#flick kincaid

[kaijuposting]

In the Pacific Rim draft script, intrepid reporter Felicity "Flick" Kincaid is the one who drifts with a kaiju brain. It's honestly a kind of stupid process and a bit squicky, so I won't go into detail.

Here, drifting with a kaiju brain isn't explicitly stated to be too much for the human brain, so it's unclear if that's a problem here or if it's life-threatening because it's just that alarming, and maybe also because of the fucked-up procedure used for it. Flick also gets strapped to a table in the process, and to make a long story short that's why she requires rescuing from her love interest, Newt Gotlieb. So if that scene where Hermann Gottlieb rescued Newt Geiszler felt particularly romantic? That could be why - it was literally adapted from a love interest rescue scene!

[docrotten]

THE GHOST IN THE INVISIBLE BIKINI (1966) – Episode 187 – Decades of Horror: The Classic Era

“I’m steaming. I’m steaming. I’m… I’m so exaggerated! I’m mad at that princess. The only girl I ever loved and now she and them street slobs are going to steal a million clams from them folks and they didn’t even invite me. ” Eric von Zipper has a way with words, doesn’t he? Join this episode’s Grue-Crew – Doc Rotten, Chad Hunt, Jeff Mohr, and guest Dirk Rogers – as they check out one of the last of AIP’s beach party movies, The Ghost in the Invisible Bikini (1966).

Decades of Horror: The Classic Era Episode 187 – The Ghost in the Invisible Bikini (1966)

Join the Crew on the Gruesome Magazine YouTube channel! Subscribe today! And click the alert to get notified of new content! https://youtube.com/gruesomemagazine

ANNOUNCEMENT Decades of Horror The Classic Era is partnering with THE CLASSIC SCI-FI MOVIE CHANNEL, THE CLASSIC HORROR MOVIE CHANNEL, and WICKED HORROR TV CHANNEL Which all now include video episodes of The Classic Era! Available on Roku, AppleTV, Amazon FireTV, AndroidTV, Online Website. Across All OTT platforms, as well as mobile, tablet, and desktop. https://classicscifichannel.com/; https://classichorrorchannel.com/; https://wickedhorrortv.com/

A corpse has 24 hours to mastermind a good deed without leaving his crypt, to go “up there” and have his youth restored.

Directed by: Don Weis

Writing Credits: Louis M. Heyward and Elwood Ullman

Selected Cast:

Tommy Kirk as Chuck Phillips

Deborah Walley as Lili Morton

Aron Kincaid as Bobby

Quinn O’Hara as Sinistra

Jesse White as J. Sinister Hulk

Harvey Lembeck as Eric Von Zipper

The Rat Pack

Andy Romano as J.D.

Alberta Nelson as Puss

Myrna Ross as Boots

Jerry Brutsche as Jerome

Bob Harvey as Bobby

Sam Page as Chauncey

John Macchia as Joey

Allen Fife as Beard

Basil Rathbone as Reginald Ripper

Patsy Kelly as Myrtle Forbush

Boris Karloff as The Corpse

Susan Hart as The Ghost

Nancy Sinatra as Vicki

Claudia Martin as Lulu

Francis X. Bushman as Malcolm

Benny Rubin as Chicken Feather

Bobbie Shaw Chance as Princess Yolanda (as Bobbi Shaw)

George Barrows as Monstro the Gorilla

Piccola Pupa as Piccola

Luree Holmes as Luree

Ed Garner as Ed

Frank Alesia as Frank

Mary Hughes as Mary

Salli Sachse as Salli

Patti Chandler as Patti

Sue Hamilton as Sue

The Bobby Fuller Four as Themselves (Bobby Fuller, Randy Fuller, DeWayne Quirico, Jim Reese)

Elena Andreas as Statue (uncredited)

Herb Andress as Statue (uncredited)

Philip Bent as Beach Boy (uncredited)

Gary Daily as Boy in Blue and White Trunks (uncredited)

Bobbi McCall as Girl in Blue Bikini (uncredited)

Christopher Riordan as Beach Boy (uncredited)

The Grue-Crew and guest host Dirk Rogers take a trip to the beach with one of the last of the Beach Party movies. Wait, what? There’s no beach? No ocean? No surfing? And AIP disliked the product so much that they added Boris Karloff and the whole ghost-in-the-invisible-bikini schtick after the fact?

Well, The Ghost in the Invisible Bikini (1966) makes for a nice title. Let’s face it. It’s a bad movie. It’s even a dumb movie. But it can be a fun movie, especially if you love the lame, teen music numbers inserted throughout the film as much as the Grue-Crew do. And even if you despise the music (yeah, the Grue-Crew didn’t like it either – except Doc, of course), you can have fun with this flick.

With Deborah Walley and Tommy Kirk (subbing for Annette and Frankie), Basil Rathbone, Patsy Kelly, Harvey Lembeck (Eric von Zipper!), Jesse White, and Nancy Sinatra, there’s always something to watch. Think “the Three Stooges in an old dark house.”

At the time of this writing, The Ghost in the Invisible Bikini (1966) is available to stream from MGM+, Amazon Prime, and several PPV options.

Gruesome Magazine’s Decades of Horror: The Classic Era records a new episode every two weeks. Next in their very flexible schedule – this one chosen by Jeff – is The Shadow of the Cat (1961), a Hammer Film directed by John Gillin, featuring Barbara Shelley and André Morell, recently released as part of Scream Factory’s Universal Horror Collection Vol. 6! 

Please let them know how they’re doing! They want to hear from you – the coolest, grooviest fans: leave them a message or leave a comment on the Gruesome Magazine YouTube channel, the site, or email the Decades of Horror: The Classic Era podcast hosts at feedback@gruesomemagazine.com

To each of you from each of them, “Thank you so much for watching and listening!” 

Check out this episode!

[sugarjoycehigh]

now i know the existence of Flick Kincaid i can never be the same?? i know it's lame but i'd like to see some kind of crossover with the original script version

[marinecorvid]

In measurement of Bitch where would you rank each ranger villain

Given the lack of formal measurement for Bitchness (neither derogatory nor affectionate), ranking itself will be vague; flying quick n fast here!

ALSO this turned out to be a really good exercise in figuring out character … design? Development? Like I really had to think about some character personalities and it was fun + satisfying to do, so extra thanks for sending this

(as standard putting everything below the cut)

RANGER THE FIRST (it’s been a while since I’ve actually played thru this one so YMMV)

Billy – Uhhhhhh yeah sorry I don’t remember much of him :[ I’m gonna say he’s low on the Bitch ranking, mostly because I remember him as being the eldest brother of the four more than anything else. Sorry Go Rock fans who have put lots of thought into character interpretation

Garret – Via Bulbapedia: Garret is a smooth, polite person that can "put people down with the simplest of words". I’m gonna say he’s not a Bitch all the time but when he is. When he is. High on the Bitch scale

Clyde – I remember him getting angry a lot, so not too high on the Bitch ranking, but at least medium/mid ranking on the jerkass scale? Bulbapedia says a he’s a very "cool" person that likes to "stay with the trends" so I’m gonna say he’s alright

Tiffany – Top Shelf Bitch here, but in a way that’s like. You know how you see articles about celebrities who have like… the weirdest and craziest drama with each other that really hammers home how the more rich you get the more wildly disconnected you get from general society and have REALLY weird notions about how the world works?? It’s like that. Spending time with her is like depending on the day it’s either incredibly entertaining, fascinating, or irritating. Sometimes all three at once

Gordor – Medium on the bitchness, high on the jerkass?

Again sorry it’s been a LONG time since I’ve played though Ranger The First I don’t really have extended thoughts/impressions. I’ll play it again soon and maybe get back to this

RANGER THE 2OOST

Ice – Not too high on the Bitch scale, but has about equal standing on the Jerkass scale. Low + low = medium Bitchness? Bitchness Main Game + Jerkass DLC?? IDK but he called me a n00b so I want to see Kate shove his head in the toilet. Give him a swirly

Lavana – This is The Bitch of Almia. THE high school mean girl in every early 2000s coming of age popcorn flick. The kind of girl who would’ve probably bullied me on the playground in school for being undiagnosed autistic + closeted queer + got most of my clothes from Goodwill. Girl who thinks she is All That but is at best Incredibly Basic. Heather Chandler kind of bitch. Contender for the most Bitch of all the PR villains

Heath – Not actually that much of a Bitch or a jerkass. He does his job well and has the confidence to go with it! Good for him

Kincaid – High on the Bitch scale. He’s that One Fucking Boss/Teacher we’ve all had who was born with a stick up their ass, who knows how much of a position of authority he has over you and lords it over you. Hypocrite central. Ranking him somewhere just below Lavana though

Wheeler – low on the Bitch scale, but makes up for it by being high on the Annoys Me and Is Generally Offputting scale. Probably has little concept of personal space

Blake Hall – self absorbed Bitch in the way standard CEOs are (see above: celebrities/rich ppl disconnected from reality), probably paid an exorbitant amount of money to keep some company drama from reaching reporters. Nothing too fancy to see here

RANGER THE THIRDST

Red Eyes – I’d say he’s pretty low on the scale of pure Bitch, but he’s medium to high (depending on the day) on the Jerkass scale, so that makes up for it?

Blue Eyes – I’d say her perceived bitchery is around Medium, but in actually is pretty low? I feel like she just has a lot of conflicting emotion and no good outlet for it, so she ends up lashing out and making some less than great decisions at times. she’s consistently shown to be genuinely concerned for the people under her care, and you get glimpses of her nicer side under her tough front a handful of times, so while she gets bonus points for having a cultivated Bitch front, I’m putting her on the lower end on the Bitch scale

Purple Eyes – You know, as much as I deeply want to say he’s high on the Bitch scale, I don’t actually think he ranks that high. Like, DEFINITELY through the roof in other categories, definitely petty n spiteful, a little judgy, but all around … he’s just Not at the top of the Bitch ranking. I’ll put him around medium, with the caveat that he is simultaneously beating out everyone else in other categories (dramatic, sadistic, etc) EDIT: yknow i keep thinking abt this one and i'm resorting the blorbo to medium-high on the scale, as a treat

Arley – putting him a few notches above Hocus only because he verbally states he has grudge against you when you go up against him in the Sky Fortress, something like “if I’d known you were going to be such a problem when we first met in Rasp Cavern, I would’ve crushed you there” so I’m going to say he can be … unfortunate to deal with if you’re an enemy, but most of the time is just a mild-mannered to mildly grumpy old man

Hocus – least Bitch of the Societea, and just in general; I think he’s a decent guy who doesn’t hold too many grudges, but does like to mess with people’s heads, friend and foe. Gaslight gatekeep girlboss and all that. I'd say he and Clyde are the least bitchy out of the whole listing

Kasa – I think I’ve said this before in tags or something, but Kasa moving to Aqua Resort was like dropping a lionfish in Florida waters. Highly invasive predator who dominates the ecosystem. Queen of backhanded compliments and passive-aggressiveness. Average rich old lady who has her finger on the pulse of the gossip in her small shoreline New England retired neighborhood (based on the neighborhood my grandmother lives in). Contender for the most Bitch of all the PR villains

Edward – Ranking him a few notches above Hocus but not at Kasa’s level. He states that despite thinkin about crimes most of the time, he wants to do a little good in his life (being a doctor). Generally nice guy, but DID blow up an island. Kicks Purple Eyes to the curb in spectacular fashion, but deeply distressed when friends went MIA?? Actually you know what probably has very specific rules about what kinds of tea you can drink when and with what. Medium-low Bitchness but excels on the Typical Old Rich British Man Behavior scale

Sabios – WHOOPS I forgot this guy existed for a minute. Hold on let me go find Youtube videos with his scenes. OKAY I’m back. Verdict: No bitches? Low on the Bitch ranking, high on the Evil Advisor ranking

[rudranshsinha]

The Hitman's Bodyguard (2017): A Riotous Rollercoaster Ride of Action and Comedy

In the world of action-comedy films, "The Hitman's Bodyguard" stands tall as a thrilling and humorous gem that left audiences in stitches while delivering high-octane action sequences. Released in 2017, this movie managed to bring together the talents of Ryan Reynolds and Samuel L. Jackson, creating an explosive dynamic that captivated viewers. In this blog post, we'll delve into what makes "The Hitman's Bodyguard" a must-watch, from its standout performances to its heart-pounding action sequences.

