#prissy rodriguez

[kadkadduwa]

let me be frank. i bring up people treating lacroix like a baby while sexualizing nines and ignoring some the integral parts of his character A LOT. maybe it's kind of annoying, but i think about it a lot because this (strange) behavior mirrors the way people treat white vs. ethnic characters in other media too. and by strange i mean dehumanizing.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Clarissa La Rue, the daughter of one of the seven butchers in District 11, brought them the best leftovers, sometimes even stealing whole carcasses. [her father knew and he allowed it].

"I haven't forgotten that Prissy took my blame."

Ethan Nakamura, the son of a medicine man, came to them when someone was sick or injured and took care of them using his best means.

"Perseus took a lot of tesare, but he brought grain and oil to me and my father... I am indebted to him."

Chris Rodriguez brought them stolen bags of rice and various cereals.

"Percy saved me from wild dogs, how can I leave his family hungry?"

And many others also cared about Thalia, Jason, Nico and Hazel.

because they loved Percy, respected him, and owed him.

Percy cared for everyone.

And so they would care for those that Percy left behind.

Because he's not here to take care of them no.

[wishjacked]

manny and his sisters! they literally don’t do anything in the story but they’re important to him anyways hahaha

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Benny Rodriguez

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You and Benny met when you were younger. You’d lived in the neighborhood your entire life and with Benny and the boys being the only kids around your house; and the fact that you were a bit of a tomboy in general, they were who you made friends with.

- Like most young boys, they weren’t too keen on some little girl butting into their games, but you were persistent! It took you a couple weeks and a whole lot of effort but soon enough they let you stay and play without any complaints. After that, the rest was history.

- You’d sort of always just been one of the guys. The main reason you were allowed to stick around was because they nearly forgot you weren’t one. You played baseball, weren’t afraid to get dirty, and never acted all “prissy”; you were the only type of girl they’d ever be caught dead letting into their crew.

- And; without any opposition from you, that’s how things went on for a few years. It wasnt until you got a little older that you realized that being “one of the boys” maybe wasn’t the ...greatest thing in the world.

- You sort of always had a thing for Benny. It was easier to brush off and not realize when you were younger but as you got into your teenage years, it became more difficult to ignore.

- And thus, your dilemma finally became obvious. You’d spent so long being one of the guys that you were completely sure Benny only saw you as that; he sure acted like he did.

- So a million thoughts raced through your head. You wondered if you could change how he saw you, if you wanted to, how you’d do it, should you do it, when you’d do it, etc. Maybe you should try some makeup, change your clothes, your personality; should you stop hanging around him so much?

- You had no idea what to do ...so you tried a few things. You dressed a tad bit girlier; not enough to have the gang on you or ruin your ability to play, and wore your hair down, and ...nothing happened.

- All you got was a few comments from the guys asking “what’s up with the hair?”. Soon enough, you were grumpily pulling your hair up into a ponytail after getting not even the slightest reaction from Benny.

- After several attempts, you’re at a loss and somewhat frustrated. You debate just telling him but the day you decide to, you chicken out and stay home.

- Your mother tells Benny you aren’t feeling well when he asks if you can come out and play and you watch from behind the curtain guiltily as he leaves your front steps, casting one last look from behind his shoulder at your window.

- You don’t show up to the field for another day or two before deciding that you need to go back, missing your friends and fresh air. You figure you can play it cool like always, and you do, getting welcome back slaps on the back and shakes.

- You play for a few hours before the boys have to go home and you’re left on the field alone with Benny. You’re just about to walk out as well ...up until Benny calls after you. With a deep breath, you jog back over and stand in front of him.

“You feeling better?” he asks and you both nod, one after the other.

“That’s good. I missed you out here,” he says before seeming to realize what he said. He laughs slightly before following up with a “Yeah-Yeah sucks at playing your position.”.

- You both laugh before he asks “why don’t we play, just you and me. You throw and I’ll hit”. And you try to turn him down, telling him that you should be getting home, but then he gives you that smile of his and a “come on” and you just can’t refuse.

- So you get in position and the two of you play, swapping turns back and forth when you have to run and catch the ball.

- On one of your last few throws, he runs over to hand you the ball but doesn’t immediately let go. Instead, he leans in and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek before running back to his spot on the field, casting a look back at you and subsequently a smile as he does.

- The two of you kiss for real when you’re at the edge of the field, getting ready to walk home. He calls your name and you pause, standing still as he grips your shoulder and leans in, planting a peck on your lips.

“Why’d you do that?” you ask, though it’s obvious that you don’t mind.

He merely shrugs and grins at you. “I wanted to.”

- You can’t help but smile back, letting him wrap an arm around your shoulders and walk you off the field.

- There isn’t a ton of pda in your relationship but there’s a bunch of contact: high fives, his arm around your shoulders, his leg touching yours when you sit next to each other. He just doesn’t want the guys on your case for the rest of the week for a measly kiss in front of them. 

- Affectionate hair ruffling. 

- Hand holding, usually when the gang isn't around; unless it’s Smalls. 

- Forehead and cheek kisses.

- Soft kisses.

- He has your picture on his dresser and you cant help but smile every time you see it. 

- When it really comes down to it, he’s got a huge soft spot for you. He may treat you like one of the boys most of the time but there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you you’re definitely different from them to him. 

- Excited hugs, usually after he accomplishes something big or you get good news. 

- Sitting in between his legs, usually with his chest pressed against your back.

- He doesn’t mind cuddling, even if it’s sort of in front of the gang, mainly because his style of cuddling is his arm draped over your shoulder and you resting against his side.

- As though he’d allow you to not have a nickname! He doesn’t really use petnames except; maybe, when he’s using them as jokes or sarcastically, but you’ve probably had a nickname since you were little that he still uses.

- Although, he does say “that’s my girl” to himself or just outloud whenever he gets all proud of you; like when you score a homerun.

- The boys definitely tease him about you. Its the one thing they have on him.

- He lets you win when you guys race. You’re absolutely aware of it but you think it’s cute so you both jokingly pretend he didnt.

- He’s always there to help get you out of a pickle. If you have a problem it is both your problems the minute you tell him.

- He always brushes off your praise with a halfhearted and playful scoff but in actuality, he loves it whenever he gets a compliment from you.

- There’s definitely been moments where you’ve been in his room with him and asked about some sort of clothing item and he just casually asks if you want it. And ...You’re damn right you do.

- Randomly being carried away from things isn’t all too uncommon for you. He likes to pick you up, whether it’s just by your armpits or in a piggyback ride.

- Walking home from school together. 

- Spending your summers together. 

- Expect a lot of random visits and him calling you to come hang out. If he wants to see you, he’ll just come knocking on your door. 

- Smalls is sort of like your adoptive child, even though you're only like two years older than him. You’re just always looking out for the younger boy and making sure he feels welcome and all that. 

- Getting introduced to Beast and Mr. Mertle. 

- Knowing tons of baseball facts because of him.

- Playing catch in the lot. He goes easy on you but to be fair; he goes easy on most people.

- Looking after him and making sure he doesn’t over exert himself.

- I’m sorry but you’ll have to just accept that baseball is his priority a lot of the time. It’s his “life” and you’ll just have to accept that if you want to be with him. 

- He would genuinely ask you to marry him in complete awe if you were to ever get him baseball game tickets. 

- He makes a big deal over your birthday, well, him and the rest of the boys. They all cheer when you arrive at the field, giving all their “look who it is’s”and slapping you on the back.

- Going to the movies ...after they put up another screen.... He’ll usually grab your hand and keep glancing over at you whenever you go, he just thinks you’re really pretty.

- Hanging out in the treehouse together. 

- Going to the fair with him. 

- Pool dates.

-  A lot of your dates get invaded by the gang, especially if they involve pizza …or food of any kind really. 

- His mother probably insists on giving him some money every time she hears he’s going to hang out with you because she wants him to be a little gentleman and pay for your “date”.

- Even though you’ve always sort of been seen as just one of the guys, you’re serious bragging rights for Benny; both to the other boys and to Phillips. All it takes is one visit to the pool with them and suddenly they’re all a little envious of their leader.

- Though, to be honest, all the boys in the group have probably; at some point, had a crush on you or thought that you’d end up together because it just makes sense, you know? They weren’t in love but they had those little “why am is my heart racing” type of moments with you.

- Even though he brags about you, he’s still a jealous boy. He pretty much glares at any other guy; besides the guys in the gang, you’re with. Even if he’s doing something else, he finds it difficult to concentrate. The minute you arrive back at his side, he’ll ask why you’re hanging out with them, usually with a subtle; or not so subtle, insult directed towards them.

- Even though he knows you’re capable of holding your own, he’ll still always jump to stick up for you because it’s just a habit of his.

- He’s protective of everybody in his gang so that obviously includes you. He isn’t above fighting; or at least embarrassing, someone who’s giving you a hard time or literally carrying you to a safe distance when you’re near something he deems dangerous. Plus, he’s always the first one at your side no matter what’s going on.

- The two of you don’t fight a ton. You’ve been friends for a while so you sort of already know what rubs each other the wrong way and can avoid them because of that. If you are fighting, it’s probably about something stupid and you wind up just leaving; for one reason or another, as he calls after you.

- That being said, you usually just resolve things after a bit of arguing; without you having to walk off. As an apology, he’ll give you a sincere “hey, I’m sorry, alright?” before making some joke along the lines of asking if you want to hit him. You’ll hug and he’ll kiss your head and everything will be settled.

- You don’t tell each other that you love each other a whole lot; it sort of just isn’t Bennys thing, but you show each other you do with your actions.

- In the future, you’re there at every single one of his games, cheering him on.

- He probably asks you to marry him right after highschool. He just can’t wait to make you Mrs. Rodriguez.

[scarpool-gmk]

6 Part 2

Title: Godly Marine: Killed Author: Scarpool Fandom(s): NCIS, Percy Jackson & the Olympians Pairing(s): Gen Rating: PG/K+ Summary: Chapter 6 Part 2 (8/13) — Staff Sergeant Michael Kahale, Marine Corps Mechanic and Son of Athena, was murdered. Annabeth Chase is determined to find out who did it and why. She, along with Percy Jackson, Grover Underwood, and Clarisse La Rue, infiltrate NCIS where they team up with NCIS Agents Leroy Gibbs, Anthony DiNozzo, Timothy McGee, and Ziva David. Complete Genre: Fanfiction, Mystery, Drama, Humour, General, Action Warnings:  N/A

-Κλαρίς-

Clarisse had to hold in laughing as she saw Annabeth's eyes bulge in fascination as Gibbs used the iris scanner. With a hiss and a clunk!, the doors unlocked. He heaved the door open. "Welcome to MTAC, agents."

"Wow," Annabeth whispered as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"Sweet secret base you guys got going on," Clarisse praised.

"Thanks!" McGee beamed like he was the one getting complimented. "It's decked out with some great technology sensors. It's completely separate in terms of technology, components, and connection from the rest of the building. Best monitors, state-of-the-art firewall, and the-"

"You guys do any movie nights in here?" Clarisse cut in.

"I-well no. I mean, uh, maybe? I wouldn't know anything about that," McGee spluttered.

Clarisse smirked. "I'll take that as a yes."

"McGee," Gibbs said, saving his agent, "Connect us up with the Staff Sergeant's C.O."

McGee hurried to do as he was told, working with a row of tech. Clarisse wouldn't want to get too close to any of those. Could probably get the entire monster population of the East Coast fixated on their position with those many wires. Annie, Prissy, and Goat boy wouldn't appreciate it. Would make one heck of a battle story, though.

Gibbs, Annabeth, and Clarisse stood in front of the huge screen.

"Morning, agents," the commander said when he flashed on the screen.

"Nice to meet you, Commander," Annabeth said.

"I would rather have not, Special Agent Lima, Gibbs. I take it you still haven't found out who took out my mechanic."

"No, Commander," Gibbs said, "And it seems your mechanic was into a case of his own."

"What do you mean?"

"We believe he was following leads that might uncover cartel movement in D.C.," Annabeth explained.

"Can you tell us anything about anything the Staff Sergeant was involved in?" Gibbs asked, "Any ops that he was assigned?"

"No, sir. This is the first I'm hearing of this. He was designated to go on tour; we were called in to head into NAMRU-6."

"Peru?" Gibbs questioned.

"It was going to be smooth sailing," the commander affirmed. "A secret mission…He was one hell of a mechanic, and even then…"

"Commander?" Annabeth pushed.

"He was too smart for his own good. He wasn't going to be a simple Staff Sergeant for long. In fact, I'm surprised he held out for this long. His excellent, strategic mind and fighting skill, especially in close combat, had placed him in the fast lane for promotion. He may have wanted to be a simple mechanic, and I know he declined several offers, but as good as he was, he gained the attention of those who could force him into positions."

Clarisse frowned. Sounds like Michael had been way too noticeable. She didn't even think that the Navy and Marine corps would inspect mechanics that thorough. How did they test his strategy making?

"Sounds like he was a special case," Clarisse said, "Did he get any flak from his crewmates because of it?"

"Not really, ma'am. He wasn't exactly a social person to begin with."

"He never got into any disputes with anyone?" Clarisse asked.

"Only one, but I've learned to keep them apart."

"Reason?" Gibbs asked.

"Uh, they just didn't see eye-to-eye."

Clarisse almost snorted. Translation: he had no clue. What kind of Officer in Charge was this guy?

"Who's the soldier?" Annabeth asked.

"First Lieutenant Adrian Rodriguez."

"He antagonize a lot of people?" Gibbs asked.

"No, sir. He's actually very well-liked. It was very strange that he turned confrontational with Kahale. Same with Sergeant Kahale."

"And you have no idea as to why this was." Gibbs didn't phrase it like a question. At least they were all on the same page.

