get less scary to realize that we all do them, subconsciously. Representation that could use some work is often the product of subconscious bias, not deliberate misrepresentation, so there's every possibility that someone who wants to improve and do better didn't do it perfectly the first time. 

--Shira

3. Dress-Making as a Metaphor

I want to echo Lesya’s sentiments here but also provide a more logistical perspective. If you check the rubber stamp guide here and the “Motivation matters” PSA above, you’ll notice that concerns with respect to asker motivation are for the purposes of providing the most relevant answer possible.

It is a lot like if someone walks into a dressmaker’s shop and asks for a blue dress/ suit (Back when getting custom-made clothes was more of a thing) . The seamstress/ tailor is likely to ask a wide variety of questions:

What material do you want the outfit to be made of?

Where do you plan to wear it?

What do you want to highlight?

How do you want to feel when you wear it?

Let’s say our theoretical customer is in England during the 1920s. A tartan walking dress/ flannel suit for the winter is not the same as a periwinkle, beaded, organza ensemble/ navy pinstripe for formal dress in the summer. When we ask for motivations, we are often asking for exactly that: the specific reasons for your inquiry so we may pinpoint the most pertinent information.

The consistent problem for many of the askers who receive the PSA is they haven’t even done the level of research necessary to know what they want to ask of us. It would be like if our English customer in the 1920s responded, “IDK, some kind of blue thing.” Even worse,  WWC doesn’t have the luxury of the back-and-forth between a dressmaker and their clientele. If our asker doesn’t communicate all the information they need in mind at the time of submission, we can only say, “Well, I’m not sure if this is right, but here’s something. I hope it works, but if you had told us more, we could have done a more thorough job.”

Answering questions without context is hard, and asking for motivations, by which I mean the narratives, themes, character arcs and other literary devices that you are looking to incorporate, is the best way for us to help you, while also helping you to determine if your understanding of the problem will benefit from outside input. Because these asks are published with the goal of helping individuals with similar questions, the PSA also serves to prompt other users.

I note that asking questions is a skill, and we all start by asking the most basic questions (Not stupid questions, because to quote a dear professor, “There are no stupid questions.”). Unfortunately, WWC is not suited for the most basic questions. To this effect, we have a very helpful FAQ and archive as a starting point. Once you have used our website to answer the more basic questions, you are more ready to approach writing with diversity and decide when we can actually be of service. This is why we are so adamant that people read the FAQ. Yes, it helps us, but it also is there to save you time and spare you the ambiguity of not even knowing where to start.

The anxiety in your ask conveys to me a fear of being judged for asking questions. That fear is not something we can help you with, other than to wholeheartedly reassure you that we do not spend our unpaid, free time answering these questions in order to assume motives we can’t confirm or sit in judgment of our users who, as you say, are just trying to do better.

Yes, I am often frustrated when an asker’s question makes it clear they haven’t read the FAQ or archives. I’ve also been upset when uncivil commenters have indicated that my efforts and contributions are not worth their consideration. However, even the most tactless question has never made me think, “Ooh this person is such a naughty racist. Let me laugh at them for being a naughty racist. Let me shame them for being a naughty racist. Mwahaha.”

What kind of sad person has time for that?*

Racism is structural. It takes time to unlearn, especially if you’re in an environment that doesn’t facilitate that process to begin with. Our first priority is to help while also preserving our own boundaries and well-being. Though I am well aware of the levels of toxic gas-lighting and virtue signaling that can be found in various corners of online writing communities in the name of “progressivism*”, WWC is not that kind of space. This space is for discussions held in good faith: for us to understand each other better, rather than for one of us to “win” and another to “lose.”

Just as we have good faith that you are doing your best, we ask that you have faith that we are trying to do our best by you and the BIPOC communities we represent.

- Marika.

*If you are in any writing or social media circles that feed these anxieties or demonstrate these behaviors, I advise you to curtail your time with them and focus on your own growth. You will find, over time, that it is easier to think clearly when you are worrying less about trying to appease people who set the bar of approval so high just for the enjoyment of watching you jump. “Internet hygiene”, as I like to call it, begins with you and the boundaries you set with those you interact with online.

[breckstonevailskier]

Daniel was in the wrong in 4x08, and he owes Anthony an apology and a new iPad

I'm surprised that so many people on social media condone what Daniel did in 4x08, considering that what he did is borderline abuse and made me feel scared for Anthony.

Okay, so Daniel needs to be a firmer parent to Anthony, fine. But there's right ways to go about it, and there's wrong ways to go about it. The right way to go about it is basically something akin to a stern lecture. @shrinkthisviolet has done a nice take on what Daniel should've done in the fic "i promise (i'll do better)".

You see, a stern lecture from Daniel to Anthony where he describes exactly what the Cobras did to him in 1984 is what Anthony needs to hear at this moment. He needs to hear an illustration of what his dad went through, to get an idea of what exactly it might be like for Kenny. If Daniel went about it this way, it would also provide a nice segue for them to discuss the root of Anthony's acting out: the parental favoritism Amanda and Daniel have for Sam.

Instead, Daniel went about it the "wrong way". Destroying his son's possessions in front of him and screaming at him is WRONG, pure and simple. And more likely is going to have the opposite outcome of what Daniel intends. What Daniel did was effectively send the message to Anthony that "I am bigger than you and have more authority than you in this house, I get to do whatever I want to you". It's more likely that the big thing Anthony's going to take away is that he needs to be a better liar and be better at hiding his bad behavior from his parents. Any improvement from Anthony is likely coming from a place of, "I should do these things that good kids are expected to do so that Dad doesn't yell at me again or destroy more of my things".

And Anthony's apology to Kenny at the tournament doesn't feel genuine, because it seems more like he's apologizing because it's what's expected of him / because it'll appease his dad / it'll get his dad to return his electronics.

As it were, Daniel definitely owes Anthony a big apology for acting rashly like that, in an "Anthony, I'm sorry I broke your iPad and screamed at you. It was wrong for me to act like that. You did nothing to deserve me behaving like that. To show you how sorry I am, here's a new iPad". Because Daniel's never acted like that before.

------

Arguably, Daniel's behavior here also lines up with how he and Amanda are also not very consistent as parents, and are like a lot of real life parents who spoil their children then get surprised Pikachu faces when their kids act like Dudley Dursley.

They also have a tendency to "overcorrect" without knowing how to find a middle ground, meaing they abruptly shift from being very permissive and hands-off to dishing out punishment on a dime. This tends to be done a lot primarily for the purposes of them needing to do certain things to advance the plot--like Amanda going from reprimanding Daniel for getting mad at Sam for throwing a pool party in 1x02 to punishing Sam for a hit-and-run where Sam wasn't even driving (and Johnny was also partly at fault) by grounding her, taking her phone, and completely cutting her off from the outside world so Sam can't contact Miguel at a very critical moment in time), but also makes them so inconsistent that their kids probably don't know how they'll react to situations. In this case in 4x08, Daniel has never put his foot down with Anthony for anything in the past, and the way he does it is by breaking Anthony's tablet and yelling at him? He completely skipped over a bunch of intermediate methods that he could've used, like donate Anthony's non-essential electronics to charity.

It also makes Daniel show a lack of self-awareness here. He should realize that his overly permissive parenting (no doubt maybe influenced by his own upbringing) is the reason why Anthony has no regard for consequences.

[villain-enthusiast]

Hi, can I ask for a thing? Hero (the sunniest ray of sunlight ever, sweeter than vanilla ice cream, oblivious as heck) gets a grandiose villain (all darkness and spikes, romantic Romantic) trying to make it obvious that all those schemes were to draw the hero's attention, hero replies that if they wanted attention, they only needed to ask. Hero innocently does something like caress the villain's cheek and the villain just tilts, 404 not found, but they recover in time to steal a kiss?

Villain had planted the bomb in Hero’s favorite library, according to civilian witnesses. For what reason they chose that place out any other was the least of Hero’s worries.

They found the explosive deep in the archives with about three or so minutes to spare. Thankfully, they knew exactly how to denonate the ticking hunk of metal after a good several months of practicing with an expert they found.

They’d just finished clipping the last wire, sweat lining their forehead from the concentration, when they heard footsteps sound behind them.

“I wasn’t expecting you to get here so quickly,” Villain’s deep, rich voice echoed through the empty room. “Nor was I expecting you to finish the job so fast. This library must be something special to you, hm?”

Hero turned around to glance at their opponent and shrugged. “Well, I mean, it was more about making sure the civilians were safe and that this whole area didn’t completely blow to smithereens, but yeah. I do very much enjoy this library.”

Villain raised their brows, placing their hands behind their back casually, gracefully. “Glad to know I picked the right one.”

Hero snorted and pocketed the pilers. “Since when do you go around exploding things people love?”

“Only for you, Hero,” Villain responded, dark eyes glittering.

Hero crossed their arms and smiled. “Y’know, if you wanted attention from me, all you had to do was ask. No need to create crazy schemes that could get you into some serious trouble. Besides, you’re a lot more sweet when you’re not trying to kill me, like right now.”

“You talk a lot,” their opponent noted.

“Rambling’s one of my specialties. Do you like it?”

A pause. “Sure.”

“Unfortunate. You should set your priorities straighter unless you want to hear me talk my ass off for hours on end.” Hero walked closer to the other, stretching out their arms. “Or you could go ahead and put a knife through my stomach right now to shut me up but to be honest I doubt you’ll do that—,”

“I would never do that.” Villain frowned down at them in disapproval.

“But you’re willing to blow up a library full of wonderful books and innocents? Seems sketchy.” Hero met their stare evenly before their gaze snagged on something on Villain’s face.

“...What?”

“You’ve got like, a bunch of dust smeared here.” Hero reached up and brushed Villain’s cheek, wiping it off with a few gentle swipes of their fingers. “There. Were you rolling around on the ground or something...” Hero trailed off.

Villain was completely, utterly frozen. Muscles were locked up tight, features tense and hardened. Their eyes, on the other hand, were filled with warmth. Glowing.

Hero blinked in bewilderment, snapped their fingers a few times to try and get their attention. “Villain? You there?”

Villain stumbled back at that, their spine hitting the old bookshelf behind them. “Wh...I...you,” Villain stammered.

Villain never stammered.

Hero tilted their head. What in the world? “I will just...take my leave then?” They started to slowly inch away, confusion and caution building in their chest.

They had just turned away from Villain and was ready to bolt for the door, when they felt a hand grip their shoulder and spin them back around. They caught a glimpse of Villain’s deep brown eyes.

Then there were warm, soft lips on their own—Villain’s lips.

The kiss was short-lived, but Hero found themselves diving into it for some reason, a hand coming up to brush Villain’s cheek again. They closed their eyes. What was this? What was going on? Why were they even kissing?

Oh, but it was nice.

Vllain didn’t pull away until Hero had lowered their fingers from their cheekbone.

Villain was gone when Hero opened their eyes a second later.

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

Float Like A Butterfly... Chapter 5: So Last Season

Summary: Now that Adrien is no longer Chat Noir he doesn't have to get hit all the time. Unfortunately, his luck doesn't seem to have gotten the memo... Or has it?

------------------------------

"So, how're you holding up?"

"Please, Adrien, it's my mother! I'm positively ecstatic!"

"Exactly. It's your mother."

Chloe looked down for a second before her eyes snapped back up, any doubts she had hidden in an instant. "She's finally coming back! I'll finally be able to show her what she's been missing." Chloe tossed her ponytail back to emphasize the unspoken Me. "Now, I've gotta go. Sabrina insisted we do an 'emotional support routine' or whatever beforehand. Ciao!"

Sighing, Adrien stared at his phone for a moment before putting it down. He knew Chloe was grateful for Sabrina's help but it was still a struggle getting her to admit it.

Or getting her to admit how much Audrey had hurt her.

It was one thing to travel halfway around the world for your career and leave your daughter behind. It was something else entirely to completely ignore her. In all the years since Audrey left Chloe hadn't received a single birthday gift, phone call or text message. Adrien would know. Chloe would've bragged about it endlessly if her mother had taken so much as two seconds to acknowledged her existence-

Adrien's foot jerked, striking the vanity table and making the connected mirror tremble. Heart suddenly pounding against his chest as tension built up in his forehead. Distressed expression reflecting back at him.

Breathe, Adrien. Breathe.

Slowly, he inhaled.

Then exhaled.

Again.

Good.

He was okay.

Adrien was okay.

Guilt pricked like a thorn for thinking of his own problems when Chloe needed him. Adrien crushed it with his anger and annoyance but it was still there. Like a splinter that wouldn't come out.

I hate you.

Swiping out of the video chat Adrien tapped on Nino's number. It rang... and rang... and rang...

He's annoyed with me. I did something wrong again and Nino doesn't want to-

Adrien smacked both sides of his face. No, dummy! Nino's just busy or something. Stop that!

It wasn't every day a teenage DJ provided the music for Paris Fashion Week, after all. Nino had to make sure all his equipment was working properly.

The door to his dressing room burst open.

"Adrien, your friend Mlle. Dupain-Cheng will be bringing the last article of the new Gabriel line," Nathalie announced. "Your father expects everything to be perfect for Audrey Bourgeois."

"Doesn't he always?" Adrien deadpanned.

Nathalie stared at his watery eyes before typing something into her tablet. "Your performance on catwalks only has a 99% success rate. He expects you'll do better."

Father thinks you're a failure just like everyone else. He-

Shut up! Adrien felt something heavy settle in his chest.

One of the makeup artists came rushing in and Nathalie gestured her towards Adrien. "Touch up his eyes," she instructed and then left.

Jaw clenching, Adrien sat perfectly still as the makeup artist did her job. He was never entirely sure what the staff thought about him. 'Professional' was a word that was tossed around a lot. That used to fill him with a little pride... Before all of this.

The last person to suggest that a thirteen year old mourning his mother wasn't 'professional' so much as he was 'depressed' had never come back to work... Oh. Adrien had forgotten about that.

Finishing quickly, the makeup artist left too. Leaving Adrien with his thoughts. He didn't want to be with his thoughts at the moment. They were distracting and Nathalie had not been subtle.

I hate-

His phone vibrated as it received someone's text.

Ni-Non: hey dude!

Ni-Non: it's crazy over here man

Ni-Non: break a leg! ;)

Adrien smiled as his unpleasant mood faded to the back of his mind... And if he saw similarities between his family and Chloe's, well, that's why he could empathize with her.

Adrien: That's theater but I guess there's not much difference.

Adrien: Thanks. ^_^

 ---------------

There was a knock at his door. Adrien stopped fidgeting in the awkward suit to go answer it.

"Hello, Marinette." Adrien smiled in greeting.

"Oh, uh, hello!" Marinette gave a small wave as she stepped up the short stairs and-

Adrien braced himself with one foot while his hands went to her shoulders. Steadying Marinette as she quickly removed her weight from him.

"Oh! Uh, sorry." Marinette looked away in embarrassment at having tripped into him.

"... No worries!" Adrien smiled as he shook his head. Marinette seemed... subdued. Reaching down to pick up the hat that had fallen. "Oh, no." The artificial feather Marinette made for his allergies had come loose. "I hope it's not too hard to fix it."

Marinette looked down. "Uh, y'know, it doesn't really matter. This hat is a complete failure anyway."

"What? No, it's not!" Adrien rose to his feet quickly in shock. "Why would you say that?"

"Because... the queen of fashion, Audrey Bourgeois, saw it and hated it!" Marinette's hands covered her face, voice breaking. "I'm sorry, Adrien. I really messed up. I'm a total no talent!" Her arms wrapped around herself in a hug. "Please, don't put it on," she pleaded.

Adrien's heart went out to Marinette as she laid her insecurities bare. "Marinette, everything's going to be fine." He searched for the proper spot to reattach the feather,  fiddling with it as Adrien reassured her. "Your hat looks great. I think it's awesome and so does... my father." Adrien cleared his throat as he managed to fix her hat. "Otherwise he wouldn't have picked it for me. Look!"

Putting Marinette's hat on Adrien walked across the dressing room like he was already performing. Striking a few poses to ease Marinette's anxiety. "See?"

It seemed to work as Marinette gave a small smile. "You got that catwalk down," she complimented.

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. "Really? Thank you."

"Ah-hem," Nathalie cleared her throat. "We have to go." Without waiting for Marinette she turned on her heel and started walking towards the viewing area.

Adrien rolled his eyes but smiled at Marinette's back as she hurried to catch up. Turning back to look at himself in the mirror Adrien scanned his outfit. The suit may have been generic and a few seams too close to last year's entry but Marinette's hat was fire.

"Okay!" Adrien was gonna go out there and make sure they recognized Marinette's talent!

---------------

Holding Marinette's hat to his chest Adrien stuck his head out in a decidedly 'unprofessional' manner. Spotting Marinette's family and a bunch of his friends in the first row. Adrien's blond head caught Nino's eye from across the catwalk and he gave him a thumbs up.

Adrien waved as he ducked back behind the corner before the photographers could take any pictures of the Agreste heir acting like a kid.

You got this, Adrien. Nino's DJ-ing, your classmates came -even though most of them don't care about fashion- with any luck Alix and Kim will tease you about it for the next month.

That would give Adrien the opportunity to dish out a bunch of jokes he never got the chance to use!

The music started; that was his cue.

You got this!

Adrien posed on the runway. Camera flashes already starting. Strutting down the catwalk Adrien smirked at Marinette. See? Stopping at the platform's end he posed in various angles for the photographers. Nino seemed to be enjoying himself too and that made Adrien's smile come much more naturally.

A small eruption boomed behind him and Adrien turned to see Hawkmoth's latest fashion disaster. Gasping, as his heart started hammering in his chest.

"A fashion show without the Queen of Style!? Glitter-ally unacceptable!" The akuma villain announced. "Where's that ungrateful Gabriel Agreste. I demand that he kneels before me!"

Ugh, what has he done now?

"My father isn't here," Adrien snapped in annoyance. Hearing people running for the exits.

"Well, then. If fashion disaster daddy isn't here I'll just have to settle for Agreste Junior! You're fired!"

Adrien's eyes widened as he stepped back. Golden glitter exploding everywhere as his body became numb and his senses dark-

-Glowing ladybugs swirled around him as Adrien had the disorienting feeling of laying  down when he could've sworn he'd been standing. Glancing around, Adrien realized he was now at the Eiffel Tower.

"Adrik- Adrien!" Chloe tackled him as he stood, throwing her arms around him. "I was so scared!"

Adrien blinked in surprise as Chloe set her head on his shoulder. Not letting him go... Adrien smiled as he hugged her back. Enjoying this genuine display of affection.

"Pound it!"

Head snapping towards the sound Adrien saw another Black Cat, this one a girl with long, reddish hair, fist bump Ladybug. They grinned at each other in post battle relief.

I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!

A chill to rival Frozer's ice covered Adrien from head to toe. It was one thing to see Ladybug working with a different Black Cat on the news. Quite another to have his replacement. Three. Frickin. Meters. In front of him!

Chloe didn't notice... Or rather Adrien didn't notice when she'd let go to help her mother. Who tried to fire her own daughter as thanks.

Adrien jerked his eyes away from the superhero duo-

I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!

-Away from the Miraculous holders and forced himself to listen to whatever the Bourgeois were saying. Ears ringing as Ladybug and the Black Cat talked about something behind him...

"Oh, mom. If only you knew what a great team we made!" Chloe trailed after her mother as they walked down the tower's stairs; attempting to capture her attention. "We fired a bunch of incompetents. It was awesome. We should really spend more time together! What if I went back to New York with you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Casserole- Eh, Chloe!" Audrey dismissed. "First I have to get back to Gabriel Agreste's fashion show. And they better..."

Adrien's eyes narrowed as he looked down from the railing, his grip on it tightening. Heat from a growing indignation melting the ice he felt. What did she just call Chloe?

"Adrien Agreste, right? I can give you a lift back if you want."

His tensed body jerked in surprise as Adrien realized Ladybug was standing right behind him. Throat and chest constricting as his thoughts whirled. Spots darkened his vision as he felt lightheaded. Adrien's knuckles becoming white, the metal railing digging into his skin. A single thought rose above the ringing in his ears.

I don't wanna talk to her.

Giving his best model smile, Adrien schooled his features. "Ah, thanks but-" he pointed down, "-I should really check on them."

"O-oh! Of course!"

Ladybug's face was out of focus but Adrien could still feel the melancholy in her voice.

Powering past his queasy stomach Adrien made his way to the stairs. The sound of Ladybug's yo-yo whirring reached his ears; signaling her departure. Adrien took a shuddering gasp as he leaned against a metal pillar for support. Body suddenly limp.

Breath accelerating Adrien tried to calm himself. Why was he up here? Had- Had Audrey's blast mind controlled him? Again!? He couldn't breathe.

Adrien sank to his knees as he felt his skin crawl at the idea of that- that- asshole reaching into his mind and taking away his free will. He hated it! He HATED it!

Gasping as his rage broke him out of the panic, Adrien steadied his breathing... He wanted- no, needed to know what happened... Which meant getting up and moving forward... Forcing himself to his feet Adrien wiped the sweat from his brow and followed the others down.

---------------

"Remind me to tell your father to fire the person in charge of the Eiffel Tower elevators..." Audrie panted. "This is... unacceptable... utterly unacceptable!"

"Of course, mom. Oh!" Chloe glanced down to see what she'd stumbled on.

Adrien looked up as he fanned himself with Marinette's hat.

And dropped it.

He stared open mouthed at the small, black, octagonal box in Chloe's hands. Heartbeat leaping into his throat.

What the hell is THAT doing here!?

"Ooh! What's this?" Chloe turned the box around in her hands but didn't open it.

Adrien suddenly forgot his exhaustion and rushed to her side. The lie coming easily to his lips. "Oh, I recognize that! They sell them at antique shops."

"Ew, it's old! Get it away from me!" Chloe practically hurled it at Adrien.

Catching it easily. A thrill ran up Adrien's arms and down his spine as the box made contact with his skin. The hairs at the back of his neck standing on end.

Chloe dusted her hands and kept walking. Glancing nervously at her mother. Hoping Audrey hadn't seen her with something so outdated.

I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! The voice in his head said.

Shut up, Adrien told it as he stared at the unknown Miraculous in his hand. Heartbeat hammering in his chest. But it wasn't from fear. No, it was... anticipation.

The corners of Adrien's lips curled upwards.

------------------------------

Notes: Oh, would you look at that. I'm back! It only took... eight months!

[raleighcarrera]

hushed

the royal masquerade | hunter fierro x mc (juliet rosario)

hunter & juliet return to the library. for @trmaw 🖤

~2k words | E (18+)

“so...” hunter murmurs, the seriousness implied in the low tone of his voice betrayed by the way one corner of his mouth is lifted in an improper smirk, “this is the library.”

despite herself, she’s as charmed as ever by his absurdity. juliet huffs out a laugh under her breath, slowly shaking her head. “i can’t believe you’ve never stepped inside.”

“i was rather busy with a few other things.” his smirk widens. “plus, you know me. i’m not exactly one for being quiet.”

she hums, the sound bordering on the edge of disapproving. she knows exactly what hunter of house fierro has been doing instead of reading in the library. the reason they never crossed paths in her past is because before her, hunter spent most of his free time bedding the women who’d followed him around town, ignoring the signs that his sister was capable of murder and plotting behind his back.

the expression on his face remains perfectly innocent even as her eyebrows arch at him disapprovingly. “right,” juliet laughs finally, “of course. how could i forget?”

“you have a lot on your mind,” hunter answers graciously, his eyes sparkling. “of course i forgive you.”

“quite kind of you.” her hands remain folded in front of her as she inclines her head down one row of tomes. “this is where i spent most of my time. transcribing for the archives.”

“indeed,” hunter hums, stepping up beside her to squeeze her hand before continuing down the row of the archives, looking every bit the king regent he no longer is. despite the fact that the title has eluded him, there’s something about hunter that will always look regal, the tilt of his shoulders and the cut of his clothes simply screaming status.

she follows behind him, eyes scanning the titles they pass. it’s been a long time since she’s been in the library, but the smell of the dusty old manuscripts she spent so many hours meticulously logging stirs up a host of unpleasant memories that threaten to take her over. she can still feel the phantom rap of a ruler against her knuckles when she’d dozed off, the ache of hunger in her stomach when it’d been an entire day of writing with no breaks for food.