A Tale of Odd Partnerships

The film's premise revolves around the unlikely alliance between Michael Bryce, a top-tier protection agent, and Darius Kincaid, an infamous hitman. Michael, portrayed by the ever-charming Ryan Reynolds, was once a renowned bodyguard. However, his life takes a nosedive after a high-profile client is assassinated on his watch. Enter Samuel L. Jackson's character, Darius Kincaid, a hitman known for his impeccable skills but notorious for his unpredictability.

The plot kicks into gear when Interpol agent Amelia Roussel, played by Elodie Yung, enlists Bryce's help to transport Kincaid from Manchester to The Hague, where he is needed as a key witness to testify against a ruthless dictator, Vladislav Dukhovich, masterfully portrayed by Gary Oldman. What follows is a tumultuous journey filled with action, humor, and surprising character development.

A Showcase of Action Sequences

While "The Hitman's Bodyguard" is a comedy at heart, it doesn't skimp on action. Director Patrick Hughes orchestrates a series of pulse-pounding action sequences that keep audiences on the edge of their seats. The film takes us on a whirlwind tour through Europe, featuring epic car chases, shootouts, and hand-to-hand combat. These scenes are not only visually impressive but also injected with humor, adding a unique flavor to the action genre.

The standout sequence is undoubtedly the Amsterdam canal boat chase, which combines stunning cinematography with exhilarating stunts. As Bryce and Kincaid attempt to evade henchmen sent by Dukhovich, the scene transforms into a ballet of chaos that's as comical as it is breathtaking.

Supporting Characters and Stellar Performances

While the film primarily revolves around its two charismatic leads, "The Hitman's Bodyguard" also boasts a strong supporting cast. Elodie Yung's portrayal of Interpol agent Amelia Roussel adds a level of determination and intelligence to the film, proving that she's more than capable of holding her own amidst the chaos caused by Bryce and Kincaid.

Gary Oldman, a masterful actor, brings a chilling authenticity to the character of Vladislav Dukhovich, a brutal dictator. His presence as the antagonist adds gravity to the plot, making it clear that the stakes in this comedic romp are very real.

Salma Hayek as Sonia Kincaid, Darius's fiery and equally lethal wife, delivers a memorable performance, offering a fierce and humorous counterpoint to the male leads.

Cinematic Visuals and International Settings

The film's cinematography by Jules O'Loughlin and its use of international settings contribute to its cinematic appeal. From the picturesque canals of Amsterdam to the bustling streets of London, the film takes viewers on a visual journey that complements the fast-paced narrative. The locations become not just backdrops but integral elements of the story, adding depth to the film's overall atmosphere.

Conclusion: A Must-Watch Action-Comedy

In summary, "The Hitman's Bodyguard" is a cinematic rollercoaster that expertly combines comedy and action. With the dynamic duo of Ryan Reynolds and Samuel L. Jackson leading the charge, the film delivers laughs and thrills in equal measure. It's not just a mindless action flick; it's a story of redemption, friendship, and unlikely partnerships. The film's memorable characters, outstanding performances, and breathtaking action sequences make it a must-watch for fans of both genres. So, if you're in the mood for a riotous and adrenaline-fueled ride, grab some popcorn and give "The Hitman's Bodyguard" a watch—it's a hit in every sense of the word.

[fighterkimburgess]

Red and Pink

Summary: For @thatesqcrush's Valentines Challenge Day 1: Love Letters. It's Valentine's Day 1996, and Claire Kincaid is making big decisions.

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: none

--

Claire stretched out on the bed, her arm immediately reaching across to where the sheets were cool. The clock radio alarm hadn’t gone off yet, 6:23 glowing red into the darkened room. She stretched, the T-shirt she was about eighty percent sure she’d stolen from Jack riding up as she did.

It was quick to get showered and dressed, putting on her favourite necklace. It was a rare day not in court so she could relax and just deal with motions and books. As she shimmied her pantyhose on the alarm sounded, drive time morning djs to convince her to get out of bed quickly.

“And it’s Valentines Day folks, so for all of you in relationships I hope you’ve got a plan for tonight. Too late for reservations now. And for you single folks tomorrow is half price candy day.”

She half snorted a laugh, wondering where she fit in. That night would be either at her apartment or Jack’s, some form of takeout and probably doing legal research while making jokes before he convinced her to drop her research with soft kisses and smiles. So they did have their plan for tonight.

When she went into the kitchen living room of her apartment there was coffee already brewed. Jack was gone, a note left on the counter in front of the pot.

Realised I have a brief due at nine, gone to the office. Get in safe and we’ll leave early tonight. Love J

She sipped from her mug with a grin on her face, feeling like a teenager in love for the first time. They’d been together for over a year and things were good. It was secret, but they’d started having the discussion about telling Adam. Jack was nearly convinced that Adam knew anyway, and apparently the man was a bigger romantic than he was given credit for. But the scars from Thayer were still there even though this was so different. This felt safe, for the first time in so long. She trusted Jack McCoy with her heart, and he’d proven worthy of it.

The train in wasn’t too busy, the one advantage of being on it by seven fifteen. It was straight into the office, an elevator to the fourth floor and sliding into her chair as she put her bag down. A pink card was sitting on her desk with blocky handwriting, C Kincaid on the envelope. Inside was a cheesy valentines card, the poem about love in so many forms. But it was the inscription that made her smile.

Every day I consider myself so incredibly lucky to have you in my life. Your knowledge and abilities are first rate, and your care and compassion knows no bounds. I love you.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The smile on her face grew as she put it down, not wanting to make it obvious. Jack came out of his office a few moments later.

“Did you get the case law for Heller’s brief on the suppression motion?” He paused for a moment, eyes flicking to the card. “You have a valentine, Claire?”

“What can I say, someone appreciates me for more than my research skills. And yeah, if we take the standard set in D’Onofrio we could use that here to quash the motion to suppress.”

It was a busy day despite not being in court, and she barely had time to drink water, let alone eat. When she arrived back from the bathroom there was a roast beef sandwich and a cup of soup on her desk, Jack looking approvingly from his office as she sat down.

When she finally got the brief written she walked into Jack’s office and sat on the couch to go over it all with him. They barely noticed the sun beginning to set outside until a knock at the door jerked them out of their conversation.

Adam walked in with his hat and coat on, ready to leave. He stared at the very deliberate space left between the two of them before meeting each of their eyes.

“Do neither of you have anywhere to be tonight? It’s the most romantic night of the year, I’d assume you’d each have a date.” It was the closest he’d ever come to talking about their personal relationship.

“Valentine’s is a Hallmark holiday. I’d rather show how I care about someone every day of the year rather than on one specific day,” Jack retorted, pushing glasses up his nose and running a hand through his already messed hair.

“I pity the next Mrs. McCoy. See you both tomorrow.” He closed the door gently beside them, his steps echoing on the tile floor as he left.

“He completely knows and that was his tacit approval. You do know that, right?” Jack asked, Claire blushing slightly.

“We can have this conversation later. Have we got anything else to look at?”

“It’ll wait. Here, go change into these and meet me in the parking lot.” She took the denim jeans he handed over, clearly pilfered from her wardrobe that morning. But true to his word she went to the bathroom and put them on, pulling her blazer off and shrugging on a coat instead. When she made it downstairs Jack had her helmet waiting for her with a smirk that she just wanted to kiss off his face. But she put it on and straddled the Yamaha behind him, settling in with her arms around his waist as he kicked off.

It was always a thrill being on the bike with him, their bags in the saddlebags as he drove them carefully through the Manhattan streets. She watched out of her visor as he drove them across the Manhattan Bridge, going straight through Brooklyn. Finally they pulled up at Coney Island, the lights vibrant in the night sky and the sound of the Long Island Sound in the distance. She got off the bike with Jack’s help, pulling off her helmet and shaking her hair out.

“You look beautiful.” Jack’s voice was sincere, looking down at her with his brown eyes shining in the neon light.

“I look a mess.” Claire opened the saddlebag for her purse, taking the red envelope from it. “I got you one too.”

“A what?”

“Don’t play dumb, McCoy, it doesn’t look good on you. I know you left the card on my desk this morning.” He had the grace to smile and look down as he took the card, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She watched him open the envelope and took a breath, so worried for his reaction as the silver key dropped into his hand as he read out loud.

“Jack. This last eighteen months has meant more than I can say, and I love you. You let me realise I deserve to love someone and be loved. I was scared to admit this, but this relationship is the most important thing to me. So once we hit working together for two years in June, I think we should tell Adam and reveal it. I’m pretty sure everyone already knows and I want to make it real. Here’s the spare key to my apartment so you can come around whenever you want. All my love, Claire.”

He stared at her, the nerves Claire had felt disappearing as she saw the love on his face for her.

“I love you. And I want to tell the world. You’re not some dirty secret and I never want you to feel that way.”

“I love you too.”

He took her hand as they walked down to the beach, buying a burger and fries for each of them as they sat on the bench and stared at the water. Lazy kisses were traded until they were too cold and got back on the bike to get to Manhattan again, Jack pulling up outside his building and helping her off the bike. Instead of their usual careful check for anyone they knew he took her hand and interlaced their fingers while they walked inside.

“Mr. McCoy, Ms. Kincaid,” the doorman greeted as they went in, Jack nodding in response. But once they were in his apartment and he kissed her, Claire felt like she was home.

[theangrycomet-art]

I posted 461 times in 2021

188 posts created (41%)

273 posts reblogged (59%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 1.5 posts.

I added 1,205 tags in 2021

#theangrycomet art - 417 posts

#theangrycomet writes - 172 posts

#ben 10 - 147 posts

#cn gen 2 - 108 posts

#generator rex - 68 posts

#ok ko - 68 posts

#ok ko let's be heroes - 62 posts

#d crew au - 56 posts

#angrycomet rambles - 55 posts

#rc9gn - 52 posts

Longest Tag: 92 characters

#yeah the last time a kincaid had nothing left to lose they committed a planet wide genocide…

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Peekaboo

Jaime shot through the air, vapor clouds fading as he broke into through the cloud line. Eyes narrowed, they flicked about for any sign of movement.

“Did we lose him?” Glancing at his back, the scarab’s lights blinked up at him.

[...Uncertain.] Khaji Da admitted begrudgingly, hugging his spine a bit tighter as flurries of scans pressed at the corners of his visions.

“Uncertain?”

[The Threat has many... Unfamiliars within it.]  Khaji Da clicked  as Jaime assessed the area around them.  [Scans Indicate the Threat is Mostly Human but with the Unfamiliars’ Interference it makes the Threat-]

It was hard to tell who was more startled when their shoulder was tapped from behind, but both let out an undignified sound. Whipping around, Jaime gaped at the psycho providence agent he had left in the streets a couple hundred feet below him.

“Miss me?” The Threat smirked, somewhat crouching before he launched himself at them.

-//-

I don’t think Khaji Da would be very compatible with Rex’s nanites- especially with the Meta-Nanites, inactive or not- making him difficult to keep track of at first.