The C.O. on the big screen shrugged. "Those are two of the sea's finest. Rodriguez is soon to become Major. They don't have so much as an excuse to hang around each other anyway."

This time, Clarisse didn't bother hiding a sound of disbelief.

"Where is he?" Gibbs asked at the same time as Annabeth said, "Tell us about him."

Clarisse stepped back so the two could glare at each other better.

"He's a skilled Marksman," Commander Oblivious replied, "knows a lot about on-the-spot- field medic stuff…sings pretty good, too." Clarisse shared a glance with Annabeth. That sounded familiar. Annabeth would probably say that it was a textbook definition. Nerd.

"But he has not left the ship," the commander continued, "he's been on board the entire time."

"Then call him over," Gibbs said, "Maybe we can help solve what his problem with Michael Kahale was."

"You can't think-"

"The more we know about our victim, the better we can predict his movements and motives," Annabeth consoled.

The commander ceded the point and nodded at some staff who promptly left the room, presumably to find the First Lieutenant. He turned his attention back to the NCIS agents.

Gibbs continued on questioning him. "Did Staff Sergeant Kahale ever mention an Annabeth Chase?"

The man on the screen frowned. "The name rings a bell; give me a sec." He shuffled some papers around. "Oh! Yes, as one of the emergency contacts. Right there under his father. Annabeth Chase, relation as his sister."

Annabeth showed nothing. Instead, asking, "What is the contact information?"

"A phone number with a New York area code."

"Read aloud the number, please."

The commander read out the numbers as Annabeth instructed. Clarisse immediately recognized it as the mainline to the Big House.

"It's a different number than the one he called," Annabeth said.

"McGee," Gibbs called, giving silent instructions.

"Already on it," McGee said, "Number is to a farm, Delphi Strawberry Service. Located in Long Island."

Clarisse mentally cursed and tried not to self-consciously fidget at the glare Gibbs gave Annabeth.

"But he never spoke about his family. Or friends. Or life. Again, not the most social guy."

There was movement in the back, as the staff member came back with a soldier, who promptly stood at attention.

"First Lieutenant Rodriguez, meet NCIS Agents Gibbs, Lima, and…"

"La Rue," Clarisse supplied.

"First Lieutenant," Gibbs greeted.

"Sir!"

"At rest, First Lieutenant," Annabeth said.

Gibbs started the questions as Rodrigues shifted his stance. "What's your relationship with Staff Sergeant Michael Kahale?"

The soldier frowned, confused. "He was a mechanic assigned to this vessel, sir."

"We're told that you were uncharacteristically disruptive around him."

"Yes, but I haven't been in confrontation with him, as per C.O. orders. If he's said-"

"First Lieutenant Rodriguez," The C.O. cut him off, "Sergeant Kahale was shot two nights ago."

"Shot?" Rodriguez said in shock, "But… we're home…"

"We know that you've been on board the entire time," Annabeth said, "We just need to know more about who Michael Kahale was."

"I-I understand, Ma'am."

"What made you dislike the Kahale, First Lieutenant?" Clarisse asked him.

"It's not that I disliked him, ma'am. Kahale was actually a good guy. Introverted, sure. But he was a good soldier, amazing smart, and easy to talk with. But I…" He faltered. "I don't know. For some reason, the friendly conversations always turned into some sort of fight? Like a challenge I couldn't lose to? I guess?"

"Don't sound sure of yourself," Annabeth noted.

"I can't explain it. Every time, it just led to a fight over any stupid, little thing. I honestly don't know why. I don't expect any of you to understand."

Clarisse heard Gibbs sigh tiredly and mumble, "Oh, I understand perfectly."

"Can you give us some examples of what you fought over?" Annabeth asked.

"They were stupid, ma'am. Like over the name of a future vessel. He thought it should be named USS Zeus. I said it to be USS Jupiter. We also fought over his position. Kahale was a good Marine but could've been even better. But he kept at being a non-commission mechanic because he had an issue with the control of our Superior Officers. I know he even declined a promotion to Warrant Officer. He disliked how strict military life was and preferred the more laxed nature of the machinists. He believed that individuality and improvisation held more value in the field than the collective skill of the group and rigid structure. He did not trust others with making decisions for him and disliked giving orders himself. But I know several of my brothers who have similar opinions, and I've never fought them over it."

Annabeth nodded, humming softly and deep in that brain of hers.

"Did he ever mention some sort of mission?" Gibbs asked.

Rodriguez blinked. "No. Nothing ever like that."

"Mexican Cartels? Arms dealing?" Gibbs fished.

"What? No!"

'Freaking Hades,' Clarisse thought, 'I hope this information isn't supposed to be kept low profile.'

"What about mythologies?"

The First Lieutenant stiffened. He was definitely a demigod. Clarisse would have to see if Chiron knew an Adrian Rodriguez.

"What do you mean?" Rodriguez tried playing off.

"Gods, Roman myths, Greek heroes, monsters, that sort of stuff."

"No."

"Then that's all we need from you, for now, First Lieutenant," Gibbs said, taking a glance at Annabeth.

"Catch who did this to my mechanic, Agents," the Commanding Officer said before the connection cut off.

Gibbs didn't waste any time.

"What am I missing here?"

Annabeth lifted an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"Some random mechanic gets murdered hours away from his assigned vessel because he was uncovering an entire operation that was way out of his league. His dying words were to some girl whom he listed as an emergency contact with a Long Island number. Suddenly, I've got NCIS agents from a Long Island branch I've never heard of. This case has brought too many outside factors, and I have the feeling my team is out of the loop on specific information that can make this case more manageable."

"We know as much as you do," Clarisse retorted, "And missing information comes with the job. This is a mystery. We investigate and find the answers, complications and all."

Gibbs considered her for a moment before relenting and leading them back out of the heavily secured room. "Fine. I'm going to head to the bar. McGee, get DiNozzo to call the Strawberry Farm. I also want the personal files of First Lieutenant Rodriguez and his C.O. Ziva! Gear up." He looked around at the rest of the agents expectedly.

"Er, trying to squeeze out info of Cartel movement in the area," DiNozzo said, "Not much luck."

"Talked to Abby," Ziva picked up next, "Her professors were able to translate some more of the notes. This Doughnut place is apparently definitely arms dealing with the Reynosa Cartel. Sinaloa involvement is suspected. Middle East connection is pure speculation. Michael also noted that he believed he was found out because he smelled."

DiNozzo made to comment but was silenced by a look from Gibbs.

"I'm still IDing all of Mr. Tarsibo's victims," Grover said.

"And customers," Gibbs added.

"…And customers…"

"No mention of Monster Donut on the web," Percy reported, Annabeth's laptop in hand, "Making sure that if anyone finds it, we'll be the first ones to know."

Gibbs nodded and then headed towards the elevator with Ziva in tow. Clarisse admired the way his silent command to get back to work hung in the air. Except for one problem.

Clarisse was back in the bullpen. She hated it.

-Ζήβα-

Ziva was debriefed about the meeting with the commander on the way to the Drowsy Owl.

"If the Staff Sergeant was being seen by superior officers and the Commanding Officer didn't know anything," Ziva said, "Perhaps our Staff Sergeant was granted a mission."

But why give such an advanced and dangerous mission to a mere mechanic?

"Michael Kahale had been in service for five years," Ziva said, answering her own question. "They had given him training- maybe advanced secret in-training. Kept him officially as a mechanic, using it as a cover."

"But why send him on a case that without providing him resources?" Gibbs asked.

Hm. True. Michael Kahale had lacked money, cover, and backup. The time limit was horrendously short; what he uncovered in such a short amount of time was astonishing. If he hadn't ended up dead, she would have thought that it was a controlled mission.

"You said that First Lieutenant Adrian Rodriguez responded to the mention of mythological connection. Is it possible that whatever mission the Staff Sergeant was on, was not external but internal? An internal audit? But if Rodriguez was his target, he would have responded to the reference of cartel involvement."

"What if the Cartel wasn't initially apart of this operation?" Ziva thought back to her previous line of thought. "What if Rodriguez was involved? As Michael's partner. The First Lieutenant is thought of highly as well."

"Don't get caught up on theories," Gibbs warned.

"Maybe I should just follow my gut," Ziva teased.

"It's always worked for me," Gibbs said.

"What does it say now?" Ziva asked. She looked at him when he did not answer.

"It tells me that the Long Island Agents know something that they aren't sharing."

Ziva frowned but said nothing.

They came up to the store. "See if anyone has seen Tarsibo," Gibbs said.

"Not many people to ask," Ziva grumbled.

Reshaun Sachs was beginning to blindly invite them to choose a place to sit until he looked up from pouring a pint of bitter. "Let me guess," he said, "Navy cops."

Ziva and Gibbs flashed their Identification.

"This about the young Marine or something else?"

"Same one," Gibbs said.

"Didn't realize you had such big teams."

"Neither did I."

Ziva sent Gibbs a look and decided to change the topic, unfolding the blown-up photo of Tarsibo.

"Do you recognize this man?"

"Sorry. No."

"He seems to be a customer of yours," Ziva pushed, "He may have been here during the past week."

The bartender frowned, "If he passed those doors, I would remember. Especially from this week." Ziva nodded. She didn't find him to be lying. There were other ways waste from this place could have gotten to the car rental.

"Do you mind if I talk to your customers?" Ziva asked

Sachs shrugged. "You can, but all of these guys are regulars that just come for their lunch break."

Ziva assumed as much. She left Gibbs to converse with the man.

Sachs was surprised that they had found traces of his business as far away as East Maryland. Like Gibbs, Ziva was getting her own list of negative answers.

She walked around the bar, trying to envision it on a full night with businessmen, college students, and Mrs. Kahale with her entourage. It was an open area, which meant open conversations that could be the center of attention or hidden by those that took that position. The only place that was really hidden was the way to the restrooms, which had its own hidden hallway that led to a back exit. That was where Ziva excused herself to answer her buzzing phone.

"What is it, Tony?"

"Get into any bar fights, yet?" Tony used as a greeting.

"It is still a bit early, but it has happened before."

"Well, don't go too hard on them. People who go this early are there to drown something."

Ziva thought of the three businessmen in the bar hunching over their drinks. He was too right. "As I'm sure you know, Tony."

"I'm not that old," he said.

"You are what? Forty?"

"No!"

"Mmm, but I'm close. How many years am I off?"

"…Two. I'm still young, just have a few years of experience."

Ziva hummed. She didn't tell him that she had more years until she hit thirty.

"Well, I'm sure you didn't call me just for this."

"No, I'm here to update you so you can update Gibbs."

"Why not call him instead?"

"Figured he'd be doing some unofficial interrogation. And I would never break that rule."

"Well, what do you have."

Tony sighed, "Pretty much nothing. Got in connection with the Director of the Strawberry Service, a Mr. Dee. Took forever to get a final answer. 'I have a faint recollection of an Annie Bell.'" Tony droned in imitation, "'Yes, the girl is quite a trouble seeker, although she is one of the brighter ones I have had to deal with. Says a lot about them. However, she left. I don't expect her to be back for a while.' That was fifteen minutes into the conversation. He ends with an 'I grow tired of your pitiable blather.' And just hangs up."

Ziva snickers. "Doesn't sound like a reliable witness."

Ziva could imagine Tony shrugging in the squadroom, "It's what I got."

"Alright. Thanks." Ziva hung up the phone and accidentally stumbled when she bumped into something. Or rather someone "Oh, sorry I-" Ziva stopped as she got a look at who she almost toppled. It was a young man who had just come out of the lavatory. He was of an average built, a bit on the shorter side with a head full of blonde hair. He was in some sort of customer service uniform, a nametag still latched on. But Ziva only gave it an unconscious look over. No, she was more captivated by his eyes. They were a sickly green, and the iris seemed alive, swirling like snakes in a pit. And were those scales on his cheekbones?

"Agent?"

She blinked, and all those features were gone. Snake filled eyes replaced with light hazel ones. No scales either.

"I'm sorry," She told the man who had snapped her out of her stupor. Just what was that? "For bumping into you," she specified.

He smiled at her, "No problem."

She watched him leave her, heading for the back exit. How did he know she was an Agent? Was her badge showing? No… Who was he? She searched her brain for the answers. Wait. She had seen his nametag before getting distracted by his face. (She shivered at the recollection. Was it something she ate?) Then it hit her; the nametag had a cheesy 'Hi, I'm Tommy' in Comic Sans Font. It also had a logo of a one-eyed monster munching on a doughnut.

"Monster Donuts," Ziva breathed out in realization. The back door slammed shut. "Hey!" Ziva shouted, "Wait!" She ran toward the door. Before she exited, she remembered that the store was arms dealing, and anyone connected to it should be handled as armed and dangerous. Pulling out her firearm and quickly collecting herself, she slammed her way out and was met with… no one?

Ziva surveyed the area, circling in a three-sixty. There was no one there. How could he have gone that fast? He was only out of her sight for a few seconds.

Gibbs was not going to be happy with her.

After making sure to uncover any possible hiding places, she went back inside empty-handed.

Gibbs frowned at her as she entered. Ziva trusted him to connect the dots and directed her words at Sachs.

"You didn't say you had someone in your restroom."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Gibbs change his stance, a mixture of weariness and drive to get the truth. However, the bartender seemed utterly confused. "There was? Oh, I had completely forgotten…"

Ziva shared a small look with Gibbs. Sachs seemed muddled all of a sudden. Strange and convincing. Ziva hadn't thought this man to be a good actor.

Ziva described him, more for Gibbs's benefit than Sachs's. "Yes, about this tall, blonde, green eyes, wearing a Monster Donut uniform."

