#lester: you can say he birthed me

[puredoesnotmeankind]

Pre-BB!Gaius whenever a vampire does some shit: Listen, I put you in this world, and I can take you out of it

[small-sinclair]

Musical Muse

Vincent Sinclair x reader

House of Wax Slasher band!au

Tw: Vincent was in a fire (he’s okay), some hints at sex but nothing graphic described, let me know if I missed anything!

A gift for @im-his-druidess and au by @arkunder

It was Vincent’s first night home for a 7-month-tour around North America. Late night FaceTime calls, texts messages, postcards, poems— it was good to see him home. The penciled in a two-week break for Lester’s doctor appointments and for a mental break. It was good to rest and sleep in for a moment. All three of them needed to recover from the accident—

He takes a deep breath and let it out slowly. He won’t dwell on it. Not now at least. Lester is safe and Bo’s hands were healing. That’s all that matters now.

Vincent tried to be quiet when he entered. He hung his base on the hook and stopped to look at the photos of you both. One of you two in the studio, another in a band shirt, and a lovely one of you and him at the alter, saying your vows.

As soon as he heard your footsteps flying down the steps, he felt his heart pull. “You’re home!” You shouted smiling, leaping up.

He threw his duffel bag on the floor in the doorway just in time to catch you. He spun you around in the air, smiling under his half wooden-plated mask. He blushes as your kisses littered his half-shown face.

“I missed you!” You yelled, giggling as he lowered you back to the floor. He rests his forehead against yours and held your hips just memorize you once more. “I really missed you, Vincent.” You lift your hands and hold his face. “You were gone forever.”

He nods in agreement. He didn’t want to sign anything, not just yet. Vincent didn’t want this moment to be over. Having you back made his unwritten melodies complete and he could hear notes play as he takes you in. You are his muse for most songs after all.

He took your hand and guided it to his mask, gesturing to you to take it off. Your feather-like hands took off his mask slowly and he closed his eyes, shivering at the cool air. His mask hung in your hand, and you smiled when you saw his face. He’s just as beautiful as the day he left you. Your free hand held his scarred cheek, his head leaning into your touch, while your eyes tracing every bit of him. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, your hand, then ending with your lips. He pulled away before holding you close to deepen his kiss.

He has time to make up. Seven whole months without your touch, your embrace… he is a sinner. Your sinner. His deity. He has to find forgiveness.