“juliet?” the sound of her name startles her from her stupor, and she shakes her head, moving to meet up with hunter where he’s stopped halfway down the aisle. “are you alright?”

“just lost in a memory,” she murmurs, lips lifting up into a smile. just the sight of him brightens her spirits, the affection in hunter’s eyes a welcome reminder that her reality is different, now. 

they’ve come so far.

as if reading her mind, hunter lifts her knuckles to his mouth to brush a tender kiss against her fingers, shooting her a look of love from under lush lashes. her smile widens into something more genuine.

“perhaps we should work to give you a more positive memory of this room,” he suggests, glancing over his own shoulder.

juliet blinks at him. “what do you mean?”

the expression on hunter’s face transforms, from sweet to wicked in a matter of moments. his hand slides around her waist to pull her closer, until they’re nearly nose-to-nose in the archive stacks. 

it’s then that she understands what he must mean, and she feels heat rush to her face in embarrassment, as though someone’s already caught them acting untoward. 

but there’s no one around as far as she can see; the library is empty. it’s a beautiful afternoon, and she knows mostly everyone is outside taking advantage of the weather. they’re the only two people hidden away in the library, though the sudden sound of her racing pulse feels so loud she wonders how it hasn’t attracted anyone else yet.

“you can’t be serious,” juliet hears herself say, distantly. it feels like the appropriate thing to say. they can’t possibly...

“oh, i’m very serious,” hunter assures her, his hand warm at the small of her back where he’s rubbing soothing circles into her skin above her dress. “it’s only logical.”

her hands come to rest on his shoulders as hunter beckons her closer. “how do you figure?”

“the library was cruel to you. i’ll be generous to make up for it.” she can feel the fabric of her skirt shift as hunter’s free hand ever-so-slowly pulls at the fabric. “what do you say?”

in response, juliet turns her head and kisses him before she can think too much about it, brushing her lips against his gently, at first, and then more eagerly when hunter kisses her back.

there’s at least a thousand reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this -- not here and not now -- but she finds she can’t be bothered as she considers hunter’s logic and decides he’s ultimately right.

the library took so much from her. many of her most hopeless moments occurred in this very room. it’s hard to find a dark corner of the library she hadn’t stowed away in to cry at one point or another, so if she’s able to kiss her betrothed in the middle of the stacks, with sunlight streaming in through the grand, stained-glass windows, why shouldn’t she?

hunter’s movements are slow as his hand lifts her skirt up, higher and higher until it’s officially indecent for the library, laying her bare against the books. their kiss breaks so they can both draw breath, and she pushes up onto her tip-toes to lock eyes with him, back arching to press her body alongside hunter’s.

“you’re quite radiant, you know,” he comments absently as his fingers encircle her thigh, creeping around her leg to dance upwards. his tone is so conversational anyone browsing the records on the other side of the library would never imagine what they were doing, if they happened to overhear. “beautiful, really.”

“you think so?” juliet asks, her eyelashes fluttering. she can hear her breath growing embarrassingly quicker as hunter’s touch climbs higher and higher.

“of course,” hunter murmurs, eyes fixed firmly on her face. from anyone else, the staring might be unnerving, but when he’s the one looking at her, it’s hard to feel anything other than delight. 

hunter is not shy about letting her know he is in her thoughts. he is the most forthcoming man she’s ever spoken to (not that he has much competition) and revels in showcasing his affections openly and honestly. he is romantic, in a way she’d never expected -- she often finds herself the recipient of flowers and surprise moonlight strolls and now, it seems, amorous breaks in the library.

yet he still catches her by surprise with his sweetness every time. 

“i daresay a majority of the kingdom feels the same,” he continues. before she can challenge him, his fingers pause, parting her so the pad of his thumb can press in with an easy slide where she’s already wet. “you have many admirers.”

her laugh is breathless, the grip she has on his shoulders tightening. “quite a comment, coming from you.”

hunter’s answering chuckle makes her toes curl in her shoes. juliet forces her eyes open and her breath catches at the expression on his face, serious and wanting with intensity and gentleness both displayed in his eyes in equal measure. 

his thumb circles her, catching just right where she’s most sensitive, the practiced movement of his fingers comforting, for their familiarity. hunter knows her. for someone like juliet, who went much of her life without that very basic comfort, their intimacy is everything. knowing she can rely on hunter to understand her, to take care of her, to treat her like he does...

it’s all she’s ever wanted and more.

“don’t be smart,” hunter chides, though the curve of his mouth seems to suggest he’s amused. his hand continues to move, which is all that matters, anyway, the brush of his thumb pressing into something more purposeful while his wrist angles just so. 

“i can’t help it,” juliet murmurs, aiming for cheeky and landing somewhere very far off, her voice almost shy as she resists the urge to bury her flushed face in hunter’s shoulder. “hunter.”

“yes, darling?” hunter’s free hand, bunched in her skirt, jerks to urge her closer. as she moves, his fingers slip deeper, sending a shiver down her spine. “everything alright?”

his voice is teasing, and yet she can’t find the words to bicker back with him. she can’t find any words at all, actually, exhaling a sound that’s half-moan, half-sigh as hunter touches her so expertly. her eyelids flutter shut again.

hunter gives another soft laugh under his breath. “there you go,” he encourages, and she shudders again.

despite the fact that they’re so clearly the only ones in the library, she can’t quite bring herself to get loud, hushed out of habit and by the implication of where they are and what they’re doing. her teeth bite down on her bottom lip, yet they don’t stop another groan from escaping, louder this time against her best efforts.

the skilled stroking of hunter’s fingers is quick to make her head swim, so she’s grateful for the firm kiss he bestows against her lips when his head angles in. juliet relies on him to keep her upright, holding tightly to hunter’s broad shoulders while his touch never falters, relentless between her legs.

she rocks up onto her tip-toes, scrambling for purchase against him. often, they’re in bed together when they do this, and it’s rare that her legs are left trembling while she’s still vertical, save one or two memorable occasions in the bathhouse. this is sure to be an experience she’ll never forget, and she’s certain she won’t ever be able to look in the direction of the library again without recalling the expression on hunter’s face.

though there’s worse things, she supposes, as she watches him watch her so intently. hunter’s eyes never fail to make her feel desired, and especially now, only heighten her emotions as she climbs faster and faster to an edge.

“so beautiful, juliet,” hunter murmurs softly, gaze adoring where it’s set on hers. “stunning.”

his gentle encouragement is all she needs to tumble to pieces. with one last gasping inhale, she shakes apart against him, biting down hard on the inside of her cheek to try and keep herself quiet. pleasure courses through her in a rush, and she’s grateful for hunter’s solid presence at the shelves to help her through it, his touch coaxing a few more sighs from her lips before she eventually calms and goes still.

her chest rises and falls rapidly as she works to catch her breath, and when she’s finally able to open her eyes, juliet finds hunter smiling indulgently at her, the expression on his face suggesting he’s just observed some grand entertainment.

“you seem awfully pleased with yourself,” she mutters, lifting a hand from his shoulder to push her own hair back out of her face.

“wouldn’t you be?” hunter asks smugly, finally pulling his hand out from under her skirt. the fabric drops down to the floor, swishing back across her knees, and juliet presses her legs together, twisting to shift her undergarments back into place. 

“i suppose,” she allows with a laugh, her own mouth curving into a grin as hunter moves to adjust his pants. he seems to know what she does, which is that they’ve already pressed their luck to its limits, being in here as long as they have. extending their time in the library any further seems to be asking for consequences.

still, hunter’s hands move to grasp her chin lightly between his fingers, and he draws her into a soft, slow kiss, lips meandering as though they have all the time in the world. 

she relaxes against him, kissing back just as sweetly. it hardly matters if someone catches her now, after all. there’ll be no ruler whacked against her knuckles, this time. there’s no tomes to transcribe, no archives to maintain.

the sun continues to stream into the room through the stained glass, casting water colors in shadow across their bodies where they’re intertwined. hunter pulls back to smile at her and she mirrors his expression easily, her heart pounding with love --

with joy --

-- and with peace.

[boredoverlord]

Bucky X Reader - Hold the Line

I came in here to show you a good time, so here's my personal work and my very first fanfiction of all time. And because I'm a thirsty bitch, of course it's smut.

Summary : As a young and talented psychologist specializing in difficult people in prison, you believed in a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to work with the SHIELD. Turned out you were tricked to work for HYDRA.

For three years they made you do horrors in the name of an ideology you despised, but you may have found the occasion to finally make a change for the good, when they introduced you to your new patient. 

The Winter Soldier.

Rating : Explicit, please kids, look away ( of course you won't because you're cute little rebels, but please do it)

Word count : 6.4k (chapter 1)

TW:   Light BDSM (for now) Because Bucky is a massive Sub and it seems nobody agrees with me, so I have to do the lord's work here.

Foul language, mention of violence and murder, Masturbation, male orgasm and a tiiiny bit of choking. I started lightly 

 Please consider reading this on Archive of our own or read it below the cut. Lemme know what you think !

Chapter 1: A Story of Almost Everything

You never were the type to brag. But one thing you know is : you’re damn good at your job. Years and years of psychology studies, you barely got to parties, you hardly made any friends, and your sleeping schedule is still a nightmare. Those were sacrifices you did for one sole purpose : helping others. To be the last resort for people who have lost everything. You always firmly believed that you could make a change in the world, even the slightest, even for just one person. That would have been enough to make your lifetime worthy. What's more noble than just a genuine try to make it better, after all ? So you wasted your youth on studies, without a damn blink. And never one ounce of regret. You did it because it felt right. You’re not very brave, but you decided to face your fear a couple of times. You even were an intern in a high security prison, talking to broken men and women who hated your guts. Trying to lead them to another path of life. You heard stories that could break any mind. Only time could tell if you actually helped them. But that’s part of the job. Hope. And hard work.

  That’s why when you started to have a growing reputation, at 26 after five years of studies and several years working in prison and rehabilitation, you were ecstatic when S.H.I.E.L.D contacted you. You quit everything, starting with your homeland in Europe, to fly to Washington DC, to visit the headquarters. The new building, the thrill of novelty, the clean rooms, the medical wing, and Alexander Pierce himself coming to shake your hand and telling you personally the wonders they have in mind for the psychology field. You could prepare people to save the world, you could have all the resources to make research, and fix minds that were supposed to be beyond repair. It was supposed to be just a quick trip, but the visit wasn’t even done when you looked at your guide with enthusiasm : you weren’t going home. Just cancel the fly. You’re taking the job immediately.   It was three years ago.

Enough to understand how fucked you are.

 You didn’t save anyone, you didn’t even work to make the world a better place. Oh but you did work to make a change. A change for HYDRA. They tortured you to make you swallow their ideology, but even if your body surrendered, your mind didn’t, even if it was still a perpetual work on yourself. You never believed in this masquerade, but you know it doesn’t matter. Because HYDRA knows how good you are at your job, and you’re a precious asset. So precious that they pushed all your buttons to make you obey. You tried to act and escape. Their last resort is the Damocles sword they put over your family’s head. Next act of rebellion, heads will roll. And it won’t be yours : no, no. HYDRA won’t give you this relief. It will be your loved ones. So you’re doing what you have to do. It’s the most cowardly choice, you know it. And you’re ashamed. But you’re too terrorised to make it otherwise. So you’re here to twist people's minds to swallow whatever Hydra wants. You make them understand the importance of the organization, when they can’t take it anymore, you make them understand that not only they can, but they must . You saw vulnerable people giving their life to this awful cause, and you are the person to make them understand it was the right thing to do. They gave you kind people with dreams, morals and passion, and you turn this into anger, hate and war, worshipping a crazy doctrine that spoils everything you believed and fought for. You have blood on your hands. You’re THAT good at your job.

 So when they called you for a highly secret mission, you weren’t exactly surprised. Just disgusted by them, and mostly yourself. In the guts of what was called the Ideal Federal Saving Bank, you’re obediently following the chef himself : Alexander Pierce, to your next place of action. “I believe you have read your mission’s order, Y/N ?” “Yes Sir.” You said. “It did mention I will have the whole file today, though. I need to take a look at my patient so I can work in proper condition.” “Whatever you call it.” He said, opening the door of the clandestine laboratory in the now abandoned bank. If not for the machinery, we could still believe that those art deco walls filled with safes would still contain treasures of a lifetime for some people. Now there is nothing of value in here, not even the very skin of every PoS present. And you were including yourself. Making your way in the middle of the heavy set up, you slowly reach the pod in the middle, chewing secretly the interior of your cheeks. You know what’s inside, and it makes you want to puke. Mr Pierce continued “Doctor, as your mission was presented to you, your one on only assignment will be the physical and mostly the psychological perfect condition of the Winter Soldier, for the entire length of this mission on american soil.” Basically, be sure his brain is a fucking slushy. You reluctantly nodded and drew closer. “What’s his condition ?” At the top of your height, barely 5’3, you tiptoed to actually look at him by the window of the cryostasis chamber, since you never got this close of a look, not without the file and basically crumbs of info that were thrown at your face. They expected you to keep a dog on a leash, not making actual work on him, and it shows. White man, late 20s to early 30s, approx 5”7, long dark messy hair, not shaved, geez, it seemed like the poor guy was barely cleaned up before being pushed here.  Good physical condition, breathing was steady. You could see the steam of his breath on the glass. He may be clinically asleep, but she highly doubted he would be in his best shape. He looked uncomfortable, and tired. It wasn’t a restorative sleep. It was a prison. You couldn’t help but notice his prosthetic arm, even if that was the only thing you knew about him. It’s a fascinating work of science, that’s for sure. And even if transhumanism and biomechanical wasn’t your forte, you wanted to have a closer look, to satisfy your curiosity. One of the scientists watching his screen responded : “He’s gently defrozing, should be half conscious in 5 minutes. You may want to take a step down.” You ignore that, and lean your hand to your superior. “May I finally have what I have been asking for ?” With the most irritating smile, he gave you the Winter Soldier’s File and you quickly opened it to have a first look at all the fuss. Basic physical information, previous missions report, date of entering and ending of cryostasis, bare minimal medical record, notes by her predecessor, fucking trigger words to make him kneel like a 12 years old in front of any boysband... nothing about his previous life, his antics, his name, actual disorders, no name, nor adresses… You glaced a bit at Pierce and threw a polite smile. He knows what he’s doing, and he knows you know. You’re extremely good with very violent patients. You have endured rapists and murderers spiting in your face and swearing to bite your head off and fucking your skull. You were traumatized and you cried yourself to sleep, but the following day you did your job again. You’re just here to handle the worst of the worst. And you’re going to do it.

Or he’s going to break your neck and fuck your skull. You’re fine with that.

“Thank you it’s going to be very helpful.” As helpful as a band-aid on a wooden leg. “What’s this device ?” You point your chin to another machine not far away from it. One of the two men finishing installing it, raised his head to look at you. “A memory suppressing machine. Usually he doesn’t need it as much as he used to, but it’s mainly for safety. He must be prepared.” “He’s in a state where he willingly takes it. So don’t hesitate if he’s starting to be annoying, or excited. That can happen. But that mean you would probably have to work more with him to make him fully ready for his mission,” “Understood, thank you for clarification gentlemen.” You smiled and they smiled back. You’re a woman, so you’re used to it. Basically this shit was supposed to hack his brain, and it must be painful. “I would strongly recommend not using it at such a time. From what I quickly read he needs stability and time. Wiping everything out will more likely create more confusion.” You took a look at the file again and took it upon yourself to not have your eyes double in size and screaming at this bunch of idiots. “... and it does seem he’s using it a lot.” 

“We want the asset to be as focused as possible.”

“I understand that, but that's a temporary solution at best. He’s got a brain, not a harddrive. We still don’t know how it can store information, and if it can…” “The last time we used him was five years ago…” Started Pierce, with diplomaty, but also with a tone that wasn’t allowing any more debate on the matter. “And this mission is an absolute priority. The asset is strictly under cryostasis procedure as soon as he’s not needed anymore. The machine will be used if needed.” “I understand your point.” You absolute psychopath. “Then my request is simply to be here if it happens, and to be able to control the shocks. Also, I insist that he must be in perfect condition when you launch the procedure, I’ll personally make it happen and give you a green light.” “Thank you for your hard work.” He said, raising his hand, that you promptly and politely shook. You could feel the angry grasp. “I know you’re the perfect woman for this hard job. Your work is an inspiration for us all.” You wish you could end your life right here right now, instead of being told such atrocities. But you think about your mom and dad. At this time of year they start to prepare the pool for the summer, for the future neighborhood barbecues where they will brag to everyone about their incredible psychiatrist daughter who is doing secret stuff over sea to help save the world. You have to be strong. At least for them. At least for now.

“Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra.” You responded, while your tongue feels like sandpaper.

  “Ok he’s starting to wake up…” Someone warns, as Pierce leaves the room, unbothered. The pod opens before your eyes, as the asset -you hate this term- is being roughly handled and carried away by two dudes to his seat. The one dangerously close to the memory suppressing machine. You squatted in front of him, the time for him to blink several times and look around him. Confused, but it’s not exactly his first rodeo either. His eyes are quickly focused on the first thing in front of him : you. He looked like he was trying to remember who you are, but quickly realized he didn’t know you. Two blue spears digging right into your soul. That’s making you a bit uncomfortable. The same weird feeling of unease you have when a cat is watching you taking a shower. “Hi.” You started, in english, even if he could be from italy you had no freaking clue. You guessed that he was probably slavic. But the file says he’s speaking more than ten languages. And it wasn’t specified when and how the hell did he learn that. “Can you hear me?” He took a few more seconds to look at you, probably the time to finish reading every embarrassing moment of your life, right into your eyes, like your drunk 18th birthday when you finished in your panties swimming in a city fountain, but he nodded eventually. You actually know this look. But it’s the first time you have a super soldier in front of you so it’s of a rare intensity. He’s dissecting you. Gathering information. His eyes moved slightly down : a recent scar on your neck. Right : an ex piercing on the top of your ear, now unusable. Down left : he just realized you’re slightly unbalanced so he knows you have a hip issue. And down right : he’s looking at your hand, you don’t really know what he saw here, maybe calculating how to break them ? You were literally a foot in a viper’s nest. Were you terrified ? Absolutely. Will that forbid you to do your job ? Nope. “Can you follow the light ?” You asked, moving slowly your phone’s lamp from left to right in front of his eyes. He did it without questioning. “Ok good.” You tried a smile, not really knowing why. If he was at least a tenth as clever as the file said he was, he perfectly know that you’re here to fuck him up. But you couldn’t help it. Poor dude. He was visibly more or less your age. He could have been a prince, or thief, a womanizer, or a priest, whatever, HYDRA took everything from him. From his free will, of his right to grow old, to his sleep. “Can you tell me your name ?” He frowned, perplexed. “Winter Soldier.” Shitty answer but at least he was fully aware, and his tongue was working properly. “Nice to meet you, I’m doctor Y/N. We’re here to work together in preparation of your next assignment. Do you understand ?” He nodded, unimpressed. “Good, can you get up ?” He did, so you did it too. And he realized that you were… very short. His eyes literally went up and slooowly down. That was a bit mean, actually. You carefully took a glance behind you, and your eyeroll could probably trigger an earthquake. “Can you all nice gentlemen let down a bit of their weapon ?” You said at the 6 dudes with rifles literally fixed on him, ready to shoot at the wrong twitch of muscle. No wonder he wasn’t talkative. “You won’t say that when he will break your neck with two fingers, ‘mam.”

“He’s pretty stable for now. Plus he’s not fully awake, let’s give him time before threatening him, shall we ?”

Nobody moved for ten seconds before one of them complied, since you didn’t move. The rest of the bunch reluctantly followed . You looked at your patient, hoping that that would have made him a bit more relaxed. Nope, he didn’t give a shit. He wasn't even looking at them. He was looking at you. You’re the mystery of this room to him. But you didn’t need extra vision to understand that Docs treated him like a guinea pig, so he was very understandably extra careful with you. Standing on his feet, all his muscles ready for action,  that’s the exact moment you realized how close you two were. Indeed, if he decided to, your jaw would fly across the room in a single move. You never had such a display of sheer raw strength, and you could feel the heat of his body radiate.

 “He needs a shower, and clothings.” You said, having a look at his 5 years old combat suit still reeking the smell of his sweat. It was intoxicating. They didn’t even allow him to clean himself. Poor dude was frozen in his own filth for the last five years. And you didn’t know why you took an even deeper breath. “And I’m talking about comfy workout clothes, no combat suit. Please escort him and handle him with care, before bringing him to my office.” You actually decided to be sure he wouldn’t be mistreated, by waiting outside the man’s bathrooms. You weren’t certain of how he could react, and you didn’t trust anyone here. If one of them decided to do a piss contest with your patient, it could end badly. So you put your hands in your pockets, looking at the two armed men waiting for the most dangerous assassin in the world to finish scrubbing himself with soap. The atmosphere was heavy and the silence was loud in itself. Even the sound of the shower was stressful and menacing.

 When the Soldier was escorted to your improvised office into the archive, directly linked to a storage room that will be your bedroom for the next weeks, you let him take a seat and promptly blocked the access to the room of the two escort members. “Thank you sirs, that will be all. Please wait here.” They look at you like you just told them you were dating their daughters. “Sorry Miss, but we can’t…” “Sorry Doctor , and I can’t work properly with weapons in my office.” You raised your hand, showing your device on your wrist. Something that would not only call for aid by a simple pressure, but could stun an opponent. Neither them nor you were stupid : it wouldn’t stop The Winter Soldier, maybe he would blink a second at most. But you really wanted to be alone with him. Was he dangerous ? Yes. Were you absolutely certain that you would leave this room alive if you closed this door to their face ? No. But it’s been three years since your priority wasn’t your survival anymore. So you forced a smile and slapped the door. They needed you more than you needed them, so they will obey.

“Douchebags.” You muttered to yourself while coming back to your desk. Your patient didn’t even move a muscle at your little argument. He wasn’t totally inexpressive actually, mostly terribly broody. His hair was still wet from the shower he took, wearing cargo pants, heavy boots and hoodies, generic clothes by HYDRA. You got those too, since you’re not allowed to carry anything personal for mission to mission. You had a tablet for books, music and movies, but that was it. You haven’t opened your shelves yet, but you know it’s full of ugly clothes and generic black panties of doom. 

You took a large inspiration, sat on your desk in front of him, and started : “Ok ‘Winter Soldier’... how are you doing ?” He didn’t even flinch. He was staring into your soul with his eyes lost into dark circles. Depriving someone of proper sleep is a basic rule for brainwash. “You enjoyed the shower ?” Nothing. You waited for a bit to see if he would finally respond. Ten seconds. Twenty. fourty. a minute. When he gathered that you were actually looking for an answer, visibly a first one for him, he finally gave you the courtesy of one. “Yes.” “Perfect.” You didn’t hide your slight smile and tiled your head. “I’ll be sure you’re in your best condition for your next mission. If something’s on your mind, I need to know about it. Nothing will get out of this room. Both of our priorities are your goal, and your condition is the key to success. Which makes you , my high top priority. Do you understand me ?” “Yes.”

“Ok so let’s get going.” You took another file, and took a picture out, ready to handle it to him. “Is the name : Nicholas Fury, ringing some bells to you?” “Yes.” He took it inside his titanium fingers and finally moved his piercing blue eyes away from you to look at the picture. “In two weeks, you’ll be in Washington DC. An entire squad will be deployed to assassinate him. Fury is the leader of the S.H.I.E.L.D, not a mere target. He will break free and fight back. That will be when you’ll show up.” He wasn’t looking at the picture anymore. One thing for sure : at least he was paying attention to you, and what you were saying. And that made you actually kind of proud of yourself. “That was part one. I’ll personally supervise your training with the VR machine and your physical health and condition. I really need you to communicate with me all the time about anything that could be in your mind. The more focused you are, the more Hydra’s plan will succeed.” And what’s that plan ? You have not a single clue. You were a cog in the machine, disposable. Not much more than him. “Do you understand ?” “I understand.” Oh shit, two words this time!

“Good.” You smiled. He didn’t. You move your hands closer to him, to take a grip on the picture. He opened his prosthetic hand, leaving you to take it back. Nothing in his gesture seems dangerous. Just normal, somehow cordial. “I must ask : are you in any pain right now ?” His eyes significantly get from right to left. He must probably wonder why you are asking him that. Did nobody ever ask him such basic questions like : ‘are you in pain?’ This man's sole purpose was to fight, that made no damn sense for you.