Rex, for his part, is just trying to cure the “EVO” he thinks he found. He’s been on Jaime’s tail for a lil while now.

How was he supposed to know he just found another kid with a funky alien device fused to his body? It’s not like that happens often.

90 notes • Posted 2021-11-29 23:58:33 GMT

#4

Danny Fenton/Phantom Redesign for my Rewrite

Danny Fenton: 

Personality is pretty much the same, with a few more tweaks to fit more modern school takes. 

When he’s nervous he info-dumps, generally about space- particularly stars. 

Recovering from/ occasionally relapsing to his middle school goth phase (he was the cheery goth for the most part)

He’s not bullied so much as ignored for the most part, because nobody really recognizes him out of the goth cloths.

Honestly he’s pretty much fine with this. It’s only when Ghosts start popping up that there’s a problem because everyone is suddenly looking for Freaky Fenton whose parents are ghost hunters for answers he doesn’t have/ can’t say because he can’t explain how he knows. 

He could care less about being popular

Is generally willing to use his powers if he thinks he can get away with it. Someone throws a punch at him? Face is intangible. Lancer’s looking for him? Turns invisible. Etc.

There’s a reason he’s called the Ghost kid- he supposed to look like a kid. So Danny, being the late bloomer he is, does. 

His face still has the last bits of baby fat.

He’s the shortest in his grade.

His attempt to wear bigger clothes only make him look smaller

Also- the space boi likes his space clothes. Very few pieces of his clothing don’t have SOMETHING involving space on it, whether it’s home made galaxy pants or bought online space pun shirts, etc.

His pupils disappear when his ghost sense goes off. Additionally his fangs poke out slightly, though this generally is unnoticeable. 

As Phantom:

We stan Blue Phantom in this house

Green mouth/tongue because his Ecto-Plasm is more prominent than his blood. Also fangs. As a treat. 

His hair’s wispier than normal, but still thick enough to retain most of its original shape

His jumpsuit is bulkier and he has a hood like his parents, though he rarely uses it. The logo was there from the start because Sam was making him his own custom logo and stuck a sticker she’d made on him before he went inside. Its supposed to resemble a comic

Additionally, he has a tool belt with pocket dimensions for storage and a hammer loop for the thermos

The Goggles he doesn’t use at all because (as he later discovers) it shows alternate dimensions as opposed to the reality he’s in which makes combat a pain in the ass. 

96 notes • Posted 2021-08-10 01:35:53 GMT

#3

Jaime Reyes has no right being as lovable as he is.

100 notes • Posted 2021-09-19 21:00:40 GMT

#2

“Are you going to behave for daddy?” Gwendolyn cooed, moving Devlin’s little hands up and down. 

He shook his head side to side with a small giggle. 

“Areeeee you going to be naughty for daddy?” She asked again, grinning as Devlin laughed in response.

“I’m telling you babe, he’s a tiny troublemaker.” Though his tone was dry, Kevin smiled softly. Carrying Devlin gently, he adjusted him in his grip. 

Nothing was going to happen to him under Kevin’s watch. 

108 notes • Posted 2021-06-24 01:29:35 GMT

#1

Rex deserves to chew Caesar out for what he put him through. At least a little bit.

139 notes • Posted 2021-10-18 20:41:15 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[lvllns]

it don't matter to me (wherever we are is where i wanna be)

the wayhaven chronicles. felix hauville x kincaid anderson (nb detective). teen and up rating for language. established relationship, mostly fluff with some angst. 1300+ words. — let's take our chances and roll the dice, chapter 1 of 3.

notes: this is just an excuse to write felix meeting the people kincaid considers family. i’m taking some liberties with the detective’s backstory but listen, i made a 6′5 cowboy, i’m gonna exploit the cowboy part of it.

[ao3 link]

—

Kincaid throws his truck into park with a sigh, but when Felix glances over, concerned, he only finds him smiling so wide his dimples are visible.

The ranch sprawls out in front of them, an endless sea of grass broken up by various buildings. Felix thinks he can see the barn from here, tucked to the right behind the house. A few cattle lift their heads, ears flicking forward with momentary curiosity before they return to grazing. He inhales. Deep. Lets the air fill his lungs and yeah, it smells like cows mostly. Little bit sweet from the grass, and a whole lot of just dirt.

It smells like cows and dirt.

He startles when Kincaid reaches over and takes his hand, bringing his knuckles to his lips for a brief kiss as he murmurs, “Thank you for agreein’ to come,” against his skin.

Felix shrugs, eyes darting from Kincaid to the land around them. “Why wouldn’t I?” He tilts his head, eyebrows knitting together as he focuses on Kincaid once more. “You’re important to me and they’re all important to you. I’d have to meet them eventually.”

Kincaid pulls his head back, thumb rubbing over the bumps of Felix’s knuckles. There’s something in his eyes Felix can’t place. Soft, tender. The bright green of them mellowing as the corner of his mouth lifts. “Extenuating circumstances and all that.” Kincaid shifts. Felix thinks about how this wasn’t supposed to happen. How Adam brought up a laundry list of issues surrounding the both of them going all the way out here for two days. What about food? I’m not trying to stop you two from doing this, but you need to be realistic about the situation. “I’ve...never actually brought anyone else here,” he says with a soft laugh. “Never really wanted to if I’m bein’ honest.”

“I’m special then?” Felix means it to be a lighthearted quip. A way to snap the tension in the cab of the truck, and he is caught off-guard by how earnest Kincaid’s expression becomes.

His hand is raised to Kincaid’s mouth again. Another soft kiss, another sentence whispered against his knuckles even as those moss bright eyes steadily hold his gaze. “You are...so special to me Felix.” He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, watching as Kincaid lowers his hand once more. “You have no idea.”

Words stick at the back of his tongue. He means to say them, he does, but a woman comes hurrying out of the house hollering Kincaid’s name and the moment is gone.

A feather on the wind.

Kincaid tosses him a soft smile and throws his door open. “Stephanie!”

Felix slips from the car, his door shutting with a soft thunk, and he watches the two of them quietly.

She’s a good foot shorter than Kincaid, brown hair streaked with grey, but her dark eyes are sharp and clear. She—Stephanie—whacks Kincaid on the chest with the towel she’s holding and Felix watches as his giant of a partner shrinks in on himself, cheeks going red.

“Kincaid Everett Anderson, you don’t call for weeks and then you just show up!” Felix half expects her to swat at him again but she pulls him in for a hug. A kiss on his cheek. “We’ve missed you terribly.”

“I’ve been textin’ Jase, if he ain’t—”

“Hasn’t.”

Kincaid clears his throat. Glances at Felix, but all he can do is try to stifle his laughter. When it becomes clear he’s not going to be any help, Kincaid continues. “Right, sorry ma’am. If he hasn’t been telling you, that’s not—”

“How hard would it be to send me a text, hm?” She pinches his ear, a fond smile on her face, and Kincaid bats at her hand half-heartedly. “It’s calving season, Jason can hardly remember what day it is.” Felix snorts and regrets it immediately when that keen gaze is trained on him. Kincaid gets whacked in the chest with the towel. Again. “Who’d you bring with you?” Stephanie’s voice is much softer now, the corners of her eyes gentling. Felix tries not to think about I’ve never brought anybody here before and fails.

“Steph, this is Felix. Felix, Stephanie.” He watches Kincaid toe at the dirt with his boot, shoulders curling forward just a little bit more. “He’s my boyfriend. We’re dating.”

There’s a beat and Felix almost expects this to go sideways immediately but he finds himself wrapped in a monster of a hug by this tiny woman and oh, she is much stronger than he expected. Iron bands for arms as she squeezes him tight. He reacts out of instinct, hugging her back, and then it’s over. Her hands rest on his shoulders as she looks him up and down before nodding.

“It is about time you brought somebody out here Kincaid.” She grins. “It’s lovely to meet you, Felix.”

His head hurts a little bit. This is a lot. He takes a second to settle himself before flashing the most charming smile he can. “You as well.”

Stephanie pats his arm absently. “Everyone is inside, but I suppose you’ll be heading to the barn to drop your stuff off.”

Felix senses Kincaid scoot closer and closer until their arms are brushing, fingers knocking together. “We’re sleeping in the barn?” He quirks a brow. Looks up at Kincaid who chuckles.

“There’s an apartment above, like a second story.” Felix nods as he looks beyond the house to what he assumes in the barn.

“It’s where Kincaid slept most nights as a kid,” Stephanie says, voice fond and faraway. She shakes her head. “Anyway, go.” The towel is now aimed at both of them, flicking their direction. Felix laughs as he dances away. “I’ll tell everyone else you’re here, I expect y’all will be riding before long.”

Kincaid grins and it’s bright. Blinding. A flash of white teeth and metal. He suffers another hit with the towel before they finally break away and head back to the truck. Felix leans against the door as he watches Kincaid grab the single backpack they shoved all their stuff in. Not much for one single night, a change of clothes and toothbrushes mostly. He takes another deep breath (Remember Felix, you need to at least try to breathe regularly.) and taps his fingers together. It’s so quiet. Which is fine, mostly. It’s just, Felix is so used to activity and the constant moving from case to case, and it’s so weird to be able to shut down. To stop running. To sit down and soak in the peace of the countryside.

“Fee?” He doesn’t startle but it’s a near thing, head twisting to find Kincaid looking at him carefully. Concerned. “Ya okay?”

His accent is getting thicker, he thinks. Felix nods. “Fine. It’s just quiet out here.”

Kincaid hums. Wraps his arm around Felix’s shoulders and steps close. He drops a kiss to the top of his head. His temple. “If you wanna go back tonight—”

“No!” He tips his head up, eyes narrowing. “It’s just not something I’m used to, how still and silent it is. I’ll be okay.”

“Ya sure?” Felix nods. Kincaid kisses his cheek. “‘Kay, but you tell me if you need anything?”

“Right, if it’s too quiet I’ll ask you about your motorcycle.”

Kincaid snorts. “Hey, you said it.” Felix rolls his eyes, unable to mask the smile that splits his face.

Another kiss to his cheek and then Kincaid finally, finally, kisses him properly. He leans up as Kincaid leans down and it’s so good. It always is. His lips are a little chapped, but Felix doesn’t care. He wraps his arms around Kincaid. Pulls him closer until they’re seamed together from chest to hips. He could do this all day and all night. Really. It’s not like he needs to—

Kincaid pulls away to take a deep breath and it’s gratifying how flushed he is. Cheeks pink, the color mixing with the freckles that cover his skin. His eyes are blown black, only the thinnest ring of green visible. He clears his throat before, “We should, uh, our stuff.”

Felix takes pity on him. Backs away and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Come on cowboy, show me around.”

[whumpywhumper]

Realization

TW: Medical Whump, Depiction of Hospitalized Whumpee, Aftermath of Captivity, Grief/Mourning

Tagging: @misspelledwitch @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @voidwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi  @captivity-whump @liliability @muumimafia @fanastywhump @elisabethrosewrites @unsure-but-alive-752 @jeverest00 @texdoeshalo @fanmanga1357-blog

@0idril0​ @rosesareviolentlyread​ @walkingchemicalfire​ I’m not lying when I say I wouldn’t write without these three, thank you for all your support and enthusiasm. 

Follows directly after: Consequences    Masterpost

V***V 

“What?”

Clint felt an unhealthy sinking sensation in his gut at Kincaid’s stricken expression. A wild, cold fear burst to life as the two law enforcement officers raised placating hands toward him. His wolf stood to attention, instincts cataloguing each and every micro expression, the shifting of their scents to nervous and sorrowful.

They know something about Markus.

