#agent mortem

[wexhappyxfew]

Landslide | Chapter 91 | You Ask Who I Am

"I don't know how to be anyone but who I already am. This is how I've always been. It's not much, but I do the best I can with what I have."

― T.J. Klune, The House on the Cerulean Sea  

The coffee cup was cold.

The coffee, made from ground up beans with hot water added to it, was now nothing but a cold reflection that stared back up at her. The rain on the window pane to her right was like tiny knives slicing at her skin, even as she sat inside the warm kitchen with the wet hair that lay pressed against her neck and then the blue towel wrapped around her figure, which seemed to remain cold and stiff against her skin, despite whatever purpose the thin piece of blanket seemed to hold in that moment.

" Enjoying your coffee?" she heard a voice ask and she glanced up to find Agent Mortem there in the doorway, his own hair wet and pressed against his face, the cane he usually adorned, lain against the wall of the threshold beside him, abandoned. Agent Mortem watched Natia for a moment, watched as she glanced up towards him with a cold fronted gaze like a winter storm, her white knuckled grip on the coffee mug more apparent than normal suddenly.

[read the rest on AO3 + Wattpad]

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hey friends!!! sorry it’s been about a month since we’ve lasted visited with natia! school’s been chaotic af and i have barely had time to take the time to sit down and update! :( so i am very sorry about that bc i’ve been meaning to put this chapter out for *weeks* i tell you! this is sort of a ‘beginning of the end’ chapter if we want to call it that (insert sad face here!) and though it makes me excited to see out the end of this story and natia’s story more than anything, my heart does break a little to know it’ll come to an end. but i’ve done it before and it won’t hurt any less lol! 😅 thanks for sticking with me! :) i hope you all enjoy!

taglist: @chaosklutz @juliannetoinette @huenoclue @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @tvserie-s-world @liebegott @wecomrades @thoughpoppiesblow @cetaitlaverite @rogue-sunday @legally-devorak @alejodi0nysus @mrsalwayswrite @supervalcsi @heffrcns @xthefourthx @whoahersheybars @kryzes @papersergeant-pencilsoldier @whovian45810 @sergeant-spoons @geniedocroe @holdingforgeneralhugs @martinsrestingbitchface @pipster4107 @mads-weasley @hinkel-im-home @heirsoflilith @icantdecideofthename

-> this taglist has been floating around for about 2 years now, so as always, if you would like to be added/removed, just shoot me a message! :D

[deathbydyingpod]

In honor of Black History Month, let’s learn about Henrietta Duterte, the first African-American funeral home owner and first woman to own a mortuary – a mortuary that was a stop on the Underground Railroad.

Abolitionist, philanthropist, and wife of a Haitian-born coffin maker, Henrietta took over her late husband’s funeral home in 1859, becoming the first woman undertaker, not just in Philadelphia, but all of America.

She became known as an undertaker who was quick, empathetic, and served folks of all walks of life. (Side note, prior to this, she was a talented tailor who wore striking capes, cloaks, and hats, and I just think that’s iconic.)

Henrietta was an agent of the Underground Railroad, and would use her mortuary resources to hide runaway slaves in coffins and disguise them in funeral processions to help them pass safely through the city.

She also raised funds for a variety of institutions in Philadelphia’s Black community, including churches and nursing homes. By the time of her death in 1903, at the age of 83, Henrietta’s mortuary had become one of Philadelphia’s most successful businesses.

In the only surviving photo of Henrietta Duterte, she is clad in black, holding her recently-deceased child in her arms – a post-mortem photo meant to serve as a family keepsake in honor of her child. There is a grief about her, and a strength.

[withered-tears]

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that the autobots aren't human.

Well, not in the literal sense. Of course they aren't human. They are giant alien robots that turn into cars, for goodness sake.

But they talk like humans. They walk like humans. Even the way they think sometimes feels extremely human-like.

So sometimes, yes, it is easy to forget they are not human.

This had the unfortunate side effect of, unintentionally, see more than one situation through a human filter, so to speak.

Such as, for example, their durability.

Because when Bulkead ran through the groundbridge carrying Bee's body, with Arcee running next to him carrying Bee's head, every human present in the base froze.

Jack's eyes were wide open, face growing pale.

Miko, in contrast, was looking almost green. Hands clasping her mouth, either to stop herself from sobbing or puking. Tears were streaming down her face.

June, although horrified, was focusing solely on keeping Raf in place.

Raf was the worst. As soon as he saw Bee, he started screaming.

June was doing her best to try and comfort the kid while keeping him from running to his friend's body. Hugging him against her chest to keep him from looking at the horrible visage.

Agent Fowler was grim, fists and teeth clenched. When Cliffjumper died, he was the one who dealt with the horrible bureaucracy of asking the bots about proper protocol. About post-mortem condecoration, about burial rites, about tradition and wishes.

Now, at least he knew the proper way to proceed, which boils down to let the bots do as they please with their dead and keep any nosy superior out of their business.

Then Ratchet spoke.

"Finally. Bulkhead, drop him in a berth, and bring me the second crate of spares. Arcee, bring the head here. I want to start running diagnostics before- Bulkhead! The second crate! I'll have to repair most ports on Bumblebee's neck, f not replace them outright."

June was the first human to speak.

"What do you mean 'repair' his ports?"

Bumblebee's head had been cut off. Surely there's no repairing that, right?

Ratchet rolled his optics (once again, such human-like gestures) at the question, barely paying any mind to the humans as he worked on Bumblebee's head.

"What, you expected me to just shove his head in place and wrape tape around it? Sorry to disappoint, but reattaching a head is a bit more complicated than-"

"Bee's alive?"

Raf's voice was awful. Voice cracking and filled with such fragile, fragile hope.

Ratchet's eyes widened (so human-like) in surprise before his entire demeanor changed.

He carefully and gently picked up Raf to bring him closer to his workstation.

"Of course he's alive. Here, look. Although his neck was severely damaged, his processors, his brain module, are unscathed. The sudden lost of power caused them to crash, which is why I'm running diagnostics through his software."

Raf, small, young, terrified, and brilliant Raf, was quickly putting the information together.

"So it's like, it's like a computer that got unplugged without being properly turned off first?"

It was obvious Ratchet was not happy being compared to such inferior, human technology. But he held any complaints to himself.

"Yeah, something like that, kid. As I said, I have to check every port in his neck to make sure they won't overload his processors once I reconnect them. Not to mention, all vital components on a cybertronian body not only receive power from the spark and energon processing, but they also store a small portion of it. Like an internal battery. Bumblebee's brain could be kept powered off for years without any side effects, other than some minor lag once reactivated. Not that his repairs will take nearly that long. I'll have Bumblebee back online in a couple of days, a week at most."

Raf was sniffing, wiping his face with his sleeves. "Can, can I help?" His voice was still scratchy.

Ratchet huffed, trying really hard to sound annoyed.

"Why not. Might as well have a second pair of optics double-checking the code. Maybe you'll even learn something."

Yeah, the Autobots were not human.

But they sure acted human-like often enough.

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 43

Tw: some description of post mortem decay

Tegan once found herself in the mid-1980s. While here, she had an encounter with a rather stroppy teenaged waitress. This waitress was named "Dorothy." (Novel: The Crystal Bucephalus)

During funerals on Venus, the brain of the deceased is cut up and eaten by those attending. This was a way the deceased could live on as they would gain the deceased's memories this way. The First Doctor could take this in stride, but Barbara and Ian were a bit disturbed by it. (Novel: Venusian Lullaby)

Rassilon feared for the survival of the Time Lords so deeply that he sent biogenic molecules back in time that would force all life forms in the universe that were affected to evolve into something similar to what was the Gallifreyan standard. This is why so many species look similar. (So Time Lords don't look human...Humans look like Time Lords, just as Trions, Trakenites, etc etc do, because Rassilon interfered with their natural evolution). (Audio: Zagreus)

The Doctor's previous selves maintain awareness in their subconscious, and for a while, the Doctor would keep some of them imprisoned in their mind. For example, the Fifth Doctor was kept in chains in a pit. (Novel: Timewyrm: Revelation)

They also kept the Sixth Doctor imprisoned very deep inside the Doctor's mind for fear of the Valeyard. (Novel: Head Games)

