#I have reason to suspect they abused the dog they “trained” for me and then ripped away without warning | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

orionares · 3 years

Text

BTHB: Ambush

BTHB: Ambush

NCIS: Los Angeles

@badthingshappenbingo

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

Deeks

Weakness.

That's the best way he can describe the feeling that's been permanently scarred in his psyche since he was a child. The feeling that's drowning him every passing moment Kessler isn't in jail or preferably dead, the same feeling on the twelve hour flight to rescue Kensi in Afghanistan or the times he hid under his bed during Gordon John Brandel's numerous abuse towards his mother.

It's also what he feels now, lying on his back bloodied and barely conscious under the low flapping of an approaching helicopter . As Investigator Marty Deeks takes painful, sharp breaths , he recounts the four bodies scattered throughout the cabin around him who had ambushed him on a drive back from a surf and kidnapped him.

Two by the door, downed by two shots from the Smith & Wesson semi automatic Deeks had wrestled away from a third figure, laying in a heap near the door.

The fourth, laying at Deeks' feet with the ghost of the greedy, smug smile on his face.

"H'lp," He chokes through the blood and spit he can't bring himself to swallow. He can feel his eye swelling by the second along with the burning sharp pain with every inhale and exhale.

"....Federal agents!"

Relief at rescue should be the emotion he feels. Relief should annihilate the weakness he feels after being kicked, punched and dragged, dragged , like a worthless doll across the floor to be tortured further.

Relief at the recognition of Sam's commanding voice and the cabin door flying open doesn't erase being clobbered by shared hits across the face from his kidnappers.

"Jesus Christ."

"Oh my God- Baby!"

Tears burn in the corner of his eyes and finally fall when his wife's hands gently pat a lock of blonde hair matted with dried blood. Kensi's face is blurry in the small slit of vision in his right and eye.

"I'm going to end Westfield. Deeks, can you hear me? We're here! You're safe."

Safe can't cover the dehumanizing snarl from the three humans he had fought tooth and nail to survive. It definitely cannot cover the smirk from the scruffy mid sixties man sitting handcuffed at the boatshed.

The leader of the small back of drug runners responsible for moving shipments across the state and killing two Petty officers.

The man with blue eyes that match his, although decades older.

His father.

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

Callen

"You do know," Admiral Killbride warns via video call,"that you will not go in and harm our suspect the moment Blye and Hanna check in."

He sighs as the team's lead continues to pace the length 9f the table in the boatshed like a hungry cheetah circling its prey. The lack of reaction doesn't bode well for the admiral sending Fatima to 'support' Callen, also known as preventing a possible murder.

A not entirely blameless murder based on Westfield's a.k.a Gordon John-back-from-the-dead Brandel, orchestration of Deeks' ambush and kidnapping.

On the other end of the call, Grisha Callen glares at the small hall leading to the interrogation room, protected by two agents. The leadership ingrained in him screams that assaulting two fellow agents to get to the 'father'- the man that's supposed to protect and care for his child- won't help Deeks.

His phone goes off with a loud chime that grabs his attention. A text from Sam arrives with short, brief statements- Got him. Hospital. It's bad. They beat him.

Callen shoves his phone across the table and plops down in his chair. His leg bounces violently as he scowls down the closed interrogation room once more.

He cannot go in there and beat the life out of that man for nearly killing Deeks, he cannot-

"Mr. Callen."

Hetty's voice appears on his right and he nearly jumps out of skin, a rarity for a season agent. She stands in the open space in front of the stairs in her trademark dark suit, hands crossed and an unreadable peer at her agent.

"They got Deeks but Sam said-" Callen spits out before Jetty finishes for him, " it appears that they beat him. Badly. "

"How are you so calm?" He snaps and then sighs. Henrietta Lange walks to his side and pats his shoulders in a comforting manner that neither comforts nor fuels the homicidal mood he's in towards Brandel. Her expressions remain stoic and a touch pensive as she states,"Things are never what they seem, Mr. Callen. Head to Providence Saint Joseph in Burbank and meet the others there. "

Callen's shoulders sag at Hetty's answer-intertwined on riddles, hidden message and on a suspicion fueled by his gut, a warning resembling the old spy game. He pushes himself from the table and forces the calculations needed to drive the thirty miles to Burbank.