“Clint, I need you to stay calm, okay? We don’t know anything for sure yet.” Ben’s placating tone did very little to soothe him or his increasingly restless wolf.

He could feel the growl building in his chest, the subvocal rumble trapped against the increasing beat of his heart. Placing his hands flat on the table, Clint suppressed the urge to stand and loom over the two other men, not wanting to ruin the relationship he’d been building over the last day.

“What don’t you know for sure yet?” The question came out dangerous and cutting, the wolf unable to completely mask the fear fueled rage that was brewing.

Kincaid swallowed heavily, easing himself away from the table and the predator on the other side. In a move too natural to be anything other than habit, his hand went to his waist where his side arm was located. “Clint, I need you to take a breath before we discuss this, okay? We’ll give you all the information you want, but none of us want an uncontrolled were’ in the hospital, right?”

Belatedly, Clint realized his eyes had flashed to his wolf’s golden yellow, the unnatural color sending primal signals of danger to the two officers. Licking his lips, Clint also felt the sharp points of his incisors, the lengthening bone telling him he was much closer to shifting than he wanted to be.

Hissing air through his teeth, Clint closed his eyes and wrestled back control. “You’re right, you’re right,” he said, letting the air out in a controlled exhale. He forced himself to lean back into his chair, trying to trick his body into relaxing with the casual posture.

Ben let out a shaky breath of his own at the gesture. “Thank you, Clint.”  He exchanged a look with Kincaid, the witch taking his hand off of his weapon and nodding slightly for the other man to explain. “I told you earlier about the John Doe, right?”

Nodding stiffly in acknowledgement, Clint felt a black bauble of refusal form in the back of his mind. No, no, don’t say—

“Clint, he looks an awful lot like the guy in your photo.”

Denial rested heavily on his tongue, and Clint’s head twitched on a negative shake. His mouth moved without input from him, a tinny echo reverberating in his ears. “Which guy?”

Clarification. One of the first rules of investigation. Make sure you’re talking about the same thing.

Ben took a deep breath as he slid the phone over, tapping the screen to make the photo appear again. His finger pointed directly at Markus’s face.

Clint’s sharp exhale sounded like he’d been punched. His eyes tripped over to Kincaid, question clear.

Corroboration. Don’t take one person’s word as fact.

The witch nodded, mouth tight with sympathy. “He’s pretty beat up right now, Clint, but I’ve spent some time with him the last few days. I would bet money that it’s the same guy.”

Correlation and Instinct. Don’t ignore your fucking gut.

The smell of magic, Kincaid’s hoodie reminding him of Markus. His gut telling him that the John Doe was important. His wolf howling as he left the nest behind.

It all added up to one thing.

Clint couldn’t suppress his savage snarl as he stood, chair skidding back into the wall with force as that black bauble burst into sharp shards of rage. He barely held back his shift as he demanded,  “Where is he?!”

Kincaid and Ben met his challenge, standing their ground as they stood to match his stance, hands going to their weapons.

“Clint, you need to calm down.”

“We’re not going to keep you from him, Clint: take a breath!”

He didn’t stick around for any more words, long strides taking him into the hallway and quickly outpacing the cursing police officers. He inhaled, nostrils flaring as he scented the air. Bleach and the overwhelming odor of sickness assaulted his nose, any recognizable scents so tangled that it was dizzying to try and parse through. Growling in frustration, Clint pulled around the corner and into the open hospital ward.

He didn’t even notice several of the nurses and visitors freezing as they caught sight of him. Instinctively, he took note of one of the uniformed police officers Holland had put on guard placing a hand on his weapon, posture settling in to move quickly if he proved violent. Clint’s wolf howled at the challenge, daring someone to get in between him and Markus.

Gaze flicking over the details, Clint catalogued that most of the rooms were open for observation, curtains drawn back and glass doors slid open so that the nurses had open access to go in and out. Only one of them was closed off, the curtains pulled to afford privacy.

Holland words floated in. The John Doe was the only ICU patient on this floor.

Still barely a moment, Clint surged forward, stalking toward his intended target. Kincaid’s shout to the uniformed officer to stand down from down the hallway was the buzz of a gnat, Ben’s yelling for Clint to calm down and wait for a minute not even registering to the pissed off wolf. He had to get to his friend.

The only thing that pulled him up short from forcing his way into the closed off room was the tiny nurse that barreled in front of him, arms spread wide as she faced him down.

“Just where the fuck do you think you’re going?!”

“Get out of my way!” Clint snarled at her, pretty sure his face wasn’t entirely human. The only thing holding him back from going through her was the fact that she was tiny and, enraged or not, he didn’t want to hurt her.  The woman barely flinched.

“No! Do you not see the signs on the door? This is a sterile room, and I’m not going to just let you waltz in there like this.” Her eyes blazed, furious and protective as a bear in front of her cub. “What business do you have in this room? Explain yourself!”

Kincaid and Ben finally caught up, almost tripping over themselves as they skidded up the fray.  

“Woah woah woah! Everybody calm down!” Kincaid grabbed onto his shoulders, pushing him out of the nurse’s face, using his own bulk to force distance between the near feral were and the breakable nurse.  

Clint transferred his snarl to Kincaid, the witch not backing down even as the wolf shrugged off his restraining hands. He knew he was being unreasonable, but god, if Markus was in there then he couldn’t stand the thought of being kept from him.

He started to pace, anxious energy burning him up inside. He kept one hand balled into a fist, the other buried in his hair as he fixed his gaze on the people between him and his goal. “I have to see if it’s him, I have to. You can’t keep me away from him.”

Ben held up his hands, trying to regain control of the situation, his affable demeanor imbuing the air with calm. “Nobody is keeping you from him, Clint, let’s just all take a deep breath.”

Clint tried to take a deep breath, but it came in as a barbed gasp for air, his wolf absolutely frothing with the desire to break the door down and get to his friend. He could feel his incisors elongating and subtracting with the internal struggle of keeping even a modicum of control.

The nurse sent a cautious look between him and Ben, her stance never shifting from being firmly in front of the door. “I’m not letting you in this room until I know what’s going on and your relationship to my patient. He’s not going to be hurt or infected just because you’re pissed off.”

“He’s my friend,” Clint howled, the implication that he would hurt Markus making his heart splinter. “His name is Markus, he loves his friends, and he’s terrified of heights. He’s been missing for months, and he’s been alone, hurt, and scared, and I didn’t find him! Please, fuck, just let me see him.”

The words tumbled out of him in a mad rush, anguished and visceral, Clint practically sobbing out the last plea as he faced the nurse.  Her eyes had widened at his tirade, stance softening as his distress became evident. Both Ben and Kincaid came closer to him, preparing to catch or support him if he needed it.

“Okay, okay, Clint,” she said, nodding her head and approaching him with open hands. “You’re gonna get to see him, okay? Let’s just take a minute and calm down, alright?” She motioned at one of the orderlies who’d snuck up, prepared to restrain him if necessary, and he grabbed a chair so that they could force him to sit down.

Clint shuddered but didn’t fight, breaths coming in staccato bursts as he tried to get back his equilibrium. “Please just let me see him,” he repeated, eyes blinking rapidly to force away the yellow.

The nurse squatted in front of him, grabbing a hold of his forearms and catching his eye. “I’m going to let you see him, okay, Clint? You just need to calm down first. Take a deep breath and let it out.” She pulled in a breath, and he matched it, following her instructions as he calmed down. “Good, good job.”

It took him a few minutes longer than he would have liked to regain all of his calm, his hands coming up to cover his face as he finally let out all of the frenzy that had overcome him. “Fuck,” he cursed, “Fucking hell.”

“You can say that again, buddy,” Kincaid huffed, patting him on the shoulder.

“You ready to continue the conversation now, Clint?” Ben asked. Clint nodded, rubbing his hand over his beard before meeting Ben’s kind gaze. “Okay, like I was saying before, we don’t know for sure that it’s him, right? But for you to go in and check, you’re gonna have to get decked out in a mask and gown. You remember what David said, right? He’s not doing well so even if it’s him or isn’t him, you’re gonna have to control yourself and be calm.”

Clint swallowed heavily, taking another deep breath as he climbed to his feet. “Yeah, yeah I got it, Ben. I can do this.”

The nurse, Catrina from her name tag, stepped in front of him, hand resting firmly on his bicep. “Clint, I need you to look at me and listen, okay?” She didn’t continue until his gaze locked with hers. “I need you to be prepared for what you’re going to see in there. From what it sounds like, you’ve already talked to Dr. Decker, right?”

Clint nodded, hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically as he shifted from foot to foot. “I didn’t know it was Markus, would’ve asked more questions if I’d known. Fuck.”

Catrina took his cursing in stride, pulling his attention back to her. “I’m gonna take that to mean that you don’t really know what you’re gonna find when you go in there alright?” She paused to let his brain catch up, looking for the understanding in his eyes. “Clint, he is not going to look like himself at the moment, okay? His face is pretty bruised, and he’s heavily sedated so he’s not going to be responsive at all.

“I need you to understand this next part crystal clear, okay? You can’t touch anything. He’s got a tube down his throat, and a machine is breathing for him. He’s got several other drains and tubes that are under the blankets, but they’re all doing important jobs. I don’t care if they look painful or uncomfortable, don’t mess with them. If you have a concern about the equipment, come to me first. Do you understand?”

Clint nodded, hands raising in surrender. “Hands to myself, I got it.”

“Okay, I’m here if you need anything or need to ask any questions.” She handed him gloves, mask and a gown with a tight but sympathetic smile. She was donning her own gear with him, clearly not going to let him be alone with her patient until he could prove himself. He took a settling breath and struggled into the equipment with unsteady hands.

Catrina opened the room up for him, and Clint’s senses were immediately assaulted on all sides. His nose was struck by the sour, muggy odor of iodine, stress, and pain. The beep, hiss, and whirr of multiple pumps drilling into his ears alongside the obnoxious hiss of a suction mechanism and oxygen through a hose that only his sensitive ears ever seemed bothered by.

He stumbled forward as Catrina pulled the curtain back slightly to allow him fully into the room, drawn forward by the inescapable need to see if this was his friend or not. Almost immediately, Clint’s wolf started howling in his head, knowing even before he did that he’d found his lost packmate.

It took him a moment for Clint himself to catch up, to realize what he was staring at as he came to a halt at the foot of the bed, claws digging into the meat of his hands.

Markus.

Tubes and wires snaked across the bed. Hesitating, swallowing back the animal whine in the back of his throat, Clint put a hand on the lump he assumed was a foot. The blanket dimpled under his hand from where warm air was being pumped under the blankets, and he felt the rhythmic hiss thunk of compression devices around Markus’s lower legs.

He took a steadying breath through his nose, eyes burning as he catalogued the machines and devices he saw. He finally came to the head of the bed and flinched.

The bed was half sat up, his friend swathed in blankets, a folded towel protecting his eyes from the light. But there was a familiar black tuft of hair, and pale skin under a mask of multicolored bruises. It was all there, barely visible under a plastic contraption holding a tube in place.

He could hear bubbling over the sound of the machines and braced himself. He knew that sound, it wasn’t a good sound. Swallowing hard, Clint shuffled around the bed, careful of his feet. Fuck, chest tube.

He’d listened when David had outlined the John Doe’s condition, the impersonal words laying out all of the harsh, gritty details necessary for law enforcement and other medical personnel to get a complete picture of what was going on with a victim. He’d pictured in his mind the reactions of friends and family once they’d found out what their loved one had been subjected to. Had even pitied the poor fucker who’d gone through so much only to be faced with the potential of never living free again.

He’d never imagined this.

Inching up the side of the bed, he gently pulled the towel away from the other man’s eyes, taking a closer look at the face hidden under all of the medical equipment.