“Sir ?” You insisted for an answer, even if the ‘sir’ sounded absolutely ridiculous to your ears. You didn’t know his name, and you don’t feel comfortable calling him “Winter Soldier” , “Soldier”, “Sir De Winter”, “Hey you,he soviet assassin” so it will be “Sir” for now. “Sir are you in pain right now ?” “I’m not in pain.” A complete sentence, that’s progress. You breathed a bit better “Ok good.” You got up from your desk, which was honestly barely taller that him remaining on his chair. He didn’t let go of your eyes and you decided to make a bold move. For now, he was always being responsive so you slowly moved your hands toward him. To his prosthetic hand. “May I take a look, please ?” You glanced at each other, nobody made the first move. In complete silence, if it wasn’t for both of your breaths. You’re almost sure that it has been at least 5 minutes since you decided to speak again. Slowly, and gently, with no signs of confrontation in your body language or speech. “I will not do it until you comply. And you can refuse the contact.” He didn’t answer right away but he finally nodded. 

Slowly, you took his hand into yours, lifting it from his thigh where it was resting. At the beginning it was just taking a look. But he wasn’t making any moves, so you decided to take your observation a little further. You used your other hands to start to move each finger separately, taking a step closer to him. Finally, you made one  of your hands slowly sliding into the hoodie, to feel the muscles, the nerves, how it feels like a real arm. It was cold, but you felt it shudder to your touch. That was the line you decided to not take it further.

“Thank you, Soldier.” You said with a smile, taking away your hands from him. You moved behind your desk, opening your notepad to take a bunch of notes, breaking the contact with him. Just a second. But when you raised your eyes again, The Winter Soldier wasn’t in sight.  

 You shuddered and didn’t make a single move. If it wasn’t for your fingers grasping your desk. You did your best to have a steady respiration and not start to panic. Your throat dried up immediately. You took a deep breath and say : “Please, get back to your seat.” You slowly moved your head to look right back at him. He was standing. His eyes were black, taking loud deep breaths, fixing your behind your shoulder. Tall. Dangerous. You were terrorised. And he could smell it. He didn’t move so you stood up as well, and slowly faced him. You try to remain in total control of your body and not start to fidget. You could scream for help, but for whatever reason, you still had the feeling you could handle the situation. Trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t the first time a patient was disobedient. The only difference was that this one could crush your skull in a bat of an eye, 

 “Get back.” You said once again, bearing his piercing eyes, but he didn’t budge. So you took out your hand and put it on his chest. You felt like an ant against a mountain, but you pushed him a bit. “We will go nowhere this way.” You resumed trying to get a step closer, even if it will be creating a proximity that could be even more lethal to you. “So please, get back to…”

Something happened. It was obvious, and clear as day : you felt the bulge between his legs. Right above your navel. Hardening even more now that he could feel your body. You decided immediately to repress the shameful feeling of your very inside warming up and tickling you. “Winter Soldier.” You growled, angry but trying your best to remain as professional as you could. Of course, of fucking course. This guy was gorged on serum and hormones, quick, violent actions, and adrenaline. Pumping in his veins, burning 24/7. His body was on the edge all the time, and he just awoke from a dreamless slumber. He was a human, whatever all these idiots were thinking, not a freakin’ cyborg. When was the last time he saw a woman that he didn’t smash the head on a wall ? You even suspected that Pierce was counting on it. Nonetheless, you were alone in an office, literally glued with the world's most dangerous assassin, who was having a massive hard-on. Throbbing against you. You had your share of very awkward situations in your short life time. But nothing, nothing prepared you for this. And you had even less of an idea of what to do because he was doing nothing . He was feeling uncomfortable, that you could say, but he wasn’t really doing any moves to attack you, or even take you. He was standing here, with heavy breathing, his eyes still piercing you. And you slowly slided your gaze to his lips, finding the vision of his hard laboured breath strangely mesmerizing.

 Short of ideas, your reflexes took the best (or the worst) of you, and without you realizing it, your hand was around his neck. Your palm pressured on his glottis, and you clearly felt him swallow. As clearly as you felt him becoming even harder. Your breath was starting to shake, as you felt a not-so subtle chill coursing your spin. You drew his face and your face closer, as you finally moved forward, forcing him to move as well. Forcing was a strong word : the last time you hit a punching bag, you hurt yourself and sobbed for an hour. But for whatever reason, he did whatever you wanted. As if he was testing your resolve to make him obey. But there was nothing on his file about this behaviour. He tried to attack, kill and escape. Nothing about testing the limits of anyone.

“You. Will. Sit. Down!” you spat, through your teeth, forcing even more your grip around his neck, as your other hand was reaching for his hair. You pulled it, not too harshly, but you could definitely smell the musk, and the wetness of what stayed of his shower.

You did it. He was sitting down again. And your bodies departed for one another. For once he tried to escape your gaze, which was a strangely human reaction. You both managed to get your breath back, before you decided to call the guard to adjourn your observation.

As soon as the door closed behind them, you felt your legs giving up and you sat on the ground, back against your desk, a small wimp leaving your throat. You felt your eyes starting to wet, and your teeth rattled a bit so you tried to cuddle yourself to try to retake control on your body. Your hands were shaking uncontrollably as his intoxicating smell was still all around you. It was by far one of the most terrifying experiences you ever felt, and it was all clouded by the phantom feeling of his body against yours. You could still feel his gaze, his heat, his… well, his cock against your belly. You were still chilling, trying to repress whatever you were feeling at this instant. Because it wasn’t right, for you. Nor him. Everyone in this godforsaken organisation was treating him like a dog, just here to attack and do tricks, but you swore to yourself not to do the same. You will succeed at your mission, but you’ll do it from the crumbs of humanity and morality that HYDRA left you. You will do anything possible that the mission will be complete, the most painless possible for this broken man you just saw. Wait a second.

Painless .

You jumped on your feet, ignoring the numbness of your legs caused by the shock, and you ran at the door, screaming at the three men at the end of the corridor. “HEY !” The guards startled a bit and looked at you “I changed my mind. Bring the Winter Soldier back to my office.” They briefly exchange what seems to be a bunch of insults about you, but they comply to bring the Soldier back. Him ? He seemed absolutely unbothered. 

You closed the door behind the both of you, to the face of the guards yet again. He was standing here, showing his back as you slowly got back in front of him. Hands in your pocket, not really sure of what to do nor how to do it. He was looking at you, this same feeling of unease than before. And for reasons : a small glance confirmed that he was still rock hard. You didn’t make any move for a long time, until you finally put your hand on his chest. You felt his breathing becoming slightly quicker. “You’re not in pain.” You whispered, and he shook his head, negatively. “That was the wrong question. I’m sorry... “ Without you noticing, you had the palm of your hand on his cheek, scrubing lightly his stubble with your thumb as an apology. You breathed in, just couldn’t believe what you were about to say. “Do you need help ?” His expression didn’t change, but his eyes ? They became a bit brighter, you could even see a bit of relief when you saw him nod.

You swiftly move your other index on his pillowy lips as you still lower your voice. “They cannot hear us.” He nodded again as the only feeling of your finger as close to his mouth made him shiver with anticipation. He was literally dying of anything that could relieve him. And for what you understood, as your conversation continued, he trusted you with his body, to provide him with the sweet touch he has been totally deprived of. You slowly push away your index to gently slide your thumb between his lips, and he sighed with pleasure as he took it with an eagerness you would never have believed possible. The most deadly assassin in the world, the legendary Winter Soldier that everyone wishes he wasn’t real, was purring while sucking your finger. If you weren’t the shrink, you’ll be needing one immediately. You gently moved him to make him sit in his chair, he was way too tall for you to handle this with ease. “What about the showers?” You asked him, as you removed your thumb to make it gently slide on his lips, your other hand crawling across his chest to his pants. He swallowed before whispering. “I could but... “ his well built square jaws started to tense, with a visible revulsion. “... They can watch.” Disgusting. He couldn’t even close the damn door of the shower. “You’re safe here.” You said as your hand was finally reaching the bulge behind his Hydra cargo pants. You didn’t know what you expected but… it was way beyond that. He hissed a bit at the feeling of your hand as you started to touch it gently over the fabric. 

Now he was panting, looking at you as you were a single oasis after years of thirst in the desert. “Please…” You heard, barely audible when he was starting to lose it. “I got you, but you have to promise me to be good.” “Anything. Please…” 

And at your very surprise, you obliged him. Using your hand to plunge into his pants, while the other fast pressed into his mouth, muffing the immediate deep moan that escaped at the very second you touched his pulsing penis. He started panting even more, as he used his flesh arm to drive you onto him. His forehead against yours. You couldn’t stop yourself from getting closer and closer. Actually you let go of his -massive- erection a second to just drop out his pants, and his breach. You stopped a second, only to watch him begging you with his eyes, as you could feel his saliva at the palm of your hand while you muzzled him. It was it. You realized what kind of power you have over this man. He has been used and abused in every single way, but for once : someone’s finally doing what he wanted. You had his pleasure in your very hands, and for once in years, you could finally help someone. So you’re gonna do it, you’re going to make him feel good. Very good. “Good boy.” You muttered, without knowing where the hell that could come from, and you reached him again. Stroking your hands up and down his shaft, nourishing yourself over the vibration of his muffled moans against your hand. His eyes weren't leaving yours, if it wasn’t for when they seemed to roll to the sky. His vision periodically blackened by the waves of forbidden pleasure he was feeling over his body, who was barely him anymore. Your eyes were gorging on the vision of his handsome muscular man, surrendering himself to your touch, sweating, trembling and panting for you. You were saluted by an utterly satisfied noise the moment you decided to lean over his manhood to drip a large amount of your own saliva moist what was already on the edge of ruin. You rolled your thumb against his tip, massage his veins with just one finger… anything to make him feel something. Anything that wasn’t pure anger, hatred or apathy. You were inclined to believe the file saying that he was nothing but a perfectly built weapon for HYDRA to command. But now, when you tickled, teased and made him shiver, and you felt all his sincere gratitude, you were certain : There is a man in here. And he was finally feeling good .

But soon, it wasn’t enough anymore. Seeing his bare thighs, powerful, thicken by years of training and super soldier serum, tensed by all the nerves and muscles deliciously answering to your call, made your inside warmed up. Your core was aching, screaming for proximity and intimacy, and before you understood what happened, you sat astride on his left thigh. The soft flesh between your legs immediately responded with delight, making you shiver. Almost instantly, you felt his grip on your hip, of the cold metal digging into your flesh with despair. It was a super soldier, with the stamina of several dozen men, but it’s been so long, and you were touching him with perfection. You felt his head on your shoulder, and slowly you started licking his temple, tasting the very fruit of your hard work : his sweat. 

Galvanized by his intoxicating smell, and the thrusting he started giving to your hand, you started to move like a snake, rocking against his skin, looking for some pressure despite the fabric of your pants, mercilessly acting like a barrier of your own pleasure. You could get it off, but it was a limit that you forbid yourself to cross. But it’s true, as you were working him, you couldn’t stop yourself to think of how this would feel. Sliding inside you. You were so very short and fragile, and compared to your hand, his phallus was gigantic. He could ruin you, split you in half, using his bare hands and make you do anything. But the only person in control here, were you. And only you. You never felt anything like this before. And it’s highly probable than neither did he. You tried to vanish the thought, but the more you could feel his thigh between yours, the more you became obsessed.

 The more he was approaching, the more eager the soldier became. Both of his hands firmly gripped on your behind, almost certain that it will leave bruises, but you didn’t care at this very moment. His grunts against your hands became more and more intense, and you started to feel he was about to give in. In between your fingers, small drips of salivas were started to escape. You couldn’t give up your grip now, so you made it even more tight, drawing your lips closer to your hands, you whispered as your sore wrist fastened its path “I’m here for you. Give everything to me.”

 His panting became incontrolable, his eyes rolled out, his head dropped back, before he finally reached his peak. You felt the deep vibration of his ultimate cry on your hand, as your other hand was dripping of hot seed. You slowly removed your other hand from his face, and could contemplate your masterpiece :  the Soldier absolutely looked like a mess, with his red face, his eyes blinking furiously, covered with his own saliva. You left his leg, both your hands dripping of his bodily fluids. You used the one that was on his lips to pick his head and forced him to look at you. You ravished your vision of this man who absolutely surrendered to your good care, deeply satisfied with your attention. You cradled his face, and you took a large lick of his spit from his chin to his mouth. Where he leaned for a wet and warm kiss. You took a good taste of him, intoxicated by whatever pheromones he could diffuse around you.

 You look at him another few seconds, before recluandly moving away, to the bathroom where you not only washed your hands, but came back with a wet towel. You first cleaned with infinite care his face, and then his genitals, making sure he wouldn’t have any kind of unpleasant sensation as he had a big day ahead of him. You were his doctor and caretaker, and he had a mission to prepare. He seemed to respond well to the cleaning, not really expressive, but he made no sudden move. You could see him sighing with ease, closing his eyes as he rubbed his cheek in your palm again, when you were caressing him with the wet towel. You could still hear a loud satisfying purr. If you didn’t specifically ask him to kill someone less that an hour ago, you would actually find this absolutely adorable.

 You breathed in and out, making sure he was okay. “Are you feeling better ?...” He nodded, visibly relaxed, as he was closing his pants but not much more expressive than before. He stood up, in front of you, like nothing happened. “Yes.” But to your surprise he added a second later. “Thank you, doctor.” You smiled at him as you couldn’t keep yourself from making your knuckles caressing his cheek, and finally tracking the shape of his jaws. “Good boy.” You heard yourself say, wondering what the fuck was wrong with you.He didn’t react. All the shivers, purring,  sighing, and moans disappeared as soon as his pants closed. It was for the best, and you quickly took your hand back, clearing your throat. You call the guards. The Winter Soldier was fully ready for his mission preparation, and you asked them to give him some time to recover from… his cryostatic, before you would start the procedure.

 In the meantime, you need a shower. A long, hot, steamy, shower. 

[fakecrfan]

bloop, I find many of our TMA characters very lovable. Tortureable. I mean, lovable. Definitely that one. What do you think would happen if the eye fell in love with some other people?

Oooooh yes I also find every single character in TMA amusing to torture worthy of love, so I greatly appreciate this ask! In fact I wrote 2000 whole words of this ask, holy crap. It was long enough that I posted on AO3 here, if you prefer to read over there.

Otherwise, have 5 different humans the Eye could have fallen in love with in a funny way, and One in a serious way. :)

---

Jon is tiredly washing his face in the Archives bathroom when it happens.

Nothing immediately concerning, like waking up from a coma or feeling the pull to traumatize random strangers on the street. It’s just--when he looks in the mirror, there is a little buzzing at the back of his head, similar to what he feels when he gets a burst of knowledge or compels someone. Then, like an intrusive thought, words appear.

  HELLO THERE, HANDSOME.

Jon stares at the mirror for a split second.

“What the fuck.”

Melanie gets to overhear Jon’s hysterical phone call to Elias’s prison later.

“No, no! I refuse!” he says, pacing as his voice gets increasingly shrill. “I’ve been kidnapped, blown to smithereens, resurrected, and had my free will toyed with. I’m drawing the line here. I am not  having a-a possession-induced sexuality crisis in my thirties! That’s too much! No!”

“Well, Jon, I’m afraid you can’t simply switch off whatever feelings our master channels through you.’

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Considering our predicament, it would actually be much better if you  --”

Jon throws the phone at the wall.

---

Elias is tiredly washing his face when it happens.

He looks up into the mirror and feels a buzzing at the back of his head, similar to what he feels when he gets a burst of Knowledge, or when he compels an answer from someone. And then, like an intrusive thought, words appear in his head.

  HELLO THERE, HANDSOME.

This is what Elias always thinks when he looks at himself in the mirror, so he pays it no mind.

---

“We don’t think like they do,” Arthur Nolan says.

Gertrude scoffs. “I’m not convinced they think at all.”

Before the statement can go further, the door to the Archives bursts open, revealing a flushed, disgruntled looking Elias.

“Well, how do we know that  you  think?” he snaps, his cadence distinctly un-Elias-like. Un-Wright-like, for that matter. “I mean, philosophically--you can’t know if anyone is thinking besides yourself! Various human philosophers came to that conclusion you know! If you can’t be certain of whether humans think, then why doubt whether powerful eldritch beings can?”

Gertrude squints. “Elias--”

“The Eye is definitely smart. Super smart,” Elias says, still red and jittering like a teenager stumbling for a comeback. “You’re just--you’re mean! Anyway, the Eye knows sooooo many things! So many more than  you,  Gertrude. Maybe from the Eye’s perspective  you  don’t think because your brain is sooo tiny and your thoughts are so small. Ha, ha! Bet you didn’t think of that!”  

Gertrude pinches the bridge of her nose. “I was taking a statement, Elias,” she tells him curtly. “Also, I didn’t mentioned the Eye spec--”

“The Eye is also very sexy and dateable too” Definitely-Not-Elias-Or-Even-Magnus says, bowling over her. “I hear the Eye has an eight-pack. That the Eye is cosmically shredded--”

---

Melanie expected her mental breakdown would be the end of her career. It had been awful. She’d woken up every day utterly miserable over the fact that one of her worst, most vulnerable moments had gone viral and was being watched and laughed at by millions of people over the internet.

And then, unexpectedly, her patreon earnings tripled overnight. Hundreds and hundreds of new accounts signed up and started donating. Suddenly every single video she’d made was one of the most popular on YouTube of all time, due to a sudden influx of likes from new accounts.

That’s also when the weird comments started up. Thousands upon thousands swarming the comment section of every video on her channel.

HEY HEY HEY THIS IS VERY FUNNY VERY GOOD MELANIE KING IS GOOD I LOVE HER

THE DOG GHOST JOKE IS FUNNY VERY FUNNY I LOVE MELANIE KING YES

MELANIE IS THE BEST VERY GOOD YES MORE MELANIE PLEASE

Melanie assumed it was some kind of mockery, but none of it was outwardly hostile enough to report. The thing that made them disturbing was just the sheer volume of comments and likes, from so many accounts all writing in the same style.

“This is--uh,” one of her more computer savvy friends told her. “I mean, I thought someone wrote a program to write all of these when you described them at first but… most of them are from different IP addresses. Um, it seems like the most likely explanation from a technical perspective is… multiple people collaborating to send all of these to you?”

The second disturbing thing was that the comments started to respond to things Melanie did not share on the internet… or even speak out loud.

NO MELANIE NO BREAKS POST MORE VIDEOS PLZ

MELANIE YOUR NOT BAD IT WAS VERY SEXY WHEN YOU PUNCHED THAT MAN

MELANIE YOU ARE LOVED HOPE THE ANNIVERSARY OF DADS DEATH WAS NOT TOO BAD WE LOVE YOU

And then, of course, was the third disturbing thing. That in addition to implying to have incredibly private knowledge about her, the comments started to… suggest things. Or rather, one thing in particular.

DO A MAGNUS INSTITUTE EPISODE MELANIE WILL BE FUN YES

MAGNUS INSTITUTE TAKES STATEMENTS THEY WILL BELIEVE YOUR STORY MELANIE DO AN INTERVIEW THERE

Melanie looked up the place. The Magnus Institute. Known for taking stories of spooky shit. Latest Archivist had disappeared mysteriously. Apparently the police gave the place a wide berth.

Melanie took a swig of whiskey, and decided she didn’t have much of a self-preservation instinct anyway.

---

Joshua had dealt with enough creepypasta shit during the coffin ordeal to be able to figure there was something supernatural about the Harry Potter style flurry of letters that swarmed his apartment, the ones with eyes painted all over their envelopes. He ignores them at first, which was his preferred way of dealing with this kind of nonsense, but that leads to the whole thing escalating. Now there are more letters, several boxes of chocolate on his doorstep, and… the wall has a bunch of new security cameras. The lenses seem to have silhouettes of hearts in them.

Huh.

He opens the door, uncertain about what to do with all the packages. That's when he notices his cell phone was buzzing up a storm. He checks and finds notifications peppered with eye emojis and hearts and x’s and o’s.

Well. Might as well see what the sender wants from him?

He taps the notification to see an impossibly long stream of letters.

  Dearest Joshua, my love~

He stares. The texts come in as he does so.

458 new messages.

498 new messages.

He shoves the boxes of chocolates back out, and texts back.

---

Basira is tiredly washing her face when it happens.

It’s just one thing to add to the pile of obsessive paranormal weirdness that’s been happening around her lately. She looks up into the mirror and feels a tingle at the back of her head. Her face looks… well. Not different, exactly. Her features are all the same, but she can feel that thing at the back of her head tingling, appropriating her own eyes to size her up in an intrusive, alien way, noting the softness of her skin and the angles of her cheekbones. It’s not a way Basira sizes herself up--not on her own, at least.

  BEAUTIFUL.

Basira knows, deeply, that she is not beautiful. Beautiful is a label that was always applied to other girls, ones who ran around in frilly short skirts, or put on makeup or wore sparkling things. Basira’s labels were different:  smart, practical, sensible  and most importantly  useful.

Basira doesn’t like to look at herself in the mirror much these days. Still, of all that oppressive… interest… that she’s been saddled with, the appropriation of her own eyes on occasion might be the least of her problems.

Melanie watches her, whenever Basira takes to reading openly in the Archives. Melanie’s eyes are wild these days, and she’s always muttering and pacing and snarling as her eyes dart around as though looking for threats--except for when Basira is there. Then she gets still, watching, eyes unblinking.

“Stop that,” Basira says, when she catches her. “I’ve told you I want to read alone.”

Melanie looks utterly wounded for a second, then she flips.

“Fuck you!” she snarls. “I saved you, that fucking meat man would have skewered you without me! How dare you act like I’m some wild animal?”

“That doesn’t mean you get to--”

But Melanie isn’t good about listening to reason these days. When Basira tries to get her to stop, Melanie kicks furniture and throws things. Staplers. Scissors. Usually Basira doesn’t get hit. Usually. But even when she does, Basira keeps her voice level and her feet on the floor.

(Just like Basira isn’t beautiful, she’s not someone who shakes or cries when people throw things at her.)

Jon is worse than Melanie, though. Not violent. Not irrational. Just  concerned. He tries to bring her coffee when she wants it but hasn’t asked, gives her Advil when she has a headache and hasn’t mentioned it. He blinks even less than Melanie these days, even if his eyes are softer.

What makes him worse are the questions--and the fact that Basira can’t stop herself from answering them.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Melanie. Scissors nicked me. She didn’t mean to, I think. Just was angry and didn’t think. Looked more hurt than I did when they actually hit.” Then, Basira got control of her tongue again. “Stop that.”

No reply to that last bit. Just an unblinking, soft gaze pinning her down like she’s an insect on a board. “How are you feeling?”

“Awful. I miss how she was before,” Basira can only barely keep her voice steady. “I’m mostly okay about the violence. I’ve dealt with worse. It’s just it all adds up, having everyone act so weird around me all the time. Jon--”

“You’ll feel better when you talk about it,” he says. Like he’s doing her a favor, instead of just satisfying that sick curiosity that this place runs on. “Basira, you said you’ve dealt with worse. Do you mean in your past job, or has anyone ever-?”

The second she’s done answering that one she bolts and locks herself in the safe room, pressing a pillow over her ears. She can hear Jon knocking outside, sounding so sorrowful. Saying he’s sorry and he just wants her to feel better and she needs to talk to someone.  

She’s furious with him. If she’d caught him pressing anyone else for info like that, she’d have called him a monster. She’d have threatened to murder him in his sleep. She can’t manage any of that now. Instead she curls up on the cot, shaking in a way Melanie hadn’t managed to get her to.

(It’s not really Jon. Just like the violence isn’t really Melanie.)

(Is there a “Jon”, anymore? Or is what’s left just a hollowed out vessel for--?)

Her phone buzzes. Martin, the screen says. Martin, who refuses to be in the same room with any of them, or respond to any of their texts. Except Basira.

    Are you alright?  

    Do you need anything?  

Basira puts her phone down, unsure how to respond. The timing of the text means that Martin probably  saw something, either through cameras or spooky Eye powers. That he’s just as compromised as Jon, or Melanie, or Basira’s own eyes in the mirror.