With ease, he lifts you up, carries you with his arms under your legs, and heads for the bedroom down the hall.

~~~~~~

As you slept on his chest, Vincent held up his song book, writing silently, as a watched eye on you. Your shoulders were bruised with his love and affection like his. He only wanted to be closer to you and more. What praise can he give but love for you?

A song will do.

A song just for you so others can sing praises of you, be followers of you, but none will ever be as faithful and loyal as him.

He hummed the chorus one more time before closing his book just in time for you to wake up. He sat his book aside and laid flat on his back. You nuzzled into his neck and left a small kiss over his adam’s apple. A relaxed sigh escaped his throat as he threw his head to the side.

“Did you miss me?”

He nods, tracing his answer in your skin, ‘Yes.’

“Bed was too cold while you were gone,” you noted, his thumb gently making circles in your back. “But sleeping in your shirt’s comforted me.” You drew a heart in the center of his chest. “I took care of the plants, too. The cactus gave birth so there’s baby cactuses. Guess that makes us grandparents or something.”

He smirks and chuckles.

Silence was warm and comfortable between you two. The soft thumping of his heartbeat made house feel like home again. “…I really missed you,” you murmured. You felt Vincent’s lips in your hair as he pulled you closer to him. In a way, that was him showing that he’s here and you’re safe. “For a while, I went crazy thinking you weren’t coming home. I saw the fire at that wax museum you and your brothers were playing, the wax falling Lester’s back, and they got a video of your mask melting…” your voice trailed as he stiffened at the memory.

If the silence is too loud, he can still hear his baby brother’s voice screaming in pain and agony. Bo and he made dirt out of the inferno, but Lester was trapped, scared and alone. He remember he took off his mask before running back on Bo’s heels; his mask felt too heavy to wear that night. He still sees how bright the orange and yellow flames were as Bo moved wood and metal off his back. He ended up burning some spots on his hands but he doesn’t care. He was just as desperate as Vincent to get their brother out. Each twin took an arm and raced out with him before the museum’s gas could explode. Bo and he cradled their brother then paramedics rushed to his side and took him to the hospital.

He remembered how the world of heavy rock and metal was quiet for the night.

That’s why Bo canceled two weeks of interviews that night, 16 days ago, so they can recover from everything.

He gripped your body tighter and held you closer. You figured he must’ve been scared because he didn’t give you room to wiggle or move. Your hands held his arms and closed your eyes. “I’m happy you’re okay and safe. I’m happy and thankful.”

Vincent made a soft noise, agreeing with you.

“Just want to stay like this and cuddle,” you said, not asking. Luckily he nods in agreement, lifting the blanket up higher over your shoulders.

He didn’t want anything else but this. Vincent wanted you in his arms, in his heart, engraved into his mind. He’ll finish the song and draw a picture of you to put up in the bus. For now, he’ll focus on you and the reality of this feeling.

The sunset over the town like a dream.

[miracletyrant]

Arthur Lester and living for someone else: an essay I dreamt up while I had the flu

First, some clarification: when I say living for someone else, I mean taking them into consideration in your life. It is not about catering unhealthily to them, or enslaving yourself to their whims. living for someone else is the difference between feeling love for someone and acting on it. It's about treating love as an action.

In episode 31, we learn a lot about Arthur's past. While Bella was giving birth, he said to James, "I can't live for someone else!" and he wasn't wrong. He loves Faroe, even if he didn't love Bella, but he didn't truly live for her. Don't get me wrong; he wasn't a neglectful father. He was kind to her and tried to spend time with her. Ultimately, he made few sacrifices for her, but not none.

Once she was gone and Parker had helped him restore his will to live, he found contentment. And this is the most important part; he wasn't unhappy living for himself, having no one worry about where he was or what he was doing, and having no one depend on him. He was fine.

But he wasn't thriving. Guilt and loss aside, he was living the life he would've, had he never gotten Bella pregnant. And yet, despite everything, despite knowing that he prefers a life lived just for himself, Arthur still said that the time he spent with Faroe--for Faroe, so to speak--was the happiest of his life. He didn't allocate much time to that selfless joy, the joy of telling fairy tales to his little girl, of dedicating time to her, but he was happier with her than he would've been without her. Happier carving out a piece of himself and giving it to her, sharing it with her, hollowing out a space in his world for her to be safe and loved in.

But he did cave to himself. He didn't dedicate as much to her as a father should, because he didn't want to live for someone else.

Cut to episode 20. This is a different Arthur than the man who fathered Faroe. This Arthur has lost absolutely everything, except John.

Arthur has made up his mind. He knows he can't beat the King in Yellow, but he also refuses to let him have John. He knows that John doesn't want to return to the King, and he knows John doesn't want to die. But John has no real agency over his fate, as he is trapped within Arthur. John can't fight back, and he can't run away. The only way he can be protected from those terrible fates is if Arthur puts himself aside entirely and thinks only of John.

So he does. He faces the King, knowing that he might die, knowing that he might fail, but completely unwilling to make a call that would doom John. And the King sees that. That's why, during the confrontation, he says to Arthur, "You despise me... and yet you love him."

That line. That beautiful, poignant line, spoken so contemplatively by the bloodthirsty god of madness. He seeks to understand Arthur, to manipulate him, to find his true intention, and that is what he finds. "You love him" means "You act singularly out of love for John, with his best interest at the core of your every decision."

He knows, because of this, that he has lost. So he chooses to take out his anger on Arthur instead.

It would've been easier for Arthur to give up while his bones were being broken. He was helpless to stop the torment, but he knew he had the knife. He could've killed himself once he realized that he was going to be subject to eternal torture, and it would've made sense. But he didn't. In fact, he begged John not to return to the King even while screaming in agony, even knowing that if John left, the pain would end. Because John's fate mattered more to him than his own. So long as he endured, John would live.

It wasn't until he realized that John was leaving, sacrificing everything for him, that he decided to kill himself. If John was doomed regardless, then this way, at least he would be free from the King. And if Arthur's motivation was at all unclear--perhaps he was sacrificing himself because of all the people the King would hurt once fully restored--he clarifies it later, in season 3.

"I died for you. For a fucking voice in my head, that stole my eyesight. I fucking died for that. Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?"

It does sound insane. But he doesn't even mention the even crazier thing he did; being willing to live for the voice in his head. To live through unfathomable agony and terror of the King's torture, just to protect John. Dying for him was his last resort, because he shares a body with him. Dying for John could only save him from something worse than death.

This means that in order to love John, Arthur has to live for him in every way possible. He has to care for himself in order to care for John. He has to do things he doesn't want to do--like maybe one day sit through a film he can't see--to care for John. Every single experience--good and bad--that he has brings John life and humanity, and every good thing he does shows John how beautiful the world can be. His patience and forgiveness helps John to grow his own sense of compassion.

The core beauty of their relationship lies within this, at least for me. Arthur Lester, a man unable to live for anyone but himself, is put in a position where everything he does has a potent effect on a lost fragment of an eldritch being. And despite what that being is, despite the bloodlust and violence of his entire existence, he slowly becomes someone so full of love and compassion that he can hardly stand to ignore a person in need. Even before growing close with Arthur, he knew compassion from his new desire to grow. He wanted Arthur to spare the wraith in season 1, because he wanted to know that monsters can be saved and redeemed. And he kept growing from there. John shed his first ever tears for an innocent animal. He looked through Arthur's cruel words in season 3 and understood that they were fueled by self-hatred, and he stuck by him and refused to let him drown in his darkest moments. He was willing to risk everything for strangers victimized by a terrible monster. He begged Arthur not to take the stone from Mr. Scratch, because in doing so, someone innocent would have to pay the price.

Of course he isn't perfect (ahem, that whole thing with Oscar), but he has been loved enough to be transformed completely. He has been loved enough to return that love, not only to Arthur, but to people he doesn't know. Because Arthur lived for him.

[g0g0at]

Everyone is sharing their Malevolent live listen’s of 44, so here’s mine I guess

Lovely sound design as always

I always forget Harlan can sing

Very apt lyrics

The Waylay… like a limbo? An inbetween?

I HAD MY AUDIO UP FOR THE MUSIC MY EARSSSSSS

“It’s going to be ok. I’ll take care of you. It’ll be ok. It’ll be fine” GOODBYE

Three days is not enough time to recover from… what, 7 stab wounds and a field surgery

Yorick, never change

John he being so caring. But also logical. Because Arthur keeps running around. With 7 stab wounds. And a massive hole in his stomach

John and Yorick butting heads

Smh he forgot it :((

“When I die-“

“If”

“When is correct”

Arthur hoping he could have been reunited with Faroe in the after life

Yorick stop

John being protective <3

Arthur Lester? You mean ARMOUR LESTER YEAAAAHA

Gonna be useful for not getting stabbed

“With the amount of times you get stabbed” it’s been at least 12 now right

John beat me to that one

Got some pantaloons

HA I WAS RIGHT HE THOUGHT HE’D SEE FAROE

YORICK THEY WERE HAVING A MOMENT

THREE DAYS IS NOT ENOUGH

John sounds so exasperated

“How do I look less?”

“Less like a sore thumb”

“Harder to kill”

John it’s ok it’s just low iron

Blood loss catching up to him

READ THE DAMN LETTER

John has had enough

Trying not to burst out laughing on the bus

Arthur idk if I would call erasing matter “simple”

“Conjecture!”

“Right right right” callback

Arthur being the mediator

So John told him everything…

THE L WORD!!!

“I’m proud of you” GUH

“HE WAS NOT ALONE!”

Oh yorick was right. Well done

Arthur don’t go swimming please

She sank… I know the witch trials were nonsense but they did say witches were supposed to float… hm

DON’T GO SWIMMING IN THE WOMB WATER

He’s been under a for a WHILE

He didn’t see her death when they touched her??

AH FUCK

They got birthed or something (rebirth narrative, breaking of the water)

Time spent in water: 3 minutes and 17 seconds. Impressive with 6 holes in his chest

Naw they’re all laughing

AW FUCK HIS STITCHES

Ooh ok posing as the prince, good idea

They gotta do some walking

Another deal to add to the list

Walking around with a severed head and severed hand smh

Yorick what are you up to…

Why does he keep calling them that…

“You will see”

Ooh I love how the cicadas tune changed when he said that

ALEXANDER

He’s so happy to see the owl hehe

WAYLAY MENTION

Ah he got some memories from the waylay

Ooooh another mystery on our hands…

“Someone knows your drink order” PARKER?! PARKER MENTION?!!!!

[devil-doll13]

Some House of Wax/Sinclair Brothers Headcanons I’ve had in my head that I’ve already shared w the server but… The rest of the world deserves to know.

Related to gif, Vincent is the ‘medical expert’ of the house solely because he’s the one who knows the human body/first aid the best. I mean, in the movie we see him stitching up those wounds on what’s-his-face pretty neatly, right? This is also part of the reason why he automatically reaches for Bo during this scene.

Given his birth date was sniffed out by fans before me (1970) and this man looks like he’s a cosplayer sometimes, I truly believe Bo idolised Elvis Presley as a kid, and maybe a bit as an adult as well. He still enjoys listening to rock n’ roll from that era when he’s in a good mood. When he’s in a bad mood, or doing his business™️ in his sex dungeon/basement, that’s when the Marilyn Manson comes on.

All of them have had an alt phase of some sort. For Vincent it was goth, for Bo it was rivethead/industrial rock and for Lester it was grunge.

Les is also down bad fucking horrendous for alt people in general. Yes, he has magazines stuffed down his sofa, yes, they used to be Bo’s.

Bo is allergic to nuts. He also gets really nasty hay fever. I also think possibly him having sensory issues/picky eater could’ve led to meltdowns as we see in the opening. And really, it’s the 1970s/80s do you expect his parents to understand or sympathise?

In contrast, Lester has the constitution of a Greek god somehow and has probably eaten some absolutely vile shit as a kid.

I know most people interpret Vince as sweet and shy but… While I do think he’s more measured and withdrawn compared to Bo, I also think being the ‘favourite’ in terms of being Trudy’s little art prodigy contributed to a sort of spoilt brattiness esp as a kid. (Exhibit A: The ‘Bo Sux’ fridge art in the opening) As an adult, there’s still a sense of entitlement to him. What I’m saying is that he’s an insufferable art nerd lol. He definitely isn’t toothless and his arguments with Bo aren’t necessarily one-sided, he’s just capable of ignoring him when he wants to; he’s used to his twin, after all. While I do think he’s capable of being soft, don’t forget this man killed a woman in cold blood and recorded it. I also think he can get snippy enough during arguments to combat Bo’s generally sharp tongue.

Speaking of which, everyone in the (surviving) family knows ASL. It’s necessary when communicating with Vincent.

Again with how prolific a killer Vincent is, I suspect he may be the one who does the most murder out of all of them. Bo is the handsome ‘face’ of Ambrose, and Vincent is right under the seedy underbelly with a knife, ready to spill guts (and then sew it up again once he’s got them in the workshop). Lester is similar to Bo in that he mostly just guides people toward the town, but I do think he gets his own notions sometimes.

From a more x reader perspective, Bo strikes me as a man who’s most charming when he’s not trying to be. Of course he can put on an act for victims/tourists, but those are just empty words, y’know? Also, has a kinda cheesy side.

I know everyone has Jonesy as Lester’s dog but… I think she’s really Vincent’s. In the movie, she’s always seen with Vin or in the house of wax itself, it’s only when he dies that she goes to Lester. I actually think Les is a cat person (tell me he wouldn’t actually encourage their hunting habits for his own personal collection…) while Vin is a dog person. Also, hot take I think Bo loves snakes and reptiles.

Given that the House of Wax and Ambrose itself is a big ol’ art project, and we’ve seen the state of the church (permanently in the middle of dead ass crusty Trudy’s funeral) I think there may be a sort of difficulty letting go of their past in the brothers, maybe some hoarding as well (I mean we haven’t even seen some of the other houses in Ambrose but this is just speculation). We get the sense that Ambrose is a place where time stands still, forever, until its conservationists finally die. Idk I’m talking out my ass here

[twoidiotwriters1]

Almighty (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Apollo is here and I couldn't be happier I love him -Danny Words: 2,554 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'Paul Revere' -by Noah Kahan

VIII: Dang Bitch, You Live Like This?

Ara stares at him in shock. "Come again?"

"He's the god Apollo." The little girl replies, eyeing her sword with massive interest.

"If you really are Apollo, tell me something only he would know." It's no secret that Ara's looking for the sun god, so asking for proof makes sense.

The boy cleans his bloody nose and thinks hard, looking rather pathetic. "Your boyfriend gave me a Valdezinator that sounds exactly like the piece Michael wrote to heal people."

The demigod lowers her sword immediately and urges them forward. "Go in."

Ara opens the door to her apartment and speaks over her shoulder. "Stay here. Do not leave." She rushes to the kitchen where Sally and Percy are laughing. Ara clears her throat and Percy smiles at her. 

"Birdy—"

"Apollo's at the door," she announces quickly. "I think he's mortal."

Percy stops smiling. "What?"

"I can't leave him outside, so they're coming in," Ara walks back to the entrance. "He's got a little girl with him, Percy, so don't be scary!"

He follows her to the door. Ara opens it and curtsies. "Come in, my lord."

"Appreciated," the boy drags himself into the apartment, the young girl following close.

"Who's your friend?" Percy stares at the girl.

"This is Meg McCaffrey, a demigod who must be taken to Camp Half-Blood. She rescued me from street thugs."

"Rescued..." Percy glances at his sister. "You mean the 'beat-up teenager' look isn't just a disguise? Dude, what happened to you?"

"I may have mentioned the street thugs."

"But you're a god."

"About that... I was a god."

"Prove it," Ara demands. The boy pulls out an ID with his picture and the name Lester Papadopoulos. "Zeus is really angry at you, huh?"

Apollo scoffs but he doesn't argue. "Oh! Before I forget, my dear muse," he flashes her a weak smile. "I'm fairly certain we're being followed by malicious spirits."

"What?" Ara locks the door a second time. "Why didn't you say that before I brought you up to my mother's apartment?!"

"Well, you must ensure my safety, and you will take care of this, won't you?" Apollo questions off-handedly.

Percy inches closer and whispers. "Can't believe he came looking for you..."

"I'm a hero now, of course he would look for me," she grumbles.

"Yeah, but—"

"Sacred Sibyl!" Apollo—Lester—gasps when their mother comes out of the kitchen. "Madam, there is something wrong with your midsection!"

"Well, I'm seven months pregnant," Sally stops in her tracks.