And how to feign ignorance to whatever Hetty decides to do next.

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

Kensi

Flying over Los Angeles is supposed to be beautiful.

Once, Deeks had rented a helicopter ride over the city at night ten months into their marriage to fly over the downtown area. There had been no rhyme or reason for the sudden trip until they had landed with an overly chatty pilot and Deeks had sighed and told her seeing the city without death hovering over them was a nice change.

Now, the twinkle of lights towering over the sea of travelers heading home on the interstate don't register for Kensi. Even over the loud chopping blades, all Kensi can hear is Deeks' painful, whistling breaths.

She's supposed to think when this is over and he's safe, she'll admit that running across a warehouse floor past and dropping to her knees at his battered, bloodied body rivaled Mexico.

But the shared conclusion amongst the pilot, the medic, Sam and herself is that his father hired three men to beat and torture his only child.

The child that shot him three decades ago.

And that alone brings the fear- did Brandel tell these men secrets about Deeks? Did they tear into him between the kicks to the ribs, the strikes to every part of his body?

Kensi looks up to the monitor hooked up above the hospital cot. Ten minutes out- the pilot had yelled sometime ago. Deeks' heart beats relatively steady considering the wheezing under the broken ribs and the undetermined tremors that pass every moment or so.

He's still alive, drifting in and out of consciousness , based on what she hopes to be movement from his cupped hand and not a hallucination.

It's the after- Deeks' support and love doesn't hide the fear of Kessler, the fear of not being able to provide her a family and the lingering self criticism from training at FLETC. After this is over and Brandel never sees the light of day, they will sit down and talk and truly check in.

And she'll wrap her arms around him and never let him go.

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

Sam

“Move.”

“Agent Hanna, I can’t -” the young NCIS agent that stands in front of the interrogation room with both hands up in defense. The man is about six inches shorter than Sam, fresh faced and younger than Sam by at least a decade. Sam raises an eyebrow when the young man quickly scans him for anything in hand or waistband that could be used to ‘talk’ with the man handcuffed behind the door.

“I will move you,” Sam growls in a low voice, “ if I need to. That man needs to answer questions regarding kidnapping and torture of a federal agent-”

The young agent briefly straightens as if mustering a bit of strength before sighing, “I have my orders from Admiral Killbride.”

Approaching footsteps stop him from snapping at the young agent. A hand tugs at his bicep before Callen’s voice breaks the tension between the two. “Sam,” the lead agent directs, “Come on- we can’t.”

Sam scowls and backs away from the now wide-eyed agent. He follows Callen to the end of the hallway before snapping, “You okay with this?”

“You know damn well I’m not,” Callen replies exasperatedly. He scratches the back of his neck and glances back to the large video screen. “You strangling an agent isn’t going to help things.”

“If it gets me closer to Brandel, I don’t care!” Sam hisses. He eyes Callen’s impassive expression and recalls part of the creed he had taken to be a Navy SEAL.

I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect my teammates.

“That man went after my little brother,” Sam admits in a softer voice. Westfield’s absolute disregard for his only child reignites the desire to ‘chat’ with the suspect. “They beat the hell out of him, G.”

Calllen’s jaw tightens but he manages to maintain a calm voice as he says, “I know. As much as I’d like...the best thing we can do right now is be at the hospital for Deeks. Sam, we will do everything to make sure that Brandel doesn’t get anywhere near Deeks again. Alright?”

He should agree and move forward, but until Brandel is behind bars, secured and suffering, he won't settle.

He can't.

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

Brandel

Somehow, somehow, the brat is still alive.

Gordon John Brandel, now Westfield, scoffs at the innocent looking NCIS agents driving the transportation van that he's handcuffed in. The wooden bench in the back of the van reeks of wet dog, oddly reminding himself of the last time he'd been engaged in anything auto related with the police.

Car accident- Faking a death in a sparsely populated area is much easier than it should be.

The van lurches forward onto a gravel road, rocking the van slightly side to side. The rest of the drive lasts a minute before the vehicle jerks to a stop and both agents slide out of the driver and passenger door without a word.

"Is this supposed to be some sort of theatrics?" Brandel laughs. He is answered with silence for a long moment before the side door opens and a small, older woman with a leather purse over her shoulder peers up at him.