A wounded noise broke free of his chest when he compared everything he knew about his friend with the face on the bed.

“Fuck.”

Clint heard his voice like it was someone else’s, a pitiful broken syllable that held every tear he’d wanted to shed since Markus had gone missing.  

“God. Fuck.” His eyes were burning, and he couldn’t look away from his friend.

He wanted to throw his head back and release the mournful howl that was building up in his throat, give a voice to the agony churning in his chest, the horror of the fact that this. . . this was the result of his failure. Instead, he bent his head and put his forehead against his friend’s, blinking away the tears as they filled his eyes.

“Markus,” he sobbed, “Oh my god, Markus, no . . . “

~

Holland was the one that came to collect him.

Clint didn’t know how long it’d been since he’d come in to see Markus, he hadn't been paying attention to Catrina moving around the room, his sensitive ears dismissing the shared whispers outside the door. All of his attention had been on Markus. He knew it hadn’t been long enough since he stopped crying for his eyes to be anything but bloodshot as he met Holland’s sympathetic gaze.

The older man looked ridiculous in the yellow gown and blue face mask, the worry lines in his forehead thrown into harsh relief in the fluorescent lighting. His hands were gentle though as he threw his arm around Clint’s shoulders, other hand taking a hold of his forearm to pull him carefully away from his friend.

“C’mon, Clint,” he murmured, normally gruff voice so soft with understanding that it almost set him off again.

Clint stumbled after Holland like a newborn colt, legs uncoordinated jelly as followed the other man’s guidance. He was barely aware of the door sliding closed behind him before he was ripping away the gloves, mask, and gown, needing the scent of his friend’s pain off.

Distantly, he registered that he was shaking, and pressed his palms together, bringing his joined hands to his face.

He couldn’t even think. His mind was blank. Heart numb.

He jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder, whirling around with a yellow eyed snarl. Holland was there, his pressed lips together, Ben and Kincaid flanking him, all three of their concern clear. Clint opened his mouth, only to find that his words had deserted him.

He wasn’t the silent type. But this? It was beyond him. They had to see the truth in his red rimmed eyes, but they had a job to do now. They were no longer new colleagues working a case with a consultant. They were cops speaking with a victim’s family member, and they had to be certain.

“Clint, is that Markus?”

He nodded, breath leaving him in a harsh expiration, feeling suddenly dizzy. “Shit,” he gasped, grabbing a hold of his knees.

“Okay, c’mon, let’s get you sitting down somewhere. Kincaid, can you ask David to meet us in the conference room?” Holland gathered Clint up by the shoulders, trying to steer him down the hallway.

“No-wait—I can’t,” Clint’s words went in one ear and out the other, the older man bulldozing over his objections.

“He’s not going anywhere, Clint. He’s in the best hands he can be in now, right?”

Numbly, Clint nodded, running a hand through his hair. When they got to the conference room, he collapsed into the chair he had vacated earlier and looked at the mountain of evidence and paperwork that they’d collected, swallowing back bile when he realized the horrible things he’s been evaluating for the case had probably been done to his friend. It made it real in a way that cases usually weren’t for him.

Holland leaned on the desk beside him, reminiscent of their talk the other night, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Think you can answer some questions for me?”

Not trusting his voice, he nodded again.  “Yeah. . . “ he breathed.

“He’s your friend, and we’re going to give you any information that you want, but does he have any next of kin? Someone with the authority to make medical decisions?”

“He doesn’t talk to his family, closest he has to a sister is Illyn, but, uh,” he rubbed under his eye, “they never changed their medical proxies from Evan when they moved.”

Ben sat down across from him, faint lines standing out at the corners of his concerned eyes. “Is this the same guy from the phone earlier?”

Clint nodded, his stomach sinking. “I gotta call him again. Fuck. . . I gotta call Illyn.”

Holland squeezed his shoulder, exchanging a look with Ben, who nodded. “Kincaid should be here with David soon. Why don’t you get Evan on the phone first? David can answer your questions and you two can make a plan.”  

Clint reached for his pocket and froze when it was empty, looking around at the table.

“Oh, sorry,” Ben murmured, pulling Clint’s phone out and sliding it over. The corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile, “I still had it from earlier.”

His hands shook as he took the phone back, and he swallowed heavily as the screen lit up. The picture from earlier stared up at him. Markus was smiling and happy. Completely different from the still, almost lifeless, figure he’d just left.

“We’ll give you a minute,” Holland said, giving him a firm pat as he motioned Ben to the door.

“Thanks guys.” He sucked in a deep breath and clicked on his contacts. Rubbing a hand over his face, he waited for the call to connect.

How the fuck do I break this to him? What do I even tell him?

“Hello?” The sound of barking accompanied his friend’s voice, and it was such a jolt of normalcy that it took his breath away.

“Ev’. . .”

“Clint? I haven’t heard anything from Deanna yet, it’s only been like an hour, right?”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a hell of an hour.” His chuckle was almost hysterical, and he could hear Evan pause. Could practically see the concerned look on his face.

Carefully, his friend responded. “Clint, if this guy already passed then there was nothing you could have done.”

“No, no,” he said, a little too firmly, “he hasn’t passed. Um . . . “ his voice trembled, and he took a small breath, trying to brace himself.

“Clint?” Evan’s voice was filled with apprehension, “What’s going on?”

“It’s Markus.”

“What? You mean you found what happened to him?”

Clint balked at answering, looking up at the ceiling with burning eyes.

“Clint,” Evan’s voice was hard as diamonds, “did you find the bastard that killed our friend?”

“He’s not dead, Ev’,” he answered, words slipping free like a clot, “He’s the John Doe.”

[agentnico]

Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard (2021) Review

Before Free Guy hits the big screens we have to endure a needless Ryan Reynolds cash-grab. Or at least I do so you don’t have to. You’re welcome.

Plot: The world's most lethal odd couple - bodyguard Michael Bryce and hit man Darius Kincaid - are back for another life-threatening mission. Still unlicensed and under scrutiny, Bryce is forced into action by Darius's even more volatile wife. Soon, all three are in over their heads when a madman's sinister plot threatens to leave Europe in total chaos.

For some unknown reason The Hitman’s Bodyguard spawned a sequel. The first was a forgettable swashbuckling flick with uninspiring action set pieces and cast members Samuel L. Jackson and Ryan Reynolds goofing about and insulting each other endlessly. Basically a smaller budget version of Hobbs & Shaw. It wasn’t really that good, yet it still made decent buck at the box office thanks to it’s cast star power and as such here we are with an unnecessary continuation. Naturally as the generic stereotype goes the sequel has to go bigger and bolder. So we have the additions of Antonio Banderas and Morgan Freeman joining the star power train to sell more seat tickets and also an evil villain plot that threatens an entire continent. Shenanigans ensue and our main duo Jackson and Reynolds are back to kick some put and scream some F’s. 

Look, *scratches back of head* if you enjoyed the first film you will probably find enjoyment in this one. It’s more of the same shtick, so works well as a double feature. But as it stands, I cannot say its a good movie. The action is extremely generic and boring, and they cram a lot of action into this thing, so that’s a lot of boredom crammed in too. Also, due to evident laziness, it is easy to tell when stunt-men are replacing the actors during the fight sequences, as the movie doesn’t even do a great job of hiding their faces. Don’t expect much from the plot either, it’s a by the numbers take-down-bad-guy-with-world-domination-plan story and plays out mostly as you’d expect. Oh, and did I mention Antonio Banderas is in this movie? So work this one out - he’s playing a Greek bad guy. I repeat, Antonio Banderas who is of Spanish descent and holds a strong signature Spanish accent plays a Greek in this. Why didn’t the producers hire a Greek actor, or even easier, just had Banderas play a Spanish bad guy? Honestly, alter a few minor plot details and it wouldn’t have changed the film much. Let’s also talk about the comedy, seeing as the movie tries to strive towards that direction with the forced one-liners and the constant snarky cursing comments from it’s characters. The jokes never land. The swearing feels forced and whenever the movie overall tries to be funny, I found myself sitting there expressionless and simply blinking in despair. 

Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard offers not much else besides it’s amusing eye-rolling title. It’s nice seeing Salma Hayek take centre stage, however she had better lines in her smaller role in the last film than her entire time in this one. If you’re looking for an action comedy that features R rated cursing but is actually good then look no further than Ryan Reynolds’ Deadpool films or even now at the cinema you can see The Suicide Squad which I cannot give any higher praise. That film is a hoot! But Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard is one that can be easily missed.

Overall score: 3/10

[kaijuposting]

Pacific Rim draft script fact: Raleigh Antrobus loathes his brother's former fiancee, Felicity "Flick" Kincaid because... uhh... well, I'll let you read for yourself:

[theangrycomet]

Jordan Universe

Who knew so much butt could be kicked in a pair of sandals? Jordan figured that out from a young age between sword training and heroing with her friends. Luckily for them, she can always tell when someone needs a helping hand or a stern talking too. 

The best of both her parents, let’s just hope the rest of the Gems can keep up with the rascal through the years. 

Details below the Cut

Personality

Optimistic

Empathetic

Down to earth

Blunt

Will call you out on your BS

Kind

Goofball

Hopeless romantic

A tad Grudgeful

Quirks

A HUGE hair tugger; especially when distressed

Makes songs about what she’s doing that are too catchy for her own good

Likes:

The Gems

Hanging out with friends at the Bodega

Theater (top theater kid in class)

Cheerleading

Dance (duh)

Song writing

Working at the Plant Stop

Visiting the Gempire

Books

Chick flicks

Novellas

Adventuring with her fellow Glowsticks (see Roman Salazar and Kaiden Kincaid)

Babysitting

Baking weird food

Glitter 

Flashy earrings

Dislikes

Visiting the Gempire for political reasons

People messing with her friends

Drama (the people kind)

When people expect her to solve all their problems for them

But at the same time

When people don’t come to her for help

She will help you, but she can’t fix your problems for you

Guys who don’t understand the definition of Lesbian

Finding out some of the extraterrestrial plants ordered for the Plant Stop are illegal and having to explain to the Plumbers what happened

It happens way more than it should *facepalming*

Has led to many an interesting converstation with the Tennysons and Plumbers

Politics in general

Brushing her hair

Appearances:

Height: 5′2′ on a good day

Hair: Big, black curls generally contained in a beaded super scrunchie

Eyes: Big, brown eyes

Build: squat, plush 

Skin: Caramel 

Friends: 

Kaiden 

Roman

She’s actually on friendly terms with pretty much everyone, she’s just besties with these two

Spinel

Jasper

Notes:

Works at her dad’s plant shop (the Plant Stop)

Jasper has deemed herself Jordan’s body guard, and later Kaiden and Roman’s because the three were all small, weak puffballs at that point. 