"How can you bear it?" The god moans in despair. "My mother, Leto, suffered through a long pregnancy, but only because Hera cursed her. Are you cursed?"

"Um, Apollo? She's not cursed," Percy steps in. "And can you not mention Hera?"

"You poor woman." Apollo sighs. "A goddess would never allow herself to be so encumbered. She would give birth as soon as she felt like it."

"Let's focus on your issues, my lord." So we can get rid of you faster.

Percy clears his throat. "Mom, this is Apollo and his friend Meg. Guys, this is our mom."

"Call me Sally." She examines Apollo's injured face. "Dear, that looks painful. What happened? I tell you what—Percy can help you get bandaged and cleaned up." 

"I can?" Percy asks with annoyance. 

Ara elbows him before gesturing at Apollo. "This way, lord..."

"Ara, you give Meg your old clothes, pre-growth spurt," Sally says bemusedly.

The girl nods. "Sure. Come along, Meg."

"What are we gonna do?"

"I'll take care of it."

"Ara..."

"Before you say anything, remember I'm turning sixteen this year," she glares at him. "You fought your prophecy when you were my age."

"Yeah, I..." Percy blinks as if just realizing that she's right. "Gods, you're turning sixteen already?"

"This is Mike's father we're talking about," Ara brushes that aside. "The song I use to heal people? Michael wrote it. I do this for him, Percy, I have to help."

He pauses, some kind of understanding that isn't helping him feel better dawns upon him, and causes his shoulders to slump. The door to their bathroom opens and Apollo comes out of it, sheepish but clean. "What happened to you, man?" Percy grimaces. "The war ended in August. It's January."

"It is?"

Ara and Percy share a look. "I knew this would happen," she sighs. "I saw how Zeus treated you, I knew he was going to punish you."

"I—I don't know where I've been," Apollo fidgets with his shirt. "I have some memory gaps."

Percy wrinkles his nose. "I hate memory gaps. Last year I lost an entire semester thanks to Hera."

"It's normal," Ara tries to ease the god. "Either your consciousness is trying to adjust to a mortal brain, or Zeus took it on purpose so it's harder for you to return."

"Well, that's why I've come to you!" Apollo smiles. "I can't do it, but surely the daughter of Olympus can fix this! It's your job!"

Ara frowns. "I'd rather not test the King of the gods by helping his currently hormonal teenage son that he's trying to punish, besides, I have never turned anyone into a god."

"We can drive you and Meg to camp if that's what you want," Percy offers. "We never turn away a demigod who needs help—"

"Wonderful! Do you have something besides the Prius? A Maserati, perhaps? I'd settle for a Lamborghini."

Percy ignores that. "Apollo, I can't get involved in another Big Prophecy or whatever. I've made promises."

"Promises?"

"I lost most of my junior year because of the war with Gaea. I've spent this entire fall playing catch-up with my classes. If I want to go to college with Annabeth next fall, I have to stay out of trouble and get my diploma."

"Annabeth." Apollo squints. "She's the blond scary one?"

"That's her. I promised her specifically that I wouldn't get myself killed while she's gone." 

"Gone?"

"She's in Boston for a few weeks. Some family emergency. The point is—"

"You're saying you cannot offer me your undivided service to restore me to my throne?" 

"Yeah." He pointed at the bedroom doorway. "Besides, my mom's pregnant. We're going to have a baby sister. I'd like to be around to get to know her."

"Well, I understand that. I remember when Artemis was born—"

"Aren't you twins?"

"I've always regarded her as my little sister."

Percy glances at his sister. I need this guy out of here. "Anyway, my mom's got that going on, and her first novel is going to be published this spring as well, so I'd like to stay alive long enough to—"

"Wonderful! Remind her to burn the proper sacrifices. Calliope is quite touchy when novelists forget to thank her."

"Okay. But what I'm saying... I can't go off on another world-stomping quest. I can't do that to my family. I've already given my mom enough heart attacks for one lifetime. She's just about forgiven me for disappearing last year, but I swore to her and Paul that I wouldn't do anything like that again."

Percy and Apollo turn to her. Ara shrugs. "Yeah well, no parents are freaking out about me. They know I have to obey, and I'm a triple-R: Resilient radioactive roach."

"Do you think he counts, though?" Percy squints.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, look at him."

"You do understand that I must find a way to return to Olympus," Apollo sounds slightly offended. "This will probably involve many harrowing trials with a high chance of death. Can you turn down such glory?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I can," Percy replies impatiently. "And Ara should too, if you're not a god anymore, that means she doesn't work for you."

"Percy!"

"What? It's the truth. Your second semester is only getting started, this guy shouldn't be distracting you."

The thing is, she wants a distraction. Ara can't stand another week of normalcy while her demigod life crumbles and gets more and more confusing. She has to fix things, and now she has a path to follow in the shape of a weak-looking deity.

"It wouldn't be wise to give him an advantage Zeus might not want for him," she leans on the wall. "But I can't say no just to be punished later. I won't decide anything until I figure it out."

"You will at least escort us to Camp Half-Blood?" Apollo asks sorely.

"That we can do." Percy gets up and pats Ara's shoulder. "Let's see if Meg's ready for a field trip." 

"Percy, your mom is so normal."

"Thanks, I guess." 

"I see you like to study," Apollo looks at the manuals on the coffee table. "Well done."

"I hate to study," Percy snorts. "I've been guaranteed admission with a full scholarship to New Rome University, but they're still requiring me to pass all my high school courses and score well on the SAT. Can you believe that? Not to mention I have to pass the DSTOMP."

"The what?" Meg wrinkles her nose.

"An exam for Roman demigods. The Demigod Standard Test of Mad Powers," Apollo explains.

"That's what it stands for?" Percy raises a brow.

"I should know. I wrote the music and poetry analysis sections."

"I will never forgive you for that," Her brother scoffs. "Ara's doing her best to help me out, but the truth is—"

"We're both equally dumb and painfully dyslexic," Ara grabs a cookie.

"So you're really demigods? Like me?" Meg asks, shifting around the couch with barely controlled energy.

"Afraid so. My dad is the godly one—Poseidon. Ara was born an Aphrodite but now she's the daughter of the gods, which means they all get to mistreat her as much as they please."

"Gee, you really know how to sell it," Ara mutters.

"What about your parents?" Percy asks the little girl.

Meg stares at her hands. "Never knew them... much."

Percy tilts his head. "Foster home? Stepparents?" Meg turns away from him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to pry. I'm just asking 'cause Ara's adopted, and most demigods got similar stories."

"I'm adopted?!" Ara gasps. Percy punches her arm lightly.

Meg looks up at the girl with the same amazed gaze as before. "You are?"

"You're twelve, aren't you?" Ara smiles. "I was your age when I got adopted. If you've been alone all this time, you must be tough." Meg blushes, looking away from her. She glows a bright leaf green that pulls Ara's air out of her lungs. It's identical to Mike's.

"So how did you guys meet?" Percy asks Apollo.

Apollo breaks it down for them: he landed on a dumpster, got jumped on an alleyway, and Meg saved him. While they talk, Sally brings more and more food and Ara watches Apollo and Meg shove fistful after fistful into their mouths. "Percy," Apollo moans as he finishes his plate. "Your mom is awesome."

"I know, right?" Percy cleans his mouth messily. "So back to your story... you have to be Meg's servant now? You guys barely know each other."

"Barely is generous. Nevertheless, yes. My fate is now linked with young McCaffrey." 

"We are cooperating," Meg says with satisfaction.

Ara rubs her forehead, nursing a headache while she listens. She's not really in pain, headaches aren't really aches but a strange pulsing behind her eyes, like a light that she keeps trying to put into focus, not painful, but dizzying. It usually happens when she spends too much time remembering things—and it gets stronger whenever she tries to recall her regressions. They're getting blurrier as time goes on.

"So, just to recap," Percy repeats. "You have to be Meg's servant for...?"

"Some unknown amount of time. Probably a year. Possibly more."

"And during that time—"

"I will undoubtedly face many trials and hardships."

"Like getting me my cows," Meg pipes in.

Apollo's jaw clenches. "What those trials will be, I do not yet know. But if I suffer through them and prove I am worthy, Zeus will forgive me and allow me to become a god again. I need time to get my bearings. Once we get to Camp Half-Blood, I can consult with Chiron. I can figure out which of my godly powers remain with me in this mortal form—and if the daughter of Olympus is allowed to serve me."

Percy runs a hand through his hair. "Any idea what kind of spirits are following you?"

"Shiny blobs," Meg responds. "They were shiny and sort of... blobby."

"Those are the worst kind." Percy nods solemnly.

"I've no idea what that could be," Ara mumbles.

"It hardly matters," Apollo brushes it off. "Whatever they are, we have to flee. Once we reach camp, the magical borders will protect me."

"You and Meg, you mean," Ara raises a brow. "I'm not fully certain you didn't kidnap her so we would take pity on you."

Percy realizes something. "Apollo, if you're really mortal, like, one hundred percent mortal, can you even get in to Camp Half-Blood?"

"Please don't say that," Apollo whines. "Of course I'll get in. I have to."

"But you could get hurt in battle now... Then again, maybe monsters would ignore you because you're not important?"

"Maybe he won't taste good in the state he is," Ara examines his looks. "Barely any meat..."

"Stop! I'm sure I've retained some powers, I'm still gorgeous, for instance, if I could just get rid of this acne and lose some flab. I must have other abilities!"

Ara and Percy share a look again, then they turn to Meg. "What about you?" Percy asks. "I hear you throw a mean garbage bag. Any other skills we should know about? Summoning lightning? Making toilets explode?"

Meg grins. "That's not a power."

"Sure it is," Percy replies sweetly. "Some of the best demigods have gotten their start by blowing up toilets." Meg's soul light comes back again as she giggles. Ara smiles too, Percy has that effect on... well, pretty much everyone. Even her, though her affection has always been molded to be platonic.

"How soon can we leave?" Apollo presses, not liking how he's not the center of attention.

Percy shrugs. "Right now, I guess. If you're being followed, I'd rather have monsters on our trail than sniffing around the apartment—I just have to be back tonight, and I'm taking Ara. Got a lot of studying. The first two times I took the SAT—ugh. If it wasn't for Annabeth and Birdy helping me out—"

"Who's that?"

"Annabeth's my girlfriend and Birdy's what I call Ara." Meg's soul light dies instantly. That is probably the fastest falling out Ara's seen when it comes to Percy, even faster than Lily's.

"So take a break!" Apollo claps. "Your brain will be refreshed after an easy drive to Long Island."

"Huh," Percy squints. "There's a lazy kind of logic to that. Okay. Let's do it." Sally comes in with a badge of cookies and the boy raises his hands as if about to calm a dangerous creature. "Mom, don't freak..."

Sally's expression drops. "I hate it when you say that."

"We're just going to take these two to camp. That's all. We'll be right back."

"I think I've heard that before."

"I promise," Percy seizes Ara's hand and squeezes. "We'll be back."

"At least one of us will," Ara replies sarcastically, earning a harsh elbow on the ribs.

"All right. Be careful. It was lovely meeting you both. Please try not to die." Percy kisses his mother's cheek and tries to get a cookie. "Oh, no! Apollo and Meg can have one, but I'm keeping the rest hostage until you're back safely. And hurry, it would be a shame if Paul ate them all when he gets home."

"You hear that, guys? A batch of cookies is depending on us," Percy scowls. "If you get any of us killed on the way to camp, I am going be ticked off."

Ara hums, trying not to look too pleased about having a quest. "I'll get my Octopus."

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

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[died-but-not-dead-propaganda]

Dastardos Propaganda

while not being explicitly stated to be undead/have died, his backstory heavily implies it and its pretty much accepted fanon. (The lore of Viva Pinata is weird and there's a lot of context to explain so bear with me, but if you want the whole backstory you can find the unlockable storybook from the game on youtube easily)

Originally named Stardos, he was the eldest son of the best gardener on Pinata Island and replaced his father's incompetent and scheming gardening assistant Lester at a young age. Some unknown time later, Lester sends Stardos' parents on a wild goose chase to find a dragon pinata and Stardos is left in charge of the garden. Lester then lures Stardos away from the garden with promises of sharing a type of candy he's made that can attract any pinata to a garden (the main gameplay premise of the game is creating a garden and getting wild pinata to live there, essentially) Stardos goes with him most likely hoping to impress his dad by having lots of new pinata in the garden when he returns (another theory is this is because of insecuritites surrounding his baby brother Sidos who is like a gardening prodigy from birth basically). But obviously this is a trap and Lester gives him a SOUR CANDY (sourness being an evil substance on pinata island) which poisons him and, as far as his family know, Stardos was never seen again.

Meanwhile the garden was being completely destroyed by the evil minions of Lester, who renames himself Professor Pester and becomes the main villain of the series. little Sidos runs away to live in the swamp and becomes Seedos (whole other can of worms), their mother also goes missing presumably drowned at sea, and their father ends up wheelchair bound and unable to restore the ruined garden (which becomes the players job)

a little while after that, Dastardos appeared. A corrupt version of Stardos who's own family can't recognise him. His whole deal in-game is that when you leave a pinata sick for too long, Dastardos acts as a grim reaper of sorts. He floats into your garden, humming a random, creepy tune that's said in the game's journal to have a calming effect on pinata, and then he'll smash the sick pinata and take their life sweet, which is described as "the very essence of a pinata). Then you'll get an alert with his one voice acted line, saying "I've broken open a precious little pinata. Easy come, easy go" and then laughs

One of the biggest things that imply he's died in some way or another, are his abilities. I've already mentioned that Dastardos floats, but if there are obstacles in his path to a sick pinata, then he'll just turn himself transparent and float right through the obstacle as if it isn't there! Combined with the floating, that sure seems ghostlike to me! Another thing is that he can't be hurt. Obviously you can't seriously hurt people in the pinata garden sim game, but you CAN whack other NPCs with your shovel and they'll react to it, but Dastardos doesn't react at all, no matter how much you hit him. Until you manage to unlock the "Dastardos shovelhead" for your shovel, which is described as "being on the same frequency" as Dastardos. HMMM. Hitting him with that stuns him for a moment, giving the doctor npc more time to reach your sick pinata.

Another interesting point is the life candy. When pinata are broken, either by other pinata (the game has quite a robust food chain), the villains or a cruel player, they, of course, leave behind a pile of candy. Most of this is generic candy, except for the single life candy (which looks different for each pinata species). Dastardos stands out as a villain when contrasted to Professor Pester because while Pester will come into your garden to smash your most valuable pinata and eats ALL the candy it drops, Dastardos only picks up the life candy and then leaves. Interesting that it's specifically the LIFE candies that he steals, and we don't know what he does with all those candies at all...

In a minigame from the sequel where NPCs will judge your pinata, Dastardos implies he still cares about pinata and gardening. He's mischevious and makes cruel jokes, but he also tells a some half-truths. "I used to dream of breeding award-winning pinata myself, but my career advisor said i didn't have the right temprement for it" in particular calls back to his backstory while also making it sound like he's making it up to be funny if you don't know he was Stardos. During this minigame, NPCs all have different biases and they'll vote for different pinata when they're judging. Dastardos specifically judges for pinata that have NEVER been sick, and seems harsh on gardeners who let their pinata get ill frequently. Overall he's a pretty complex and morally grey villain!

I know it can be hard finding good information on Viva Pinata lore, so here's some links if you want calrification on any of this!

Dastardos' family's wiki page: https://pinataisland.info/viva/Characters

Storybook chapters on youtube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFFHHsIDSEqFucTky111oXivoLC0Xe5ua

Video of him smashing a pinata and one voice line: https://weirdlittlegames.tumblr.com/post/184089814125/dastardos-voice

VP transcript google doc: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1OSS1rFvgLSNR1-e3AFgOsfeROwnM_EFDyMnNUcDkgFs/edit

(All these resources were made by me

Sorry for the novel in your submission box asrhgfseawsrheg but I wanted to give the context needed to understand why this character is assumed to have died despite no official confirmation! + Viva Pinata is very niche and even among people who play the game people rarely pay attention to the characters and lore

He came back wrong but we love that for him.

HE IS LITCHERALLY UNDEAD ate a bad candy and now he’s a spooky reaper :( He deserves so much better but it’s pretty epic tbh

[dominickeating-source]

Dominic Keating Interview (2002)

British actor Dominic Keating hails from a mid-sized city in the middle of England called Leicester (pronounced "Lester"). Although now on a hit U.S. TV show, he hasn't forgotten his roots and the city of his birth. "Well, you can take the boy out of Leicester ?! I go to Leicester quite a lot. My mum still lives there. She's actually coming out this Christmas for the first time. She's going to visit me in LA. I love living in Los Angeles, but I'll never say never anymore."