Indeed, the Seventh Doctor started having dreams that his Eighth would lock him in a "room with no doors" after their regeneration. (Novel: The Room With No Doors)

The design for the Mondasian Cyberman was based off of a body scan of the Fifth Doctor. (Audio: Spare Parts)

By some accounts, Liz Shaw died of Agent Yellow, which is a virus that turns oxygen into sulfuric acid somehow. (Novel: Eternity Weeps)

The Fatkats are a race of giant, intelligent cats. They sometimes keep humans as pets. Rory was kidnapped by a Fatkat and given to his kid as a gift, and the kid renamed him Cuddles. The Eleventh Doctor and Amy eventually convinced the Fatkats to help them free Rory, and as a thank-you gift, he left them a life-sized stuffed Doctor doll for them to play with. (Comic: Humans Aren't Just For Christmas)

The Tenth Doctor once wrote a letter to the Brigadier, saying he felt guilty for not visiting and that he was thinking of him. When the Brigadier died, this letter was found lying on his bedside cabinet as though he had just been reading it. Thus, it is likely that the Doctor’s words were the last he ever read and that he might have even passed thinking about his old friend. (Novel: The Time Lord Letters)

When Time Lords die, their TARDISes do as well. (Audio: The Axis of Insanity)

The Axis is a place in interdimensional space that holds together and regulates all damaged timelines to prevent the contamination from spreading. Time Lords typically aren't welcome since they are responsible for most aberrant timelines, but one was sent to investigate when Jarra To took over. This Time Lord was later found by the Doctor, oozing pus and covered in roaches after being murdered by Jarra To. (Audio: The Axis of Insanity)

One time after stumbling on alien invaders, the Eighth Doctor and Charley used their acting skills to save the day. Charley became Lady Charleyostiantayshius, a Gallifreyan observer, and the Doctor became a transcriber from the High Council, who is pretty much Lady Charleyostiantayshius's excitable if a bit bumbling companion. They both wear the proper Gallifreyan regalia, and Charley was so good at her act that the Doctor thought she made a better Gallifreyan than he did. The Doctor convinces the captain of the alien fleet that there is a plague and gives him large quantities of the "vaccine," which is actually just straight up alcohol, so the captain gets wasted. (Audio: Living Legend)

The Doctor's memory of his first two incarnations is hazy, to say the least. (Audio: Cold Fusion)

Patience regenerated into a female form only after meeting the Fifth Doctor. The description of their prior incarnation is ambiguous in that regard. (Audio: Cold Fusion, Novel: Cold Fusion)

Peri was infected with a virus that copied all of her DNA and turned anyone she touched into a clone of herself. This included the Fifth Doctor, who started at first by repeating what Peri said and then became her. Based on the classic Big Finish noises that accompanied this, the change is graphically painful (Audio: Mission of the Viyrans)

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[callmearcturus]

WE ARE SO BACK. it's been a while so lets do a full summary

Benji Dunn works as a physical therapist for all kinds of government agents. CIA, FBI, Secret Service— when anyone needs assistance getting their body back in order, they come to him. Periodically, though, a mysterious block appears on his schedule. No name, no medical history, nothing but the characters BE11. The year is 1996, and Benji meets Ethan Hunt under very different circumstances. And the ripples pull wider and wider as time moves on, until the familiar image becomes something new. A quick lesson on broken bones: If they heal wrong, you're going to have to break them again.

This is a Long Fic, reimagining the entire Mission Impossible timeline from the end of MI1 to [REDACTED]. Separated into Acts, we are now in Act Four, the last of the story. Shifts in the story begin small recontextualization, then expand over time to going further and further off-script. Thematically, in my opinion, this is a story about age and self-iteration and the age-old question what can change the nature of a person.

Chapter 31: MATCH. LIPREAD. PRE-MORTEM.

[inkedobsidian]

~ I don't guess - S.R ~

summary: You’re sat in a lecture with Stiles listening to the teaching assistant, Spencer, when he asks everyone a question and he asks you and you get it right.

pairing: Spencer ReidxReader (criminal mindxteenwolf)

warnings: case violence, rape, stabbing etc.

word count: 1,098

a/n: Requests are open! Prompt list is there if you guys want extra ideas!

Master-List - Prompts

“C’mon Stiles we have to start the class in literally 5 minutes why aren’t you here?” You curse through your phone at your best friend. You were currently waiting outside your current classroom at Quantico. After the Beacon Hills, you and Stiles had both been offered places at the FBI academy and you both couldn't think of anything better than living in a flat together.

“Because Y/N I don’t see why you even wanted me to take behavioural analysis with you…. And I slept in. Again.” He says laughing through the phone. He slept in way too often nowadays but you were just glad he was finally sleeping soundly again.

“Hurry. Up.” You say in the phone before you hang up laughing. You open your laptop to see a picture of You, Stiles, Lydia, Scott, Malia and Kira all at graduation. Although you loved the academy you missed your friends. Even if it’s nice not to have been shot at for a few months, which is hilarious considering you are at an academy for FBI agents. You hear someone sit next to you and you smile seeing Stiles.

“About time class is almost starting. And we have a guest assistant from the BAU!” You say excitedly. Stiles just smiles at you and opens his laptop and it’s a picture of him and Lydia. You smile and giggle.

“Shut up.” He says smiling knowing what you’re laughing at. You couldn't help it, watching your best friend finally get with the girl he's been obssessed with from the third grade made you happy. The teacher walks in and you nudge Stiles to get him to pay attention.

“Right class, we have a guest in today. Dr Spencer Reid from the BAU team.” The teacher points to the door and a tall, curly haired boy walks up.

“Holy shit…” You say looking at him. His tall skinny demeaner was adorably nerdy. His slightly overgrown hair went down the side of his face and he was so cute yet so handsome. You didn't even notice Stiles watching you react to the TA

“Don’t tell me you have a crush on the TA already.” Stiles says laughing getting his phone out to text Lydia.

“Hello class, I’m Dr Spencer Reid. Today we’re going to test practical skills so we’re going to give you an intermediate case for you to evaluate. Please review the case files under you chairs and we’ll get started.” We all pick up the folders and look through them. The bodies are real.

“Stiles, this is a real case.” You say whispering. He does a double take and his face goes white realising I’m right. There were 5 different bodies. All women, all blonde. All were raped and had no defensive wounds. There were stab wounds that by the look of the blood was done post mortem.

“Right can anyone give me any ideas about this unsub?” Dr Spencer Reid said and people begun to try and guess the current situation and most of them were bland guesses.

“He’s most likely male because of the signs of rape.”

“He clearly has a problem with blood because he stabs them post mortem.”

All of these voice fluttered around the classroom as people were trying to grasp at anything they can in the photos. I feel Stiles nudge me and I look at him.

“Lydia says go for it, with a winky face.” You start to laugh and look back at the case files reading a bit deeper into the case. You didn't like speaking in class unless you were sure of what you thought, unless you called on of course.

“How about you miss, since you haven’t spoken?” You hear Dr Spencer Reid say. You don’t understand he’s talking to you, as your nose deep into the case file, until Stiles nudges you and you look up and see him staring at you.

“Excuse me?” You ask politely embarrassed that you didn’t know he was talking to you. For the first time you both made eye contact and you couldn't help but keep his eye contact for as long as you could.

“Can you give us any information about the unsub for the profile?” He asks. You swallow and look up nervously.

“Well for starts he’s not impotent because if he was he wouldn’t be able to get it up to rape the girls. He’s used a condom because no DNA was found inside the victims. If he is impotent however he’s had to be using sildenafil citrate, more commonly known as Viagra. The fact there were no defensive wounds suggest that he doses them with a paralytic and if this guy is truly angry which is what the post mortem stab wounds suggest, then it’s a paralytic that keeps them awake. He clearly has a type for women in their 20’s so maybe a break up or a divorce was his stressor. As for his job, he asserts so much dominance and anger his job is probably over looked by many people in the scheme of things so he feels he needs to over compensate. Also the fact he’s stabbed them afterwards, further on in the report is says they weren’t found like that, this suggests he works in the mortuary, maybe even the ME.” I say finally finishing the explanation which felt like it made time slow down.

Stiles just smirks at me knowing I only said all of that to hopefully impress Dr. Reid. You weren't going to lie you fully said all of that just to impress him, after spending so much of your teenage years surrounded by violence or death you had a knack for seeing things other people missed, especially the police.