Sachs's face lit up in realization. "Yes! He was one of the guys that the woman hangs out with, the one that the other agents knew, a Mrs. Kahale." His eyebrows scrunched together. "I can't believe I forgot about him coming in…"

Ziva shared another look with Gibbs. Either this man was telling the truth, or he was the best actor Ziva had encountered. Gibbs, although not outwardly changing his calm demeanor, seemed as dubious as she was.

"If he or anyone else from Monster Donuts come in," she said, "Please call us."

"They are connected with this Marko Tarsibo guy? What have they done?"

"A number of things," Ziva said.

The man gave an inquiring stare. Ziva expected that how dangerous they were could affect his business if he let continued to let them be customers at all.

"They are connected to arms dealing, Ziva said. "Also, have a connection to the death of multiple murders, including children."

"They've killed kids?" The statement seemed to call Sachs back from his confounded state. "You said that this guy was a part of this and that he was a car dealer, right?"

The agents nodded.

"The kids, were they middle-school-age? Older girl with Asian features?"

Ziva scrambled for her phone, bringing out the profiles of the most recent child victims. She shoved the phone in the man's face. "Are these them?"

"Yeah, I know them. They had come in, ordered some soda, burgers, and fries. They looked pretty street-savvy, I kept my eye on them to make sure no one slipped them anything or took an order for them. I got something about how they were headed for the Carolinas, I guess they needed a ride. That woman, Mrs. Kahale, spoke with them for a bit. I didn't hear what was said, but if they needed a ride and she knew this dealer, she could've gave them to him."

The NCIS agents didn't give him time to finish as they rushed out the door.

-Περσεύς-

Percy would never get an office job. He thought being a Federal Agent would have been so exciting. Sitting on a desk doing the same thing over and over again was killing him. He kept getting distracted by the happenings outside. (Hey, those windows were huge. Not his fault the outside world was more entertaining.) He couldn't help but feel a bit guilty every time Grover would snap him out of his daydreaming. He was supposed to be helping make official profiles of each victim, so that a) the families could be notified, b) Dr. 'Ducky' could analyze and create a deeper understanding of General Botsaris and his victims, and c) so that Annabeth could report back to Chiron, and they could contact the families of the demigods.

Percy did have to admit that Tony's conversation with Mr. D was quite funny. Although, he was only able to hear one side of the conversation.

'No, not Annie Bell. Annabeth.'

'No, I am not here for strawberries.'

'Yes, wine sounds wonderful, but-'

'So, did she work there or not? What do you mean, who? Annabeth Chase!'

And it just continued. Percy had cracked up as the agent repeatedly smacked his head on his hand while talking to the exasperating god. If only he knew how it felt to deal with Mr. D on a weekly, sometimes daily, basis.

Unfortunately, that was what felt like an hour ago. McGee had sent a file to Tony a while later and was on his way to escape to 'help Abby run prints.'

"I'll be using the system," McGee told Grover and Percy, "Hopefully, it won't slow down too much."

"It shouldn't be a problem." Annabeth walked in, looking a bit disgruntled after her talk with Chiron. "Although we are using the same system, it's coding and routes have changed, meaning it can still use the data and have access to an ever-updating network while not really using the same path and program you'll be using."

Percy would have totally zoned out from that explanation if it wasn't for Grover nudging him to make another profile.

McGee made a face. "You can do that?"

"Not really. It's the computer."

"What are the specs?" McGee leaned in to check Daedalus' laptop's design. "What's the brand? I don't recognize it."

"It's experimental."

"Huh, well I'm going to-"

"Not so fast, probie," Tony called.

Percy looked up. Tony had better not been calling for him. He eased up when it was apparent he was talking to McGee.

"Rodriguez also uses disposable, pre-paid phones," Tony said, "But he makes regular family calls. If we searched his family's phone records, we would find a record of regular calls coming in but from different numbers? Wouldn't that be the case if Michael did the same?"

"But we already checked the Kahale's phone records, Tony," McGee said.

"No. We only checked Patricia Kahale's, and she said she didn't even know Michael even joined the Marines. Daddy, however, had a better relationship."

"And when Percy and I spoke with him," Annabeth said, "He gave me the impression that he knew about Michael joining."

"McGee, pop up the man's phone calls," Tony said.

McGee shared his screen on the plasma. Window screens flashed on and off as McGee used keyboard shortcuts lightning quick, even using long sequences of code that Percy didn't know could be memorized.

"Okay, filtering for numbers that are no longer in service."

"Wow, that's a long list," Percy said. They weren't going to have to go through some sort of procedure on each one, were they?

"He is a lawyer," Grover said, "He must get tons of scam and calls from one-time numbers."

"It doesn't matter," Annabeth said.

"What do you mean it doesn't matter," Percy asked. Was Annabeth okay? How bad was the call with Chiron?

"I mean, I've found what we're looking for." She pointed to a six-minute call starting 12:52 A.M. yesterday morning. That was right before the approximate time of death.

"It's not the same number the Staff Sergeant used," Tony said.

"A spare phone," Clarisse said, "He uses one phone call on a pre-paid, dumps it, and then uses the second to make another call."

A demigod technique. Annabeth and Chiron told him of it when he went outside of camp. The only time it was safe to keep a phone after making a call on it was in or right by camp. Otherwise, it was a traveling beacon for monsters.

"The father made the call," Tony said, "McGee, can you find the location where the burner picked up?"

McGee clicked a couple of times. "Washington, D.C."

"Alright," Tony said. "I'll call Gibbs, and we'll pick him up."

"Sweet, let's go," Percy said.

"Wait, Percy," Grover said with big eyes, effectively killing Percy's hope. "I still need your help with this."

"It's fine. We got this," Tony said, him and McGee rushing toward the elevator.

Percy watched them as they disappeared with a ding. Great, the three people that were the least qualified for desk jobs were the ones left at the desks. At least they had Grover to stop them from accidentally blowing up the place and being labeled as domestic terrorists, yet the way the satyr was inhaling those paper clips didn't bode well.

The phone at Tony's desk started to ring. The four of them stared at it for a second. "Should we get Tony back?" Percy asked.

"Ugh," Clarisse rolled her eyes. What? What did he say? Gods, she was just so annoying. 'And rude,' he added as he watched her get up and answer the cop's phone, but he already knew that.

"Yeah," Clarisse greeted. She was silent for the ten seconds as the caller spoke. Percy wasn't even surprised as the daughter of Ares slammed the phone back down without another word.

"They found Botsaris's car," Clarisse said.

'That at least deserved a 'Thank You,' was Percy's immediate thought.

Annabeth jumped up. "Let's go."

Finally! "Did you get the address?" Percy asked, excited to get out.

"Duh."

Grover looked around as all of them got ready to head out. "Um, should we tell-"

"No!" Clarisse and Annabeth both said, or growled in one case.

Grover held his hands up in surrender. "Okay."

Percy made sure everything he needed was on him and swept the desk clear of a small pile of broken pen clips. When had those gotten there?

"Let's kick some butt!" Clarisse grinned. Percy couldn't agree more.

Previous Chapter Chapter List Next Chapter

[chloefrazer]

quarter to three

title: quarter to three relationships: nines rodriguez/the fledgling words: 3.5k warnings: none  summary: Days have passed since that night when Mickey lost herself to the Beast. On a cool October night in downtown Los Angeles, Nines confronts her as to why he didn’t fulfill his promise. 

          The ambient sounds of downtown Los Angeles filled the otherwise silent office space. Sounds of traffic, low music, and muffled voices of locals and tourists alike making their way back home before the sun rose. The office was small and cluttered, with boxes of paperwork still left unorganized and unfiled. The furniture looked secondhand, the walls needed a fresh coat of paint, and the AC hadn’t been fixed in a good couple of months. 

          It was, by all accounts, a bit of a shithole, but it was home. 

          Even though the Prince had been oh, so gracious enough to give Mickey a haven in Santa Monica, most nights it remained empty. Instead, she chose to stay in her office, where she could attempt to cling to normalcy in peace. Mickey currently sat on the fire escape, unseen by the general populace below. She was always good at going unnoticed. Or, at least she was, before she found herself wrapped up in the world of Kindred politics. All the political scheming and backstabbing was enough to make her head spin, yet she landed in the middle of it all.

          Not by choice, of course. If Mickey had her way, she would have been halfway across the country by now. It’s what she did — running away was a tough habit to break. It was difficult trying to ignore the pesky voice in her ear that urged her to pick flight over fight. It was safer that way; made it less likely to be hurt. Mickey knew that if she did try and run, it wouldn’t take long for Prince Lacroix to find her and bring her back kicking and screaming. Unless he didn’t just kill her first. 

          Like he should have, if he’d had his way. Like he was going to, until Nines Rodriguez loudly objected to her premature execution. 

          Her loud — and more than a little frustrated — sigh went unheard from her current position; elbows resting on her knees as she sat on the fireplace’s steps. The thump of bass from Confession nearby was strong enough that Mickey could feel it in her chest. Mickey swore quietly out into the night air. Her posture shifted as she brought a hand up to rake through her hair, annoyance bleeding through every movement. The nightlife of Los Angeles took no notice of the increasingly frustrated Kindred above them, too lost in their own little worlds. Mickey wished, idly, for a fraction of their ignorance. 

          She didn’t have that luxury, though. 

          Why the hell did he save me? The question had been at the forefront of Mickey’s mind for a while now. Ever since that night in the theatre. Then he saved her again from that pack of Sabbat. She asked Jack what he thought when she first came stumbling into the Last Round, disheveled and bruised, but alive. His explanation didn’t solve fuckall, but Mickey had been too chickenshit to ask Nines directly. 

          She swore again. 

          Then there was the night Mickey had investigated the Brotherhood of the Ninth Circle; the night she lost herself to the Beast. When she left the building, broken and bloody, she felt Nines’ eyes drilling holes into her back, and the shame of her actions still curled in her gut. The building was a map of her carnage and destruction, not to mention the mess she made of the Bishop himself. Mickey didn’t come out unscathed, either. Her shoulder still ached, but it was healing, and her Hunger was under control, but the emotional scars persisted. She could still feel Vick’s Vitae under her fingernails no matter how hard she scrubbed them clean. 

          She lost control, but she was still alive, and she knew she’d have to deal with the consequences sooner or later. Mickey, of course, preferred dealing with those consequences later, hence why she’d been avoiding Nines and the rest of the Anarchs lately. She’d been avoiding Prince Lacroix, too, and he knew it. He sent her a rather scathing email, demanding her presence back at Venture Tower at her utmost convenience. 

          Which, translated from corporate stooge language, meant: “Get your ass back here, now.”

          Mickey knew that the longer she made him wait, the angrier he’d get, which is exactly why she hadn’t come crawling back yet. He probably had eyes and ears everywhere downtown, so it was a safe assumption that he knew about her frequent visits to the Last Round. The Prince just couldn’t take the fucking hint. 

          Let him wait a little longer, lest he think she was some dutiful, Camarilla bootlicker. 

          Among the shadows, Mickey reached into her pocket, pulling free her lighter and a cigarette. A nasty habit left over from her days when she was still living. A reminder of normalcy, an anchor to the world she was too stubborn to leave behind; like her office. A flame sparked in the shadows, illuminating her face in the darkness, and a sliver of fear also sparked at the small source of heat. She remained in control, lighting the end of the cigarette and snapping the lighter shut. Her lips wrapped around the filter and she inhaled deep, the smoke filling her dead lungs. Her body felt no rush from the nicotine, no spike in adrenaline, no release of dopamine. She sat there, a walking corpse surrounded by shadow and smoke, the bass from Confession reverberating deep in her chest. If Mickey closed her eyes, she could pretend it was her heartbeat.

          Her reverie was broken as Mickey felt her phone buzz in her pocket and she groaned, stamping the cigarette out on the railing before grabbing the device. As she read the contact, her heart sank into her gut. Mickey briefly debated throwing the phone over the railing, an odd feeling fluttering in her chest. She hadn’t spoken to Nines since that night she investigated the Brotherhood and she beat Bishop Vick into a bloody pulp. Mickey struggled to forget the look in his eyes that night, the icy intensity of his gaze making her stomach flip.

          Where she expected to see anger, disgust, and hate, she saw something that dangerously looked like sympathy. Maybe even a little sadness. She refused to acknowledge what else it could have been. 

         As she flipped the phone open, that fluttering feeling in her chest turned to dread as she read: 

         Need to talk. You around tonight? 

         Mickey’s fingers twitched for another cigarette. She could ignore the text easily enough, get in a cab and be on her way to Santa Monica before the sun came up. That’s what the nagging, persistent voice in her head told her to do. Flight before fight. Run away while you still can. 

         Instead, though, she typed a quick confirmation — as well as the address to her office — to the rather foreboding text. Mickey hoped her response conveyed a sense of cool nonchalance, because all she felt was an impending sense of doom that sat in the pit of her stomach like lead. As Mickey made her way back inside, closing the window behind her, those walls she carefully constructed over the years built themselves over her mind brick by brick. A defense mechanism from years of aimlessness, from moving from place to place and keeping people at an arm’s length; because they can’t hurt what they can’t touch. 

          The clock on her wall read a quarter to three and her mask of cool detachment was in place. 

          That mask threatened to slip, though, once Mickey fully realized that she invited Nines to her home; the one place she felt totally safe, the one place she allowed herself to be completely vulnerable. 

          This time, she did light another cigarette, the taste of smoke anchoring her to the here and now. This was her domain, she reminded herself; she was in control here. What was wrong with her, anyway? A storm of emotions raged through Mickey at the thought of the stoic Anarch leader. She’d been thrust into this world of darkness suddenly and violently. Everything she learned about how Kindred society worked was through firsthand experience. She knew that almost everyone had some hidden agenda; either they were vying for power, influence, or profit, and they needed someone to do their dirty work for them. 