With ten weeks off during the show's hiatus, did he have a chance to visit his homeland? "I did, yes. I also went to Germany to do a convention. It was my first Star Trek convention abroad — huge amount of fans. There were around 6,000 people there. And, officially, they haven't seen the show there. I told them I was the captain!"

Premature captaincy aside, he's not doing too badly for a boy from the midlands with no formal acting training. Instead, his education was on the job. "Pretty much, yes. I didn't go to an 'official' drama school. I didn't get in, actually," he confesses.

But persistence pays off and, like most actors, he started out small and worked his way up. "I got my first job at the Man in the Moon pub theatre at the bottom of King's Road in Chelsea. I did a play there called 'The Best Years of Your Life,' which got quite a bit of notice. It's a very moving play about an apprentice soccer player for Chelsea who was struck down with spinal cancer. I played his brother, and got a bit of notice from that. I then got my first proper agent and kicked off from there. Went off to [the] Edinburgh [Festival] with Timothy Spall and did a play up there that got a lot of notice in the summer of the following year. From that I met the writer of a sitcom called Desmond's (Trix Worrell), who cast me in the show, which ran six years. Meteoric rise!"

Citing influences such as James Bond or the "Carry On?" movies — a franchise of innuendo-laced British comedies — Dominic also points to an actor whose legendary career spanned several decades: Rod Steiger. "I was in my sitting room watching him in one of those movies, I think it was 'No Way to Treat a Lady,' where he played something like eight characters and I definitely remember a moment, as a ten or eleven-year old, thinking 'I wonder if I could do that?'" Ironically, this particular influence later became a professional contact. "I got to work with Rod a few years ago on a film called 'The Hollywood Sign,'" Keating says. "It was a great honor to meet him. He wasn't that pleased, though, when I reminded him how long ago it was that he made that movie."

His one other big influence dovetails nicely into what he does now. "I did watch the first Star Trek series pretty religiously."

Entertainment wasn't all TV and movies for Keating. "My mum took me to the theatre at an early age. I think the first play I ever saw was an Alan Ayckbourn play, 'How the Other Half Loves.' I remember a man in the audience in front of us turned around and told me to be quiet because I was laughing so hard! Typical, eh?"

Without the conventional drama school life, Dominic faced something many actors fear: a regular job. His r?sum? is nothing if not a bit unconventional. There were the typical bartending and waiting jobs, most of which he claims to be fired from, but there were also other odd jobs that seem miles away from an actor's calling. "I've done a plethora of things. I worked in a knitting factory in Nottinghamshire; I've worked in a rubber molding factory in Colville, making rubber moldings for car doors. I did a lot of work for the Manpower Services. One of my favorite tasks was going along to the schools where the coal cog had been blocked up by some part of a metal chair that some kids had stuck down the coal chute. My mate and I used to show up in my first VW Bug and then bury ourselves down in this coal chute and unclog the offending article and get that cog working again! I also did a bit of painting and decorating, the usual thing."

When stateside success finally landed, in the form of his Enterprise role, what did Dominic do with his first paycheck? "Good question! I did take a photograph of the first check, actually. Because it was a double episode for the pilot, it was the largest check I'd ever been paid in one lump sum."

Showing good monetary sense, he claims to be fiscally responsible. "I'm pretty good with money. I don't know that I went out and bought anything, because I knew what I was going to do," he pauses. "I'm sitting in it now, my beautiful Hollywood home out here in the canyon looking out on a beautiful summer's day. I knew I wanted to buy this house, or a house like it. The first season I literally just socked it away and I didn't buy a new car. I drove my old '87 Bronco, and I only just got rid of that about a month ago. I put money away for a down payment on the house. Six months ago, my girlfriend and I moved in and we love it!"

Surely he celebrated when he got the part on Enterprise? "You know what I did? I was with John Billingsley (Phlox) — we were the first two cast — and we went out and had a coffee together and called a bunch of our friends on our cell phones while we were supping on our double-latte mochas, or whatever. I came home to the two rooms that I was renting in Beachwood Canyon and I put on a CD on my portable player and went out for a walk up around the canyon. I went to look at some of the houses that I could now afford to buy and noticed the nice cars that were driving past me, thinking, 'Ah, I could probably get one of those as well,'" he says. "I went for a long walk and let it all soak in. Then on the way back down the hill, I popped in at my friend's house — his mother was over from England — and he could tell by the cheesy grin on my face. He knew I had been in the auditioning process for this job and he went, 'You got it didn't you? You bloody got it!'

"I've taken a few people to dinner since then."

One of the great luxuries about being cast in a Star Trek show is there is a good chance you won't be cancelled after 13 episodes. But even so, the threat will always be there. "Well, one hopes not. As long as you keep your nose clean and don't piss anyone off too much!"

Even with a job like this, an actor's dream, there is still a certain amount of anxiety in taking the part. "I had a brief moment on the Bridge in the first couple of days when I was pressing button 502 over and over again. The thought crossed my mind, 'I'll never do Ibsen.' Then the first check arrived and I thought, 'Ibsen, Shmibsen!' There was some trepidation. You are signing yourself up for a long haul playing one character. But I was at a time in my life where I wanted the security that a job of this nature was going to offer me. I was very excited about the prospect of being able to afford actually having a family, an educated child."

Keating's character, Malcolm Reed, is also someone he is grateful for. "They've given me so much to do on this show — like "Shuttlepod One." To be honest, it's the best work I've ever done in front of a camera," he says proudly. "They've given me another episode like that in the second season, episode three — "Minefield" — myself and Scott [Bakula] in a two hander on the exterior of the ship and floating in space. It's a fantastic piece of writing that Brannon [Braga] came up with."

But there may be more in store for the Starfleet officer. "I talked briefly with Brannon about this, and I know that the one thing he appreciates about the way Malcolm Reed's developed is that he is truly at odds with his character and he is quite enigmatic. You cannot pigeonhole this character. You can, but he does have the ability to play at odds with himself and not have the audience say, 'That's not in character.' I think the one thing Brannon appreciates, and I certainly do, is that Malcolm Reed is very human. 'Shuttlepod One' allowed the audience to see that. I think he can take this character any which way. I would love to see them explore a very dark side to Reed, something in the way of a Laurence-Harvey-tortured-man. And if anyone can write that for this character, it's Brannon Braga."

Working on a show like Star Trek can be taxing if you are in every scene in every episode, but for most, that isn't really a problem. "It's such a great job and because it's an ensemble piece, we don't work every day. The days I have off, I so appreciate now. I've got a bit of money now so I can go for sushi or take my girlfriend someplace nice. I also love body boarding and I've just started taking up surfing. I just graduated to standing up on the wave. And I adore golf. And there it is — I get back and I've got four wonderful scenes with great actors and such camaraderie. It truly is a dream, dream job. I'll sorely miss it when it's over. And it'll come about too soon. Seven years seems quite a long time, but you know what, it'll fly by and it will be sad when it's over."

In the meantime, occasional brushes with celebrity are bound to happen. "It happened the other night for the first time. Two weekends ago, my neighbors took me and my girlfriend out with some friends of theirs. They rented a limo and we went to the opening of this rather swanky, new, swish restaurant here in LA, opened by this trendy chef called Fred. The limo pulled up and I didn't realize what a circus it was going to be when we got there. We took our steps on to the red carpet and as we were walking down the red carpet — and I've been to Star Trek events and UPN events before, where I understood there would be people there who would want to take pictures of me but I didn't expect this for a second — all these photographers started shouting out my name. I was absolutely bowled over! I've got Beck in front of me, Gwen Stefani two back from me and they're shouting, 'Over here, Dominic, over here!' It really took me by surprise. I can't say that I didn't like it, but it really did take me by surprise. I had a bit of the recognition thing back in England after doing [the sitcom] Desmond's for a few years. I don't want to say I'm used to being recognized, but I'm certainly not phased by it. I was prepared. That moment coming out of the limo was definitely like, 'Oh, I've arrived.'"

His future bright, Dominic Keating can wonder comfortably what it holds. "Who knows? Certainly for the foreseeable future, I can't see why I would want to move back to England full-time. I still have a flat there. Nothing would thrill me more than to come back to London during the hiatus and do a really good play. Or maybe live in London for a couple of years after the show finishes ? do some guest roles on other shows, maybe.

"I'm really happy with the way things have panned out. I'm still a young man, [I'll] still be fairly fresh when I come out the other end. I think I'm pretty versatile."

Source: startrek.com

[shes-a-badkid]

Thoughts while reading The Trials of Apollo - “The Dark Prophecy” with my nephew-

1. I still cannot get over the name Lester for Apollo

2. Even after being humbled a bit, he is still the cockiest bastardized out there

3. I love the idea of Leo just having a good time with his girlfriend and his dragon and helping a God out and then there is Calypso and Apollo just snarking at each other the whole time

4. I love Calypso so much- just straight punches someone, breaks her hand, and almost immediately says fuck it and kicks someone and breaks her foot. I just really identify with this

5. Poor Leo- had to leave Festus again. WHEN WILL MY SON GET A BREAK, RICK?!

6. Oh poor Emmie and Josephine! If this book doesn’t end with them getting their daughter back I will be seeking financial compensation

7. I’m obsessed with Emmie and Josephine, every new thing I learn about them just adds to my love

8. Apollo and Calypso on a quest with no Leo to buffer… I’m so here for this- the sass with be *chefs kiss* impeccable

9. I really like that Apollo’s memory is iffy right now because I truly don’t know who most of these people are and him remembering doesn’t feel like a generic info dump

10. Hell yeah, Meg!!! Run away from those assholes! (But please don’t make me sad again)

11. Apollo- how are you so thirsty? Like we haven’t focused on the gods in as much detail as you, but you seem like a thirty bitch. Now I know you can’t possibly be as thirsty as Zeus, but you might come close

12. So far on this quest we have Calypso doing like 85% of the work- picking locks, grifting the two searching for them into believing she was cursing them- what a queen. And you know, Apollo is also there, like good job with that train buddy, you helped!

13. Hell yeah, Meg! Take his ass out! (I think ‘hell yeah, Meg’ might become my catchphrase thought this series)

14. Okay Apollo- nice work letting all the animals loose, that was clutch

15. Sure, Apollo, you totally didn’t cry when Meg hugged you. We all totally believe you 😑

16. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it a million more time- I am obsessed with Josephine

17. “I was, after all, selfless, caring, and all around nice guy.” And just when I was feeling a bad for you my dude

18. Oh poor, Georgina, your mind is just mashed bananas right now

19. Look at you Apollo being all smart and melting that door- I would say I’m proud but the ego doesn’t need the compliment

20. PEACHES!!! NOOOOO! My sweet, little maniac

21. Festus! My favorite boy 🐉

22. Thalia about to kick some ass like the boss bitch she is

23. I love that Lityerses immediately went from down to kill for Commodus to I’m gonna kill Commodus for thinking of killing me and joining the side of good

24. Apollo may have fully won me over for staying back just to save Livia the elephant- also what a sight to see Thalia being a badass while escaping on a elephant

25. Leo and Calypso staying at the waystation makes so much sense and I’ll miss them so much, but also I would totally ready a book about Leo and Calypso at the waystation with Josephine and Emmie

26. Apollo hating his arrow is the best. I love a god having beef with an inanimate object

27. Oh Meg, my dear, I just want to hug you!

28. Apollo may be a self centered douche like 90% of the time but my man has a lot of feelings. Like- he cares for Meg so much, he just wanted to save Livia the elephant, he is passionate in his hatred of slavery, and he is so worried for his friends at the waystation

29. What is this red lightning, Jamie?!? I am intrigued

30. Sssssarah is delightful and I would love for her to just randomly pop up

31. Can we leave Festus alone, please

32. RICK! WHAT THE FUCK! YOU ARE GONNA KILL OFF A LOVELY GRIFFIN WHO JUST GAVE BIRTH (laid an egg… whatever) AND EXPECT ME TO BE OKAY?!? RIP Heloise

33. The delight I feel at just the mention of Coach Hedge is entirely normal! Stop judging me!

34. GROVER! MY SWEET SATYR!

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Tabula Rasa: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

Brian gets up, but he can't stop staring at Nina. He is very pissed at her, and you know he remembers exactly who he is and what he did. If he ever were to go free, you know he'd kill again. You get up and approach Hotch who gathers his things. He pauses when he sees the notepad in front of Brian that he could have used to take notes.

There is a single tear stained into the paper.

Hotch looks up, and you know he sees it too.

"Hotch, he's starting to remember. The anger that I felt when he saw his mother is only present in someone who would remember. That tear stain only confirms this theory."

"Come on."

You and Hotch leave the courtroom to find Cece on the phone with a smile on her face. She believes she will win this case, and her expression shows that.

"Cece, I need to talk to you."

"Listen, I don't want to jinx this, but something tells me I'm going to be buying your team a round of drinks when this is over," she chuckles.

"I think he's getting his memory back. He was crying in there when his mother was on the stand. You don't have that kind of reaction unless you're connected."

"Maybe you're right, but the fact is it doesn't really matter anymore."

"Doesn't it? I mean, don't you want to know who you're putting away?"

She doesn't get the chance to answer because every radio on every officer in the vicinity goes off. Something happened, and you know Brian is in the center of it. You, Cece, and Hotch rush to the center of attention, and the officer who was in charge of transporting Brian is injured.

"What's going on?" Cece demands.

"Are you okay? What happened?" you ask her gently.

"He ambushed me and escaped. He has my gun."

You and Hotch rush out of the courthouse with Spencer right behind you. He saw you two running outside, and he knew he needed to be part of this. However, Brian is gone, and he might kill someone because of it.

There are officers outside tending to a woman who got injured because of Brian. He stole her keys and her car after he hurt her.

"Who is she?" you ask an officer on the scene.

"She's a law clerk. Matloff stuck a gun in her face and pulled her out of her car. It's a late model Nissan."

"Did you put out an APB?"

"Statewide. We'll block every road out of town."

"Don't forget service roads. He knows them all."

"You know this guy, right? Any idea where he might be headed?"

"It all depends on who he is," Spencer answers.

Lester, Brian's lawyer, steps out of the courthouse towards his car, and Hotch stops him from going to it.

"Did you know?"

"Know what?"

"You talked to Matloff every day. Did you know that his memory was coming back?"

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about," Lester scoffs.

"He can't help us. Matloff has a paranoid personality. Even if he was aware he wouldn't have told anyone," Spencer says.

"Get over to the jail and into his cell. Just look for any clue that might tell us where he's headed."

Spencer leaves without you, and Hotch takes out his phone to inform the rest of the team what's happening, though, you know they might have a clue if they're watching the news. Once done, he places them on speakerphone so you can hear them too.

"Assuming his memory is coming back, where's he headed?"

"Simple answer is his birth mother. His victims were brunettes. Typology suggests that he was projecting rage at her," Derek says.

"He can't. She's with us, protected."

"If he doesn't have a specific target, he'll either run or go on a spree."

"Did we do this? With the brain test? Reintroducing all those memories? Is it possible that it could have acted as a cognitive rehabilitation?" Emily asks.

"Emily, killing is in his nature. Whether he remembers or not, he's still a killer. That has nothing to do with us."

Spencer calls as soon as he finds something, and it's something concrete. Darci was found in a clearing in the woods next to a waterfall, and since Darci's father is the only one who showed up at court, and that Darci was Brian's last victim, you believe that he is going there.

Hotch doesn't want to go in this blind, so he takes every available agent and officer to the woods just in case Brian decides to shoot his way out of this one. This wooded area is thousands of acres, so Brian could be anywhere, and the wind isn't helping the energy stay in one place.

Spencer believes he is at the waterfall where Darci was found, so you check there first before anywhere else.

"I figured this guy would have headed straight out of town. Why'd he come back here?" an officer asks.

"He's looking for himself. He just got his memories back, and he's confused about who he is."