They can probably see her now, she realizes. One or another of them watching every single little twitch and lip wobble right now. The thought makes her suck in a deep breath, and school her expression into perfect stillness.

  I wish Daisy were here.  

The thought almost cracks through her calm and sends her into a spiral.

  I was always safe with Daisy.

Outside Jon stops knocking and jiggling the doorknob. Quiet. As though he’s had an idea.

[barid-bel-medar]

More of a real life ramble than anything else but...

This year has been weird. At the start of the year it did not look like it would be a good one. I’m not going to touch on shit like the Capital Riots, but more in light of the fact I had a goddamn seizure through my medication. That was theorized to be a result of me just being so stressed out over things like the pandemic, and the fact that at that point I’d been out of work since June 2020. Pandemic paranoia to some extent started to drop once both me and my grandma got vaccinated (I qualified pretty early due to the epilepsy; I actually got a weird look when I arrived for my appointment due to how young I am and then mentioned the epilepsy and got an understanding nod). The only good thing was with the Pandemic Unemployment Act for once I qualified for unemployment insurance (since my previous jobs had been contractor positions I didn’t which is BS), since it had been changed so that contractors/temps could qualify. None of my job applications seemed to be working, I was barely getting interviews, and it was just frustrating.

Then one day in March I get an email from an employment agency I’d sent my resume to in the past but never heard from. It was an email to ask me about if I would be interested in a two month temp contract to work at a small bank helping process PPP loans. I said yes, curious and frankly bored if nothing else. To be honest I wasn’t even entirely sure it was legitimate, since that does happen at times. That discussion went well, and I was then set up to do an actual interview with the bank the next morning.

I was given a verbal offer by the bank within five minutes of my interview. Two thirds of my interview was the HR person going over what my specific duties would be. I had the official offer letter in my email the following morning, did all sorts of paperwork, and by Friday of that week I was working at the bank (remotely). Did my one day training, and then started to process loans. 

So initially I was on one team, that dealt directly with applicants, and being supervised by someone from the credit division. It seems however, that I was not supposed to be on that team. To some extent it had been a matter of me getting some degree of experience (I assume), but I’d actually been supposed to be on the team run by the head of risk management that dealt with brokers rather than direct clients. My previous supervisor tried to convince HR not to move me in terms of teams (she was very satisfied with my work), even offering up another team member. HR said ‘no’ and the following week (my third week at the bank), I was now on the brokerage team.

Now for that first week my boss actually wasn’t there (he’d been on vacation), and I was under the supervision of the CFO. Lovely man, did enjoy working with him and I get along well with him. Made a few errors, but I picked up quickly what I was doing wrong and fixed it. Actually lead to the semi-irritating aspect of realizing some of the temps/interns who’d been there months still hadn’t picked up some of that shit...But next week my actual boss came back.

First thing Monday morning was a meeting with him. He’d gotten progress reports on me from both the prior supervisors and HR and had been pleased. I’d demonstrated that I could pick things up quickly and fix errors. I was also willing to reach out if I felt I was missing something or needed help. So I chat with him and make the off handed reference to how I was looking for full time, permanent employment. Didn’t really think much of saying it, more was as a forewarning that if I found something I’d take it and likely be leaving very quickly. He got a very interested look at his face, but at that moment didn’t say anything else. It made me wonder, and there had been a part of me already wondering that if I did good enough job with the loans if they’d keep me on long term. I figured though if that did happen, I wouldn’t be asked anything until basically the end of my two month contract. 

So here’s what I didn’t realize. My boss had recently convince the bank president to let him hire on an assistant/team member. Previously the bank president didn’t really believe him on just how overworked he was, but PPP (where everyone at the bank basically had to do it on top of their regular duties) made the president realize just how bad it was. So boss now has approval, but hadn’t yet been allowed to post the job.

And that’s apparently where I came in.

Again, I’d been getting praise, demonstrated interest in what my boss’s regular job was, and also had a skill set that could easily be transitioned to doing risk management (my background is in libraries/archives/information governance). I also proved over the course of that week I could easily handle the PPP workload and that again, I picked up new skills easily. I got along well with my boss, and did things also like give him heads up when I thought something was going weird.

So Friday of that week comes, and my boss, maybe a half an hour before my work day was over asks me the question I was not expecting. “What would your expected salary be for a full time position?” Again, I’m figuring even if heard something, I’d be hearing it closer to the end of my contract. Not barely a month into it. I spent the weekend figuring out the salary range I should ask for, asking my sister’s partner what he thought I should ask (he works risk management at a much larger bank but still had an idea on what I should ask for). Monday comes, I give the range, and from there my boss spends like the next two weeks practically chasing down the president to set things up.

Did have to do an ‘interview’ for the job with the CFO and my boss, but honestly the interview with my boss was mostly us chatting about random shit, and the meeting with CFO was more just verifying certain things (also he was nice and took the generous look at my previous work history as ‘they may just like doing short term jobs’ [I in fact very much do not]). A few days later I got my verbal job offer, and a few days after that my official letter. Part of why it took a bit was due to the temp contract and there were some things there apparently. But I now had a full time, perm job that gave me a salary I was very happy with and basically all the benefits I wanted (the only one I didn’t get is tuition reimbursement and I know HR is trying to convince the President and bank owner they should do it too; also I admittedly already have a Masters degree, but depending on how much I like this job [which I am] I may try to do either a Masters of Legal Studies or an MBA).

Part of also why was apparently due to PPP. They didn’t exactly want to transition me over to the permanent job until it was closer to over, which they expected to happen by late month. Then, as some of my may know, PPP ran out of funds faster than expected. My boss and I had chatted about it, but both of us were still expecting at least a week longer than what ended up happening. Which then lead to a different issue at that point; HR wasn’t quite ready for me to do all my paperwork stuff, but since they’d done my offer and the like what ended up happening was I was kept on the temp contract, but started my new duties. Also there was apparently a certain ‘we get hit by a fee’ thing there, if they took a temp ‘too soon’.

In a very technically sense there was still PPP stuff going on. They were starting to set up things like the forgiveness program, and dealing with applicants complaining over rejections or that they had applied and gotten nothing since the funds had run out (and there wasn’t much we could do there). However my boss didn’t want me doing that. He wanted me to focus on figuring out how to do my new job, which meant reading up on a bunch of stuff. Which was nice since I didn’t have to deal with applicant complaints, of which there were a lot.

So I started to transition over to doing risk stuff, learning, training and like experimenting with writing policies and procedural stuff (though looking back at that I still don’t really get why he was having me do that but whatever). He started me doing the real reason he’d hired me in June, doing IT due diligence reviews. The reviews on average take me at least a day and a half (there’s generally a lot of information and I have to read all of it and write up a report). First time I did one he assured me ‘don’t worry if you mess up, this is your first time’. Did it, spent a day or so paranoid, and then we had a meeting to discuss it. Apparently I did it perfectly which delighted him since it meant I could start doing it seriously.

And it’s just been nice. I’m working something I find interesting. I have a boss who  has the view of ‘work to live, not live to work’ which he views as an incredibly unhealthy mindset. Meaning if something comes up like say, visiting my parents and I’ve been able to do half days so I can get to their house, including this past Friday (thought that was also partially a result of how messed up public transit due to Ida but that’s a different matter); he actually said I could head out Thursday but since public transit was such a mess it wasn’t viable (my train line was down). Back during PPP the one broker kept annoying him by emailing/calling him at fuck o’clock and not respecting that it was after work hours. My boss also trusts me to attend things like meetings that are with senior management, and I suspect he’s starting to groom me to take over his position (especially based on a comment from last week).

It’s just very weird to realize this year started so shitty, showed no signs it would really get better and yet now all this. And it’s just really nice.

[bewaretheidesofmarchyall]

A New AU, Full To The Brim With Chaos

So, you know this post. And, if you’re a part of the Dream SMP fandom, you probably know why “speedrunner makes it to the edge of the universe” would get some attention.

I saw this post and thought, “You know what I don’t need more of right now? New writing projects.”

And then I thought “Fuck it, word building go zoom”, and that’s why we’re here

World Building/Backstory

The small town of L’Manburg didn’t start out magical, it wouldn’t have gotten as much press attention if it did

The experts are still debating as to what exactly happened there, and where the magic came from, and there’s a lot of governmental red tape, so it’s easier to stick to what we know:

L’Manburg wasn’t magic. Then it was. And the world made a bit of a fuss about it.

So! A small town randomly has like 80 fantasy plotlines hurriedly crammed into 25 square miles of Florida by a dimensional rift. There’s enchanted swords, horrifying monsters, dreamons, things that Lurk in the woods, and so much wizardry.

The people of the town freak out. The news freaks out. The world freaks out. The government freaks out, and the town is put under total lockdown until they can figure out what the magic is and how they can control it.

This is sort of a high school AU, I guess? At any rate, all of the characters except Schlatt and Phil are in high school, and they’re coping with all of this about as well as you’d expect a bunch of teenagers to do

The Characters

Tommy: Tommy is making YouTube videos of his attempts to learn magic

Specifically, he wants to learn how to fly so he can get out of the heavily guarded town, and he wants to collect all of the mysterious glowing music discs hidden in the area because 1) They could do something combined and 2) He can, so why not?

He’s just really excited about all of this, and not really thinking about the implications

Tubbo: Tubbo has mixed feelings

On the one hand, he very much enjoys that he can talk to bees now, and he’s having fun learning alchemy in his little wizard lab

On the other hand, his dad was outside of the town when the magic hit, and he’s had to stay at Tommy’s house for the last couple weeks.

He’s trying not to think about it, and is instead learning how to trap and/or fight dreamons.

Wilbur: Wilbur is trying to figure out how to balance potion brewing, drama club, extreme acts of hubris, and senior year homework into his schedule

did i mention the hubris because he has it

He finds a mysterious glowing dome in the woods, and has nothing better to do, so he starts half-jokingly worshipping it. Many people have joined him.

Technoblade: Technoblade starts out as a hardcore skeptic about this whole “magic” business. He’s convinced that this has to be some trick of the government, and even if it isn’t there’s bound to be some monkey’s paw repercussions to playing with the fabric of the universe

Then, the Blood God chooses him

Suddenly, his apprehensions about power have faded into the background.

Phil: Phil wants to get the hell out of this town

With or without his sons, or whatever they’re becoming

Schlatt: Schlatt is going to find a way to become the richest man alive from this. And he doesn’t care who he has to cheat, spell, or even get rid of to do it.

Quackity: Quackity is having the time of his life

He’s learned shape-shifting, tamed a skeleton horse (which looks completely badass), and is very ready to fuck around and find out

Karl: Karl is the guy who figures out how to time travel, of course

There’s a surprising amount of bureaucracy and microwaving involved

Sapnap: Sapnap is here for arson, and that’s just what he’ll do.

Skeppy: Skeppy was the first one to figure out how to magically create diamonds, and he won’t shut up about it (Which is fair, since he figured out how to magically create diamonds)

He also summoned a demon for the heck of it, and they’re best friends already

Bad Boy Halo: Bad was the demon Skeppy summoned, and he’s vibing

He has villainous plans(tm) involving the Crimson, but he’s also really friendly, so everyone is fine with him despite the fact that he’s a literal demon.

Sam: Sam is trying to figure out how to Science the magic

He’s trying to create a wiki detailing what does what, and what cheats they can use to get better results

Sam has also created many cursed artifacts that will never, ever come back to haunt them.

Antfrost: All that Ant has done with the magic is turn himself into an anthropomorphic cat

No one is questioning this

Captain Puffy: Captain Puffy found an enchanted sword in the forest, She-Ra style. She’s taking up vigilante heroics as a hobby.

Niki: Niki has learned how to do a similar thing to Allison’s rumor power from Umbrella Academy, and she’s also selling magical flora out in front of her house.

Eret: Eret seems to be partially immune to magic, or at least resistant

They can see through illusions and dodge curses, at the price of not being as magically powerful as some of their friends

They’re working with Ranboo to try to journal the events taking place, so there’s some kind of record of when magic came to town

Fundy: Fundy is being the eldritch charlatan we all know he can be

He’s trying to learn how to shift reality and dazzle everyone, mostly so they’ll pay attention to him for once

Ranboo: Ranboo is freaked out by all of this

He’s convinced that when given power, people do terrible things, and nowhere in this world has the kind of power they do now

He’s trying to write it all down, just in case things turn sour

Dream: Dream wants to be a god

Of course, he’s the one speed running to the edge of the universe.

Dream is trying to figure out this new system of magic so he can transcend mortality and have infinite power, and he’s not even trying to disguise his intentions about it. He wants to be a god, and it’s worrying.

George: George says he doesn’t believe in magic

There’s going to be a running gag throughout this AU, that George seems to always be in the wrong place or not paying attention whenever something blatantly magical happens, and he doesn’t have a clue what’s going on

Right?

When George says he doesn’t believe in magic, remember why Season One Jon from The Magnus Archives used to say he didn’t believe in the paranormal :)

So, that’s the AU so far! I really like this concept, and I want to write about it, and would love to talk about it more if anyone would like to ask

And that’s it!

I’m calling it the Incantation AU for now

[physicalturian]

Why don’t you listen to me? Law x GN! Reader - Part 4

Spoilers for : Punk Hazard and Dressrosa arcs [No gender used for the reader, no physical description, everyone is +18] Words : 4801 Archive of our own Bad flirting, fluff, embarrassment, angst No warnings, if you feel like I should put some, send me a DM or an ask!

… Part 1  - Part 2 - Part 3

“… some point you’ll have to kick them out of here Chopper, you can’t just let them-“

“But Torao is scary!! And I am sure all of his crewmates are just as scary, no way- nope, I don’t want to die Robin. You do it! Yeah… Imma head out, okay?” Then echoed the muffled sound of hooves hitting the wooden parquet, slowly at first then scurried. Then there was a heavy sigh followed by a short laugh, quickly after, hands pulled off the blanket from my form, and Law’s along with it. I gasped at the cold air hitting my face and took a bit of time to understand that I had been covered up to my head with the blanket.

“Time to wake up, I think Chopper is getting impatient and he needs his infirmary.” The gentle voice of the long-haired fruit user reached my ear and I slowly opened my eye, ready to answer when I felt the hold on myself tighten.

“He can come by in 10 mins, we’ll be out by then Robin-ya.” Satisfied by Law’s answer, she hummed, maybe too happily then gave us one last glance before leaving and closing the door behind her. When she was out of sight, Law groaned loudly before running his hand over his face. I stood there, in a position completely different from when I had gone to sleep. Instead of him on me, I was the one on him, at least my head was resting very close to his side and I had one leg throw over his. I was pretty quick to change that and sat up rapidly.

“Sorry, I got a bit too comfortable there.” A short laugh escaped his lips, I looked at him tiredly, but curiously too. His hair was a mess, more than usual but it looked good. I let my eyes wander about his form, I was only now realizing that he had some lighter spot on his skin.

 I remembered from his past that as a child he had gone through a lot, and if my memory wasn’t bad it was due to that that his skin had some discoloration. A sigh reached my ear, I looked away as the man put his coat on to cover the small amount of skin I could see. “I wasn’t complaining, but Robin-ya is right, we should go.” What was he not complaining about? I squinted my eyes, thinking, it made him laugh since he stood up and simply said, “You, sleeping.”

 My mouth shape in an O, I snorted and shook my head, “It wasn’t half-bad. I’ll admit, you are a great source of heat, I’ll give you a nine out of ten,” I hummed as I stood up and brought everything back on the infirmary bed, Law was standing by the door, unmoving.

“Nine?” He asked.

“Well, I would give you a ten if not-“ His face turned sour, and his gaze turned to the ground. I don’t know what he expected me to say, but I continued, hoping to lighten his mood. “If not for the heat, it’s great, don’t get me wrong but it’s very, very hot, like a furnace. I’m sure you don’t even need blankets usually.” His expression changed to something close to relief as a small smile drew itself on his lips, but only for a short time.

“And you move a lot, yet you don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

“Hey, I’m just giving feedback here pal, I know I could never be as great as Bepo in term of pillow-quality.” I said with my hands raised in defense, but I was joking.

 A snort blew threw his nose and he opened the door, signaling me to follow him out of the infirmary. I kind of liked it when I made him laugh, I’m sure he found a lot of things funny, but having him show it was something that brought me great joy. He was kind of cute like that. I didn’t have time to reflect or daydream that Chopper came in rushing.

“Did you do anything? Did you- is everything still in place? You better not have broken anything or I’ll-“

I frowned in confusion, how would we have done that? We were sleeping, what was he thinking we had done? The reindeer stopped mid-sentence when he met Law’s gaze and apologized before scurrying off to his room. His panic was appeased when he saw that everything was exactly as he left them. Except perhaps for the bed, that was a bit messy. I never was great to make it proper looking, I never knew how military people did it so well… Or perhaps I was too lazy.

 “Does your infirmary often get,” I made a gesture with my hand, meaning messy, chaotic.

The Doctor shrugged, “Sometimes, they’re not fans of needles but- I meant, you and Law you… Nami said-“

“What she says is never to be trusted. She likes the chaos.” Law said over my shoulder, I thought he’d have left but he was probably curious as of why the reindeer was in utter frenzy when he came rushing in.

“We just slept together though, so what could-“ I stopped talking when the words left my mouth. Some things made more sense when said out loud, but that never meant they were better said out loud either. Like saying you slept with your captain. It sounded wrong.

 I threw a glance at my grumpy captain, my cheeks heating up. I said in realization, “Slept together.” Then huffed, “She- I swear to fuck, this crew is-“

“What do you mean?” he asked, still confused. I didn’t know if he was playing with me or if he was genuinely at loss.

So, I exhaled half-nervously half-tiredly, “She’s saying we fucked. Like, slept together in that sense of the term.” A glimmer of understanding struck his face and for a brief moment, he seemed flustered. But I could have been wrong, I did not have time to question him more that he shook his head.

“I can’t even believe everyone believes that, we weren’t even noisy or anything. It doesn’t make sense-“ A smug smile drew itself on my captain’s face.

“Does that mean you’re usually loud when you-”

“Both of you!! Out! It’s gross, you’re gross! I’ll tell Zoro you’re being weird!” Chopper said as he pushed me out of the doorway before slamming the door.

 I took it as an opportunity to ignore what Law had said, I don’t know why he said that but I was not going to have a conversation about that either. I decided to play it casual. We were still a few days from Dressrosa, which meant we had some time left to polish the plan until we arrived. It seemed the Straw Hat had no ability to focus on Law’s words, they did not seem to care much about the plan either. It annoyed my Captain to no extent; I could see it was getting on his nerves and eventually he blew up and yelled at them.

 It was a rare sight to see the Surgeon of Death lose his composure, the only time he would be anything but laid-back would be when he’d be taunting his enemies. Seeing him angry was very new and I was finding it to be an enjoyable sight. Perhaps it was because it made him more humane, or perhaps I just liked seeing his face contorted with something other than boredom. When he would lose his temper and just vent on the poor Straw Hat Captain, I would nudge his side and look at the map laid out on the deck, to silently tell him to continue. Sometimes it’d work, but most of the time he’d let it all out and the only response he’d get was a laugh from Luffy.

 I found myself enjoying the Straw Hat crew more than I expected, along the three people from Wano that boarded the ship. They were a rowdy bunch, for sure, and I would sometimes sneak off to find some quiet in random rooms of the ship, but on the whole they were great company with great stories to tell. It was interesting to hear their adventure, it made me realize we did not follow the same roads on the sea but it was just as perilous as our voyage.

 A few hours before arriving at Dressrosa, the plan was to call Joker, to tell him we had his partner, Caesar. The whole thing went down as you’d expect, the Straw Hats were not serious, Luffy was easily tempted with simple things. It forced Law to be on the call with Joker, he was filled with hatred, I could hear it in his voice and it sent chills running down my spine. Those chills persisted at the answers from Joker, he seemed to be relaxed on the other hand and yet his tone was serious and threatening. When Law hung up, he reminded everyone that giving them Caesar was but a distraction.

 The more we talked about what we should do once we arrive, the more I felt things would not go according to the plan. We knew full well this entire crew was made of free-spirited people, and while most of them knew how to follow orders, they would prioritize following their Captain no matter the circumstances. And he had close to no impulse control, which meant if you lost track of him it would be too late, things would go awry. Or as I liked to put it, from what I gathered, “Where Luffy goes, fuckery follows.”

 That was what frightened Law the most. He did not use those words exactly, he’d said “If he sneaks out of our sight, we’re screwed.” But the idea was there. I could not reassure him, and deep down we both knew everything will go shit, but I trusted Law, I knew he’d come up with something. He was smart and was able to come up with a plan in the heat of the moment, which saved us numerous times in our own adventure. Hence why I said, a few hours before we arrived on the island, that I’d say by his side, it’s not like I had chemistry with the other of the crew. Nor was I used to their fighting style.

 But the answer was not one I had expected.

“You’re not coming. You’re not stepping off of this ship.” He said off-handedly.

We were in the corridor on our way to the library for some relaxing time, away from all the noise. He did not stop when I did, so I gripped his arm tightly. He grunted and turned around, giving me a pissed-off look.

I held my head high and spoke clearly, “Bold of you to assume I’d listen to that shitty command.” He held my gaze, I hated the way he was looking at me. I did not deserve such angry look from him, I was not known for taking pointless orders and his made no sense.

“You’re only here because it was too late for you to go to Zo.” He explained, pulling his arm away from my grasp.

 “And since I’m here, I’m coming to fight. The more the merrier, right-“

He interrupted me with another frustrated sigh, his low voice reaching my ears, “I’ve given you an order, as your Captain-“

“As my Captain, what? I’m not one to just throw hands at nothing, but this makes no sense. You know full well I can be useful on the battlefield, as a member of your crew, you should trust me.”

He turned around and said, “My crew is smart enough to follow my order, if you’re not planning on doing that, then leave.”

What he said did not sit right with me, I don’t know why he said that but it hurt. I don’t know why I let it get to me, nor did I know why I reacted like that but as he walked away, I hurried to meet his pace and pushed his back with all my force.

 He stumbled forward, catching himself with his hand on the wall. He grunted my name in a warning tone, as he turned around.

“That shit fucking hurts Law, take it the fuck back.” I said with as much calm I could muster.

There was like a knot in my throat, my chest was tight and I could feel my body getting warm and yet I shuddered when he looked at me with this look. This look that meant he was not going to take it back, that he meant what he said, that I was acting stupid. I stared back at him then smiled. My head dipped forward as I tried my best to calm down.

“Alright. So, if I step out of this ship, I’m not part of the crew anymore?” His expression did not falter. He did not move.

 “Why don’t you want me on this? What-“ I paused and swallowed, feeling my throat tighten once more but I acted cool. “What can, I don’t know, a child that has no control over his devil fruit, bring more than I can? Uh?” He gritted his teeth and look to the side, not answering. I thought he respected my power, I thought it was enough. I already felt off joining their crew so late, but having him lose all trust in me the moment the rest of the team was not there, made my heart clench.

“Let’s start over, because you’re not an asshole, right?” I chuckled lowly and joined his side once more, ignoring the chilly feeling I felt next to him.

 I reiterated my sentence, “That’s why I’ll stay close by, ready for your new plan.” I casted a glance at my Captain and he seemed annoyed, his eyes focused in front of him as his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. He muttered my name once more, it seemed to be said in a more tender manner than earlier but then I met his gaze, he was even more annoyed.

“When your Captain gives you an order, you follow it. If you don’t want to follow my order, you can serve under someone else.”

“Serve under someone else. Serve under someone else.” I repeated his words in pure bafflement, how could he say that? How could he tell me that I could leave, as if it was just some sort of side hustle?

 “This is not some sort of deal, I joined your crew because you were the ones that welcomed me-“ I pushed his chest firmly, once. “As a family,” again. “It’s not about serving anyone, it’s just-“ this time I hit my fist against his chest, he was not moving. “It’s a fucking adventure!-“

“This is not a kid’s game, it’s a life-threatening situation. And if you can’t understand that we’re pirates, not adventurers, then-“ I pushed him more strongly this time.

“I get it. Fuck you. I never saw this as a kid’s game, for someone who’s smart you can’t seem to grasp what I’m saying and it’s exhausting.” I think I heard him mumbled something, but he acted like he hadn’t said anything.