“Nice guess….” He says trailing on. You couldn't tell wether he was impressed or just thinks you made it up on the spot for extra credit.

“Y/N L/N. And I don’t guess.” I say smirking. You had no idea where your new found confidence had come from but there was just an energy flowing through you considering you knew Dr. Reids' heartbeat had just spiked. He smiles and looks away and I smile looking down. I look at Stiles and he curses.

“Y/N. Your eyes. Calm it.” I raise my eyebrows before looking at my laptop screen and seeing my eyes glowing blue and my claws showing slightly.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I say digging my claws into my hands. Blood runs down my hand and my eyes go back to normal.

“It’s like Scott and Allison all over again.” Stiles saying laughing.

“Shut up Stiles.” I say laughing wiping the blood on my bag.

[goodqueenaly]

I think you’ve said before that A Feast of Crows and A Dance with Dragons were partly about the competing legacies of Tywin and Ned could you elaborate?

Oh yes. (More under the cut)

The opening of AFFC is not subtle about the story's judgment on Tywin's legacy - it stinks. This is the reason Tywin's corpse rots so awfully, even though nothing in universe would explain that level of decay; the author is practically hitting readers over the head with the symbolism here. Tywin's modus operandi was terror, total destruction, and an absolute lack of moral scruple in the achievement of his aims. This was true of Tywin even before we see him in the main story, from his response to the Reyne-Tarbeck Rebellion to his horrifying sack of King's Landing and the murders of Rhaegar's wife and children. Too, from the very beginning of the war in the main novels - when Tywin unleashed his favorite hellhound Gregor Clegane at the Mummer's Ford, Sherrer, and Wendish Town and empowered his lieutenants to commit any and all war crimes to bring the Riverlands to its knees - Tywin sought to win through the overwhelming application of terror and violence. Fittingly, his ultimate response, the Red Wedding, openly rejected one of the oldest and most sacred Westerosi traditions so as to ensure the complete elimination of his most prominent enemy. This is Tywin's legacy - crushing his enemies so unmercifully, so ruthlessly in order to instill a permanent fear of anyone doing so again.

So how's that legacy going post mortem, Tywin? Let's see how Doran Martell feels about it:

"You mistake patience for forbearance. I have worked at the downfall of Tywin Lannister since the day they told me of Elia and her children. It was my hope to strip him of all that he held most dear before I killed him, but it would seem his dwarf son has robbed me of that pleasure. I take some small solace in knowing that he died a cruel death at the hands of the monster that he himself begot.["]

Whoops. It would be a real shame if Doran ever had an alternate royal candidate (or two) to support over the Lannisters, wouldn't it? Well, how do the people of the Riverlands feel in a post-Red Wedding world?

“Would that it were only them,” said Lady Mariya. “Some of the river lords are hand in glove with Lord Beric’s men as well.”

“The smallfolk too,” sniffed her daughter. “Ser Harwyn says they hide them and feed them, and when he asks where they’ve gone, they lie. They lie to their own lords!”

…

“It might have been outlaws,” Ser Daven said, when Jaime told the tale, “or not. There are still bands of northmen about. And these Lords of the Trident may have bent their knees, but methinks their hearts are still … [sic] wolfish.”

...

Jaime noted the banners of Lychester and Vance, of Roote and Goodbrook, the acorns of House Smallford [sic] and Lord Piper's dancing maiden, but the banners he did not see gave him pause. The silver eagle of Mallister was nowhere in evidence; nor the red horse of Bracken, the willow of the Rygers, the twining snakes of Paege. Though all had renewed their fealty to the Iron Throne, none had come to join the siege. The Brackens were fighting the Blackwoods, Jaime knew, which accounted for their absence, but as for the rest ... [sic]

Our new friends are no friends at all. Their loyalty goes no deeper than their skins.

Whoops. It would be a real shame if an extrajudicial group in the area ever started seeking revenge for the Red Wedding by attacking and killing the people Tywin empowered, wouldn't it? Oh, and all those people assaulted and harried by Tywin's terror agents during the war?

A one-legged man stepped forward, leaning on a wooden crutch. "Your Grace, these are the bones of holy men and women, murdered for their faith. Septons, septas, brothers brown and dun and green, sisters white and blue and grey. Some were hanged, some disemboweled. Septs have been despoiled, maidens and mothers raped by godless men and demon worshipers. Even silent sisters have been molested. The Mother Above cries out in her anguish. We have brought their bones here from all over the realm, to bear witness to the agony of the Holy Faith."

...

"Some of my sparrows speak of bands of lions who despoiled them ... [sic] and of the Hound, who was your own sworn man. At Saltpans he slew an aged septon and despoiled a girl of twelve, an innocent child promised to the Faith. He wore his armor as he raped her and her tender flesh was torn and crushed by his iron mail. When he was done he gave her to his men, who cut off her nose and nipples."

Whoops. It would be a real shame if they ended up in a position to upset or even overthrow Tywin's royal dynasty, wouldn't it? Well, at least Tywin's ally in the North, Roose Bolton, has his back when it comes to upholding his legacy, right?

"Truth be told," she said, "Lord Bolton aspires to more than mere lordship. Why not King of the North? Tywin Lannister is dead, the Kingslayer is maimed, the Imp is fled. The Lannisters are a spent force, and you were kind enough to rid him of the Starks. Old Walder Frey will not object to his fat little Walda becoming a queen. White Harbor might prove troublesome should Lord Wyman survive this coming battle … [sic] but I am quite sure that he will not. No more than Stannis. Roose will remove both of them, as he removed the Young Wolf.["]

Whoops - looks like Roose learned Tywin's own favorite lesson of double dealing. And wait, it gets worse - even Roose's own allies in the North, people who hold grudges against the Starks and/or benefit from the Boltons being in power, resent what Tywin saw as his ultimate triumph over Robb Stark:

“Night work is not knight’s work,” Lady Dustin said. “And Lord Wyman is not the only man who lost kin at your Red Wedding, Frey. Do you imagine Whoresbane loves you any better? If you did not hold the Greatjon, he would pull out your entrails and make you eat them, as Lady Hornwood ate her fingers. Flints, Cerwyns, Tallharts, Slates … [sic] they all had men with the Young Wolf.”

“House Ryswell too,” said Roger Ryswell.

“Even Dustins out of Barrowton.” Lady Dustin parted her lips in a thin, feral smile. “The north remembers, Frey.”

Tywin's rotten corpse is barely cold, and his legacy is already falling apart. Everywhere you look, people don't just resent his terror tactics - they are actively undermining his work, looking to destabilize or even outright overthrow the nominally Baratheon but de facto Lannister royal dynasty Tywin so badly wanted to create. It's not going to be long before we see, to borrow Nymeria Sand's phrase, "the utter ruin of Tywin Lannister and all his works", as poor young Tommen's government collapses and the brotherhood without banners gets whatever vengeance it is looking for against the Frey regime in the Riverlands.

Meanwhile, what is happening in the North? Barbrey Dustin, who strongly hates both Ned and Catelyn (and, relatedly, supports the Bolton regime partly out of that hatred), sums up the situation nicely:

"Dressing her [i.e. Jeyne Poole, purporting to be Arya Stark] in grey and white serves no good if the girl is left to sob. The Freys may not care, but the northmen … [sic] they fear the Dreadfort, but they love the Starks."

...

["]Old Whoresbane is only here because the Freys hold the Greatjon captive. And do you imagine the Hornwood men have forgotten the Bastard's last marriage, and how his lady wife was left to starve, chewing her own fingers? What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned's precious little girl."

And these aren't empty words, either. The sentiment is echoed in White Harbor:

"I know about the promise," insisted the girl. "Maester Theomore, tell them! A thousand years before the Conquest, a promise was made, and oaths were sworn in the Wolf's Den before the old gods and the new. When we were sore beset and friendless, hounded from our homes and in peril of our lives, the wolves took us in and nourished us and protected us against our enemies. The city is built upon the land they gave us. In return we swore that we should always be their men. Stark men!"

...