Everyone heads towards the waterfall, and in the tall grass off in the distance, you see Brian sitting on the ground with something in his arms... someone. You can see the back of her brunette head, but you can't see anything else.

"That's him. He's got a girl with him and she's not moving."

"Alright, let's move in," the officer eagerly says.

"No, wait. If we rush him, he might try to kill her and himself," Spencer says.

"She's dead," you say and look at Hotch. "She's been dead for a while. He's holding a skeleton. Still, he has a gun, and he could kill himself or one of us if he feels pressured."

"How do you want to do this?"

"I want to go in there myself. Y/N, you need to be a shooter. I want your guys high and wide, but I need you close. Can you do that?"

"With this tall grass? Easy," you shrug and take out your gun.

"You think he's gonna shoot his way out?" Spencer asks.

"I don't want to be the only gun in there if he does."

You leave the ground and maneuver throughout the trees until you're in front of Brian. You can clearly see the skeleton face of the dead woman who has been there for years. He must have put a wig on her because that's the only explanation as to why she has a full head of hair on her.

You get low to the ground and practically slither your way through the grass until you get a clear shot of Brian. He doesn't see you, but then again, he's not really paying attention to you.

"I got a shot," you mutter so that everyone who has an earpiece can hear you. "Let me know when."

"Brian. I want you to show me your hands. Hands, Brian!" Hotch yells when he doesn't listen.

"Stop! Stop there, please," Brian says emotionally.

"Who is she?"

"She was my first. The minute my feet hit the ground, I knew right where to find her. I killed them. I killed them all."

Brian does remember, but he doesn't want to be that person anymore. Still, he needs to pay for what he's done whether he likes it or not.

"You remember."

"I remember everything. Every moment. Every tiny detail, but it's still not real. It's like the memories belong to someone else."

"Well, maybe in a way they do. But you still have to pay for what's been done."

"If I'm gonna be put to death, I might as well die right here," he says without moving.

"Brian. The court may show you mercy, but you have to earn it. If you believe you're a different person, then prove it and do the right thing."

Brian doesn't want to be this person, so instead of shooting his way out as you're sure he's thought about, he tosses the stolen gun off to the side so he's unarmed. He's not going to be a threat, even as Hotch moves in on him, so you stand up and put your gun back in its holster.

Cece is more than happy about the outcome of the trial, and she is all smiles when she enters the police station. You're still in Virginia, but you're on the other side of it from where the BAU is located.

"It's over. Matloff is pleading out."

"Congratulations."

"I couldn't have done it without you. First round's on me."

"No, we're gonna take a rain check. We've got a long drive."

"Of course. Lock up when you leave."

Cece leaves, and that just leaves you, Hotch, and Spencer.

"Darci's father brought a gun to the courthouse today," Spencer spills.

You gave the gun to the lead detective on the case knowing he'd know what to do with it.

"You're kidding. You think he was serious about using it?"

"Yes," you answer. "He was looking for closure."

"Do you think he'll get some now?"

"No. I mean, people's emotional lives aren't linear like that. To say that a killer's conviction can just suddenly bring peace to a man, isn't possible, in my opinion."

"Well, I guess he has to try. I mean, when it comes right down to it, what choice does he have?"

"I'd like to get Darci's watch out of evidence. I think her father deserves to have it back."

"Okay."

After Spencer gets it from evidence, and you and Hotch finish packing up the office, Hotch drives by Darci's house where her father still lives. You watch as Spencer talks with Mr. Corbett, and gives him back her watch.

You just hope he's going to be alright.

"What though the radiance that was once so bright, be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind." - William Wordsworth

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fics Including Real Celebrities (2) Masterlist

part one

Close to Bad Decisions (ao3) - phangelica

Summary: Dan leaves Phil alone at a party and Phil accidentally gets too drunk when Chris Hemsworth hits on him.

fall without a sound (ao3) - queerofcups

Summary: Dan hates The Space™.

for she had eyes (and chose me) (ao3) - phanetixs

Summary: And because Phil is so much more honest, a whole lot more delirious in love and unashamed to show it; privately to an audience of one, “I miss you. So much.”

Or, five days without Phil.

full speed, swerve off track (ao3) - iihappydaysii

Summary; Nick Jonas tells his fiancé about the time he had a crush on YouTuber, Dan Howell.

Golden Morning (ao3) - internetakeover (nymhciv)

Summary: The morning after Dan and Phil win the Golden Headphones they wake up on Nick Grimshaw’s couch, and find themselves lacking both the restraint and motivation to hide their relationship.

How I Met My Boyfriend on Queer Eye (warning: super gay) (ao3) - danhoweiis, twoheadlights (fizzfic)

Summary: au where dan is a hero on queer eye and accidentally falls in love with one phil lester

If My Complaints Could Passions Move (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan, Phil, Louis and Harry have a fanfiction club. Everything is great.

It’s a Joke (don’t hurt me) (ao3) - Bandom_Squirrel

Summary: Based on this conversation I had with my friend:

“The last two men in your camera roll are your dads.”

“That would be Dan Howell and Mikey Way. I guess Phil has been replaced.”

“No, it’s like a four-way between Dan and Phil and Mikey and Pete.”

“I don’t think the timeline of that works out.”

“Shh, it’s an AU. Hence the mpreg.”

“Ah, I’m gonna go write that now.”

Of Paparazzi and Succulents (ao3) - worriedpeach (skeletonflowers)

Summary: Actor!Dan is running away from a mob of fans when he runs into a flower shop. There, he meets a quirky florist who has an absurd liking towards succulents, seeming to think they have feelings of their own.

Party Poison (ao3) - your_starless_eyes

Summary: Dan and Phil get a bit too drunk during a party...

...the next morning it bites them on the arse.

Realized I Can't Not Be with You (ao3) - whoops_ima_dannie

Summary: dan and phil are crew members on fall out boys tour

Remember, Everything Will Be Alright (ao3) - luvliv2004

Summary: Dan's life is forever changed when his plan to have a child at the same time as his best friend Harry goes awry. The community Dan finds in his newlywed husband Phil along with Harry and his boyfriend Louis is what gets him through his roughest holiday yet.

save me from the ghosts and shadows before they eat my soul (ao3) - barboletta

Summary: It’s not like Dan imagined his life to be at twenty. He was an aspiring lawyer, (though he’d prefer actor, if everything were ideal). He was to have the life of a normal student, balancing partying, and studying--learning new things and meeting new people. He kind of does the latter part, but just not exactly how he’d expected.

or the one where Dan is a first-class thief, Phil isn't opposed to violence and they try to survive

stars guide the way (ao3) - yoongioss

Summary: Dan and Phil meet new friends at the Star Wars premiere that make them a bit less nervous and a lot more hopeful.

The birth of a phangirl (ao3) - dodo3000

Summary: One time during the radio show Dan seemed to be kind of mad, and my mind just went from there haha! And I am obsessed with Jameela Jamil, she's just so awesome.

The Curiosity of Dan Howell (ao3) - Raven052

Summary: Well... What can I say?

Dan got curious...

The Human Requirement to Breathe (ao3) - philsdrill

Summary: It’s a difficult life for Dan. Being famous and recognisable isn’t easy when you’re walking through a crowd of people… especially when you’re claustrophobic. Phil runs a coffee shop and an unusual customer ends up meaning more to him than he ever expected.

There's no way you can change the rolling tide (ao3) - rollingtide

Summary: ”Phil threw his head back laughing. And Dan felt a huge urge to kiss him, which made him feel a little bit taken back. In his 23 years on earth he had met many gorgeous men whom he had felt attracted to. But never had he felt like he needed to kiss anyone before. And he couldn’t pinpoint what the difference with Phil was.”

or

A famous/non-famous AU where Dan is hopeless and Phil can’t make coffee for shit.

Xmas Day (ao3) - luvliv2004

Summary: Dan's life is forever changed when his plan to have a child at the same time as his best friend Harry goes awry. The community Dan finds in his newlywed husband Phil along with Harry and his boyfriend Louis is what gets him through his roughest holiday yet.

"We are Too" (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Pete, Patrick, Dan, and Phil are all in an elevator and some secrets spill out.

You're The Only Thing I'll Never Let Go (ao3) - makingdemands

Summary: 5 times Phil Lester was Absolutely Not Jealous, and Dan was distressed over it because his relationship with Phil is and always will be #Complicated.

[small-sinclair]

do you think you could write married life headcannons with Lester and Reggie (separate)?

💚💚💚My husbands🩵🩵🩵

Lester Sinclair

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

He is the best man you’ll ever love. Always hugging you, loving you, kissing you, holding you— you’ll be smothered by love.

Your ring is made from bones… lol, no, Lester would never— he actually works up enough money and buys your a simple silver ring with your and his birth stones in shape of a heart.

But if you want bone jewelry, he’ll gladly make you something.

Lester comes home every day with something new. It could be flowers, a cool rock, dinner (a fresh kill good enough to cook), bones… the list goes on.

If you don’t want to cook road kill, he’s okay with it. He’s happy with whatever you’d like :3

Kills spiders for you.

Whenever you argue, he tries not to yell. I feel like he doesn’t yell or doesn’t like to yell. He cries when someone screams at him… so, communication is his strong suit.

Leaves you sticky notes of love or just simple ones.

He’ll have you two live in a cabin he and his brothers built, and it’s a nice log cabin with a lion legs bathtub, kitchen with a dishwasher, and a staircase leading you to y’all’s room.

The first thing he does when he comes home is take a shower before loving you. Bonus if you take a shower/bath with him.

He’ll take you on his rounds if you want, and he’ll let you be a passenger prince/princess/royalty.

Breakfast in bed every Friday morning.

Thursday Nights: Date Nights. He’ll clean up nice and take you to town for dinner, a walk around the little shops, and a movie if there’s anything good. If you don’t go out, he’ll cook you a good southern meal, take you outside for a walk with Jonesy, and end the night with a movie or just go straight to the bedroom for cuddles (maybe more ;) ).

Lester also does surprise dates! He’ll call up and say, “Sweet pea, I jus’ finished ‘n be there in twenty. Dress righ’. ‘M takin’ ya out.”

He does worry that he’s not enough for you, thinking that you might leave him if he does something wrong, but you always show you love him when he feels that low.

Bonus: If you’re pregnant, he’ll be nervous. He doesn’t want to end up like his father. But then he’ll melt when you show him the pictures of the alter sound.

Reggie Morgan

My beautiful Aussie would love you with ever fiber of his being.

I imagine he’ll take you far away from his brother. He doesn’t want his brother to try and hurt you.

Actually… he’ll make sure you never meet his family.

Your ring was his grandmother’s, and he was able to grab it from James before running away with you.

Hand holding in public to show off your ring and that you’re married to him.

He still delivers and drives, though, but he comes home, kissing your cheek, and a smile on his lips.

You two have one of the best gardens, too! He loves planting with you and taking care of the plants.

Reg loves taking you to the weekend markets and fairs. Fairytale Land is another place you two go (I think that’s the name) and this was where he proposed to you by the wishing well.

He can’t cook, but he can bake! He’ll make you muffins and cookies when you’re sad or had a bad time at work.

Slow dances with you in the kitchen at night in the dim light to the old country music on the radio.

Much like Lester, he leaves behind sticker notes with love letters or just a simple note.

If he knows you have a bad day, he’ll do his best to make you smile. Flowers, making dinner, asking your to talk… Reg will do anything to make you smile.

Breakfast in bed every Tuesday.

When arguing, he’ll storm off and be by himself for a while, but he’ll always come back with Mr. Frooty box and a sandwich for you. He’ll apologize and tell you that he didn’t mean it.

Like Lester, Thursdays are Date Nights. It’s pretty similar, too.

He’ll call you with a surprise, saying, “Heya, love. I just finished me- rounds. I saws tis amazin’ pizza stand. I reckon we try it. Dress righ’. I’ll be home in two ticks.” You can always hear his smile when he talks on the phone, too.

Yes, you two get a dog and name him Indy (it’s kinda cute because of Jonesy). It’s a German shorthair; they’re good hunting dogs.

Also kills spiders for you because it’s Australia. They got fucking spiders.

He’s still a bit shy around you and nervous, but Reg warms up to you with smiles and hand holdings. He really loves it when you cuddle close to him at night. He loves you so much it hurts sometimes. You’re the best thing to happen to him.

Bounce: If you’re pregnant, he’ll try to be the best father he could be. He never had a father going up, but he’ll make sure your kid doesn’t feel less love than he has.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

God of Cowboys and Fools - Chapter Five

“I’m a coward,” he finally says. “So I owe this courage. Suppose I’ve owed it all along.”

I huff. “You don’t seem like a coward to me.”

“Not now, maybe,” he says, looking down. “But I am. I ran away when I shouldn’t have. But some doors, John… some doors only swing one way.”

Written for the @malevolentmadnessmixup event! Art by @futuresoon.

>>> READ ON AO3 OR BELOW <<<

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

Chapter Five

We skirt the town. I thought we’d go through it again, but nope: we do not, and now he’s leading back the way I came in the first place.

He’s deeply worried. It’s put lines in his face, and his eyes squint though they’re shaded under his hat.

“Why are we going back?” I say.

“Because we have to get some of the King in your body, or your soul will try to become fully human to adapt. You’ll die.”

Oh, no. Oh, no! “There wasn’t anything left!”

“We’d better hope you’re wrong.”

“I don’t want to die!” My voice breaks.

He sighs and looks over at me. “I know, John. I know. I’ll take care of you.”

You should find out why he’s so willing to help you out.

“Why?” I say, not obeying the voice, but because that’s just wisdom.

“I…” He stops.

“You?”

“I’m a coward,” he finally says. “So I owe this courage. Suppose I’ve owed it all along.”

I huff. “You don’t seem like a coward to me.”

“Not now, maybe,” he says, looking down. “But I am. I ran away when I shouldn’t have. But some doors, John… some doors only swing one way.”

I stare at him.

Bella whickers nervously, her ears flicking back. Smoke seeps from her nostrils.

He shakes it off. “I’m all right, old girl.”

“I want to know more,” I say.

“Maybe in time. I’m not proud of what I’ve done, John.”

To not be proud of a thing sounds dreadful. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he says, not looking at me.

“For something that makes you feel bad. I don’t want you to feel bad.”

He looks at me. “You want my happiness, do you?”

Why does the way he said that… Something about the way he said that… I can’t find it. “Yes.”

He looks ahead again, eyes shaded by his hood.

#

The horses clearly like it darker and colder. They’re trotting, content. Stars like I never imagined spread above us, familiar and not at the same time, though I know that all of them were once familiar to me.

I could have named them. Once upon a time. I can’t now. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am losing myself. “What if there’s nothing of the King left there?”

“There will be.”

There might not. The vultures have been pretty busy. And the voice laughs.

I don’t like that laugh at all. I shiver.

Arthur glances over. “Cold?”

“No. The voice is being creepy.”

Why in hell are you telling him this?

Because I want Arthur Lester to trust me.

Why?

I don’t know why! Why would I have to know why? I feel it, and I am King, and that means I get to do what I want!

Of course, Your Greatness, the voice mutters, perfunctory. However you wish. So you shall bend reality to your will.

“We’ll be there soon,” says Arthur.

Good. Because while the stars are beautiful, I don’t really like riding in the dark. I can’t see like I know I should be able to. These human eyes are awful. “Can I get his eyes?” I say.

Arthur jumps a little. “What the fuck what?”

“His eyes.” Wait. “My eyes. So I can see in the dark.”

Arthur stares. “If they’re left, I guess so?”

I will place my hope in that. Because this? Darkness? No. Do not like.

I will have those eyes.

#

The place of my birth is pretty noticeable.

It’s like a bomb went off, or a meteor landed. There is a crater, and burnt-black ground, and the remains of bodies I didn’t bother to harvest.

It doesn’t smell great. Arthur pulls his scarf over his nose.

I wish I had a scarf. I don’t remember it smelling this bad.

“Shit,” he says.

“Impressive, huh?” I say.

“Sure.” He slides off Bella. “Stay here, okay, girl?”

She doesn’t like that idea and snaps her fangs at him.

He just stares her down.

She whickers, shakes her mane, and settles.

I slide off Boring. “Stay here, okay?”

He says nothing. Good old Boring.

The place of my birth is ruined. I can feel the soil is dead here; nothing will ever grow again, down to the bedrock. I wish I remembered why.

“They really went all out,” Arthur whispers, kneeling and feeling the burned sand between his fingers.

“Do you know what happened?”

“Something terrible. It takes a lot to kill a god, and someone of Hastur’s level…”

“Hastur?” The name latches me, grips me, bites deep with teeth. “Hastur?”

He looks at me.

I shake. The voice did not say Hastur. The voice called me King, not Hastur. “That’s his true name.”

“Yes.” Arthur watches me.

Why didn’t the voice tell me? I don’t know, but I do know this: my name is John. Not Hastur. “I…”

“Yes?” Arthur prompts.

“I’m John.”

His expression is too quick for me to read. “If you want to be.”

I look back at him. I need him to understand, and I don’t know how to do it. “I’m John.”

He sighs. “A chosen name is more important than a given one.”

