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thiswasinevitableid · 2 years

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For monster March, 18 indruck nsfw?

Here you go! #18 was Satyr.

CN: There are mentions of harassment in this, but nothing bad actually happens and nothing graphic is described.

Duck fucking hates dark and stormy nights.

Every time they roll around, some group of yahoos–or several groups–drive down to the bridge to “look for the goatman.” None of them actually believe he’s here, they’re just looking for an excuse to climb some trestles or draw pentagrams while filming it on their phones and giving themselves the creeps. He’d rather not be found, but sometimes they do something so boneheaded he has to appear and chase them off before someone gets killed.

He hoped tonight would be different; the summer storm is bad enough it’s been flooding the rural roads. But no, there’s some VW van parked under a tree. Duck peers in through the windshield; no one’s home. At least he knows it’s not a group; if it was, their shrieks and laughs would be ringing off the trees by now.

In a flash of lightning, he sees it; the human figure trudging up the slope towards one end of the bridge. Duck follows him from the trees, grumbling the whole way. When he gets close, he steps on big twigs, crunching through the brush. The human stops, listens, keeps moving. Duck cups his hands around his mouth, let’s out a low bleat-scream thing that he’s learned scares the hell out of most humans. This one jumps, head whipping around to show an angular face beneath the hood of a sweatshirt, red glasses slipping down a narrow nose.

“Go away!” The human wraps his arms around himself, “find someone else to bother!”

Duck pauses, engaged in a game of chicken only one of them knows they’re playing. The human sighs, continuing his trek upwards. Duck is running out of time.

He gets as close as he can while staying hidden, barks, “Hey, kid, get the fuck off my land.”

The human looks into the trees, “I hopped the fence. This is the railroads land.”

“You go up on that trestle, you’re liable to not come back down.”

A bitter smile, “I am aware.”

It’s alarming, how calmly he says it, and so Duck adds, “Not just from a train or a fall. Goatman might get you.”

A laugh, high and sharp, “Yes, maybe that is how they’ll explain it. I can see it now; Indrid Cold, lost soul, outsider, is the latest victim of the monster. Ah well, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Well, it does matter to me.” Duck steps from the treeline into full view. The man across from him goes still. Duck sets a hand on his hatchet, the small one he uses for firewood, “you can either go quiet, or you can go loud.”

The human sprints up the hill.

“Fuck–I meant back to your car!” Duck tosses the hatchet on the ground and takes off after him. He knows these hills and he has hooves; the trespasser has neither and so slips in the mud, sliding backwards to land at Duck’s feet.

Duck reaches down to help him up and gets kicked in the chest for his trouble.

“OW! C’mon, man, I don’t even got the hatchet anymore, look, see?” He holds up his hands, palms out, and the human stops flailing his long limbs.

“Please don’t kill me.”

“I ain’t gonna. I’m tryin to stop you from dyin’. I been around these tracks a long time and I know that there’s a train comin right around the time you’d have made it up and out onto the trestle. I just wanted you to get back to your van and get gone.”

“I…I can’t. I ran out of gas, I thought I could rest here a few days and get some from further down the highway but people from town keep, keep coming to the van and bothering me.” He looks away from Duck, “I don’t have anywhere to go. I thought at least the bridge would offer a nice view, even if I slipped and fell.”

A train whistle in the distance cuts through the fat, heavy drops hitting the man’s pants and Duck’s overalls. Duck suspects that if he leaves him here, he may just lay in the mud and never get up.

“C’mon, Indrid. Let’s get you dry.” He holds out his hand, watches Indrid study his hooves, his horns, meet his yellow eyes, and then make the choice to take it.

They slip and slosh down to the fence, Duck pausing to pick up his hatchet on the way. He shows Indrid the hidden gap in the wire and guides him back to the van as thunder rattles the air.

“What about-”

Duck holds up a hand, “I’ll hang around awhile, in case anyone tries to fuck with you.”

“Oh. Alright. Ah.” Fingers sporting chipped, red nail polish fumble a key ring, “please, come in Mr…Goatman? Satyr?”

“Duck is fine. It’s a nickname.” He climbs into the back of the van. There are no seats aside from the driver and passenger ones, the back occupied by a sleeping bag, pillows, a mini-fridge, a camp stove, and boxes crammed with art supplies and clothes. Indrid plugs in a string of white lights, rendering him ethereal when he pulls back his hood to reveal silver hair.

Indrid strips off his soaked sweatshirt, looks around, and then hangs it on the dashboard, “Would you mind, ah, covering your eyes for a second?”

Duck rests a hand over them, rolls up his pants so the fur on his legs can dry faster. When he has permission to look again, the human is in a loose, black tank top and pajama pants.

“Thank you.” He sits down cross-legged across from Duck, drumming his fingers on his legs.

“You’re taking the goatman thing well. Even when you ran there was way less screamin’ than normal.”

“I’m at a point in life where I feel, “well, this may as well happen” about most things. And not to be rude but, ah, you’re not as alarming as urban legends suggest. You’re cute. I, ah, I mean” he blushes, “I’ve always thought goats were cute so maybe that’s why?”

“Kinda a nice change from the whole scary-wrinkled-bloodstained thing most folks describe me being. Oh, thanks.” Duck reclines against the wall as Indrid points a tiny space heater his way, “how’d you end up here? You doin’ one of those, uh, uh” he snaps his fingers, trying to conjure the words, “van life things?”

Indrid laughs, a real one that warms Duck’s chest, “No, though I'm flattered you think I’m stylish enough for that. And I suppose I do want to take photos as I travel. Mostly I just didn’t want to stay where I was. My only friends left town when we graduated high school. I spent two years getting to a place where I could but then I planned poorly and I can’t even make it to my friends in Kepler. And I didn’t get far enough away from the people who like tormenting me and so I’m stuck. Just…stuck.” He tucks his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them and staring at something Duck can’t see. Red lenses cautiously turn his way, “what about you? Were I a cryptid, this isn't the place I’d choose as my stomping grounds.”

“Didn’t really pick it. I got framed for murder in 1869 and hung. Heard a voice when I was prayin for the rope to snap my neck, it asked if I wanted a second life. I said yes and it went, uh, sideways.” He taps one horn, “got stuck here as a guardian.”

“I’m sorry. Wait, if you’re from that long ago, how on earth do you know what #Vanlife is?”

“Got a couple of friends in Kepler too. A cabin with some decent wi-fi. Just cause I’m old don’t mean I gotta be stuck in the past.”

“That’s a relief.” Indrid’s posture relaxes instantly, and he crawls to the fridge, “do you want a drink? I mostly have Mountain Dew and some bottled tea.”

“Tea me.” Duck catches the bottle, pops it open as the human digs through a bag.

“I have a lot of food. It’s not healthy per say but it’s good.”

“Got any apples or anythin?”

“....I have fruit roll-ups.”

Duck chuckles and accepts the worryingly blue candy, chewing thoughtfully as Indrid pushes more shiny packages his way. The human asks if he’s ever had any memorable encounters on the bridge. Duck obliges him with stories about misguided youths, ghost hunters, and one very determined nest of bats. In exchange, Indrid regales him with tales of small-town life and his dreams about becoming a well-known artist. By the time Duck gets to the one about scaring a particularly awful kid into spray-painting himself, they’re both giggling like school kids on a summer afternoon.

“Honestly, what kind of person antagonizes all their friends while at the foot of a haunted bri–oh damn it all.” It’s wild gestures catch one of the boxes, sending drawings cascading onto the carpet.

“Holy shit, are these all yours?” Duck lifts a sketch of three knives stuck through a bleeding heart dove.

“Yes. I dabble in tarot and decided I wanted to make my own deck. This whole box is what I’ve come up with so far.”

“I better be careful with ‘em, then.” Duck gingerly gathers the papers nearest him, handing them off to their creator.

Indrid taps the lid of the box, “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in modeling for one?”

“Depends on what it is. If I’m a devil or somethin, that’s a no-go.”

“I think…I think you on the trestle, maybe. Looking up at a particularly bright star, woods stretching out peaceful and dark beneath you.”

“That sounds-” His ear twitches and he turns his head toward the crunch of gravel and splash of puddles. Voices slip through the windows and Indrid recoils, grabbing the nearest blanket.

“It’s them. Here, quickly, they were threatening to smash my windshield last night. If we hide at least they’ll only break that instead of my nose.”

“I got a better idea. Lay face down, all splayed out like you been knocked there.” He grabs one of the ketchup packets strewn under the front seat, “keep quiet and don’t move until I give you the all clear.”

Indrid nods, grinning as Duck smears ketchup on the head of his hatchet. Then he flops dramatically on the floor. Duck bends down as the voices close in and whispers, “I’m gonna take your glasses off okay? Make it look like you were asleep when I got here.” He waits until Indrid nods, then slides them off and sets them just out of the human’s reach.

He sneaks out the front door while the quintet of trespassers bang on the back of the van.

“Cooold, c’mon out and say hiiii!”

“Bet he’s hidin’ from us.” Another scoffs as Duck scales a tree. Great thing about a weird demon protector spirit or whatever he is; he can be dead quiet when he needs to.

“Hidin’ ain’t gonna save you!”

“No, it really ain’t.” Duck drops from the tree onto the roof of the car, hooves sending a metallic thud through the trees. There’s a flurry of curses, the men scurrying back as he takes another leap onto the ground, side door opening as he lands. Indrid lays still in the stormy darkness as Duck nonchalantly twirls the hatchet, “that fella was just sleepin' on my land. Imagine what I’m gonna do to you for raisin’ a goddamn ruckus on it.”

The men don’t stick around to hear more. Duck watches them sprint through the darkness to a pair of lifted trucks he’d bet money have never seen a day of farm work. He doesn’t climb into the van until the taillights are gone.

“All clear.” Duck shuts the door as Indrid opens his eyes.

“Hearing them scream like that added five years to my life.” He shakes out his hair, sets his glasses in place with a softer smile, “really though, thank you for that. I’ve been their target for years, and apparently getting outside the city limits wasn’t enough to change that.”

Duck sets his hand on a bony knee, Indrid relaxing instead of flinching away, “Glad I could help. Now, believe you were sayin something about how I should pose for you?”

Indrid directs him into position and Duck tries not to focus on how nice it is when the human moves his limbs, tips his chin this way and that, or runs his fingers through his hair.

Indrid steps back, cocks his head, “Are you, ah, willing to remove your overalls? It’s alright if not, I can work around it but I think it would look more in line with what’s in my mind oh, oh thank you, alright then, ah, I’ll just g-get my things.” Indrid turns his flustered face away as Duck pulls the denim from his ankles.

“Thought goatmen wore underwear?” Duck teases.

“Yes, yes I did. But it doesn’t bother me, as long as you’re comfortable. Though I probably won’t include, ah, it.”

“Fine by me.” Duck smirks as Indrid’s gaze keeps flicking back to his dick. That getting bigger was a side benefit of the whole transformation. Too bad he doesn’t get to use it much.

Indrid gets less jittery as he draws, eyes flicking to Duck’s face, chest, or arms, but his blush stays put. Duck’s happy to let the conversation ebb and flow as the artist works, his enjoyment of the situation now tied very closely to the way Indrid studies his body.

After a half hour, the pencil pauses. Indrid looks over his glasses at him, biting his lip, “You know, you’ve potentially saved my life twice tonight. And all I’ve given in return is some processed food.”

“And the chance to see your cute face for hours.” He winks.

“You really think that?”

Duck smiles, “I’ll let you in on a little secret; I can’t lie for shit.”

Indrid sets the sketchpad down, crawls the short distance to sit at Duck’s feet, “It only seems fair to pay you back for protecting me.”

“Only if you want to.” Duck cups Indrid’s chin, guiding his face up so their eyes meet, “I’m serious; you don’t owe me a damn thing.”

“I want to. I really, really want to.” His eyes dart down to Duck’s lap.

Duck kisses him once, gently, laughing as fingers tenderly pet his legs, “Tickles.”

“I’m sorry. You’re just so soft.”

“Glad you like it, darlin. How do you wanna do this?”

“I’m good at blowjobs.” The answer is automatic but oddly lacking in desire. Like he’s learned that’s the answer that keeps the other person happy.

“Hmmm. Now, far be it from me to turn that sweet mouth down, but I’m a little worried you’d have trouble, nngfuck, fittin’ it in.” He strokes his dick for emphasis, Indrid making pleasingly excited sounds as it swells, “And I’m awful fond of hearing those little noises outta you. So howsabout we do somethin else?”

“Do you want to fuck me?”

“Want don’t even begin to cover it.”

“I, it’s not that I don’t, it’s just…if your preference is for men I might be a bit different than you like.”

Duck nudges him back enough that he can join him on the floor, “Think I get your drift. That don’t bother me none. Ain’t even that foreign an idea; lotta things in the past that got left out of the history books.”

“Ohthankgoodness.” Indrid’s hands are already on his shirt, swiftly tossing it and his pants into a heap by the passenger seat. Skin-toned fabric compresses his chest, and Duck takes that in along with the damp spot on his boxers.

“You been thinkin about this for awhile, darlin?”

“Ever since your pants came off. Or, ah, well, actually before then. I felt so safe once you joined me here. Maybe that was foolish.” He tilts his head at the hatchet, stowed safely on the dashboard.

“Nah. All a cute little thing like you has gotta worry about when it comes to me is takin’ my dick.”

Indrid moans, legs spreading in welcome as Duck crawls between them.

“You like that, darlin? Wanna give up life on the road to spend hours a day in my lap with my cock in you?”

“That depends on how good you are with it.” Indrid flashes a playful smile.

“Guess I better make my case.” Duck pushes the head in and moans; it’s been years since he was inside anyone and fuck, it’s even better than he remembers. Then again, that might just be because he’s with Indrid, who is busy moaning happily even as his legs try to close around the intrusion.

“Uh uh darlin” Duck grabs under each knee, holding those long legs open as pushes all the way in with one, slow thrust. By the time he bottoms out Indrid is babbling the word “yes” over and over into his palms.

Duck reaches for him, “Show me where it’s okay to touch. Think my hands are gonna fall off it I don’t get a hold of you but I don’t wanna do it wrong.”

“An-anywhere but here” Indrid waves a hand across his chest. Duck nods, dives down to kiss him while pinning his hands near his head. They don’t stay there long, the urge to tangle them in silver hair too strong.

Indrid wraps his arms around him, running them along his back, thumbing at the sensitive patch where skin gives way to fur so Duck moans into his mouth. When they hover near his horns, Duck murmurs, “just don’t tug on ‘em” and smiles when Indrid’s eyes widen.

“They’re such a lovely tex-textureOH, ahnnngod.” His feet kick along the floor as Duck snaps his hips. The temptation to fuck him hard and fast grates at Duck’s mind, but he pushes it aside. He wants this slow, wants Indrid to understand he’s Duck’s lover, not some quick backseat fuck where one body could be swapped out for another. So he keeps his thrust slow, only adding force right as he bottoms out to hear Indrid squeak.

After an eternity of kisses, Indrid begins working his hips more deliberately, chasing his pleasure on Duck’s body. And if he keeps it up, Ducks’ going to be finished in ten seconds.

“Hold those hips still, darlin.”

“But-”

He presses down on the right side and growls, “I said keep ‘em still. Wanna see you cum on my cock, but that ain’t gonna happen if you keep wiggling like that.”

“AlrIGHT, ohmygoodness, Duck, yes, yespleaserightthere.” The human fights to not squirm as Duck works his fingers on his dick, finding a pressure and shape he makes with his thumb produces the loudest groans. He’s big enough that when Indrid tightens around him he can’t help but feel it, growls at him to be good and cum a few seconds before he does.

“That was perfect, darlin. Now keep behavin yourself and lemme cum on you.” He waits until Indrid nods with a comically bright grin before pulling out and straddling his hips, “fuck, fuckin you is the best fuckin way to get slicked up for this, ohyeah, fuck, you’re gonna look so goddam good, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He aims down so the cum spatters on Indrid’s stomach, the human watching with fascination as it pools on his stomach.

Duck means to say something clever. What he does instead is collapse forward, bonking his head into the floor and making Indrid laugh. Good enough.

“That was amazing.” The human sighs.

“No kiddin. You’re so fuckin gorgeous when youOOooh yeah, yeah that’s a good spot.” He nearly bleats as Indrid rubs his ears.

“They’re so soft and fuzzy, goodness, I wish I had these around whenever I was stressed, petting them makes me feel so calm.”

“Nmmmhmm.” Duck forces his bones to stay solid long enough to lift him up to his elbows, “I, uh, I, look you can tell me to fuck off but if you make it to Kepler, could I see you again? Figure you don’t wanna live in a van by the tracks forever but I’d, uh, I’d feel real fuckin lucky if you paid me another visit.”

Indrid pauses, surprised, “Really?”

“Gotta at least finish posing for you, right?” Duck kisses his nose.

A knowing smile as Indrid cuddles him down into his arms. “Yes, I suppose you do.”

#indruck #monster march #indrid cold/ duck newton #trans indrid cold #monster boyfriend #terato

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bluesey-182 · 4 years

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We Have To Stop Meeting Like This - Chapter 11

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / ao3

in case you missed it, i did post an update yesterday so click to link to 10 or to the fic on ao3 to read it :)

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Morning came at a harsh awakening when, besides Jude, Cardan woke with a shout. Jude was instantly alert, looking around the room for any threats while unconsciously grabbing onto Cardan’s hand. When she turned her attention back to him, there was a glazed sort of look in his eyes. Like he wasn’t fully awake, or fully aware.

“Cardan?” Jude croaked, her voice still finding its way back to her after sleep.

“Nightmare,” was Cardan’s only reply. He flopped back down onto the bed and curled onto his side, wrapping his arm around Jude’s waist and gently guiding her back down beside him. She threaded her fingers through his mussed up hair in an attempt to calm the shaking of his body.

“He died yesterday,” Cardan choked, so quiet she almost didn’t hear him. But her hands stilled. Cold ice washed its way through her veins.

“Who died?”

“My brother. Balekin. There was a car accident.”

“Isn’t he the one--?” Jude began to ask but cut off. Isn’t he the one that abused you? didn’t really seem like a question you could ask someone.

Nevertheless, Cardan knew where she was going with the question. “Yeah,” he replied. His voice sounded hollow, like everything inside him had been carved out. Jude didn’t really know what to say. I’m sorry? Is that what you said when someone’s abusive brother died? Jude knew better than anyone how complicated family relationships could be yet she still found herself at a loss for words.

“My sisters are arranging the funeral. My dad won’t talk to anyone. It’s all so fucked,” Cardan said. “And I don’t even know why I’m so fucking upset. Balekin was a dick, he made my life hell, but he was my fucking brother, you know?”

“You can miss someone who hurt you,” Jude replied softly.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“What… what can I do?”

“Can you just…,” Cardan trailed off, as if not sure if he should continue.

“Just what?”

He sounded defeated when he whispered, “Stay with me.”

Jude gently squeezed him and he seemed to further melt into her embrace. “I’m not going anywhere.”

They missed classes. Cardan mostly slept. Jude took to wearing Cardan’s t-shirts and workout shorts when her own set of clothes became too dirty to wear. For a week they isolated themselves in his apartment, ordering in food, watching movies in his room that he barely paid attention to. After the first few days, Jude would coax him out of bed for a few hours to watch television in the living room or play video games that he beat her at every time, even though he was barely there to play them. Cardan had become a shell of himself. He only drank water when Jude asked him to, only ate small amounts of food when she offered him a plate. But despite how he’d seemed to crawl away into himself, Jude knew he was grateful for her being there. She could tell it in the way he would grab for her hand and hold onto it like a lifeline. She could tell it in the way he would just look at her for several seconds while he ignored the TV. She could tell it in the way he kissed her without a word.

When the day of the funeral came, Jude woke up to find Cardan sitting at the foot of the bed in the middle of the night. She crawled over to him, the shirt she had borrowed from him riding up passed her thighs, which caught Cardan’s attention enough for him to place his hand on her exposed thigh as she settled in beside him. But then he leaned his head against hers and began to cry like he had that first night. Jude tucked his head against her chest and tried to make soothing sounds as she held him. When he finally spoke, just to say her name, Jude knew what he was asking before he said it.

So in the morning, when they woke up for good, Cardan got ready for the funeral before driving Jude back home for her to put on a black dress and a pair of flats. He was once again a shell of himself as he drove them to the cemetery, but the whole way there he was gripping her hand like he’d drift off to sea if he let go.

It was a cold morning, promising snow, as they made their way across the expanses of lawn to where a group of mourners stood. A few of Cardan’s sisters came to say hello and give him a hug. They asked Jude for her name but nothing else. The rest of his family ignored him, like he was a ghost at his brother’s funeral.

An old man sat in a chair in the front row and at first Jude thought he might be a grandfather. But when he acknowledged Cardan--barked his name, really--Cardan seemed to deflate even more, shrinking to be as small as he could be despite his height. Reluctantly, he slinked over to the man.

“Father,” he grumbled without making eye contact. Jude felt a small bit of shock at finding out this old man was Cardan’s father, not grandfather. But then she looked around her at the age of his older siblings and knew she should have realized sooner. Cardan shot her a look out of the corner of his eye, a sort of pleading, before motioning ever so slightly with his head that she should go somewhere else. There was shame in his eyes and she knew whatever his father was going to say, he didn’t want Jude to bear witness.

That’s how Jude found herself wandering the cemetery. Lost in thought, she didn’t realize where her feet were taking her until she was almost out of sight of Cardan’s family and standing before two gravestones under an oak tree. Without thinking, Jude found herself leaning against the gravestone behind her as she stared at the ones before her.

She jumped at the feel of a hand on the small of her back but relaxed when Cardan’s mane of black hair came into view. They wordlessly leaned against each other for support as Cardan took in the names on the stones before them.

On the left: Justin Duarte.

On the right: Eva Duarte.

“Your parents?” Cardan asked softly. All Jude could do was nod. “What happened to them?”

Jude gave a small, humorless laugh. “I don’t want to add to your sadness, Cardan.”

“You can tell me.” The hand he had rested on her back slid up to gently cup the back of her head. She felt so small with his hands on her, but she also felt a sense of safety in them. “If you want,” he whispered against her hairline as he gently placed a kiss to her skin. She shivered, and not just from the cold.

“Madoc used to work for the FBI. Well he still does, but this was when he was still just a regular agent and not a director,” she began. Cardan looked confused at the change in subject but let her talk without interrupting. “He and my mom met in college and she got pregnant after graduation. Madoc freaked out and ran off, leaving my mom alone with a baby Vivienne and no money to take care of her. But her best friend, Justin, came to the rescue, as he liked to say, and a year later they were married. A few years later, they had twins. They were happy. We were happy. Vivi looked different from Taryn and I but we never questioned it. After our parents died, we found out that she had known the whole time that she had a different dad, and I don’t know why that, of all things, stuck with me. But it did.

It was family game night and we were all stuffed full of junk food. I don’t even remember what game we were playing. I just remember us laughing while the radio played. And then a song came on that my father loved and he grabbed my mom’s hand and began dancing her around the kitchen while us kids pretended to be disgusted by their love but secretly we were wishing to have that same thing one day.” At this point, tears had begun to fall down Jude’s face, though her voice remained steady. Cardan began stroking circles on her back in comfort.

“You don’t have to finish the story,” he said.

“I want to,” Jude whispered. “I’ve never told anyone this before.”

She cleared her throat and continued, “There was this loud bang at the door. I remember all of us froze. The noise continued, and then suddenly we heard the door come crashing in. My mom’s face was completely drained of color and she told Vivi to take us and hide. There was this little hidden door in the wall that led to a tiny pantry we never used except for in games of hide and seek, and the three of us girls crammed into the space. The last time I saw my dad’s face, he was closing the door on us and saying he loved us.

There was shouting. Some terrible noises. It went on for what felt like a lifetime. And then all the noise stopped and there was some sobbing from the other room that didn’t sound like either of our parents. We were all crying too but Vivi had her hands over Taryn’s and my mouths so we wouldn’t be heard. And then there was more shouting as the police came rushing in. We heard a struggle, a gunshot, and then there was nothing but the police talking to each other and into radios and more cars pulling up outside our house.”

Jude fell silent for a moment, trying to catch her breath as the images came back to her. “See, there was a serial killer going across America at the time. He was delusional, thought he was a werewolf, so on a full moon he’d get high off all kinds of drugs and then break into a house and kill the family inside.”

Cardan sucked in a breath of recognition at the story.