"Who the hell are you?" Brandel snaps. The woman's face is unreadable in an oddly eerie way.

"My name is Henrietta Lange, the operations manager at the Office of Special Projects," the woman replies. Brandel quickly glances beyond the small woman for the other agents and comes up empty.

Did they disappear like a ghost?

"You took one of my people," Hetty adds with a hint of anger in her voice. "You hurt one of my people."

"I took the little sh-"

"That's Investigator Deeks to you," Hetty cuts him off quickly. Brandel settles back against the side of the van. On any other day, he's sure he'd flick the tiny woman and go on his merry way.

Hetty steps closer to the van, enough for her purse to rest on the van floor. "I wanted to alert you that you lost. You tried to break him apart but Mr. Deeks is one of the strongest people I know. He is a husband, a brother, a future father and one of the many who protect this country. You, Mr. Brandel are nothing."

Brandel cocks his head to the right and growls," You don't get to speak to me like that."

"That requires respect, Mr. Brandel." Hetty slides the purse strap off of her shoulder and pulls out a red soft material wrapped by black string. "Which you lost the moment you first hurt your child.You are nothing and I want you to remember that during what happens next."

Brandel watches Hetty lift out a small vial from her bag. His stomach begins to tie into knots. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Henrietta Lange's expression finally changes into a calculated smile.

Oh. He is so dead.

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

Hetty

Her little ones are all sleeping scattered in Deeks' hospital room .

Hetty Lange approaches the foot of the bed and sighs at the heaviness in her shoulder blades, metaphorically and realistically. Callen and Sam are sleeping side-by-side in chairs against the wall, both with arms crossed and chin tucked down into their chests.

Kensi sleeps soundly with her head resting on the edge of the bed with her hand extended out to her husband's side. Just as she had in Mexico, she keeps watch over her husband with the same vigil he had after Syria and Afghanistan.

Each protecting the other. For life.

Hetty walks to the opposite side of the bed in a small opening between Sam’s outstretched legs and the edge of the bed. Her view of her once detective now investigator is limited but enough to paint a picture of his injuries.

Bruises line the Investigator's jaw and across his shoulder blades. Above his left swollen eye, a large gash is covered by white bandage.

She can't even imagine the bruises and cuts on the rest of his body.

Hetty rests her hand on his and feels the anxiousness subside slightly when his finger twitches slightly in response. The operations manager chuckles softly," Oh, rest, Mr. Deeks. You've had a nightmare of a day. Rest.”

Hetty takes another glance around the room at her resting agents, inhales slowly before adding, “Your father has lost, Martin. Don’t forget that. And he will never, ever, lay a hand on you again. I should have made sure of that last time, but now, I’ve righted my wrongs. He won’t touch you- that’s a promise.”

#ncis la #marty deeks #kensi blye #densi #g callen #sam hanna #hetty lange #bad things happen bingo #bad things bingo

50 notes · View notes

i-stan-nct-and-satan · 3 years

Text

Not Broken (Jaehyun Mafia au pt 16)

Not Broken Masterlist

Jaehyun X Reader

Y/N is a burlesque dancer living in Seoul. Jaehyun is one of the most powerful mafia men in Seoul. How will Y/N survive when Jaehyun suspects that she is involved with a rival gang?

Reasons to read this story: Ten’s a cross-dressing madam so….. yeah read it ya freaks.

Trigger Warning: mentions of past abuse

Beep! Beep! Beep!

My head instinctively turned to stare at the alarm. I watched as it continued to beep. Usually, the harsh tones of the alarm were enough launch me out of bed. Every morning I somehow managed to reach the ungodly contraption to silence it before it even began to muster out its third beep.

Not today though.

I had been lying awake long before my alarm started to sing its first note. I had just been staring at the ceiling, anticipating the events that were to come. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get at least a bit of sleep. I probably managed to get in a few hours before waking up to see that the neon green numbers I had gotten used to seeing read, 2:46 a.m.

My mind was too anxious to fall back asleep, but my body was too stubborn to leave the comfort of the satin sheets which were messily draped over my body.