Has been sword training since she was 6 (with practice sword back than)

Powers: While she does not have a gem of her own, Steven’s DNA has still been altered enough to lead to some atypical features

Minor Empath

Beyond average strength

Healing spit (minor injuries only, like scraped knees and stuff)

[tactyl-ymon]

DnD session recap - Demons and Disappointments

We open several days after Tactyl Y’mon’s devastating defeat in the Principium fight pits against a group of frankly better equipped fighters who tried beat the magic of friendship and teamwork into everyone and Emmi leaving for horizons unknown on a ship with her mother, with everyone else partway through a series of group training exercises under the watchful eyes of Sukaren and Core, each offering their own version of helpful criticism to strengthen the groups teamwork. After several drawn out battles and training montages even Sukaren is left speechless although whether that was due to her being impressed by the groups teamwork or frustrated by their upsetting amount of dumb luck is yet to be discovered. As the group catches their breath, Core approaches and asks if the group think they’ve had enough only to be met with a mostly exhausted sounding chorus of yeses before Core smiles like a proud parent and mentions that one of his acquaintances, an elderly seer who lives in Principium has had a dream about the group and asked everyone to come see her when possible for guidance and that they should leave now before Sukaren finds another beast for them to fight so she could keep criticising them. While walking to the city, the group encounters their sometimes dragon, sometimes halfling, all time nerd friend, Fulgur who seemed excited to discuss what the group saw of the outside world and the seemingly endless storm overhead. They discuss how everyone felt a vague pull in their hearts towards the portal that led here, the druids in Kincaid village who knew most of the group from when they came and how time didn’t match up outside, Septima and Fulgur discussed old friends and acquaintances like the high elf inventor, Hattori, disgraced and kicked out of their society due to the nature of his experiments and who was responsible for Septima’s current form. With Hattori’s mention, Whisky pipes up that she knows a high elf named Hattori as well, in a jungle far to the east, he was her old teacher and taught her everything she knows about fighting, although he was very secretive about his life outside of her direct teachings. As fate would have it, most of the team has encountered him or his works with Fulgur mentioning that the hammer dangling from Eridol’s side was also made by him and the rapier that Veiraen stabbed himself with was also the inventors creation. After several silent beats, conversation continues on to the Night Roc that still lives in the Jaunted Pillars and the dragon Nervilyth that escaped it’s soulbound prison with part of Septima’s essence. With the mention of the undead dragon, Fulgur falters and tells us that should be impossible, Nervilyth should have died centuries ago before Osteria was created. After several minutes of the possibly millenia old dragon umming and ahhing over how Nervilyth still being out and about is a bad situation for literally everyone, the conversation moves back to the very large bird that tried to eat everyone after their impromptu trip through the sentient fast travel system known as the slyph. The group give as many details as possible about the night roc, the general surroundings of the Jaunted Pillars and how it’s become an overgrown mushroom forest that you should absolutely not burn because it’ll mess you up, but if you ask nicely, the group does have 2 pounds of the stuff in the bag of holding … for science. With the impromptu drug deal out of the way, the group discusses how the Roc almost ate Eridol and some possible spots the bird could relocate outside of the fungal hellscape that was poisoning the forest and was definitely not the type of environment to raise a child, even if that child is very large bird that could probably deepthroat a cow. The group leaves Fulgur outside his shop as they continue southward through the city towards the newly gentrified slums of the city to the patchwork tent of the elderly seer that had asked for them. We see the physical embodiment of what you think of when you envision grandma vibes but with dirty, short scraggly hair, enough teeth to count on one hand and milky non responsive eyes. Introductions are made over fresh brewed tea. Core explains that the seer had seen glimpses of the past that seemed to tie in with our undead dragon problem before she interrupts and mentions that we carry a strange scent with us, earthy, very potent, possibly magical and while everyone instinctively looks at Septima, she scoots over and somehow suddenly deaf to our protests begins rummaging through our packs until she finds the magic mushrooms and gets very excited. Mentioning these will do nicely and would allow her vision to extend to encompass us as well so we could see what she sees, makes it easier than having to put into words what she sees. With everyone weirdly eager to take a trip with their new grandma, we arrange ourselves around a fire, all hold hands and get our edible on. The tent disappears around us as everyone feels a pull in their brain far to the east, they find themselves sitting far above an empty expanse of desert, a monstrously large range of mountains to the side as time begins to rewind itself. A bright flash appears and the expanse of desert is replaced with a continent spanning city, bejewelled and twinking like the night sky itself. Centuries and millennia pass in an instant. The mountains themself begin to shudder and shake as the rock recedes and forms into a immense draconic skeleton, the earth shudders open and closed over the eons as golden flesh returns to the great wyrm and it jerks back to life next to a burning and nearly destroyed city, fire curling back and returning to the dragon in a sick reversal that left large patches of the city undisturbed. As time begins to slow it’s reversal and begins slingshotting back to where we came from the seer points to the golden great wyrm, proclaiming it as Aggadon, a powerful tyrant who’s bones hold together the earth itself. The city under attack is Aggadon’s Reach, the home of Septima, Fulgur and others from centuries ago. In the seconds before the city disappears in a flash, we see several small coloured dots racing towards it from all directions. Blue, Green, Black, White and Red. Septima is the one to confirm that they were Nervilyth and several other dragons that had come to shatter the hold Aggadon’s bones had over the earth itself and usher in a new age of destruction. As the vision fades, everyone finds themself in a grey expanse before a flash of violent purple light can be seen from within the seers still unresponsive eyes as she begins writhing unnaturally on the ground, she screams that the dreamwalker approaches and to run before the screams are cut short and she stops convulsing, body still contorted in a grim knot, rising slightly off the ground like a marionette on its strings. Her eyes replaced with a void of stars as she looks through everyone present and in a cacophony of voices says it looks west for strength and with a flick of her hand, three small specks of light appear in the seers withered hand as Core, Septima and Veiraen fall to the ground dead. She looks past Whisky and Donnatello, towards the small faltering figure of Eridol, a look of annoyance flashes across the elderly face as the voices whisper “God-touched” before the rictus grin reappears and the seer’s body begins folding in on itself. Each sickening snap and scrape the only sounds in the void before the body drops, whatever forced connection severed by the entity calling itself the dreamwalker. The expanse disappears and everyone is back in the tent. The already muffled sounds of outside were muted by the carnage inside the tent. Eridol screams and begins shakily reciting the prayers to resurrect the fallen comrades. Whisky and Donnatello try to make the seer comfortable while Eridol works. It feels like hours later when he finishes, Core, Septima and Veiraen conscious and the seer clinging to life. The group determines that whatever this is it’s above what they can deal with and petition Core to let them take it to the remaining council members of Ostaria. Upon hearing the news of what they have seen the council members mention that there is little they can do here. These entities are far older than anything their libraries would contain and if the group needs information they would need to leave the general safety of the country and travel abroad, quiet discussions occur about the available destinations and two options are given that garner a split vote. They could travel to the libraries of a magical city to the east or the religious archives of Eridol’s home country of Falthresh, far to the west. With a an even split of votes on where to go, the group splits, Septima, Whisky and Donnatello set to gather supplies and organise transport while Veiraen goes with Eridol to the large central temple in the city for Eridol to ask for guidance from his god as to where they should travel first. The Travel trio organise a lush carriage for the group with horses to pull it before coming across a travelling salesman the group had recently encountered and somehow charmed into liking us. Mentioning that he could teleport us to either location if we really needed but it would be up to us to make our way from there. Meanwhile at the large central church in the city Eridol tries and fails to commune with Tyr as Veiraen watches, growing frustrated the cleric asks if Veiraen could step outside and wait for a second as he begins another self pitying attempt to garner the gods attention, talking about how he is lost and needs guidance … he needs orders to server Tyr better. The room goes dark as Eridol finds himself in a misty void very similar to the one he found himself in earlier that day, the only light source being an immensely large, bright blue eye. As it slowly turns to focus on the small cleric, wisps of smoke begin to rise from the ground and form into several humanoid shapes. Before Eridol stands ghostly visions of his old military scouting platoon, they stand perfectly still, like a moment paused in time before turning towards Eridol and the very air itself shakes as an all encompassing voice shouts “YOU DISHONOUR THEM” The figures reach out pleadingly for Eridol as spectral gauntleted hands reach up and drag them down into the fog. The light begins to change to a sickly green as the figures are consumed and Eridol falls to his knees clutching his side, a familiar burning sensation tracing its way across his abdomen. Eridol sees flashes of the people he’s failed, of his home, of his family before he is back in the small church room, a worried drow rogue standing over him looking at the very clear unholy symbol of Bane branded into his side. Eridol heals the wound to the best of his abilities and asks that Veiraen not tell the others about this, not yet anyway. Veiraen, disappointed that Eridol is still so unwilling to trust him and the group, agrees not to say anything for now and they leave to catch up with everyone. With everyone back together and the obligatory showing off of the fancy new fantasy campervan the group sits down and Eridol mentions that he’s changed his mind and thinks they should go to the religious archives in Falthresh and that there’s definitely nothing that happened to influence his decision. After several pokes and prods from Whisky and Septima, Eridol mentions the vision he saw in the church and knowing that he would be physically unable to answer any questions on his own about what it represented, decides to cast zone of truth on himself and the deluge of secrets come out. He shamefully tells the group about his time in the military, his bonds with the platoon members, the cultists who ambushed them, the dungeon under the mountain they ended up in, the torture he endured at thehands of a so called Scholar until he broke, the despicable acts he did under their influence that earned him a heretics brand, the rescue by clerics of Tyr and not knowing what became of his found family, his abandoning the military, abandoning Sutha, his fiance and his family and his begging to the gods for strength to stop anyone else from following in his footsteps, the possible fate that awaits him once they begin travelling and that he is trying to do better, but he understands if they can’t forgive his past. The silence that follows is broken eventually by Whisky asking if anyone else needs a drink after that and that they’ve got a long day of teleporting half a world away to look forward to tomorrow. The group wakes early the next morning in several different shades of hungover and makes their way outside the city to the temporary camp of their travelling salesman companion and after an impromptu shopping session that nets the group several enchanted items, the destination is set, an oasis a couple miles out from the Falthreshian border crossing to avoid any military presence at the border and to avoid questions about why a carriage of heavily armed individuals is just appearing within the country. The salesman mutters some things as he does the mental math for the teleportation circle before very confidently rubbing out one of the glyphs and replacing it with a slight variation. The smell of chalk dust and ozone fill the air as the magic sparks to life and everyone boards the carriage and trundles through the gateway. It takes several seconds for the spots in their eyes to clear and see not a small, little oasis in the dunes but a mountain looming above them, gnarled and sinister trees surrounding the group on all sides and Eridol’s gut drops. He realises he is infinitely familiar with this mountain and the secrets held beneath it, everyone sees the panic and fear setting in on their small friends face as he wildly takes control of the carriage and begins rocketing in any direction away from it. The carriage narrowly missing trees and ditches large enough to bury a horse, until they don’t and several group members are launched forward into boulders and fallen trees and under one particularly angry coach horse with a broken leg. In the minutes it takes them to untangle themselves from the woods and heal the horse they hear a loud inhumane screeching come from above and a voice in their heads “Scholar Al-Halrazi sends his regards” as a giant demonic entity bashes its way into the camp, throwing an already injured Eridol closer towards death. A swift and brutal battle ensues before the creature falls and disappears in a violent explosion of sulfur and soot. Their victory is short lived as a flash of lightning illuminates the countless unnatural forms from within the clouds as dozens of Vrocks begin diving towards the group, intent on taking their prizes and Eridol does something he desperately does not want to do, he calls for his mother, telling her about the demons on their tail and hoping she can gather whatever help they can and intercept them outside his hometown of Brightbattern. Without waiting for an answer, everyone piles back into the carriage and continues their panicked descent trying to dodge divots and demons alike, hoping and praying that their message didn’t fall on deaf ears. 

[1989dreamer]

Chapter 21 of Looking for a Place to Call Home

Still not editing before posting.

Still on AO3.

Thanks for reading

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek wakes up screaming.

He’d been dreaming that he was back in New York and that she—that Kate—had been torturing him again.

He can still feel the glide of her knife as it skimmed him, the skin peeling back, exposing his twitching muscles.

Without realizing it, Derek shifts into his delta form, scrambling off the bed and under it. He whines high in his throat, more human than wolf.

The lights come on almost immediately, and Laura and Cora crawl under the bed with him while Isaac tries to explain what happened to Boyd and Erica.

With his sisters by his side, Derek shifts back. “Just a nightmare,” he tells them.