 “I’ll spell it out more clearly,” Taking a deep breath, I stared at the ground a moment then met his gaze, “You’re a fucking asshole for asking me to either follow your orders blindly or leave the crew, knowing full well I loved this crew like my family- but you know what? Maybe I was stupid and it was all pretend, was it?” Tell me no. Tell me we were all a big family, tell me I was enough. Tell me I fight good, and that you want me on this mission, tell me… tell me you love me… I was desperate.

 He looked away. This was more sombre than I thought it’d be but I understood.

“Right. Right, well.” I nodded.

It could mean a lot of things to just look away. But what I gathered was that being honest with me was too much to ask for. “We’ll be arriving soon. I’ll go get ready to join on the mission.” I moved away from him when he turned to face me with a shocked expression, saying my name in surprise.

“What? Did you think I’d just stay here? Because of your shitty ultimatum?” I asked with an exhausted smile. He did not reply, only staring. He was in genuine shock, not that it showed too much on his face, but I could see it was agape.

 Without an answer from him, I shrugged and made my way to the deck. Inside my head were so many thoughts. I was convinced he had a reason to do that, but he gave me an ultimatum I could not fathom. And while this new-found family was great, inside I was thinking that if I was on the battlefield, I could watch over him. If not as a crewmember, then as an ally at least. Never would I have stayed on this ship, but never would I have thought he’d give me such dilemma. Now I was a simple pirate, on a ship on my way to a fight that was not even mine, but I knew Law was about to get reckless, I just knew it. He was too involved in this situation, his pride is at stake, Cora’s pride was at stake. But maybe, at some point, his life will be at stake too, and I will be there to avoid such things.

 I wanted to find a dark room and cry. Even after that shitty ultimatum, I felt a pull. I wanted to stay with him, I still liked him, just because of that I took the only option that allowed me to watch over him.

“How fucking stupid is that.” I mumbled dryly to myself.

“What is?” The cook’s voice echoed right next to me. Without realizing it, I had made my way to the kitchen. Startled, I let out a soundless gasp and moved out of the way, telling him it was nothing.

“It’s not nothing, you look like you’re about to cry.”

“But I’m not, stop insisting.”

He hummed and puffed out some smoke before suggesting me a nice warm meal; which I did not refuse.

 Making my way to the table, I watched him wander about the kitchen as he cooked. It did not take him long to make something that could even warm up the Marine’s hearts. When I took a bite, I felt my chest lighten as I ate up, the cook was observing me with a small smile. I did not pay attention as I gobbled it down, switching with water from time to time to avoid choking.

 When I was done, he asked me once more what was troubling my mind. This time I chuckled dryly and shrugged, “I got kicked out of my crew, I guess?” He quirked a brow and asked for details, so I summarized it to something short, “Me wants to fight, Captain says no. I ask why not? He says, orders you stay on ship, you shouldn’t even be here in the first place. I say, but there’s a kid taken in consideration in the whole plan, you know?”

Sanji nodded, telling me to continue.

There was a small smile on his lips that ticked me off, I don’t know what was fun about this situation but I continued. “Then he basically said, that if I left the ship, I could leave the crew because I couldn’t follow orders.”

 Crushing his cigarette in the ashtray, the blond man hummed and leaned on his fist. “Did he say it like that?”

Shaking my head, I quoted both times he told me off and what followed. It still hurt to think about it, but I’m sure it’d fade soon. Maybe the Straw Hats would want me? Maybe I could join their crew. Looking at the man across from me, I saw the widening smile on his lips as he lit up another cigarette.

“And you’re asking me what I think-“

“No, I didn’t ask you anything, but you’re curious so go off.”

His eyes widened before continuing, “I think once this is all over and you’re both safe and sound, you should ask him again if you’re really kicked out of the crew-“

“I’m not doing that, he said what he said.” I spat, still hurt.

 Taping a finger on his chest, the cook added, “Or maybe, what he didn’t say.” I made a face at the blonde’s words, confused by his cryptic words. “There’s a lot he didn’t exactly say, so think what you will. But Robin-chan is right, you’re both idiots for sure.” He shrugged before rolling his sleeves once more and saying he’d have to prepare one last meal before we go fight. I stayed in the dining room, lost in thoughts while Sanji moved gracefully across the floor, I did not know his past or anything at all about the man except his famous reputation of fighting with only his legs; And yet from his movements I could tell he was very familiar with kitchens, in a professional way. Not all ships had the luck of having a real, good, cook aboard but theirs was almost god-sent.

 While daydreaming, my gaze lost in the direction of the blond, I was repeating Law’s words in my head. I tried to tell myself to stop and come up with a reasonable explanation, one was that he actually cared and wanted me safe but it sounded stupid. He was not emotional enough to be like that, and even if he did, he would have told me straight up. I pressed my palms to my cheeks and scolded myself, focus, focus, forget what he said, you don’t have time to overthink. Stay focus and everything will be fine, you’re still friends so it’s good. Yeah, mm, yep friends.

“Sanji! I’m hungry!! Oh-“ I stood up when I heard Luffy’s voice enter the dining room, and he stared at me with his big wide eyes in awe. Then turned towards Sanji and tried to snatch something, anything, from the burning pan, only to have his hand slapped away. Many times.

 “Hey, you should check up on your Captain, he looks even more stuck up than usual.” A short snort blew through my nose at the swordsman’s words. It looks like they were all arriving to eat whatever the cook was making.

“Well, have you seen his sword nearby? Maybe it’s up his ass?” I asked jokingly, patting his shoulder as I walked past him. A throaty laugh escaped his lips, he did not reply.

 I was tempted to not check up on him, out of pure spite. But I thought, no you’re mature, let’s see what’s up with him, and I did. He was sitting on the stairs on the deck, his sword between his legs, hands on the handle and forehead resting against the hands.

“Law. What’s going on with you?” He lifted his head, a red mark on his forehead from pressing it against his hands.

“Nothing.” He replied before turning his gaze away from me.

It sent something coursing through my vein, I wanted to react just like I did before and push him down, asking him to look at me instead of avoiding my gaze.

“Alright, you don’t want to talk. Do you need company then?” Yeah, that’s a good question, a good reply, polite and all that.

“No, you can go.”

 I scoffed, “Cute, earlier it’s ‘don’t you dare leave this ship’ and now it’s ‘you can go’,” I started, moving closer to him to crouch in front of him to get of glimpse of his eyes, “But funny enough, you’re not looking at me while saying any of those things.” I regretted saying all those things the moment they left my mouth, but I was bitter, I was still angry and hurt by his words. Now I was acting without thinking.

“Don’t.” He said in a warning tone, still looking away from me.

Nodding, I stood up once more, “Got it. Then at least act like you’re fine, the Straw Hats are worried.” I explained.

The next words that I heard shook me, “Are you?” he breathed, finally meeting my eyes.

 There was fear, determination, finality in his gaze. I hated it. It’s as if he was going to take Doflamingo down, no matter the cost, even if the price was his own life.

“To be honest, I am mortified,” I confessed, trying to look as composed as I could. “But even though you’re a bitch, I’m not letting you go out there alone. From what you’re telling me, you’re ready to go down with Doflamingo-“

“If it’s what needs to be done I don’t care-“ Telling him to shut up, I continued,

“But I care! I told everyone I’d watch over your ass, and I’m going to.” I said a bit too quickly, gripping the handle of his sword tightly before pulling it from his hands and crouching in front of him, frowning.

 “I don’t care that you’re ready to sacrifice yourself, because I’ll be there to stop it.” He was surprised for a second, then his brows were furrowed once more. I wanted to go back to our ship where everything was easier, but I knew this was only the beginning of something greater.

He sighed, “You better not mess with the plan-“

“Oh, I’m sorry, is this some sort of command? Because you made it very clear that I was not good enough for your crew.” I said with a spiteful grin, it earned me another baffled look from Law that changed back just as fast,

“I didn’t say-“

I interrupted him, “Cora’s will is important, but I find your life a bit more important. I’m sure you’ll excuse me for that.”

 We stared at each other for a moment, battling one another without word. I was trying to understand him, why he was acting so off but just staring at him would not help. If anything, it made the pull I felt towards him only stronger.

“It’s dangerous.” He stated, I could almost describe it as a desperate attempt to keep me here but I could not be sure.

“Hence why I’m coming with you.” I stood up and handed him his sword back, “You’ll need this,” I said, he grabbed my wrist and I stopped dead in my track, confused. He kept surprising me today, from being a complete asshole to a seemingly nice guy when he said, “Be careful.” Then people joined us on the deck and his demeanor changed completely, he let go of my hand and was back to the leader-like attitude as he repeated the plan to everyone.

 Once again, their focus was nowhere close to be on Law but was probably back in the kitchen from their recent feast the cook made. Some people were going to stay on the ship, others were told to go by teams in different places across the ‘country’. I was to stay near Luffy for when everything would go down, maybe to evacuate civilians that were in Luffy’s radius. I was told he made quite the damaged during fights, even more so since he trained with a man named Rayleigh.

“I don’t have a bounty; Do I need to disguise myself?” I asked, giving them a once-over and holding back from laughing at Law who had a fake mustache but still had his familiar coat and sword. Chuckling, Robin handed me a cap, that I put on reluctantly, making sure my hair was out of the way.

 “It looks good on you, don’t worry!” She said enthusiastically.

“I’m sure I could even rock the mustache, got any spare one?” I said jokingly. People laughed and gathered by the side off the ship as Nami moored the ship on the shore. We were as well hidden as we could with such a big ship, but I’m sure our submarine would have been a lot more efficient if stealth was the key. The Straw Hat captain, however, could not begin to understand the idea of discretion and jumped off the ship, yelling that they had arrived. It’s with difficulty that we quieted him down, and as Law reiterated them to be discrete and calm down, Luffy ignored him completely and took off.

 Observing everyone carefully, I saw Law approach Nami and hand her part of Bepo’s vivre card, telling her its use. It made everyone panic, asking what could go wrong, the black-haired man only shrugged in response telling them “Who knows.”

[Part 5]

[elspethc22]

Home

Sciles Week Day 4: Scars

Pairing: Scott/Stiles

Word Count: 12149

Trigger Warnings for mentioned past abuse (no non-con) to Stiles from a former Alpha.

Scott is doing the weekly grocery shopping for his mum when he first picks up the scent. Another werewolf. Although his first reaction is to look around, try and identify them, he reigns it in. Instead, keeping his eyes on the list in his hand, he focused on his sense of smell, letting it guide him. He made his way down the aisle and turned right, passing the next two aisles until he found the source. Keeping his movements slow, he spots what appears to be a boy or young man really, maybe his own age, standing with hunched shoulders staring at the variety of bread.

Now that he’s closer, he can smell that werewolf has likely not showered in days, and his clothes are mess, cuffs of his worn jeans caked in mud, a few leaves caught in the hood of his jumper, and small tears that make Scott think he’s been running, fast and not carefully, through the woods.

Scott’s glad that it’s midweek, and early afternoon, so the shop is relatively quiet. He doesn’t think this new werewolf is a danger, from the way he appears to be trying to make himself small, but the less people around the better just in case.

He pushes his trolley, and he’s not sure if it’s the squeaky wheel or the other werewolf finally catching his scent, but he stiffens and turns slowly towards Scott. Scott can clearly read the fear in his eyes, but before he can say anything, reassure this other boy he’s safe, the other boy flees.

Scott abandons his trolley, gives chase, but for someone so skinny the other wolf can move incredibly fast. He’s gone by the time Scott makes it out the front of the store. Scott’s first instinct is to chase after him, but he knows from history that doing so alone probably won’t be successful.

He pulls out his phone and calls Lydia.

‘Lydia, get Isaac and meet me at the store – I just ran into another werewolf but he ran off into the preserve. I think he needs help.’ He said into the phone before she could even greet him.

He didn’t want to involve the whole pack, but he needed at least one more wolf helping him to track, and Lydia was there to hopefully be able to approach the boy once they found him. There was just something telling him this boy needed help. Lydia pulled up, Isaac in the passenger seat, 15 minutes later.

‘Thanks for coming.’

‘It’s fine. Lydia said there was a werewolf problem?’ Isaac asked, looking around as if he half expected the werewolf in question to just jump out at them.

‘Yeah, but not like a problem problem. More like I think he needs help. He was just standing there, staring at the food like he wasn’t sure what to do. He was young, thin, dirty – ’

‘Dirty?’ Lydia cut in, raising an eyebrow in question, and Scott nodded.

‘His jeans were covered in mud and there were leaves caught in his jumper, he looked like he’d been running, for days maybe – his clothes had tears in them, probably from catching on trees or things as he ran.’ Scott explained. ‘I tried to talk to him, but as soon as he saw me, or maybe smelled me, he froze and his scent – the fear coming off him was stronger than anything I’ve ever smelled before. He ran before I could even try to tell him he was ok.’

‘Are we sure he isn’t a threat? If he’s running from something that’s got him that scared, should we be worrying about that?’ Isaac asked, and Scott shook his head.

‘I’m sure he’s not a threat, there’s something about him – and if whatever he’s running from does make its way here, then we’ll deal with it. The look in his eyes – he’s terrified, we have to help him.’ Lydia and Isaac both looked at him, then nodded.

He leads them slowly through into the preserve - it doesn’t take him long to find a fresh scent. Apparently once he thought he’d lost Scott the other wolf stopped running as fast. Moving as quietly as they can, they continue on until Scott hears rapid breathing - at first he thinks it’s someone panting, but then he hears the whimpers between breaths and he moves quicker until he sees the boy, curled up in feral position in the dirt and leaves beneath a tree.

He softly tells Isaac to stay back, then moves forward cautiously with Lydia.

‘Hello? Are you… are you ok? Can we help you?’ The boy doesn’t answer, just keeps gasping for breath and shaking, burying his head in his hands and pulling at his hair.

‘Scott, I think he’s having a panic attack.’ Lydia says, and Scott turns to look at her, his eyes wide. ‘We need to help him get his breathing under control.’

Scott moves until he’s in front of the boy then gently lowers himself until he’s almost at eye level - or would be if the boy was sitting. He gently puts his hand out, has to fight the urge to flinch when the smell of fear hits him.

‘I promise I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to help. I need you to try and breath with me, try and focus on my breathing and match it. Do you think you can do that?’ There was no response, and Scott would have thought he hadn’t been heard if not for the hands stilling in the other boys’ hair.

‘Keep going Scott.’ The hands moved again, about to pull and Scott instinctively moved one hand to stop them.

‘Hey, hey it’s ok. That’s just Lydia, she’s here to help too. She’s a friend.’

‘No more… wolves…’ the other boy managed to get out between breaths, and Scott’s eyes widened, turning to look at Lydia who just shrugged. Scott turned back to the boy.

‘No, it’s ok, she’s not a werewolf, I promise. But…’ he turned to Isaac. ‘Isaac, can you head back to the others, tell them we found him and we’re helping. I’ll call when I can.’

Isaac looked reluctant but after a moment he nodded then turned and moved swiftly away.

‘There, is that better? Now it’s just you, me and Lydia. No other werewolves.’ The boy was no longer rocking as hard, and Scott was able to gently pry his hands away from his head to get a better look at him.

He’s not as young as Scott thought - definitely around his own age, not a teenager like he’d first thought. His face is pale and thin - too thin, like the rest of him. He has dark bruises around his eyes like he hasn’t slept properly in weeks, only making the paleness of his skin more pronounced, and the moles that are dotted across his face and neck also stand out.

His eyes are still squeezed shut, so Scott doesn’t know what colour they would be, but he is sure they’d be showing the fear that is coming off this boy in waves.

‘You’re ok, we’re going to help you if you let us. My name is Scott, can you tell me your name?’ The boy shook his head and Scott made a soothing sound, not unlike what he’d use on a frightened pet at the vet clinic. ‘That’s ok. You know, you feel really cold, but I think we have a blanket in the car if you want to come - ‘ Scott cut himself off when the boy began to shake.

‘Scott, perhaps you could go and get the blanket and bring it here.’ He heard Lydia suggest and he glanced at her. She was giving him the look that said she’d figured something out and he should listen to her. So he nodded and rose slowly.

‘Ok. Ok, Lydia’s going to stay here with you, I’ll be right back.’ He moved away slowly then turned and ran back to the car.

Lydia moved carefully towards the boy, and took over Scott’s position. When she reached out a hand, he flinched minutely but then visibly seemed to relax. Although it made Scott ache inside to see the boy accept Lydia’s touch when he’d all but rejected his own, but he pushed that away. The important thing right now was the boy allowing them to help him. So Scott made his way back to the cars as quickly as possible, running once he was sure he was out of earshot of the other werewolf. He was about to collect the blanket when he glanced back at the store, and had a thought.

He ran most of the way back to where he’d left Lydia and the boy, only slowing down when he thought the other werewolf would be able to hear him. He made sure to make noise as he approached, and called out to Lydia softly to alert her that it was just him.

When they came in to view, Lydia had seated herself in front of the boy, and was holding his hand. Neither was speaking, but the other boy appeared to have finally opened his eyes. When he looked over at Scott, he saw they were a warm brown clouded by fear. He slowed down even more as he carefully approached them.

‘It’s just me, no one else is with me I promise. Look, I have that blanket for, and – ’ He cut himself off, glancing at Lydia briefly before continuing. ‘I also have some food, in case you were hungry. I think I… interrupted you earlier before you could get your food.’

He came to a stop a few steps away from them, and crouched down slowly. He held out the blanket to Lydia, who leaned to take it, then moved so she could drape it over the other boy’s shoulders. Then Scott began to take items out of the bag he’d been carrying.

‘I wasn’t sure exactly what you liked, but I thought you were looking at these in the shop so I got some.’ Scott held out a packet of croissants. ‘I also got you a couple of things I like, and some of my – friends.’

He caught himself in time to stop himself saying betas. He pulled out a box of pop tarts, a packet of Cheetos and a bunch of bananas. He laid them out on top of the bag, and waited as the boy looked at him, then at the food.

He was so tempted to say something, offer again, make a suggestion, but something told him that pushing him would only make things worse. So instead, he just settled down on his knees and waited. Finally, the boy nodded.

‘Yes? You’d like something to eat?’ Scott asked, and the boy nodded again. Looking at Lydia, he saw her smiling. ‘Ok, would you like the croissants?’ This got him another nod, so Scott picked up the packet and then held it out to Lydia. He was glad he’d handed it to her and not the boy directly when the movement of his arm caused the boy to flinch. He sat back, and watched as Lydia opened the pack, holding it out for the boy to reach in and take one of the croissants.

‘There you go. Well, Scott, I think that was a very good idea you had. Now, don’t worry, if you want more than one you can have more, but I think you should slow down just a little bit – we don’t want you getting sick from eating too quickly.’ Lydia spoke slowly and with a very soothing lilt to her voice, and Scott was so grateful she was part of his pack.

They sat there for twenty minutes or more as the boy ate two croissants, and then a banana at Lydia’s suggestion. When he seemed to be done, Lydia passed the half empty packet of croissants and the banana peel back towards Scott who packed them away into the bag with the other items.

‘Feel a bit better now?’ Lydia asked, and the boy looked at her and nodded, then glanced at Scott.

‘Th – thank you, Alpha.’ The boy whispered, and Scott’s eyebrows raised in surprise, both at the fact he had spoken – and spoken to Scott – and at the formality of his words and his tone. It was like he didn’t want to say the words but thought he had to. He looked at Lydia, who shrugged subtly, then tilted her head towards the boy.

‘Um… you’re welcome.’ He responded, and when the boy didn’t flinch or seem to react negatively in any way, Scott relaxed minutely.

‘Now, I think we should get ourselves out of these woods because when I looked at the forecast earlier I’m sure it said it was going to rain later today, and I don’t know about either of you but I don’t like being caught in the rain – and this skirt is dry clean only.’ Scott held his breath at the teasing tone in Lydia’s voice at the end – it was such a Lydia thing to say, but how would the other boy take it?

Lydia just kept her eyes on the other boy, still holding his hand, her thumb rubbing back and forth over the back of it. The boy looked up at her, then his eyes darted to Scott and then up at the sky. Scott followed his gaze and sure enough, there were clouds starting to form – dark clouds. When Scott looked back down, the boy was watching Lydia again.

‘No… no werewolves, please.’ His voice sounded better than it had the first time he spoke, but it still sounded as though he hadn’t used it much recently and Scott wished he’d thought to pick up some water at the store. ‘No… no… Stilinski.’

Scott’s eyebrows shot up at the name and he saw Lydia’s do the same, her eyes flicking towards him quickly before settling back on the boy.

‘Stilinski? Do you mean Sheriff Stilinski?’ The boy seemed to freeze at the word Sheriff, looking around. He nodded slowly, but his shoulders hunched in on themselves. ‘No cops.’ He whispered and Scott wasn’t sure if Lydia would hear it.

‘Well, if you want to see Sher – I mean, Mr Stilinski, we can certainly take you to see him. Can I ask… Do you know him?’ The boy shook his head, then looked back at Lydia.

‘My mum.’ He said and Lydia nodded.

‘Ok, your mum knew him.’ The boy nodded, and Lydia smiled. ‘Ok, well how about Scott calls him and asks him to meet us at his house, ok? And…’ Lydia hesitated, looking at Scott before she looked back at the boy.

‘Now, you look like you’ve got a few nasty cuts and bruises, and I know you werewolves all heal up easily and quickly, but I do think we should get someone to look you over – ’

‘No hospitals!’ The boy all but shouted the words at her, but Lydia just blinked.

‘No, no hospitals. We know a nurse, she’s human but she knows about werewolves and she helps look after Scott and his friends and I’m sure she would come to the Sheriff’s house as well, just to check there’s nothing more serious. And she could bring you some clean clothes – the Sheriff won’t have anything that fits you, but I think Melissa will.’

Scott knew she was talking about his mum even before she said her name, but he had to wonder why she hadn’t told the boy about the connection. Also – if his mum was bringing clothes, did Lydia mean hisclothes? Surely the boy would be able to smell him on the clothes and would just freak out?

‘Does that sound ok?’ Lydia asked, and the boy looked between them a few times, contemplating his options, before nodding slowly.

‘Can you – can you call him here? So I can listen?’ The boy asked, and it took Scott a second to realise he meant to call the Sheriff fromhere. He nodded.

‘Of course.’ Scott pulled out his phone, opened it and called the Sheriff’s mobile, hitting the speaker button.

‘Scott?’ He answered, and Scott kept his eyes on the boy, trying to see if there were any signs of recognition to the voice.

‘Hey Sher- Mr Stilinski. Um, Lydia and I were wondering if you could meet us at your place, we need to talk to you about something.’ Scott winced at his own words and saw Lydia turn to roll her eyes at him.

‘Something? Scott, is this another supernaturalthing I need to be worried about?’ The Sheriff asked, whispering the word supernatural.

‘No, no – I mean. Look, it’s not a problem, there’s nothing to be concerned about, no one is – there’s no danger to anyone. But we do have –

‘Sarah.’ The boy spoke up, cutting Scott off. ‘Sarah Stilinski.’

‘Does the name Sarah Stilinski mean anything to you, Sheriff?’ Scott asked, and he heard the Sheriff let out a breath.

‘Yes, she’s a cousin of mine, lives in Michigan, well did last I knew – why? Scott, what’s going on?’ Scott looked at the boy, trying to ask a question silently and he seemed to understand because he nodded.

‘We’re with her son, out in the preserve. I think he needs your help, sir.’ Scott said, watching as the boy closed his eyes, hunched into himself more.

‘Stiles?’ The Sheriff asked, and Scott watched as the boy flinched slightly, before he nodded.

‘Yes, sir, that’s who we’re with.’ Scott said.

‘Where’s Sarah?’ He asked, and Scott didn’t know what to say. But as he watched, the boy shook his head once, and a tear escaped from where he had his eyes squeezed shut.

‘I’m sorry, sir, I think it’s just Stiles now.’ Scott said softly.

‘I had no idea. Ok, Scott. Let me tell Parrish something’s come up and I’ll head home. But Scott, is he – is he ok?’ The Sheriff asked, and Scott hesitated.

‘I don’t know, Sheriff. But he’s here now, and we’ll help. All of us.’ Scott said, and Scott nodded when the boy looked at him.