He’s right. My shoulders relax.

“Let’s look,” Arthur says, and carefully slides down into the pit.

#

“I died here.” It just slips out of me, not by my choice.

Arthur looks up from the heart of the crater. He’s sweating; dust and dirt have stained his skin, his clothes, but he’s still looking for me. For parts of him.

I haven’t done anything to help him. I stand here, staring. Because I am afraid. “I died here.”

“I know,” he says gently, and resumes his search.

It’s a mess. Human parts and machine parts, pieces of stone I know will hurt me if I come too close, black stains I think came from me (from him) when it happened, some kind of globby goo that was torn out of reality like insulation chiseled out of a wall.

I can’t move. I can’t get closer. The echo of forgotten pain keeps me still.

Athur doesn’t seem surprised. He works, looking, not judging me, digging, turning things over, checking under tubes, scratching bits of soil a couple of inches down.

“Should…” I don’t like this place. “Should we have found something by now?”

“We will,” he says. “I feel it. Something of yours is still here.”

I’m afraid. “Will it take much longer?”

He stands and looks me in the eye. Somehow, the dirt smudges have not taken away from who he is; the grandeur, the power, the immortal wizard is all still there, strong and steady, and he holds my gaze. “I swear I will keep you safe, John. I swear it.”

As if his word means anything. The voice hissed that. Furious.

“I don’t think the voice likes you,” I say.

He tilts his head. “Out of curiosity. what does it sound like?”

Don’t tell him.

Of course I’m going to tell him. “Male?���

“Uh-huh. And?” prompts Arthur Lester, wizard.

“Sort of…” My brain recalls something. “Southern?”

He goes very still. “Southern? Like Georgia, or something?”

He’s right. “Yes. Lengthens his vowels. Has a twang.”

Arthur Lester goes dead pale.

The voice in my head laughs. Laughs, cruel, a deep and terrible chortle.

“Right. We are in a trap,” says Arthur Lester, and looks around. His eyes glow; his hands burn red internally so bright that it’s like his flesh is burning underneath his skin. “No more time to waste.” And he wills the sand to move.

Dirt flies, sand rising like some wild storm, but it’s just him, just Arthur Lester, fulfilling his promise, teeth bared, eyes lambent, digging a hole that was not there. He suddenly leaps out of the hole he dug in the crater of my birth (leaps so high, so graceful) to land before me with some kind of—

With a black, squirming, power-ridden—

With a long black thing that he shoves right into my mouth.

It is a tentacle, thick, muscled, moving, and it chokes down my throat before I can even breathe. I gag.

“Gotta go!” he says, pulling me out of the crater.

The tentacle is wider than my esophagus, and it tears going down, and I hadn’t realized unable to breathe would be so frightening.

“Go!” Arthur cries again, and somehow shoves me onto my horse.

Bella looks furious. She lets out scream, this sound that isn’t remotely right, remotely horse, remotely anything, and then Arthur is mounted, too. “Ride!” he commands.

And somehow, Boring understands, and takes off.

I almost fall. I still can’t quite breathe; the tentacle is down in my gullet now, compressing, crushing my lungs by expanding my stomach, but it is… it is…

Oh.

It is joining me.

It feels so good. It feels like shade after walking in the sun. It feels like cold water on cracked lips. It feels so fucking good!

We are being attacked.

I almost didn’t… I’m so busy feeling this that I barely noticed, barely registered. Spells crash into the ground on either side of us, spraying sand, blinding with green flashes. Shouts chase us from behind, angry, weaving curses that Arthur Lester, wizard, somehow defrays without even looking twice. And I…

I feel… power.

The tentacle is almost completely absorbed. No more pain. No more shock. I remember… things.

These fools dare to chase the King in Yellow?

I pull Boring up.

“John! No!” Arthur cries ahead, trying to stop Bella, who has no intention of turning around.

They’re trying to catch me. Oh, no. No, these fools don’t get to do this. They will pay for their arrogance. I turn Boring, who is trotting and whinnying and his eyes are wide and wild, and I face eight wizards on horses who gallop at us like arrows shot straight and true, wielding wands and spells and human magic.

And I destroy them all.

I don’t even have to think. It isn’t a consideration, something to doubt, something to question. They have come at me, and they have come at what is mine, and they do not get to live after that.

There is no word for the spell I use because true gods do not need words. I simply will it to be, and my power rises from the earth and the air and all the places it scattered and bends to my will.

I cast a golden wave like the sweep of a broom, beautiful, and merciless, and utterly unavoidable.

They scream. They disintegrate, exploding into chunks of foolish matter and meaty pride. Their horses are not spared, but go mad in honor to me, giving me insanity, feeding me, and scream and run in all directions, wildly uncontrolled.

Our enemies are dead. I am victorious. I am…

“John,” Arthur breathes, pulling up next to me, staring at me with wonder, with awe, with (fear, desire, regret, relief, hope) too many things to read.

I don’t…

I feel…

“John!” he shouts as I fall from my horse, and my last thought is that this stupid human body breaks so easily that I think I truly hate it.

[chapter six] [masterpost]

[i-was-bored-so-this-happened]

Alexandra's Evolution Chapter Twelve: Library Pictures - Part One

Fandom: Primeval Wordcount: 4.4k Warnings: None

Lester struggles to identify the best course of action to get information out of Helen, while Nick, Stephen and Alex adjust to her being back in their lives

Read on AO3 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Writing Masterpost

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

Alex has decided she hates fluorescent lights. It’s an unfortunate coincidence that the entire ARC is lit by them. The break room is the only reprieve, she can switch off the overhead lights in favour of the yellowish strips that line the underside of the cabinets. She’s been sitting there since lunchtime, trying in vain to read a book. The rest of the team is scattered throughout the building. Connor comes and goes. He’s made a good dent in the orange bean bag in the corner of the break room. It’s possible Abby’s gone home, Alex hasn’t seen her in a while. The smell of almost-burnt toast lingers in the air. Tom Ryan knocks on the wall before coming in. 

“Connor Temple,” he hands Connor something small before moving towards the table, carefully avoiding the wire that connects Stephen’s iPod to the wall, “Alex Hart.” a little card, laminated and attached to a lanyard. Her full name is stamped into it, her date of birth, and an identification number. Apparently, she’s employee 038.

“What are you, double-oh-seven?” Connor asks from his corner, unlatching and reclicking the snap of the lanyard. 

“Lieutenant Sharma’s seven. I’m number five.” When she flips the ID card over there’s new information. Blood type, allergies, the stamp that indicates she’s an organ donor. Just a little concerning. Ryan slides into a seat and takes a handful of dry Cheerios from the bowl in front of Alex after she nods permission. “You’re to wear those when on duty, which means in this building and at anomaly sites.”

“Why’s our logo on it?” Connor asks, holding his up to the light to look through it, “Why do we even have a logo?”

“I didn’t design them,” Ryan answers, crunching dry cereal, “Put ‘em on.” Connor makes a wide circle with his hands to drop the lanyard over his head. Alex clips hers to a belt loop. Ryan’s badge, without a lanyard, is already attached to a loop above his chest pocket, like a nurse’s watch. 

“Is Helen talking?” Alex asks. 

“Not much. She’s trying to build a case that she’s been kidnapped.” Ryan sighs when Alex’s head tips to the side,

“Well, she was abducted and is currently being held against her will until she gives up information, that’s pretty textbook kidnapping,” she pauses, “Funny thing is though, missing persons are declared dead after seven years, and her eighth anniversary was this May, so I guess it’s not, really.”

“May? Like, when I told you guys about the anomalies May?” Connor asks.

“Like when you guilt-tripped the professor into a day trip over a single tabloid headline May, yeah.” Alex replies.

“Look where we ended up May.” Connor counters, waving a vague hand at his general surroundings.

“May is not a full stop May,”  Ryan says firmly, “Alex Hart, if Helen wants to talk to you, are you willing to speak to her?”

“No,” she doesn’t even take time to think about it. Connor shifts in the beanbag and repeats her answer questioningly, “She’s not going to be the person I remember. None of us are the people she knew. I…” she pulls her attention from the table to Ryan, “Why, has she asked to talk to me?”

“It’s likely she’ll ask for Nick, use communication as leverage.”

“Has he not agreed to talk to her?” Alex frowns. That’s not like Nick. Ryan sighs again and she understands, “He’s being withheld,” her chair scrapes as it juts backwards, “Tom Ryan, that’s inhumane. She’s been on her own for years, she told Nick that much, depriving her of human contact is…it’s cruel.”

“She’s in Holding Cell Three.”

“Show me.”

The holding cells that Alex didn’t know existed are downstairs, in the section of the building that’s underground. There are even more strips of fluorescent lights to make up for the lack of windows, bringing Alex’s attention to the uncomfortable lump of lead that sits behind her browbone and makes her squint as she passes under each fresh strip of light. Dry socks from her locker slide a little along the linoleum. Ryan clears his throat to indicate that he’s leaving and turns back to the stairs once Nick and Stephen are in sight. They’re out of place in the almost green-tinged hallway, standing in front of a wide panel of glass that must be one-way. Stephen recognises her walking pattern and holds out an arm ready for her. The arm goes around her shoulders and curls Alex into his chest so he can lift his chin to rest on her head. Nick has a tight grip of Stephen’s hand. Alex shifts so she can see through the window.

Clothes from her old life hang off her frame. Nick had made a pit stop at the house to grab a bin bag of clothes for her. She’s lost weight, enough to show. Her cheekbones, her jaw, and her clavicle are more prominent than in any photos they have of her. That blue shirt used to be one of her favourites, patterned with birds. She inspects the seams and shifts as though ants have been sewn into the fabric. She’d been permitted to shower to get the salt and slime off her and her hair is just starting to dry. Threatening to frizz, just a little, but it won’t. It never did, not like Alex’s did. Still does. The scent of the spray she used to spritz before straightening her hair smacks Alex in the face. Vanilla sugar. She’d sit on the bedroom floor and watch Helen put herself together even though she was too old for it, and Helen would play along for the most part. Their hair smelled the same back then. Body Shop shampoo bars, orange and ginger. It was Stephen who would tie her curls back into plaits on a daily basis, though, she reminds herself. Stephen, whose fingers smelled like pennies every Monday morning from the coins he’d pile on the kitchen table. Nick used to get her hair ribbons when they were in their Austen phase. Stephen had woven the black velvet ones into Alex’s twists for Helen’s funeral so he wouldn’t have to worry about her looking tidy for a few days.

She’s looking at the window. She must at least guess that they can see her. That she’s being watched. She’s been cuffed to the table and given enough slack to reach the white plastic cup of water by her left hand. Her shirt and the jeans are from her past but her boots are the same as those she’d worn through the anomaly. Nick hadn’t kept her shoes. Fresh underwear had been provided courtesy of the BHS on their way back to the ARC. Stephen has wound a coil of Alex’s hair around his finger, it tugs slightly when he gets stuck, and she knows Nick is toying with the leather braid around Stephen’s wrist. They’ve formed a chain on this side of the glass, interlinked and soldered strong. Can Helen see their shadows? Is that how she knows where their eyes are to stare so directly into them? Does it hurt to see them connected when she’s alone? No, she’s adapted to being alone, surely. She’s evolved. But that only brings up the question of why she’d been luring Nick in the first place. She’s uninjured, she seems in control of her mental faculties. Nick’s question persists: why now? There are a lot of questions, but that one is at the forefront.

“What’s the plan, Teach?” Alex mumbles into her uncle’s shoulder. Lester wants the intel she has on anomalies and doesn’t want personal lives to overtake the research project, but giving Helen what she wants by letting Nick in would open the door to personal lives and not to scientific information. Nick and Stephen, they need to know she’s okay. That she’s being fed. If they will take the cuffs off her.

“I’ll talk to ‘er. It might be our only chance to get the truth.”

“What if you don’t like the truth?” Stephen asks.

“No one really likes the truth,” Nick says sagely, sliding a finger under the leather bracelet to find Stephen’s pulse point, “The truth actively changes reality. Do we want that to happen?”

“You’re asking that now?”

***

The next time Lester disappears down the stairs to the holding cells, Tom Ryan breaks protocol. None of them are supposed to be down there without Leek and Lester knowing, and they’re certainly not meant to watch this. Alex is at her desk hunched over a crossword. R.E.M are on the radio. Empty boxes are slowly being filled with tiny swirls. 

“Banal.”

“You what?”

“Boring.”

“Gee, thanks.” Alex shifts the position of her legs, which are starting to go numb. Ryan leans his weight on the back of the chair and leans over her shoulder to underline a blank space. When she picks up the pen to print the letters in block capitals Ryan moves closer, head parallel to hers, as though to inspect her spelling and lowers his voice,

“Figured you should know Lester’s downstairs again,” he pushes against Alex’s chair when she tries to scoot back, “Don’t, you’re not meant to know.”

“Then why are you telling me?” she fills in a word that’s been made clear now banal has been written. 

“Leek wanted the three of you notified once Lester was in. Slow and casual, yeah?” He lets go of the chair and leaves the ops room entirely. Alex waits for several seconds, unsure if Ryan’s warning was really warranted but not wanting to risk it, before she leaves her desk. Stephen’s in the ops room too, near the door, and as she passes him she hooks her fingers into the collar of his shirt to take him with her. He doesn’t offer much resistance, only leaning forward to grab his coffee before going with her. 

“Where’s the fire?”

“Downstairs, Lester’s trying Helen again.”

“Where’s Nick?”

“Dunno, call him.” Alex says, tripping down the steps. She has to count the doors she passes, not fully remembering where Ryan had dropped her off the night before without Nick marking the location. Her head turns to each window the same way a lost child looking for her mother in a supermarket checks each aisle. 

She’s there. Helen. Her hair has dried and she is no longer cuffed to the table, but there is a guard at the door Alex can see if she presses her face to the glass. Lester sits with his back to the window. They have both been provided with nondescript cups of tea. Alex finds her pen still in her hand and pushes it into her mouth. Stephen pulls it out and wipes it on his shirt,

“God, how many times have I told you not to chew pens? No, Nick, Alex.” He’s still on the phone. No noise is coming from the room they’re watching, though they can see Helen’s mouth and Lester’s shoulders moving. Alex runs her fingers along the windowsill until she finds a button and tinny speech comes through a small speaker above their heads.

“-you’ll be in here for a rather long time.” The latter half of Lester’s sentence comes through clearly.

“Is there anything in my voice, Lester, anything at all, that makes you think I’ll obey you? Nothing will stop me from doing what I have to do.” The tone of Helen’s voice is unfamiliar. Deceptively smooth to the point of sharpness. Like glass.

“What’s she on about?” Stephen whispers, covering the mouthpiece of his phone as he asks. Alex shrugs and makes a grumbly noise to indicate that she doesn’t know. She’s heard as much as he has.

“How frighteningly ominous,” Lester deadpans, “We don’t want much, we just want to understand the anomalies.” Helen snorts derisively, a sound still familiar to Stephen because Alex does the same thing.

“Do you know what an oxymoron is?” Helen asks. Lester is, as far as the Harts can tell without seeing his face, unfazed,

“What do you want to get out of this interaction, Helen? Besides sanctimonious lecturing?”

“I’ve already told you. I want to speak to Stephen.” The name crackles through the phone at Stephen’s ear at the same time as Helen says it. He mumbles something and hangs up.

“Me?” Stephen asks Alex. He’s whispering again. She looks up at him, searching his eyes to try to discern his internal reaction.

“Stephen?” Lester repeats, “Not your husband?” Helen doesn’t deign to respond, sipping her tea.

“Why not Nick?” Stephen whispers, “We all thought she’d want Nick first. She doesn’t even know he…we…” Alex nibbles at the cuff of her shirt sleeve. 

“So much for not bringing our personal shit to work with us.” She mumbles around the fabric. Stephen exhales noisily through his nose. Clattering on the stairs heralds Nick’s arrival. Nick, whose arm automatically slides around Stephen and whose hand finds its place at his hip. “She wants to talk to him.” Alex says simply. Confusion registers on Nick’s face in a frown,

“Him?”

“Him.”

“Will you go?”

While the new turn of events is being discussed, Lester leaves his space at the table. He abandons his teacup and the small plate of bourbons his body had been hiding. Too far away for Helen to reach. He turns to the window to look at his reflection and straighten his jacket and tie. The latter is cerulean today, patterned with fleur de lis in a slightly shiny thread in order to stand out. The door doesn’t hiss or squeak or creak to announce his arrival, making little more noise than a quiet swish.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I suppose you figured out how the audio works?” in response, Alex points up at the little speaker, and he sighs, “Stephen, would you like to go in?” Stephen nods and swerves past Lester into the room without a word. “I suppose there’s no telling you two to clear off.”

“Nope.” Nick tells him.