I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about what awaited me and I felt as though leaving my bed would be what put said events into motion. Thus, when my alarm began ringing, signaling to me that it was time to get up, instead of rushing to towards it, I merely stared at it. I continued staring until the digital clock changed from 4:00 to 4:01 and then to 4:02 and finally to 4:03 before I decided it would be best to put an end to the incessant beeping before it caused a disturbance to those who still might be sleeping.

I dragged my body towards the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. I looked dead, not like I cared. In a way, I felt as though I might actually be dead; that perhaps I died long ago and that every event since my death was the result of divine punishment. Punishment for what, I didn’t know.

I chuckled at the overly dramatic thought.

I splashed cold water onto my face in an attempt to return my rationalities, though it was no use. There was nothing rational about my situation, so how could I think rationally while in it?

I instinctively began brushing my hair, before stopping midway to curse myself. It was like I could see into the future. That narcissistic scumbag, Jaehyun, would interpret any step I took to freshen up as an attempt to impress him, something I definitely didn’t want him thinking.

When I trained with Jeno, it would take me roughly an hour to fully wake myself up, get dressed, and freshen up before heading down to the training room around 4:50. I could tell that today, I wouldn’t need as much time to ready myself.

I quickly tied my hair up in a ponytail, simply to keep it out of my face. When I opened my closet, Jaehyun’s words found themselves at the front of my mind.

“You should wear something blue. The color suits you.”

I scoffed to myself as I grabbed the first blue piece of clothing I saw and threw it to the side, missing the trashcan by more than a few feet. I instead picked out a yellow workout shirt and grabbed my regular leggings from the floor. I only had a few pair of leggings so I would often re-wear the same pair, not wanting to wash them after every use. I brought the leggings up to my nose and smelled the already worn-out fabric. They were definitely reaching the point where they needed a wash. I put them on anyway. A part of me hoped that the smell of old sweat would keep Jaehyun from making any advances, or at least turn him off from the thought.

It reminded me of how women would skip shaving their legs before a date to prevent themselves from going home with a guy, though in my case, it was like putting my legs on display to keep the guy from thinking I’d want to go home with her in the first place.

I looked at the clock.

4:34.

I definitely finished getting ready much earlier than usual, but I didn’t want to make any steps towards the door just yet. I even considered waiting until it was after 5:00 to leave my room, just to spite Jaehyun for telling me that being late wasn’t an option. This thought lost traction as soon as I remembered the things Jaehyun was capable of when even just the tiniest bit annoyed.

Better not to anger him.

<><><><><><>

“Right on time, babe,” Jaehyun welcomed me in the most unwelcoming way possible.

He was already on sitting on one of the weight machines. From the beads of sweat that dripped down his jaw on onto his white t-shirt, I could tell that he had already gotten in quite the workout. I wondered how long he had been there for.

I didn’t want to ignore him, but I didn’t want to exactly engage with him in conversation either, so I gave him my best “fuck you” smile and proceeded to set my water bottle down on the mat.

“What? No greeting? Not even any pleasantries?” Jaehyun asked as he stood up from the machine. He stared back at me using one of the gym’s towels to wipe his red tinted face.

I silently scoffed, smiling at his audacity.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Hello Jaehyun! How are you? Still holding women captive and forcing them to be your bride? Oh, you are? Well, isn’t that just swell?”

I expected Jaehyun to snap at me for such insolence, or to at least look a little upset, but he just smiled back at me and laughed.

“That’s funny,” He said wagging his finger at me.

“Just remember, who’s training you for the next hour.”

I froze, unconsciously biting my tongue. He was right. I shouldn’t push my luck too much. I had no idea why Jaehyun was in such a good mood this morning, but I knew it was in my best interest for it to stay that way. At least until after our little competition.

Like a beaten dog who’s finely entuned to their master’s change in mood, I noticed a sudden glint of disappointment in his eyes. I watched them trail over my body in search of something he just couldn’t find.

Once he noticed my noticing, he exhaled abruptly as if he were expelling his thoughts along with his breath.

“Let’s start by going over yesterday’s match.“

I stared at him silently, waiting for him to elaborate further.

Jaehyun looked away briefly, clearing his throat in order to break the silence.

“I am of course, referring to the tactic you used...”

I continued to stare at him not quite sure where he was going. He stared back, gauging my reactions.