Lord Wyman smiled. "Did you see how brave she was? Even when I threatened to have her tongue out, she reminded me of the debt White Harbor owes to the Starks of Winterfell, a debt that can never be repaid.["]

On Bear Island:

Stannis read from the letter. "Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is STARK.["]

With Alys Karstark of Karhold:

[“]I begged my father to leave one of my brothers as castellan, but none of them wished to miss the glory and ransoms to be won in the south. Now Torr and Edd are dead. Harry was a prisoner at Maidenpool when last we heard, but that was almost a year ago. He may be dead as well. I did not know where else to turn but to the last son of Eddard Stark.”

...

Alys knelt before him, clutching the black cloak. “You are my only hope, Lord Snow. In your father’s name, I beg you. Protect me.”

Among the northern mountain clans:

Even prisoners have ears, and she had heard all the talk at Deepwood Motte, when King Stannis and his captains were debating this march. Ser Justin had opposed it from the start, along with many of the knights and lords who had come with Stannis from the south. But the wolves insisted; Roose Bolton could not be suffered to hold Winterfell, and the Ned's girl must be rescued from the clutches of his bastard. So said Morgan Liddle, Brandon Norrey, Big Bucket Wull, the Flints, even the She-Bear.

...

Finally, after a nightmarish day when the column advanced a bare mile and lost a dozen horses and four men, Lord Peasebury turned against the northmen. "This march was madness. More dying every day, and for what? Some girl?"

"Ned's girl," said Morgan Liddle ...

"Ned's girl," echoed Big Bucket Wull.

...

"Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned's little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue."

To all of these people, the Starks in general, and Ned Stark and his line in particular, represent a long, respected tradition of justice, protection, and fair rulership - in sum, a dynasty they love and want to uphold. Lyanna Mormont boldly defies a king who could bring an army to Bear Island if he chose; Wyman cheerfully furthers his Stark restoration conspiracy right under the Frey-Bolton noses (and gets his chin partially slit for his efforts); Alys Karstark races through the wilderness alone to get to Ned's last (so she knows) surviving son; the northern clansmen march through unrelenting, indeed punishing snowstorms toward battle against the Bolton-Frey forces - these people are willing to risk their lives and the futures of their own dynasties to restore the Starks to power, because the Stark name means something to them. All of them have faith in the Starks, a faith that can't be bought with all the gold in Casterly Rock; far from killing Stark support among Ned's former vassals, his death has only galvanized them to rally around his children. Even as Tywin's precious royal heir Tommen is teetering on the edge of his own downfall in the capital, multiple factions are working toward the restoration of the Starks to Winterfell, in almost every case because they believe in Ned and the Starks as their beloved rulers (Littlefinger's notwithstanding, and even he is partially relying on a similar chivalric sentiment from the Vale's knights; too, I tend to think Sansa will use the love of Ned's vassals for him and Jon Arryn's vassals for him to overthrow Littlefinger himself).

[cursedfortune]

A smile as sharp as razor wire.

That's how the agent referred to the witch, for she had never known any other version of her. Nestor had always wanted to know if that smile ever reached Mortem's gaze or if it died on its ascent, never to make the abyss that was her eyes gleam or show an ounce of life within them.

But Mortem was a creature that didn't rely on human rules to function. Even at her worst she could deceive or genuinely find amusement in a situation.

"If you ask me if I'm fine one more time..." The witch drawled with mirth to her voice despite the fact Nestor had yet to utter a word. Her gaze tilted, head following the motion half a second thereafter until her sights were set upon the human. There was something grim and heavy within the air and as her lips stretched and curled into a wider smile, it was cleaved. Dispersed as Mortem's will demanded some levity to their dire situation.

Conveniently, her eyes had squinted shut. Nestor's question on how the witch truly felt would never be answered in this life. A secret as well kept as the witch's true name.

"Come, we have much fury in our souls. We may as well be productive with it, hm?" And plan. Scheme. For once there were nearly no restrictions upon either of them - for dead women need not follow any rules.

[hamsterclaw]

Last Man

Hoseok's been sent to investigate a murder in a small town, where he meets you, trying to keep everything around you from falling apart.

Pairing: Hoseok x F! reader

Genre: Non-idol, police detective AU, smut

Rating: 18+

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: Swearing, sex, murder, mentions of blood, non-graphic violence, investigative police work

Tagging: @lost-lospandos Here's cop Hoseok!

Hoseok’s had a long day, and it looks nowhere close to being over. He’s been ordered down to this one-horse town by his direct superior, assistant director Joan Kim, to look into a murder.

As far as he knows, Joan isn’t just in it to torture him, so there’s more to this than meets the eye. It would have been great if just this one fucking time Joan could give him the information instead of waiting for him to find it out himself, but he’s got to admit she’s consistent if nothing else.

He parks his car outside the police station, taking a moment to look in the mirror and wish he’d taken the time to change prior to driving here.

He’s wearing a black cashmere sweater, not a colour he normally wears, but his sister had convinced him he’d look suave and sophisticated for his date.

His date, a woman who took one look at him and called him for the cop he is and then asked nervously if he had done a background check on her. The date had gone downhill from there.

He hadn’t even had a chance to have dessert, and if he’d been a smarter man he’d have downed the rest of his wine to be over the legal limit for driving down here the instant he got the call.  

As it is, he’s sexually frustrated, hungry and too fucking sober for this.

Hoseok forces himself to stop sulking and get his ass out the car, because the sooner he gets to the bottom of this, the sooner he can get back to his lonely-ass life back home.

He braces himself as he walks across the car park to the entrance of the station. Local detectives, especially in towns like this, are classically hostile to state detectives. He’s used to it, used to the sideways glances, the barely civil mutterings and today he’s on his last nerve.

The first person he sees as he walks in is you, and he almost walks right past you until you stand in his way.

‘Special Agent Jung Hoseok?’ you ask.

Hoseok nods politely because he’s got manners, but he’s already looking beyond you for the detective who’s meant to meet him.

‘I’m Detective Y/N L/N,’ you say, persistent.

Finally, Hoseok looks at you.

Usually, local detectives wear uniform in towns like this.

You’re wearing a slinky black dress and heels that make him wish your beautiful legs were wrapped around him.

He’s one to talk, in his black cashmere and dress trousers.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I wasn’t expecting –’

‘Yeah, I was on a date,’ you say briskly, leading him to your office.

‘Me too,’ Hoseok says.

‘Yeah? Was yours going well?’ you ask, throwing him a friendly smile.

‘Not particularly,’ he replies, honest.

‘Mine either,’ you admit.

Hoseok wonders what kind of fool would mess up a date with you.

You brief him on the case whilst coffee brews in the staffroom across the way.

Hoseok clicks through the crime scene photos on your desktop as you give him the details.

‘The victim was a waitress at the diner down the street, a college student on summer break. She was found in an alley a few streets down three hours ago. The ME’s doing the post-mortem as we speak, but it looks like blood loss from multiple stab wounds.’

Hoseok’s waiting for you to get to the point, because so far there isn’t anything about this case that necessitates state involvement. Why is he here?

It’s like you can sense his impatience, because you say, ‘It’s the third murder in as many days, all the same MO, all young women in the street, all stabbed to death.’

Bingo.

Hoseok sits up straighter. ‘Three murders in three days?’ he asks, voice betraying his concern.

You nod. ‘Technically the last two were within 18 hours of each other.’

Shit. You haven’t just got a serial killer, you’ve also got an escalating pattern of violence. Hoseok doubts you have enough manpower in your force to deal with this, especially not with the time constraint.

He can feel the familiar rush of adrenaline through his bloodstream, the urgency of the situation finally galvanising him out of his sulky, sex-deprived, hungry funk.

This is where he comes in.

‘I’m going to need to make a few calls,’ he says.

***

Hoseok looks out of the window as you drive, street-lights giving him flashes of the town in between swathes of darkness.

So far, nothing seems to stand out about this place apart from the fact there’s a serial killer in your midst and that you’re the best detective he’s had the pleasure of working with in a while.

And it is a pleasure working with you, you’re smart and thoughtful and you don’t seem to have a chip on your shoulder about working with ‘the asshole from state’ as he’s heard himself charmingly referred to in the past.

You’ve changed out of your slinky dress into standard issue khakis and an oversized jacket, which means he can be less careful about where his eyes land when he’s thinking.

Thank God for small favours.

The first crime scene is still taped off, you look at him apologetically as you lift it for him to duck under.

‘My forensics team are on the way, so it’s good that it’s still taped off, for what it’s worth,’ Hoseok says, reassuring. It’s unlikely anything now will be admissible as evidence, given it’s a public location and he knows as well as anyone that a bit of tape never stopped anyone from going anywhere.