“That night,” Jude said, “he chose my family. The FBI had been tracking him for months. It wasn’t until Madoc showed up to the house that he realized who the victims were. And whose child he found hiding in a cupboard in the kitchen. At that point he had remarried, was trying to have kids with his new wife, and when he saw us he thought it was his second chance to be the father he hadn’t been for Vivi. But Vivi never really forgave him for abandoning our mom in the first place. Madoc led us out of the crime scene, told us to cover our eyes. Vivi made me swear I wouldn’t look.”

“You looked. Didn’t you?” Cardan breathed.

“My parents were… torn apart. And the killer was lying face up on the carpet with a bullet through his skull. I could barely recognize my own home underneath all of the blood.”

“Jude…”

“We went to live with Madoc. He tried to be the perfect father to Vivi despite her hatred for him, but he never seemed to know what to do with Taryn and me. The rest, as they say, is history.” Jude felt like there were no words left in her.

“I’m sorry,” Cardan said softly.

All Jude could do was shrug as Cardan wiped away her tears. “I survived,” she managed in a whisper.

After the funeral was over, they went back to Cardan’s house and collapsed in his bed still wearing their funeral clothes. They wrapped around each other quotation marks and fell asleep with their grief as, outside, snow began to fall.

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hope you enjoyed!

@goblinwhoships @hizqueen4life @judexcardanxgreenbriar @pilesofriles @velarian-trash @standbislytherin @darlingod @heyheyheylemonade @cloudy-peonies @ireallyshouldsleeprn

#jurdan #jurdan au #my writing #text post #okay to reblog #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the folk of the air

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myheartrevealedocs · 4 years

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Untouchable- Ch 4: The Popular Kids (S1E10)

Summary: A Spencer Reid x OC fanfic that retells select episodes, starting in season 1, from the point of view of Lydia Ambers, a forensic scientist.

Warnings: death, murder of teens, swearing, death threats

Ch 3 | Ch 5

~ ~ ~

A few weeks later, Lydia was woken by a call from her sister. She did her best not to sound shocked as she picked up, but Rebecca always seemed to know what she was thinking. Lydia considered herself a very good liar until Beck was around.

“Hey Beck, how have you been?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you back, okay?” Right out of that gate, she was pissed. But Lydia felt some relief to know that she wasn’t calling because something was wrong. “You know that I’m just frustrated you left again.”

“I know,” she replied. “How’s school?”

She could hear her sister huff on the other side. “Boring. I don’t see what mom expects me to learn there.”

Lydia grimaced slightly when Rebecca said ‘mom’, but quickly recovered.

“College is good for you. It’ll help you figure out what you want to do.”

“You know how often I change my mind. I don’t understand how I’m supposed to just… decide my whole future. And if school didn’t help me the first 12 years, what’s another four going to do?”

“You have more freedom in college,” Lydia reasoned, but it was just more fuel to the fire.

“Which you obviously took and ran with,” she grumbled.

“Beck, I went to Santa Cruz. That’s barely an hour away.”

“Yeah. And then as soon as I thought I was getting you back, you hopped on a plane to DC. And I wanted to follow you, but mom keeps insisting that I go to community college first.”

“Sonia is just trying to look out for you,” Lydia explained. “I mean, what are you going to do when you get here? Have me take care of you?”

The other end was silent for a minute. Lydia felt guilty, knowing that implying her sister was a burden really wasn’t the best way to handle this situation, but Rebecca sometimes forgot that if she wasn’t making money for herself, someone else was.

“When will you be back?” she demanded.

“I don’t know. I’m going to try to keep this job as long as I can and after that I’m going to go where the work takes me. But I’ll come visit as soon as I can…”

As she spoke, her phone vibrated against her ear and she pulled away to see a message from Gideon.

Round table room in 20. Bring a go bag.

She sighed. “Beck, I have to go. My boss just texted me. Tell Sonia I miss her!”

Her sister was quiet for a minute, before snapping, “That job is going to suck the life out of you,” and hanging up.

Lydia shut her eyes tightly, counting the seconds between breaths. “I love you,” she whispered into the unresponsive phone.

~ ~ ~

“McAllister,” JJ started as Lydia rushed in, stepping up next to Gideon. “Western slope of the Massanutten mountain in Virginia. Two bodies discovered in the woods, both with apparent blunt trauma to the head.”

“Skeletons?” Reid asked as he looked over the photos in his case file.

“One of them. The second victim was just killed this morning.”

“How do we know there’s a connection?” Elle asked.

“Found about 75 feet apart with nearly identical head wounds,” Hotch explained.

Lydia shook her head slightly, still looking at the details over Gideon’s shoulder. Forest is an open area and the victims didn’t look like they’d been tied there. How could someone plan to hit both of them in the same spot over the head, when the victims were in open space and could move easily? That was difficult.

“Where’s the rest of the case file?” Morgan demanded.

“There isn’t one. The sheriffs are on the scene waiting for us.”

“Their location is only a half hour away by plane,” JJ explained for Hotch.

“What’s the rush?” Morgan continued.

“Well, there was evidence on the scene that could cause a bit of public uproar.”

As Hotch said this, Gideon picked up a picture for Lydia to see. Someone had carved a pentagram into a tree with the words ‘SATAN LIVES LOD’ underneath it. They were filled in with a red liquid, but Lydia highly doubted it was blood. It was too bright. Blood would be absorbed pretty quickly by the bark and definitely leave a dark stain. It was likely just paint.

“Satanic cult,” Gideon mumbled, dropping the photo onto the table for the rest of the room to see.

Hotch was obviously unimpressed. “Grab your stuff. We leave now.”

~ ~ ~

Lydia looked around curiously as they boarded the jet. It looked nice, but Lydia didn’t have much experience with flying, much less private jets. Gideon gestured for her to sit across from him, which she quickly did, noticing the rest of the team's hustle to get on the plane and take off.

Gideon gave her what she could only call his ‘profiling’ look as she got into her seat.

“What?” she started, calmly.

“You were almost late to the meeting,” he stated and she scoffed.

“You didn’t give me much notice.”

“Your apartment’s not far.”

“Well, public transportation’s a bitch,” she argued.

This was a game to him. Profiling people was his job, but getting them to come clean was an added bonus. He knew Lydia was busy when he texted her, otherwise she wouldn’t seem so distracted. Trying to get into her head and figure out what it was was fun for him. But Lydia was ready to play.

“Do you know anything about satanism?” he asked, veering from their previous topic.

She shook her head. “You think this is a satanist?”

“You don’t?”

Lydia smiled at him. He was good at opening up the floor for other people to discuss. “It feels planted to me. Blunt force head trauma is usually an extremely… violent way of commiting a murder. One hit wouldn’t be enough to ensure death. And they were killed out in an open space so I doubt the unsub had a lot of control over where they hit them. Identical wounds? That’s impressive.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t satanism,” he argued.

“No, but they wrote the message in red, usually meaning they want to pass it off as blood, but this…” she held up the picture “...is not blood. Who puts fake blood by a non-bloody victim?”

“I’m sure the victim was bloody when they put the message up,” Morgan said, Lydia turned to where he was seated.

“Well, I’m no profiler, but if these killings were supposed to be a message about worshipping Satan, why wait so long after the first person wasn’t noticed to kill another?”

He seemed to think about this for a moment. “Touche, Lydia.”

She smiled and turned back to Gideon. “Again, that doesn’t indicate whether or not it’s satanism, but…” she trailed off, letting him consider the suspicious circumstances.

“Try to keep an open mind when examining the crime scene,” he warned her, to which she agreed.

“Total blank slate,” she joked.

And her heart lifted at the sight of Gideon’s amused smile.

~ ~ ~

Lydia had already started pulling on her latex gloves as she followed Gideon off the path and towards the skeletal body. Reid and JJ were close behind them, trying not to slip on the steep ground or piles of leaves.

The body was surrounded by branches, arching over it ceremoniously. Lydia made a quick mental note to ask if one of the sheriffs had cut away the trees or if they’d found it like that.

“Mornin’,” a man called, approaching the group. He had on a blue deputy’s jacket and a gold badge. “John Bridges.”

“Yeah, we spoke on the phone. I’m Agent Jareau, this is Agent Gideon, Dr. Reid, and our crime scene analyst, Lydia Ambers, with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.” JJ recited the greeting so fast Lydia barely heard it. She couldn’t imagine the practice JJ had with introductions.

Lydia ignored the group as they continued speaking to the sheriff and started to examine the remains. She tried not to act surprised as she felt the presence of Dr. Reid leaning over her shoulder, making notes as well.

The clothes were torn and faded, but they hadn’t completely decomposed. Judging by how thin the fabric was, she would have given it a couple years before disappearing, meaning the body might not have been left that long ago. Maybe even less than a year. No wedding ring, but those are easily stolen.

“You guys must get a lot of this, huh? Satanic stuff?”

“Not really,” Gideon mumbled. “Who found the body?”

“Hiker found the first one at the trail,” Sheriff Bridges explained. “My deputies located this one while searching for evidence. Don’t even know if it’s a man or a woman.”

“It’s a man-” Lydia said at the same time as Reid. They both looked surprised for a moment and she gestured for him to keep explaining while she searched for more.

“The male pelvis is more narrow, and the opening at the bottom is heart-shaped, as opposed to oval,” he continued. He then picked up a stick, seeing as he didn’t have gloves, and poked at a weird substance at the bottom of the tree. “Melted wax?”

“Candle wax?” JJ inquired.

Lydia peeled a piece away, rolled it around in her fingers, and hesitantly smelled it.

“Candles are used in rituals,” Reid prompted, but Lydia shook her head.

“This was recent. Colored wax fades over time and some kinds of wax rot. This body is not anywhere near that fresh. If there was a ritual here, it wasn’t a killing.” She dropped the piece she had collected, rubbing the red flecks from her fingers. She looked up at the sheriff. “Did you have to move these branches when you found the body?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. It was buried down there.”

“I thought I told you not to be biased,” Gideon scolded.

“I’m not,” Lydia defended. “But this feels… placed.”

“Explain your reasoning,” he challenged.

She crossed her arms, standing up to meet his eyes. “The recent body was found on a hiking trail. That’s basically begging for someone to find it. This one was secluded and basically buried by the other trees. Possibly to hide it, which would make more sense for satanists, or because it’s been here so long that the elements grew around it. Both would indicate a different killer. Then, there’s the fact that the wax is new and was probably left after the second killing, not the first, so why leave it by the first body? And, as I said about the carving in the tree, if that was a message, they wouldn’t have waited for so long between kills and if it’s just part of the ritual, we would’ve found another one by the other body.”

He raised his eyebrow and Lydia waited for someone to argue with her, but he simply said, “Not bad.”

She let go of a tension she didn’t realize she was holding.

“Does L-O-D mean anything to you?” he asked Reid.

“Uh-uh,” he denied. “I don’t know of any significance in satanism, either.”

“Well, I’d have Garcia research this ‘LOD’ thing, if I could get a call out,” JJ admitted, frustrated.

“Not much of a chance of that out here,” Sheriff Bridges informed her.

“Are there any cults in the area that you know about?” Gideon asked. “Secret groups? People you see you don’t know much about? People who stay to themselves mostly?”

“This is a very religious area. Church on Sundays, fellowship of Wednesday, bible classes. If there was a secret group, I’d probably know about it.”

This made Reid laugh, and a cute smile tugged at his cheeks. “That’s an inherent contradiction.”

“Excuse me?”

Gideon stepped in. “He means if there was a group being secretive, you probably wouldn’t know.”

Sheriff didn’t take that one too well, but Gideon listened patiently as he argued that it couldn’t be someone from his town. Then, he instructed them to head back up to the trail where the other body was found.

“Find anything interesting down there?” Hotch asked as the four of them approached.

“Yeah, it does look like some kind of ritual site,” Gideon admitted. “Although Ambers has got some theories to suggest otherwise.”

The unit chief looked hesitant, but decided not to ask about them.

“Have any of you heard the expression ‘lod’ or the acronym L-O-D?” Reid asked as Elle helped him up the hill.

“Not me,” Elle responded and Morgan looked like he was about to agree before the whole team was distracted by a woman shouting.

“Cherish?” she cried, running up the hill. “Cherish?”

She was blonde and in her mid-forties. She was clearly distraught, trying to walk straight onto the scene, but the deputy held her back.

“Sheriff Bridges!” she shouted, still trying to push past the deputy.

“It’s okay, Harris. Let her in,” the sheriff said.

“Was Adam Loyd killed out here?” she demanded as she ducked the yellow tape.

“Who told you that, Veronica?”

“Was he?” she tried again. The sheriff tried to calm her, but she just interrupted him. “My daughter was with him. They were out running together this morning. Oh my god, and I can’t find her,” she started to ramble. “Cherish is missing. Cherish is missing! Help me, please!”

And finally, she broke down into sobs.

~ ~ ~

“What’s the protocol for murder turned missing persons case?” Lydia inquired as she followed Gideon around the trail.

“Well, you were right about one thing,” Gideon replied. “It’s not ritual satanism. We’ll build our profile after the search, but it’s starting to look like a killer cult.”

“Multiple unsubs. Easier to kill the guy and kidnap the girl. You think these people were targeted?”

“It’s possible. Cults aren’t usually prone to crimes of opportunity. They normally kill people as part of their message.”

“So, are the carvings and wax part of their message or are they trying to throw us off the scent?”

“Guess we’ll find out when we have more evidence,” he retorted. “Hey Hotch!”

They’d looped back to the site and Gideon immediately made a beeline for Agent Hotchner. Lydia was a few steps behind and missed whatever Gideon had said to him, but she could see his disapproval.

“Gideon,” he warned. “We talked about this.”

She caught up, standing next to her mentor.

“Ambers, you’ll be with Gideon during the search. Make sure the exercise doesn’t kill him.”

She smiled. “Yes, sir.”

Once he was gone and she was alone with Gideon once more, she turned on him. “What was that about?”

“I got into trouble after your first case,” he admitted. “The condition was that I would be in charge of you and make sure you weren’t making the FBI look bad.”

Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No. But I’m not supposed to let you go off on your own. During your first case, I put you in charge of going down to forensics and looking for DNA while none of the team was present and then I let you take a vehicle by yourself to work with Hotch. You did good work,” he promised her, “but if something goes wrong, Hotch’s ass is on the line, just as much as mine or yours is.”

“I’m sorry.”

He sighed. “This is by no means your fault. I just want to give you more opportunities to work with the things you’re good at instead of following me around like a lost dog. My goal is to get our boss to realize you’re an asset to the team, but how am I supposed to do that if you aren’t allowed to make calls sometimes?”

“An asset…?” she asked. “Gideon, I’m just a forensic scientist. Barely that, I’m a crime scene technician. My job is to pick up things that look weird and put them in bags.”

“But you could do so much more,” he argued. “You were a chemistry major. You were at the same level as Reid down there and he’s got 3 PhDs. At the Crawford house on our last case, you were setting up the victimology with us. And like you said, that’s not your job. You record evidence, you don’t analyze it. Especially not in a big picture scenario. But today, you looked at the few photos we had and already determined that ritual killing didn’t make sense. I think you’re a wonderful addition to the team.”

Lydia tried to shake her head with disagreement, but another thought came to mind. “What did you just ask Hotch, then?”

“I wanted you to be in charge of one of the search parties.”

She laughed. “Really? What good would that do?”

“The more groups, the less people for each of us to profile. I thought we could trust you with it, but Hotch is still unsure.”

“No kidding. Gideon, I’m an intern. I appreciate the thought, but I really am okay with just… learning from you. Going to the scene and bagging the things you tell me to.”

Gideon smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re too smart to be quiet for that long. You’d break sooner or later and begin to explain your theories. Might as well just let you get it out from the start.”

“Maybe that’s best,” she agreed. “But I know I’m not an agent. Feel free to tell me if I step out of line.”

“Do you want to be an agent?” he inquired.

“I just wanna look at crime scenes,” she explained, failing not to smile. “I don’t need the gun or the badge. I doubt I’d be any good at being an agent. Not that I’d flat out deny the opportunity, but it’s not exactly my dream.”

“Well, I think you’d be a good interrogator.”

This was news to her. “What?! I’m not exactly intimidating.”

“No, but interrogating suspects can go many ways. It’s all just a show. Sometimes we want an unsub to be so comfortable they forget they’re being watched and they slip up. Sometimes we want to put them on edge and make them think that confessing is the best option. And you’re a good actor from what I’ve seen.”

“What have you seen?” she challenged.

“To start, you claim that you hide your anger issues very well.”

She nodded.

“And you still won’t tell me what you were up to this morning when I texted you.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “I don’t see why you care! It didn’t make me late and it hasn’t affected the case!”

“When Garcia told you she was going to do a background check on you, you said you didn’t have any secrets,” he responded.

“Fine. I was on a call with my sister. That’s all. Now tell me why it matters to you!”

This put a stop to the pace of their conversation. He gave her his profiling look for the second time that day and said, “It went bad, huh?”

“My sister and I always seem to be at each other’s necks… it went as well as I suspected.”

Gideon swallowed. “I ask because I care about you, Lydia. Tell me about your sister.”

Her breath hitched. He wanted to just… talk now? Gideon had just decided to be her friend?

She felt guilty for questioning his motives, but the suspicious nature in her won. “We can talk about my family when we aren’t working a case.”

He didn’t seem surprised by her answer, but as he left, she noticed that he was definitely disappointed.

~ ~ ~

Lydia sighed, looking over the note Elle had brought in after the search had wrapped up. She dusted it for fingerprints, but the thing was such a mess, having been written in charcoal, that if there were any, they would have been smeared beyond belief.

The corner was covered in blood, which Lydia would have tested, if it weren’t for the fact that the note claimed Cherish Hanson, their missing victim, would be sacrificed that evening. The team didn’t have time for her to take it to a lab and if they did, it would mean pulling Gideon from work to monitor her… she was starting to see why he thought this mentoring thing was frustrating.

So, she sat in the station and listened to them give a profile while she mindlessly looked over the photos and evidence they had to see if she got any brilliant ideas.

Sheriff Bridges’s son, Cory, was present for the profile, although Lydia wasn’t entirely sure why, and as the team finished up their description of the unsub, he was the first to speak up, admitting that he knew someone who fit the profile.

They wrapped up the meeting and took Cory to a private room to discuss the kid he thought was responsible. It hadn’t even been five minutes before the team was filing back out, and towards the door of the station.

“Drop what you’re doing, Ambers,” Gideon ordered.

She jumped up, running out of the station behind them. “What’s going on?”

“Kid named Mike Zizzo. He’s got a place where his group, the ‘Lord’s of Destruction’, hang out. We’re going to raid it, once we’ve got the teenagers cleared, I want you to sweep for evidence.”

“Got it.”

Gideon let her slide into an SUV with Hotch, Morgan, and Reid, before closing the door behind her, shutting himself out. “I’m not going on the raid.”

Hotch stuck his head out of the open window. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know, yet,” Gideon replied and walked off. He was following a girl. A high schooler who had been at the search with them.

“Gideon, you can’t just-” he started and Lydia saw him glance at her in the rearview mirror. She knew for a fact that if she hadn’t been there, Hotch would have let him do whatever he pleased. But Gideon was gone.

Frustrated, Hotch rolled up the window and drove off.

Lydia hoped it wasn’t her. In fact, she knew it wasn’t her. Hotch was very rule-oriented and Gideon was putting him on edge. But she felt so bad.

“Sorry that you’re stuck babysitting me,” she mumbled as they hit the road.

Reid glanced at Lydia and Morgan turned to Hotch, both of them unsure what interaction had just taken place. For the second time, Lydia made eye contact with the unit chief in his mirror.

“What did Gideon tell you?” he sighed, guilt evident in his voice.

“That we were getting you in trouble.” Lydia made her voice as light as possible so that Hotch knew she wasn’t totally serious, but she felt weird bringing it up around the others. She wasn’t sure how close they all were yet. Maybe if she spoke about the tension between Hotch and Gideon right now it would spread around the office like a fire and Hotch would be dealing with rumors on top of everything else.

“I’m going to be honest, Lydia,” he said, automatically making her nervous. “I like you. I think you’re very talented. But I’m starting to wonder if you’ve got some kind of spell on Gideon, because he takes every opportunity to insist that I should demand that Strauss give you a full-time job and I… I don’t know you that well yet.”

“That’s totally fine,” she told him. “I don’t… need a job. I promise I had no idea he even wanted me on the team until today.”

“Dang Hotch,” Morgan spoke up. “Did you really think Lydia was manipulating Gideon? I doubt she’s capable of it.” He turned around from the passenger’s seat and gave her a smile.

“Thanks? But I get it. It’s not ‘cause he doesn’t like me… I mean, I hope not,” she joked. “I’m just… more trouble than I’m worth.”

“I think Gideon’s right.” It was Spencer this time. “You’d be a good addition to the team.”

She sent him a smile, but he wasn’t looking directly at her, so she had to wonder if he saw it.

“We’ll talk about it if she doesn’t get me fired before the end of the year,” Hotch agreed, pulling up to an old house and parking outside. There were clearly a lot of people inside, music was blasting and their shadows haunted the windows. “Stay in the car until I give you the okay to enter the building,” he instructed, turning around to look directly at Lydia.

“Yes, sir.”

The two younger agents started to hop out, guns at their sides, leaving her alone with Hotch.

“Thank you for being understanding,” he said softly, then jumped out of the car himself.

Lydia leaned back against the car seat. He didn’t hate her. And Morgan and Reid didn’t argue about her joining the team officially either. It was immensely relieving. But her relaxed state quickly retreated as she reminded herself not to get her hopes up.

The commotion in the house took a few minutes to die down after the agents and deputies rushed in. They had the kids leave in a line, the deputies surrounding them on all sides to make sure they didn’t try to pull any stunts as they left, but everyone there just looked disappointed and perhaps embarrassed they’d been caught.

Morgan escorted out Zizzo in handcuffs, Elle on his tail to help get him into one of the vehicles. Then Hotch stepped outside and waved Lydia in.

She grabbed a pair of gloves and ran up, dodging the darkly dressed, metal covered teens, and followed Hotch.

The place looked as much the same inside as it did out. The walls were covered in graffiti, but it was very artistic. Whoever had set the place up took a lot of care in their work, nothing like the chicken scratch on the note Elle found or on the tree in the woods. The tables were covered in candles, most of them a deep red. And tons of creepy statuettes of goat heads and caricatured satans.

“Gideon claims you’re good at analyzing a scene,” Hotch admitted. “What are your thoughts?”

Lydia glanced at him hesitantly. “Well… my first thought is that I love the wooden arched doorway. And my second thought is that if Zizzo set up this house, he’s not our guy.”

Hotch tried not to look surprised. “And you say that because…”

“Because it may be uh… devil worship?” she said, for lack of a better word. “But it’s really nice looking. All those kids just want to defy their super religious parents and he’s made this place feel comfortable for them. They get to enjoy the cool art and decorations, drink some beer, hang out with friends. That’s normal teen stuff. The person who snatched a cheerleader from a hiking trail and killed her boyfriend wouldn’t care about these people.”

“Maybe he only cares for the people in his ‘in’ group,” he suggested.

Lydia shrugged. “Maybe? But it sounds like these kids drift in and out. I mean, Cory was invited once and he never mentioned any sort of initiation. They didn’t make him prove his loyalty. I bet they just offered him a beer and left him to his own devices.”

He didn’t respond to that, simply started walking to the door, the last of the kids finally having been escorted out. “I’m going to leave you here with Reid and Morgan. Search the place from top to bottom. A girl’s life is at stake.”

“Will do!” she called to him, watching his form disappear out of the door.

When she turned around she almost jumped at the sight of Dr. Reid’s approaching figure.

“He left you with us,” Reid mentioned, curiously.

“He must trust you guys not to let me fuck up,” Lydia informed him. “Sorry you got passed the babysitting hat.”

“Don’t apologize,” he told her, stepping away to look at the building around them. “I’m curious to see what you find.”

The last of the deputies began to file out and Morgan eventually ended up joining the two of them as Lydia ransacked all the drawers and cabinets she could find.

~ ~ ~

After about an hour, the last of the deputies had to leave to give a report to the sheriff, meaning the three BAU members were left without a car in the woods with no cell signal.

The two boys had gone outside to see the last deputy off and Lydia was just finishing up her work. The house was so dusty she was starting to think she could drown in all the thick air. But so far, she found nothing incriminating except all the satanist propaganda.

She kicked around the rugs on the floor of the opening room, searching for loose boards or any obvious evidence underneath them, when she heard Reid’s muffled voice say, “You had no right, man!”

She turned her head abruptly, stopping what she was doing to listen to the altercation outside.