“They can’t say I didn’t try.” Lester replies. He puts Alex between him and Nick and clasps his hands in front of him not unlike a choir boy. Alex leans on the windowsill, being careful not to press the button that will cut off audio. 

“Were you waiting outside?” Helen asks. She visibly relaxes. Not a lot, but enough for Nick and Alex to register, leaning back and aligning her arms with those of the chair. 

“We’re concerned,” Stephen says. He’s speaking lightly, carefully. The plate of bourbons slides in Helen’s direction, “They are feeding you, aren’t they?” She picks up a biscuit, inspects it and then puts it back on the plate. “You weren’t set up, I need you to know that. Nick wanted to make sure you were alright and they-”

“Oh, I don’t want your excuses for him, Stephen.” Helen cuts in. She’s breathing rather sharply through her nose.

“Alright, fine,” he’s closing off, settling linked hands on the table, “What do you know?” Someone else is coming down the stairs now, but no one turns to see who it is. Leek, Alex guesses from the creak of new brogues and the presence behind her as he whispers into Lester’s ear. 

“About what?” Helen asks on the other side of the glass.

“The anomalies. You said you know why they happen. You’ve got to deliver.” Stephen explains.

“Right now, why is the least of your worries.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Stephen asks, irritation tearing at the edge of his words. 

“It means that unless you act within the next few hours, a pack of sabre-toothed killers will be rampaging through central London.” 

“Get him out, we’ve got another one.” Lester orders. Leek - Alex was right, it was him - shuffles past the group and into the holding cell. Helen watches him the same way a cat does an intriguing pigeon. Stephen turns to the noise of the door opening, and they can see the clench of his jaw. His response to Leek spawning into the room is well-controlled, and he follows him out without another word to Helen. Once Stephen’s in range, Nick reaches out to rub his arm. 

“There’s a library in Lambeth that’s been having a bit of bother with a stray cat,” Lester announces, “It seems when the RSPCA went in they bit off more than they could chew.”

“The surrounding area has been evacuated without disruption to Waterloo station and, as far as we know the creature hasn’t left the building. There’s an ambulance at the scene already, there has been a casualty.”

“Of you get, before we’re on the dinnertime news for stopping the trains.” Lester waves a dismissive hand. All three heads of Nick, Stephen and Alex turn to him with equally incredulous expressions. Nick points at the window,

“You expect me to just leave her here with you?” he asks. Lester blinks, affronted at the accusation that he might ill-treat Helen. In Nick’s eyes, he already has.

“I won’t speak to her until you get back. She told Stephen more there than she has any of us. Big cat? Sabre-toothed killers? I took my kids to see Ice Age, I know what that means, now go.”

***

Minimal military personnel have been assigned to this incursion. Whether that’s to minimise public panic or to maximise team cooperation it’s unclear. The standard orange traffic cones have been set in a circle around the incursion site, monitored by a few soldiers who are trying to turn away police officers. Alex was not given permission to drive so she bounces out of the back seat of the pick up and skips to the boot to open the gun locker. She claims a pistol and waits for Abby to join her. At present, Abby is the one that is trusted with measuring out sedatives for their dart guns. The others haven’t done the training.

“I’m going to go with the same sort of dosage we use for the lions at the zoo,” she mumbles, holding a syringe at eye-level, “How likely is it to be bigger than a lion?”

“Eh,” Alex wobbles a hand back and forth, “Maybe about fifteen to twenty percent bigger than their modern counterparts. Generally speaking.”

“We can work with that.” Abby, happy with her measurements, begins making up darts. “Two pistols and a rifle?” she checks. Alex nods. Nick doesn’t particularly like guns, and he trusts the others enough to cover him.

“Which one’s mine?” Connor asks, inevitably.

“You don’t get a gun.” Abby reminds him.

“You are never getting a gun.” Alex piles on. In target practice he’d fired three plastic pellets clear past the mark and into her stomach. The training gun had been quickly taken off them before she could retaliate, “You’re a shit shot and you don’t have a license.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys.” He gives them a pair of over-enthusiastic thumbs-up and a too-wide smile and dives back into the car for the magnetometer and Geiger counter Alex had managed to wangle out of one of the university professors, an ancient man everyone called Burnie who was the one to teach Alex how each element on the periodic table he could get his hands on burned. Hence the nickname. Connor also pulls out Alex’s bag, which she slings over her shoulder before taking the gun Abby gives her. Out of habit, she checks the safety. As part of a new habit she’s developing, she then shoves it in the side pocket of her bag that’s meant to hold a bottle or some pens or something of the like. At least she doesn’t keep it in the waistband of her trousers like her uncle does, tucking it under his jacket. He can’t really do that with a rifle, fortunately. Abby takes the second pistol and passes Alex a case of darts to slip into her bag. 

“Alright, kids!” Nick gathers his team around him in a jumble of a circle, waiting for Tom Ryan and his two-soldier entourage to join them.

“What’s the drill if a big cat goes for you?” Stephen asks the group at large.

“Uh. Run?” Connor says this as though he’s stating the obvious.

“Connor, do you know what a cheetah is?” Alex asks. Connor rolls her eyes. She sticks her tongue out.

“Even if it’s just a cat that’s escaped from a private zoo or something, lions and tigers can push fifty mile an hour in a sprint if they feel like it.” Abby elaborates, having a little more pity. 

“If it goes for you, you make yourself big and you make yourself loud, alright?” Stephen asks. “Connor?”

“Big and loud, got it.” Connor mock-salutes.

“Remember, it might not be the creature we’re expecting, it might just be a stray the RSPCA can’t handle.” Tom Ryan reminds everyone.

“Or Helen’s right, which you’ll find she usually is.” Nick corrects. Ryan accepts this with a nod. Stephen takes control of strategy,

“Splitting into pairs may be more effective than confronting this in a lump. We have two floors to cover here so four on each floor, two starting at each end and working their way into the middle. Alex, take Connor. Abby, with me.” This is deliberate, splitting up the trio to avoid talking about Helen. Nick even pairs with an unknown soldier to keep himself apart from Tom Ryan.

“What if it’s just a regular cat?” Connor asks, pulling at his gloves as he walks in step with Alex.

“Not allergic to cats, are you?” She hasn’t quite memorised the list of his obscure allergies and intolerances.

“No. Well, not really. Only the ginger ones.”

“What do you mean, only the ginger ones?” Alex asks. Connor shrugs.

“Me nan always had cats and I was fine, but when I was thirteen she had to put Sugarsnap into Battersea because I’d get so itchy.”

“Sugarsnap?”

“Yeah, she had good names. Monty, Pearl, Caesar, Diplodocus-”

“I can guess who picked that one out-”

“-she always called him Dipstick-”

“-really crushing your creative spirit there.”

“Right?” Connor sounds thrilled that someone agrees with him, and it makes Alex laugh. She pauses in front of the building as the others go in and pinches her fingers in front of her face, drawing a line down to her chest,

“Hey, hey, okay, we’re focused. We’re focused.” Connor copies her motion and her breathing, like actors preparing to go on stage. “You stay behind me, you stay quiet, you’re my lookout.”

“Lookout, got it. Are we on the ground floor or upstairs?”

“Uh. Oh.” Everyone else has gone in, and when they push through the doors no one can be seen on the stairs, “Take your pick.”

“You think I’m going to choose stairs?”

“I figured it was unlikely,” Alex admits. She turns in a slow circle to choose a direction to go in. The ground floor of the library holds a café, the check-out desk, a small IT section with a dozen computers and three printers, and the children’s section behind a set of doors painted to look like they’re in a two-dimensional cartoon, “Check out the kid’s books?” Connor agrees with a shrug.

The floor is linoleum, difficult to move over without their shoes catching and making some sort of noise. Not that Connor’s trying to be quiet. He hasn’t quite gotten that idea yet, strolling casually along but making sure to stay a few paces behind Alex. She plants one foot directly in front of the other, mimicking a fox’s walking pattern to the best of her bipedal ability. She shoulders the door open and leaves it for Connor to catch hold of. The children’s section of Waterloo Library is in a square room with shelves no taller than five feet, large board books and soft toys on display along the tops of the shelves. A deep pile carpet disguises any noise Alex and Connor would be making, but neither of them can quite see over the shelves. Leather-covered cubes and circular corduroy floor cushions litter the floor, a few books still left behind from when the building was evacuated. Brightly coloured rubbery chairs with chunky legs are set around squat little tables covered with gingham tablecloths and abandoned pots of crayons with colouring sheets. Decorations dangle from the ceiling panels, flowers made of tissue paper and little lanterns. A poster on the wall declares the room is currently themed after The Secret Garden, all the books on display being about bugs or gardening. It’s charming, even to the university students who have yet to lose the last of their childishness. 

“Aw, cute.” Connor whispers. Alex shushes him, knowing he’s categorically unable to whisper. She moves towards the centre of the square, where the tables are. The shelves form a square sort of spiral, leading an unassuming toddler on a full tour of the room and spitting him out at the centre again. It’s decided that they should follow this spiral. The structure is intuitive, each section holding a clearly labelled subject and each individual shelf rising in age as it does in height: baby board books at floor level and books more suitable for ten-to-twelve-year-olds at the top. Alex and Connor move slowly, the latter in charge of ensuring they’re not being followed, around the spiral. There’s no sight or sound of any sort of animal - or any familiar humans for that matter - until they reach a section that has an adjoining desk, the books dedicated to teaching children how to read. Connor’s hand crawls up Alex’s shoulder and pushes, trying to turn her. She lets him, and they peer over the top of the shelf.

A cat, definitely some kind of cat, is curled up into a kidney-bean shape. Asleep. Its tail covers much of its hind legs, but the size of the front paws can be estimated to be the same size as a dinner plate. Bigger than a regular lion’s paws, surely. It has no mane but there is tufted hair at the scruff of its neck, much like an adolescent male lion would have. The cat stretches, extending its long front legs and proving itself to be male. The mouth opens in a yawn, exposing teeth Alex would guess are five inches long. His eyes open, a deep amber colour, and the pupils contract as they adjust to the level of light in the room.

“Bad news, Connor. He’s ginger.”

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Imagine # 985

Gif NOT mine.

If this gif is yours (or you know who's it is) please let me, so I can give you/them credit.

Gif credit goes to - @tendersugarr (Unless told otherwise.)

Year posted - 2022

📝Note(s) - I think I read someone had this as a headcanon for Bo's name, and I fucking love that idea so I'm rolling with it. (If you know who did it, let me know. I'd love to tag them!)

Bo frowned in slight confusion at the sudden laughter emitting from his father's old office. Sure he recognized the laughter, but why was she in his father's old office? And why was she laughing so hard? Setting his cigarette in a nearby ashtray he rose from his spot on the couch, and walked briskly down the hallway, slowly creaking the office door open as to not alert her to his presence just yet. "What's so funny darlin'?" He asked after regarding that no one was with her in the office, a smile gracing his lips when she jumped with a startle. "Bo!" (Y/n) hissed with mock annoyance, clutching her free hand over her heart. "Sorry sugar, didn't mean to scare ya." He hummed as he leaned against the doorway, a smile tugging at his lips again as she wiped away a stray tear that had formed from her laughter. "Oh sure you didn't." She snorted before setting the paper she held in her hand down, giving him her full attention. "So what's so funny?" He asked again. "Oh well I found something..." She smirked before rising from her seat, taking the paper with her as she approached Bo. "What's this?" He wondered aloud as she handed the paper over, the amusement falling from his face in an instant once he realized what he was holding. "Why were you looking for this?" He asked with a frown, clearly unamused. "Well Bo if you're intending on marrying me, we kinda need our birth certificates." She mused casually. "Why didn't you tell me your first name was Beauregard?" She asked after a moment of watching him glare at the offending piece of paper. "Why do you think?" Bo sassed with an unimpressed look, making (Y/n) giggle. "I think it's cute." She cooed softly, giggling again when he scoffed at her words. "Oh please. Vincent could hear you laughing from his lair, under the Wax Museum." He huffed, before tossing the paper away onto a nearby table. "I was laughing because of how cute it is!" She insisted with a small giggle, pecking his lips a few times to try turning his mood around. "Don't worry I still love ya Beauregard." She teased playfully, laughing when he playfully shoved her away. "You're lucky I love you." He sassed before pulling her back against his chest, kissing her once his hands rest on her hips. "But do we really have to get legally married? I really don't need anyone knowing about my first name." His words made (Y/n) snort with laughter. "Well I would prefer it honeybee." She muttered softly, giving him her best puppy dog eyes. "Oh alright." He grumbled after a minute of trying to resist her eyes, smiling when she squealed with excitement. "Thank you baby! I love you, I love you, I love you!" She gushed before covering his face in kisses, making Bo laugh at her excitement. "I love you too... But if Lester or Vincent say anything about my name, I'm gonna punish you for that." He warned with a certain glimmer in his eyes, making (Y/n) blush under his gaze. "Okay." She bit her lip, secretly hoping they would tease Bo in the near future.

[aggravatetheaxe]

BO SINCLAIR X TRANS MAN / MAN ALIGNED READER COMING OUT - Pt. 1 - Under Your Skin

This title is SAFE FOR WORK. Pt. 2, Over the Moon, will be NSFW. I'll link that here when it's written!

You met Bo while you were still presenting as a woman. Suffice to say things have changed, and you can't keep your secret from him any longer. You have no choice but to tell him or leave ... but what if he makes you leave anyway?

CW: descriptions of dysphoria that get very intense, deadnaming/misgendering, mentions of murder and mortal peril, it's 2005 and Bo is from the south so just be advised it's not all fluff and rainbows (but there is payoff, this isn't straight angst, it's just a journey)

Soundtrack: x

Words: 4,175

Part Two

Masterlist

***

Your shoulders were stiff. Your throat was dry. Your leg was bouncing, the only thing you could do to release the nervous energy juttering through your body.

You were going to tell him.

You'd put it off for months now, not quite sure how to say the words. Then, when you'd arranged them in your head, fear had kept you from saying them out loud. But you couldn't wait anymore. You couldn't live like this any longer.

You'd been hiding the secret for too long. Every time Bo called you by your birth name or made some quip about you being his girl, your heart shriveled just a little more. It had gotten to the point where you didn't even want compliments from him ... you didn't want to talk. You didn't even really want to sleep with him, didn't like to think about him looking at you as a woman during sex.

He didn't know, of course. But that almost made it worse. He couldn't stop hurting you and you couldn't yell at him for it. It was always the same: you lost control, you got frustrated, wouldn't tell him why, he'd get frustrated, you'd fight ... it was a mess. You knew all that was putting a strain on your relationship.

So it had to be tonight.

It had to be tonight.

You had everything planned. You'd already gone into town with Lester and picked up some stuff for a nice dinner; there was a fresh, cold six-pack of Bud in the fridge; and Rocky III was sitting in the VHS player, ready to go. Once he was relaxed, you'd talk to him.

You'd convinced yourself so fully that you'd stick to the plan that when you heard his truck pull up and your heart leapt into your throat, you nearly cried. Fuck, not again. Not another night. You were supposed to be stronger than this.

Stomping boots on the porch. You heard the door swing open from the kitchen. "I'm home."

He didn't sound like he was in a particularly good mood, but it didn't sound like a bad one, either. That was good news, at least. Things must have gone okay down at the shop. "I'm in here!" you called back.

Bo appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, tracking a little gravel into the house as always. He leaned against the doorframe with one hand on his hip, gesturing with his chin. "Hey, sugar. What you got there?"

You looked down at the meal you were plating. "I thought I'd try a pot roast? I dunno. I don't think it came out very good, but I guess we'll see."

He didn't say anything. You glanced over your tense shoulder to see him simply staring at you, like he was trying to read your thoughts. You could sense the gears in his head turning behind those clever blue eyes of his. He knew there was something wrong; you were guarded.

For a moment, you thought he might say something. That familiar little bit of irritation was beginning to creep into his face, right around his neck and jaw. But after a few seconds, he simply said, "A'right," and straightened. "M'gonna go change."

"'Kay." As he stomped up the stairs, you finished getting the food ready and brought the plates to the living room. Bo usually ate at the table—"I ain't a savage"—but you could tell he liked eating on the couch. It was like a special treat. And clearly, you were short on charm at the moment, so you'd have to use your environment to your advantage.