‘At least they’ll be able to spot the crime scene,’ you say, straight-faced.

Hoseok isn’t sure if you’re joking or not but it’s funny so he laughs anyway.

He puts you out of his head as he surveys the crime scene. He’s observant, he knows he reads a crime scene better than most. At first glance, there’s nothing that stands out here, the blood splatter on the walls correlates to the deepest pool of blood, the signs of a struggle fit with what he’d expect.

You tilt your head, secure in the knowledge you’ve not missed anything obvious in your investigation. ‘The next crime scene is half a block away.’

Hoseok falls into step beside you as you lead him to the next location.

He’s thinking, trying to put himself in the killer’s headspace, concentrating so hard it takes him a couple of seconds to realise you’re speaking.

He looks at you blankly.

You hold up your phone. ‘A call’s just come in – a domestic, I need to take it. Jungkook’s on the way but he hasn’t been doing this long.’

Hoseok nods. ‘I’ll go with you.’

‘You sure?’ you ask, but you’re already jogging back in the direction of the car.

Hoseok knows you’re still waiting on the post-mortems on the last two victims, and although it’s not ideal, without a lead, you might as well be answering call-outs.

You’re pulling up to the house, cutting the engine, when a loud crash resonates through the darkness.

Hoseok’s out the car, muscle memory from years of being a cop over-riding his natural instincts, allowing him to run towards the danger instead of away.

He’s in the open door, assessing the tableau in front of him in seconds. A man, grappling with an officer, a woman crouched beside an overturned table. Hoseok’s looking for any signs of children, and he huffs a sigh of relief when he sees none.

You’re already next to the woman, and although you’d been worried about Jungkook, he seems more than capable of bringing the man in.

Jungkook ushers the man into the back of his squad car, and gives Hoseok a suspicious look.

‘Are you the date?’ he asks.

‘Yeah,’ Hoseok says, before his brain engages.

‘If you fuck with Y/N, you fuck with all of us,’ Jungkook says, a snarl on his lips.

‘This is Special Agent Jung Hoseok,’ you say, voice exasperated. ‘Stand down, Officer Jeon.’

Hoseok doesn’t have any time to enjoy the flummoxed look on Jungkook’s handsome face because you’re slapping a hand on his back, hard.

‘Am I going to have trouble with you?’ you ask. Your voice is stern, but there’s the slightest twitch to your lips, like you’re suppressing a smile.

‘No, ma’am,’ Hoseok replies immediately, because he’s not a complete idiot.

‘Good. Let’s get back to the crime scene,’ you say.

***

The clock above the steel gurney shows the time as 4am.

Hoseok’s switched from coffee to water because his heart feels like it’s about to burst from fatigue.

You’re leading the discussion with the ME, a serious-looking man who introduced himself as Dr Kim. You’ve been calling him Namjoon, Joon even. It seems like you know each other well.

Hoseok’s wondering how well you know Dr Kim Namjoon. He knows he’s tired because he snorts when you say the contraction of his name again.

‘Joon’ and you look at him curiously.

To cover his lapse, Hoseok reels off the facts he knows, like he’s recapping.

Multiple stab wounds, most probably a right-handed assailant, tall, judging by the angle of the wounds. Probably six foot, like Dr Kim Namjoon himself.

Hoseok files that fact under things that annoy him about ‘Joon.’

As you’re thanking him, ‘Joon’ breaks into a smile, dimples flashing. He glances over Hoseok, as if assessing if he can be trusted to escort his precious Detective Y/N L/N safely at this hour.

Hoseok doesn’t falter as he meets his gaze. He’s not a cocky guy, but he knows two things. He’s a damn good detective and he’s good in a physical fight.

He realises you’re staring at him.

You put your hand on his arm, gentle.

‘Come on, you can crash at mine,’ you say.

Hoseok’s enjoying the feel of your hand on his arm so much he almost doesn’t notice when you say, ‘bye Joonie.’

Almost.

***

Hoseok wakes abruptly to loud banging. It sounds like it’s coming from the hallway, just outside.

Concern for you has him leaping out of bed, pulling the door open, assessing the situation.

He sees Officer Jeon Jungkook outside your bedroom door and takes two steps forward, looking past his large frame to check on you.

You’re standing in the door, and it takes a moment for Hoseok to regroup, because…

Legs.

You’re in an oversized, soft-looking t-shirt that comes to the tops of your thighs, which look so smooth and soft Hoseok’s got the urge to bury his face between them, use them as pillows to rest his head.

He realises you’re looking at him too, remembers that he hasn’t got anything on his top half.

He spends time in the gym, looks after himself, but he knows that’s not why you’re staring.

The scars on his torso tell their own story, one he doesn’t always want to share.

He’d spent three years under deep cover in Kyoto, Joan Kim had been his only contact with the bureau.

He owes her his life, and she owes him a goddamn raise.

Both you and Jeon Jungkook are staring at him, and you look oddly similar.

‘Are you related?’ Hoseok asks, as though it’s relevant.

‘Cousins,’ you say, closing your mouth.

‘There’s been another murder,’ says Jungkook.

‘Fuck,’ you and Hoseok say, at the same time.

***

The officer securing the crime scene looks relieved when Hoseok and you arrive.

‘Forensics are on the way,’ he tells you.

Hoseok nods and you both approach the body.

It’s another woman, dark-haired, lying face down.

That’s not what has Hoseok dropping to his knees beside her though.

There’s a ripple in the blood pooling around her.

You’re a step ahead, hand under her neck.

‘Fuck!’ you swear. ‘She’s got a pulse.’

Hoseok already shouting for an ambulance, helping you turn her over.

He works on her with you until the EMTs arrive.

***

Hoseok scrubs a hand over his face, phone pressed to his ear.

‘What kind of fucking incompetent idiot called it without checking for signs of life?’ Joan asks. Her voice is quiet, terse, chilling.

Hoseok’s seen grown men, seasoned detectives, crumble under Joan’s icy gaze.

He redirects her attention.

‘The medics have stabilised her, they say they can’t give us a time when she’ll be awake and lucid enough to talk,’ he tells her.

‘Any other leads?’ Joan snaps.

She takes Hoseok’s silence, rightly, as her answer.

‘Call in whatever resources you need,’ she says, hanging up on him.

Hoseok heads back to the waiting room, where you’re on the phone.

‘I’ve reassigned him for the moment,’ you say, referring to the officer who’d made the mistake.

‘I’ve been thinking about links between the victims,’ you tell him.

You bring up your laptop, pull up the files. ‘A student, a grocery store cashier, a librarian and a charity worker. There’s a superficial resemblance between them all, they’re similar in colouring, in their twenties. They don’t have anything in common. They didn’t know each other.’

‘What about where the bodies were found?’ Hoseok asks, considering.

‘Public places. Two in alleyways, one in a park, one near the canal.’ You rub your eyes tiredly.

‘Forensics put a rush on scrapings from under our latest victim’s fingernails, so far there’s no DNA match,’ Hoseok reports, checking his phone.

‘It’s a lead,’ you say. ‘He was sloppy with the last victim.’

‘Any leads from boyfriends, families, friends?’ Hoseok asks.

‘They were all single,’ you reply.

Your phone lights up, and Hoseok watches as you turn it over.

You notice his curious look.

‘It’s my date from yesterday. He’s been trying to get in touch,’ you say.

Hoseok frowns. ‘He knows you’re a cop, doesn’t he?’

‘He won’t stop calling,’ you say, absently, rubbing your neck.

You pick up your phone. ‘I’ll just call him and tell him to stop calling me.’

Hoseok watches as you get up and walk out to make your phone call.

He goes over the crime scene reports again, the interview transcripts.

When you get back, you’re frowning.

‘He wants to meet up later,’ you tell him, although he hasn’t asked.

Hoseok shakes his head, irritated on your behalf. ‘Is this what dating is like for women?’

‘I imagine it’s worse for women who don’t carry a gun,’ you say, matter-of-fact.

Hoseok thinks you’ve made a fair point.

***

The state forensics team haven’t uncovered anything new from their investigation. The DNA is still unmatched.

Hoseok’s spent the whole day reading reports, waiting for the doctors to clear the latest victim so he can take a statement.