“I- I confided in you. This is- You know, this is exactly what I get when I trust someone. It gets thrown back in my face.” He seemed distraught and Lydia had to fight her want to go ask what was wrong with the knowledge that Morgan was probably better to handle this situation.

“Mine started six months after I got into the BAU,” Morgan replied. Silence. “Yeah… Mine.”

She dropped down to search the wooden floorboards once more, but she couldn’t block out their conversation as she worked. She silently hoped that they wouldn’t come back in and find her eavesdropping on what appeared to be a very personal conversation.

Morgan started a story on one of his earlier cases as an agent. People getting strangled in Montana. He felt guilty for not starting a profile until after another death appeared, because he wanted to use it to confirm his theories. He started to have nightmares about the last victim, who died because he waited for the unsub to make their next move.

“What did you do?” Spencer asked.

“Gideon,” was Morgan’s reply. “He knew. I didn’t tell him. I was like you. I didn’t want anybody to know. He just… he knew.”

Lydia could feel a melancholy wash through her stomach as she realized that Reid was clearly going through something. And once more that was replaced by guilt as she realized she shouldn’t know that about Reid without his consent. She was just thinking about interrupting them, so she wasn’t subject to more of their secrets when Morgan said something that made her freeze in her spot.

“You think the team won’t understand? Take Lydia in there, for instance. Do you think she doesn’t see her roommate every time she shuts her eyes? To be honest, I don’t think I would have taken this job immediately after what she went through.”

There was an emptiness in her, consuming her and pulling her from her work. She really had tried to avoid thinking about Jenna at all costs. But it was difficult when her death was the reason Lydia had met the team in the first place.

“It’s been months,” Reid reasoned.

“Time means nothing when you lose someone like that. It will eat away at her for the rest of her life.”

Their conversation was put on pause when the sound of a car engine approached, coming to a rough stop outside the house.

“Did you find her? Cherish?” It sounded like Cory’s voice and Lydia stood up, wiping a tear with the inside of her arm before making her way to the door.

“No.”

“Did Zizzo say anything?”

“We don’t know. We’ve been here the whole time,” Morgan informed him.

Lydia stepped out of the house, trying to ignore the concerned look Reid gave her as she jumped off the porch and instead found herself almost running into the pacing teenager.

He stopped, looking shocked to see someone else there, and his gaze lingered on her gloved hands for a moment too long.

“Cory, calm down,” Reid instructed.

“How am I supposed to calm down? Cherish is missing. Did you check all over?” he demanded, trying to push past Lydia and get into the house himself.

“We searched the whole house,” Reid confirmed.

“It’s clean,” Lydia agreed.

“What about the outbuilding?”

“Outbuilding?” Morgan repeated almost immediately.

“Did you check the other area? Back in the woods?”

“I didn’t know there was another area,” Morgan said.

“Yeah, it’s like a- like a sluice structure or something. He took me there once. It’s this way,” the kid rambled before taking off into the trees.

Lydia raised an eyebrow at Morgan who shrugged, then said, “Let’s go.”

~ ~ ~

The hike was brutal. Lydia was starting to feel the weight of the day wearing down on her as she followed the boys farther into the woods.

“It’s up here,” Cory called back to the group. “This is their secret place.”

That was sketchy to Lydia. A secret place on top of their already secret place?

Morgan pulled out his flashlight, scanning the walls in search of anything suspicious. And he definitely found it. A pentagram and the initials LOD were painted on the side of the building, same handwriting, same red paint.

He insisted that they stay put until he had searched the outside of the house. He knelt down and waved his light underneath the building, which was elevated so that it was level to the side of the mountain. Then, once he was sure that no one was nearby, he nodded for Lydia to follow him and they made their way up the stairs to the front of the building.

Faintly, she heard Reid start talking to Cory, but couldn’t make out much other than the stress in the boy’s voice.

The door was shut, but Morgan didn’t even bother opening it, because the windows along the sides were large enough to step through and no longer had any glass coverings. He stepped inside first, sweeping the light in search of anyone in the room, then stepped out of the way for Lydia to follow.

And there she was. Poor Cherish Hanson, her skin all blue with a bloody rats nest for hair. She was long gone.

Lydia could see Morgan shaking his head, so she reached out and grabbed the flashlight from him. “You can go tell them. I’ll do a quick sweep of the scene and head right out.”

He nodded, but there was something in his eyes that made Lydia nervous. He seemed startled by the girl’s appearance, but after years on the job, she doubted that could be.

“Is she in there? Is she alright?” Cory demanded, the minute Derek had left.

Lydia shut them out for a minute, looking for anything out of the ordinary, but the place was long abandoned. The only places where the dust layer had been disturbed were around the door up to where the body had been left. But that was understandable, seeing as Cherish was likely killed while on her run and dragged up the mountainside. This killer was athletic alright.

Still, she kicked around the leaves on the ground for a minute to look for something out of place and gently looked over Cherish’s body for anything out of the ordinary.

There was a lot more to her murder than her boyfriend’s. The killer clearly didn’t expect her to be with Adam and had to hit her multiple times to ensure she was dead. The blood trailed down the side of her face and across her chest. But if there was anything to gain from the little details she had, she didn’t know what it was.

Seeing as the unsub had clearly used the door to bring the girl in, Lydia used it to leave and caught Cory’s attention as he spoke to Morgan.

“-because of that, we also gotta look for someone who might try to put himself right in the middle of an investigation so that he can influence things,” Morgan was telling the high schooler which suddenly struck Lydia as odd. Gideon had been insistent that the unsub would be on one of the search parties, for the same reasons Morgan was explaining to Cory, but Zizzo definitely wasn’t.

She removed her gloves and another thing occurred to her. Reid wasn’t there. She started down the stairs to ask Morgan where he’d gone, but Morgan didn’t stay there long enough for her to say anything and instead got closer to Cory.

“Especially if he knows exactly what it is that we’re looking for.”

She froze, her eyes fixated on the pair. Did Morgan think Cory had done this? It didn’t exactly fit their ‘killer cult’ profile from earlier.

Cory pushed away from the tree and instead stepped towards the building. “You mean, me?”

He faked innocence well, but Lydia could tell in that moment that he was panicking.

“That was more than just a lucky guess, wasn’t it?” Morgan asked, not yet realizing that Lydia had wandered outside or that Cory was slowly inching closer to her.

“I knew about the building,” he agreed.

“You also knew about Zizzo. And the satanism.”

Finally, he faced the two of them and realized the predicament Lydia was in. Cory had placed himself between her and Morgan, meaning if he got violent, Lydia was unarmed and Morgan couldn’t get to her.

And Lydia knew it, too. She made eye contact with the agent, hoping he would be able to signal to her what to do, but he hadn’t thought that much through. Sending Reid away was easy enough, but he had relied on the hope that Lydia would spend longer looking for evidence.

“I was only trying to help,” Cory argued.

“Well, you did that,” Morgan replied. Lydia saw him beckoning her forward with his hand at his side, hoping that if she could just get close enough, he could pull her out of harm's way. “We couldn’t have found this place without you.”

Once she took her first step off the stairs, Cory realized what she was doing. Before she could process what was happening, he had wrapped an arm around her neck and a gun was pressed into her left cheek.

Both the boys were yelling at her, she realized, but still failed to process what they were saying. Her hands were out in front of her defensively and she realized that Morgan had pulled his gun on Cory, but couldn’t shoot while she was in the way.

“Hey, Morgan,” Reid called, his voice coming from down the hill. “No one’s up there-”

“Reid,” he warned and the doctor froze at the sight before him, also whipping out his gun.

“This got all messed up,” Cory grumbled and Lydia couldn’t help but scoff.

“Clearly.” He pushed the barrel more firmly against her face, trying to increase the pressure.

“Don’t be stupid,” Morgan said.

“She wasn’t supposed to be with him. It was his run. He runs it every day, not her!”

“Cory, listen to me. We can fix this. But you gotta let Lydia go.”

“I never meant to hurt Cherish. But make no mistake, I will shoot your girl, right now.”

“No, you won’t.”

He awkwardly tightened his grasp on her to cock the gun. “Tempt not a desperate man,” he threatened. “Put the gun down!”

“Okay. All right.” Morgan turned his wrist so that his gun was facing another way and slowly lowered it. “You win.”

“Drop it. Drop the gun!”

“Ok. Ok! You win! I’m putting the gun down.”

He did as he said and after some hesitation, Reid did the same.

“You’re in control, Cory. Let her go.”

As Morgan argued with him, Lydia remembered her talk with Gideon that afternoon about having her questioning suspects. He told her that the profile would help them determine how to get an unsub to slip up. So, what did she know about Cory?

He was terrified. He’d really thought that his plan to frame Zizzo was foolproof. He hadn’t thought this far ahead and, by that logic, he wasn’t thinking about what he’d do if he made it out of this.

“What are you going to do, Cory?” Lydia said, steadily. “Shoot the three of us and then what? Skip town?”

“Shut up!” Her lips had been squished so far to the side of her face by the gun that she was barely understandable.

“I’d rather not. But listen, I’m gonna give you some advice. You’ll have to ditch the car and fast. It’s really nice, but it doesn’t blend in well. Switching the plates only gets you so far.”

“I said, be quiet! I will shoot you!”

“How do you plan to make money?” she inquired, still not listening to him. “You’re kinda screwed there. And I’d feel bad for you, but… you did kill two of your friends and are planning to kill me and two of my friends so the sympathy only goes so far.”

Morgan spoke up once more. “You’re just a horny kid who wanted to get rid of the cheerleader’s boyfriend.”

“No!” Suddenly, Cory’s anger was targeted back at him and Lydia felt his hand shaking, the gun relaxing then being pushed once more against her face.

“That was never my intent-” he started, as multiple things happened at once.

The gun was removed from her cheek in an instant and as he flung his arm towards Morgan, his grip across her chest loosened enough for her to extend an arm out and grab his left hand. Morgan took the distraction to run at him, knocking them both back against the stairs and Lydia struggled to keep Cory’s arm pointed away from them.

He got off one shot into the forest floor before she could grapple it away from him and she rolled off the stairs, hitting the ground painfully, to get out of Morgan’s way.

Morgan got in a solid punch across the face, leaving Cory with a bloody mouth and not much energy to fight back. And by that point, Reid had reclaimed his gun and had it trained on the boy as Morgan handcuffed him.

“You all right?” Reid asked, looking away from Cory and Morgan for a moment to watch her get up.

“Yep,” she replied. Her voice was strained after taking such a hard fall, but she didn’t seem upset. She brushed herself off and looked over her scraped up palms. “I did just get tackled by Morgan, though.”

The older man shook his head, pulling Cory up off the stairs. “You’re welcome, Lydia.”

~ ~ ~

Gideon sat against the back of one of the police cars, watching Reid and Lydia give their accounts of what happened to Hotch and Sheriff Bridges separately. Lydia was clearly exhausted, her clothes were covered in dirt, and there was a lack of patience in her face, but Gideon was proud of her.

As he stared, Morgan approached beside him, also leaning against the car.

“I see it now,” he said quietly, so only Gideon could hear. “Why you like her so much.”

“Do you?”

Morgan sighed. “Your girl had a gun pressed so forcefully against her cheek she could barely talk, but her voice betrayed no fear. I don’t think even you or Hotch could be that calm in a crisis. She didn’t talk at a fast pace or stutter on a single word. It was unbelievable.”

“When we questioned her about her roommate,” Gideon explained, “she seemed guilty to Reid and I. I said something insensitive to her to see how she’d react, maybe give something away. Her anger only revealed to me a recognition in her eyes. I realized that she’d been here before. Questioned mercilessly. Accused. And suddenly I was the guilty one. So, I tried to switch tactics, but before I could, she was apologizing to me. She said she’d always had some anger management issues and told me that she’d calm herself down so that we could continue the investigation.

“Have you ever seen that before? She’d just lost her best friend and was more concerned about our case than she was her feelings. I knew right then her heart was twice the size of an average FBI agent. I don’t know what that sort of compartmentalizing does to her. I’m still trying to find out. But from where I stand, she looks like she’s capable of saving a lot of people.”

Morgan sucked in his lips, in contemplation. “All right. How do we let her do that?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

~ ~ ~

Lydia followed the team back inside, expecting to be given some paperwork for the case before she could go back to her apartment, but Gideon stopped her as she stepped into the bullpen.

“Lydia, you should really go home. I’ll handle anything you need to do.”

She rolled her eyes. “Gideon, please don’t think I’m freaked out after what happened today. I can handle myself, I promise.”

“I trust you,” he said, genuinely. “But you’re clearly exhausted and you’ve just started graduate school if I remember correctly.”

She nodded and had to stifle a yawn in order to not prove him right so blatantly.

“Go home. Get some rest. You didn’t sleep the whole plane ride. I’ll drop all your paperwork off tomorrow morning. Or, if you’d prefer, we could have a cup of coffee during my lunch break and you can tell me about your phone call with your sister,” he suggested.

Lydia blinked, but it was such an innocent and friendly suggestion she couldn’t help herself from saying, “That sounds great,” and watching him walk off.

Over the course of just one day, a lot had been revealed to her about Gideon. The rest of the team trusted him so much. And after finding out he’d gone to bat for her in order to get her this job, she really couldn’t say no.

She came back to her senses after a second to watch Reid walk past her towards the elevator.

“Oh! Dr. Reid!” she called, suddenly.

He turned around, a look of utter surprise dawning on his features. “Yes?”

“How exactly do you plan to help me get my PhD in three years?” she inquired.

She’d been thinking about it a lot, now that she had begun her online courses. And everything about it seemed quite appealing, although she still couldn’t reasonably explain why. If she really was going to take this path, she knew she had to do it as fast as possible in order to save money, because she could barely afford the master’s degree she’d long since planned to get.

He smiled and Lydia couldn’t stop herself from smiling back just from seeing the look on his face. His presence was frankly a very welcome one, now that she’d gotten to know him better these past two cases and she found herself drawn into whatever he had to say.

“With my help, make it two,” he said, confidently and the two of them made their way to the elevator together. “Although, if I’m going to help you, I’d much rather you call me Spencer.”

“Spencer.” The name left an interesting feeling in her mouth, being attributed now to genius beside her. “Alright. As long as you’re okay with that.”

And he didn’t respond. Not because he wasn’t, or else he wouldn’t have suggested it. But just hearing her say his name so softly made his stomach do a flip… and he couldn’t understand why.

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absolxguardian · 5 years

Text

‘You’re not listening,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve been speaking to you all my life and all I’ve heard back is silence. Where are you? Are you out there among the stars? Is that it? Busy making another world, perhaps, because you’re sick of this one? You’ve gone away, haven’t you, you’ve abandoned us.

‘You’re making a liar out of me, you realise that. I don’t want to tell lies. I try to tell the truth. But I tell them you’re a loving father watching over them all, and you’re not; you’re blind as well as deaf, as far as I can tell. You can’t see, or you just don’t want to look? Which is it?

‘No answer. Not interested.

‘If you were listening, you’d know what I meant by truth. I’m not one of these logic-choppers, these fastidious philosophers, with their scented Greek rubbish about a pure world of spiritual forms where everything is perfect, and which is the only place where the real truth is, unlike this filthy material world which is corrupt and gross and full of untruth and imperfection . . . Have you heard them? Stupid question. You’re not interested in slander either.

‘And slander’s what it is; you made this world, and it’s lovely, every inch of it. When I think of the things I’ve loved I find myself choking with happiness, or maybe sorrow, I don’t know; and every one of them has been something in this world that you made. If anyone can smell frying fish on an evening by the lake, or feel a cool breeze on a hot day, or see a little animal trying to run around and tumbling over and getting up again, or kiss a pair of soft and willing lips, if anyone can feel those things and still maintain they’re nothing but crude imperfect copies of something much better in another world, they are slandering you, Lord, as surely as words mean anything at all. But then they don’t think words do mean anything; they’re just tokens to play sophisticated games with. Truth is this, and truth is that, and what is truth anyway, and on and on they go, these bloodless phantoms.

‘The psalm says “The fool has said in his heart, There is no God.” Well, I understand that fool. You treated him as you’re treating me, didn’t you? If that makes me a fool, I’m one with all the fools you made. I love that fool, even if you don’t. The poor sod whispered to you night after night, and heard nothing in response. Even Job, for all the trouble he had, got an answer from you. But the fool and I might as well be talking into an empty pot, except that even an empty pot makes a sound like the wind, if you hold it over your ear. That’s an answer of sorts.

‘Is that what you’re saying to me? That when I hear the wind, I hear your voice? When I look at the stars I see your writing, or in the bark of a tree, or the ripples on the sand at the edge of the water? Lovely things, yes, all of them, no doubt about that, but why did you make them so hard to read? Who can translate them for us? You conceal yourself in enigmas and riddles. Can I believe that the Lord God would behave like one of those philosophers and say things in order to baffle and confuse? No, I can’t believe it. Why do you treat your people like this? The God who made water to be clear and sweet and fresh wouldn’t fill it with mud before giving it to his children to drink. So, what’s the answer? These things are full of your words, and we just have to persevere till we can read them? Or they’re blank and meaningless? Which is it?

‘No answer, naturally. Listen to that silence. Not a breath of wind; the little insects scratching away in the grasses; Peter snoring over there under the olives; a dog barking on some farm out behind me in the hills; an owl down in the valley; and the infinite silence under it all. You’re not in the sounds, are you. There might be some help in that. I love those little insects. That’s a good dog out there; he’s trustworthy; he’d die to look after the farm. The owl is beautiful and cares for her young. Even Peter’s full of kindness, for all the noise and the bluster. If I thought you were in those sounds, I could love you with all my heart, even if those were the only sounds you made. But you’re in the silence. You say nothing.

‘God, is there any difference between saying that and saying you’re not there at all? I can imagine some philosophical smartarse of a priest in years to come pulling the wool over his poor followers’ eyes: “God’s great absence is, of course, the very sign of his presence”, or some such drivel. The people will hear his words, and think how clever he is to say such things, and they’ll try and believe it; and they’ll go home puzzled and hungry, because it makes no sense at all. That priest is worse than the fool in the psalm, who at least is an honest man. When the fool prays to you and gets no answer, he decides that God’s great absence means he’s not bloody well there.

‘What am I going to tell the people tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that? Am I going to go on telling them things I can’t believe? My heart will grow weary of it; my belly will churn with sickness; my mouth will be full of ash and my throat will burn with gall. There’ll come a day when I’ll say to some poor leper that his sins are forgiven and his sores will heal and he’ll say “But they’re as bad as they ever were. Where is this healing you promised?”

‘And the Kingdom . . .

‘Have I been deluding myself as well as everyone else? What have I been doing, telling them that it’s going to come, that there are people alive now who will see the coming of God’s Kingdom? I can see us waiting, and waiting, and waiting . . . Was my brother right when he talked of this great organisation, this church of his that was going to serve as the vehicle for the Kingdom on earth? No, he was wrong, he was wrong. My whole heart and mind and body revolted against that. They still do.

‘Because I can see just what would happen if that kind of thing came about. The devil would rub his hands with glee. As soon as men who believe they’re doing God’s will get hold of power, whether it’s in a household or a village or in Jerusalem or in Rome itself, the devil enters into them. It isn’t long before they start drawing up lists of punishments for all kinds of innocent activities, sentencing people to be flogged or stoned in the name of God for wearing this or eating that or believing the other. And the privileged ones will build great palaces and temples to strut around in, and levy taxes on the poor to pay for their luxuries; and they’ll start keeping the very scriptures secret, saying there are some truths too holy to be revealed to the ordinary people, so that only the priests’ interpretation will be allowed, and they’ll torture and kill anyone who wants to make the word of God clear and plain to all; and with every day that passes they’ll become more and more fearful, because the more power they have the less they’ll trust anyone, so they’ll have spies and betrayals and denunciations and secret tribunals, and put the poor harmless heretics they flush out to horrible public deaths, to terrify the rest into obedience.

‘And from time to time, to distract the people from their miseries and fire them with anger against someone else, the governors of this church will declare that such-and-such a nation or such-and-such a people is evil and ought to be destroyed, and they’ll gather great armies and set off to kill and burn and loot and rape and plunder, and they’ll raise their standard over the smoking ruins of what was once a fair and prosperous land and declare that God’s Kingdom is so much the larger and more magnificent as a result.

‘But any priest who wants to indulge his secret appetites, his greed, his lust, his cruelty, will find himself like a wolf in a field of lambs where the shepherd is bound and gagged and blinded. No one will even think of questioning the rightness of what this holy man does in private; and his little victims will cry to heaven for pity, and their tears will wet his hands, and he’ll wipe them on his robe and press them together piously and cast his eyes upwards and the people will say what a fine thing it is to have such a holy man as priest, how well he takes care of the children . . .

‘And where will you be? Will you look down and strike these blaspheming serpents with a thunderbolt? Will you strike the governors off their thrones and smash their palaces to rubble?

‘To ask the question and wait for the answer is to know that there will be no answer.

‘Lord, if I thought you were listening, I’d pray for this above all: that any church set up in your name should remain poor, and powerless, and modest. That it should wield no authority except that of love. That it should never cast anyone out. That it should own no property and make no laws. That it should not condemn, but only forgive. That it should be not like a palace with marble walls and polished floors, and guards standing at the door, but like a tree with its roots deep in the soil, that shelters every kind of bird and beast and gives blossom in the spring and shade in the hot sun and fruit in the season, and in time gives up its good sound wood for the carpenter; but that sheds many thousands of seeds so that new trees can grow in its place. Does the tree say to the sparrow “Get out, you don’t belong here?” Does the tree say to the hungry man “This fruit is not for you?” Does the tree test the loyalty of the beasts before it allows them into the shade?

‘This is all I can do now, whisper into the silence. How much longer will I even feel like doing that? You’re not there. You’ve never heard me. I’d do better to talk to a tree, to talk to a dog, an owl, a little grasshopper. They’ll always be there. I’m with the fool in the psalm. You thought we could get on without you; no – you didn’t care whether we got on without you or not. You just got up and left. So that’s what we’re doing, we’re getting on. I’m part of the world, and I love every grain of sand and blade of grass and drop of blood in it. There might as well not be anything else, because these things are enough to gladden the heart and calm the spirit; and we know they delight the body. Body and spirit . . . is there a difference? Where does one end and the other begin? Aren’t they the same thing?

‘From time to time we’ll remember you, like a grandfather who was loved once, but who has died, and we’ll tell stories about you; and we’ll feed the lambs and reap the corn and press the wine, and sit under the tree in the cool of the evening, and welcome the stranger and look after the children, and nurse the sick and comfort the dying, and then lie down when our time comes, without a pang, without a fear, and go back to the earth.

‘And let the silence talk to itself . . .’

Jesus stopped. There was nothing else he wanted to say.

-The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ by Philip Pullman

#religion #theology #philip pullman #humanism

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formerprincess · 5 years

Text

Mirror of Origin | Chapter 3

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken, Corey Bryant/Mason Hewitt Characters: Theo Raeken, Liam Dunbar, Mason Hewitt, Corey Bryant Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe, Tomb Raider, Swearing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Guns, Violence, Minor Character Death, but only bad guys die I swear, Blood, Injury

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Liam sat on a small rock near the river and watched the water sparkle in the sun. They had stayed in a small secluded cave nearby and he had been the first to wake up so Liam used the opportunity to reach out to Mason and Corey and check in with them. “I’m still looking through your mother’s notes for anything related to this Vera person. Your mom wrote a lot but I haven’t found anything yet. If I do, you will be the first to know,” Mason filled Liam in with the progress. “I tried to research about Insight but holy moly, Liam, they are like literal ghosts. Barely any mention and even if they get mentioned it leads nowhere than to the fact they are an organization working in the archaeological field,” Corey now told Liam and typed on his keyboard. “A secret organization without any traces in the web? Why am I not surprised?” Liam drawled sarcastically. “I’m not giving up and digging deeper,” Corey promised. “Still, you should be careful around them. Everybody leaves traces unless they are very adamant about not doing so. This has weird written all over it.” “And you say I worry too much,” Mason mocked his boyfriend and Corey sighed. “But you’re also right. Liam, you should be careful.” “Guys, you know me.” Liam rolled his eyes. He knew what he had to do. “That’s why we’re telling you!” Both of his friends said at the same time and Liam sighed again. “Why am I even talking to you?” “Because you love us,” Mason deadpanned and Corey awed. “You’re idiots. But you’re also right, I do.” He chuckled softly. “Anyway, I have to go. When we reach the village, I will call again. Stay safe!” “We are not the ones walking through the Peruvian Jungle with a mysterious group of people,” Mason muttered when Liam ended the call.