          That’s how it happened in Santa Monica; Mickey had been bossed around by any Kindred with a week’s worth of seniority over her. 

          She was a pawn in Lacroix’s game, she knew that, too. Mickey knew that she was on borrowed time, though. She was a calculated risk, a liability. Lacroix would have preferred her to die that night in the Nocturne Theatre, but now he had to figure out how to use her to his advantage. Mickey had no desire to be cannon fodder for some two-bit, prissy Ventrue prince, but every time she tried to weasel her way out of his machinations, he found a way to keep her there. 

          Nines, though. Mickey didn’t have a guess at what his angle was. Why did he care so much? Why did he rush in, time and time again, to save her life? Why didn’t he fulfill his promise and kill her the other night when the Beast took over and she was more wolf than woman? Perhaps he just wanted her for the cause; she’d been helping out the Anarchs a lot lately, and she was fairly close with Smiling Jack — he was one of the only people Mickey could actually talk to about all this stuff. 

          Her thoughts were interrupted at the sound of a knock at her door. She moved to stamp out the cigarette in the ashtray on her desk, fingers raking through her hair. His silhouette was outlined on the other side of the door, visible through the opaque glass. As Mickey opened the door, the sarcastic greeting she was prepared to give him died before it could escape past her lips, lodged somewhere in her throat as her steel gray eyes met his icy blue ones. 

          The intensity of his gaze always seemed to knock the wind out of her, no matter how many times she saw him. She cleared her throat, searching for the words that got lost, before greeting him, “Hey.” 

          “Hey, yourself,” Nines said, jutting his chin toward her office, “Can I come in?”

          Mickey nodded, moving aside to let him pass. He did so, shoulder nearly brushing against hers in the process. As he moved further inside the office space, the walls felt even smaller with just the two of them inside. It was quiet, the ambient sounds of downtown LA muffled even more with the windows shut. Her small office was a vastly different environment from the Last Round — no blaring music, no rowdy bar patrons, no Skelter or Damsel to give her any snarky remarks about her assumed Kindred political alliances. 

          It was just the two of them in Mickey’s dingy little office space that hadn’t seen any proper clientele in weeks. 

          “‘Sundown Investigations’, huh?”

          Mickey blinked at the sudden question, “Excuse me?”

          A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of Nines’ mouth as he gestured to the door again, where the name of Mickey’s private investigation firm was painted onto the glass. She snorted, her hand moving to rub the back of her neck in a sheepish motion. 

          “Yeah, uh, kinda ironic now, I guess,” she said, inwardly cringing at just how awkward she sounded. Get a fucking grip, Mickey. “I’ve just always worked at night, so it seemed fitting at the time.” 

          Nines nodded, humming quietly in response. Mickey resisted the urge to light another cigarette and instead shoved her hands in her pockets, leaning back against the edge of her desk, her mask of detached coolness making her the perfect picture of bored nonchalance. 

          “So,” she said, drawing out the word slightly, “you said you wanted to talk? 

          “I do,” he confirmed. He stood with his back slightly to her, arms crossed over his chest, his face slightly obscured by shadow. Mickey’s calculating eyes struggled to get a read on him; he seemed casual, eerily calm in a way. There was no hint of hostility or anger, but the longer he waited to elaborate, the more the seed of paranoia in the back of her mind began to grow. 

          He opened his mouth to continue, but Mickey beat him to it. 

          “How come you didn’t kill me?”

          The question caught them both off guard. Nines’ expression shifted to that of slight surprise, one eyebrow raised. Mickey begged her face to remain neutral and hoped to God her walls stood solid. The noise outside seemed to cease and the quiet turned nearly suffocating as Mickey waited for his response. Not even the Beast had anything smart to say, probably enjoying the thick tension too much to break it. 

          “That’s a tough question,” he admitted, finally breaking the silence as he turned to face Mickey fully. His face no longer obscured by shadow, Mickey tried not to shrink from his gaze, defiantly meeting him head on. She was in control here, she reminded herself once again. 

          “Truth is: I don’t know,” Nines said, moving to take half a step closer, “I don’t know why I didn’t kill you that night. Don’t think I could’ve, not when you looked like —” he stopped, as though trying to spare Mickey the truth. 

          “Like what?” Mickey pressed, inviting the onslaught of brutal honesty. She needed to hear it, she needed to know what he thought, because he was so unreadable that she could never get a read on what he could possibly be thinking. 

          “Like a goddamn wounded animal,” he finished, hand roughly dragging down his face. Another step closer this time, the walls seemingly closing in along with him, “you snapped out of it, anyway. You didn’t give me a reason to shoot.”

          When the Beast locked eyes with Nines that night, she cowered in the corner, well aware of the threat he posed. When he called out to her, urging her to take back control, the Beast complied; releasing her claws from Mickey and retreating to the dark corners of her mind. Nines’ voice, a guide to bring her back to herself. Mickey didn’t want to think about the implications of that. 

          “Yeah,” was all Mickey said, her gaze breaking from his momentarily, flashing to the bit of floor that lay under her shoes. The tempest of emotion continued to rage on, thousands of thoughts flashing through her mind like lightning. When she brought her eyes back up to meet Nines’, he could see the storm raging behind her eyes, that familiar sharp steel now dark as storm clouds. 

          Another step, dangerously close now, close enough to touch if either one of them dared to reach out. “Somethin’ wrong?”

          A noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl rumbled in her throat like thunder, but Nines didn’t budge, didn’t shrink away. 

          “Why do you keep doing that?” Mickey bit out the question through clenched teeth, hands clenching and unclenching. Her senses were overloaded, her mind buzzing with questions and frustrations and feelings she really, really, didn’t want to acknowledge, couldn’t acknowledge, because she didn’t understand. 

          “Doin’ what, kid?” 

          A disgruntled noise, followed by a rude gesture as she motioned between the two of them. Christ, she was bad at this. Letters and syllables bunched her throat, all of them threatening to pour out of her mouth all at once. 

          “Saving me! Looking out for me, I don’t fuckin’ know! You stood up for me that night at the theatre, stopping that piece of shit French asshole from killing me. Then, you show up just in time to stop those Sabbat from staking and leaving me for the sunrise. And now, I lost control, and you don’t kill me. So, why, Nines? Huh?” 

          By the time her stream of consciousness was finished, Mickey was damned near breathless. If her heart could still beat, she was sure it’d be racing. Her walls were starting to slip, cracks appearing in the foundations. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, she was supposed to stay in control. Keep people at arm’s length, that’s what she did. 

          Except, now, he was closer than an arm’s length away. She didn’t realize he’d gotten so close. She had to look up toward him now, in order to meet his gaze headon. Mickey nearly startled when she caught him smirking at her. 

          “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

          A beat of silence, followed by a low chuckle in the back of his throat. “Why do you think I keep lookin’ out for you?”

          Mickey blinked. She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. This wasn’t how the conversation was supposed to go. 

          “Because — because I’m useful?” She didn’t mean for it to come out as a question. 

          When Nines didn’t respond, Mickey continued, “you want me for the cause, or whatever. Which, yeah, sure, I hate Lacroix, so if you — if the Anarchs need help, I’ll help, but if that’s why, then you should just say it —”

          “Kid —” 

          “— because Jesus Christ, I get enough bullshit power play from every other Kindred in this city, so —” 

          “Mickey.”

          As he said her name, the rambling stopped. He was so close to her now. He clouded her senses, his presence a comforting haze she didn’t want to pull away from, not yet, not when he’d never been so close to her before. Mickey didn’t dare breathe (not that she needed to, anyway) so as to not break the tension. 

          “I didn’t save you because I think you’re useful,” he said, voice low, but each syllable reverberated loudly in her ears, “I saved you because — shit, I —” 

          It was uncharacteristic of Nines to fumble with his words. He was direct, brutally honest when he needed to be, and oh, so persuasive. That was why more and more Kindred flocked to his banner every night; they believed in him, believed in his cause and the convictions he would both live and die for. 

          But honesty was different than vulnerability, which Mickey and Nines both seemed to struggle with. 

          Mickey watched as his gaze flashed from her eyes down to her lips. He couldn’t place the shade of red; crushed cherries, red wine, day-old bloodstain. When his head dipped low, Mickey didn’t move as their foreheads gently met. His hands braced against the desk behind her, and she was thankful for its weight, because she’d started to feel weak at the knees. 

          He was too close to look at now. A fluttering of lashes as her eyes shut, followed by that persistent flutter in her chest. She inhaled slowly, her own hands resting on the bare skin of his forearms. 

          “Nines?” Mickey asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

          He shifted, nose brushing ever-so-slightly over hers. A hair’s breadth away now, his mouth ghosting and feather-light against her own. Something snapped in her then — her composure, most likely — like a taut wire string. Mickey rose up on her toes and closed the distance between them.

          The kiss was soft, gentle, almost hesitant. It lasted a few seconds before Mickey pulled back on instinct, as though startled by her own gentleness. She didn’t make it far though, before Nines was kissing her again, an edge of desperation and hunger to it. This kiss was not gentle; it was wild — primal, even. Mickey felt her lips bruise, her tongue tasting her own Vitae. Her hands snaked up his arms, one wrapped around his shoulder, the other resting against the back of his neck. She felt his arm grip her waist in turn, helping Mickey keep her balance as she stood on the tips of her toes. 

          When they finally parted, a low whine escaped Mickey’s throat. Nines stepped back a hair, putting more distance between the two of them. Her hands rested on his forearms again, his on her waist. It was  quiet again, but this time Mickey didn’t find the quiet as deafening. 

          “This what you had in mind when you said you wanted to talk?” Mickey asked, that familiar bite of snark making its way back into her voice. 

          Nines dared to crack a smile at that, “We are still gonna talk about this,” he paused, gesturing between the two of them, “whether you like it or not.” 

          Mickey slid up to him then, something like a challenge gleaming in her eye, flashing like lightning. “Oh, yeah? That a threat? Or a promise?” 

          “A promise,” he confirmed, that smile threatening to grow wider. 

          “Speaking of promises,” Nines continued, albeit reluctantly, “I’ve got an appointment to keep, so I better get goin’.” 

          Mickey nodded, that same snark bleeding through as she said, “Well, far be it from me to keep you from your adoring public.” 

          Nines snorted as he readjusted the collar of his shirt. He paused then, really looking at Mickey, pinning her beneath the icy intentness of his gaze. 

          “You’re probably the only person that could.” 

          Before Mickey’s brain could even work fast enough to come up with a response to that, he bid farewell with a smirk and a raise of his brow. When the door shut behind him, Mickey was left with a new storm of emotions, but her chest felt lighter than it had in weeks.

[wardog-of-the-endless]

you said that youve done something similar to a post about haunted stuff you rebloged so like,, give us the story you cant just leave us hanging

Ok so I waffled so fucking long about telling this story and there are like, 3 ways I could answer it, if I’m honest. BUT I’m gonna tell the main one, aka Everybody Dies Famous In A Small Town… wherein I actually… am… the local cryptid?

*clears throat* Yeah, so, that’s a thing. >.>;;;; Let’s start at the sort of beginning? Okay: So our story takes place many moons ago when I was in HS (most of my squad were the best Honor Student Geeks ever and I think of them fondly). Sleepovers for us were sort of the norm, but like, with movie marathons or book reading sessions and none of the hip stuff that “teens” do, on “tv”. Sorry we boring AF. On this particular evening, we watched all of the LOTR trilogy, extended edition. (Which is like, hella lot of movie? So much of movie.) 

During this marathon, it was decided my hair should be braided. Which, if you don’t know, I have SO MUCH of the hair. So friend’s mom, and friend, work on my massive mane and tame it into roughly A MILLION braids, each one like a half-inch wide. There are a ton of them. It takes most of the night. It looks amazing, I wear it to school for a week because they’re BOMB. (Also I’m a rebellious bisexual pagan Latina in the Bible Belt, those prissy bastards could kiss my ass.) 

It’s worth mentioning this is my Senior Year, I have like ONE class and then I leave for work-study every day, which is at the local newspaper. My one class is a computer class I have with like 2 of my younger squadmates, all my senior people are elsewhere, so I only get to see them in the morning before the first bell. We have our own area of the courtyard staked out, but I’ve got friends in every group and I visit with them every morning. Hugging is against the rules, every morning I get (by this point, half-assed) yelled at for my flagrant disregard for the rules. IF YOU ARE MY FRIEND I’M TOTALLY GONNA FUCKIN HUG YOU (if you’re cool with it, of course). So for years now these teachers stand on the second floor and monitor the courtyard and every morning it’s like: 

“RODRIGUEZ, STOP HUGGING PEOPLE!” (And I fuckin don’t. Did I mention rebellious bisexual pagan Latina?)

But this week, my hair is braided into all my tiny braids and I’m rockin it. (And something weird happens.)  Suddenly every teacher thinks we have a brand new fucking transfer student, it’s like they can’t recognize me. I am not getting called out by name. Adults are asking me if I know where my classes are. In the morning I get, “Excuse me, Sweety, don’t do that!” and “HEY, NEW GIRL, NO HUGGING.”(This bitch is no new girl, the hugging continues.)

So my week, more or less normal except they’re not yelling at me in the morning, I take my one class, I vanish to work, blah blah. The last day of the week I unbraid the hair, and it’s SUPER CUTE ITTY BITTY WAVES, and I wear it like that to school. 

And people start asking what happened to “Dreadlock Girl”.

??? (spoiler alert: it’s me. they weren’t dreads, but it’s me) 

So someone in my class is like “yeah some girl with dreads sat in your seat all this week”. (No.) “You didn’t see her?” (I mean yeah but in a mirror?) 

AND THEN THE STORIES START.