Erica sits next to him and pats his back. “That’s okay. You’re okay. We won’t let anyone hurt you anymore.”

Boyd nods his head in agreement, and Derek wonders at the contentment he smells on him.

“You’re safe here,” Erica continues. “Do you want to talk about your nightmare?”

Derek looks at his sisters. “No. Not really.”

“That’s okay too.” Erica lets Derek burrow against her side, seeking comfort. He’s glad that she’s staying behind with him and Cora while Laura, Boyd, and John go to New York.

He is also grateful for the small mercy that he isn’t going with them. He isn’t sure that he would be of any help to them. He wasn’t kept in the same compound. The hunters he ran away from are not the same ones that abused his sisters.

Erica is a solid weight beside him, her arm around his shoulder, the chemical smell of her medication as comforting as her warmth. Secretly he hopes that she and Boyd decide to keep them, even if Laura is technically old enough to be his and Cora’s guardian.

He wants the stability that will come from living in a house, from having actual meals, and if Erica has her way, school. Derek wants all those things, but above all, he wants Laura to find her daughter. He wants to put their damaged pack together, like a puzzle with missing pieces. They’ll be stronger together. Even with Peter—if Peter can escape the murder charges.

“Think you can go back to sleep now?” Erica asks. Derek realizes that everyone else has gone back to bed now. Even Isaac is tucked in, his blanket pulled over his head.

Even though he doesn’t quite feel ready, Derek nods. Erica kisses his forehead.

“I’ll check on you in a bit,” she promises. “Do you want me to leave the door open?”

There is a nightlight in the hallway. She’s offering him a source of light so that he can still see. Except she’s forgot that he is a werewolf and doesn’t need the nightlight.

He nods anyway.

Isaac is already blocking the light from the overhead. He won’t mind the nightlight.

Derek watches as Erica switches off the room’s light and leaves the door wide open as she heads back to her room. Then, he climbs off the bed and pads across the hall to his sisters’ room. Laura lifts the blanket and he crawls between them.

In the three years that Kate had him, there was nothing Derek missed as much as his family. He’s glad that he still has his sisters. And if Peter gets away with the murder he’s committed, then he’ll have Peter too.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Ramirez slams her head down on the table, the third time in an hour. Kincaid startles awake from where he was leaning against the wall.

“Sorry,” she apologizes. Kincaid grunts, moving to sit next to her.

Stiles spares them a brief glance before turning back to his work.

The list they’ve been studying isn’t long—only about seventy names—but they’ve been researching each one, trying to match faces with names. So far, they’ve made it through about fifty-five names and all they have is a tree of the deceased, all Hales in some way, and a few of the arson investigators. Most of the paperwork has been signed off by either Stiles’ dad, early in the investigation, or Sheriff Lahey.

The difference is marked.

Where his dad made little tick marks and initialed on every line, Lahey only signed at the bottom of the reports.

“Deputy Stilinski, sir,” Ramirez says, and Stiles lifts his tired eyes to her. “Look at this.”

She thrusts a stack of papers under his nose. Kincaid snores gently, leaning on Ramirez, while Stiles flicks through the papers.

“This is an insurance investigation.” He checks it against the arson investigative report and then checks the signatures on both. The arson investigation has been signed by the fire chief and his dad while the insurance investigation has been signed by Lahey and a new name, Garrison Myers. “Is Myers listed anywhere else?”

Ramirez points at to his name on the manifest. Number seventy himself. “It looks like he joined late.”

Stiles finds Myers’ card tucked away in a box of evidence. “He’s an insurance fraud investigator.” There’s only a number and a slogan on the card. Stiles makes a note to call the number in the morning. For now, he knows they need to call it a night and pack it up.

“Up to driving home?” he asks Ramirez. Kincaid is definitely down for the count, slumbering still. She shakes her head. “Neither am I. We can bunk here for the night and resume the search tomorrow.”

And tomorrow, he fully plans on meeting with the Hale children to see what they know.

Stiles puts the evidence back in its boxes and shoves them onto the shelves while Ramirez gently wakes up Kincaid. They head for the bunk room, and Stiles locks the evidence room behind them.

The bunk room is barely used, many of the deputies preferring to head home after their shifts, so it’s a little musty, but Stiles doesn’t care. He crawls onto the top bunk, Kincaid face-plants on the lower one, and Ramirez flops on the only cot.

Stiles is so tired that he hopes to drift off quickly, but his mind keeps buzzing, zipping from thought to thought in a way he hasn’t had to deal with since college.

Great. Looks like no sleep. He rolls onto his side and tries, unsuccessfully, to organize his thoughts.

Myers was investigating the fire for potential insurance fraud, which makes sense since the arson investigators determined the cause to be unnatural. But, the house was supposedly abandoned, so who would be collecting insurance on it? And how did they link the burned house with the murdered Hales? Why did they think Derek, long thought to be the only survivor, had set the fire and-slash-or murdered his family?

Before his untimely passing, Lahey had implied that he had evidence that Derek was involved. Why? Was he trying to cover something up? Is that why he’d brought in Myers to look into it?

Hopefully Myers will be able to shed some light when Stiles talks to him tomorrow.

And they still need to locate Deaton.

Stiles isn’t holding his breath that the former veterinarian is still alive. Peter Hale is an efficient killer. He’s already proved it three times. What’s a fourth?

When sleep won’t come even after breathing deeply and clearing his mind, Stiles climbs down and heads to his desk. He might as well research Garrison Myers and see if he’s investigated any other cases in Beacon County.

The night shift desk officer, Myrna Walsh, a deputy even greener than Kincaid, nods at him when he drops into his seat and he nods back at her. When his computer is fully booted, he enters Myers’ name and phone number into the Sheriff Department’s search log.

Six cases come back. Four closed and two on-going. The house out in the preserve is closed with a verdict of arson. Guess when the cops find the bodies of ten people with obvious non-fire related wounds, there’s no way to call it an accident, and Myers agreed by closing the insurance fraud investigation in favor of the insurance company not paying out.

There’s a photo attached to the Hale file, and Stiles downloads it, tapping his fingers as he feels an energy spike cresting in his veins.

He opens it and freezes. It’s Lahey in his Sheriff’s uniform, talking to a man. Stiles zooms in on the other man’s face.

It’s definitely his John Doe.

And if the picture is correct, then his dead John Doe is Garrison Myers.

It’s… Stiles doesn’t actually know how to feel about it because on one hand, now he knows who Peter Hale killed, but on the other, more pressing hand, valuable information regarding the Hale murders likely died with Myers.

Stiles saves the picture, labeling the people in it for Ramirez and Kincaid to look at tomorrow. They’ll have to looking into Garrison Myers and if he’s been reported missing yet.

He scrubs at his face, tugging at his hair. “Crap.” He can’t tell if the investigation is going well or not anymore.

It doesn’t feel like it is. It actually feels like Stiles is playing with half of a deck of cards that keeps exploding every time he thinks he makes progress.

“Fuck this,” he decides out loud, muttering angrily to himself. He needs sleep desperately.

Myrna waves him over as he stumbles back to the bunkroom. “Deputy Stilinski?”

“Yeah, Myrna?”

“This came for you today.” She hands him a thick envelope encased in an evidence bag. It doesn’t have a return address, and the flap is already neatly slit.

“Been examined?” He can see where it was dusted for fingerprints. He’s not holding his breath for evidence. It’s been that kind of case.

“Yeah. Nothing useful.”

“Contents?”

“Coded letter. For your eyes only, but I’m sure whoever sent it realized that more than you would see it.”

Hence the code. “Obviously.” Stiles weighs the envelope, the kind important ‘do not bend’ documents are sent in. He shakes his head, heading for the evidence room. He puts on a pair of gloves, grabs some evidence bags, and sits down at the table, spreading out the contents of the envelope.

There are seven pages, written back and front in code, all sealed in Beacon County Sheriff’s Evidence bags and initialed by Detective Benjamin Votsky, the only California state detective who lived in Beacon Hills and operated out of the Sheriff’s Department.

There is also a bagged single sheet of notebook paper with his name on it. Stiles picks it up first.

Deputy Stilinski, it reads, I am writing to you to confess my perceived involvement in a homicide. I want to make it perfectly clear that I knew nothing of what was going to happen nor how my knowledge would be applied to this heinous crime.

It has only recently come to my attention that someone I spoke with nearly five years ago used my answers to her simply fascinating questions in order to perform that most horrible task.

I am not stupid, Deputy. I know I will likely be charged with accessory to murder even though the things we talked about were purely hypothetical—until she went and proved my hypothesis into a theory. Therefore, I have opted to 1) encode the information I am revealing and 2) not reveal myself until I can be guaranteed that I will not be charged with any crimes. The key to the code is simple, Deputy. It’s Mischief in its true form.

Stiles sets aside the page. He has a feeling he knows this person if “Mischief in its true form” is the key. Stiles assumes that the anonymous letter-sender means that the key is actually his birth name.

He finds a piece of paper and writes down in block letters his full birth name, shoving it into an evidence bag and sealing it, scribbling his initials on the seal. He then carefully puts all the pages back into the envelope in its evidence bag and carries it all back to the front desk.

He hands it to Myrna, along with the paper with his name. “Give that to Detective Votsky. That word,” Stiles points at his name, “is the key. Tell him to find me when he’s done.”

Votsky used to be a deputy under Stiles’ dad’s terms as sheriff. He’d made detective right before the shake up, so he’d managed to skirt the firing. He also has a specialty in codes, which is probably why he was given the evidence first.

“Will do. Hey, Stiles?”

Stiles pauses. “Yeah?”

Myrna looks at him kindly. “Get some rest. The case won’t get solved any faster if you’re not able to see something because you’re too tired.”

“Sure,” Stiles says. What else is he supposed to say? He knows he needs sleep. He’s just having trouble shutting off his brain. “Thanks.”

He walks away before Myrna can give him any more futile advice. He knows she means well, but there’s a reason she’s on the front desk now instead of Kincaid.

He climbs back into his chosen bed in the bunkroom, cramming his head under his pillow to block out the snores of Ramirez and Kincaid. Surprisingly, he manages to fall asleep in minutes.

                                                                                                                     ~ * ~

MP, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

[phurycursed]

Coffee Books And Leathers (@carolshade)

PHURY - *Grunting eyes closed as I dung my dagger into the Lesser's heart, the blinding light gone in a flash along with the male. Nothing left behind but an oily patch on the ground and it's black blood splattered across my leathers and tee-shirt. Reflex and training taking over my yellow eyes scanning the alleyway, my hand wiping my black dagger down my thigh. Sliding it back into my chest holder and jogging back onto the street, it was getting close to closing time for shops which meant bars and nightclubs would soon be opening. I had already sent four Lessers back to the Omega, this was shaping up to be a busy night. Texting Rhage letting him know I was on the east side and back tracking my way towards him on the main streets and that I had sent my two trainees to the rooftops. Looking up as a slight rain starts to fall, then turning the corner my eyes going wide at the coffee shop come library on the other side of the street. Looking down at myself, the black blood blending into my all black leather coat, trousers and cotton tee-shirt. Looks like I could pass for ok, smiling to myself as I cross the road and pushing open the door to my kind of heaven.

CAROL - I looked at the watch on the wall noticing it was about time to close for the day. The last group of customers had left a few minutes ago and the tables were already clean as well as the mugs and trays. I was about to start turning the lights off on my way to the front door when said door was pushed open. The doorbell rang and a huge man made his way inside the coffee shop. And I mean HUGE. It amazed me that he could fit through the door. He looked like some kind of biker/warrior. Maybe he was someone from the RP community who liked to dress like his favourite videogame/book/movie character. 