He stretched, got up, and looked around. To his left, the jungle began again and to his right, the river bank was covered with sand and pebbles. Different birds chirped in the tall trees and it was peaceful. As long as he heard the birds, the jaguar was far away and that was probably the best thing yet. It bugged him they had not found anything relatable this far. Vera and her group were hopefully more successful because right now this all felt like a giant cosmic joke. Maybe Ferguson had found the mirror and then decided to play a prank on anybody looking for it. Except for a part of Liam believed the note he had found in the Emperor’s tomb. Why would the old guy lie? His note had stressed how dangerous this search was but aside from almost drowning – and that in a building not even related to the Mirror – they had not encountered anything dangerous yet. The jaguar was living in the jungle and Liam counted the dangers of their environment not to the horrors Ferguson had described. So what had put so much fear in the guy he had been traumatized for the rest of his life?

The young archaeologist sighed and wandered a bit further down the river. The morning sun was warming everything up and it was already disgustingly hot. His t-shirt already began to stick to his body. Well, it was still better than being in Egypt and having sand stick to your skin like a natural peeling; especially when you had cuts and gashes on your skin... His eyes suddenly fell on a large tree. It was enormous and Liam couldn’t even see the top when he tilted his head. The bark was thick and covered in moss but there was an opening big enough for a person to slip through. Liam wasn’t the tallest and it now came in handy when his curiosity picked up. This was a perfect hiding spot for whatever and he had the strong suspicion it had been made by human hands. He carefully slipped inside the tiny cave and turned on his flashlight. A few mushrooms grew on the inside of the tree and aside from a wooden box on the ground, nothing was there. With a humming sound, Liam knelt down. The box once had been painted with blue embellishments but now the paint was slowly fading and the wood was crooked from the humidity in the air. The little lock gave no resistance when Liam opened it and revealed handwritten notes inside. Liam put the documents out and began to read.

I received the invitation today. When the mother invited me, I felt honored. I am sure no king in any of the lands would decline such an invitation. I see it already. Me and one of her daughters married and taking a stroll over the market, basking in the admiration of our followers. It will be fantastic.

The family is admired and the people say the daughters are blessed by the gods. I don’t know how that shows but the stories I heard are impressive. Having one of the daughters as my wife would do my kingdom proud.

I heard the word my rival, the Monkey King, also received an invitation. I don’t care. I’m bringing the best clothes, gems, jewelry, the best gifts to show the mother I am worthy to receive the hand of one of her daughter’s in marriage. My rival has nothing on me, I know how to court a woman.

As I’m writing this, the last preparations for my journey begin. Tomorrow I will leave to travel to the family. If any of these stories are true, it will be a journey worth the troubles. The path is not easy but the mother assured me, this is only the first test to see if I am worthy. She already planned on many more. I will pass them all. I know I will.

Liam hummed. A family blessed by the gods? That sounded interesting and he made a mental note to that. For now, he just pocketed the notes in his backpack and slipped out of the tree cave again. “Didn’t we say no more detours?” Theo stood a few feet away, arms crossed in front of his chest, and gave Liam a stern look. Liam scoffed. “You decided on no more detours and I couldn’t care less what you want.” He brushed past Theo but the other grabbed him by his upper arm. “Listen to me, you little shit, stop being so damn arrogant!” Liam growled and wrenched his arm out of Theo’s hold but grabbed his arm instead and twisted it painfully. Theo groaned. “Never. touch. me. again. I do not like anybody touching me without my consent and I sure as hell don’t like it when you do it. My body is off limits for you, got it, bastard?” Theo just glared at him and Liam let him go because he actually didn’t want Raeken to punch him. The mercenary held his arm and glared angrily at Liam. “Vera won’t like you acting like that! Wait till I tell her!” “If Vera gives so much about your opinion why aren’t you with her but stuck with me in the middle of the freaking jungle?” Liam shot back and smirked mockingly. “I swear, the next jaguar we see, I will fucking throw you in its way. I don’t get what Vera sees in you but we don’t need you to find the mirror. So, next opportunity, you are big cat food, Dum-bar!” “I fucking hate you!” “I couldn’t care less!” They stared at each other with angry snarls and Liam really wanted to punch the guy. But he still had his two friends and so Liam was outnumbered. “Can’t wait till we reach the village,” he huffed. “One more day,” Theo replied coldly. “Perfect.”

Now Liam could brush past him but then he turned around again. “I am still sorry about what happened to your friend.” He meant it. Losing someone was traumatic. Theo gave him a puzzled look. “Huh?” “Davis, I’m talking about Davis.” And now Raeken barked out a laugh. “He wasn’t my friend! We worked together and he was so stupid to tease a wild animal. His fault he died.” He shrugged and Liam realized how cold these guys were. They showed no real emotion, aside from anger and annoyance, determined to go through with their mission. Showing compassion? No, not these guys. Right now, they were on the same side as Liam but he had already learned in his young life how fast that could change. He stored this revelation in the back of his mind. It wouldn’t stop him from searching for the artifact but Liam would be more careful than before.