Did you know she’s actually in a famous band? (She isn’t.) She’s well known for [insert whatever, local news, local drama, whatever]. (She’s not.) Dreadlock Girl made the Head Cheerleader Cry. (No.) Dreadlock Girl is friends with Stoners and Jocks. (I mean yeah but they aren’t dreads?) Dreadlock Girl yelled at such and such a teacher when he said the Holocaust didn’t happen. (Ok, I did, but when I was in like 9th Grade and I didn’t have my Dreads in and WHY ARE PEOPLE STILL TELLING THAT STORY? IT WAS AGES AGO.) Dreadlock Girl made out with so and so hot girl. (I didn’t but I probably would have?) She slapped what’s-his-face in front of the school. (Whoa now? I mean he’d have deserved it but I definitely didn’t.) 

Anyway, it’s the trippiest fucking thing. Not long after I graduate (but continuing at least 3 years after) showing up to pick up my brother or friends after school, I’m hearing stories.  An ex of mine meets me out front one day and spends fifteen minutes blowing my mind by telling me all the stuff this Legendary Bitch has done as of late. NONE OF IT IS TRUE. “Oh Dreadlock Girl is back, she did this, she did that.” She’s a goddamn urban legend at this point, but it’s been over a decade I hope they still tell stories about her fine ass. 

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ~Toni 

[novemberwasgrey]

Headcanons of Ares kids + Chrisse #2

At the beginning of their relationship Clarisse's brothers didn't like it and were always in the overprotective-brothers-even-though-their-sister-can-kick-asses-herself-mode. Eventually they learn to appreciate Chris because he helps them getting back to the Stoll's pranks. Plus he's the only one who can calm her nerves down. An angry Clarisse is not good for anyone, believe them

However, Ares still doesn't like it. He might be harsh, especially towards his daughters, no one is good enough for his drakon slayer

It's a mutual feeling: ever since Chris learned Ares used to beat Clarisse when she'd disappoint him, he despises him more than anyone in the world

Sherman and Clarisse almost had to threaten Mark for him to ask out Nyssa

But it's nothing compared to Ellis, Mark and Clarisse literally pushing Sherman to make a move on Miranda

Ellis is gay and the only one in Cabin 5. He was afraid to come out in fear that his siblings would treat him differently afterwards but no such thing happened: Sherman already knew because they're really close, and his other siblings were surprised but accepted right away. All of them mentally swore by the river Styx that they'd destroy physically and psychologically anyone giving Ellis crap about his sexuality.

He ends up dating Cecil ofc

Ares kids are fierce big mama lovers. Like they're the ones Iris messaging their mothers the most but you better not mention that or they'll bury you somewhere in the camp's woods.

Baby Chuck Hedge adores his godmother Clarisse. When she and Chris babysit him, he cries every time Mellie comes to pick him up; she's like a second mom

Eventually, Frank starts to get along with most of his Greek siblings; every time he would visit CHB he stays in their cabin and Mark or Clarisse always call him at dinner: "yo Praetor Zhang! Food contest! Come eating with your bros and sis'!" it scares Percy beyond belief to see Clarisse and Frank getting along "You know, Frank is actually a good person, don't turn him into one of you" "Shut up Prissy!"

Reyna and Clarisse are like bffs and you cannot tell me otherwise

Clarisse is a Gryffindor and Chris is a Slytherin; he's the sneaky one with good comebacks, she's the too-brave one diving headfirst into any fight

Clarisse is French (seriously her first name AND last name are French and it's my mother tongue so trust me when I tell you she's probably French canonically)

And Chris is Dominican so they learn each other's language ("mierda Clarisse te quiero tanto" "Pas de romantisme à deux balles Rodriguez")

Silena was French as well (Beauregard means "Beautiful look") and before she died she actually introduced her father to Beckendorf and Clarisse. He loved his daughter's boyfriend and surprisingly Clarisse as well (usually she's not the "parent's friend") ; they spent an entire evening drinking French wine and talking about French politics. Silena was whining all night: "Papa! You never let me drink wine with you" "Clarisse seems like she can take it unlike you who's tipsy after a glass of Sauvignon" "hahaha, deal with it Beauregard!"

When Silena died, he wasn't mad at Clarisse at all and they would mourn together. He sends her chocolate every year

Legal age drinking is 18 in France but Clarisse's mom always let her sipping wine since she was 15; therefore, she has really high alcohol tolerance

But when Clarisse is drunk, gods, she is REALLY drunk. According to her brothers, she's the "dance like a hooker loving everyone" type of drunk ("I luuuuv you so much Chris I don't tell ya often" "Percy you might be a priss ur an awesome guy most of the time" "I miss baby Chuck" "Chris ur the 'ove of my life" "Sherman, Mark you're the most annoying brothers in the world but you're also my fav" "did I mention that I luv ya Chris?" Chris finds it adorable and he gets to see those hips moving aaaaall night looooong

He never drinks because of what happened to him in the Labyrinth; since then he wants to be in control and aware of all his actions

Drunk or not, Clarisse is a really good dancer (she's so graceful on the battlefield that it has to come from somewhere).

[twiststreet]

Catfight (2017): I was listening to America’s Travis Bickle on the Riviera podcast, and in praising this movie, they said something like “there may have to be something missing with you for you to like this movie.”  I watched it that night.  I’m just missing parts stitched together like a fucking Raggedy Ann doll at this point, but wheeee.  

Don’t watch the trailer, if you haven’t already-- it gives away a lot.  But the premise of the movie is it’s a sort of absurdist black comedy about a series of violent fist-fights taking place over a span of time between Anne Heche and Sandra Oh...?  The whole thing is kinda a metaphor, but it’s also kinda not and it’s just middle aged women punching each other...?  They don’t let metaphors get in the way of why you paid your Netflix dues, say.  I just like that premise.  There are a lot of movies about men punching each other, but not a lot with women punching each other, even though that’s way more visceral or memorable.  So I just ... there’s other stuff to the movie that it’d spoil to talk about, but that basic premise, I am the audience for.   

(And yeah, like the podcast mentions, there’s parts where you have to have a sort of “Oh, right, people are fucking monsters” skin to you that makes it hard to recommend to someone who’s not ... a certain way, but.  Like, I don’t know if “normal” people have that skin-- “normal” people seem to all be pretty fucking happy go lucky, but yeah, there are parts that I found funny but that I suspect you need to have a little of that There Will be Blood “I see nothing worth liking” to you...) (Sometimes I see writers-- fucking writers!!-- give this song and dance about “well, when I write villains, I think about how there are no really evil people, and everyone has their reasons.”  And I just laugh because holy shit, they don’t think there’s evil people!  Like, congratulations on not knowing the world, buddy...!  Congratulations on living your whole life in a fucking Smurf village.  Or I think a lot about that line in As Good As It Gets: “Some of us have great stories, pretty stories that take place at lakes, with boats, and friends, and noodle salad. Just no one in this car.”).

But yeah: women punching each other (and really... a couple times, in ways that pushed some “no no no no not like that not like that” buttons with me)-- I like that they made a movie of that.  That’s just memorable shit to me.  Like, I remember the first time I ever saw a woman’s boxing match, it was Ali’s daughter dismantling some little girl, how fucking crazy that was.  Or when I first moved to LA, I used to live in Koreatown, back before it became a foodie place or whatever, and I’d see girl-fights break out at bus-stops sometimes.  Or heck, I’ve just known pretty prissy girls who were into clothes or Justin Timberlake or whatever the fuck, who’d still talk about how they had to put some girl down one time at some party or cause they looked at her wrong or whatever.  I don’t got that George Perez thing where that kinda thing gives me boners or anything to hear about-- but it’s just memorable as shit, for some reason.  Like, girls fight.  But even still, even to this day, usually women in movies just kick a lot (my favorite McSweeneys article is “As the Token Female Member of this Action Adventure Team, My Job is to Kick”).  Once in a blue moon, you get a Fast & Furious where Gina Carano and Michelle Rodriguez fighting was a highlight of one of the movies, say, but... I feel like that’s relatively rare (though I’m probably forgetting some big examples).  I hope that’s what the next Terms of Endearment movie is about, when they reboot the Terms Cinematic Universe: girl-punching.  “Come to Laugh, Come to Cry, Come to Care, Come to Terms.  Or else Debra Winger will punch you, bitch.”  I’m in.

[fabray]

okay, because i am feeling like writing a lot more i’m going to put things under the tags that i’d very much like to do as a 1x1 or something so please come message me and lmk if you wanna do any of the things!!

ships --- i’ll bold the ones i’d like to play! reminder: i only do f/f and m/f.

george mackay/anyone

isla fisher/gal gadot

rahul kohli/anyone

stella maeve/jade tailor

cameron diaz/shailene woodley

cameron diaz/zoe kravitz

cameron diaz/nicole kidman

nicole kidman/shailene woodley

eiza gonzalez/anyone

diana agron/lea michele

taron egerton/anyone

adelaine kane/anyone

gina rodriguez/yael grobglas

anna kendrick/brittany snow

canon ships --- we can do au or strictly canon, it’s up to you! also, willing to change faces other than the canon ones

lexa/clarke (the 100)

poison ivy/harley quinn (dc comics)

any combination of the riverdale girls (i’ll play any)

amy raudenfeld/lauren cooper (faking it)

rachel berry/quinn fabray (glee)

fem!harry/hermione (harry potter)

fem!draco/hermione (harry potter)

ginny/hermione (harry potter)

lip/helene (shameless)

paris/rory (gilmore girls)

fem!jess/rory (gilmore girls)

fem!logan/rory (gilmore girls)

plots --- these are just rough ideas of what i want, we can flesh them out! and they don’t have to go along w any of those faces above we can discus faces!

a couple is seeking a third & it goes good but the girl and the wife start having their own solo meetings and start falling for each other (i could play both ppl in the couple!)

two prissy moms who are super into making their kids popular always carpool together to pta meetings and school dances and somehow fall in love despite how “straight” they are

actresses in a lesbian romance movie (or tv show) feel extremely attracted to each other but have to hide it  (bonus points if there’s an age gap tbh)

some kind of poly ship, i’m pretty easy with those but we can discuss it further!

superhero/villain kinda dynamic... give me superheroes 

something like “unreal” where the producer falls in love with the contestant or the bachelor or whatever, idek

if anyone has watched the show popular.... but basically two girls who are rivals in their daily lives but still live at home (i’m thinking college or an internship thing) and one is rich and the other is not but suddenly their parents are married and they have to live together 

some kinda princess/queen shit like sansa and cersei except ... not as murder ridden

escort/client, duh

single dad/mom and kindergarten teacher plot where the parent is like a stripper to make ends meet or something and teacher goes to some kind of bachelor/bachelorette party and they see them there

mean sorority sisters who are bitches together and make the lives of people a living hell but are always sleeping together secretly

zombies!!!

a witch and a vampire walk into a bar...... and fall in love

+ more i am sleepy !!!

please come to me if you’re interested in any of these because i probably won’t go to anyone who likes this unless we are like mutuals that i’m comfortable plotting with

[metawitches]

Jane The Virgin –“Chapter Four — Image JAV104A_155 — Pictured (L-R): Andrea Navedo as Xo, Gina Rodriguez as Jane and Ivonne Coll as Alba — Photo: Danny Feld/The CW — © 2014 The CW Network, LLC. All rights reserved.

This is the basic list of questions we ask ourselves while consuming media to help us determine if we’re seeing women being treated fairly or not. It’s not a yes or no checklist, or an easy, one sentence test, like the Bechdel test. But then, Alison Bechdel never meant for her test to become a widely used standardized instrument. This test requires some thinking about what you’re viewing. Misogyny is often subtle, and it’s pervasive. It’s easy to miss with one, casual viewing, but the message still gets into our heads and affects us.

That’s why these are guidelines, rather than a test. Some of these answers will be subjective, and reasonable people can disagree. We’re talking about art and the interpretation of art, after all. It also takes practice to start seeing things like camera angles and positioning, rather than letting it fly by. Hardly any of us can always spot gaslighting, especially when it’s being done by the writers and producers instead of the characters. These guidelines are just aspects of entertainment to keep in mind while viewing, to become more aware of what you’re seeing.

I (Metacrone) started working on this list in the late 80s, and it’s slowly grown. It’s still a work in progress, just like the entertainment industry. There are very few works that would pass every question with flying colors. Figure out how much you can live with watching, and the level that makes you take action. It’s okay to just watch and enjoy the show sometimes without feeling guilty, too. But, the more you can recognize the issues with entertainment and speak out, even if it’s only to one person, the more of an effect we all have on the entertainment industry.

The trick to understanding subtle misogyny, which is often institutionalized and internalized, is to look at the attitude behind the narrative, the way events and actions are framed, and the repetitiveness with which we are presented with these images. One scientist or superhero unrealistically fighting monsters in heels doesn’t matter. All of them fighting monsters unrealistically in heels while being unrealistically thin, with no muscle mass, having beautiful hair and clothing, and only a minor smudge or 2 of “sexy dirt,” matters a huge amount. It becomes the standard that everyone measures women by, even if they don’t realize they’re doing it. Especially for girls growing up surrounded by those images and looking up to those heroines. Or finding powerful female villains to be the closest thing to a well-rounded, achievable role model that is available to them.

You’ll notice we don’t include the standard used by the Bechdel test, time spent with other females talking about something other than men. We feel that standard has turned out to be a Trojan horse, as others have pointed out before us. If a woman is alone on a desert island with a man, there’s no way to pass the Bechdel test, even for the most feminist piece, whereas a piece in which a group of women do nothing but belittle each other based on patriarchal beauty standards can still pass the Bechdel test.