‘Ok. Ok, I’m leaving now, I’ll be home soon.’ Scott was about to hang up, when he remembered something.

‘Oh – Sheriff? Do you think… any chance you could change into something that’s not your uniform before we get there? Just…’ Scott trailed off, unsure how to explain the request, but the Sheriff just sighed.

‘Of course, Scott. I’ll see you soon.’

‘Thanks, sir.’ Scott hung up, then smiled gently at the boy. ‘Was that ok?’

The boy nodded, then hesitated. ‘The nurse?’

It took Scott a few seconds to realise what the boy – Stiles – was asking. ‘Would you like me to call the nurse now as well?’ Stiles nodded.

Scott hesitated, then looked at Lydia.

‘Stiles – I should have told you – the nurse, Melissa, is Scott’s mum. She’s not a werewolf, that’s true, and she does help us, all the time. But if we ask her to come and help now, we’re asking her as a nurse first, not as Scott’s mum, ok? Lydia told him, her voice just as soothing, and Scott could smell the distress.

‘I’m sorry, Stiles, we didn’t mean to lie to you, we just didn’t want to overwhelm you with too much information.’ Scott said. ‘But we should have told you. I can call my mum, and see if one of her nurse friends can come instead? They won’t know about werewolves but – ’

‘No.’ Stiles said, cutting him off. ‘Just… just call her.’ Stiles seemed deflated now, and Scott hesitated, but he knew Stiles needed to be checked over by someone. So he dialled his mum, thankful that she wasn’t on shift at the moment.

‘Scott? What’s up – don’t tell me you’re still at the store?’ His mum answered, and in any other situation he would have laughed.

‘Mum, no I’m not. Actually, I’ll have to get back to that later. Listen, we need some help, ok? Can you meet us at Mr Stilinski’s house? And bring the first aid kit?’

‘Scott? What happened, are you ok? Is it Isaac? Liam? Lydia?’ His mum was all business now, running through the names of his pack, and he could hear her moving through the house.

‘No, no it’s not – we’re all fine. We have – we have a relative of the Sheriff’s here, and even though he’s like, well me, Lydia and I still think it would be good to have you look him over, just in case.’

‘Like you?’ She questioned.

‘A werewolf, mum.’

‘And he’s hurt?’ She asked, and he thought he could hear her rummaging around in a cupboard. ‘How bad? Anything that’s bleeding more than it should be, or any really deep wounds?’

‘Not that I can see – they mostly look like they’re from running through the preserve, or some other woods.’ She hummed thoughtfully.

‘Ok, so just the basics then. I clean him up, make sure things are all clear for when he heals.’

‘Thanks mum. We’re about to leave the preserve, so we’ll be at the Stilinski’s house soon. Oh – um, he needs some clean clothes mum. Any chance you can grab a few things of mine for him? Until we can organise to get him some of his own?’

‘Sure, let me just pop into your room – ’

‘No! I mean, um I know you were planning on doing some laundry today – any chance any of my stuff is ready? Like, you know, anything that’s completely freshly clean that only you have touched?’ He hoped she got the message – he didn’t want to say it out loud in front of Stiles, but he hoped that if she could grab some clothes that were just out of the machine that only she had handled then any lingering scent of his would be as minimal as possible.

‘Why would that – oh, yeah, ok. Yes, a load just finished in the dryer, I’ll grab some things.’ She said, and he sighed in relief.

‘Thanks mum.’ He said. ‘Love you.’

‘Love you too Scott.’ He hung up, and although the boy had his eyes shut again, he wasn’t as hunched over as he had been before Scott made the call, which he took as a positive sign. Scott pocketed his phone, and slowly stood, picking up the bag. As he watched, Lydia stood and then reached out to help Stiles stand, making sure the blanket stayed wrapped around his shoulders.

He led them out of the preserve, Lydia walking with Stiles to help keep him steady. He let Lydia put Stiles in her car, then slid into his own and followed them to the Sheriff’s house. When they arrived, Scott could see the Sheriff’s car in the driveway. Lydia pulled in behind it, and Scott pulled up on the street. He got out, and watched Lydia help Stiles out of the car and up to the front door, which opened just as they stepped up onto the porch.

Stiles stopped and stared at the Sheriff, then with a gentle nudge from Lydia he started to step forward before he hesitated again. This time, however, his hesitation seemed to be fuelled by Scott, who had just stepped up onto the porch behind them.

‘Um. How about I stay out here – I’ll wait for my mum, then just hang out, out here in case you need me for anything?’ He said, trying his best to sound casual. Stiles hesitated again, then slowly nodded and stepped forward, into the house. Scott knew he’d be able to hear anything that was said, and Stiles had to know that too. But he wouldn’t be there where Stiles could see him, and that seemed to be good enough for Stiles. And even if Scott couldn’t be in there, actively trying to help Stiles, well at least he was out here, making sure nothing and no one was getting near him any time soon.

***************************************************************************

When his mum and Lydia stepped out onto the porch a few hours later, Scott was so deep in thought that he nearly jumped when his mum laid a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and could tell that they had both been crying, or at least trying not to cry – he didn’t blame them, he’d been exactly the same. One thing he was clinging to was that Stiles had been adamant that the abuse had never been sexual, the alpha had never been interested in him like that. It didn’t make the rest of it ok, but at least that was one thing that Stiles hadn’t had to endure.

Still, the things that Stiles had been through – Scott was not a violent person by nature, and he always went out of his way to find a solution that didn’t involve killing but right now, all he wanted to do was find this old alpha of Stiles’ and kill him. Slowly and painfully.

He stood, and was about to say something when he caught himself, indicating towards the cars.

‘Will you come back to mine?’ He asked Lydia, who nodded before she got in her car. He gave his mum a quick hug, then gave the Sheriff’s house a last long look before he hopped into his own car and headed home.

Once there, he found not only Lydia, but Isaac, Malia, Liam, Kira, Mason and Corey.

‘Look, I’m not sure exactly what Isaac told you, but yes we found a beta in the preserve today, and yes he’s running from something, or someone specifically – his old alpha. But he’s not running because he didsomething, ok?’ Scott told them, and they all nodded. He could tell from the look on Isaac’s face that the other boy probably had a good idea of what Stiles was running from. Isaac caught his eye, and he nodded slightly, watching as Isaac’s shoulders slumped.

‘Scott’s right. Stiles – the beta – he’s been through a lot, and what he needs now is somewhere he can feel safe, and eventually people he can trust – and hopefully that will be us. But he definitely needs space, so we’re not going to try and crowd him, he’s going to meet us all, but slowly. For now, I’m planning on going back to see him after school each day this week, just spend some time with him, and Melissa is going to check on him when she can, especially if the Sheriff has to be at the station. None of us are werewolves, so he seems fairly ok with us. In a week or so, I’ll broach the topic of maybe bringing one of you along to meet – but only one. Too many new things or people at once will just overwhelm him.’ Lydia explained to the pack, and Scott didn’t think he’d ever been more grateful to have her in his pack.

‘What about Scott?’ Liam asked, glancing up at his alpha.

‘That’s… complicated.’ Scott settled on. ‘He’s met me, but not only am I another werewolf, I’m an alpha so I’m going to be keeping my distance for now. He needs time to settle in, to feel safe and if I remind him of his old alpha, my being around him isn’t going to help.’

‘But, you’re nothing like what his alpha must be like!’ Liam protested, and Scott gave his beta a small smile.

‘Thank you, Liam but it’s not about that. It’s just the simple presence of an alpha. Your instincts tell you that alpha means safety, right?’ He asked, mostly knowing this was true but always having a small bit of doubt in himself. Liam nodded. ‘Stiles’ instincts don’t. He needs time to process that, to…’

‘Heal, and then learn to live with it.’ Isaac cut in, and Scott looked at his friend, nodding. He knew Isaac would understand, although he wished, as he frequently did, that he didn’t.

‘So, Lydia will decide, with Stiles, who to introduce him to first, how quickly, things like that. But when you meet Stiles, one thing I need you to remember – do not ask him about what happened. If he wants to tell you, wants to talk about it, he will. If he doesn’t, then you don’t ask. Got it?’ Scott asked, waiting until his pack all nodded at him.

Although the younger members of the pack didn’t know everything Isaac had been through, they all knew he’d been living with Scott and his mum for over a year after his dad was killed and that Isaac had briefly been a suspect. And the rumours for why he’d been a suspect that still occasionally popped up at school. So they understood what Scott meant about not asking Stiles about what happened – Liam had asked Scott once, about Isaac. And all Scott had told him was no one should go through what Isaac had to go through, and that he was never to ask Isaac about it – if Isaac chose to tell him, or any of the others, that was his choice.

They did ask Scott if there was anything else they could do, and he shook his head before Lydia piped up.

‘Actually, Mason – tomorrow, before I go see Stiles, I need to go shopping. You’re about the same size as him, physically, so you’re going to come with me.’ She told the human boy, who just stared at her. ‘I may be an excellent judge of size when it comes to clothing, but it’s always better to have something to measure against. Bring Corey, if you must – actually, he’s about the same colouring as Stiles too so I can see what colours will work for him.’

The boys in the pack all just stared at her, and she shrugged.

‘He needs more clothes, and it will be good for him to have something that’s his instead of borrowed – not too many things, when he’s up for it I’ll take him out so he can actually pick some things for himself. But for now, this will work. And… this way, they won’t really smell of anyone else.’ Lydia tacked on, and Scott nodded in understanding. That was Lydia, always thinking of things no one else would.

***************************************************************************

The next few weeks passed both slowly and incredibly quickly. Days at school seemed to pass by in a blur (which was a little concerning with it being Scott’s final year of high school). But after school, knowing Lydia, and then slowly other members of his pack, were with Stiles – time seemed to slow to nearly a stop. Even when Scott had other things to occupy his time, like working or homework or visiting his mum he would count down the minutes until Isaac was home and he could hear how Stiles was progressing. Surprisingly, despite being a werewolf, Isaac had been the first member of the pack Lydia had taken to introduce to Stiles – though Scott thought it had something to do with their similar histories.

He didn’t know if she had told Stiles that or how she’d gotten him to agree to it but apparently it was helping – Lydia told him that the fifth day of going over with her, Isaac had asked if he could speak to Stiles alone and Stiles, after a brief moment of panic, had allowed it. They’d apparently spoke for over an hour, and when Lydia had been allowed back in there had been a difference to the way Stiles carried himself – not a major difference, he wasn’t suddenly a new person, but he seemed just a little bit more settled in himself, a little less likely to shrink in on himself when he said something he thought he shouldn’t.

Scott saw a difference in Isaac too – for the first time since Allison had died, sacrificing herself to stop the nogitsune possessing her – Isaac seemed to be getting back to his old self. He was starting to snark a little more, which had surprised Liam greatly the first time it was aimed at him. He had spoken about trying to convince Coach to let him onto the cross country team late so that he could maybe be on the lacrosse team again. And he was starting to smile more – not often, but they were real smiles. It seemed like having someone to help, and someone he understood in a way no one else did, was helping Isaac.

Next to meet Stiles had been Kira – chosen both because she was not a werewolf, and because she was a girl. Since most of Stiles’ previous pack had been males, Scott thought this was a wise move, to try to balance out the ratio for Stiles as he met the rest of the pack. They had hit it off once Stiles realised she was a Star Wars fan. Mason had been next, and Stiles had apparently been incredibly surprised to learn there was a human in their pack. Lydia said that Stiles had been a little overwhelmed at first, mostly by Mason’s propensity to talk and talk about things that excited him but seemed to get passed that very quickly.

Despite Mason being one of the newest members of the pack, Stiles was constantly asking him questions about different creatures they’d come across and what he knew about the supernatural (except for werewolves) and Mason was only too happy to have someone to listen to him. It seemed Stiles was very much like Scott had been as a new werewolf – completely unaware of anything supernatural, and now he was trying to make up for it.

Corey had been next, mostly by virtue of being Mason’s boyfriend and unable to spend that much time apart, but given his extremely quiet nature his introduction seemed to go pretty unremarked. Mostly he was content to just sit with them while they talked, and occasionally provide a few bits of information about chimeras, at least from his perspective.

Malia had been next, and that had been a tricky one to navigate as she’d understood the need to be careful around him but was still rather blunt and often unable to censor herself. Thankfully, Lydia’s introduction had included the titbit that Malia had lived as a coyote for nearly eight years and that had caught Stiles’ attention so their first meeting had involved a lot of questions about her life as a coyote (from both Stiles and Mason who had always wanted to ask but never thought he could).

Finally, it was Liam’s turn. Scott knew that Liam had been worried about this, worried that he was going to say the wrong thing or mess up somehow. So the day before Lydia was taking him over to the Sheriff’s house to meet Stiles, Scott invited him over to talk.

‘I know you’re worried about meeting him.’ Scott said, and Liam looked down at his hands.

‘I just – I don’t know how to act. What if I say the wrong thing or – ’

‘Just watch the others, let Stiles lead the conversation and pay attention to how the others speak to him, move around him.’

‘I just don’t want to make things worse, it sounds like he’s been through so much – ’

‘So have you, Liam. Maybe not in the same way, and I’m not diminishing what Stiles has been through, not at all. But never forget that you, that we all, have been through a lot. We all carry scars.’

‘We don’t scar anymore, we heal. Like, really quickly.’ Liam said, confused, and Scott smiled.

‘I don’t mean the scars you can see. The invisible scars. The ones no one can see, the ones we often forget about ourselves. I know they say ‘well someone out there has it worse than you’ and yeah, they’re probably right. But that doesn’t mean what you went through didn’t suckand didn’t leave its mark on you. It doesn’t mean it didn’t change you. And I don’t think Stiles is the kind of person who would look at you and think ‘well you didn’t have it as bad as me so you can’t be upset’.’

Liam nodded slowly, understanding but unsure why Scott was telling him this now.

‘So, I think what you need to remember when you meet Stiles is, think about how you felt after the beserkers, or the dead pool – did you want to talk about those things with anyone? Or with everyone? No, none of us did, not really – so we waited until we were ready. And when one of us was ready, the others listened.’ Scott explained, and Liam nodded again, understanding better. He still didn’t like to talk about that time, although he knew that Scott or any of the others would listen if he did. And now he knew what Scott meant.

All he needed to do was be willing to listen to Stiles. So that’s what he did.

***************************************************************************

Nearly three months after finding Stiles, Lydia came to Scott at lunch one day, when the rest of the pack were suspiciously absent, and told him Stiles was ready to meet him again. Scott nearly choked on his drink – Lydia would wait to tell him until he’d taken a sip.

‘What? Really? I mean… ok, wow. Are you sure? Is hesure? When?’ Scott asked, firing the questions off rapidly until Lydia held up her hand.

‘Yes. This afternoon. You rode the bike, yes?’ She asked, and he nodded.

‘Ok, well give the keys to Isaac, you’re coming with me and the rest of the pack will come over a bit later. Isaac can bring the bike since he got a lift with Kira today.’ She explained, and he wanted to ask more questions, but he bit his tongue – literally. He bit his tongue to stop himself. He just nodded.

‘Ok. Do I need to, I don’t know – ’ Lydia smiled at him.

‘Just be yourself, Scott. I know you’ve been helping the others, especially Liam before he met Stiles. So you know what to do, and honestly, he’s come a long way since we first found him. You’ll be surprised.

And he was.

He followed Lydia into the Sheriff’s house after school that day, and Stiles was sitting in the living room waiting for them. Lydia waltzed right in, dropping down onto the sofa beside Stiles, who smiled at her. Scott paused in the doorway – he’d never seen Stiles smile before, it was… breathtaking. Scott was overcome by the intense need to always keep Stiles smiling that.

When he moved again, stepping into the room, Stiles’ head turned in his direction, and the smiled dimmed, though Scott was grateful it didn’t disappear altogether. He watched as Lydia took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Scott looked around, then sat down in a seat diagonally opposite the sofa, where Stiles and Lydia could easily see him.

‘Hi Stiles.’ Scott said softly, and after a moment Stiles nodded.

‘Hello Alph – Scott. Hello Scott.’ Stiles corrected himself, repeating his greeting with a small nod for himself. Scott smiled.

‘So, Stiles… how’s it been, living with the Sheriff?’ He asked, hoping it was a neutral enough topic to start them off, and he was relieved when Stiles kept smiling.

‘It’s been good. I met him a few times when I was really young, but I hadn’t seen him in a long time before I – before I got here. But he’s been good to me, letting me stay here.’

‘That’s good, I mean that it’s been good. He’s a good man.’ Scott said, internally rolling his eyes at himself.

The next few visits with Stiles went about the same, some basic small talk, maybe a few little anecdotes from Stiles about living with the Sheriff. They always started with just Scott, Stiles and Lydia, with the rest of the pack joining them after a little while. Then, finally, after about five visits, Stiles seemed to be comfortable enough with Scott to start opening up more.

‘He’s been taking me into the station sometimes – get me out of the house, he says. But – um, I’m not sure if I’m supposed to really tell anyone this.’ He paused, and looked at Lydia, who rolled her eyes fondly.

‘Oh, he won’t mind, and Scott’s not going to tell anyone, I promise.’

‘He’s been letting me look at some of the cases with him, none of the really serious ones or anything, like vandalism, theft, things like that. Asking me what I think, things like that.’

‘That sounds interesting.’ Scott commented, glad when it got a slightly bigger smile out of Stiles.

‘It is. Looking at the evidence, trying to find patterns, figure it out. I like it.’

‘I’m glad.’

‘And, the Sheriff and I have been talking, well and Lydia too, and…’ Stiles trailed off, looking at Lydia.

‘We think it’s nearly time to get Stiles enrolled in Beacon Hills High. We’ve been doing some studying, catching him up on a few things he missed, but he’s not really as far behind as he thinks he is – certainly not as far behind as Malia was, and look where she is now.’ Lydia said, giving Stiles a smile.

Scott smiled too, happier than he would have thought at seeing the progress Stiles had made. He was definitely a world away from the boy Scott had first met in the preserve months ago.

‘Well, it will be great to have you at school Stiles. And really, if Lydia says you’re ready and up to date, then you’re ready and up to date. Trust me, most of us, not just Malia, rely on her to help us pass.’ Scott was shocked when Stiles actually laughed at that, then he started laughing too. Before either of them, or Lydia, could say anything else, the front door opened and the rest of the pack spilled in, coming to a stop in the doorway of the living room taking in the sight of Scott and Stiles laughing, Lydia smiling at them while she rolled her eyes.

‘What’s so funny?’ Malia asked, settling in to the seat next to Scott’s when Kira score the last spot on the couch.

‘Scott was just telling Stiles how you all would be failing high school without me.’ Lydia said, putting on a lofty voice as she spoke. Malia just shrugged.

‘Yeah, and?’ She asked, not quite getting the joke, which just sent the rest of them off.

Scott looked around as he laughed, and he caught Stiles’ eye. Stiles gave him a quick grin, and Scott was incredibly happy at the small moment, and the fact that Stiles didn’t just turn away from him immediately. He let himself settle into the chair, relaxing into the conversation with his pack, but mostly content to just sit and listen to them all talk and laugh.

That meeting set the tone going forward, like a small, but important dam, had been broken. Scott still never went to see Stiles on his own, but sometimes it was just him and Isaac and Stiles, or him and Mason and Corey and Stiles. He could tell that Stiles would still get nervous if there were only three of them and the third person went to go get something, or was ready to leave – whenever they just wanted an extra drink or snacks, Scott always jumped up and offered to go get them, or decided he was also ready to leave.

But Stiles was starting to initiate conversations with him now, a month after their first meeting. The first time, Scott was nearly stunned into silence when Stiles turned to him and asked what his favourite class was at school.

Of course, Stiles then went on to ask everyone else the same question (understandably, since he was due to start in a week at BHHS), but he’d asked Scott first.

Then, the next time Scott was over, he asked Scott about his work at the clinic, listening as Scott told him his favourite parts of working for Deaton (the dogs, always the dogs).

Then Stiles didn’t talk to him at all for two visits, steadfastly ignoring him, pretending he didn’t hear questions posed by Scott or giving a simple nod or shake of the head, and Scott wasn’t sure why.

Then it was like that had never happened, and Stiles was back to talking to him, asking him questions, occasionally smiling at him. When he asked Lydia what she thought it meant, if Stiles hated him or something, she just looked at him sadly.

‘He likes you Scott, he does – but sometimes I think he doesn’t want to. It… it scares him, that he likes you, that he’s starting to trust you.’

‘Because I’m an alpha?’ Scott asked, coming to the realisation. Lydia nodded.

‘I think he knows, intellectually, that you’re nothing like the other one, that you’re a good person, a good alpha and friend and leader. But intellect means little when you’ve been through what Stiles has. Sometimes that fear rears its head and he can’t do anything to stop it. But the fact that he didn’t ask you to stay away, or ask one of us to ask you, I think that means a lot.’

Scott nodded, and she gave him a smile, laid her hand on his arm.

‘I know you want to help him, Scott. And I know you’re really starting to care about him. So just remember that, if it happens again. At least he still wants you there.’

Scott smiled back, and the next time it happened two weeks later, and the time after that, he remembered those words.

***************************************************************************

Nearly six months had passed since the day Stiles arrived in Beacon Hills when Scott got the call. He and the pack were gathered at Lydia’s house, the seniors pouring over Lydia’s chemistry notes while she helped the sophomores with their maths. Scott was about to ask Stiles a question (he was now second only to Lydia when it came to chemistry and maths) when his phone started ringing.

He pulled it out of his pocket, eyebrows raising when he saw Derek’s name on the screen.

‘Derek? What’s up?’ He asked, pulling the attention of most of his pack, bar Stiles and the puppies as Stiles had nicknamed the younger trio.

‘Hey Scott. Look, it might not be anything, but I wanted to give you a heads up.’ Derek said, and Scott was becoming confused. He gave Lydia a look to keep working with Liam and the others, then moved from the room.

‘A heads up? On what?’ He asked quietly.

‘Braeden and I have been travelling around, looking for other packs, just to see what’s going on, trying to make some connections, you know allies that sort of thing. And we just met a pack in Wyoming, they told us their Alpha just left like a day ago to look for one of their betas who went missing.’ Derek told him.

‘Yeah, ok, so?’ He asked, not getting what Derek was trying to tell him.

‘Well, they were all pretty hesitant to talk to us, but when I mentioned my mum, one of them had heard of her when she was younger and when we were getting ready to leave, she slipped us a note, to meet her at a diner in the next town over. When we met with her, she told us that the beta isn’t missing, he ran away. Their alpha turned him nearly two years ago, wooed him and convinced him to accept the bite right after his parents died when he was vulnerable, and has been abusing him ever since. Six months ago, the beta took off, and the alpha has been looking for him ever since. Five days ago, he remembered that the boy used his mother’s maiden name until she remarried – when they met, he was using his stepfather’s surname. He finally remembered the boy telling him his name, well nickname, came from the mother’s original surname.’

‘Why are you telling me all this, Derek?’ Scott asked, getting impatient.

‘Well once the alpha had the surname, he remembered the mother had had a cousin, who lived in – ’

‘Beacon Hills.’ Scott finished for him, his stomach dropping. ‘Derek, was the beta’s nickname?’

‘Uh… Stills? Something like that. Apparently the cousin was Stilinski.’

‘Stiles.’ Scott breathed out.

‘Yeah, that was it – wait, how did you know that?’ Derek asked. ‘Have you met him? Scott, his alpha is tracking him to Beacon Hills as we speak. This beta told us he’ll do whatever it takes to get this Stiles back.’

‘Yeah, I figured that, thanks. And yes, we know Stiles. Thanks for the heads up, Derek, we’ll take care of it.’

‘Scott, seriously – he’s apparently a very one-track mind sort of alpha and he thinks Stiles belongs to him. Think Peter but more possessive over people, not wealth. Just as crazy by the sound of it, though.’

‘Yeah, I already knew that. Don’t worry, we’ll deal with it. I’ll deal with it.’ Scott said, a tone of finality in his voice.

‘Ok. Just, I mean if you want, Braeden and I can be there in two days.’

‘No, it sounds like this guys’ got a head start on you anyway, by the time you get here, hopefully it will have been sorted. I gotta go warn the others, but thanks for the call.’

‘Any time. Good luck, Scott.’