It’s why he didn’t say anything else and just returned to the other guys. Donovan sneered when he saw him. “So Theo found you again. Pity, I hoped you would have died last night. One less problem to take care off.” “You are three guys against one, why don’t you use your guns?” Liam snapped back and then mentally slapped himself. Way to go when you already figured out how dangerous they are, Liam! “Trust me, if I could, I would.” Donovan raised his gun when Theo appeared next to him and pressed the weapon down with the palm of his hand. “As entertaining as your little pissing contest is, let’s go!” “The faster we reach the village, that faster that one becomes Vera’s problem again,” Burwell mentioned. Liam raised an eyebrow. “That one? What am I? An animal?” “There are many small and annoying animals, it wouldn’t be that farfetched,” Theo replied while he shouldered his bag and his gun. He turned around and then startled when Liam stepped directly into his path and they stood face to face. Liam let his eyes wander over the other’s appearance. “We are the same height, you prick!” He grinned triumphantly, spun around and began walking. Burwell snickered behind him.

~~~ THEO ~~~ “You could use your gun right now. There’s nothing for him to hide,” Donovan muttered and Theo felt his finger twitch to flip him the bird. “If you will explain the incident to Vera, be my guest.” “We will say he also fell victim to the jaguar. No harm will be done.” “Yeah because that is such a good idea. You know Vera doesn’t like it when we lie to her.” The woman could act like the sweetest person on earth but she could also get very angry and impulsive. Theo still felt the cold water she had dosed him and his team with after she thought they held back information in Russia. Cold water wasn’t so much of a problem but it quickly became one when it was freezing outside. She had later explained she only did this because she cared about their duty and they had to be inured to anything crossing their path. She was right, Theo knew this painfully well. It was the main reason he had so much respect for that tiny woman. He now shook his head to clear it from unwanted thoughts and then followed the annoying wannabe tomb raider. “Do you even know where we’re going?” “Towards the village,” Liam helpfully replied and Theo sighed. That idiot would cause his first gray hairs.

****** There wasn’t much Dunbar did right but he purposefully didn’t lead them through the jaguar’s lair again. Sure, you could never really tell where the hunting ground began and where it ended, but Liam tried to stay as far away from the point they encountered the animal as possible. Theo was actually impressed. The guy could think if he wanted to, would you look at that.

If only he wasn’t so keen on exploring everything he deemed interesting. He reminded Theo of a puppy, the way he bounced left and right, knelt down to inspect rocks or stopped to take a look at the map. When asked about it, he repeated the same lament, that Ferguson might have found something between the mission and the village and it was worth looking out. It was wearing Theo and his men down because they were slowly marching forward. They all were too impatient for that. “Can you not?” He, therefore, hissed at Liam when the guy inspected some carvings in an old tree. “I had planned on reaching the village today!” Dunbar never reacted and instead ran his fingers over the cravings. “Blessed by the gods, cursed by a human. Found their demise by the hands of their own flesh and blood,” he muttered and rounded the tree. Theo frowned. “What?” “I am translating what’s carved in here,” Liam replied. “Greed and envy…a family tragedy.” “If you’re done with your jungle soap opera I’d like to continue walking.” Theo checked his own map and found they were not as far as he had thought they would be during that time of the day. All thanks to the dumb puppy trapped inside a human body. Burwell and Donovan had already walked past them and waited for them a few feet ahead. “Already told you, I couldn’t care less what you want!”

Maybe it was the heat or that he was generally annoyed with babysitting a twenty-something brat whose mom had crossed paths with Vera in the past but Theo snapped. He strode over to the guy, grabbed him by the bag, and dragged Liam after himself like a stubborn mule. Liam shrieked and Theo felt him stemming his feet to the ground and trying to resist getting dragged. And then he suddenly felt a grip on his arm and was thrown to the floor in a totally surprising judo throw. He landed in the dirt and then Liam pinned him down while he straddled Theo. “I already told you I don’t like you touching me. Leave it!” Theo glared at the younger man and used a quick moment where Liam didn’t pay that much attention to rolling them around. Now he pinned the other. “Then move your ass and don’t stop every two minutes.” “You do know this is an expedition?” Liam replied angrily and rolled them around again.

None of them wanted to submit and let the other overpower them and so they rolled around until they reached the end of the little uphill they had been on and both tumbled down. It created separation between the two fighting men but Theo would have liked it better if he landed on his own two feet instead of on his back. He groaned and Liam next to him let out a similar sound. He had landed on his front and Theo sincerely hoped he had hurt himself. Served him right for being the idiotic brat that he was. He sat up and surveyed their current position. While it wasn’t that high, the walls of the little uphill they fell down were made from massive stone and he doubted they would manage to get their hiking axes into it. Theo still got to his feet and stepped closer to try it. He had been right, it didn’t work.

“Are you happy now?” Theo looked over his shoulder when he was spoken to. Liam had sat up too and looked like he was pouting while he glanced up the stone walls. “Me? You’re the one to blame for this debacle!” “Am not. You began to drag me.” Liam got to his feet and dusted his pants off. Then he glanced around. There was a small path they would have to follow because climbing up was not an option. “Theo?” His walkie-talkie crackled and Bullwell called out for him. Theo grabbed the device. “We’re fine, we just fell and now have to find a way up again.” “Shit,” Burwell cursed and said exactly what Theo was thinking. “It’s alright, you continue walking towards the village; we will join you later.” No use in them waiting for Theo and Liam. “You sure?” Burwell asked and Theo sighed. “Yeah, just continue. I will keep him in check.”

He clipped his walkie-talkie on his belt again. Suddenly he saw something flying towards him from the corner of his eye and caught it last minute. It was a still wrapped small medical kit. “You hurt your elbow. Patch yourself up and let’s get going,” Liam just said and then proceeded to follow the path Theo had spotted earlier. Theo stared after him and then back at the kit in his hand. He didn’t get the guy. One minute they were at each other’s throats and now he made sure Theo had something to tend to his wounds. Speaking of: He raised his arm and turned it so he could see the damage. His elbow was bloodied but it was just a simple cut, nothing more. Thanks to Liam’s kit he could use a disinfectant wipe to clean it from any dirt and then put the band-aid over it. Then he followed the brat.

Said brat currently peeked on his map and frowned. Theo snickered. “Aw, lost your way? That’s unfortunate.” “You’re unfortunate,” Liam muttered and Theo laughed. “Weak comeback, brat, even for you.” “Shut the fuck up! I wasn’t looking for directions, there is only one path we can follow right now anyway!” True. The narrow path between the walls from the uphill was the only way. It was so narrow, they only could walk behind each other. Theo knew that as well but it was so fun to rile the other up. “You know, you guys always threat to shoot me but you realize I have guns of my own?” Liam asked and put a hand on one of his pistols while he glanced over his shoulder. Theo raised an eyebrow in challenge. “And would you? Shoot me?” He considered Dunbar all talk and no action so he kind of knew the answer but he really wanted to know what the guy would reply. Liam ground his teeth. “I don’t shoot people unless I have to,” he finally spat out and Theo snickered. He had been right. “Oh, the wannabe tomb raider has morals.” Dunbar stopped so suddenly Theo ran into him. He turned around. “I always had morals. Believe me, I know about my shortcomings and the things I did wrong. But I have some moral values I always try to uphold and won’t forget for people like you,” he stated earnestly. The look he gave Theo then made the hairs in the back of his neck stand up. Theo hated it when people looked at him as if they had figured him out. He wasn’t open and rarely let people in, not even his friends knew everything about him, and he liked the protective wall it brought with it. Especially in his line of work, Theo fared better with it. And to have the brat look at him as if he thought he found a way to peek behind the wall made Theo’s skin crawl. “The question is, do you have some?” Theo snorted. “My moral values are none of your concern,” he said dismissively and then grabbed Liam by the shoulders to turn him around. “Start walking again or we have to sleep in the middle of the freaking jungle.”

Liam even let himself get manhandled for once and walked into the direction Theo had steered him into. They walked for a while until the path turned wider again and they could walk next to each other. The stone walls still surrounded them but the path deviated to the left and they had no choice but to follow. And then they walked around the corner and suddenly faced a sculpture of six persons, all women. Every woman was engraved in the stone wall and the attention to detail was formidable. Theo let out a low whistle and raised a hand to stroke over the intricate forms on their dresses. “The artwork is meticulous. The artist even got the folding of the dresses,” he muttered in admiration while he blinked in the artfully crafted stone faces. The whole carving was larger than any human and went over the whole wall, it must have taken a long time to finish it. The women, Theo realized, were the same as on the paintings they had found in the building yesterday. The daughters stood with their hands folded as if they were about to receive a gift and the mother had her hands raised as if he was preaching to them. Above her head flowed an oval object with artful forms on both ends. Theo frowned. “Is that...?” “The Mirror of Origin,” Liam confirmed. “That’s the exact same form Ferguson had once scribbled down on his notes.”

He laughed and pumped his fist in joy. “I knew we were on the right track!” In a swift motion, he had pulled his camera from his backpack and took pictures of the artwork. “I found some notes regarding this family. They are described as blessed by the gods. Know what else has this attribute?” “The Mirror of Origin?” Theo didn’t even really ask, it was crystal clear at this point. Liam still nodded and continued to snap pictures. “So this family is what? The guardians of the mirror?” Liam hummed. “For now, let’s call them that, yes. Though I don’t think Ferguson ever mentioned a family in his records. Have to check this again when we're at the village. Have to check in with Mason as well.” Though Theo was sure the last part had more been Liam talking to himself, he could not resist answering. “Who’s Mason? Your boyfriend?” “Best friend.” Liam gave him an annoyed look. “Though this is none of your business. But I don’t have a boyfriend. And no girlfriend either.” “Shocker, no one wants to date the little Ivy League brat. Why am I not surprised?” “Oh, and you have a wife and kid to come home to every night?” Liam asked and rolled his eyes. “I don’t want a relationship. I’m good as single. I would be a great whiskey. Relationships are just pesky.” “Says only the one who can’t get any.” Theo scoffed. “Oh, believe me, I get enough. Men and women if you must know.” “What do you mean...Oh god.” Liam retched. “Dude, gross, why would you tell me that?” He stuffed his camera in his back again and stalked away from Theo. The mercenary snickered but followed him. “Thought you might want to know not everybody is as lonely as you are. Don’t you have enough money to buy yourself a relationship? I’m sure there are people who would love spending all your money and give you sex in return.” “That’s called a sugar baby. Do you know so much about it since it was your first job? Oh sorry, that would actually mean you’re pretty. And you’re not.” Okay, that little bastard could call him names all he wanted but he was not allowed to insult Theo’s looks. Theo knew he was pretty, okay? He shoved Liam in retaliation. “Fucker! I am attractive!” “Meh,” Liam said and made a vague hand movement. “I’ve seen better.”

Theo scoffed and decided to change the topic. “Well, what’s your plan? I’m sure your little brain is already rattling with the newfound information. Let me tell you in advance, if you continue stopping every two minutes to inspect something, I will drag you to the village by your hair if I must. You’re slow.” “I’m detailed,” Liam defended himself. “Brat, even a turtle moves faster than you. And turtles don’t move fast.” Liam just scoffed. “I traveled to Peru before and I already was on the track to find the mirror. Only to learn that Ferguson lied for whatever reason. Looking back at my expedition, I neglected so many things that now I’m double as detailed and now I want to turn every stone. If this is too slow for you, fine, leave me behind. I’m sure Vera will understand.”

Theo wanted to agree, take the easy way out and just leave him be. Liam had offered it himself, Theo just could take it. But he set his jaw. “I can’t.” “Why not? I’m used to working alone and I can always meet Insight later at the village. I surely don’t need three bodyguards. I’m better off working alone anyway.” “Vera won’t like it.” Liam glanced at him and again Theo felt like the other was able to see right through him. It probably was the blue of his eyes, that made him seem deeper than he actually was. Because if you asked Theo, that guy was as shallow as a kiddie pool. “She has a good grip on you all. Dare I say you are afraid of her? Why is that? That woman doesn’t even carry a gun.” “She does. In her boot. A tiny pistol but she can shoot you with it,” Theo shared with Liam. “Listen, she is the boss. I’m aware you are not familiar with how an organization works but we have a hierarchy. She is our boss so we do as he says. And she gave my team and myself the order to accompany you. Trust me, I would love to leave you here, in the middle of the jungle, but she would freak out. You’re not worth the trouble.” “Hm.” Liam moved his head slightly while he pondered on it then he just began walking again. Theo blinked. He honestly had expected the younger to argue once more.

When Theo finally walked up to him again, Liam fiddled with his map again. “The jungle mission is here, the village there. We are somewhere in this area I think and there was the building we almost drowned in.” He marked the points on the map. “Our usual route would have been there but now I think....” Theo glanced over at the map and then looked around. “I see a mountain in the distance. With our usual route, we would have rounded it from the right but now we might have a chance to round it from the left. It might even save us some time,” he realized and now it was his turn to point at the map. Liam nodded. “We could even be faster than your two friends.” “Already told you they’re not my friends, we just work together.” “How could I forget that? The big guy doesn’t have friends, right.” Theo really didn’t like how cheeky the other was. And his only way of retaliation was to either snark back or shove him. Which he did now again. Liam stumbled and hissed. Theo grinned. It was childish but the guy had started it all so Theo saw no use in being the bigger person.

The brat now ducked under a tree trunk growing over the path they were on and right when Theo followed him, he heard a shriek. It was on impulse that Theo reached out and grabbed the other by his backpack and pulled him back. It saved Liam from tumbling down yet another uphill. This time, however, his fall would have been more hurtful cause this declension was bold but even worse, on the bottom of the uphill rusty spears soared from the muddy ground. Dunbar would have been Swiss Cheese after tumbling down. He now peaked over the ledge and breathed heavily. “Shit.” “Indeed,” Theo confirmed and let Liam go after he was sure the other was standing safely on his own two feet. “Can you be a bit more careful?” “How was I suppose to know the path would narrow even more after ducking under a tree trunk?” “We’re in the motherfucking jungle. Every step could be our last.” He slipped past Liam, careful to stay away as far from the ledge as possible. “Anyway, thanks,” Dunbar mumbled behind him and Theo shrugged. “Don’t get soft on me now. Let’s get going.” He heard Liam shuffling behind him and then how he followed. Good. At least, he didn’t feel the need to discuss this now and they could continue their path. Theo didn’t know what waiting for them around the next curve but he had to be prepared for everything. Wild animals, deadly traps, the whole nine yards. And again he hoped Dunbar would be more action than talk when it came to firing guns. Theo was still not very convinced the guy could handle himself in a fight. So far he might have managed to get them out of a trap he led them into in the first place and ran away from a jaguar but that about was it. In Theo’s book, Dum-bar had been just lucky.

Crumbled walls from an old building, covered with plants and moss and worn down by weather and time appeared in front of him. Theo marched through some smaller bushes and they stood in the inner yard of the building. A roofed corridor had been built all around the atrium, some parts of the roof had already crashed down but it was enough to give Theo an idea how people wandered through it and enjoyed the plants inside the atrium probably. Right in the middle of it stood a beautifully crafted stature, again made from stone, and the details were impressive again. Various vessels in front of the statue held various treasures; from gems and colorful stones to gold, everything was there. It almost looked like it had been a place of worship. “Was this a temple? If yes, what kind of goddess was she?” Theo stepped to the statue and examined her stony face. “Not a temple for a god but a sacred place indeed.” Liam stepped next to Theo. “The people around must have worshiped her. And you know who that is? The mother of the family we already encountered. Watch this.” He held up his camera where he had the pictures he had taken earlier on display. He was right, the same facial features. Theo looked up at the statue again and once more marveled at the details of face and dress. Even the hair was meticulously worked so you saw single strands. The mother held bother hands up, palms facing the sky, and smiled kindly at anyone approaching her statue. “Hey, do you see that?” Theo nudged Liam. “The stone on her left hand looks a little off. It’s not the exact same color as the rest of the statue.” Liam glanced up and pursed his lips. And then he held out his own hand for Theo to take. When the older just stared at him, he looked at Theo and then rolled his eyes.

“Stop looking at me like I proposed to you. I don’t want to hold hands with you but I need a hold,” he mumbled. When Theo still reacted too slowly for Dunbar’s liking, he groaned and grabbed Theo’s hand. He put his foot on the statue’s leg and then pushed himself up. Due to the hold he had on Theo, it was easier for him. “Excuse me, what are you doing? You can’t climb an old statue. Don’t you have any respect?” Theo hissed. He had done a lot of things to ancient artifacts but he never used one as a personal climbing wall. “Relax,” Liam just said and continued climbing until he reached the statue’s hand. He tilted his head and then felt around before he pressed down on the hand in a handshake. The hand moved slightly under the light pressure and suddenly snapped off to reveal a rolled document hidden in a cavity inside her arm. Liam whooped and slowly pulled the document out. Thankfully it worked without problems cause the moment he had extracted the roll, the hand snapped back. Theo snickered at the shocked sound the brat made but then helped Liam down the statue again.

On solid ground again, Liam rolled out the document he had found while Theo peeked over his shoulder. It was an old map to an area Theo knew he saw once but couldn’t immediately recall. Liam didn’t fare any better and he frowned. “This is so old, it doesn’t necessarily mean the area still looks like this, right? But maybe some larger landmarks or something? I count four temples. One, two, three. four. Some mountains, there’s a river. But where is this area?” Theo tilted his head and then he pointed at something at the lower border of the map. “That seems to be a village. Wait a second! I think I know this.” He pulled out his own GPS and opened the map. Comparing the route of the river, he tried to match the two maps and finally succeeded. “See that? The village down below on the old map is the village Vera is waiting for us in. And see those ruins on the new map? They’re literally right next to the temples form the old one.” Theo pressed a button and the map projected in front of them. Liam held the old map beneath the projection so they could really see both maps showed the same area. “But that doesn’t make any sense. If those ruins are already found, wouldn’t it make more sense for the temples to also be found?” He questioned. But Theo was sure he was right. “Not necessarily. Not when those old temples are beneath the new ruins. There are many places in South America where one building was built over another one. If nobody dug deep enough - probably because they didn’t know what they were looking for and had to dig deeper - the temples are still there, still untouched by humans since hundreds of years.” “That makes sense.” Liam nodded. “We need to get to the village as fast as possible.” Theo nodded as well. “Yeah.”

For probably the first time, they actually had the same goal. Vera would be over the moon when they told her what they found. It would perhaps give Theo a nice bonus. His co-workers could get lost. And again, Theo felt the tingle of excitement running through his veins. They were on the right track and had taken a large step closer to the Mirror of Origin. This was huge. And he was part of it. It felt unreal and oh so wonderful. This was the reason he had accepted a job with Insight. The joy of finding old artifacts lost for hundreds of years. It was always a thrill.

Happy weekend guys! I hope you all are fine and enjoy some lazy days! It still amazes me to see people liking this story. I know I took my time with the third chapter but I hope it was worth the wait. Writing Liam and Theo constantly fighting with each other and bickering is fun. And Theo being an asshole is just the best! I am having a field day with that one!

As always, comments, suggestions, and wishes are welcome. Share your thoughts with me in the comments.

♥

#thiam #My writing #Mirror of Origin #thiam au

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vanogla · 6 years

Text

human like you

originally written 2 years ago for a story assignment where two characters have to cross an unstable bridge, now edited for the internet ^_^

Rated G, the only swear word is “ass” at one point Word count: 1355 Pairing: Daithi de Vanoss

( title from Human - Darren Criss bc it fits them so well )

Wattpad | AO3

“D’you take all yer murder victims this far into a forest?”

A cloud of white appeared from his cracked, frost-ridden lips. His eyes followed it as it faded, but he didn’t stop wading through the seven inches of snow. He glanced at his companion- the other man’s presence producing the heat of a fire that Nogla so desperately craved. But he kept his distance.

“Nah, you’re a special one,” Evan said, grinning.

Nogla huffed and looked up. He may be taller than most, but those trees towering over his shivering frame made him feel tiny. The sky was dull and empty, and he wasn’t sure whether it was about to snow again or not.

By this time of the year, noon felt like night. There wasn’t much colour- everything came in shades of grey. If he were alone, the atmosphere would’ve been much more eerie. Not for the first time, he’s glad that he has someone with him.

Even if that someone had to be Evan. Nogla’s having a hard time keeping his crush to himself as it is.

He jerked in surprise as a clump of snow slipped from a branch above him and hit his shoulder.

Swallowing a yelp, he reminded himself he was safe. He shook off the snow and turned back down to his friend.

“Sorry to disappoint ye, but I’ll die from this cold b’fore we even reach the creek.”

Evan smiled at that. Following the marks his younger self had created years ago in the bark of trees, he continued to tramp through the snow with little effort while Nogla struggled to lift his foot every time it sunk.

They slowed down once the trees gradually became more slanted- unlike the straight, rigid beams they’d encountered at the start of the journey. A fallen tree lay across their path, disrupting the soldier-like stance the other trees were adopting. It didn’t look like it fell by natural causes, and Evan didn’t appear to be worried by its existence, so Nogla assumed that it had always been there.

The pair approached the tree and Evan finally turned to look at him, a knowing smirk on his face. Nogla knew he could not climb over it without help, especially not with his thick and stiff clothing.

He sighed, embarrassed. So much for keeping his distance.

He was expecting the Canadian to create a foothold with his hands, but to his complete surprise, Evan slid his arms around his waist and lifted.

Years of ice hockey- He suppressed the thought before it could fully form as he scrambled onto the tree, reluctant to leave Evan’s warmth but adamant on escaping his grasp.

Nogla sat down, ass freezing with his long legs dangling off the other side. When he turned back, he caught a mischievous glint in Evan’s eyes. Immediately he became wary, remembering the last time he saw that look.

His suspicions were confirmed when Evan deliberately turned left, walked all the way to the end of the tree, went around it and stood before him- barely containing his laughter.

Nogla made a noise of exasperation and hopped down, shaking the snow off his coat and smiling goofily despite himself. “What was t’at for?”

“Just a prank,” Evan hummed, still feeling euphoric. “Ok, all serious now.”

They continued their walk until Evan spotted a mark on a tree that was noticeably different from the others and paused. “There’s a ravine here,” he warned.

Nogla saw the rope bridge that connected the two ends and immediately tensed. It looked to be half a mile long, but that could just be his mind playing tricks on him. The handles of the bridge were rough, the ropes that served as railings worn to shreds from the harsh blows of the snowstorm just days before, and every year before that. The planks, made with wood from the trees in that same forest, appeared more resistant to the cold than the ropes had.

It looked stable enough, but Nogla was sure that if he fell he’d be a goner.

He peeked over the edge of the ravine. It was deep, but it wasn’t bottomless. The surface of the ravine was muddled with rocks and stones of various sizes, sides jagged and uneven. He thought he saw traces of red down there, but when he blinked it was gone.

“You go first,” Nogla said, letting out a shaky breath. Evan nodded, remembering Nogla’s fear of heights, before making a point to stomp across without difficulty. Nogla glared at his back.

Rolling his eyes, Evan deliberately strolled back onto the bridge. The bridge was swaying, but it was definitely holding his weight, and Nogla felt himself loosen up a little. “C’mon, it’s safe. Just don’t look down,” Evan assured him.

Hesitantly, he stepped on the bridge. He contemplated running right across to get it over with, but that thought quickly dissipated when the bridge swayed again and his heart leapt to his throat. Evan noticed his reluctance and extended an arm towards him, palm facing up.

“We can hold hands, if it helps,” he suggested. Under different circumstances, Nogla would reject an offer like that in a heartbeat out of pride. But this time, his gloved hand was reaching out to grip Evan’s before he’d even realised it.

They moved slowly, Evan going at Nogla’s pace. “My knees ar’ getting weak,” Nogla muttered as he risked a glance over the edge and saw that flash of red again.

“Knees weak, arms are heavy,” Evan laughed, swinging their hands back and forth. Nogla appreciated the distraction and kept his eyes forward, even when the bridge shook and they paused, regaining their balance.

It was terribly hard for Nogla to ignore how the heat shared from their joined hands brought a flush to his face. By now, his heart was beating rapidly for a complete different reason other than fear. Unfortunately, there was nothing else to look at, just more trees and sky and snow, so he has no choice but to fix his gaze on their joined hands instead.

“Mom’s spaghetti,” he replied, grinning, and they repeated it back and forth between fits of laughter. Once they reached the other side, Evan let go of Nogla’s hand and Nogla covered up his disappointment with a good-natured bump to Evan’s shoulder in thanks. They took a moment to catch their breath before continuing their trek.

It had almost been an hour since they started their journey. Rays of sunlight had begun to shine through in slices, partially blocked by the tall trees and casting shadows around them. The gentle, golden heat felt like heaven on Nogla’s face.

“So, Evan, how long ‘ntil we reach our destination?” Nogla turned to ask him, beaming at the sight of Evan happily enjoying the glow as well.

“A bit more,” Evan replied, smiling softly, “so just keep ‘er goin’.”

Only a few steps later, Nogla cheered and pointed when he spotted the still creek in the distance. “Yep, that’s it,” Evan chuckled. It looked beautiful from afar, especially with the streaks of sunlight beaming down, reflecting off the shimmering water and bringing colour to a winter wonderland. The branches of the trees curved inwards like a welcoming embrace, creating the illusion of paradise.

Upon reaching it, Nogla realised that there was a thin layer of ice over the creek, and was filled with joy when he saw small fishes swimming beneath. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, he heard soft footsteps padding towards them, and was pleasantly surprised when a wet, black nose nuzzled his hand.

Evan crouched down to the white husky’s height. He discreetly reached into his pocket for a treat one-handed while fluffing its fur with the other.

“Hey there, Joe. It’s been a while,” Evan said, his voice a low murmur as he scratched it behind the ears.

Despite Evan’s quiet voice, Nogla didn’t miss a single word of his whisper. “Ye named him aft’r our joke?” he asked, just as softly, eyes glimmering.

Grinning, a shy blush bloomed across Evan’s cheeks, and Nogla has never felt so warm.

#daithi de vanoss #daithidevanoss #vanogla #viotxt #words #no angst here!!#just pure innocent fluff ^^#...and banter c:

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theliterateape · 3 years

Text

Before You Go All-in on Antifa, Try Becoming Antifra First

by Don Hall

The laughter at my expense was not the kind of guffawing that accompanies a sense of genial ribbing but of Biff Tannen cracking up at the awkward geekiness of George McFly.

"What do you think queer means, Don?"

"I always thought queer meant gay."

Laughter. "No. Queer means refusing to accept the binary in sex."

"Isn't that bisexual?"

Cackles. "No. Bisexual is having a sexual attraction to both biological sexes."

"Who the fuck decided that? Was there a memo sent out?"

The evolution of language is, taken as a long tail concept, natural. When the Miriam Webster Dictionary enters finna (contraction. DIALECT•US, verb. finna: going to; intending to. "I'm finna make a scene") one has to grudgingly accept the fact. It is both the codifying of slang as standard and the pushing the envelope of common dialect. It can get confusing but it is as normal as language itself.

The term fragile is very popular in 2021 but I'm not certain the people who use it as a political label have an understanding of what it means. The redefinition seems to be a synonym for defensive but that isn't even close to the original so it doesn't play. Considering how loaded the term has become politically, I'd suggest we take a look at the pre-DiAngelo meaning and embrace it some before we continue forcing the evolution.

Back to that handy tome of mutual agreement of terms, the dictionary has a few definitions of fragile:"easily broken or damaged", "flimsy or insubstantial; easily destroyed.", and "not strong or sturdy; delicate and vulnerable".

A nine year old boy is enticed to have penetrative sex with his fourteen year old babysitter one afternoon while his little sister watches Joe Namath as "C.C. Ryder" on the television a room away.

This is either molestation or an uncomfortably early rite of passage. The argument can be made that a nine year old cannot give consent but that's not how I remember it. A more fragile person might see this experience as traumatic. He might internalize shame and let the shame fester until he finally explodes like a liter of Diet Coke and a Mento tab. An anti fragile person might see it as no different than playing in the streets when the sewers back up the neighborhood becomes a river in the rain. No stigma, no shame, no harm.

The anti fragile adult is going to have a happier life if not the attention lauded upon a fragile victim of circumstances beyond his control.

I was a latchkey kid.

We lived in an apartment complex on the less than affluent side of town. Mom worked several jobs and the step-dad at the time was a preening, disco-dancing domestic abuser. As such, I found myself out and about without a lot of safety nets in place. I played in a septic ditch just on the outer parameter of the complex. On the other side was an abandoned housing development and I frequently went over there alone to practice my karate (which I thought I was learning from watching David Carradine in Kung Fu, a popular episodic featuring a white man posing as an Asian man who saved people with his peaceful but forceful side kicks). I’d kick holes in the drywall pretending it was comprised of bad guys.

On the north side was, in my mind, a forest but in reality was just a bunch of trees in several abandoned lots. Whenever I ran away from home (a feat that usually lasted until I was tired or hungry) I would go to my forest and “read” the tattered copies of Playboy and Penthouse I had stolen from the aforementioned step-parent.

To the south was a playground for the kids in the complex. A rickety swing set, a teeter-totter, and a broken merry-go-round surrounded by garbage dumpsters. A cursory examination of the dumpsters—a routine activity for a vagabond third grader—revealed a coterie of used hypodermic needles, marijuana roaches, empty liquor bottles and fast food trash.

It’s likely that parents reading this have already crossed themselves or knocked on wood in deference to the fact that their children would never be put in these positions. That their children are safe.

One day, as I had exhausted myself from kicking holes into drywall villains, I headed to the playground. There was no one else around and I decided that I wanted to swing but not on the actual rubber strap. I unhooked the strap from the hefty S-hook it hung from and grabbed it like Tarzan on a vine. I started to swing around in circles holding as tightly as I could to the chain.