What’s important to us is the female characters’ appropriateness relative to the situation they find themselves in. We’re looking for women escaping the shackles of patriarchy. For women to no longer have to choose between being a madonna or a whore. To no longer be burdened with Eve’s supposed sins. We’re looking for shows where women are just women. Just regular, human people, living their lives, going about their business, as most of us do, without having male expectations placed onto them, forcing them to be weaker, or stronger, or more beautiful, or sexier, or uglier, than the situation would otherwise call for. We’re looking for female characters that haven’t been distorted in any way in order to fit male needs and expectations.

It doesn’t seem like much to ask, but it’s surprisingly hard to find. Most of us have forgotten what it might even look like. Many of us don’t even have it in our real lives, so we don’t know what to look for to begin with.

So, the next time you have some extra brain space and are watching a show, ask yourself a few of these questions. They are meant for reflection, to be applied in a thoughtful manner on a case by case basis, not to suggest that every time a woman fights in heels or wears tight, revealing clothing she’s in a misogynist show. We love a good fight in a great outfit as much as the next person. 

  Metawitches Guidelines for Spotting Misogyny vs Female Equality in Entertainment and Media

Misogynist works reduce women to five different tropes, or a combination of these tropes, if the characters are “complex”:

Madonna: The perfect, pure, unspoiled, virginal, all-giving, always nurturing mother/good girl who “deserves”, and gets, the men’s respect.  Attractive in a more controlled, more subdued way than the Whore/Bad Girl, usually involving pastels, neutral colors, and covered skin. Sandy from Grease, Jane Bennett from Pride and Prejudice and Melanie Wilkes from Gone With the Wind are examples.

Whore: The woman who is sexual, powerful, selfish, self-aware, who does not put the needs of others first at all times, and hangs around with the men, but isn’t respected. Attractive in a flashy, obvious way, involving brighter colors, and tighter, more revealing clothing than the Madonna/Good Girl. Often a villain, but also can be simply the Bad Girl or even the Bad Girl with the Heart of Gold. Scarlet O’Hara from Gone with the Wind, Kitty Bennett from Pride and Prejudice, Rizzo from Grease, and Johanna from The Hunger Games are examples.

Child: The woman who is weak and unable to think for herself, whether it’s the writers who think that, the male characters, or the woman herself. She is helpless, ditzy, silly, insane, manic, dreamy, victimized, angry, depressed, etc. There are an infinite number of reasons why the male characters might need to step in and take over the decision-making, or provide strong guidance. Guidance may be provided subtly. This one can be difficult to spot. The child usually doesn’t grow up/grow as a character, get more than token punishment for mistakes, or have any truly evil intent. Examples include Mrs Bennett from Pride and Prejudice, Frenchie from Grease, Annie from The Hunger Games and Barbra from Night of the Living Dead. This is a prominent racist stereotype as well, so it’s often used on women of color. Prissy from Gone with the Wind is a famous example.

Eve: Even though she might be the lead character, the woman is treated as if she is an extension of the male characters, instead of a separate being, especially physically. Men will guide her decision-making. She will learn everything important from them. Their love and approval will mean everything to her. Often, the love interest will touch her constantly, going so far as to move her body to where he wants it without telling her where they are going first or giving her any choice in the matter. Sex is all about him and is often a reward for his accomplishments. If the woman disobeys the man’s wishes, the universe will often teach her a lesson. Unlike the child, Eve can grow as a character, but she can only grow in male-approved directions. Eve can be a good girl and close companion to the man from the start, or she can start off as a villain and be redeemed, after she’s accepted her punishment and male guidance. Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games, Wonder Woman (from the 2017 movie), Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Jane Austin’s Emma, and Elizabeth Bennett from Pride and Prejudice are Eves, as are most of the recent crop of bad ass female warriors and strong female heroines.

Invisible Woman: The women that men don’t want, unless they are used as villains or plot devices. The throwaway characters. The old (post-menopausal, sometimes younger), very young, disfigured, disabled, sick, unattractive, fat. If the piece is racist, women of color will often fall into this category. Wonder Woman 2017 erased all of the women in this category except the chosen child, the plot device secretary, and the disfigured villainess. The movie side of the Marvel Cinematic Universe has also virtually erased this category, except the aging Peggy Carter and a few appearances by superhero mothers and mentors. The Ancient One in Dr. Strange was an Invisible Woman, meant to be a supremely powerful being, but instead kept in hiding, reduced to asking neophyte Dr Strange for help, and sacrificing herself, in the end.* All of the Asian women who could have played the role instead of Tilda Swinton were rendered invisible by the filmmakers.

    Now that you have an idea of what you’re looking for, let’s look at the questions.

1- Does the women’s clothing make sense for their situations, or is it meant to sexualize or infantilize characters who otherwise wouldn’t have those traits? Are older women, disabled women, fat women, and other women outside the typical Western beauty standard dressed in plain, loose clothing, while the “attractive” women are dressed in tight, revealing clothing? Are the women dressed appropriately for what they’re doing and who/when/what they are? Are they dressed sexually for no apparent reason? Are they hobbled by wearing high heels or being barefoot? Is a character wearing a tiny revealing outfit that makes her physically vulnerable to injury, or virginal white, or something else that makes her seem deliberately childlike?

2-Are women who aren’t considered traditionally attractive confined to the role of best friend, sidekick, neighbor, boss, villain: anything but leading lady? Are women who are physically disabled or disfigured actively portrayed as villains?Are the women’s faces and facial expressions allowed to be normal reactions to situations and is the level of make up they wear appropriate to the character? Are they allowed to have bad hair days, not wear makeup, have less than attractive facial expressions? Are their faces oversexualized? Are they forced to smile at all times? To wear heavy make up? Are older women so loaded up with Botox that they can’t move their facial muscles any more? Do the female characters become ridiculously frightened or scream at the first sign of trouble, no matter how brave and practical they are otherwise? 

3- If the show acknowledges bodily functions and genitals, does it acknowledge them in women? How? Is it acknowledged in a matter-of-fact way, or are women’s bodily functions and genitals seen as especially disgusting, especially those that are unique to women, such as periods and breastfeeding? Or are women’s bodily functions fetishized, with pregnancy, childbirth and breastfeeding turned into processes created exclusively to benefit men? Or are beautiful women too perfect to do anything as disgusting as fart or sh*t, but “ugly” women do it for laughs or to show us how scary or hideous they are?

4- Are the women unnecessarily physically manhandled by other people? Are the women fully in control of their own bodies? Do people touch them, either sexually or non-sexually, without their consent? Are their bodies picked up and moved around at will by others, without their consent? Is their personal space invaded without a second thought? Are they forced to use their bodies in ways they don’t want to, up to and including rape? Are they subject to social pressure to behave a certain way, often to the point of coercion? Are they seen as monsters who must be executed? Are they the subject of a witch hunt, or false imprisonment?

5- Is the woman in full control of her mind and power (personal power or supernatural power)? Or does she have to have a man guiding her all the time? Does a male step in and finish her fights for her (and possibly take the glory)? Is there a male guide who is the smart one, and who chuckles at her naivety? If she’s the main character, does the male get the big victory? Does she ever outgrow mentorship? (E.g.: Buffy never outgrew needing Giles to be her guide.) Does her husband, lover, or son tend to make the main decisions, or subtly guide her toward the correct decision? (We’re not talking about a woman freely asking for advice, or coming to consensus with another person.) Do men belittle the women’s intelligence and morals on a regular basis, while the women accept this treatment as normal? Do all of the female characters have an external locus of control (feel that they are powerless to affect their own world/lives, and thus end up being constant victims), or act like it when it’s time to take action, regardless of their position in the world? Do women go insane or develop other illnesses from experiences that don’t have the same effect on men? Are female characters expected to sacrifice themselves for the greater good, whether that means the couple, the family, or the country, while male characters are not? If the woman is a criminal, in the military, or has another dangerous lifestyle, is she treated equally to the men, or is she seen as a pawn in the men’s games? Did she understand the choices she was making, or was she portrayed as too stupid or naive to realize the seriousness of the life she chose?

6- Do men use subtle and not so subtle gaslighting and manipulation of women to control and coerce them, but this is accepted as normal behavior by everyone? Who is the point of view character? Are we ever given the honest point of view of the female characters? (This might be the most important question, and the hardest to discern. Characters speak the writers’ words, after all, not their own. Editors and directors manipulate which words we hear and how they are presented. But then sometimes it seems like it should be obvious. We’ve been pressured into accepting reality show conditions, for example, as okay, because the women appear to choose to trade their autonomy and dignity for fame and fortune. But is there any real choice in a coercive culture like ours, where we are bombarded from birth with certain messages?) Do women feel the need to apologize for expressing their emotions and opinions freely, especially negative ones, most especially anything involving anger or depression (for being the dreaded Debbie Downer), while men are accepted and even praised for expressing themselves? Are women automatically seen as liars and manipulators, using men for their own purposes? Does the gaslighting extend to the audience, asking us to accept that the male characters are truthful and have only good intentions? Do the women smile and nod their way through the scenes, accepting whatever is dished out to them (often with a laugh track in the background or a reality show commentary)? Do the women compete to be degraded, sometimes to the point of abuse? Do the male characters keep a judgey running commentary on the women’s behavior and looks going, as if the women can’t hear them?

7- If the show involves sex, do women initiate and enjoy sex as often and as much as men? Is it stated or implied that certain kinds of women want or enjoy sex too much? Are value judgements made on the types of sex a woman wants and enjoys, whether that’s hetero sex, kinky sex or queer sex of whatever sort? Does it show women receiving oral or being pleasured just for them at least as often as men are? If it does, does it only show women receiving pleasure from other women, or do they receive it from men? Is the man genuinely concerned with pleasing the woman just for her, or is it part of some actual or perceived competition for him? Does it show women being coerced, either subtly or overtly, into sex acts they aren’t interested in or comfortable with, while the narrative implies that they should go along with whatever their partner or culture wants? Is it stated verbally that it’s okay to say no or to stop in the middle of sex, but that’s negated by everything else in the piece? Is it stated or implied that only certain kinds of women (such as a certain age, size, race, ability, economic or beauty standard) are interested in sex, enjoy sex or are worth having sex with?  Is the man always dominant and the initiator in sexual encounters? Is the sex about power or competition rather than pleasure? Who has the power in the situation? Is everything that happens during the sexual encounters consensual and previously discussed, if the couple is trying out sexual practices that are new to them? Is the women freely choosing to have sex, or is the sex something that has been earned by the male character for fulfilling certain conditions, whether it’s taking her to dinner and a movie or helping her escape from prison? Are the characters being honest and open about themselves before having sex, or is dubious consent involved due to the dishonesty and manipulation of one or both of the partners?

8- Are the women surrounded by symbols and signs of female powerlessness and weakness? Are the women forced into a Madonna/Whore dichotomy, where good, nurturing women can’t be sexy and own their power, and bad, sexy, powerful women can’t be selfless and compassionate? Where women are either powerful or good? Where a “complex” female character is a woman who struggles to choose between being powerful or good? Does her power ultimately make her weak or evil? Is she forced to apologize for using her power? Is she self-loathing because of her power? Is she a funny-sexy woman who’s too weak for her hypersexuality to be threatening? Or a powerful but evil woman whose sexiness is portrayed as threatening? Is she turned into Eve, falling from grace and goodness with the acquisition of knowledge and adulthood? Does using her power drain her and make her physically and mentally weak? Is she self-loathing because of the necessary choices she’s had to make to survive a crisis situation, such as a war or natural disaster, or an ongoing struggle, such as poverty? What kinds of jobs do the female characters do? What kinds of roles do they play in their society? What does the culture’s religion look like? The military? Are women respected for the roles they traditionally and currently play in the culture that’s being portrayed?

9- Are they showing the truth of a woman’s experience, or are they showing exploitation? Is the woman a victim because that’s the only way the writer knows how to write women? Is a historical figure’s story being told accurately, or is it being sensationalized, with the woman being made weaker, or sexualized, or taking a backseat in her own story? Is a woman making choices that act out male fantasies rather than choices real women make, such as when characters fall in love with their rapists?

10- How are women photographed and physically positioned? How does the cinematography treat them? Is the lighting harsh, to make them look old or ugly? Soft, to make them look younger? Are women in positions that make them look smaller and more childlike? Are they positioned behind and/or below men consistently to show that the men are the more powerful and important characters? Does their position make them look dehumanized, vulnerable, self-protective, or lacking in individuality? Do they appear faceless or monstrous? Are they disappearing into shadows, or do they appear as if they’re behind shadowy bars made by blinds, making them look sinister? Is the camera tilted and/or is part of the subject of the frame obscured, making everything feel off, unstable, maybe even insane? Do all of the women look alike, in their physical characteristics and/or dress and behavior, turning them into anonymous clones lacking in individuality?

11- What kind of language is used to describe women and women’s issues? Are elderly women referred to as “grandmothers,” while elderly men are called “men”? Are women called “ladies” or “girls” while men are called “men”? Are women described by their physical characteristics, while men are described by their character traits or history? Are appropriate terms and phrases used for women’s body parts, issues and crimes against women, or are derogatory terms used, and terms that question the validity of crimes and issues, like the phrase “real” rape? Even the tone of voice that newscasters use has an effect on the way we view the people and issues they are reporting on. Do narrators, hosts, and commentators promote stereotypes of women, and manipulate the audience into feeling a certain way about certain women, such as that empowered women are “evil witches” or unmarried women who use birth control are “slutty”? Do the jokes have an anti-realistic, anti-equal woman slant (fat jokes, lying woman jokes, ageist jokes)?