Scott hung up the phone, and pocketed it, turning to find Stiles standing behind him, looking like he’d seen a ghost. Scott raced forward, but stopped just short of touching him.

‘He’s coming here?’ Stiles questioned, his voice sounding blank – almost like he did the day they first found him.

‘Yes, but don’t worry, Stiles, I won’t – we won’t let him hurt you.’

‘You can’t stop him, you can’t, he won’t – I have to leave. He found me.’ Stiles was starting to panic, his body shaking.

‘Hey, Stiles, it’s ok, calm down, come on – you don’t have to leave, I promise you we’ll keep you safe.’ Isaac and Lydia appeared behind Stiles, their eyes wide as they took in the scene.

‘What – ’

‘He’s coming. I have to leave, I can’t go back.’ Stiles said, and Scott reached out, pulling the beta in to his chest, wrapping his arms around him.

‘Shh, Stiles it’s ok. You never have to go back, you never have to do anything you don’t want again.’ He rubbed one hand up and down Stiles back, continuing to whisper into his ear. Isaac and Lydia stepped closer, each reaching out to put a hand on Stiles shoulder in comfort.

‘Scott is right, Stiles. You never have to go back there, and we won’t let him hurt you. You have all of us now, you have a new pack and we take care of our pack.’ Isaac said softly.

‘My pack… my pack didn’t…’ Stiles tried to speak through his tears and the shaking that still wracked his body.

‘We know they didn’t look out for you like they should have Stiles. None of them did, and they should. But we will.’ Lydia said.

They stood there like that, taking it in turns to whisper to him, maintaining contact until he started to calm, his body eventually stilling as he remained in Scott’s arms.

‘Do you trust us, Stiles?’ Lydia asked, and Scott inhaled sharply – it was the first time anyone had asked him that. He pulled himself away from Scott, not completely out of his hold, but enough to turn to look first at Isaac, then Lydia. He looked back up at Scott, then back at Lydia and nodded slowly. ‘Then please trust us when we say we will protect you, and we will stop that sorry excuse for an alpha.’

The derision in her voice as she said the word alpha was more than clear, and Scott was glad she’d never aimed that derision his way.

Stiles looked between them all slowly, holding eye contact with each one before he slowly nodded. Then he pulled away from Scott, and turned to Lydia.

‘I think I’m ready to go now. I’m going to call Uncle Noah and ask him to come get me.’ He told her.

‘Are you sure? You can stay here tonight if you’d like.’ Lydia offered, but Stiles just shook his head.

‘No, I think I want to go home.’ He said softly, and Lydia nodded.

‘Ok.’ Stiles wandered back to the other room to get his phone, calling his uncle to come and collect him. Scott quickly filled Isaac and Lydia in on what had happened.

‘Fill the others in for me, ok? Then tell them to head home, get some sleep. If he left a day ago, he’ll be here by tomorrow at the latest. And we need to be prepared for a fight.’

‘Where are you going?’ Isaac asked, and Scott looked at him.

‘To watch over Stiles.’

‘You think the alpha is already here?’ Lydia asked, and Scott shook his head.

‘No, I mean maybe but that’s not why. His first instinct was to run, which I can understand. But…’

‘But you still think he might try to?’ Lydia finished for him, and he nodded.

‘It’s like you said Lydia – he trusts us, but the fear is still there. And I’m just worried the fear will win out before we can deal with the alpha.’ Scott said, and Lydia looked over her shoulder to the room where Stiles was talking to his uncle, then back at Scott.

‘I get it. Look after him, and if he does try to leave, tell him I’m gonna kick his ass for trying to leave without saying goodbye.’ She said, trying to joke to cover up how hurt she would be if he did try to leave without saying anything.

‘I will. Uh, if anyone asks, my mum called, yeah?’ Lydia raised an eyebrow, but nodded. He gave her a smile, then left, to head off Stiles and Sheriff.

***************************************************************************

Scott watched from his spot across the street as the Sheriff and Stiles pulled up. He wasn’t sure if Stiles would have told the Sheriff what had happened, but just in case Scott had sent the older man a text telling him to keep an eye on Stiles tonight.

He sat and listened – not listening in per se, just keeping an ear out – as the Sheriff and Stiles moved around the house, talked a little about their days, then bid each other goodnight. Scott waited nearly three hours in the dark, and cold, but then, just as he suspected, an hour after the Sheriff had finally drifted off to sleep, Scott heard movement in the house.

He focused in on the sound, and followed it as Stiles moved down the stairs quietly, then he opened the front door and slipped out. Scott moved from his spot, meeting Stiles in the middle of the street.

‘Stiles.’ He said softly, but the beta still jumped, whirling around to face him.

‘Scott. What are you doing here?’ He asked, eyes darting around, though Scott wasn’t sure if he expected the rest of Scott’s pack to show up, or his former alpha.

‘Trying to stop you from doing… exactly what you’re doing.’ Scott replied, and Stiles’ shoulders slumped.

‘I have to, Scott. Who knows when he’ll get here, I need to – ’

‘You don’t need to, Stiles. We meant what we said, Stiles. We’re going to protect you – you’re part of our pack now, and we protect each other. We’ll protect you, we want to protect you.’

‘Why, Scott? Why would any of you want to put yourselves in danger to protect me?’ Stiles demanded, and Scott’s heart broke at the question.

‘Because we think you’re worth it.’ He answered, and Stiles stared at him.

‘I’m not.’ He whispered.

‘You really should listen to him, Scott. He’s not worth it.’ Stiles froze, his face draining of colour and Scott turned towards the voice. The man walking towards them was tall and lanky, thin really. But there was something in his face, a look in his eyes that Scott had seen before – in Peter, in Ennis, in Kali. It was a look of disdain, hatred, superiority.

‘Jason.’ Stiles whispered, and Scott looked back to him, where he was still frozen.

‘Hello Stiles. I’ve been looking for you, for a long time. You just left, not a word. And look at this, I find you and you’re doing the same thing again, to your… new alpha?’ The other alpha asked with a sneer. Stiles shook his head, but couldn’t seem to speak.

‘Leave him alone. You’re not welcome here, and Stiles is not going anywhere with you. I suggest you leave before I make you leave.’ Scott told him, moving himself so he stood between Stiles and this Jason.

‘Oh, I’m afraid I can’t do that, Scott. Stiles is part of my pack, no matter what you and he seem to have been doing since he took off. He belongs to me, and I will be taking him with me.’

‘He’s not a piece of property, you don’t ownhim – you don’t own anyone.’ Scott shot back, watching the way the other alpha moved. He was moving carefully, stalking towards them until suddenly he lunged at Scott.

Scott ducked to the side, swiping out with his claws, catching the other alpha in the side. Jason recovered quickly, spinning back around, arm out to try and swipe Scott. Scott caught his arm, yanking him close, twisting his arm up and around to his back. He dug the claws from his other hand into Jason’s back, forcing him to stand still.

‘Scott, wait!’ Stiles’ voice took him by surprise, and, bringing Jason with him, he turned to face Stiles. ‘I don’t want you to kill him. You don’t kill people, and I don’t want you to start because of me.’

Scott stared at Stiles, and the other just stared at him. Scott nodded, and slowly pulled his claws out, then released Jason’s arm, shoving him to the side.

Before Scott could say anything, Jason surged forward towards Stiles.

‘Stiles!’ Scott moved, but Stiles kicked out at Jason, then threw up a hand at Scott to stop him.

‘No, Scott. Please, let me do this.’ Stiles asked, and Scott paused, watching him. He looked between Stiles and Jason, who was watching them with interest, then he nodded. He took a small step back, and let Stiles focus.

‘So brave, Stiles. But foolish.’ Jason lunged again, claws out, but Stiles moved, turning away from the incoming attack and then spinning back in to appear at Jason’s back, scraping his claws across Jason’s back, then punctuating that with a kick to Jason’s knee. Jason went down from the force and rolled with it, coming out of the roll on his knees, fangs bared and eyes flashing red.

He leapt up, and while Stiles threw out his arms to deflect him, Jason managed to land a swipe on Stiles’ shoulder, then as Stiles corrected his stance, Jason kicked out, catching Stiles in the stomach. Stiles stumbled back, then caught himself. He stood, then raced forward, taking the lead in the fight for the first time. He feinted to the right, then ducked to the left to land a punch to Jason’s ribs, and another on Jason’s jaw. Then he kicked in the knee again, and when Jason went down, Stiles caught him by his shirt and brought a knee up to Jason’s groin. Scott winced in automatic male sympathy at the move, then grinned with pride.

Stiles landed one final kick to Jason’s torso, sending him sprawling across the road. Stiles moved to stand over the other alpha, and after putting his foot on his chest, he leaned over. He was quiet, but Scott could still hear what he was saying.

‘I am not worthless, Jason. I have never been worthless, and I have never deserved any of the things you did to me. I deserve to be happy, to have people who love me, and I will do more with my life than be a punching bag for you. I have a new pack here, and our pack looks after each other. Don’t come back.’

Stiles stepped away, then turned his back on his former alpha and walked towards Scott. Scott was about to speak, but then two things happened at once. He heard a car racing up the road from his left, and he glanced in that direction before movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked back to see Jason had stood and was racing at Stiles, claws out.

Scott opened his mouth to yell, reached out to grab for Stiles when a gunshot sounded and Jason fell.

Stiles spun around in shock, looking at Jason on the ground, then looking around. Scott looked too, and then saw the car he’d heard. It had come to a stop nearly twenty feet away. The front door was open, and when it closed Scott saw someone step out from behind it that he hadn’t seen in months.

‘Chris?’ He asked, looking at Allison’s father. The older man looked over at Scott and smiled, nodding in greeting.

‘Scott.’

‘Scott? What’s going on?’ Stiles asked, looking between them and the body in the road.

‘Stiles, this is Chris Argent, he’s an old friend. Chris, what are you doing here?’

‘Derek called, told me about this violent alpha that was heading to town, asked if I was close. I was only a couple of hours away chasing a lead on Kate, so I took a detour, and looks like I made the right choice. This is the alpha, right?’

Scott nodded, but before he could say anything else, the door to the Stilinski house opened and the Sheriff came running out, service weapon in hand. Then he spotted Scott, Stiles and Chris, and the body on the ground, lowered his weapon and sighed.

Scott looked over at Chris, and then back at the Sheriff.

‘We can explain.’

***************************************************************************

They were able to explain, and Chris had an easy, believable cover story for the Sheriff to use (all they needed was one of his spare knives and an old gun which they put in Jason’s hands and voila, a good reason for Chris to have shot). But when Scott noticed Stiles starting to shake as the adrenaline wore off, he called Lydia and asked her to come and stay with Stiles. The other boy had been unable to meet his eye since the Sheriff had come out, and Scott wondered if he’d pushed too hard.

Lydia had arrived, and after Scott and Stiles had given their ‘statements’ to Deputy Parrish, Lydia took Stiles inside and Scott headed home.

The next day, just after his mum left for her shift at the hospital, a knock sounded on the front door and Scott ran down the stairs to answer. He wasn’t sure who it would be since the only people who tended to come over were the pack, and none of them knocked any more.

He opened the door and was surprised to find Stiles standing on the other side. Looking behind him, he saw Lydia wave from her car before pulling away from the kerb.

‘Uh, hey Stiles. How – how are you going?’ He asked, stepping to the side to let the other boy inside.

Stiles stepped inside and looked around – it was the first time he’d been to the McCall house.

‘Hi Scott.’ He said, turning back to him. ‘Um, is Isaac home?’

Scott tried to hide his disappointment – of course Stiles was looking for Isaac, not him. He shook his head.

‘No, he’s not. He’s got a meeting for a group project, he’ll be home later though.’

‘Oh, no I meant – I’m here to talk to you. But I’d rather do it just the two of us, so I was just checking.’ Stiles stopped, closed his eyes. ‘Sorry, I’m not making sense. I want to talk to you, and I just wanted to make sure we were alone first.’

Scott nodded, unsure where Stiles was heading with this – but also felt a small flutter of hope that Stiles wasn’t just willingto be alone with him, but wanted to be alone with him.

‘Of course. Well, yeah, it’s just us. Mum’s at work. Um, do you wanna go sit in the living room?’ He asked, and Stiles nodded so Scott led him over to the couch.

‘So. Ok, so when I first got here, you know I didn’t really want to be around you, right? Because of what… of what Jason had done. Then eventually we got to know each other, and I sort of got the impression that you liked me – I mean, more than just a friend or part of the pack. But the thing is, when we met I was completely helpless, like this sad little puppy you get at the clinic that you want to cuddle and fix and that’s not what I am, Scott.’ Stiles looked up at him, and Scott sighed.

‘You’re right. About all of it, in a way. When I first met you, I wanted to help you - you looked so alone, and afraid. I wanted to make you feel safe. But then you finally started to settle in, you started to smile and laugh and I got to know you, the real you not just that scared beta in the preserve. And then last night you stood up for yourself. You showed him that you’re not that scared beta anymore, that you’re strong and independent and more than capable of looking after yourself. That’s who I fell in love with. So yes, I still want to make you feel safe, and loved but I also know you can look after yourself. This isn’t about saving you, Stiles. It’s about loving you.’

‘I didn’t want to love you. In fact, I fought it for a long time. It made me feel weak, falling for another alpha. I knew you weren’t like him, but it still made me feel like I wasn’t enough, that falling in love with another alpha just proved what he’d said about me being useless.

‘I know you made yourself scarce at first. Well, mostly – I knew you were out there sometimes, watching the house. But you let Lydia introduce me to the betas one by one, and I knew that when they were spending time with me and Lydia it meant you were on your own, without your pack. But you still stayed away, didn’t push to come inside or join in because it’s what you thought I needed, wanted. And then when you did come around, you were so careful, no sudden movements, always staying where I could see you. Letting me lead conversations, make decisions. And part of me worried it was an act, even though I knew it wasn’t.

‘Then last night, when I asked you - told you - to stop fighting for me, you did. I could tell you didn’t want to, but you did. You stepped back and let me do what I needed to do, for myself. To prove to myself that I could. When that shot rang out, and Jason dropped dead, I thought for a second that you hadn’t really believed I could do, that you’d just pretended to let me deal with him until your friend arrived.’

‘I didn’t!’ Scott interjected, and Stiles nodded.

‘I know that now. I spoke to Lydia last night, and then Christ came by this morning to see Noah. And that was when I finally knew, or I guess let myself believe, fully, that all those things I’d seen in you, they were real. That’s who you are. You’re never going to push me for something I don’t want, or I’m not ready for. You’re never going to make me feel like I’m less, or weak or useless. And now I know that I’m not – last night I proved that to myself.’ Stiles told him, giving him a small smile. There was a lull then, a silence but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Scott thought about what Stiles was saying, and it made him think back to his conversation with Liam, before Liam had met Stiles for the first time.

‘You know, I told Liam once that not all scars are visible – in fact, we don’t get visible scars anymore, as werewolves. Because we heal, some people start to think that nothing can hurt us, not really. But it’s those scars that aren’tvisible that are the worst. Because they’re so easy to overlook, to ignore even as they become so ingrained in who we are. But you chose not to do that. You chose to fight back against what was causing them, first when you left then when you stood up and fought for yourself last night. You might always carry those scars, but they don’t define you Stiles. And it sounds like you’re starting to see that.’

Stiles cocked his head as he considered this, then nodded.

‘You’re right. It’s a part of me, it always will be. But it’s not who I am. It’s not who I want to be, who I choose to be.’

‘So, who do you choose to be?’ Scott asked softly, and Stiles looked down at his hands where they lay intwined in his lap, then back up at Scott.

‘I choose to be… me. Happy. Pack.’ He paused, a small smiled gracing his lips. ‘Yours?’

Scott stared at him, not sure if he’d heard him correctly. Then Stiles’ smile fell and he started to back away.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry that was totally inappropriate – ’

‘You can be mine only if I can be yours.’ Scott said in a rush, and Stiles froze, looked at him.

‘Do you mean it?’ He asked in a whisper, and Scott nodded.

‘I mean it. I don’t know if I’ve ever meant anything more. But… if we’re going to do this can you promise me one thing?’ Stiles looked wary now, like he didn’t want to blindly promise anything. ‘If I ever do anythingto make you uncomfortable, or scared or unhappy – will you tell me? Or, if you don’t think you can tell me, tell someone, like Lydia or Isaac or – ’

Stiles laughed then, and Scott stopped, looking at him.

‘The fact that you want me to promise that is why I don’t think you ever will do anything like that.’ Stiles told him. Scott smiled at him, but then spoke again.

‘Still. Will you promise me? Please?’ He asked again, and Stiles looked at him, considering, then he nodded slowly.

‘Ok. I promise.’ Scott nodded back, and while he hoped it was never necessary he still hoped that Stiles would live up to this promise if it was. He was comforted by the knowledge, however, that if any members of his pack ever found out he’d done something they wouldn’t hesitate to say something to him.

‘Thank you.’ He said, and Stiles smiled at him.

‘Can you promise me something in return?’ Stiles asked him, and Scott sat up straight, nodding vigorously. ‘Promise me… that you’re going to kiss me in the next twenty seconds?’

Scott’s mouth dropped open at the request, his brain short circuiting. Then Stiles started laughing at him, and Scott knew, as he had the first time he heard that sound, that he would do anything he could to keep hearing that sound. Stiles held up a hand, counting down from five with his fingers and just as he got to one, Scott moved forward, bringing an arm around Stiles’ waist and pulling him in close.

‘I love you, Stiles.’ Scott whispered, and Stiles’ eyes closed briefly. When they opened, he stared directly at Scott.

‘I love you too, Scott.’ Then Stiles closed the distance, pressing his lips to Scott’s in a gentle kiss.

Scott let himself sink into it, revelling in the feeling.

He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. They both carried scars with them and always would. He was sure he would mess up, and all he could hope is that he would never screw up so badly that Stiles left, that he hurt Stiles beyond repair. And he knew he would need to be patient, that Stiles would have good days and bad days as he continued to heal, that he might pull away sometimes. But he wasn’t going to doing it alone – he had Scott now, and the Sheriff, and the pack, and Scott would give him space but, like last night, he wouldn’t let Stiles run.

[wingsofkpop]

Hiraeth - I.IV: Danced of the Damned

pairing(s):  Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre:  Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, heavy Angst, slight Fluff, eventual Smut

warning(s): Mature language, mentions of death, hints of traumatic experiences, blood, etc. 

word count: 5k

synopsis:  How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

You don’t know exactly what you were expecting to find in the archives of the Town Hall. Maybe a couple old files holding the ancestral information of Moon Dye or a couple ancient photographs where the faces are too blurred and rotted to recognize. Even the finding of a mere rusted pocket watch would have crossed your mind—not a thick registry stuffed full of unthinkable truths. 

In your defense, you just happened to stumble upon the records in the dank, dusty basement where the town’s archives stay. It was hidden in a secret compartment behind chalky boxes of cold cases that were forgotten a long, long time ago—how else were you to satiate your curiosity? Inside the mess of cobwebs and dust, there sat the information that would both make and break your sanity. 

And maybe if Jaebeom hadn’t approached you in that alleyway and confirmed your suspicions… your mind would have been able to come up with some sort of rationalization. 

“Look, I wanted to tell you so many times…” You can’t bring yourself to meet Mark’s gaze, finding more interest in swirling the contents of your untouched tea. Through the corner of your eye, however, you can see your companion feverishly shaking his head, “But knowing about me would put you in danger, (Y/N)... I couldn’t do that to you.” 

“That wasn’t your choice to make, Mark.” 

“I know that, but—fucking hell.” Mark buries his face in his palms, still rocking back and forth, “It shouldn’t be like this… God, I never wanted this—” 

“And you think I did?” You hiss, uncaring about the pure venom in your tone. “How the fuck am I supposed to process all of this? That vampires and werewolves and witches and probably goddamn pixies exist? That my best friend has magical powers and talks to the dead?” 

“I don’t—” Mark timidly shrugs, “talk to the dead…” 

“Well, at least there’s that much.” A heavy sigh passes from your lips, expelling barely any tension from your aching chest. You toy with the handle of your teacup before finally gathering the willpower to meet Mark’s eyes. His irises are wild and filled with all kinds of emotion, you immediately notice. Probably a mere reflection of your own. 

As much as you want to stay angry at your best friend—you physically can’t. No matter how many times your head and your heart go back and forth. Mark lied to you. Mark has been lying to you all this time. But something inside of you won’t let your eyes see past the genuine remorse and hurt written along his face. 

He’s still your best friend. 

Mark sighs, “What do you want me to do, (Y/N)?...” 

“I want you to tell me the truth—the whole truth.”

“I can’t do that,—” 

“I at least deserve that much, don’t you think?” Mark withers beneath your murmur, dragging a hand down his face with a frustrated breath. After another moment of silence that seems to stretch on for hours, Mark grabs a nearby bottle of bourbon, pours himself a glass and finally nods. 

“If I tell you everything, there’s no going back… Are you sure you’re okay with that?” 

“Not really, but I don’t have that choice anymore.” You hum. “I need to know.” 

Mark nods again. “Where do you want me to start?” 

“At the very beginning.” 

The way Mark throws back the alcohol sparks uneasiness in your gut, but not as much as the gloomy darkness that overtakes his gruff tone. 

“The main story begins with the first ever vampires that came into existence, known as the Prime Two…” Mark moves to pour himself another drink, but changes his mind and ends up drinking straight from the bottle. You wonder whether you should ask for a sip as well. 

“But you know them already… as Im Jaebeom and Park Jinyoung.” 

  ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 

Youngjae releases a content breath as he steps into the warmth of the bookstore, effectively escaping the post-rain chill of the outside. He shakes the remaining coolness from his hands before heading toward the front counter, where Bambam is stationed flipping through a high-end fashion magazine. Youngjae fights the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Bam?” 

Bambam looks up at Youngjae’s voice. “Hey, man. What’s going on?” 

“I need your help.” Youngjae surveys the area of the store, checking down aisles and around corners for any signs of life. The racing of his heart somewhat slows at the lack of other customers, allowing him to turn back to the cashier and continue, “The coven is in danger. Nayeon-noona is dead.” 

“I heard about that. I’m so sorry, hyung.” Bambam nods his head, “What can I do?”

“Are you able to see an account of everyone who steps foot in this town? Visitors included?” 

“Yeah, I know some guys who can get whatever information you need. You feel like taking a trip up to the police station?” 

Youngjae hums in response, waiting patiently for Bambam to lock up the register. He watches the younger throw on his coat before meeting him behind the counter. With Bambam in tow, Youngjae leaves the comfort of the shop. After Bambam locks the door, the two continue through the cold in the direction of the police station. Youngjae again checks his surroundings, feeling more than just the chill of the air. 

“Did you… find what killed her?” 

“What?” 

Bambam repeats again a little louder. “Nayeon. Do you know what killed her?” 

“A hunter and another witch.” Youngjae explains, “We have records of them murdering countless covens before coming to Moon Dye.” 

“I may not know everything about this supernatural stuff, but don’t hunters hunt vampires...?”

“We’re not sure why either of them are specifically targeting witches.” Youngjae shudders, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders. “I just hope we can find them before…” 

“Hey.” Bambam halts Youngjae’s pace with a hand on his arm. “We’re gonna find these douchebags and make sure they don’t hurt anyone else.” 

Youngjae weakly smiles. “Thanks, Bam.” 

“C’mon. I’m freezing my ass off.” Youngjae follows Bambam’s wishes and continues down the street, feeling less and less paranoid knowing the younger is by his side. Instead, Youngjae’s mind thinks back to your sudden entrance only mere minutes ago.

Youngjae wanted to stay at the mausoleum and help Mark deescalate the situation, but the older insisted that he continue the search. He can’t help but remember the betrayal across your features—the way you looked at him and Mark as if they were aliens. 

“Why did you give (Y/N) Mayor Bhuwakul’s old diary?” The question escapes Youngjae’s lips before he can stop himself. His inquiry visibly takes Bambam off guard, manifesting in the form of confusion along his features, before shifting to realization. 

“Because she deserves to know.” 

“But what about Mark-hyung? You know what this will do to him, right? To him and (Y/N)?” 

Bambam shakes his head. “I know Mark cares about (Y/N), and (Y/N) cares about Mark.” He peers at Youngjae through the corner of his eye and shrugs, “That’s not gonna change just because she knows the truth, hyung. I doubt that will ever change.” 