It’s frustrating, to say the least.

Jungkook’s brought him some spare clothes, muttering something about ‘having the decency to be dressed when you’re a guest in someone else’s house.’

Hoseok had muttered something back about ‘letting yourself into someone’s house without permission’, to which Jungkook had given him a dark look.

You’d mediated by fixing dinner for all three of you.

After dinner, you’d given them both instructions to call you the instant they heard from the hospital, and had left to meet your date.

Jungkook had offered to go with, and it’s the first thing Jungkook’s said all day that Hoseok’s in full agreement with.

You’d rolled your eyes and gone out the door before either of them could stop you.

***

Hoseok’s trying to call you, but your phone keeps going to voicemail.

The fourth victim’s woken up, and she’s lucid enough to talk.

Jungkook glances at him as he signals to turn.

‘She’s not answering,’ Hoseok says.

Jungkook’s surprised. ‘She always answers.’

Hoseok’s got a prickling at the base of his neck.

Jungkook tosses his phone into Hoseok’s lap. ‘Maybe she’s screening your calls,’ he says, petty.

Hoseok gives him an exasperated look but tries using Jungkook’s phone anyway, pointedly ignoring the gym selfie he has as his wallpaper.

The kid’s cut, but that’s got nothing to do with anything right now.

Hoseok tries to keep the smugness out of his voice as he says, ‘No answer.’

‘She’s never not answered a call from me,’ Jungkook says.

Hoseok rolls his eyes at the pout in his voice.

The prickling’s getting stronger.

Jungkook pulls into the hospital car park.

‘Where did she say she was meeting him?’ Hoseok asks.

Jungkook’s back straightens at the note of urgency in Hoseok’s voice.

‘The diner near the park,’ he says.

Hoseok says, patiently, ‘What’s the name of the diner?’

Thinking about it, you fit the description of all the victims.

Down to being single.

Hoseok hopes to hell he’s wrong and it’s just that your phone’s out of battery, but he doesn’t think he is.

***

Hoseok’s out of the car before Jungkook comes to a complete stop. He scans the area, years of training kicking in, adrenaline pumping, heightening his senses.

He’s shouting, ‘Police’ before he even rounds the corner to the alley between the buildings, because he wants to be able to swear in a court of law that he announced himself before kicking the ever-loving shit out of the fucking asshole who’s on top of you.

‘Knife,’ you shout, and Hoseok takes a moment to be really damn glad that you’re alive, and conscious enough to warn him, before he’s disarming the man, shoving his face in the ground, arms behind his back.

Jungkook slaps handcuffs into his palm.

‘Check she’s all right,’ Hoseok grunts.

‘I had him,’ you grumble, before you pass out in Jungkook’s arms.

***

Hoseok props his phone up next to you so he has a reason for looking in your direction if you were to wake up suddenly, but he’s really just looking at your face.

You’re a little banged up, but you’re still the prettiest thing he’s seen in a while.

To be fair, he’s only seen junkies lately because Joan’s been a hard-ass about sending him to investigate meth labs in mountain towns, but still.

You’re beautiful.

Jungkook looks up from the selfie he’s just been taking.

‘Stop staring at her,’ he says.

‘Stop staring at yourself,’ Hoseok counters.

Jungkook rolls his eyes. His phone rings obnoxiously.

Hoseok glares at Jungkook as you stir.

‘Yes, auntie,’ Jungkook says, meek as he answers. ‘She’s fine. She’s in hospital but she can go as soon as she wakes up.’

He listens. ‘Yeah, the state detective is here too.’

Hoseok’s brow furrows, but before he can ask Jungkook to clarify, he realises you’re awake.

You’re looking quizzically at the phone propped on your chest.

Then you smile. ‘I knew I needed to worry about you,’ you say.

***

Hoseok manages to convince Jungkook to go out and bring back breakfast before you wake up the next morning.

He’s lying on his bed in your spare room, staring at the ceiling, thinking of all the paperwork he has to do, when you push the door open.

The bruises on your face are a little darker, but you’re still beautiful.

Hoseok thinks it’s encouraging that you’re just in a t-shirt.

He’s not sure if you’re wearing panties, but with the way you’re straddling him, thighs either side of his torso, he thinks he’s about to find out.

You put a hand on his chest, right over the scar from the stab wound he was dealt in a suburb outside Arashiyama.

Hoseok holds his breath as you trace over the pale furrow in his skin with your finger.

You’re looking at him.

Hoseok steadies you with a hand, and lifts his head to nip at your inner thigh with his teeth.

He curls both hands under your ass and pulls you forward so your core is right where he wants it.

Oh.

You’re not wearing panties, and Hoseok falls a little in love with you right there and then.

Your pussy looks so fucking juicy, right in front of his face.

Hoseok licks up into you, and you cry out his name.

He likes the sound of his name when it falls from your lips, the way you say it breathy, needy.

He kneads your ass as he licks up again. He slides a hand round to flick your clit, and suddenly you’re so wet he can feel it on his cheeks.

You’re not shy about rocking against his face, and Hoseok’s encouraged by how slick you are, how disinhibited your moaning is.

He wonder if he can get you to scream his name.

The thought gets him so hard.

He pinches your inner thigh, bites the softness of it, and you jerk.

Hoseok soothes you with a sloppy kiss over the bite, tongue swirling over the mark he’s made.

‘You’re mean in bed,’ you say, but you sound like you like it.

Hoseok squeezes your ass. ‘Get my dick wet so I can make you scream,’ he says.

You’re turning around, licking your way down his torso to the waistband of his borrowed sweats like a good girl.

You hum with pleasure as you pull his dick out, letting it slap against his abs. You slip a hand into his sweatpants, cupping his balls, and squeeze, so hard he almost yelps.

He definitely likes it.

You tongue the slit of his dick, swirling around his head, teasing.

Hoseok lifts his head to bury his face in your cunt, thumb pressing against your ass, hard.

You’re so wet you’re smeared all over his face now.

Hoseok hisses as you take him in. The angle’s not perfect, but he doesn’t give a fuck because he feels like he’s lodged so far down your throat he can feel you swallowing him down.

You pull back, and turn to look at him, saliva and his precum smeared over your lips, hair falling in your face.

Hoseok wants to see you covered in his cum, spurt it all over your pretty face, all over those tits that he’s neglected thus far but that he can’t wait to see.

‘Let me see you bounce on me,’ he says, voice coming out raspy because he’s so fucking turned on he can barely see.

You slip your t-shirt off, and your tits are as pretty as the rest of you.

You cup your breasts, flicking at your own nipples, and Hoseok already knows that however this ends, he’s going to try his damnedest to get you in bed again, because there are so many ways he needs to fuck you to make his life complete.

Hoseok nearly cums there and then when you hover just over him, and ask him, ‘where do you want to fuck me?’

‘Every fucking where,’ Hoseok replies, honest.

You give him a wicked half-smile and roll a condom over him, and sit down on his dick, which feels hard enough and hot enough that he’s worried he’s going to hurt you.

Your eyes are closed, and you sound like you’re enjoying his dick so fucking much that Hoseok pinches your nipple, hard.

You cry out, then your hips jerk, rocking back and forth and he realises you’re cumming, having an orgasm on his dick that you’ve only just put inside you.

Hoseok doesn’t tend to give a fuck where he is during sex. Top, bottom, upside down, he doesn’t give a shit.

The only reason he grabs your hips and turns you over, underneath him, is that based on how much you seem to be enjoying his dick, he’s pretty sure he can make you cum again.

Hoseok fucks into you, determined, rhythmic, changing his angle in response to your pretty moans, until you’re squeezing so tight around him he knows he’s nearly got you there.

You seem to like when he’s mean.

‘Hey,’ he says, hoarse, so close now he’s about to burst.

Your eyes fly open, and Hoseok pinches your clit, hard.

‘Fuck, Hoseok!’

Your scream as you cum again makes him spill so hard inside you it’s like an out of body experience.

Hoseok buries his face in your neck and floats until the ringing in his ears stops and the white behind his eyelids fades to black again.

***

By the time you both get downstairs, there’s cold coffee and croissants on the table and no sign of Jungkook.

Hoseok wanders in your living room whilst you heat up your coffees.

He rolls his eyes at a prominent portrait of Jungkook, a group photo featuring ‘Joonie’.