12- How are female characters treated relative to male characters, in areas such as amount of screen time, focus given in the plot, and relative number of lines of dialogue? This goes for females vs males in all aspects of the production. Lead characters and series regulars are the most visible. How does the number of named female characters relate to the number of males? How prominent are the women’s roles? Are there women of color and LGBT women in the cast? How prominent are the roles the women of color and LGBT women are playing? Is there a female lead, but she’s the only named female character? Does the production have women on the creative team? If it’s a TV series, does it have female writers and directors for its episodes on a regular basis? Are there women in any of the male-oriented tech positions? Is the story about female characters who look and act like they are important to the piece (and might even be the title character) and get major screen time, but in reality the important work of the story is done by the male characters (who might technically be supporting characters)? (This, and the female lead as the sole woman are the most popular ways to dupe women into thinking they are seeing equality.)

Lucky 13- If you want to dig really deep, what is the working climate for women who work for this production, this director, this studio, this theatre, this TV network? Are they known for hiring women? For giving women their start as writers or directors? Or are they known for shutting women out of anything but acting, for enforcing unrealistic physical standards on actresses, and/or for sexually harassing the women who work for them? Worse, have they been accused of rape, pedophilia, or other crimes against women, but their wealth and influence have allowed them to escape justice? Is this a business that you are comfortable continuing to give your viewership to, knowing that views, ratings, clicks, advertising dollars and ticket sales encourage the continuation of the misogyny you’re seeing on the stage or screen? 

According to the annual Celluloid Ceiling Study, fewer than 1% of each year’s top 250 films employs more than 10 women behind the camera, whereas 70% employ 10 or more men. This has remained unchanged for the last 20 years. It will remain unchanged until we demand change with our feet.  

What we see in our entertainment influences us, but we have the power to influence it back by focussing our attention and our money onto the projects and creators that we feel are most worthy of our support. All it takes is some critical thinking and the power of an informed choice.

  *The Ancient One also has elements of the Madonna and Eve, but given her self-sacrifice and dependence on the men around her, I feel that the combination of making her soft spoken, dependent, sacrificing, hidden, and generally lacking in authority and presence serves to make her fade into the background, compared to other characters. Usually an Invisible Woman would be a smaller role, so The Ancient One is worth noting. She’s turned into a ghost when she should be a powerhouse. For comparison, look at the Netflix side of the MCU, and Madame Gao, who commands every room she walks into, before even saying a word, even though the actress, Wai Ching Ho, is physically a tiny person.

    Metawitches Guidelines for Spotting Misogyny vs Female Equality in Entertainment and Media This is the basic list of questions we ask ourselves while consuming media to help us determine if we're seeing women being treated fairly or not. 

[scarpool-gmk]

8

Title: Godly Marine: Killed Author: Scarpool Fandom(s): NCIS, Percy Jackson & the Olympians Pairing(s): Gen Rating: PG/K+ Summary: Chapter 8 (10/13) — Staff Sergeant Michael Kahale, Marine Corps Mechanic and Son of Athena, was murdered. Annabeth Chase is determined to find out who did it and why. She, along with Percy Jackson, Grover Underwood, and Clarisse La Rue, infiltrate NCIS where they team up with NCIS Agents Leroy Gibbs, Anthony DiNozzo, Timothy McGee, and Ziva David. Complete Genre: Fanfiction, Mystery, Drama, Humour, General, Action Warnings:  N/A

The ride to Botsaris’s get-a-way car was done as quickly as possible. Clarisse had grouched about Annabeth being driver and stole Percy’s claim to riding shotgun out of spite.

Typical.

For the demigods, getting out of the office couldn’t have come fast enough. Grover, however, had doubts.

“Are you really okay leaving now? They’re going to question Michael’s family. Shouldn’t we be there? It might help us in the case.”

Clarisse cracked her knuckles. “It might end it.”

Annabeth sighed. “The others will take care of it. They will find Michael’s killer.”

Clarisse stared at her. “You’d let the mortals completely take over the investigation?”

“Our priority is to make sure we are the ones to find General Botsaris and Monster Donuts.”

“Wait a second,” Percy said. “I thought the quest was to find out who killed Michael.”

“The more important objective is to find out what Michael was digging up,” Annabeth said. “Based on Michael’s notes, there is a huge monster threat here.”

“A-and you want to upset it?” Grover asked.

“That’s what your brother did,” Clarisse said, “And I’m not overly fond with the idea of turning out like him.”

“Hey!” Percy glowered at her. “Not cool.”

“Use the kelp in your soggy head, barnacle boy,” Clarisse growled. “We’ll be in their territory. We’ll be outnumbered and out armed. Michael said they were arms dealing with Mexican Cartels, which means they’ll have guns. We can’t be sure they’ll be stocked with celestial bullets, so we’ll be the ones with the holes, not them.”

“Then we shouldn’t rush in there,” Percy said. “We’ll need a plan.”

He looked at Annabeth expectedly.

Annabeth stayed silent, focusing on making a left turn.

“Um, w-we do have a plan, right?” Grover stuttered.

Annabeth took a breath. “Of course. It’s simple. We sneak in and do some reconnaissance. We keep quiet. In and out.”

Annabeth looked at Clarisse and Percy like they would be the most trouble to her plan.

‘In and out, low profile,’ Percy thought. ‘I can do that.’

“And making sure the mortals get the killer?” Clarisse said. “If it was actually a monster who killed Michael, what do you plan?”

Annabeth glanced at her. “I’m sure it was a mortal. They are seasoned investigators. We are not. We should let them do their jobs. We must do ours.”

“You trust them?” Clarisse asked.

“I do. So should you.”

Percy looked between them and decided to change the topic. “What did Chiron say about Rodriguez?”

It was the wrong thing to bring up. Annabeth scowled. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“He wanted me to hand over all of the IDs and footage we got. He wants to tell the families.”

“Sounds alright to me,” Grover said.

Percy saw Annabeth’s grip on the wheel tighten as her scowl deepened. He leaned forward and placed a hand on her arm. “What’s wrong?”

Percy felt better as she relaxed a little to the touch. “I’ve known him for too long. He was dismissing my questions. Avoiding giving answers. It’s not like him to hide important information.”

Percy scoffed.

“At least, not with me,” Annabeth added.

“Are you going to let him do that?” Clarisse asked.

“Sure.”

Clarisse narrowed her eyes at her.

Annabeth smirked. “But he didn’t say I couldn’t keep copies of the files.”

Clarisse leaned back into her seat with arms crossed. “I should have talked to him. I’d have gotten the sense out of him.”

Annabeth rolled her eyes and turned into a large parking lot.

“There it is.” Percy pointed. “The car Tony and Agent David saw.”

Annabeth parked the car, taking up three spots.

“A black 2007 Porsche 911,” Clarisse said.

“Fits the description,” Annabeth said. “Correct license plate.”

“Also has a police officer keeping tabs on it,” Grover noted.

The demigods looked up to see a cop car rolling to a stop.

“I don’t know,” Percy said. “They’re probably giving us a ticket for Annabeth’s parking.”

Annabeth gave an airy laugh. “This place is empty,” she said. “They probably won’t even say anything.”

The window rolled down.

“You the, uh, NCIS?” The woman said after a quick glance at her computer screen.

“Yeah,” Annabeth said, showing her ID and badge, prompting the rest to do the same. Not that it mattered as the officer hardly even gave it a glance.

“Street cams have it coming in here yesterday afternoon.”

“Thanks for calling us,” Annabeth said.

“Do you need a tow?”

Annabeth shook her head. “It’s part of an ongoing NCIS investigation. We’ll have it picked up as soon as we can.”

The cop shrugged. “No worries. You can take your time.” She drove off. However, she did say one last thing as she rode passed them. “Oh, and please only take one parking space.”

Grover grinned at Percy. “Nice.” They shared a fist bump. Annabeth grumbled as she got back in the car.

Clarisse looked around. “If Botsaris left his car here, where did he go?”

“Maybe he went into the mall or got picked up?” Percy said.

Clarisse disagreed. “No, not at the mall. Since he knows we are involved, he didn’t park too close to the Hydra nest. But, if he wanted to come back to his car, he would have wanted to be somewhat near it. Grover, see if you can get up something and look around.”

“Get on top of something?” Grover said. “Like what?”

“There’s a tree right there, Goat boy,” Clarisse said. “The car is fine. You can even get on top of Prissy.”

“Um, let’s not,” Percy said, hands up in surrender.

“The tree is fine,” Grover said. He kicked his shoes off. The fake feet followed right after. He hopped up the tree like, well, like a goat. It looked a bit funny, a professionally dressed guy with hooves for feet surveying the land on top of a tree in a parking lot. A bit surreal, too. Even considering all the things Percy had seen.

It took a few seconds, but eventually…

“I see it!” Grover said. He launched himself back down and thanked the tree.

Annabeth got out of the car. “What happened?”

“I found Monster Donuts!” Grover told her. He snatched the keys from her hand. “Come on!”

“But I just – ugh!”

Percy felt for her and tugged her along to sit by him. He explained what happened as Grover revved up the car and went back on the street.

“Woah,” Annabeth said, as they got closer. “I’ve never seen one so big.”

Percy coughed down a joke and leaned over to get a look. The doughnut store was nothing like the one Annabeth, Tyson, and he found years ago. This one was much larger. “It has a drive-thru?!” Percy exclaimed. Did monsters drive? Or did this one also cater to non-monsters?

“Hmm, but it’s closed,” Annabeth said, noting the large sign, closing the drive-thru off. “Grover, park over there. We don’t want to alert any monsters by parking right in front of them.”

Grover parked the car out in front of an electronics store two stores down. They grabbed their gear.

“Right,” Annabeth said as they snuck through the drive-thru, “A place this big will have a staff-only entrance at the back. I’m guessing that’s where they keep weapons and deal with Cartels.

“Clarisse, you’re with me. Going in through the front sounds like a bad idea, and it looks like the only door that isn’t at the front is that back door reserved for loading and staff. We’ll have to go through there. We should be out in twenty minutes. If that doesn’t happen and you don’t hear anything, regroup and try IMing us to get a grip on the situation. If it doesn’t connect, call Chiron and leave. Don’t go barging in.

“Percy, stay out here. See if anything loads in. Hopefully, no one goes in or out while Clarisse and I exit. If it happens, we might need your help. Grover, you’ll be posted at the front. Try not to be seen. See who enters. It’d be great if you can…”

Percy’s eyes started wandering. Oooh, a Boston Crème with chocolate icing.

“Percy! Stop looking at the menu and focus!”

Percy snapped back to attention. “Sorry, Annabeth.”

Annabeth sighed. “At least you understand your part of the plan, right?”

Percy nodded. “Stay out here on lookout. Be backup when you guys leave. Regroup after twenty minutes.”

‘And if you’re not out by then, barge in for a rescue.’

Annabeth nodded. “Let’s do this.”

They split up. Clarisse and Annabeth sneaking their way in, and Grover heading off to find his own place.

Percy went nowhere. This felt oddly familiar. Annabeth giving out orders. Annabeth going into enemy lines. Annabeth leaving him right on the edge of the enemy base. Ah, Percy got it.

‘It’s just another game of Capture the Flag for Annabeth,’ Percy thought. Why did he always get left in the middle?

Great, and now he could hear a car coming in.

Percy stopped. Was that car coming through the drive-thru? Wasn’t it closed? Wait a second. If someone was coming through the drive-thru, they had to come around back which was where-

Percy cursed when he realized he was just standing there. He would never hear the end of it if he was seen. He looked around for a hiding place. ‘Oh, not again.’  Percy forced his pride down and shoved himself in the tight place. Percy couldn’t tell which was worse. Being in the dumpster or stuffed in between two of them. At least when he had been in the dumpster, he had Tony’s company.

A black SUV came coasting through the road and stopped by the corner of the building. Percy watched as three people stepped out. The woman was carrying a briefcase.

For such a professional-looking ride, they didn't dress the part. All of them in casual clothes. The lady with the briefcase gazed around the back area. Percy tried to shrink himself further into the shadows.

They went up to the store’s back wall. But they weren’t anywhere near the back entrance. With one final glance behind her, the lady raised her fist and knocked on an unassuming part of the wall.

And just like magic, the wall opened to reveal a secret doorway.

Percy couldn’t see who opened the door. What he did know was that Annabeth and Clarisse definitely needed to know what was happening in this secret entrance. Annabeth probably wouldn’t want him to move, but this was a reconnaissance mission. What kind of information would he get from outside the secret hideout?

Percy pushed himself out from between the two dumpsters and ran over to the wall, after making sure no other surprise visitors were coming.

He inspected the area. He brushed his hand over the wall until he found it. A very small, straight chasm. Unnoticeable to those who didn’t know what to look for.

Percy went back to the trash to find anything he could use. He picked up a thin sheet of metal that had corroded off of the dump itself. That should do the trick. He went back to the secret door and tried opening it. He jimmied the metal piece through the small area. The door slid open. He was met with a small, dark hallway. He entered, closing the secret doorway on the way. Percy crept in.

A couple paces away, the path turned, and there was a door-sized opening.

Percy pressed himself to the wall and took a chance, braving a peak. He gulped.

Those were a lot of monsters. Tens of telekhines and dracaenae were standing in different places around the room. A few harpies hung from the ceiling. A Hydra was curled up in the far corner. The mortals either didn’t see them or didn’t care. They just kept walking to the center.

There, dozens of long cases were strapped on rolling two-wheelers. And with them, stood Markos Botsaris.

“Mr. Tarsibo,” the woman said, emotionlessly.

“Ah, Ms. Cuadra,” Botsaris said, going in to shake her hand, “How wonderful to see you again.”

Ms. Cuadra waved him off. “Sí, sí, sí. Just the deal, Mr. Tarsibo.”

Botsaris went to grab her case. “Of course. Business as usual. Now, for the rest of the money.”