Youngjae doesn’t respond, keeping his eyes trained on the moving pavements at his feet. He knows Bambam is right, and knows both Mark and (Y/N), but something in his gut doesn’t feel right—like a sense that something is coming. 

Something bad… Something really, really bad. 

  ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 

“So you’re telling me that not only are there vampires almost a thousand years old running around without a care in the world, but you’re also the leader of the town witch coven who protects Moon Dye from supernatural threats?” Mark nods at your recount, holding back a smile at the cute furrow in your eyebrows. “You realize how absolutely unreal that sounds? Right?” 

“You said you wanted the truth.” 

“I’m only slightly regretting that decision now.” You sigh, smoothing a hand over your scalp. Mark notices a stray hair fall across your forehead at your movement. He’s not sure whether it’s the light buzz radiating throughout his veins or the way your eyes seem to glitter in the sunlight, but his mind has to warn his hands to remain glued to the table. Still, Mark can’t help but feel disappointed as you brush the strand away. 

You shrug your shoulders, “How… How do you do it?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Like…” Mark carefully watches your expression, noticing the slight tremor in your tone as you trail on. “How do you… do magic…?” 

“Well, there’s a bunch of ways.” He explains, “Spells. Potions. Channeling objects. Control of the elements. Some witches can even see events from the past, present or future.” 

“So you don’t wave around wands and ride on broomsticks?” 

The first genuine laugh leaves Mark’s lips for the first time tonight. “No. Though Youngjae did try to enchant his car to fly one time.” 

“Where does it come from? The magic?” 

“It’s dependent on the witch, and the type of craft they practice.” 

Not desiring to scare you off, Mark chooses to show a more modest example. He focuses his attention onto your cup, still full of now cold tea, and murmurs a quick incantation beneath his breath. Your entire body flinches as the glass lifts at least six inches off the table, enough to hover at the level of your eyes. After a couple seconds, Mark lowers the cup back into its original place. When he meets your gaze, he expects to see fear embedded beneath your irises, but it’s the opposite: 

You seem fascinated. 

“I usually practice Traditional Magic, so I use the Earth and other natural elements to amplify my magic.” Mark says, “Most witches are born with their own powers, but that’s not always the case. 

“Youngjae—take him as an example—is a Siphoner. In order to generate magic, he has to absorb it from other things, be it objects or people.” 

“So he… siphons magic?” 

Mark smiles. “Exactly. You’re catching on pretty quick.” 

“I wouldn’t go that far.” You shake your head, curiously peering down at the stationary teacup before returning your attention back to Mark. “When I read through that book in the archives, I saw something about Lycanthropes… Does that mean what I think it means?” 

“Werewolves.” He states matter of factly.

“They exist too then?” 

“You remember Kim Yugyeom? Bambam’s best friend?” 

You nod. 

Mark nods too. “He’s the second in command of Moon Dye’s pack. I don’t think you’ve met the new Alpha, Bang Chan.” 

“I’ve heard the name from some of my kids.” Mark can practically feel the exhaustion from your sigh. He debates the idea of reaching across the table to take your hand in his—the loneliness of your fingers spurring him on even more. Before Mark can make up his mind, you’re already withdrawing your limbs and hiding them in the comforts of your lap. 

“I just—I’m just having a hard time processing all of this.” 

Mark shakes his head, “It’s a lot to take in, (Y/N).”

“I know, but—” You pause to lift your head, furrowing your eyebrows in his direction with the beginnings of a scowl overtaking your lips. “I’m still pissed that you kept this whole other world a secret from me. I mean, for fucksakes, Mark, you’re my best friend.” 

“I’m—I was protecting you. Knowing this stuff exists doesn’t come without consequence, (Y/N).” 

“Stop saying that, oh my god—” Mark waits as you bury your face in your palms, deeply breathing through the divots of your laced fingers. After maybe a minute of silence, you raise your head and murmur, “What is it about me knowing that puts me in danger? I was nearly killed by that vampire without knowing shit.” 

A wince overtakes Mark’s features. “It’s complicated…” 

“I’m so sick of everyone using that excuse.” You hiss, “You don’t keep something like this from me, especially the fact that you’re—” 

“Do you know how Nayeon died?” Mark can see how his sudden question takes you off guard by the widening of your eyes and pursing of your lips. You take a few moments to collect yourself, right your expression, before answering: 

“She was… killed by an animal.” 

Mark shakes his head again. “No. Nayeon was murdered by a supernatural vampire hunter and another witch.” 

You blink. “B-But… was she a—?” 

“She was a witch—an innocent witch that never provoked, nor hurt anyone.” Mark leans forward until the edge of the table presses harshly against his ribs. The uncomfort does little to garner his attention—too focused on speaking to you with his desperate eyes. “This world—my world is dark, (Y/N). The creatures in my world are even darker, including me.” 

He pretends not to catch the brief wave of unease that washes over your face. 

“Right now, there are two fucking crazies in town out to kill me and my people.” Mark gulps at the stone long formed at the back of his throat. “If I lose anyone else, I—” Unable to finish his sentence, Mark shifts his focus. “I just need you to understand, (Y/N). Please.” 

“Mark—” Tremors shoot through his veins as your fingers latch around his wrist—the warmth of your touch sobering the last remnants of his mind. He has to hold back tears at the pure sympathy that resonates from your bright irises. “I understand, okay?” 

He nods, not trusting the quality of his voice. 

You softly squeeze his arm. “No more secrets though… Promise me.” 

“(Y/N)—” 

“Promise me.”   

Mark knows he shouldn’t, but the way you’re looking at him—so calm, yet so determined—the way you always look at him… He can’t do anything but give in. 

“I promise.” He murmurs, placing a hand over your own with a weak smile. “No more secrets.” 

You nod approvingly, offering up a smile of your own. Your lips part again, as if to ask another question, when a knock sounds from the door. Mark almost verbally protests when you pull away, but holds back his annoyance to answer the unexpected visitor with a silent sigh. However, he can’t hold back his scowl at the sight of Jinyoung on his doorstep. 

“Mark. It’s good to see you.” 

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

“I apologize for my sudden visit, but I needed to talk to you about—” Jinyoung’s voice trails off, which Mark quickly realizes is because of your known presence. He watches, with narrowed eyes, as you and Jinyoung exchange an array of glances before he turns back to Mark. 

He shakes his head. “I didn’t realize you had company. I’ll come back—” 

“She knows.” An uneasy feeling erupts in Mark’s gut at the weak expression that crosses over Jinyoung’s face. He doesn’t like how Jinyoung looks at you again, nor the blank stare you offer the vampire in response. 

Jinyoung nods. “I see…” 

“What did you—?” Mark’s phone rings before he can finish his question, temporarily relieving him from the atmosphere of awkwardness and irritation. He steps aside to allow Jinyoung the space to enter while pulling his phone from his pocket. His eyes remain fixated on the interaction between both you and Jinyoung as he answers the call, lifting the device up to his ear. 

“Please tell me you and Bam found something.” 

“It’s not much, but we at least found a lead.” Mark breathes a sigh of relief at Youngjae’s answer. As to include both you and Jinyoung into the conversation, he turns Youngjae on speaker phone, avoiding the curious glint in your gaze.  

“There’s no record in the police database of any suspicious visitors entering town within the last few months, so we’re sure they probably got into Moon Dye undetected, or at least not on city file.” 

“How does that help us?” 

“You need to let me finish, hyung.” Mark can practically hear Youngjae roll his eyes over the line. “We may not have records, but some of Bam’s friends were able to look into the cameras stationed around the border of the road that leads into town. They caught footage of a bus dropping off two young women, who were then picked up by a 2018 BMW M6. We tried to track the license plate number, but the registration is private.” 

Jinyoung murmurs with a nod, “So someone who lives here in town brought them in. It’s possible we may be dealing with more than just a hunter and a witch.” 

“I don’t think so.” Youngjae disagrees, “The tracking spell would have picked up on every accomplice involved in Nayeon-noona’s murder.” 

Mark feels sick at the slight grimace that pulls across your features. He knows you're playing strong by the way you quickly mask your discomfort. 

“Anyway, we were only able to track the vehicle as far as Poison Square. But we do have the faces of the two young women that got off of the bus.” 

“That’s something then.” Mark sighs, sharing a wary glance with Jinyoung. “What do they look like?” 

“Both are probably somewhere in their early- to mid-twenties, have dyed blonde hair and are relatively around the same height.” 

Jinyoung shakes his head. “That could be anyone. Can you be more specific?” 

“The one woman has three distinguishing beauty marks: One on the bridge of her nose, another above her upper lips, and a third near the corner of her mouth.” 

“Shouldn’t the hunter have something on them? Like a mark?” 

“We wouldn’t be able to see the hunter’s mark.” Jinyoung shuts down Mark’s inquiry with a frown, “It’s only visible to other hun—” 

“This mark… Is it a tattoo, by any chance?...” Mark nearly flinches at your sudden question—Jinyoung almost doing the same. The latter resurrects from the surprise before releasing a hesitant answer: 

“Well, I’ve never seen it myself, but… yes.” 

“Oh my fucking god…” The pure shock that overtakes your face sends warning bells chiming through Mark’s mind. He sets the phone on the table before dropping to his knees in front of your sitting form, immediately noticing the trembling of your hands. Worst case scenarios play through his thoughts like creepy puppet shows, but he pushes them away to focus on you. 

“What is it?” 

When you meet his gaze, your eyes are wild with a blend of shock  and fright. Mark feels even sicker than before, and not because of the alcohol. 

You gulp. Not once. But twice. 

“I… I know who Nayeon’s killers are.” 

  ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“Please, just let me go…” Jihyo sobs, hot tears beginning to spill down her burning cheeks. The rope around her wrists chafes uncomfortably at her skin, eating away at what little dignity remains in her heart. “I really don’t understand what you want from me…” 

Momo releases a huff—the sight and sound mirroring a dragon blowing smoke through his nostrils. Jihyo watches through terrified eyes as Momo paces across the living room floor, feverishly shaking her head and mumbling incoherencies underneath her breath. The fear continues to grow when Momo stomps to where Jihyo is frozen stiff on the sofa. 

“How many fucking times do I have to repeat myself?” Momo growls, shoving her tattooed arm in Jihyo’s face. “You see this mark, then you’re a hunter. It’s not rocket science.” 

Jihyo weakly shakes her head. “You’re sick, Momo… Th-This whole thing about vampires and witches and hunters doesn’t exist…” 

It’s a lie—Jihyo knows in her heart that a part of her, a very stupid part of her, believes every little detail that has left Momo’s lips. Some of it makes too much sense not to be true: The sudden animal attacks. The mysterious disappearances. The unexplained instances she’s had ever since she moved to Moon Dye Bay. 

“I told you that—”  

Momo’s voice cuts out at the sound of a slamming door. For a moment, hope swirls through Jihyo’s gut, thinking that either Sana or (Y/N) must have come to her rescue, but the burst vanishes at the sight of Mina stepping into view—Jihyo’s fear instead skyrockets. 

Momo said she’s a witch. 

“What is going on here?” Mina demands, her tone stern and expression cold. Momo only smiles in response. 

“Sister!” She skips over to the newcomer, delicately taking Mina’s hands into her own. The act actually surprises Jihyo, not expecting the supposed, rather sadistic hunter to be capable of such affection. “Jihyo can see my mark! She’s a hunter just like me, sister!” 

Mina immediately tears her hands away, glaring at her sister with such bewilderment and venom. “Are you out of your damn mind!?” 

“Wh-What do you mean?” 

“Jihyo cannot be involved in any of this!” Goosebumps rise over Jihyo’s skin at the hidden darkness beneath Mina’s words. Her eyes glance toward the hallway, wondering the success rate of being able to reach the front door without alerting either sister. “Do you not remember what happened last time you tried to train another hunter?” 

“Things will be different this time. I am stronger now—we are stronger.” “You don’t know that for sure.” 

“Think of how easy it will be to take out the rest of Tuan’s coven with another hunter on our side, sister.” Momo persists, striking more panic through Jihyo’s already stocked body. Against her better judgement, Jihyo tries to escape her rope bindings… and unsurprisingly, fails. 

Mina shakes her head furiously. “Tuan and his witches have sided with one of The Prime brothers. We can’t risk killing another member without putting our own lives in danger—”

“All the more reason to take on another hunter.” Jihyo shrinks in on herself as Momo grabs Mina’s hand and leads her to her prisoner on the couch. “Please, sister. Think about what those witches did to us—about mother and father.” 

Silence, save for the hum of rushing blood in Jihyo’s ears, hangs in the air, thick like a pool of humid fog. Like Momo, Jihyo carefully watches Mina’s expression, searching for any features that may determine the underlyings of her fate. 

“So many lives we’ve already taken for mother and father.” Mina pulls her hand free from Momo’s and shakes her head. The rope seems to dig harder into her wrists—as does the terror in her chest when Mina murmurs her next words: 

“When will it ever be enough for you, sister?…” Jihyo’s gaze remains transfixed on Mina as she makes her way back through the kitchen, pausing to offer the bound woman an apologetic glance. “I’m so sorry you were brought into this… but I’m even more sorry that you’ll have to die because of it…” 

Whatever remaining hope inside Jihyo snaps as Mina throws her one last pitiful smile before rushing out the apartment—leaving Jihyo to the mercy of her deranged sister. 

  ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jinyoung closely watches how your fingers seem to cling to Mark’s hands as you think over your words, almost as if his mere touch is enough to keep your mind grounded. And though he’d never admit it aloud… Jinyoung feels envy that Mark is the one who’s comforting you. 

“Mina and Momo are friends of Sana from when they were in high school.” You explain, peering between both Mark and Jinyoung’s curious expressions. Though Jinyoung notices how your gaze seems to avoid his seeking eyes. “I don’t know anything about them beside the fact they’re foster sisters, and they had a pretty shitty time in the system.” 

“Then how are you so sure it’s them?” Youngjae inquires, still over the phone. “And how did you know about the hunter’s mark?” 

You pause, and based on your expression, Jinyoung would guess you’re almost reluctant to answer his questions. He moves to soothe your uneasiness, but Mark beats him to it: 

“We have to know, (Y/N)... It’s important.” 

Jinyoung’s jealousy expands at the intimate glance you and Mark share. 

After another moment of quiet and a heavy sigh, you finally speak, “The other day, I heard Jihyo comment on a tattoo that Momo had—but there was no tattoo. Neither Sana nor I saw one, so I just thought Jihyo was imagining things until…” 

“Until now.” Jinyoung finishes. He inhales an unsteady gust of air, carding his fingers through his styled hair, and shakes his head with a solemn expression, “(Y/N)... For Jihyo to be able to see Momo’s hunter mark would mean she’s a—”

“We have to warn the others.” Mark interrupts Jinyoung, suddenly rising to his feet. “Youngjae, give a call to Lia, Jisung and Minho and tell them to get their asses over here as soon as possible.” 

“Already done, hyung. I couldn’t reach Minho, but I left several voicemails and dozens of texts.” 

“I’ll start on that linking spell we talked about. This ends tonight.” Mark lifts his phone from the tabletop, readying his thumb to tap the end call button. “Get here safe, okay?” 

Youngjae hums. “Fifteen minutes. Maybe ten.” 

“See you soon, Youngjae.” No sooner had Mark ended the call does your voice sound: 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? ‘This ends tonight’?” 

Mark shakes his head. “(Y/N)—” 

“No. I want to know what that means.” You abruptly rise, sending your chair sliding across the wood floor with a shriek. Jinyoung waits for Mark to come up with an answer, secretly enjoying the obvious discomfort amongst his features, before answering himself after maybe a minute of radio silence: 

Jinyoung places a hand on your shoulder. “It means we do what we have to do to keep everyone safe. Including you and the town.” 

“But you won’t… kill them? Right? I mean, there’s-there’s other ways that don’t have to end with anyone dead, right…?”

“I don’t know.” Jinyoung murmurs honestly, “If they’re willing to talk, then maybe. But if it comes down to it—” 

“Please, don’t…” His heart practically breaks at the shakiness of your tone. “Just—do anything you have to, but don’t kill them…” 

Mark raises an eyebrow with a scowl, “They’ve killed dozens of innocent people, (Y/N). If anything, they deserve to die.” 

“Maybe…” You shake your head. “But killing them would make you no better than them.” 

Jinyoung feels as if you just punched him in the gut with your words. He has to let go of your shoulder to reach back and support his weight against the table, suddenly dizzy and light-headed.

“We’ll…” Mark sighs, “We’ll try our best, okay?” 

You nod before wiping your palms against the side of your jeans. 

As you and Mark engage in another round of small talk, Jinyoung tries to settle the nauseous feeling in his gut and focus on anything other than the fragrant waft of your scent. He knows he would never hurt you—his self control is too grand to allow anything like that—but the lack of human blood is beginning to affect him again. For the worse. 

Usually Jinyoung is able to hold his own with only a couple droplets of animal blood every few days or so. However, his strength and other abilities have long depleted since he began this strict diet, and while he may not be anywhere near desiccation—Jinyoung is certainly hungry. And weak. Very, very weak. 

He just hopes he will be able to withstand the upcoming battle. 

“But I want to help!” 

“And the answer is no fucking way. Absolutely not.” Jinyoung returns to reality just in time to see Mark shake his head indignantly toward your seething figure. Since then, he notices the two of you have moved to a nearby lectern, where Mark is currently flipping through a large grimoire.

“I can help, I mean—Mina and Momo know me and I swear I can—” 

“It’s not fucking happening.” Mark growls, slamming the book shut and leering down at you with a sneer. Jinyoung catches how your face doesn’t falter in the slightest at his angered expression. 

With a single finger, you poke Mark’s chest. “I’m not just going to sit back and watch while you and your damn wizard gang go and play hocus pocus with a pair of killers.” 

“It’s too dangerous—!” 

“Do I look like I fucking care!? Didn’t think so!” 

Jinyoung steps in, making sure to keep his tone calm so as to not infuriate you anymore. “Mark is right, (Y/N). I’m sorry—but you’d only be a liability for us to keep track of.” 

Your expression hardens. “A liability—? Are you serious?” 

Mark doesn’t spare a second glance in your direction and instead turns to Jinyoung. He points toward the countertop behind the vampire, “Can you grab the bowl that’s there? The one from yesterday’s ritual?” 

“So that’s it then?” Jinyoung  grabs the silver bowl filled with dried blood and the charm bracelet as you continue to rant, and hands it to Mark. The witch immediately dips two fingers into the crimson liquid, closes his eyes and begins to murmur a hushed incantation. 

You shove at his shoulder. “Mark? Are you kidding me?” 

“(Y/N), please—” Jinyoung steers you away from the witch, forcing himself to keep strong underneath your icy stare. “It’s for your own good…” 

With a clenched jaw and sparkling eyes, you shake your head. For a moment, Jinyoung hopes you’ll simply turn on your heel and leave the tense atmosphere of the mausoleum, but as always—you surprise him. 

“You know, I let your and Mark’s lying about everything slide because I wanted to move past it—for a fresh start.” You lean closer until Jinyoung can practically taste your minty breath on the tip of his tongue. “But you two are still treating me like some sort of princess that needs to be protected.

“And you know what, Jinyoung?” Your hiss strikes something deep inside Jinyoung’s soul—something even he can’t place. “I’m no princess. And I don’t need to be protected. You’ll do best to get that shit through your head.” 

Neither Jinyoung nor Mark try to stop you as you stomp out the door. 

Jinyoung bites his lip before turning to Mark. “Are we… doing the right thing?” 

“I don’t know.” Mark replies, and for once, Jinyoung can relate to the lost tinge in his tone. 

“I really don’t fucking know.” 

[aflyingcontradiction]

The Magnus Archives Relisten: Episode 40 - Human Remains

Jon: No. I need to be here. Keep watch. I need to be sure…

Damn, poor Jon... and this is basically him for the rest of the show, isn't it? Keeping watch. Whether he wants to or not. First in the normal human sense, then increasingly in the Eye sense.

Elias: I do apologise that it took me quite so long to figure out how to actually work the system. If I’d been quicker…

Oh sure, Elias, like you weren't standing there, whistling a merry tune and counting down the seconds until Jon had been thoroughly wormed.

Jon: It’s the last thing I remember before blacking out. Tens of thousands of… things without mouths screaming as one.

Urgh. TMA continues to be eerily good at evoking the indescribable through description.

Tim: Sure. Just… quarantine, y’know? Not as much fun as it sounds.

YOU DON'T SAY!

Tim: I’m fine, though. Except for the holes. And the pain. And the blood and the nightmares.

The entire Tim story arc is really just one big exercise in breaking the optimist, isn't it?

Tim: I spotted the tape recorder lying on the ground, and went over to, er, see if it was damaged

Suuuure you did.

Tim: It’s a bit of blur, to be honest, ‘cause when I turned around, there she was. Prentiss. Her face so full of holes it’s like, “my eyes are up here”, but they’re not, you know?

Pffffffffft.

Tim: After that… my memory gets a bit fuzzy. I think the paramedic called it ‘respiratory acidosis’… from breathing in all the carbon dioxide, rather than your more traditional oxygen.

Tim keeps making me laugh with the way he phrases things.

Tim: You know that worm smell? That earthy rotten smell? Jon: Oh yes.

The tremor in Jon's voice as he says 'Oh yes'! Love it a lot.

Tim: It’s like, something in the Institute slows them down, and makes them, um, heh, sluggish.

Yeah, the Corruption and the Eye don't exactly see ... well ... eye to eye, do they?

Not-Sasha: They took you away, so I waited with Elias. He was looking at me strangely, but we were both quiet.

Yeah, no surprise he was looking at her strangely! Obviously, he knew! What was going through his mind at the time? "Huh, well, this is interesting. And rather convenient!"

Jon: It’s important to me. Are you feeling alright? You seem a bit out of it. Not-Sasha: Yes, I’m very tired. It’s hard to keep track of things sometimes.

I didn't notice this when I first listened to this episode, but Not-Sasha DOES sound off. She doesn't emote nearly as much as the other characters or actual!Sasha did and when she talks about her experiences, it sounds very distant, like she's just going through the motions. You could put this down to trauma or tiredness ... or to the fact that she's LITERALLY NOT TALKING ABOUT HER OWN EXPERIENCES. I'm actually kind of impressed with the voice actor if this was deliberate.

Martin: No, I mean… I’m sorry I left you. (...) It was an accident. I thought you two were with me! I mean, the worms came at us, and they were so much faster, and then there was the gas, and the running, and I just… I, I thought you were right behind me. But when I turned round you were gone. You were both gone. It was an accident.

Well, I hope you feel like a right arse now, Jon! (Also someone give Martin a hug, poor thing.)

Martin: And there was more dust in those corridors too, and dead rats, even some discarded wine bottles. At one point there was an empty packet of mint imperials

Jeez, Jurgen, clean up after yourself!

Jon: MARTIN! How did she die? Martin: She was shot! Three times, that I could see. Three shots to the chest.

I remember this made me go "Woah!" at the time. I'd expected some grisly supernatural death but not that.

Jon: Gertrude Robinson, the last Archivist at the Magnus Institute, and my predecessor, was murdered. There were no worms to infest her, no strange, ghostly apparitions to warp her mind, or caves to entomb her. She was killed, in the Archives, by someone who used a gun, and that scares me far more than any spectre or twisted creature. Because that means someone here is a killer.

Somehow I, as a listener, also found it scarier - it's just such a "normal" way to go, just ... "human on human" violence.

There’s no sign of debris, or anything that would indicate they’ve been destroyed, but, in addition to the tape Sasha lost earlier, the tapes for cases 0051701 and 0160204 are gone.

Those are Strange Music and A Distortion, both of which feature Actual!Sasha's voice. (No, I didn't figure this out on my first listen, 'cause I couldn't be bothered to look up the numbers, but of course it makes perfect sense for Not!Sasha to get rid of any evidence that she's - well - not Sasha. Mind, if it was a bunch of people like me working in the archive she needn't have bothered...)

My impression of this episode

When I first listened to this episode it was immediately after the previous one and they just kind of blurred together into one nail-biting conclusion. Listening to it separately now, it feels mostly like a bridge between season 1 and season 2, ending old plot threads and setting up new ones. Not particularly memorable as a stand-alone episode but extremely important in the context of the story.