Slowly, I began to slide down until the S-hook punctured my white jeans and then into my scrotum. I felt some discomfort and looked down and saw blood on my crotch but I couldn’t disengage. I was hooked, by my ballsack, to the chain. I panicked and did my best to scramble up the chain but the S-hook was firmly in there and the chain just followed me up.

I screamed for help. No help arrived. I struggled and the blood started running down my left pant leg, flowering out like a Rorschach. It seemed I was hanging there for hours but the reality was more likely a few minutes until the hook, now greased with blood, slid out of my nuts and I fell to the dirt.

Leaping up, I dropped trou on the spot to inspect the damage but there was so much blood that I couldn’t see what was actually a small leaking hole. I cried. I squalled. With my pants around my knees, I ran home.

I smashed into the front door screaming bloody murder that my balls were bleeding. My mother, shocked by the sight of her 9-year-old kid, reddened pants around his knees, crotch covered in blood, and in high hysteria (I mean, who make among us wouldn’t be?), laughed out loud. A giggle turned into a laugh transforming to a barking guffaw.

The more dramatic I was about it, the harder she laughed. Out of shock, out of horror, out of knowing how melodramatic her son was prone to be. She giggled as she washed my junk off and saw the tiny hole. She giggled episodically as she put an ice pack on it and tossed me in the car to go to the emergency room. She stopped laughing by the time we reached the hospital and I received two stitches on the underside of my underside.

A more fragile person might grow up with this experience in desperate need to pay someone to listen to his trauma.

"My mother laughed at my bleeding scrotum!" he'd wail as the therapist did her best to stifle her own laughter. He might write a book much later after his antidepressants and struggle session with his mother commenced entitled "Men and The Mothers Who Giggled at Their Nuts" and an article in The Atlantic "Incels and Their Reasons."

An anti fragile person might see this as pretty fucking funny.

In 1992, I was mugged just outside the Granville Redline stop in Chicago. It was around 2:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning. I had just played a gig on the Southside with a big band known as The Outcasts and, still in my tuxedo, decided to walk the block to an all-night diner for some breakfast when three young black men hit me with a two-by-four and then proceeded to kick the shit out of me on the sidewalk.

They stole $14.00 in cash and a check for $200.00 from the gig.

Bruised but not broken, when I told the police that I was mugged by three young black guys and what were the chances I'd get my money back, they laughed. Not like Biff Tannen but more along the lines of Denzel in Training Day to a naive Ethan.

Later, when I met with Gil, the drummer and band leader, to have him cut me another check, Gil muttered as he canceled the first "N****rs are the fucking worst." It would have been cause for some sort of reckoning except that Gil was black.

A fragile mind might find himself going over and over the incident, blaming himself, blaming black men everywhere, blaming the cops.

An anti fragile mind understands that shit happens and you can't dwell too much on it because that means you're spending a lot of time thinking about shit.

The more time one spends dwelling on shit, the worse the place smells. It's like living with five cats. At some point, you have no idea that your apartment stinks like cat asshole but your Tinder date sure does.

Commonsense Media has polled some info out and it seems that the kids are wallowing in catshit.

23% of 14- to 17-year-olds say they "often" came across racist comments on social media in 2020 — nearly double the number in 2018 (12%).

"Sadly, but not surprisingly, the teens and young adults who are most likely to be affected by such content are also most likely to encounter it — or recognize and remember it," says the study, which was done in partnership with Hopelab and the California Health Care Foundation.

Black young people are more likely than whites to see racist comments "often" (34% vs 23%). LGBTQ+ youth are more than twice as likely than non-LGBTQ+ youth to encounter homophobic comments (44% vs 18%). Females are more likely to encounter sexist and body shaming posts than males.

On top of all this feline fecal material, it turns out that both actual mental health issues as well as the frequently self-diagnosed PTSD cases are dramatically on the rise. Where, in my formative years, comparisons of how many push-ups one could do was common, today's kids compare anti-depressant cocktails.

Under almost any definition, this is the behavior of fragility. Fragile like a Fabergé Egg in the back of a pickup truck on a dirt road going 75 miles an hour.

Surrounded by catshit, constantly seeing the injury you're looking for and thus finding it everywhere, always feeling aggrieved and victimized. What the fuck can you do except feel like you need to be bathed in Bactine just to survive life's never-ending abrasions?

First, decide what's more important than your feels.

Most people let their every waking moment be dictated by feelings—both theirs and everyone else's. This is a one-way path to thinner skin, gentler sacks, and a general inability to live in a world outside of an echo chamber that has been hermetically sealed.

Becoming anti fragile is the process of understanding that there are a lot of things more important than your feelings. Romulans are fragile; Vulcans are not. This isn’t to say you shouldn’t have the feels—just don’t let them make your decisions for you. It might feel great to scream at the obnoxious woman at the Walgreen’s counter but it’s smarter to mind your business and buy your condoms and Zagnut bar while shutting the fuck up.

Second, get better at feeling bad and keeping it to yourself.

Just like most people allow their lives to be led by the nose by their feelings, most people think they are somehow important. They aren’t. You aren’t. The way skin thickens up is by taking some hits and learning that there are far worse things than being insulted, micro-aggressed, or shamed publicly. Grow a sack and a sense of proportion.

Finally, as the Stoics go, assume you have something to learn in every interaction rather than you have something to teach. I mean, who the fuck are you? To most people, you aren’t anyone of note so suck on the bitter teat of humility and join the throng, kiddo.

As Jalāl ad-Dīn Mohammad Rūmī once wrote "Yesterday I was clever so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise so I am changing myself."

Be wise because clever people write for McSwenis and those assholes suck.

#fragility

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huvall · 6 years

Text

no redemption.

a chat in which hugo is meant to fling athena into the ocean and... well... doesn’t.

INCLUDED: hugo & athena. #NSFW, tw hugos abs probably @athenaofthesea

HUGO:

He hadn't had a whole lot of time to think when the Moorish's walked out of Catherine's office and she commanded him to throw Athena into the ocean like she were some rejected fish. As he looked down at the woman on the floor, Hugo felt a part of himself feel sorry for her. The same part that felt sorry for Josie whenever Catherine tortured her, the only part of him that could ever be deemed something even remotely similar to being human. Reaching down to grab Athena's upper arms again, he dragged her up to her feet and shared one single look with Catherine to assure her the job would get done. However, such as demons did, he lied.

Appearing in a deserted part of the forest where greenery met the beach, it was a stark throw-back to the area in which he'd first found Athena, the very first time they'd met. It was empty out here, nobody around for miles. It was the perfect place for him to begin the moment that he expected to be the last time Athena ever trusted him.

"Athena..." He began.

ATHENA:

The pain of the potion that had seeped into the mermaid’s blood stream from the wounds on her face and the pounding of her head from its impact on the floor had her dizzy, weak and disoriented. Now that she didn’t have to focus on Catherine, she felt her mind and body relenting.

Eyelids heavy, Athena didn’t move as Hugo lifted her or as she felt the familiar tug of teleportation. She immediately expected to feel herself fall abruptly into the cold Pacific waters, but it didn’t come. She twitched from the pain still in the process of subsiding and opened her eyes a bit more to see clearly what had happened.

Coming quickly to her senses, she realized Hugo was still holding onto her and as much as she wanted to just stay there and fall comfortably against someone, she had dignity to hold on to. Athena lurched and pushed roughly at his chest. “Don’t-,” she said, voice tight with anger and pain. “Don’t. Touch. Me.” If he let her struggling form go, she’d stumble a couple steps away before stopping so she didn’t fall. Her legs felt like lead so she leaned against the nearest thing she could find - a tree.

HUGO:

The reaction was to be expected, and Hugo simply pursed his lips together to stop himself from shouting back at her, eyes going way above her head to simply... realign himself mentally. He wasn't here to yell at her, though he sure felt like it because both of them had been pressed tonight. Both of them had certain acts to follow. Both of them were risking there lives right now.

By instinct, his fingers tightened on her arms as she thrashed but then after a moment, he let her go, watching her stumble backward and catch herself against the bark. "Fine," He showed his hands, empty now. "Happy?"

ATHENA:

Athena straightened herself up, getting better at ignoring the burning throb in her veins as she glared at Hugo. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say - and what was rare from her. Yell at him? Tell him she felt more disappointed and betrayed than angry, even though she knew it was bound to happen. Athena hated the part of her that persisted to hope. She just eyed Hugo warily with a weak glare and tried not to wince every time the pain reached a different area of her body. It was spreading, but the effect was also dulling at the same time. She ignored it and waited for some sort of explanation. She knew why’d he’d taken her but not why she wasn’t curling up at the bottom of the ocean right now.

HUGO:

The more she looked at him like she wanted to punch him in the jaw, the more Hugo just found that he wished she'd get it over with. Watching her nails bite the tree trunk and her brows angle themselves to full capacity scowl, Hugo wondered if dumping her in the ocean would have been the better option here. If she hated him, he could wear that. But if it was for the wrong reasons, boy, Hugo would live to correct her.

"Alright," He threw his hands up in angry defeat. "So I was an asshole back there! Welcome to a day in the life of working for Catherine, here's your handbook, here's you're free will flying out the fucking window — have a nice time!" He barked at her, turning away then and running a hand through his hair, tugging at its roots. "You knew, this was coming. You knew I'd have no choice and if you'd opened your mouth any more back there, you wouldn't even be here having this conversation." He spun back to her, angrily pointing at the ground between them.

ATHENA:

Athena watched Hugo, wondering how he could stand there and not show even the tiniest bit of remorse. Though maybe he was, in his own twisted way, by claiming he had no free will. Being someone who was trapped in the power of someone else for so long and having had no chance to leave, she almost pitied him. Almost. In her eyes, Hugo was far more powerful than a vampire and if he could rid himself of a job he didn’t want then he should have done it. But he didn’t - he wanted to work for her and be a vampire woman’s pet. “I’m surprised you’re not disappointed,” she said calmly but coldly after a pause.

HUGO:

"Disapp—" He went to repeat incredulously but was so thrown off by the response that he scoffed, squinted and then proceeded to roll his eyes at her. "Get your head out of your ass, Athena, I didn't want what happened back there. I didn't want to have to beat you into submission just because my payroll tells me to, I didn't want you to be some victim of Catherine's. Sure, demon's are inherently evil, we get a kick out of ruining people's lives..." He waved a hand in dismissal and closed some of the distance between them, eyes honing in on her seriously. "But that doesn't mean I don't care about things."

ATHENA:

Athena followed him with her eyes as he came closer but she didn’t otherwise move. “I’m trying to understand,” she said, angry but also with a hint of desperation. “I don’t know what to think anymore when one day you’re teleporting me off to Paris and the next you’re my assigned executioner!” Her tone and expression hardened. “What am I suppose to be to you? Just a toy to play with until your boss tells you to kill me? I don’t want that! And if you didn’t want it either, you had the power and the capability to make that decision for yourself - fuck whatever Catherine says. All of this,” She gestures around them vaguely. “Being her pet demon? That’s your independent and free choice.” She said, steely gaze on him but pushing at his chest with her index finger to make the point.

HUGO:

"And what do you expect I do, hmm?!" He rose his voice to match hers, vein in his neck straining as he threw a hand out to nothing but forest beside them. "Quit? Move somewhere sunny? Live out the rest of my existence making good choices and stopping to smell the roses? I'm not programmed the way you are, Athena, I'm not human! None of me is, not one single part! I don't feel things the way you do, I don't remember the last time I felt anything!" He put his fingers to his chest, gesturing at himself, even though he was wading into deceitful waters now. "I travel? I feel nothing. I succeed at something? I feel nothing. I kill, I feel nothing! I feel nothing, okay? I feel — nothing!" He yelled at her as if trying to convince Athena and the rest of the world all at once, eyes failing him despite the hostile expression on his face. A beat of silence passed between them where he had to catch his breath, falling back half a step and looking her over, no longer angry just... distressed. "And then I meet someone like you." He settled, throwing a hand at her now. As if she was just a bystander to the entire argument.

ATHENA:

She listened patiently as if her heart wasn’t trying to escape her rib cage, as if the yelling wasn’t scaring her, as if she didn’t want to shout herself hoarse as well. His words stung like needles because she knew they couldn’t be true. They couldn’t because she’d seen his eyes when something excited him or fascinated him and even when something genuinely angered him. She saw the look on his face now and she knew he felt pain even more than she because he tried to bury it even deeper than her. The effort of over centuries of life had taken its toll many times over. “I know you’re a demon,” she said seriously, taking a step forward. “I know you thrive on chaos and you deal pain and death to people who do and don’t deserve it. I know.” She put her hands up a bit to her sides, almost like a shrug without her shoulders. “I don’t care. The reason I can stand to be this close to you and even care as much as I do about you is because you’re also a lot fucking more than that. I don’t mind you’re not the least bit human or that you’ve done things in your past and present that would definitely disgust me. I’m not human either so. And no, I’m not a demon but don’t you dare tell me only humans know how to feel genuine empathy and self less compassion. I’ve seen and I’ve heard things from both you and others.” She didn’t sound angry anymore at all. “I may never live long enough to see you embrace that side of you and at this point it’s okay with me. The only thing that matters is you stop pretending youre okay being just heartless.”

To make her point, Athena tried to ignore what he’d said about her and how she may or may not feel about it. Unfortunately, it was getting hard now that she was done talking and just looking up at him. She thought she’d been confused before, but now she was absolutely reeling.

HUGO:

For possibly the first time ever as Athena came closer, Hugo felt the need to step back. The same way he felt the need to never call her by her name unless the moment was serious, or the way he forced himself to behave and not pull tricks on her like he often did with other women. It was because he was afraid. Afraid of what kind of meaning it would give whatever they had going on, and afraid that he'd become attached to it the same way he'd grown attached to Josie over the years, never seeming to be able to remove her completely, no matter what she did. He had an addictive personality, he knew that. His sense of will was weak and not just to Catherine, but to others like Athena as well. If she asked him to go, he would. If she asked him to repeat their goodbye at his front door, he wouldn't even hesitate. Staring at her and watching her as she stared back, he felt that memory resurface at full speed, forcing him to want things from her he otherwise played pretend that he didn't. Looking away from her and into the trees to mull over everything she'd said, his jaw slackened and his teeth could be seen grinding almost thoughtfully.

"It's not going to work." He decided finally, placing hands on his hips and pushing back the lower flaps of his jacket. Shaking his head a little in afterthought, he finally made himself look back at Athena and gesture between them. "This, whatever we're doing. It won't work." Although the words were cutting, they didn't have a weight behind them that showed either of them in that moment that he thought this was the right thing to say. It was his last form of defense, it was all he could do to try and get her to stop believing that he wasn't the villain here. "My job is to do what Catherine tells me. My job before that? Was to do what a guy named Logan told me. Before him was Leroy, before that was Elizabeth, so do you get it, now? This is my life, this is what I do. I don't know how to do anything else." He explained, eyes catching her lips regardless of the argument. He blinked and rose his gaze quickly. Pausing, he took a half step closer, lowering his voice. "If Catherine finds out I haven't dropped you somewhere off the coast of Australia by now... it's over." He assured her, eyes drifting down her expression with a sense of urgency and desperation behind his words. As if this was it, this was the moment they had to decide their fate as something vague and ambiguous, though very clearly hesitating. "For both of us."

ATHENA:

She waited till Hugo finished talking, realizing the way her heart was in agony this whole time had less to do with betrayal and she just didn’t want to admit it to herself. “You’re right,” Athena said, shaking her head a little but eyes not leaving his face. They drifted down a little, looking over the features of it because for a second she couldn’t meet his gaze and those blue eyes. “I don’t think it would work. There’s nothing about this that makes sense.” Bullshit, Athena, when did your emotions ever make sense. “I don’t even know what this is with you, but I almost died and right now... I just really don’t care.” She made the excuse in her head that this was a gesture of gratitude and the closeness and emotion of the moment. A weak excuse to let her give into the sudden impulse to close the space between them, taking Hugo shirt and pulling him into a kiss. It was almost like finding water in the desert at first, but she relaxed.

HUGO:

He’d be a liar if he claimed he hadn't felt it, that invisible tug felt between two people when the moment was put under stress and hormones were flooding one's system. He was ready for her to turn the moment on it's head, to say something surprising like she always did or react in a way he couldn't have countered smoothly. It was always like that with Athena, he'd always had to be resilient with her.

But the second her hand came forward, Hugo was ready. In fact, he'd been ready the second he'd teleported her into the woods, Hell, maybe even before that. As she yanked him close, his lowered his head in perfect timing to catch her lips with his, a hand flying up to the side of her face to hold her cheek and then tangle further in her hair. He leaned into her mercilessly, so much so that he felt the sudden impact of her back hitting the tree she'd been leaning against just minutes ago and him slamming into her too. She felt warm and full of excitement, the kind that was often felt after a giant argument that put two people in this kind of position. He came back for air sharply but it didn't stop Hugo from going back for more, eyes shutting tightly to block out everything that wasn't the smell of the ocean and the feel of her slender figure against him. One hand dropped to her hips, finding the hem of her sweater. In the back of his mind he knew he should have asked permission, but he didn't. His fingers snaked under the material and against her lower back, right where he'd pressed the knife earlier only this time, applying the pressure of his fingertips instead.

ATHENA:

What lingering pain? What scratches on her face she hadn’t yet gotten to heal or the pounding in her head from what could have been concussive vampire force? She forgot. The hard impact of her back against the tree was the only thing akin to discomfort Athena could have felt for less than a second. She was completely lost in the longing and desperation of that kiss and every feeling that came with it . Her senses were overpowered by Hugo - smell, touch, sound, taste. Nothing and no one else existed for a moment until her throat started aching for air. He pulled away enough to give her the opportunity to remedy that but it made nothing about her happy except her lungs. When Hugo collided against her again, she didn’t question the urgency or the feeling of his hand suddenly against her skin. Shivers ran up her back but she felt no desire to stop it. In fact, Athena was pretty sure the forest could have started burning down or Catherine could have appeared from behind a tree and she’d still feel almost no desire to stop it.

HUGO:

He felt her spine concave with his tug, her hips drawing nearer as her shoulders seemed planted against the tree behind her. Hugo read this as a good sign, particularly with the way her lips hungrily welcomed him back. As his hand smoothed further up her back and the other braced a thumb against the cutting edge of her jaw, Hugo felt the wind pick up a little around them. As exciting as wolves probably found it to roll around with each other in the dirt, Hugo couldn't relate. So as he locked her in his grip, he pulled back only for a mere millisecond to look at her before black smoke swirled around them and diminished them into thin air.

Reappearing in his house, specifically the same bedroom he'd had her in once before, Hugo leaned into her again to take brief ownership of her mouth. This moment felt nothing like that last time though, he thought as he let go of her only to grab at the opening of his leather jacket and pull it off of him and throw it aside. Hands coming back to her thin frame, he took her waist, finding that if he thought he'd wanted her before — it was nothing compared to how he wanted her now.

ATHENA:

When they teleported to his room, Athena knew there would be no coming back from this smoothly. It was different when she planned it with someone and prepared herself to be closed off. But she was so filled with emotion, it was impossible to shut the gates now but just as impossible to bring herself to stop. She ached with longing at this point - overcome with the desire to let it happen and deal with the consequences later. Every moment Hugo didn’t have since hands on her seemed like a waste, but she dealt with it by making it easier for the next one. Athena rushed to slip off her shirt and toss it to the side before helping him do the same with his own, just desperate to speed up the process. She didn’t know if it was just all that happened that day and the emotions, but it’d been so long since she felt a feeling of urgency and longing with this much strength. God help her.

HUGO:

Sometimes, rushing was just _fun._ Other times... it was a necessity. Whether it be due to time restraints, awkward emotional avoidance or the fact your boss might just kick down your door any minute and demand you slaughter the girl you were undressing — Hugo kept up with the pace that Athena was setting by tearing off her own top and beating him to it. Grabbing at the neck of his own, he gave a devilish grin when he felt the material rise up with too much ease, realizing as it was pulled away from him by someone else's hand that he was being helped a great deal. Knowing that she wanted this in the moment as much as he did made his stomach churn in excitement and blood rush through his body at a high. And he wasn't prepared to ruin it by slowing down any.

Reaching out to her, he curled a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her to him again. Lips finding each other once more, he marveled at the way the skin of her stomach felt brushing against his. This time, it was just the two of them. This time, he could have her all to himself. Lowering his hands then to start on the button of her jeans, he spoke for the first time since their argument. "Just for the private record — I'm glad you didn't get yourself killed today." The words were mumbled against her lips, air rushing in and out of his mouth as he attempted to kiss, speak and breathe all at the same time. Pulling open the fly of her jeans then, he made a point to pull them down a little before letting her deal with the rest and manifestly going back to kissing her fully.

ATHENA:

A hand cupped his jawline, the other tangling fingers in the hair above the nape of his neck as they kissed with feverish enthusiasm. His words sent flutters in her stomach, simply by the mere sound of his voice so much more gentle than it had been a moment before. Athena felt his hands fiddle with her jeans and finally she pulled away to undress. “The day’s not over yet,” she pointed out, kicking the jeans away once they were off. She’d barely registered the clock when they teleported in - it was some time in the evening now if she could recall correctly. With only the bare minimum of clothing on her body now, she decided to let Hugo deal with it once they got into the warmer bed and he was just as undressed.

When he was just as ready, she absently threw the covers off a part of the bed and pulled him close, pressing her body against his as she teetered over the edge of the bed. She was just starting to register the strangeness of the situation - but as strange as it was, it felt perfectly right. Being at death’s door put her in no rush to start overthinking life again.

HUGO:

Sharing a cocky grin with her as she claimed there was still time to put herself in harm's way, Hugo's own hands went to his belt, starting on the buckle. "You got me there, Ariel." He smirked, doubling over as he pulled the material off him and kicked his jeans aside as well. There was a strange comfort between them, one he couldn't pick the origin of given this was arguably the first time they'd done this together. Yet, Hugo didn't feel the need to impress her, to do anything uncharacteristic like he might with a total stranger. Instead, he simply came back to her as she turned around and scooped an arm around her waist, leaning in to kiss her again.

Leaning in and supporting her as he pushed her down, he was able to feed Athena into the bed, crawling over her front until they were settled. Laying his front down against hers, he took note of the style of her underwear, the casual comfort rather than anything dramatic or flashy that he was used to. Leaning down to kiss her neck, his nose nudged her jaw upwards, attempting to get more access to the skin there.

ATHENA:

The bed was a lot more comfortable this time around, possibly because she just felt much more at ease then the first time she’d had her back against it. She watched Hugo move up, putting a hand on his back and slowly moving it down as he got closer, letting her fingers trace the edges and curves of his skin. She felt her breathing quicken slightly at the feeling of his lips on her neck - excitement rather than what definitely could have been fear after the previous vampire ordeal. Her head tilted upwards, exposing it more as her other hand traveled behind his head and she clearly appreciated for the first time how soft his hair was. The whole thing felt like an adventure, and she was eager to keep exploring. It was quiet in the nicest way, only the sounds of their mingled breathing, shifting of bed sheets and what might have been cicadas outside. Maybe it’d been later than she first realized.

HUGO:

Focusing on the flex of a tendon in her neck as Athena arched her head back, Hugo's blunt teeth lightly grazed it, tongue touching her skin softly after he'd left a lightly bruised mark behind. Raking a hand down her side, his fingers smoothed along her thigh and curled behind her knee, raising a leg against his hip the more he explored her body. He counted himself lucky, not having envisioned this would be here he ended up tonight with her. Particularly not when he'd grabbed her by the wrist and forced her almost to her death. Now, this... this had to be pure luck.

Lifting himself to find her lips again, he tugged the straps down of her bra, growing impatient with the last remaining garments between them. Scooting back a second so that she could sit up, he speedily grabbed for the clasp behind her and warred with it for a brief moment. Springing free finally, he helped himself and pulled it off her, flinging it somewhere behind before pushing her back into the pillows, her hair splaying and Hugo's grin turning sinister once more.

ATHENA:

The quiet sigh escaped her lips at the touches and Athena quickly allowed the clothing to be taken off before she sat up enough to press herself lightly against him and hold the nape of his neck for a slow but hungry kiss. Her heart hadn’t slowed since they’d begun, perpetually in a state of disbelief and excitement. He was distracting enough to shut her brain up from logic and simply let her indulge in this selfish, hedonistic pleasure.

Seeing the ridiculous grin on his face she met his eyes and gave him a subtly sardonic, playful look before leaning up enough to capture his lips with hers and wipe the smile away. The hand on his back trailed further down and began to tug at the last bit of fabric left on him, now getting impatient again.

HUGO:

The grip on the waistband of his dark boxer briefs had Hugo smirking into the kiss, as if suddenly reminded that Athena had initiated this and he was just the one happy to please. Pushing himself up from her and breaking the kiss to look down between them, he attempted ridding the material with one hand. Struggling with the angle though, he had to kneel up and rid it with a tangle of legs and a final kick off the bed which took half the duvet with it. Caring little as his skin was on fire anyway, he turned back to the woman beneath him and lowered himself down again, settling between her thighs.

In a mix of lips tasting, fingers wandering, material shedding and thighs parting — Hugo got lost in the feeling of her. Sometimes it was simply the sharp angles of her long legs, the sweet curve of her hip against his or the smell of salt in her hair... Sometimes he simply just couldn't control himself, gripping tightly at her waist or breast, wanting to mold his hands to every arc and crook. Lining himself up between her thighs, Hugo broke the kiss momentarily to glance down between their bodies again, the attractive soft curve of her chest and his own brushing, the gentle pressure of him pushing against her entrance making his mind go straight to the gutter. His forehead pressed to hers in a sweet silhouette of the two breathing in each other's faces, clearly wrapped and excited for what was to come next. He hoped she didn't regret this. Not for the sake of his pride, but simply by the fact he was enamored with her. If he'd been curious about her before well then now he was completely infactuated. Pushing into her and allowing himself to revel at the sound of the air that rushed through her lungs, his own jaw slackened with a groan that fell out of him, the tune of it almost sounding surprised, as if he hadn't imagined it would feel so good. Only basking in it for a moment or two though, Hugo didn't hesitate to adjust himself above her and begin to find a rhythm that seemed more her speed.

ATHENA:

Hugo was a demon, and she knew what he was capable of, but in the moment all she saw in front of her was a beautifully tragic creature she could relate to. She saw a monster she could keep close and let ruin her life as long as there were moments like these. The desire to move quickly in their passion was staled, slowed down by the heart-stirring adventure of looking at him, feeling him and losing herself in the most innocent details. She explored the hollows in his back, bulges of his muscles, the ridges of bone structure, the softness of his skin and the way his pulse felt if she put her hands in just the right places for just the right amount of time. Fearless and uninhibited by worry, Athena met his eyes when she could, expression nothing but soft and hazy from the pleasure of the moment. She just wanted to see his face and all it’s details and how she never really noticed just how soft the blue in his eyes could be. They were once like glaciers to her, beautiful, imposing but cold and hard. Now she saw a cloudless summer sky and knew the hottest, blazing fires always burned blue.

It was her mistake she felt so close to Hugo then, and so amazed. There had been no time to prepare - emotions had been running wild and high. Her mental inhibitions were stunted by the near death experience. So underneath him, she enjoyed every pleasure, not just the physical but the emotional too. She enjoyed it so much, it hurt - sending her skin tingling and causing a tight, longing feeling in her chest. That was when she knew she’d made a mistake. Not in the act itself, but in the fact she was letting Hugo in far too much on a personal level far extending physical delight. Yet, in the moment, Athena couldn’t care less. In the moment, all she wanted was him in every possible way.

Her body responded immediately as she felt him enter, back arching slightly and a small, shaky exhale leaving her parted lips. Athena gazed up at him when his face came close to hers. Heavy lidded, she looked down enough to gently brush her forehead against his and wrap her arms gently around him while her body to adjusted. When he moved, she moved, hips meeting the slow beginning thrusts but welcoming an increase of speed. When it happened, her nails began to dig a little into the skin of his back and she tensed her arms. In the silence, her soft breathing was quick and heavy.

HUGO:

Listening to the sounds she made was like allowing his senses to be manipulated by music, ringing in his hears and swirling in his head to make him feel things he wasn't used to feeling when in this kind of position usually. As he met a steady rhythm, it wasn't long before he quickened the pace, attempting not to get too caught up and lose himself in her before she could experience anything. Excitement knotting in his gut, Hugo propped himself up and reached with one hand to grab for her hand, raising it by her head and pressing it deep into the pillow. Fingers tangled with hers, palms snug and forearms flush as he lowered his nose back down at hers, their breathing mingling before he took her lips again for a moment.