Ms. Cuadra held the case away from him. “Where are the rovers? You usually have them set up out back.”

“Ah,” Botsaris said, “Yes, there has been a little mishap with the vehicle order.”

“Mishap?”

Botsaris spread his arms in a shrug. “We don’t have them.”

“You don’t have them?”

“That’s correct.”

“Then the deal is off,” Ms. Cuadra said. A couple dracaenae hissed, but the woman continued. “Reynosa would have the transfer she gave you up-front back.”

“The money cannot be recalled. Unfortunately, we do not have access to our vehicles at the moment. And won’t have for some time. Your car order has, at the moment, been canceled.”

The woman bristled. “We have been trusting you and doing business together for a while. Do not get on the Reynosa’s bad side.”

Botsaris didn’t look bothered. “We will, of course, try to send the cars you ordered as soon as we may get them, but…” Botsaris looked at the wall behind him towards the inside of Monster Donuts.

Percy froze. Had they been found out? Had he sensed Annabeth and Clarisse?

The lady chortled. “What? Don’t remember your excuse?”

Botsaris smiled. “I’m sorry. But it seems we must have a break in proceedings. We have uninvited guests.”

The building rumbled, and the sounds of gunfire began.

-Αντώνης-

Tony left the car door open as he and the rest of Gibbs’s team surrounded the very familiar black Porsche.

“That’s the car that tried to run us over, Boss,” Tony said.

“Call it in,” Gibbs said.

Tony looked at McGee, who nodded and took his phone out.

“What are we thinking, Boss?” Tony said. “Chase and her friends find anything in the car that leads to Tarsibo?”

“Car is locked,” Ziva said. “It’s abandoned and empty. They couldn’t have found out anything by it.”

Tony frowned. “So, where’d they go?”

Gibbs gestured behind him. “Officer.”

Tony turned to see a local enforcement officer stop her ride. She looked out her window with pursed lips. “Let me guess,” she said. “NCIS?”

Gibbs flashed his badge, which was pointless as the officer didn’t even look. “Thought so. No double parking.”

Tony looked at where the federal vehicle was. True, it was taking up two spaces. “But there’s no one here.”

He got an unimpressed look. “You know how many times I hear that?”

Tony started to sputter a rough estimate, but Gibbs spoke over him.

“There was another team that came over here. Know where they went?”

The officer cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t know where your co-workers are? Do you not like talking with each other?”

Gibbs shrugged. Tony forced a chuckle out. “Government employees, am I right?”

Her face showed that no, she did not agree. “I think I saw them going down that street. I can’t be sure, though. They had one of their agents climb up a tree.”

Gibbs lifted an eyebrow and looked at his team.

They all took a step back. Tony, McGee, and Ziva made their excuses at the same time.

“You know, I’ve just got this cramp in my legs- ooh. There it is.”

“Boss, I’ve never seen a tree before. I’m probably allergic.”

“I will light the tree on fire before I climb it. I’ll toss Tony in, though.”

The cop smirked. “Government employees, indeed.”

“Mmhmm,” Gibbs hummed and went back in the car.

Tony gladly followed. He almost didn’t have time to click in his seatbelt when Gibbs put the pedal to the metal and raced down the street.

“Where are we going?” McGee asked.

“Following a hunch.”

Tony and McGee shared a look. Gibbs’s gut.

“Gibbs,” Ziva said a minute later, pointing out the window, “Monster Donuts.”

Tony stared at the passing store. He had been searching this whole time! How did he miss that?

Gibbs turned into the nearest shopping area.

“Boss,” McGee said, “It’s Lima’s- er, Chase’s car.”

“They must have gone in already,” Tony said.

“Let’s go,” Gibbs said. They moved in on Monster Donuts on foot. Tony felt uncomfortable. Like they were being watched.

“It’s closed,” McGee said, noting the sign as they came up closer.

Gibbs tried the door. It didn’t open. Locked. He gestured to McGee.

“Not kicking down the door, Boss?” McGee asked.

Was he for real? Making snarky comments in this situation?

Gibbs’s eye twitched.

McGee withered. “Sorry.” He clicked his way through the lock, and they all filed in. The lights were off, and nobody was in the customer area. Seemingly empty. However, soft sounds came from behind the service counter.

Gibbs pointed at Ziva and signaled for a wedge formation. They went in. Gibbs taking flank, McGee watching six. There was a ton of equipment. Large tray stacks, fryers, a whole bunch of connecting rack wheels, conveyor belts. It was pretty cramped.

Ziva froze and held a fist up for the others to do the same. Tony watched with bated breath as she pressed herself against a large refrigerator. Ziva dropped to a crouch and waited a second. She suddenly whirled around and popped out of cover, gun at the ready.

Tony sighed through his nose when she gave the okay. Ziva made a hand sign. Tony frowned and took a peek behind the huge appliance.

A white poodle was lying down, stirring awake. Whoever put it there had cleared a really large space for it. It started to growl the instant it saw them. For such a small dog, it made the sound of a truck. Its beady eyes were murderous.

“Gibbs,” Ziva said quietly.

“I see it.”

Both had their guns drawn and pointed upwards. Tony didn’t see anything.

“What are you guys looking at?”

“Use your eyes,” Gibbs said.

“And let yourself believe,” Ziva added.

What? Tony looked back at the snarling dog. Use his eyes and believe was what they told him. Keep an open mind. It was essential for an investigator. Anything was possible.

And for perhaps the first time, Tony really looked. The white poodle faded away, replaced by a massive paw.

Tony drew in a long breath. He slowly tilted his head back, letting the air out in time.

He had no idea what he was seeing, but it was slobbering, had teeth almost the size of Tony’s head, and was much, much more menacing than the little poodle.

A small gasp to his right told Tony that McGee also saw it. His younger friend took a step back. For a scary moment, Tony thought he saw the dog smile.

“Easy,” Gibbs said.

“What is it?” Tony asked.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes. “A hellhound.”

As if recognizing the word, the hound responded.

Its bark shook the building.

-Ανναβετη-

Annabeth couldn’t even act like she was surprised. She and Clarisse were already on there way back out when Hades broke loose. Out of all her plans to be garbled, it always had to be one of the more important ones.

They scrambled outside and were immediately on edge upon seeing a black SUV.

“It looks empty,” Clarisse said, “Where’s Percy?”

Annabeth eyed the tinted car warily. She could take a good guess.

A slab of the wall slammed open. Annabeth didn’t even jump, but Clarisse rounded on it in a flash.

Percy yelped when he saw the gun in his face.

“You,” Clarisse said. “Where have you been?”

“The secret meeting room,” Annabeth answered.

Percy gaped at her. “How’d you know that?”

“The dimensions of the place didn’t add up.” Honestly, who were they trying to fool?

“Well, Botsaris is there with a ton of monsters and some people from the Reynosa Cartel.”

Clarisse spat a curse. She hefted her spear off her back and expanded it to full length.

“They are coming out right now!” Percy said.

“Guys!” Grover scrambled to a stop. “It’s the team. They went in through the front.”

“Let’s grab them and go,” Percy said.

The secret hatch crashed open once again.

“Go?” A dracaena hissed. “No one’ssss going any-“

She let a short wail as something gutted her stomach.

“Oh, someone’s going alright.” Clarisse bared her teeth. “But it sure as Hades ain’t gonna be me.” She twisted her spear, and the snake dissolved to dust.

The man who had stood behind the dracaena growled. Clarisse readied her spear as the man did the same with his own weapon.

Percy’s eyes went wide. “Gun!” he shouted. He grabbed Clarisse by the collar and dragged her away just before the shot came out.

Annabeth took cover with Grover behind the SUV. Clarisse and Percy joined them a second later. She took out her gun, prepped it, and fired a few shots. She missed the mortals but at least got them scrambling for their own cover. They weren’t the only ones with guns.

Clarisse followed her lead, taking shots at monsters. While being unable to kill immortals, regular bullets could still pack a mean punch. As they fell, vines and roots grew from the ground to keep them in place.

Annabeth looked at Percy. He had his sword out, but it was pretty out of place in a gunfight. “Percy,” Annabeth called, “The NCIS team. Go to the front and help them.”

“I would, but,” he ducked as an arrow chipped the car’s hood. “How am I going to get passed this?”

Annabeth thought for a second. “We’ll need a big distraction. Grover, can you get us something big?”

Grover paused his reed pipe rendition of ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams.’ “I’ll try, but I don’t really know. Having to keep all this playing up is making me tired.”

Shoot.

“What’s plan B?” Grover asked.

“We fight!” Clarisse said, unloading a couple shots.

“Actually, that’s plan E,” Annabeth said.

“Whatever.”

“Try anyway,” Annabeth told Grover. “Percy, just help while I figure this out.”

Percy’s brows scrunched up. He looked down at Riptide. “How?”

“Use your gun!”

He nodded at her and pried it out. He crouched over his cover and pulled the trigger.

Nothing came out. Percy looked at his gun in shock. Annabeth facepalmed. “Percy! The safety!”

“The what?!” Percy held out his gun. “How in Hades do you use this thing?!”

Clarisse snatched it away. “Give me that, doofus.”

“Hey!” Percy made to retaliate but had to dive down as a flurry of bullets came his way.

Annabeth watched as Percy screwed eyes tight. There was a squeal of metal. And suddenly, the barrage died out. Pipes burst from the doughnut store and sprung from the ground, water gushing out.

A harpy took its chance at the pause of gunfire and arrows. It swooped down on them. It didn’t get far. And it screamed as an electric spear pinned its wing to the ground.

“Percy!” Annabeth said, “You’re amazing!”

“I am?”

“You just made the distraction!” Annabeth gave him her spare knife. “Give this to one of the NCIS mortals.”

Clarisse also threw him a knife.

“You keep spare knives?” Percy asked.

“Always carry a spare knife!” The two girls said.

“Now, go! We’ll cover you.” Annabeth pushed him out.

They turned back to the horde of damp monsters and made sure Percy made it out of the fight zone.

“Hopefully, the mortals can help us out,” Grover said.

“I hope they don’t shoot at us.” Clarisse paused for a second, reloading a magazine. “Or die before they get the chance to.”

Annabeth said nothing. They shared a nod and, together, popped out and fired their rounds. Annabeth focused on the mortals. Although few of the monsters also carried firepower, their aim proved to be atrocious. Most likely attributed because their flippers and snake-limbs were not taken into consideration when guns were made.

Clarisse ignored the mortals entirely and let her bullets fly to Botsaris, who simply hid behind a telekhine, causing it to take each hit.

“Letting others take the shots!” Clarisse yelled. “What kind of son of Ares are you?”

Botsaris smiled at her. “I’m not a son of Ares.”

-Αντώνης-

Tony dodged a snap of teeth that would have cut him in half. Barely.

Tony almost went for the holstered gun at his hip, again. Not that it would do anything. Gibbs had ordered them to hold off after firing a couple shots at the beast proved to do no damage.

A knife flew by him and would have gone hilt deep into the dog’s head had it not been indestructible.

Ziva cursed behind him. Well, Tony had to give her kudos. It was one hell of a nice throw and had the absolutely wonderful effect of pissing the beast off even more.

Now, it really wanted to kill them, starting with Ziva. And Tony just happened to be in its way.

“Go!” he shouted.

He grabbed a spatula and held it like a bat.

“Come on. Come on,” He muttered, hoping to God that the hellhound didn’t actually do it. But it did.

This was it, Tony realized. He was going to die by dog. How pathetic. He always thought that this was how McGee would go. But if McGee, Ziva, and Gibbs survived because he, Very Special NCIS Agent Anthony DiNozzo, made the sacrifice, then that’s what he would do.

Tony was about to swing his flimsy weapon and get himself eaten while totally not screaming when something slipped by him. No, not something. Someone. A flash of bronze sliced in front of the hound. It let out a yelp, and a gold ooze ran into its furry chest. The hellhound swiped a massive paw at the new attacker. But the boy just flipped over it.

Tony stared. That was Jackson! He was fighting a massive dog beast with a sword! And doing some epic parkour, too. Wow, he was pretty impressive!

At some point, Percy had managed to get on top of the beast. With both hands on the hilt and a victorious yell, he thrust his sword into the dog’s neck.

The dog let out a whimper before rupturing to dust.

Percy landed on the ground, covered in gold dead-monster sand. If his brain was working properly, Tony would have thought that the scene he just saw explained a lot.

“Aw, did you have to kill him?” A voice called out. Tony turned around. A lumbering figure came out from the back. A man as big as a bear stepped into the destroyed area. He was wearing a colorful uniform and an apron that read, ‘Donut panic! I’m Cooking!’. According to the name tag, his name was Steve. “He just wanted to play.”

Tony swallowed. The man had arms thicker than turkey legs. And he could probably wield a spatula a lot better than Tony could. But what was really having him freak out was the one, big eyeball that was stuck right above his nose.

“Heh, you know, we got that dog when we figured out someone was sneaking around. Placed him right by the entrance.”

Jackson frowned. “So, why didn’t you put one by the back door, too?”

The cyclops blinked his one big eye. “Uhhhh….”

‘Thunk!’

Tony watched in a repulsive fascination as that great big eye rolled backward. Its owner struck to the floor.

Gibbs stood behind the body, a huge rolling pin in his hands.

Jackson blinked in surprise, then smirked. “Looks like you’ve got yourselves covered.” He dropped down two bronze knives. “Your weapons won’t work. Use these.” And before anyone could say anything, he rushed out back again.

Gibbs twirled the wooden utensil in his hands.

“Boss,” Tony gaped, “You just knocked out a Cyclops!”

Gibbs’s lips curled. “Yeah. I did.”

Tony, Ziva, and Tim could only stand and watch as Gibbs turned and followed Jackson to the store’s back.

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