He stops dead at a photo of you with two people who look like your parents.

He yanks the frame off the wall and brings it into the kitchen with him.

‘Are these your parents?’ he asks.

You give him a funny look. ‘Yeah.’

‘Joan Kim is your mother?’ he asks, pointing with a shaky hand.

‘Assistant director Joan Kim is your mother?’ he asks again.

At your nod of affirmation, he lands on a dining table chair, feeling like his insides are collapsing.

You’re frowning at him.

‘Fuck me,’ you say, drawn out. ‘You’re Hobi?’

Hoseok feels faint.

‘Am I.’ His voice comes out croaky. ‘Am I going to get in trouble for fucking you in the ass?’

You look like you’re torn between amusement and horror.

‘Does my mother scare you that much?’ you ask.

‘She’s Joan fucking Kim,’ Hoseok splutters.

You shake your head, pitying. ‘Wait until you find out who my father is.’

Hoseok buries his face in his hands.

‘Who is he?’ he asks.

‘Kwon Ha Woon,’ you say, looking worried.

‘Supreme court justice Kwon Ha Woon?’ Hoseok practically shouts.

He gets up. ‘It was nice knowing you, Y/N.’

He makes it two steps out your front door before he’s turning around again.

You’re still sitting at the dining table, sipping your coffee.

There’s the faintest spark of mischief in your eyes when you see him.

‘On second thought,’ Hoseok tells you, pulling you into his arms, ‘I told myself that fucking you would make my life complete.’

‘It’s not the most romantic of propositions,’ you remark, letting him walk you backwards back up the stairs to your bedroom, ‘but I’ll take it.’

‘I’ll show you romance,’ Hoseok growls, pushing you back on the bed, climbing on top of you.

‘I’ll protect you from my parents,’ you promise, eyes bright.

From what Hoseok’s seen of you, he’s pretty sure you can.

©hamsterclaw 2022

[wexhappyxfew]

🍈 🍌🍍🥭 (love you🥰)

HI FRANCY!!!! thanks so much for stopping by ah!!! i saw these asks and they looked mega cool so i *had* to reblog :) thank you so much for sending these in and enjoy! (ILY!!)

🍈 which oc is most like you? Why?

I think the OC that is *most* like me and who I am in real life is Catherine McCown from The Soldier of Stars if I'm being honest. Each OC I create does have a small bit of who I am in real life there, but if it were to be any of the characters I've created, it would most definitely be Catherine. Catherine's entire personality is one I have always adored, and there are many similar qualities we share with one another that make us who we are! Her motherly-nature, her humor levels, a sort of tough, but can soften at times exterior and a strong-willed mind is something that comes to mind when I think of her and I feel I hold some of those qualities as well.

🍌if you could live in one of your stories, which would it be and why?

Oh man, I really don't know haha! If I'm being honest, I wrote a short one-shot back in February that centered around a new and fresh-faced young woman named Winnie Chapman who lives in Aldbourne and recently volunteered with the Land Girls. In this, she meets Pat Christenson and they entire vibe of sort of 'love-at-first-sight', or 'instant connection' with a whimsical youthfulness and utter joy about it, is something I really loved with that short fic (and it's also not sad either compared to my long fics lol!) and so if anything, definitely that. [It's called Apple Pies and Paratroopers I believe!] Plus, Winnie was a *joy* to write and an absolute angel!

🍍 do you enjoy writing villains?

.....YES.....

I LOVE writing villains. Of course, the typical villain is beyond fun to write. But villains with a backstory and who appear morally-grey all at once and seem to dance that line of good and bad are some of my favorites too. By far, Bachrach from Landslide sort of plays the role of 'typical villain', but Agent Mortem from the same fic appears morally-grey and dances on that good/bad line far too often. There's just so much free space to write in both those directions and even more of those directions combined. Which makes Agent Mortem so much fun to write, because once his backstory is explained; you see where he's coming from, even if it gives him no right to let him get away with treating Natia as he did. So...YES, I enjoy writing villains very, very much!!! :) [I could go on, but I *shall* contain myself haha.]

🥭 what are your favorite tropes to write?

FAV TROPES!!! By far, friends-to-lovers. That's definitely my top with found family being a close second. I'm a sucker for enemies-to-lovers too and have yet to really test that in writing (though I hope in the future to tackle it). Platonic besties is another; besties who would die for each other and do anything for each other are just....that's the bread and butter truly. I also like enemies-to-besties hehe (even though I just made that up lol). Those are my goes to's and I don't think I'll ever get sick of them, there's just so much room to write with them and so many different ways and interpretations and AHHHH, they're just so fun! :)

[mettleborn]

Closed starter for @kit-just-kit

“I hear they’re sending in some city slicker from the big smoke…criminal profiler of some sort.”

“Well I hope the guy does a better job than those useless FBI agents.” The Sheriff replies with a frustrated huff, continuing to stare down at the grisly contents of the file on his desk. This is the third young woman to lose her life in just under a month – more death than his town has seen in the last decade. The victims appear unrelated, but each crime contains similar telltale signs; they’re all brunette, all in their early twenties and post mortem indicators suggest this was likely the same perpetrator, acting alone.

Redwood is a quiet place, the kind of small American town that would have been expanded out into a sprawling conurbation many years ago if not for the residents’ refusal to allow big business and commercial industry to corrupt it. It’s a friendly place mostly, people are welcoming, in the main, though tend to keep to themselves. It’s a sleepy town really, the kind where Sam, as the Sheriff, knows all the junkies and drunks by name. In truth, nothing really happens in Redwood without Samual knowing. Now, however, the whole place has been thrown into chaos and disarray and Samuel’s days and nights have been spent trying to solve these murder cases, right up until the point they were taken out of his jurisdiction and placed into the hands of the FBI. It’s not a decision Sam agrees with, but it is one he can’t argue against; the only homicide he ever investigated turned out to be a moose goring; that hardly counts as extensive experience.

Solving these murders may no longer be his responsibility, but that doesn’t mean Sam’s been able to sleep at night or stop thinking about the case since the first girl disappeared. When the first murder occurred, people started locking their doors at night. After the second, they bought security systems and firearms and now, after a third, well, people have just stopped leaving their homes altogether. Some parents aren’t even sending their kids to school.  The shock of these murders has left Redwood looking like a ghost town, like one of those prospector towns in Colorado that died when all the silver ran out.

“FBI want you to meet with them this afternoon, give ‘em a tour of the town. Giver ‘em the local lowdown.”

“Sure, stick it in the diary.” Still, Sam doesn’t look up from the file on this desk – there’s something missing, some part of the puzzle he’s just not seeing, but what the hell is it?

Morning comes and goes extremely quickly; too much coffee, too many cigarettes and far too many media enquiries. At this point the tragic recounting of these women and how each met their cruel end is seared in Sam’s brain to the point where the words themselves have become simply sounds…bound…blood…laceration, asphyxiation...it is going to be another sleepless night, he’s sure.

When 3pm finally arrives, the small Sheriff’s office has reached an uncomfortable heat in the midday sun. Shifting out of the door to sit on the wooden steps, Sam reaches for a piece of nicotine gum, then quickly ops for a cigarette instead; it’s been that kind of day…week…month. Hearing the sound of a car kicking up dirt as it slowly approaches up Main Street, Sam dusts himself off and moves to stand; this must be the profiler his Deputy was talking about.

[bvd11975]

I'll always remember that one moot I had years ago that was condescending and called this character contradictory.

And I'll always laugh because it's like... The entire point about Nestor's character is that she is a contradiction. So thank you.

She's the main protagonist of a story that centers around an indifferent multiverse that is currently shrinking. Any chance of a life ended before she was even classified as a preteen. Nestor never got her foot in the door to learn who she was as a person before her life became solely about survival - and when the immediate danger faded and the death count was all that was left, she didn't know what to do. She suffered more in the quiet aftermath, it felt like.

Nestor regards the humans and inhuman beings equally, as though they are individuals that possess the ability to choose and have a future they desire. Whereas with herself, she cannot conjure such a thing. The agent cannot go back to the child she once was before Pandora's Box (figuratively) opened, but whoever came after that never really fleshed out into a person. She has no identity, she never found the time to discover herself in full.