Hips grinding into her, Hugo's mind began to clear of anything else. Of all the stress he'd collected that week from the election and doing Catherine's bidding for it. All the blood on his hands this week felt washed away by the soft curve of Athena's lips and the gentility in her eyes like he wasn't some shadow of moral abnormality. With her, he didn't feel like anything, he felt weightless. In limbo. No longer awaiting judgment day for his crimes and sins. With her, he felt that choice of freedom she'd been yelling about.

Grunting as he reveled in the good feeling, his fingers clutching in hers and the others splayed in the bed beneath them so he could use it as leverage to angle himself, Hugo picked up the pace. Lips no longer having the idiosyncrasy to keep up with hers, his mind becoming a one-track plane, all he could do was keep his eyes on her as the pressure began to build and his skin began to sweat. He watched her expression, the furrow in her brows and the way her lips shaped themselves when reacting to him screwing her. He tried to make it build for her the same way it was building for him, free hand jumping down between them in sudden remembrance as he slid his fingers between her thighs in tandem with everything he was already giving her, hoping it'd get her to the finish line before he got there.

ATHENA:

Her fingers intertwined with Hugo gently, not firmly, and the tips moved slowly up the back of his hand. Her legs and hips moved up a little and that was when her body twitched with a particularly powerful stimulation, sending shivers down her spine and causing her to arch her back and a shaky gasp to escape her lips. Perhaps because Hugo had centuries of practice, but once he’d found the spot, he kept hitting it almost perfectly every time, causing soft moans to vibrate in her throat. She grabbed hold on his hand harder now, digging nails into the back of it or otherwise letting go completely when her body couldn’t focus on anything but the pleasure.

When the pace picked up, the angle was accurate less often but she had already wanted the increased speed and strength in his thrusts. She was on the path of finishing and every one of them sent shivers of pleasure throughout her whole body. When Hugo added his hands, it was enough to start making her lose sense completely. Athena’s back arched arched and her head tilted back against the pillow. Her muscles started tensing, preparing as the pleasure built, built and she could hear the blood rushing and heart pounding in her ears. Just a moment later, a wave of intense pleasure hit Athena hard like a stormy riptide. A small cry vibrated from her throat, came out muffled behind her clenched teeth and then left as a gasp when her mouth parted. Her body bucked once beneath Hugo as it all finished for her and she lay limply while coming down from the powerful high.

HUGO:

Watching her chest rise with the curl of her spine, her eyes shutting as she began to fall apart but somehow seemed to still maintain control of herself ( classic Athena, he thought ) Hugo felt his own muscles begin to tense in response. Watching her come undone because of him was better than any pornographic display he could pick up cheap from Alastor or Lestat. The way her jaw set and her body trembled with the comedown was just divine. So good in fact, that it didn't take long for him to follow behind. Despite how she slackened into the bed, he pushed a fist hard into the mattress by her waist and hammered home on that feeling in his gut. Feeling a burst of flame spread through him as if he'd just broken out in hives, Hugo's mouth fell open with reoccurring sounds until it was clear he'd hit touchdown. Pushing himself as far into her as he could, holding there and relishing the way his body vibrated in response, he let out a shiver then before relenting. Sweaty and hot, he opened his eyes slowly and peered down at her. At that moment, he mentally captured the image of her beneath him. Soft, disheveled and satisfied. The next time he ever had to put a knife to her throat, he knew he'd think back to this moment.

Getting a slow return of strength, he began to pull out and flopped onto the bed next to her, chest rising and falling and heart still hammering away deep in his chest. Staring at the ceiling for a moment, his expression read astonished. Then though, it faded into a grin as he turned his head to look at her beside him. "We should fight more often," He commented, glancing down her figure with a slight prowling gaze.

ATHENA:

She regained most of the strength she had before a heartbeat later as he started slamming roughly into her. Athena used her free hand to keep holding on to his back and she decided to wrap her feet around his waist while she watched him reach his peak and come undone right before her. It was raw, rare, vulnerable and she found herself fascinated by the way his lips shaped tightly and then let go with sounds of pleasure coming out of them. The way his body shone with sweat and the disheveled state of his hair after her hands had run through it. Every little thing.

She didn’t completely relax until Hugo had pulled out and fell down beside her. Instinctively, Athena flipped herself enough to rest her head and hands right against his skin, chest still rising and falling from the come down. Some of her hair fell over him from the movement and slipped down his arm to fall back against the mattress. “It wasn’t the fight,” she breathed out quietly, closing her eyes and relaxing in how warm and comfortable she felt right there. “It was your honesty.” Against the bed, she somewhat shook her head once. “But if you ever try to kill me again, it’ll be harder to forgive you a second time.”

HUGO:

Glancing back down to her and noticing her eyes shutting, Hugo took a selfish moment to soak in the vision he saw. Her dark lashes framed against her cheeks, the sharp angle of her nose. She was striking as she could be gentle, and he found that intriguing about her. "Well that explains it, honesty's not really my thing." He mumbled, turning his chin down to look across the room and away from her, a light frown on his face. There was still so much about him that she didn't know, so many parts of him he didn't feel the need to share or expose simply because he already knew how she'd react. After years of being honest, eventually, Hugo had given it up. Everyone always reacted a similar way and he was tired of going through the motions on loop.

"Noted. Don't burn down any more houses." He smirked, lifting an arm to slip it under his head, trying not to like the feeling of Athena against his side too much, expecting it wasn't going to last very long. Without the adrenaline of an argument in their system, who knew where they went from here?

ATHENA:

Athena expected Hugo would say something of the sort on honesty, but she didn’t push the matter. “I’ll try not to,” she murmured casually in response to his light joke, but there was just the slightest hint of humor in her voice as well.

She opened her eyes just a moment to reach for the nearest blanket and pull it over herself. Curling up on herself a bit for comfort and effectively not caring how close she was to him, Athena closed her eyes again and inhaled slowly. “I don’t care what time it is, I’m really tired… so I’m sleeping and you’re not going to wake me up unless it’s more life and death situations I need to deal with.” She said in a stern murmur, though her voice was quiet and a bit weak. Now that her body had no more adrenaline and dopamine left to spare from all the drama, dangers and bedroom activities of that day, she could feel the crash happening.

HUGO:

Turning his head back towards her, he looked down at her expression again, watching at it softened more after her words trailed out. She was already slipping away from him, he could see it happening as her brow relaxed and her shoulders rose slower than before as she inhaled. For once, he didn't feel the severity of her departure from the conversation. Watching Athena fall asleep beside him was, in fact, the most unrealistic thing he'd thought he'd do to date when it came to whatever it was they were ( friends? Lovers? Something more, something less? ). With her eyes closed and her mind drifting off, Hugo found himself smiling. A genuine, curious kind of smile that eradicated his age by years. Then, despite his promise to Catherine and his duty to his work, he closed his eyes too and dreamt of the ocean.

#c: hugo #op: athena #hugo x athena #discord chat #so i mean i named the thread this before i knew what was gonna happen #dont look @ me

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stillrecruitingrp · 6 years

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The D.A. has recruited Nicky to the character of Tracey Davis with a faceclaim of Jung Eun-ji. How long do you think you can keep fooling them, Tracey? That much filth is hard to hide, you know...

OOC Details

Name: Nicky

Pronouns: she/her

Activity Level: medium; I should be able to post multiple replies three to four times a week, with an at least cursory online presence more often than that. Sometimes I get bogged down with other projects or deadlines, but I will always try to alert via the ooc when that is/will happen so my interaction partners aren’t left wondering where I’ve gone!

Acknowledgement: I acknowledge the potentially triggering themes and look forward to the uncertainty and excitement of the roulette.

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General IC Details

Name: Tracey Patricia Davis

Age: eighteen, born November 21st

Ships: no specific ships; Tracey is bisexul but coming from a Muggle background means that she isn’t exactly comfortable with this and has so far managed to push her burgeoning queerness onto the back-burner (although that’s getting harder the most stress she’s under; it would be nice to lose her strife in a few soft kisses or warm caresses, but she’s afraid to let anyone -- boy or girl -- get that close).

Gender/Pronouns: cis-female, she/her

Face Claim: Jung Eun-ji or Maisie Richardson-Sellers

Desired Changes: none

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BIO Questions

This game is Canon Divergent after the beginning of Deathly Hallows. This means, if a character is not at Hogwarts in canon, that can be altered (maybe Fleur goes to collect her husband’s little sister and ends up unable to leave the rest of the children there? Perhaps Harry comes back earlier…but why, and how? All of these things can be addressed and should be in your application!) Feel free to be creative!

Biography:

Once upon a time Tracey was a cheerful, happy, awkward little girl growing up in Cookham with a happy, cheerful little family of mum, step-dad, and baby brother Bobby. She liked coming up with fun new ways to wear her clothes, leaving her chewing gum in places that would make mum yell, and listening to Sheila Chandra, Duran Duran, and The Levellers. Mum was a general practitioner, dad a grocer, and little Bobby just a bundle of drool and diapers. Then the witch showed up on their doorstep and told Tracey there was something different about her...and she didn’t mean it the way the neighborhood kids did. So Tracey went off to Hogwarts School, where her troubles began the moment she was sorted.

There are more Muggle-borns in Slytherin House than people suspect. Tracey is one of them, although she -- like most of the Slytherins who share her blood-status -- was clever enough to figure out quickly that this wasn’t a good thing, so she fabricated a story about her grandmother being a squib whose family didn’t want her going around claiming kinship over the embarrassment of having produced a child without a trace of magic. That’s not a far-fetched tale, so no one ever questioned her -- especially since Tracey played-up her own “disdain” toward inferior blood and her own Muggle relations. She was over-compensating, yes, and her housemates could probably tell -- but they let her fake it and they played along. That’s something else that happens more often than admitted in Slytherin House: because there’s such a focus on purity of blood, most everyone is eager to claim as much magical ancestry as possible -- even if that means lying about a few muddy branches on the family tree.

Tracey was never exactly popular in her house, but she wasn’t scorned either; she knew to flatter the right people, and as long as she grinned her way through the occasional barb about “magical dead-ends” from Pansy Parkinson or the other “elites” she wasn’t mocked too badly, despite her lack of familiarity with the magical world -- a familiarity that Tracey has been working to acquire ever since her first night in the dungeons, whether that mean listening to her housemates or spending her free hours in the library flipping through every volume on wizarding society and history that she can get her hands on. She also developed a knack for transfigurative stitching, which helped her alter some of her clothes so they didn’t look quite so dreadfully Muggle -- although she still stuck-out whenever she wore something other than her uniform. Fortunately most people pitied her for her squib ancestry rather than ostracizing her, and she founds friends who were willing to help tutor her in keeping up with all the important things that schoolbooks didn’t teach -- all of which meant that when rumor of Voldemort’s resurrection reached Tracey’s ears, she knew enough of what was coming to know that she’d more than a flimsy story about a secret squib to keep her safe now.

Fortunately being in Slytherin meant she had friends with influence and leverage in the Ministry, although she hesitated to trust any of them with the truth -- but inspiration and an understanding of the world she now inhabited gave her the solution: claim that she needed fake documentation to back-up her “true” blood-status, since the family she was really related to would have been furious to have a squib shoved back onto their family tree after they’d gone to all the trouble of getting rid of them. Tracey isn’t sure whether she managed to pull that story off, or if they just took pity on her -- but either way, she got the documentation she needed to be able to go back to school when the Muggle-born Registration Commission started investigating magic-stealers.

School Year So Far:

Tracey has never told her parents about the magical world’s issues with blood-status, or the way she lied about her family’s history in order to be accepted. She knows they wouldn’t be pleased; her mum and dad raised her to be proud of who she is and to hold her head high and ignore anyone who said anything nasty about her heritage. But they don’t understand how different it all is in the magical world, where no one looks askance at her ethnicity but so many of them would shun her completely for being a Mudblood. That slur seems to have so much more weight than any of the ones she’s been treated to in the Muggle world -- maybe because it cuts to the core of who she is rather than flickering out at what she looks like. Regardless, they never knew, and it wasn’t like any of her magical friends were ever going to come visiting to give her away, was it? Maybe she sometimes feels a little ashamed of pretending to be someone she isn’t...but better than the alternative, she tells herself, and keeps the charade going.

That meant her parents had no reason to hesitate over sending her back to Hogwarts for her final year of school, and the Ministry had no reason to stop her, so she went -- that was the goal behind getting those fake documents, after all! But now she’s here at Hogwarts, and she’s quaking in her shoes waiting for the day when someone finds out. She has a big, dangerous secret she’s keeping, and she’s starting to crumble under the strain -- as much from indignation as from fear, surprisingly. Tracey is ambitious too, after all (there was a reason she was sorted into Slytherin!) and her ambitions don’t include pretending to be “better” than she “really” is forever, not when she knows she’s better than that -- and the lie sticks in her craw more and more every year, every time she has to laugh at some other Mudblood to cover for her own ancestry, every time she has to put-down her pathetic parents for their lack of magical gifts, every time she has to help the Carrows torture some hapless idiot who can’t keep their mouth shut. She does as she’s told, of course -- a girl with “squib” ancestry can’t risk getting on the wrong side of Death Eaters -- but her rage over the unfairness of it all coils in her belly like hot lead, burning to get out.

But Tracey keeps her mouth shut because she’s clever enough to know that now is not the time to take a stand on principle -- is it?

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OOC Questions

Writing Sample

Tracey’s knees knocked together and her palms kept sweating, no matter how many times she wiped them off on the sides of her robes. For once she was glad for the cumbersome clothing favored in the magical world (even after six years, she still preferred her comfortable cargo pants or denims) because the enshrouding fabric hid her shaking as she waited for them to call her name.

She tried not to look at the other nervous, sweaty people standing with her -- or at the guards watching them, alternately grim-faced or leering. Tracey wasn’t the only defendant clutching a sheaf of paper as though it was her only lifeline out of a freezing ocean, and she doubted she was the only one whose heart was currently pounding its way up her throat either. They were all trying hard to avoid meeting one another’s eyes, as though afraid that guilt could be contagious. Tracey thought that was a bit silly, because the whole reason they were here was to try and prove that they had some connection to the magical world, so if they could show connections to one another, wouldn’t that help to prove that they were more magic than Muggle...?

Before she could follow that line of thought through to a conclusion, the sound of her name being barked by the officiant manning the door jolted her from her reverie and made her jump.

Shaking worse than ever, Tracey hurried forward, trying not to trip over her robes or her nerves. She could feel the eyes of the other accused Muggle-borns darting over and sliding away as she passed them, everyone unable to resist the urge to stare at the latest victim to face Ministerial inspection but unwilling to be caught staring. She did her best to ignore them all, keeping her eyes fixed ahead and trying to school her face into an expression of unconcern.

By the time she crossed the threshold into the courtroom, she still didn’t think she’d succeeded, but it became almost immediately irrelevant because her expression -- whatever it was -- was immediately replaced by surprise at the sight of the witch waiting at the high table inside. Her jaw dropped and hung open, as though she were an overwhelmed first year facing the wonders of the magical world for the first time again -- although the frigid, grim courtroom with its solitary defendant’s chair and empty encircling benches was far from wonderful. The witch presiding, though, was both familiar and unmistakable, if not exactly pleasant-looking either.

“Professor Umbridge?” Tracey gasped, her steps faltering. One of the black-robed guards caught her by the elbow and marched her forward but Tracey barely noticed; she was too busy gaping.

Professor Umbridge -- or no, not professor anymore, was she? -- leaned forward over the edge of her table so she could stare down at Tracey. “Miss Davis, isn’t it?” she said, in her obnoxiously performative fake-little-girl voice. “I’m very disappointed to see you here, I have to say.”

“I’m -- I’m not thrilled about it myself, er, professor,” Tracey stammered. “But I think if you’ll look, you’ll see it’s all just a...an unfortunate bit of confusion...” She shoved the papers she held up onto the edge of Umbridge’s table and tried to smile. One of the other guards cleared her throat and Tracey stepped back quickly. She tucked her hands away behind the long sleeves of her robes, out of sight, and crossed her fingers. Was all her effort to ingratiate herself to this horrible woman two years ago finally going to pay off?

Umbridge shuffled through the papers a few times, darting the occasional squinty glance at Tracey between pages. After what felt like days but was probably only a few minutes, she finally said, “Well! This does seem to be in order. I quite understand why neither you nor the No -- well, the family involved wanted your connection to them publicized...”

Tracey stiffened. “Please don’t make it public!” she blurted. “Please -- they would be so mad, having to acknowledge a squib, that’s why I never told anyone, my grandmother said--”

Umbridge held up a hand with a short “Hem, hem!” and Tracey fell silent, waiting with baited breath. In truth of course she wasn’t worried that the family she had fabricated a connection to would be cross; she was worried that they would, just justifiably, deny said connection and offer proof that it wasn’t true -- which wouldn’t be hard for them to do, Tracey was sure, given that the documents she had provided were completely false. If Umbridge chose to make her life “difficult” by “embarrassing” the pure-bloods that Tracey was claiming familial ties with, she’d make things much more difficult than she thought she was...

But Umbridge only said, “Oh no, of course not, dear girl. That would be heartless. And it’s admirable that you’ve chosen to respect the wishes of the family rather than trumpeting your roots for all to hear. It’s very polite, discreet. Better behavior than one usually sees from those raised by Muggles -- but I suppose you’ve learned a lot from your housemates, hmm?”

Tracey nodded. “Ever so much, ma’am, yes.” Like how to arrange for falsified documents showing that your utterly Muggle grandmother was really the squib descendant of a famed pure-blood family, for instance. “I’ve tried so hard to fit in, you know, to do my bloodline proud even if it’s not one I can acknowledge publicly...”

“And I’m sure you’ll make them proud, secretly. You’ve been studying hard for your N.E.W.T.s?”

“Oh yes, ma’am!” Tracey’s hands were starting to shake from how tightly her fingers were clenched, but she forced herself to keep smiling.

“Splendid! I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully,” Umbridge tittered, holding Tracey’s papers out for her to take back. “Good luck at Hogwarts this year, Miss Davis. It was lovely to see you again.”

“You, too,” Tracey lied, and followed the guard out of the courtroom. Her knees were still shaking but this time as she passed the other accused Muggle-borns she was grinning -- even if she still couldn’t bring herself to meet their eyes.

Exploration

TORTURE & HYPOCRISY: Tracey is used to over-compensating, used to deferring to her more socially advantaged (and purer) housemates, used to lying about her true opinions -- but now the stakes have raised and the Carrows don’t just demand that she laugh at their ugly jokes about Mudbloods, they want her to torture her fellow students. It honestly isn’t the spells themselves that Tracey objects to (maybe it’s because she comes from a non-magical world, a world where terrible weapons of war are a fact of life that can’t be ignored as easily as the Unforgivables) so much as it is the fact that she knows she is their real target. And not just because she knows that her status as a “squib’s descendant” means she’s more susceptible to punishment herself than most of her housemates (and she’s experienced her fair share of the curses herself) but because the truth is even worse in their eyes. Sure, she doesn’t hesitate to raise her wand when one of the Carrows tells her to -- and she’ll readily admit that it’s been interesting learning a form of magic that relies more on emotion than most spells -- and while it’s not comfortable by any means to be made to hurt her classmates, what really upsets her is knowing that she doesn’t have a right to. According to the Death Eaters, she’s the one who really deserves to be tortured -- and no, she doesn’t agree with that of course, but she does feel like a hypocrite when she’s hiding behind her house placement and her documents so she can stay safe while she hurts somebody else who isn’t lying about who they are and what they believe. Is that enough to push her into taking a stand -- or is it more likely that she’ll double-down and work even harder to excel at the Carrows’ new lessons, over-compensating to hide her dismay and her secrets just like she’s always done?

OPEN-MINDEDNESS: Growing up in the Muggle world means that Tracey lacks the prejudices and presumptions common to wizaring children (yet carries several more mundane such viewpoints, of course) so for instance -- the Slytherin/Gryffindor rivalry? While she figured that out fast, and has certainly learned to dislike Gryffindor House on principle due to all the squabbles and competition between the houses, that’s all it is to her -- a squabble, mostly wrapped-up in sport it seems, and not some insurmountable barrier that she wouldn’t be willing to vault under the right circumstances (not that a Gryffindor would ever be likely to reach out to some Slytherin “squib’s grandchild” for any reason...right?). Even more notable -- the name Voldemort? It doesn’t actually terrify her. She’s a little rattled by it just because of how rattled everyone else gets anytime it’s mentioned, but it doesn’t have the same power over her that it does most of the people she knows. The same is true of the Unforgivable Curses -- they’re just more spells, to her. Nasty spells, to be sure, but there are a lot of nasty spells; what really makes the Cruciatus Curse so much worse than any other hex, aside from the fact that it hurts more? She knows that Dark Magic is bad -- just like she knows guns and nukes and bombs are bad -- but she doesn’t recoil from it on principle. She doesn’t recoil from any spells on principle, because she didn’t grow up with those principles and prejudices. This makes her more open-minded about what can be done with spells, or which spells are okay to use when and where and to whom; makes her willing to cross lines that her friends would instinctively balk at. Tracey has done a lot to learn the unspoken rules of the wizarding world -- but that doesn’t mean she’s internalized them all. Doesn’t mean she isn’t willing to break them all, even.

MUDDIED ALLEGIANCE: Tracey is sort of stuck in the middle right now -- to every appearance a dutiful Slytherin, far from pure-blooded but aware of the limitations of her own blood-status and loyal to the old ways despite her Muggle upbringing. Underneath that, though, she’s living a lie and a dangerous lie at that, constantly under threat of exposure and the inevitable punishment and incarceration (or worse) that such a revelation would cause. Maybe she’ll double-down on her habits of over-compensation, go full-out in pledging allegiance to the Carrows and Snape and even, eventually, Voldemort himself -- because what better way to hide her blood-status than behind one of those silver masks? Or maybe she’ll go the other way: fed up with living a lie, she could turn on the Carrows and her prejudiced pure-blood friends, throw her allegiance to the D.A. -- but would they be willing to accept a Slytherin as an ally? Who would she even try making an overture to -- and would she be willing to risk sharing the secret of her blood-status to convince them? If she does, what’s to say they won’t sell her out to protect their own skins -- or use her as a double-agent, in even more danger than she was before...or would she be? As a Muggle-born, is there anything she could do that would put her in more danger than she is already?

SECRETS: Everyone has them, and Slytherins are smart enough to know and accept that as a fact without getting huffy, like those goody-goody Hufflepuffs and self-righteous Gryffindors so often do. However, some secrets are more dangerous than others, and Tracey’s secret is deadly. The best insurance with which to protect herself, thereofore, is to stockpile everyone else’s secrets so she can threaten to expose them if they ever discover and threaten to expose hers -- right? It’s the sort of Cold War/Mutually Assured Destruction mentality that a girl who grew up watching Muggle news and movies in the late eighties would be quick to grasp as a solution to her problem, and Tracey hasn’t hesitated to built up her arsenal. Now that she’s getting scared, getting angry, she’s decided it’s time to start making other people afraid too -- time to make sure that everyone knows there’s a threat out there, someone who knows and someone who is willing to tell. Just a little here and there, things to embarrass rather than destroy...at least to start with. Just enough to make them aware, to make them wary, to make sure that if she needs to call in her marker (her blackmail) people will know she’s serious about it. Because what good is a weapon if you don’t demonstrate the will to use it?

#recruitaccept #tracey davis

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short-stories-by-alli · 4 years

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A Night in the Life of Ellie

This is an original story by me. Please do not reblog without giving credit. If you have questions or suggestions, let me know!

Warnings: Death, blood, mentions of violence, cursing

Rusty’s room was warm and familiar. The bed was pushed into a corner opposite the door, and on the other wall was a desk covered in journals and open books. Ellie sat in the old, broken office chair at the desk, looking over the notes written in Rusty’s messy handwriting. Any other person might not have been able to read his terrible print, the margin notes written over his sentences in a different color, or where he forgot a word in English and wrote it in Spanish, and vice versa. But Ellie could read is as perfectly and comfortably as she could her own. She read over his notes on Kai Kelekolio with her elbows on his desk, her feet tucked under her and her brow furrowed. Platinum hair fell into her face, her golden skin somehow duller with fatigue. She was so deep in concentration that she didn’t hear Rusty walk in behind her until he put a calloused hand on her shoulder.

“Is Takeshi in the room?” She asked without looking up.

“Yeah, snug as a bug an’ all. You been obsessin’ over my notes for a while, though.”

“I know, I just… I need to make sure we get this figured out. We can’t keep letting his dad run around killing people.”

“Hey, hey… don’ worry. We’re almost there now. We just need to get to the son of a bitch and it’ll all be over. If we can’t get to him, well… we’ll do what we have to.” She could hear the grimace in Rusty’s voice.

She turned to look up at him. His ruffled brown hair had streaks of grey, as did his beard. Lines marked his tanned face, making him look older than he was. There was a darkness behind his black eyes. “Are you sure that room can hold him? If he does have the abilities of an Okuri-Inu, we could be in serious trouble.”

“I’m sure, darlin’. Onnie put all them charms an’ barriers an’ such. The devil himself couldn’t get outta there. Besides, even if he did get out, I can take an Okuri-Inu. Hell, we’re kinda like cousins, in a sense.”

“If we die, it’s on you, Delgado.”

Rusty laughed, changing his flannel out for an old t-shirt. Ellie turned back to the notes as he changed into sweatpants, rubbing the scar on her face. It hurt more than usual. The bed creaked as Rusty fell onto it, and he groaned as well.

“Get some sleep, El. You’ve memorized them notes by now.”

“Rusty, I just want to get this case over with.” Ellie stood and sat on Rusty’s bed, where he was spread out with his arms behind his head.

“I know. I do, too. But don’ you worry ‘bout him suddenly bein’ dangerous. Half-breeds are generally all or nothin’, when it comes to the killin’ instincts.”

“You weren’t like that.”

“Yeah, well, I said generally.” Rusty made a face. He didn’t like being reminded of his past.

Ellie only sighed, tucking her knees to her chest and leaning against Rusty. He was warm and comforting and a presence that had always been in her life, just like Henri and Jezebel.

“I know, it ain’t easy. But we’ll find him. And as for Takeshi… we’ll do our damndest to keep him safe. I think he’s innocent.” Rusty put his arm around Ellie, and like everything else about him, it gave her peace. “Anyway. We better try an’ get some sleep. Who knows what state my guest room is gonna be in come mornin’.” Rusty made a face, his brows and nose scrunching up.

Ellie laughed, stretching her arms as she stood. “Night, Rusty.”

“Night, El. Holler if you need somethin’. Cut the ligh’ out when you leave, will you?”

“Sure. Sleep well.” Ellie left Rusty’s room, cutting off his light and closing his door. Across the hall was her room, barren and cold.

She yawned as she sat on her bed, not realizing how tired she actually was, but as soon as she laid down, her phone began to buzz. She glared at the phone, blinking until she processed the name.

“Onnie?”

“Where is the Okuri-Inu?” Henri was agitated; Ellie could hear it through the phone.

“He’s downstairs in the guest room. Why?”

“There’s been another murder that matches his father’s victims.”

“What?!” Ellie leapt from her bed, pulling on her jeans back on. “Do the police know? Does anyone?”

“No, only me. I’m at Sunset Park. The body is under the slide.”

“Right, hold on, I’ll be there soon. I’ll tell Rusty to check on Takeshi. Wait, why are you at Sunset Park?”

“Grubby likes the slides and monkey bars.”

“I-right. Okay, just hold on. Don’t touch anything.”

“I’m not an amature.” Ellie could practically hear Henri roll his eyes as he said this.

“Alright, alright. I’ll be there soon.”

An hour later, Ellie was standing next to Henri in the middle of Sunset Park. The moon was full but dull, and wind blew so hard that Ellie shivered, even after she had stolen Henri’s jacket. She stood close to Henri as he knelt over the body, murmuring spells and incantations. Grubby, the raccoon that was Henri’s beloved pet and familiar, was cradled contentedly in Ellie’s arms, playing with his teal collar and gold name-tag. The tattoos of Latin phrases, black lines, sigils and symbols that covered Henri’s arms seemed darker in the dull moonlight.

The body before them was a bloody mess. The throat was cut in a way that Ellie had never seen; most creatures left a clean corpse or no trace at all. She didn’t recognize the man. She wondered if he had a family, or if anyone would miss him.

Henri finally stood, dusting off his hands. He sighed, his pale blue eyes hollow. “Has Rusty replied?”

“Yeah, he said that Takeshi was in his room, asleep. Nothing’s been moved at all.” She pulled Henri’s jacket tighter around herself and moved closer to him, leaning on his arm. “Onnie… do you think Kai is back in Burlow?”

“I’m not quite sure. More than likely he’s got an accomplice of sorts in town.”

“That’s horrifying.” In Ellie’s arms, Grubby chittered rapidly, seeming to agree.

Henri glanced to the raccoon, about to respond, but instead, he suddenly grabbed Ellie’s arm and dragged her to a large oak tree that stood over the playground, pulling her behind it. Pressed against the tree and under Henri’s chest, Ellie could hear crunching leaves and heavy footfalls, as well as Henri’s rapidly-beating heart. Grubby squirmed out of her arms and silently took to Henri’s shoulders. Ellie craned her neck to look up at Henri, but he held a finger over his lips. His face didn’t usually betray much expression, but now his eyes were wide with fear. His body shielded hers, pressing closer as he peered around the huge old tree.

“Damn. Kai did a number on this one.” The voice was low and gruff, sounding as if it belonged to an older man. There was a dull thud. “Take a look at this monster.”

A second voice, even lower than the first, sighed. “He always does. Was he only passing through tonight?”

The fist voice spoke again. “Yeah, I think so. On his way to Virginia or something.” Leaves crunched. “Come on. Let’s go before someone sees us.”

Ellie tried to peek around the tree, her hands gripping to Henri’s shirt, but she couldn’t move without making noise. The second voice gave no reply, but two pairs of footfalls sounded over the leaves until they heard no more. Ellie guessed that they stepped onto the parking lot that led out to Western Boulevard, but she couldn’t be sure. Grubby, however, leapt onto the tree and skittered up into the branches. He was silent before giving a sharp bark.