Well he also was a customer. So I stopped staring at him, successfully hiding behind a welcoming smile that I found him really handsome, I mean you looked past all that hair and... Were those oil stains all over his clothes? I tried not to frown, it wouldn't be polite, and I said Hi.

"Hello there. Welcome to my coffee shop. What would you like to drink?"

PHURY - *Eyes tracking the female as I step over to her, running my hands through my hair then looking at the menu. The smell of books adding an interesting temptation to the coffee shop* I am going to be very boring and have a black coffee, is it too late to have a wander around your shop? *Hanging my head to the side leaning back a bit to get a better view of both the female and the books just past the counter. Smiling from under my hair my yellow eyes glowing*

CAROL - "Not at all," I replied. My smile turning into a wide grin as I walked behind the counter. "Go ahead and wander around. Choose a spot and I'll take you your boring black coffee. See if you want something to eat as well". Leaned my head to one side looking at you from head to toes and back up again. "You seem like you could use some extra energy", I added holding back my grin.

PHURY - *Steps away my mind already looking at the titles on the shelves, missing a step turning my head back to the female. Reading her again my mind lightly going over hers, yes female just being a good host. But her comment about needing energy was spot on* You know I would murder a sugary treat, could you pick something for me? Something sinful, something that would melt on my tongue. *Nodding at my words then walking to the books, lots and lots of books. Scanning them and letting loose a laugh, pulling Succubus Heat by Richelle Mead and sitting in a big fireside chair near the counter. Flicking through the book remembering the first time I read it, noting that the shelves were stocked classics as well but right now I was taking a break. Pulling out my phone and texting my trainees, keep doing laps of this block while I your lord and master for the night have a coffee with a beautiful female. Dropping my phone on the table as I read a random page*

CAROL - "I will try and surprise you with something", teased you and made myself busy preparing your coffee as I was going through my head thinking what would he possibly like to eat. Side glancing at the guy I covered my mouth muffling my chuckling when I noticed the book you had you had picked out from the shelves. Not in a million years I would have guessed that a guy like him would choose that kind of book. He looked more like 'The Art of War' kind of guy or something about Samurais maybe. Finally deciding that you seemed like you could enjoy and give it a good use to a rush of endorphins, I chose a dark chocolate cake. I cut a big slice, put it on a plate. Placed a tray on the counter and put the big mug of black coffee and the cake and take it to you. Placed the tray on the side table next to your chair and smiled at you. "There you go. Let me know if I chose correctly."

PHURY - *Looking up from the book I had picked, it was hard as the female lead Miss Kincaid was just being manhandled by her ex-ex-boyfriend Roman. I will not speak of her ex-boyfriend Seth. My eyes widening at the sight before me, Putting the book down and almost drooling over the dark chocolate slab of cake* Female what is that! *Not waiting for an answer as I dig in with the fork and placing it into my mouth, moaning out loud as I slowly chew then swallow. Closing my eyes letting the flavour consume me for a moment, opening my eyes my smile wide just stopping short of flashing the human my fangs* You need to tell me your name, I need to know who has brought me heaven in chocolate with books? *Siping the black coffee a perfect bitter taste to go with the sweet chocolate*

CAROL - Gifting you with a playful smirk I decided to grab a near chair and sit in front of you as I felt silly to stay just standing in there. "My name Carol Shade. I own this coffee shop. And that, Stranger-In-The-Night, is a dark chocolate cake. It's basically dark chocolate with with dark chocolate on top of more dark chocolate. It's Heaven on Earth."

PHURY - *Holding out my hand* Miss Carol Shade it is a pleasure to meet you and I am in awe of you. *Looks around smiling* You have a perfect business here. *Putting the book aside and eating some more cake, holding out a fork full my eyes locking onto Carol's* Would you like to taste your own product? *Hearing a text coming through my phone also vibrating on the table beside the tray*

CAROL - I shook his big hand. Mine almost lost in his. But I was starting feeling kind of safe with him here. "Thank you. I love this place. I've put all of my efforts, my savings, my hopes, my dreams, everything in this." I told  him looking around as if it was him. It was really a warm cozy place. And everyday I had people coming from different places, some of them really far away. "Are you gonna share your slice of Heaven with me?" I asked him thinking that a harmless flirting was a fun way to end this day.

PHURY - I was but! *Pops the fork full into my mouth, swallowing slowly again moaning* I'm Phury by the way, and you can tell this shop is loved. You can feel it when you walk in. *My phone dinging again as it vibrates, muttering as I pick it up* Sorry I need to answer this. Work. *Pulling up two texts, the first from Rhage. Man is it true you are having a coffee and making your slaves. I mean trainees cover rooftops! Smiling as I answer. Why yes I am relaxing right now with chocolate heaven, be jealous. Opening up the second text from Jonah, one of tonight's trainees. Rooftops clear what next? My fingers a blur as I answer. Keep checking no stopping and I will be back out in a few minutes. Putting my phone down and looking back at Carol* Sorry about that, trainees on tonight, a little unsure of what to do without me.

CAROL - *I stay sat there staring at this strange man. He really is very different for any man I've even seen. Starting for his name. What kind of name is Phury? *frowns then chuckles* Then again I've heard worse than that. And what about his fingers typing so fast? They're like a blur over his cellphone screen. Not even a teenager in love would type that fast. Shakes my head and decides to let it go. It's late and probably the dim lights are playing me tricks* It really sounds like you needed this break if things are the way you say.

PHURY - *Sipping at my black coffee wanting to make the chocolate cake last longer, then smiling at Carol crossing my legs at the knee* Well when being a mentor or teacher you have to expect texts like mine. *Frowns for a moment looking away, my eyes looking out the door I had come in through. I couldn't see the trainees out there but I knew they were doing as told, they were good males, young but good. Turning back to my hostess smiling again, taking another piece of the cake and eating* So I know you are due to close, but I am so glad you were open. I would have hate to have missed your cake and company.

CAROL - *Shakes my head smiling* Oh Don't worry about it. Sometimes I keep the coffee shop open until well past midnight if customers don't seem to want to leave. And I'm always happy to meet new people *nods then offers* Would you like another slice of cake? Trying another thing?

PHURY - *Looks past Carol to the cake display, then back* I am going to take three slices away with me if that is ok? *Drinks the last of my coffee and last piece of cake groaning like a porn star* Damn Miss Carol this is to die for. *Picking up my tray and carrying it to the counter* So can I come by again tomorrow night, I won't be as late as I am off work. That way I can read some more. *Walking back to the table and picking up the book, putting it back onto it's shelf then returning to stand behind the chair I had been sitting in*

CAROL - You can stop by whenever you want *Nods chuckling as I see you taking the tray to the counter. I stand up too and moves the chair to the place where it was before then walks behind the counter again smiling even with my eyes* Do you want the same chocolate cake to go or do you wanna take a risk and let me surprise you again?

PHURY - *Laughs shaking my head* Tomorrow you can surprise me, tonight I need to take what I was eating. I have already told Rhage what I was eating, if I don’t bring him some he will throw a hissy fit and turn into a beast! *Mutters under my breath, ‘Literally’. Pulling out my phone texting Jonah letting them know I was heading back out on patrol. Sending Rhage a text letting him know I was bringing him heaven in a takeout bag. Putting away my phone and pulling out my wallet, holding out my credit card to Carol* So how much do I owe you?

CAROL - Ok. I'm gonna make sure to have some really extra special sweets for you for tomorrow *Takes a cardboard box to put three fat slices of chocolate cake wrapped in a soft tissue, closes the box and puts in a cute little fabric bag and hands it to you along with the bill.

PHURY - *Adding a good tip as I pay up, taking my bag off goodies and walking out. Turning at the door to look back at Carol* Till tomorrow Miss Carol, till tomorrow. #CoffeeBooksAndLeathers (@carolshade)

[miqojak]

Withdrawal

(( Only really tagging @ketsuchikotetsu , for repeated references - though others are also very briefly mentioned/alluded to! You know who you are! ))

I like to stay busy - that’s no secret.

Greatness takes effort.

Power takes work.

I’m...cerebral, in my own way. I like to think. To keep my mind busy, and challenged.

Away from dark thoughts.

I like to learn. To do. I like staying active.

But working to get off of somnus...there’s not enough things to occupy my time, it seems like. Never enough exercise. Never enough work. Never enough circular thought, even on the part of the Wolf, to distract me from that constant need.

Can’t stop moving. Can’t sleep. Everything hurts. My heart won’t stop racing.

I couldn’t even say when exactly it was that I started. I was trying to stay alive, living hand to mouth in Ul’dah’s gutters - and somnus took the edge off. I’m not proud of it. It’s a crutch. A glaring, open wound. An easy window of opportunity for an enemy to manipulate, even. I’m well aware of my faults; though when I say ‘I’m not strong enough’, every single one of them fights me on it...save for the Wolf - and that’s probably just because he thinks I’m small and weak. The rest...just don’t understand...too blinded by their affection, most like.

I’m not there yet. It’s not that I’m cutting myself down, no - I’m just keeping my head up, while addressing my weaknesses.

I must to be stronger.

I cannot be beholden to a drug.

But it gnaws...and I know that my mind isn’t as sharp, for it. I know these stages of withdrawal intimately, unfortunately; I’ve tried more than once, to put it down. But something always happens, and...I run right back to that escape. To drown out pain...physical, and mental both.

It’s all I can think about, at times. Every time stress settles in on my shoulders, I can practically taste the smoke on my tongue already - feel the somnus working into my muscles, feel the tension bleeding off...and nothing that weighs on me matters, anymore. And I know it's only as far away as the flick of a lighter -

I know that when he set that tempting little case on my shoulder, that need clawed in my gut, still. Or maybe that was just the withdrawal, twisting my insides into another knot.

And yet, amidst the crushing weight of addiction, the Beast is always there...pushing as well, with her own wants. Tack on that I’ve been trying to keep the Smuggler's stupid ass out of harm’s way. Not to mention the weight of Kini’s situation that she doesn’t even realize she’s in...

When I think about her, all I can think about is her mindset, and how...when I think I can’t fathom it...I realize that I know it all too well. I know I’m making her issues...my issues. Or mine...hers?

Not to mention Kye, that egotistical shit, thinking an open bounty on his head is a good thing. I’m holding myself together by sheer force of threadbare fucking will, but I still have to set things straight for everyfuckingbodyelse. 

They’re mine, after all.

But what if I’m losing me, along the way? 

...Whoever I am.

What was it, that Wolf of mine said? ‘You’re not alone’? The irony...no, I’m not. And the fact that I’m not is only making dealing with my own issues impossibly difficult. How do I say no to hard drugs, when everyone I spend time with - besides him - is as much of an alcoholic or drug addict as I am? When Kincaid casually does drugs, because it’s of no consequence to him; when my Smuggler offers me moko instead...and the act of smoking simply makes me think about smoking something that actually takes me out of my own mind, for a time; and I’m no longer sure if the shitty attitude is me, the withdrawal, or the Beast...or some combination thereof.

I’m more alone than ever, in actuality, Wolf - above it all, and suffering all the more for it. 

Things I can’t say to him. To anyone, really. It’s not their fault, that they don’t understand me. Nor his, that he does, and he’s a grinning bastard that’s yet to be wrong.

It’s no one’s responsibility to handle this, but mine. It’s...my burden to shoulder, not theirs. Expectations are an open door to a slippery slope of complacency...and expecting any of them to understand, help, or even realize what it’s like for me...well, I know better. Expectations are dangerous, and I have enough as it stands.

Though as I shiver, cramp, and feverishly sweat - unable to fall asleep, for how the need burns through me...I question if I am strong enough on my own; I question lots of things, in my fevered state...though I can’t say I remember them all later.