You pulled up two tray tables and set the food down, then fetched the beer. By the time everything was set up, Bo was coming back down the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to look at him. He was wearing jeans and a red flannel, sleeves rolled up. At this point, he didn't care about you seeing his scars. You hardly noticed them anymore.

He came closer and slowed to a stop, forehead wrinkling as he eyed your set-up. "What's all this about?"

"I was thinking dinner and a movie." You paused. "I thought Rocky might get the taste of my cooking out of your mouth."

You succeeded in making him laugh a little, crow's feet crinkling, but as he took a step closer, his smile faded. "Did you do somethin'? Is somethin' broken?" He glanced quickly, running his gaze over the clutter his parents had left behind.

"Nothing's wrong," you reassured him quickly, stepping back into his line of sight in the hopes of distracting him. "I just thought, you know, we could have a nice night. Like ... romantic?"

He stared at you for a moment. Then, his gaze lit, a toothy smile appearing. "Romantic, huh? Well hell, sweetie, why didn't ya say so?"

He clearly thought you meant sex. In fact, the way he was looking at you, you thought he'd jump you right up against the pool table if you let him. Your dysphoria made sex so unbearable that you'd been avoiding it when you could lately, and you were sure he missed it.

You were lucky he hadn't gotten mean yet. You guessed that was a testament to how much he must like you. But who knew if he'd like you after tonight?

Quickly, you shoved a beer into his hand, redirecting his attention as you slid onto the couch and clicked play. He slid into place beside you, relaxing back with his legs spread.

You both picked at your food—you because you were way too nervous to eat, and him because ... well, you assumed it was because he was waiting for you to initiate the "romance." He did eventually finish his meal, though, complimenting you with one of his "So good, baby"s and a boozy kiss.

The movie droned on, and eventually, he wrapped an arm around you. As he did, you relaxed, if only a little. You wanted to settle into him ... you wanted it more than anything in the world. You did love him. But who did he love? The woman he thought he was putting his arm around wasn't you.

"What's wrong?" His tone was firm and sudden after such a long stretch of silence.

You blinked at him. "Nothing."

He wasn't buying it, and he didn't look impressed. "There's no point in lyin'a me, darlin'. I know when somethin' ain't right." Then, with a little edge to his voice, "You know I get pissed when you brush me off."

"I'm just..." You sighed, setting your beer aside and rubbing your forehead. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Let's go to bed, then." In one fluid motion, he stood and turned off the TV. "Hope you're not too tired," he added quietly.

It was equal parts insult, warning, and come-on, and it exhausted you as much as it panicked you. You weren't ready to tell him just yet. You'd figured you still had a few hours, but ... well, if you pissed him off now, all this nice set-dressing had been for nothing. Then you'd either have to tell him while he was in a bad mood or spend another night as someone you weren't.

Biting back a sigh, you stood, too. He was waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, and let you go up first.

"Nice view from back here," he said smoothly. "Almost wanna tell you to start runnin'."

Shit. You needed an excuse to buy yourself a little time. "Can you shower first?"

You knew the question ticked him off because he didn't answer it. He followed you to your shared room, grabbed a towel, and left for the bathroom in heated silence.

The shower would make him feel better. It always did. He'd scald himself like he liked, then come out much calmer. Hopefully. You changed and took your place in bed, sitting under the blankets with your pillow propping you up. Waiting.

You were wrong about the calm. When he came back into the bedroom—red-skinned and completely naked, towel occupied in his hair—he was scowling at the floor. You waited for him to yell. It was inevitable.

When he did finally say something, his tone was quieter than you imagined, though simmering. "Why are you doin' this to me?"

You didn't respond, mostly because you had no idea which this he was talking about.

"Hurts my pride, y'know." He began toweling his body. Rather roughly, you noticed. "My girl don't wanna fuck me. You know how that feels as a man? You think I wanna have to— hurt you?"

A pause. "Bo..."

"Am I gonna have to get it somewhere else? Fuck, Deadname."

You shrank in bed. That name made you feel rotten to the core. It was like poison slowly choking your veins. You had to do this ... but you couldn't. But you had to.

Bo was unaware of the war going on inside of you as he turned, leaning against the dresser, arms back to clutch the edge. "Is it someone else?" You could tell he was murderous just thinking about that possibility, gaze aflame, jaw clenched so hard you thought he might break teeth. "Is it Vincent?"

"What? No!" Why he'd think that when you'd only ever expressed mild concern for Vincent's well-being, you had no idea. "There's no one else, Bo, I just—"

"Then what's a matter with you, huh?" He raised his voice. "Am I too rough, am I too— Jesus Christ, you gotta at least tell me what the damage is!"

Your conflicting emotions threatened to overwhelm you. You yelled back, "It's not you!"

"Then what the hell is it?!"

"It's me!"

He opened his mouth to shout back, but only managed, "What in the f—" before he lost steam, searching your face helplessly. Something about the way you looked must have given him pause. You meant what you said. Desperately, desperately. It was you. You were the problem.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low, glare pointed. "You been off all night. Hell"—one of those incredulous laughs that betrayed his genuine anger—"you been off for a while. Least you can do is tell me what the fuck is goin' on."

He was right. No turning back now. You took a deep, grounding breath. "Okay."

A moment of hesitation. Did you want him close or across the room like that, just in case? Eventually, you decided you needed him close. You patted the bed beside you.

Bo grabbed a pair of boxer-briefs, stepping into them on his way over. His expression was still twisted sourly, but you could sense him relax as he sat in bed next to you. He didn't meet your eye, simply looking down at the sheets. Beneath the anger, a begrudging expectation simmered. Did he think you were going to break things off?

That thought spurred you into taking his hand, squeezing lightly. "I love you so fucking much."

He glanced to the side. At length, he mumbled, "You, too."

You took another deep breath, trying to keep your voice from shaking. "There's something I haven't told you about me. And it's really been stressing me out lately. That's why I've been acting so weird." When he didn't reply, you continued, "It's been making it ... hard to be close to you. I don't like the way lying to you makes me feel, and I've been ... scared, so fucking scared, Bo."

He glanced at you again, brows drawn, this time with confusion rather than anger. "So what is it? What the hell can be so big an' important that you can't stand bein' around me?" A pause. "I mean shit, Deadname, you know I kill people for a livin'. My fucked up twin turns 'em into wax. You know about the fuckin' dungeon—what could be bigger'n that?"

That fucking name. You couldn't take it anymore. Your voice cracked as you whispered, "You need to stop calling me Deadname."

"What? Why?" He frowned deeply. "That's your name, ain't it?"

"It's not the name I want to be called."

You could almost hear the gears in his head turning as he tried to figure out what was going on. "Okay ... so it ain't your real name. Why you goin' around using a fake name?" His gaze turned flinty and cold. "You're a cop."

"No!" You held up your hands. "No, I didn't lie about who I was, not ... not in the way you're thinking. I was born with that name; everything I've told you about my life and where I came from, all those things were true. I never lied about any of that."

"Then what is it?" He was getting angry again. "Spit it out!"

Well, since he asked... "I don't want to use that name because ... it's a woman's name. And I'm not a woman. I'm a man."

Bo stared for a few seconds, then scanned you up and down once. His shoulders slumped, just slightly. "You were ... born a man? Then how come your name—"

"No, no." You pursed your lips, taking his hand hesitantly again. "I was ... I guess for simplicity's sake you could say I was born a girl. I was born with a vagina, I developed breasts and started my period naturally. But I'm not a girl. Like, in my head. In my brain, I'm actually a man."

He didn't believe you. You could see it in his face. But you weren't planning on giving up that easily. You knew what he'd be thinking; you'd planned this whole thing out so carefully, chosen your words so precisely.

"It's not ... a delusion or anything. It's actually more common than people think. It's called being transgender. When you're born one gender but you want to be another."

He frowned, obviously completely lost. He wasn't getting it. He just didn't fucking understand. And you were growing desperate.

"Bo." Your throat was raw, tears threatening your eyes. "Every time you call me your girl, or you refer to me as a woman, or you use that name ... I fucking hate it. It hurts. It hurts so goddamn bad to know you're not seeing the real me. It makes me not see the real me. I look in the mirror and I just want to ... tear my skin off. Sometimes I just wanna take a knife and— and fix me. Cut out whatever part of me makes it hurt so bad. I just want to be seen as who I am so bad."

"Okay." You didn't like the way he was looking at you, but the anguish in your voice had at least moved him to speak. You could see in his eyes that he was working overtime to puzzle this out. "So, what? What're you gonna do? What's it mean for us?"

"Well..." You had to break eye contact, staring down at his hand. "What I'd like to do is start living as a man. You know, dressing like a man—which I already pretty much do—going by a different name, maybe cutting my hair. You could call me 'he' ... I might even get medicine later on down the line, like hormones, to make me look squarer. Maybe even surgery."

"You gonna get a dick?" The almost mocking tone of his voice made you want to shrivel up and die. He seemed to pick up on the change in your body immediately and shifted his tone. "I'm askin'."

"No, that's not a thing. But I'm gonna be a man regardless." Finally, you released his hand, though you still couldn't look at him. "What that means for us is ... up to you, I guess. It'd mean you were dating a guy. I mean, you have been this whole time—"

"I didn't fucking know," he cut in firmly.

A jolt of fear lanced your heart. "I know. That's my fault; I didn't tell you. I was ... scared."

"Scared of what?" he pressed, tone growing aggressive.

"I don't know. Of you being mad. Or not loving me anymore." You glanced up. "I love you. Seriously, I do. More than anything. I still want to be with you, just ... as a man."

There was silence. A horrible, stretching, heavy silence that made you want to hang your head and cry. After a while, Bo rose from bed, going to the dresser and pulling on jeans and a T-shirt, all in that silence.

Was he ... leaving you? No, he wouldn't leave his own house, he'd make you leave. Or kill you. But he certainly wasn't opening his arms to you. Waves of sadness crashed over your chest, so intense you thought you'd throw up.

He seemed to contemplate the dresser for an extended period. Then, he glanced over his shoulder, just barely. "I need ta' think."

And with that, he was out the door. He didn't come back to bed that night. The next morning, you found his pillow on the couch.

***

Vincent was next on your list of people to tell. It turned out he was a big help, bigger than you could have ever realized he would be. You had to explain yourself, but he took it in stride, calling you by your new chosen name and even helping you come up with a sign for it.

« Did you tell Bo? » he eventually asked you.

"I told him last night." Your eyes were still puffy and red from your night alone, and the morning following it. You still hadn't seen him, but you could hear music blaring from the garage, so you at least knew where he was.

« How did he take it? »

"He isn't speaking to me."

Vincent paused. His wax face was blank as always, but you could tell he was considering something. « Did he yell? »

"No ... he just said he would think about it."

A low grunt, and Vincent nodded. « Then let him think. »

And he did think. He thought about it every night from then on. You could see him thinking during meal times, when you brought him lunch down at the shop, when he was watching TV. You noticed him zoning out in the middle of reading sometimes: paperback crunched and folded in one hand, other hand pressed to his grim mouth, those blue eyes glassy and staring at nothing. Thinking.

He hardly ever spoke to you outside of necessary communication. Before bed, he told you goodnight, but it was ... heavy. He didn't roll over to touch you or hold you anymore. The distance was yawning and heartbreaking, especially when you were alone. The silence was so pregnant with unsaid words and all his damn thoughts.

You wanted to ask if he was mad, but you didn't dare. He didn't seem mad, and you knew a thing or two about his moods. This seemed ... different. So you simply didn't say anything.

And then, one day...

"Hey, handsome."

His voice practically made you jump out of your skin. You, Vincent, and Bo—and sometimes Lester—divided who would have to go into the houses in Ambrose to dust and clean, and today was your day. He'd snuck up on you in the middle of oiling some of the rigs like he'd taught you.

"Uh. Hey." You managed a hasty smile, uncertain you'd actually heard him call you what you thought he had. "What're you doing here?" After a week of him barely speaking to you, it seemed odd that he'd start now.

Bo took a few steps in, looking away and reaching to fiddle with a knick-knack on a nearby side table. "Just thought I'd come check up on you. You are my, uh ... boyfriend, after all."

You stopped dead in the middle of spraying WD-40, staring over your shoulder. What?

When he felt you staring, he lifted his gaze. There was an uncertainty there, discomfort, along with a challenge. "What?"

"Nothing." You turned back to your work. After a few seconds, you added, "Thank you."

He didn't respond, but he eventually sidled up to you, surveying your work. "Not half bad. Yeah, you're doin' real good." He reached up to adjust his hat, and you could feel his gaze on you. "We'll make a man outta you yet."

You couldn't help it—your face burned. "Girls can maintain machinery, too, Bo."

"Yeah, I know that, but you—" An edge of irritation entered his voice. "Now you're just confusin' me."

You set down the WD-40 and turned, searching his face. By god, he really was trying, wasn't he? It was almost cute how bad he was at it, but he was trying. Vincent had been right.

"You never asked my name," you eventually muttered.

"Vincent told me it. Y/N." He said it again, rolling it around on his tongue. "Y/N ... in'erestin' choice. I guess it suits ya." A pause, and he lowered his voice. "Gonna take me some gettin' used to."

"That's okay," you said quickly. "As long as you're trying."

"Yeah, well..." Bo paused before reaching out, brushing his fingers through your hair. "Gonna miss all this."

You leaned into his hand. "I might not cut it. I haven't decided yet."

He grunted, continuing to brush his fingers through your hair. You could see his expression drift back to that thoughtfulness you'd gotten used to seeing. Eventually, he said, "Guess this makes me gay."

He sounded so begrudging and yet so decisive that you almost laughed in his face. Thankfully, you were able to bite back your reaction. "You don't have to be. You can be whatever you want. But ... if you stayed with me, it would mean you were attracted to at least one man, yeah."

"Fine." He pursed his lips, huffing through his nose. "Bi-sexual or whatever."

"You don't have to put a label on it right now. You've got time." You hesitated before taking his large hands in yours, bringing them to cup your jaw. "This ... you know ... it isn't something that has to happen overnight. I'm not asking that. It's a process for both of us ... a lot to get used to for both of us."

"Sure the hell is." He scoffed and shoved his hat up his forehead, scratching his hairline. "Now I want you to tell me somethin'. Why were you so damn scared of tellin' me?"

You took a breath. "I mean ... Bo."

"What?"

"I'm in the south ... alone, no family ... in a town where you could kill me if I pissed you off and no one would ever know." He made a face, but you pressed: "You know where I come from. Things are dangerous there, and things around here are even—"

"You think just 'cause you're in the country folks are gonna treat you different?" He sounded offended.

"Bo," you said again. "Let's not kid ourselves. How many guys do you know who would beat my ass if they found out? If they found out I liked other men, even."

"Couple assholes. But they ain't gonna bother you with me around. B'sides, plenty a' gays around here, like any other place ... they're just drillin' and weldin' and workin' the factories." He fixed you with a look. "Country don't mean stupid."

"Did you just quote The Stand?"

"No," he said hastily, taking his hat off and shoving it in the back pocket of his Dickies. "All I'm sayin' is ... I'm not some dumb animal."

Your shoulders sank, heart softening. "I know you're not, baby. But you have been known to, y'know, murder people. You can understand why I was scared, can't you?"

His mouth twitched, but reluctantly, he mumbled, "Yeah, I guess." A pause. "I can't promise I won't never hurt you, Deadn— Y/N. I know I can be real careless with my words on occasion. But I won't kill ya. Don' know if I could reconcile that shame. And, uh ... I love you."

Your heart swelled, and you leaned forward, hugging him tightly around the middle. It wasn't long until you felt his strong, warm arms enfold you in return, one hand tangling in your hair. His heartbeat was steady and comforting beneath your head, and the heat radiating from him relaxed every muscle in your body.

The two of you stayed that way for a while, hugging tightly while the TV droned in the background. Eventually, he shifted and spoke, his voice rumbling deliciously against you.

"Now if you don't mind," Bo started casually before dropping into a purr, "I'd like a kiss from my handsome lover."

You couldn't help but grin up at him. "You sure?"

"Lay it on me, big boy."

Maybe you were evil for loving him despite it all. Maybe you were complicit. Those weren't your judgments to make. But as you craned your neck to kiss him and euphoria exploded through your chest, you knew one thing for certain:

You were you.

***

Part Two

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