Henri stayed where he was. His eyes were hard and his jaw was set, and Ellie could feel his body shaking slightly.

“Onnie…”

“He was here.” He took a step back from Ellie, his eyes ghostly. “El, that bastard was here. While we were fucking around with his goddamn son, he was here.”

“There’s no way we could’ve known that.”

“El, he could’ve gone after you or Rusty. He killed that man.” Henri began to pace, more agitated than Ellie had ever seen. Grubby climbed down the tree and curled onto Ellie’s shoulder, watching Henri with her.

“I-I know. Come on, let’s get back to the shop. We can talk more there, but we don’t know if those men are coming back or not.” Ellie reached forward, grasping Henri’s cold hand in her own. He stopped and looked at her before giving a small nod. The pain behind his eyes was heartbreaking, but she drew herself up and led him to the truck.

In all the years that Ellie had known Henri, he’d been calm and wise. She supposed that after four hundred years of being alive, one would be. He had always been there to patch up her wounds or to make her a cup of tea. Countless nights had been spent with him, Rusty and Jezebel laughing and researching local cases. When the killings started, Henri had changed. He had always been gloomy and reserved, but he became sullen and prone to anger. When she could, Ellie liked to stay at his house, but lately she felt as though she was being pushed further and further away.

When they reached the shop, she unlocked the doors with her key and started upstairs. She looked back at Henri, who had Grubby on his shoulder. “Would you like me to make you some tea?”

“No, no. You always burn it.” Henri closed the stairway door behind him and sat on the couch, giving a tired smile he reserved for her. “I’ll make some later.”

“I do not. You’re just picky.” She sat beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder. His jacket was still around her, and she had no intention of giving it back.

“Where’s Jezebel?”

“Her house. I didn’t want to wake her; she hasn’t slept for days because of all this.” Henri’s voice was quiet. There was something else wrong.

“I see. She works hard.”

Henri didn’t respond, his mind obviously elsewhere. Ellie sighed and curled her fingers through his, feeling the callouses and scars that he’d received as a reward for his centuries of being alive. Henri leaned back into the cushions, and soon enough, the two gave into their exhaustion and slipped into an uneasy sleep, curled around one another.

#short story #OCs #original #HenriTownsend #EllieMoss #grubby #Takeshi Ito #RustyDelgado

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messrsmoonyandpadss · 7 years

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Tell Me, Do You Know What Pulls The Hogwarts’ Carriages? - A Remus Lupin Drabble

[A/N: Celebratory 300 follower mark drabble, yey! I hope you enjoy this one! Although, fair warning, Fenrir is in this one which makes it a bit violent. T.Ws are the following: death, violence and blood. (Oh and Fenrir is actually based on TT’s Fenrir (find them at asktheboywholived if you wanna check it out) Thank you! ]

It was the 28th of August of 1977 and Remus was ready to go to Hogwarts and live his last year of school. He had already gone to Diagon Alley to buy his books and new robes and everything else he would need. He had packed all his belongings. The only thing that was left to do was to go through August’s full moon which took place that night.

Due to the war and his father’s fears their fireplace was closed and since he and his friends were all still waiting on their Apparating licenses, Remus would have to endure the night by himself. Their house was in the middle of the woods, which brought back a lot of childhood memories, not all were as happy as Remus wished but he would survive another night there.

The sun was still high when Remus kissed his mother’s forehead and assured her he would be fine before leaving the house and into the woods. He wanted to get far away from the house, and any hiking paths there were around.

Half way through his walk Remus had already taken his sweater off. Why didn’t he go on runs with James and Sirius again? Oh right, because exercise sucks.

Remus was still walking when he started hearing something. It was like an annoying buzz from a fly. Remus tried to wave off the fly, almost slapping himself flat on the face when the buzz wasn’t dissipating. “Stupid fly, where are you?” He growled and looked around, there was no bug in sight.

The realisation hit Remus and he felt the blood drain from his face. There was someone in the woods. And whoever they were they were being attacked. Remus could hear the faint screech and screams coming from a girl asking for help. A quick glance to the sky and Remus bit his lip.

The colours of the sky were still of a nice summer sunset, but they were slowly but steadily turning into pastels and sooner rather than later the moon would be up and Remus had to be away from all and any living being.

Before Remus’ mind could get in the way and tell him off, he broke in a sprint towards the screams. Whoever was there needed help and Remus couldn’t turn his back, plus if he could hear it the wolf would too and the results would only be worse.

Remus let himself be guided by his instincts, following the sound of the screams, and as soon as he sensed it, the scent of fear too. He was close when it smelled of blood and Remus feared he was too late.

Remus couldn’t tell if he had been running for seconds or minutes. The wave of shock that hit when he finally spotted the people in the woods almost knocked him out of his feet. “Let her go!” Remus was able to growl out, even though his legs felt like they were about to give in and his heart about to jump out of his body. He hoped he didn’t look as terrified as he felt.

When yellow eyes turned to him, Remus felt the most unpleasant chill run down his spine. He remembered those eyes. He didn’t remember much from his younger years but he remembered those eyes. He remembered them glistening wickedly in the darkness of his room that one night, he remembered screaming for his father for there was a monster in his room but his father hadn’t been fast enough.

Fenrir Greyback smirked, a dirty, sickening smirk. “Well, well, well. Remus Lupin.” He said, amused. He looked slightly different from what Remus remembered. He looked more… Animalistic. It was like he was letting the wolf take over his human form little by little. As he spoke Remus saw blood dripping from the side of Fenrir’s mouth but the girl didn’t have any blood on her, which made Remus wonder if she was his second victim of the night.

“I said, let her go.” Remus groaned.

“And who is going to make me?” Fenrir raised an eyebrow. “You?” He added and laughed humourlessly. “Please.” He said and turned to the poor terrified girl that looked between them both with big scared eyes. Her screams had stopped, but only because Fenrir was now holding her by her throat, his long dirty claws, digging into her smooth skin, her back pressed to the tree behind her.

Remus pulled out his wand. “I will do what it’s need to be done.” Remus warned, straightening up and taking a deep breath, making himself look bigger.

“Put that stick away, Lupin. I don’t play fetch.” Greyback barked out another laugh and tightened his grip around the girl’s throat. “You do anything and Miss Hysteria here dies.” He threatened and by the look on his face and his past history… Remus believed him and lowered his wand. “Good boy.” Fenrir smirked again.

The girl gasped as Fenrir’s claws dig in deep enough to draw blood and tried to push him off, ending up scratching his face. Remus didn’t even have time to call out for her so she wouldn’t do anything stupid before Fenrir’s smirk dropped. He looked dangerous now, feral even. The game was over.

Fenrir pulled the girl closer, holding her close, her back against his chest and his claws threatening to just slash her neck open in front of Remus. “Don’t be stupid, another like that one and you’ll suffer a very slow and painful death.” He told the girl and as she whimpered and started to cry he grinned again. Fenrir took pleasure in terrifying others. Hurting, torturing, manipulating, mind games… He was good at them all. They were his hobbies. And as long as he was in control, he was pleased.

Remus took a quick glance at the sky and felt himself grow anxious. “Let her go.” Remus pleaded. “There’s no need for this right now.” He said and started going over his mind thinking what spells he knew that would be fast, efficient and wouldn’t hurt the girl too bad if his aim was off. But in that moment his mind was blank.

Fenrir looked up at the sky. “I could just wait. In just a few minutes it’s going to be you to tear her apart. That would be a pleasant sight.”

“I will tear you apart as well.” Remus growled. “I have enough control over myself to make you a target.”

“Look at him. Thinking he’s a big boy and he can come out and play with the grown-ups.” Fenrir teased. “I will kill you. I will kill you and pick my teeth with your bones later. But I have a better idea.” He said and then there it was. The wicked grin again. Maybe Remus should just run. Run out of there. The girl was as good as dead at this point, there was no chances for her survival that night, whether it was Fenrir or Remus who would end up killing her. Remus rather if he let Fenrir having all the murdering for himself.

“Tell me, Lupin, do you know what pulls the Hogwarts’ carriages?”

That was the sentence that Remus would never forget for the rest of his life. He didn’t know what to expect and anticipation was only making him feel more anxious than he wanted. “Wh-what? What do you mean? They’re pulled by magic! There’s nothing pulling them.” He was confused. What did Hogwarts have to do with anything at the moment?

Fenrir snapped his tongue. “Are they?” He said and then Remus had barely time to process the events as they happened. He heard a loud crack and when the pain hit he realised it had been him, he held in the cry of pain and looked up, panting and grunting only to catch Fenrir dragging his claws across the girls’ neck. There was so much blood flowing out of her throat and lips as she gurgled, her eyes wide but silent as her vocal chords had just been ripped to shreds.

Fenrir let her fall to the ground and the girl convulsed a few times before her eyes went glossy and distant. Remus watched in shock as she died but didn’t have time to react or do anything about it as everything went black after that.

Two days later, after stepping out of the Hogwarts Express, Remus finally found out what pulls the carriages at Hogwarts.

#remus lupin #fenrir greyback #marauders era #marauders #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction #mine #mine: drabble

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forbidden-creepypasta · 7 years

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Some Tiny Treats

1. On certain nights, the mortician in the morgue locks his office door and spends the night praying. He shivers when the scraping noises pass by his door. He never looks for the bodies that disappear... 2. A woman, all in white, with black hair, is staring directly at you. You see that the crowd pushes around her, but her eyes never leave you. A pool of blood collects around one foot. When you run toward her, she vanishes as a truck passes in between you two. 3. Everytime you turn around, you notice that it takes everyone else half of a second to start to move. 4. Children chant a new rhyme as they play jumprope. "One for blood, two for stone. You never know, when you'll be bone. Three for fire, four for death. You never know, you'll loose your breath. Five for sin, Six to kill. You never know, what's under the hill." 5. Dogs stop barking as you walk by. They all stare at you. ALL of them. 6. You can hear a heartbeat. But, whose, you don't know. It grows faster over time. What happens when it stops? 7. After investigating a place where a murder had taken place, you find a simple audio tape. Playing the tape reveals it to be a typical mix tape made by the victim's lover. However, between one of the songs, a strange sound is heard. Repeated playing reveals that the sound changes each time it is played. Playing the sound backwards reveals it to be a chilling voice that says: "Four…" Playing it again results in "Three…" Again: "Two…" 9. You see blood fall onto the carpet. You look up. There is nothing on the ceiling. Examining the drops, you notice that they are still falling. But they are falling from a spot about chest high in the middle of the room...from thin air. 10. Upon waking, you look out your window. You notice that it seems that the tree in your yard is writhing...until it bursts into thousands of birds: ravens, crows, magpies. They have stripped the tree. It is now dead. 11. Cats begin bringing small creatures to leave on your porch. Then, the creatures begin to get bigger day by day, eventually bigger than a cat should be able to drag... 12. While wondering through the forest, one of the members of the group spots a small bag dangling from a tree branch. Inside the bag are several human fingernails and teeth. 13. You go to a bar to meet someone, you take him or her home for a one-night stand. You have a great night, and fall asleep next to them. When you wake up the next morning, you find yourself alone in bed; your lover's internal organs are stacked neatly at the foot of the bed. As you jump up, you see that on the pillow is written in blood the word "FORNICATE" across the pillows... As you turn to run out, the full length mirror in the door shows you that there's a red 'R' on your chest. 14. You're experiencing little deja vues. And they are from dreams you dream the night before. And they get longer, and clearer. 15. A stray black cat guards your back porch each night. You can hear it battle something big every night right after midnight. And each day it becomes weaker. Soon it will die... 16. Your partner talks in her sleep. Sometimes in murmer, sometimes very clear. She tells you about things, things which happend here, bad things. 17. You suffer from an itch on your back, a really feisty one. But you can't scratch now, not now. Later that day, the itch is still there you finally allow yourself to scratch. Your touching a moist soft spot. Before you know it, you're scratching your bones. 18. Your reflexion in the mirror in the morning, while you brush your teeth, does things slightly different. You brush up, it brushes down. 19. You're at work alone, when you suddenly hear the copy machine start up. You walk out to take a look at what's going on and see several copies filling the tray. Picking up one of the pieces of paper you discover that it is a copy of a picture depicting you sitting in your office chair, dead, with your eyes torn out and your throat cut. the others are the same picture, but taken from increasingly bizaar angles. There is no original picture in the copy machine. In fact, the machine has been out of toner for a week. 20. You start to leave work (alone again). As you walk out to your car, you hear a cat meow. Or was it a baby cry? Either way, it's gone now. As you continue toward your car. You hear it again. And then again. The source appears to be coming from the dumpster near your car. By this time the sound is constant and in fact has been joined by dozens more. Opening the dumpster lid and peering in you are confronted by the horrific image of dozens of dead babies in various states of decay writhing atop one another. When you slam the dumpster closed, the sound of the crying babies abruptly ends. If you look in again, the dumpster is normal. 21.You are eating an orange. After putting a section in your mouth you bite down on what feels like a seed, but it is peculiarly hard. Upon examination, it appears to be a small black gem stone. The next day, upon eating an apple you find a piece of rope. 22.While you're calling home to check your answering machine, someone picks up the other end. The voice sounds familiar and answers the phone with your name. After a short and angry conversation in which the person insists he is in fact the rightful tenant, you speed home. When you arrive, no one is there, but your phone starts ringing. You answer it, speak your name and begin an argument with the caller. 23.You have been unable to visit your grandmother's grave for some time now. Every time you do you can hear her pleading from beneath the ground, begging to be let out. She says she can't breathe and that shes scared. No one else can hear it. 24.You check your watch. The big hand is on the 4, the little hand is on the 1. You'll be late for work. At work, you find an email in your inbox. The sender is yourself. Puzzled, you open the e-mail you apparently sent to yourself. Inside is the message "the out for watch watch." You look at your watch. The little hand is on the 4, the big hand is on the 1. You look back at the screen. The fourth and first words have swapped places. "watch out for the watch." You look at your watch again. Your watch is digital. 25.While eating peanuts, you crack open one to find a very small piece of a torn photo. As you open more peanuts, you find more and more pieces. When you tape it all together, you see a photo of a large hole in the wall of your bedroom. 26.In the middle of a terrible thunderstorm, a small dark shape is visible from your window. Despite the pouring rain and the late hour, a bird is perched just within view. It could easily be some sort of statue, except for the occasional twitch of the head as it watches you with one eye, then the other. Closer observation with binoculars or the like reveals maggots dripping off its wings instead of rain. Running outside to investigate reveals no sign of its presence - not even remnants of its grisly sheddings... 27.A small red dot appears in the center of your vision, as time passes it grows larger and larger. Soon, it will be big enough to see the face inside.. 28.The lights in your hallway begin to flicker. When the light is on, you see nothing. But each time it goes out, you can make out the silhouette of a figure. Each time the light goes off, it gets closer. 29.You suddenly say out loud you wish you were dead. You do not understand why. 30.You bang and bang against the wall...you scream to be let out...you know they can hear you....you've heard the new baby crying...the new family arrive...just like the old family and the one before that...you've heard them making love...you've heard them laugh at the dinner table... They must have heard you banging and screaming...yelling and pleaing for help..the MUST have heard you...why don't they free you.... 31.You look into a large hanging photo of yourself. In the photo, you host a large, strange smile and eyes that seem to follow. There was never a photo hung on that wall. 32.While visiting a friend in the hospital, you overhear a woman crying in grief over a miscarriage. As you walk through the lonely halls of the hospital on your way out, you see a small trail of blood leading to a corner. For a split second, you can see the end of a severed umbilical cord being dragged around the corner. 33.I can see you. 34.Masks begin to talk to you. Some whisper, some scream, others giggle. But they all hate you. 35.You find yourself in the middle of an old, decrepit school. You dont know why you are here. As you walk through the dark halls, you notice all the lockers door's have been torn off except one. The one remaining locker with a door has a large padlock and chains on it. Behind it you hear something moan. 36.Only allow water to flow through the drains. Anything else will feed it. 37.you see a small glint in the shadows underneath your computer desk. It looks like something moist and glistening in what little light shines down there. You sit at your PC and turn it on. You do not see a start up screen. Instead, a single large eyeball in the center of the screen looks at you. As the eye fades, The words "Im Hungry." appear. 38.Everytime you blink, something moves. 39.Do not trust your eyes, they are against you. Go into the closet and shut the door. 40.Pray you fall asleep fast enough. You don't need to see it watching you from across your room.

by anonymous

#creepypasta #horror microfiction

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hamofjustice · 7 years

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I��m trying to figure out what to say if someone asks “Isn’t hating Nazis hate speech? Aren’t we/they both really the same if we say we’re going to hurt/kill them for what they believe in?”, because it’s a question we’re going to see a lot in the coming days. You may feel like if you “punch a Nazi” you’re saying “yes, we are the same”. You’re not, there’s a pretty obvious difference. The problem is trying to explain it to one of them.

The “abuser trying to paint themselves as the victim” situation is one of the most difficult ones to dismantle whether it’s a person or a whole movement, especially if they actually believe it and aren’t just manipulating you. They think (or act like) you’re the hateful person playing the victim card. The fact that they started it, and that just because you fight back doesn’t mean you wouldn’t rather have peace, seems to go unnoticed. They project their bullshit onto you as if their behavior is completely normal and something you would do back to them, and make a kill-or-be-killed situation out of nothing. Every time you fight back, they feel a little more valid in hating you and assume anyone that helps you is in on a conspiracy. If you don’t, you just have to roll over and take it.

Where do you suppose Nazis and other white supremacists get the idea of a “white genocide” theory? The idea that Jewish people or any other minority would want to take over the world and control/eradicate all other races/religions like we’re living in some twisted competitive game of Civilization?

Projecting.

They think the rest of the world would do the same shitty things that their most powerful and morally bankrupt members would do if given the chance, and they’re terrified of everyone because they wanna be the race that wins the game.

People pretty much universally accept that attacking someone for no reason is wrong, and self-defense is righteous and honorable. So Nazis make up some bullshit about how they’re defending themselves against the Jewish Conspiracy™ and now they can feel like the good guys and have an easier time recruiting people. (Kinda like how old America painted Native Americans as savages and modern America put a villain in charge of a country whose oil fields they wanted?)

I think a good number of Nazis or their sympathizers wouldn’t want to be the bad guys anymore if they knew and accepted that that was exactly what they are, manipulated by a severely misguided dead guy with a shitty mustache and an ego problem into believing in the same scapegoating and victim-blaming narrative that’s been told for centuries about the same terrified people again and again and lost literally a third of their entire global population to one hellspawn dictator only 75 years ago. I’m afraid of a vast rich conspiracy controlling the world too, but these guys are barking up the wrong tree as to who it is. They’re going after a group that is a minority wherever it goes, that for the most part doesn’t even have a home to run back to, if it’s even acknowledged as anything but just another religion.

But.. how can you make them see the light, if they assume that all the news they see is fake unless it comes from their leader, and that they are the redpilled defenders of real truth? Don’t forget there are still people who don’t even think the Holocaust happened. Like.. what do you even do with that? I’m pretty sure this post is only going to be read by people who already agree with me, and that’s pretty useless when you think about it.

A straight male white supremacist (not the only kind, surprisingly) does not understand what real persecution is because he’s never had to deal with it in his life. He thinks that people yelling at him for choosing to be a jackass (and having to read some Tumblr post from an angry kid who just took sociology 101 about all whites/straights/men being evil) is comparable to even 1% of what Jewish people or any other minority have been through. He thinks he’s Woke for believing that white people are secretly a persecuted minority that needs to fight back against the looming threat of “diversity” and “equality”, which are just secret codewords for “white genocide” and a threat to corrupt and erase the “master race”. It’s INCREDIBLE how detached from reality all of these alternative facts are. And you know what, none of this is a reach or an assumption, I’m talking about their core beliefs here.

Besides that, further reeling it back to reality, I think it’s ridiculous in the first place to ever treat an entire race (or country, or gender/sexuality, or even voluntarily-joined group) as if millions or billions of people can be a tight-knit hivemind where all of the members automatically approve of each other’s actions and can be blamed for everything a member does. That being said, it’s pretty clear who the problem here is if you wanna play that game:

Projecting.

If they’re looking for a race who’s trying to take over the world, hoard everyone’s money, and intrude into everyone else’s culture and gene pool, they should look in the mirror. There is a reason we call everyone who isn’t a white a minority.

I hope they figure it out soon before more people get killed, but I don’t know if they’re still listening anymore. Maybe a punch in the face is really all we’ve got.

I don’t know, just thinking out loud.

#charlottesville #nazis #antisemitism #white supremacy #nazi punching #i've been writing this for hours and i'm tired #long post #original content

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art-endeavors · 7 years

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¿ɹǝɔuǝds [ chapter i ]

Description : After the BAU is called in to investigate a series of disappearances in Hawkins, Indiana, they soon realize that this case is much different than any other one they’ve taken. While investigating the case of Will Byers, you are pulled into another strange dimension and Spencer Reid, your closest friend on the team, makes a vow to rescue you, no matter what it takes.

prologue chapter i

Gender : neutral Genre : fluff + angst Pairing : Spencer Reid X Reader Warning : events of Stranger Things Disclaimer : I do not own Spencer or any characters from Criminal Minds. I don’t own you or the gif, either. I do not own Stranger Things or any other Stranger Things characters. Word Count : 1595 Quotev Link : [x] Author’s Notes : Thanks for waiting a while for this update. Please let me know if this is chapter is confusing.

“Agents Morgan, Reid, (L/N), and myself will proceed to the crime scene. JJ and Garcia should also probably come with us. Gideon and agent Greenaway are heading to the police station.” Agent Hotchner's eyes affix themselves to a winding road. His dark irises trace the path past the horizon as he recollects the car that Gideon and Elle had driven off in. While they were setting up home base at the police station, the rest of the team was to examine the crime scene and discuss the case with Chief Hopper, a local police Chief and current head of the investigation. You'd arrived in Hawkins, Indiana only half an hour ago.

You glance around, observing the charming nuances of the towering trees that surround you. You'd have to go further into the forest to arrive at the lake. The brisk Indiana air of 6:27 am chills your lungs, and you let a slight shiver escape you. Inhaling sharply, your eyes scrunch up from the pain of the air striking your teeth. The sky is painted with gold and magenta hues, and it'd be a glorious sight if your heart wasn't pounding, sending shockwaves through your own eardrums.

“You alright?” Snapping back to the street, you turn to Spencer, who must have noticed your distress.

“Yes, I'm just anxious to get to work.” You give him a supple grin before pivoting to face the dense forestation that you and the team would have to navigate. Spencer doesn't reply.

As you and the other agents step through the forest, you remain silent.

The forest quickly turns into a path, and your destination comes into view within moments. A large lake reflects the bright sky and nearly blinds you. Most of the lake, save the side that you and the team approach it from, is surrounded by steep, earthy drop offs. You see more forests on the tops of these dropoffs and wonder what created this lake in the first place. The side you approach from is level with the lake, and you're very thankful for that. A man is already there awaiting your arrival, and he stands adjacent to a police vehicle. He looks as if he hadn't slept in days. His blonde hair is discombobulated and dark circles adorn his eyes. Your eyes scan the forest surrounding you, and you find yourself particularly distracted by your surroundings while he introduces himself as Chief Hopper.

You snap right back to catch the end of a conversation that Hopper is having with Hotch.

“So Ms. Byers, the victim's mother, has been reporting electrical issues?” Hotch raises an eyebrow, attempting to connect how this is relevant to the case.

“Yes, Joyce Byers is convinced that the lights are significant to what happened to her son.” Hopper looks rather exasperated himself.

Hotch turns to JJ, commanding in a stern voice that she contact someone at Quantico and report back with any significant information regarding electrical issues in the area.

“And head over to see Joyce Byers, afterwards, and get a statement.” He adds. She nods swiftly before striding off to find a telephone.

Before you know it, you find yourself at the edge of the lake. Spencer exists adjacent to you, kneeling down. His eyes flicker from the gravel-laden bay to the stillness of the lake. You inhale deeply, wondering what he's currently musing. Your mind begins to race; you carry on an internal debate on whether you should ask him what he's thinking about or not.

“Spencer?” His first name has always come naturally from your lips. You had called him that from the very beginning, and, despite what everyone expected, he never corrected you. In fact, you had heard once, very briefly and in passing, about how he even favored you calling him that over everything else.

“Yes?” He turns to you borderline alarmingly eagerly, and his eyes light up at the beckon of his attention.

“I was just wondering-”

“Hey, (L/N)! Could you help me out?” Morgan's bellowing voice interrupts your soft inquiry, and both your and Spencer's heads snap to witness Morgan motioning for you to follow him. His speedy movements display a sense of urgency, as you suppose they should.

“Yeah, okay!” Your shout comes out as more of a nervous screech, and you wince at how nervous you are about being here in this place. You rush toward Morgan, leaving Spencer gazing at your figure shrinking into the distance. As soon as you meet Morgan, he watches as he leads you to a car, determination emanating from Morgan.

You jump into the passenger seat as Morgan starts the car.

“What do you need help with?” You ask as the car lurches back before speeding forward. You swerve around steep curves and bends before you get the slightest ideation of where you're going.

“Well, I'm going to try to act out what this kid was doing when he fell in. As the arguably least mature one of the team, I thought you'd be helpful.” Letting a chuckle escape him, he halts the car.

You feign offense at his jibe, resting a hand on your chest, “Me? Immature?”

“Yes, you.” Morgan replies, hopping out of the car and slamming the door before you can say anything else.

Stepping out, you witness the rising sun making its course upwards into the sky. The forest below seems exceedingly minute. You make the mistake of looking down as well, your heart quickening at the sight of the lake many, many feet below you. The darkness of the water becomes all you can focus on, and you find yourself becoming dizzy. You can't imagine the fear that the victim would have been facing if he fell from this altitude.

Your eyes catch a glimpse of Spencer, taking calculated strides toward the edge of the forest. He seems so small when you're up so high. They narrow as you attempt to decipher what he's doing. You see a couple of figures emerge from beyond the treeline: a small group of children. Your eyes widen at the odd sight. Wedged deeper into the forest, you jump back. Irises vibrating, your breath hitches. A young girl stands, blocked my trees on most sides. Her shaved head remains pressed to the bark of a tree, and, for a reason unbeknownst to you, her figure alarms you. She's hiding.

“(Y/N)!” Morgan barks at you, and you whip around to see a small smirk spread across his lips, “did you even hear what I said?”

Blood rushing to your cheeks, you shuffle around before taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry. What'd you say?”

“I said,” Derek began walking along the edge of the cliff with you following closely behind, “we’re a twelve year old boy who plays Dungeons and Dragons with his friends after school. We’re on our way home.” He trails off, trying to step into the mind of your victim.

“Do we fall?” You ask with a tilt of your head.

“Maybe. Maybe we just slip. It could have all been an accident.”

“Maybe there's something chasing us.” You chime, immediately regretting it afterwards. The ominous aura sets in around you again, and you see the edges of your eyes grow dark. Something about this case really makes you nervous. You lose all feeling in your legs.

“(Y/N)? Hey, hey, (Y/N).” Derek's arms coil around you, and you realize that you're kneeling on the ground, the gravel and dirt surely staining your pants. “You've been spacey all day.”

“Just dizzy spells.” You cough, taking your time to notice the ever rising sun. The sky is almost painted entirely with a cobalt blue at this time.

“We can't have this. I'm gonna have someone drive you to a hospital and just check to see that everything is alright.”

Nodding, you allow Morgan to help you up.

Next thing you know, you're stepping out of the car, back where you had left Spencer. The entire ride from the top of the cliffs back to the bottom eludes you, and it seems that the roleplay didn't get you anywhere.

“Hey, Reid!” Morgan beckons your coworker and friend to come over and assist you. You still don't look like you've recovered from what you felt- whatever that was. Honestly, you shouldn't really be here.

“Yes, Morgan?” Spencer trots over, his voice laced with concern. His eyes glaze over you as he furrows his brow. He seems worried about you.

“I think you should take (Y/N) to the hospital, just to check everything out. I'll go to the chief and get directions.” Before Spencer can utter a response, Derek is gone and in search of Hopper.

“What do you think they'll do?” You ask, looking up at Spencer. You fight the urge to lean up against him in this trying time.

“Nothing too strenuous,” he coos in attempt to soothe your worries, “just tests, most likely.”

When Derek arrives back with directions to the only hospital in Hawkins, you're already lying in the passenger seat of another car. You don't really hear the exchange that Morgan has with Reid, but they both seem relatively calm, which calms you more than anything.

You watch as Derek takes his leave, and Spencer ducks into the driver's seat, placing his hands on the wheel tentatively.

“Tests?” You press in a voice as gentle as a breeze.

“Yeah,” Spencer keeps his eyes fixed directly in front of him, “They might ask a couple questions. Maybe draw a little blood; it's no big deal. You'll be fine.”

tag list: @harsh-skies

#ask to be tagged in later chapters!!#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things crossover #criminal minds crossover #¿ɹǝɔuǝds

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