Agent Avani's childhood self clings to the hope that things will be okay. She clings to the fact the world (and universe) isn't such a bad place, that there's a future that can be forged for everyone if she just keeps working - even if it's at her own expense. But at the same time, year after year, she becomes more tired and hollowed out. The part of her soul that yearns for that hope, that safety and love grows smaller. And the weapon and shield that is an agent acting as a guardian and executioner grows. A thing that's expendable and somehow keeps surviving fight after fight regardless of how exhausted she is becoming.

Mortem (and witches) are the medium between mortals and immortals and Nestor inadvertently ends up walking the same path as a regular human. She is meant to connect with the gentle things in this world and all the fucked up ones at the same time - because she gets both. She doesn't know what she wants beyond doing her job and a lot of the time, she doesn't even care to think about it. Nestor is repressed when it comes to having an identity and she doesn't feel inclined to find one - not until something (one) manages to inspire her a little (in roleplay. In canon she never quite makes it there).

Contradictions are often regarded as something negative. But humans are full of them. It's not a matter of indecisiveness with Nestor, usually. It's normally just because she is a neutral protagonist who understands the duality of a being. Humans can possess opposite emotions at the same time, ones that contradict one another, and yet they both are valid and make sense to be present. And it goes so much further beyond that.

Being contradictory is a core function of her character. It is what allows her to be such a scary executioner - because as wrathful as she can be, it stems from a place of love and hope still. Or how comforting she can be for victims when in truth, the smile she is wearing is nothing but hollow behind it. Her desire to protect others but the moment they are safe, they fall out of mind typically. Her mentor who died she loved and feared in equal measure - yet trusted in her and her work to follow in her footsteps regardless of the negative emotions she felt just as strongly as the positives.

People are complicated. Beings in general, human or not, are complicated. Her detachment from herself only has opened her up to being receptive to the perspectives of all others - which has worked out in their favor and her own detriment. Not that she'll view it as such.

[rppr-podcast]

Delta Green Impossible Landscapes Campaign Post Mortem - Part 1 - Episode 200

Our actual play run of the surreal horror campaign, Impossible Landscapes, is now done. The cast and I discuss the characters, plot, and more! Find out the secrets behind the campaign and my advice for running this challenging but rewarding campaign. Maddy as Ryan West, paramedic Thad as Marley Madelyn, FBI agent Fae as Yersinia Riszek, cryptographer Rob Stith as Jørgen Nygård, undercover…

[callmearcturus]

you'll need a new name to survive this

Working as a physical therapist to the various three-letter agencies in Washington, DC, Benji Dunn meets Ethan Hunt in the year 1996. After a turbulent introduction to the mysterious and deeply strange agent, Benji finds himself a regular pitstop, a safe haven as Ethan swings in and out of his life. After almost a decade of navigating their relationship through truths, lies, late night dinners, lockpick lessons, misunderstandings, and the occasional bouts of submission, Ethan leaves to start his life over. Five years later, Ethan crashes back into Benji's life, newly out of prison, divorced, and injured.

Chapter 14: TIME-SERVED. SOUVENIR. APOLOGY.

In which we rewind to find Ethan in prison, running a post-mortem on his life and dealing with the consequences of his actions.

[cryptic-64]

The Mysterious case of: Annie Borjesson

30 year old Annie Borjesson was a Swedish woman who lived in Edinburgh. She was preparing to fly from her home back to Sweden for a well-anticipated Christmas trip, she had even booked a hair appointment for her return and also paid a month of her rent in advance.

On December 3rd 2005, she leaves for her trip and airport CCTV footage captures her alone making her way to check in for her flight: when suddenly for an unknown reason she turns around and heads back out of the airport and walks off towards the local beach.

She is not seen again.

December 4th 2005, a man walking his dog came across a disturbing and saddening scene, a young woman lying still, face down under a sea wall along Prestwick beach, Scotland.

The man contacted the police, they arrived promptly in just 10 minutes and were able to positively identify her by some items found alongside her body, it was Annie Borjesson, found dead just 80 miles from her home in Edinburgh.

Between her disappearance and discovery there is only one unconfirmed report of a witness claiming to see a woman matching her description, standing at the water's edge, staring off into the distance at around 4:30pm.

Oddly Annie’s remains were moved to a mortuary within just 100 minutes from the time she was found, leaving speculation that they were unable to completely investigate any forensic evidence that could be found on scene. Investigators reason that it was due to the rising tide.

December 5th 2005, a letter from the Scottish authorities claims they suspect her cause of death was a suicide but they had not yet conducted a post-mortem investigation as of yet.

However Annie’s family firmly denied any suspicion of suicide, saying they have no reason to believe their daughter would do that.

Her autopsy was conducted at Ayr Hospital, in which her cause of death was concluded to be most likely drowning, however the report also states there was no evidence of trauma or any significant injuries, however that wasn’t what the undertaker who handled her body would say.

The undertaker who was responsible for sending her body back to Sweden says they observed “significant bruising to her body which, for reasons I cannot explain to you, I believe was not included in her autopsy report.” They specifically expressed that her body was in “extremely poor” condition.

Then the undertaker who received her body observed “finger marks around her neck”, and “extensive bruising on her body like someone had repeatedly hit her”. They also described Annie’s beautiful long blonde hair that was now chopped into a rough bob with a reported bald patch “as though someone had just grabbed it and ripped it right out of her head.”

Also tests performed on her body found microscopic creatures that come from a freshwater environment, which is strange considering she was found and supposedly drowned in the Firth of Clyde, which is salt water.

In 2023 a journalist named Hazel Martin filed a ‘Freedom of Information’ request for photos taken during Annie’s first forensic examination but was refused as it was deemed to be “not in the public’s interest.” Similarly Annie’s family have also been denied access to these photographs for the same reason.

Annie’s family believe she was beaten, drowned and placed at Prestwick beach.

One leading theory presented by journalist Kristina Börjesson states that U.S intelligence was flying suspected terrorists to various places worldworld, and they notoriously used Prestwick Airport to get prisoners from the Middle East to other prisons. The theory insinuates that agents must have somehow mistaken Annie for a suspect, which ultimately leads to her death. Adding more fuel to the theory another journalist requested to see any correspondence between the Swedicsh and Scottish governments regarding Annie’s death, but was refused because any material could “harm their relations with a foreign state”.

It is also known that Annie’s case is considered a “Classified State Secret” in Sweden.

A young woman’s supposed suicide is a classified state secret? How odd.

Rest in peace, Annie Borjesson.

[kasururigoth]

kasururi 2+8+14+26

+question not on the meme: who procrastinates harder?

i am finally free of assignments for at least a few more days... never thought i would see this day arrive ANYWAYS TIME TO ANSWER SOME QUESTIONS

2. big spoon/little spoon: INTERCHANGEABLE!!! i love the idea of it going both ways, but i also believe ruri is the type to go "okay, that's enough" and turn over tbh 😭 also you already know i like giving ruri certain vampire traits so i like to think she can only fall asleep on her back. but for cuddling it's interchangeable, kasuka also falls asleep Immediately so he doesn't notice ruri moving.

8. nicknames? and how did they originate: i don't know if you will remember this, but you once reblogged one of my posts saying smth like "kasuka why does ruri call you her little yuuhime" and ever since that my brain has been infested of ruri calling kasuka 'princess', but like, it's not even like a joke to them. it is a hundred percent endearing. and yes this originated from the princess carry scene in carmilla saizou volume two

14. who kisses the hardest: i believe kasuka would because he has more kissing experiences from acting and he knows how to give a passionate kiss ;) but ruri bites

26. their theme song: feiticeira and mascara by deftones is my go-to kasururi songs but that might be just me trying to fit one of my favorite bands with my favorite ship. but swan song and honeymoon by lana del rey are also my usual picks :> i suppose i was only supposed to say one but well we got four. i love music

who procrastinates harder: IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED because you cannot take my lazy kasuka headcanon out of my cold post-mortem hands. and I Know he canonically does a lot of shit, but fuck that. He's the type to finish a twelve consecutive hour shooting and then cannot be reached for three business days. he's the type to say "nvm i will deal with that later. i have time" and his poor agent would be like "yuuhei we need this Now" and still manages to do it perfectly on time??? ruri Does Things like Going to the Gym and stuff and kasuka is always like "i would love to go with you (lying) but i Really have to rewatch the lord of the rings trilogy. yeah, it's gonna take all day"