“-or am I just assuming that your decision to storm me was a strategical one?”

“Does it matter? It didn’t work,” I responded.

Jaehyun relaxed a little.

“Ah. So, it was thought out.”

I silently sighed to myself, ready for him to explain why my strategy was flawed or how my impulsiveness is what led to my defeat. I already began piecing together my response. I’d probably ask him how else I was supposed to fight against someone much stronger than myself, or if there even was such a tactic. I could feel the words bubble in my throat waiting for the criticisms, he was about to list.

“You surprised me. That’s not something that happens very often. You should be proud.”

“Wait, what?” I blurted out, suddenly breaking my façade of nonchalance.

Jaehyun’s eyes widened a bit only for them to crinkle as he laughed.

“What? Were you expecting me to say something else?”

I reached my hand up to rub the back of my neck. Once Jaehyun understood that I wasn’t going to give any more of a reply, he flashed me a smile that seemed too genuine to have come from a man so... well, ingenuine.

“I’m being serious. I was really quite impressed. You were fighting against someone you had no chance of winning against, at least not with physical prowess, so you came up with a strategy and not just any strategy, a good one. You understood that I had certain expectations of you and you somehow managed to subvert those expectations in your favor. I had expected you to be hesitant in your actions and assumed that you would wait for me to make the first move. Yet, as soon as the whistle blew you came at me full force. I mean-” Jaehyun stopped abruptly to stare at me.

I was smiling.

I hadn’t meant to. I just wasn’t thinking about it. I mean, could you blame me? Maybe it was just my ego. What can I say? I’m the type of person who likes being praised. Sue me.

As soon as I realized why the sudden pause, I forced my face back into one of disinterest. I silently prayed that he would let it slide just this once.

He didn’t.

“Don’t get big-headed on me now. Just because a cat learns it has stripes, it doesn’t suddenly make it a tiger. You still have a long way to go before you’re ready to use your claws,” He said with a smirk.

I couldn’t tell who I was more embarrassed for; me, for having come across as a girl who just got called pretty by her crush, or him, for having used such a cheesy metaphor, one he was somehow proud of.

“Now let’s go over some technique. Yesterday, when you charged me, I used a simple maneuver to use your own force against you. Come over here, I’ll show you,” He explained, walking towards the center of the mat.

I hesitated but opted to follow suit as he had instructed. I stopped when I was roughly 4 feet in front of him.

He took a few steps closer, causing me to back away.

He paused.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to slam you down this time. I’m just going to show you what I did so that you can learn how to avoid it next time, or perhaps even do the same to me.”

I didn’t back away because I thought that he would slam me down on the mat. It hadn’t even crossed my mind. I just didn’t really feel comfortable with being handled by him, even if it was for instructional purposes.

He stood there, waiting for me to come closer. When I didn’t, he took another step towards me instead.

Again, I took a step back.

Jaehyun let out a sigh.

“How am I supposed to teach you if you won’t even let me touch you?” He asked, obviously annoyed.

“Can’t you just explain it to me verbally?”

“Of course, not. Even if I were to show you the move by doing it on someone else, that doesn’t mean that you’ll be able to recreate it when push comes to shove. Muscle memory is important. You should know that as a dancer.”

I quirked my head to the side.

“You can learn to dance from watching others dance.” I retorted.

Jaehyun stared at me as if he were a teacher waiting for a disruptive student to stop acting out.

I looked down at the floor.

“That may be true when preforming a solo act,” He began.

“But what about when you’re learning a choreography that includes more than one person?”

“Then we practice the choreo on our own. Even when we practice together, it’s not like we really need each other,” I asserted.

Jaehyun groaned.

“I’m talking about dances that directly rely on being in sync with the other person’s moves. Like this.”

Before I could dodge his advance, Jaehyun wrapped his arm around me, capturing my waist and pulling my body into his so that our chests were practically pressed together. I tried to wriggle my way out of his grip but before I could, he used his other hand to grab mine, tightly squeezing it as if warning me that he was not in the mood to play games.

“Can you waltz?” He asked.

“Never tried it.” I answered.

Without any other warning, Jaehyun began moving his feet dragging me along with him.

As he moved in precise uniform movements, I stumbled around awkwardly, somehow managing to step onto his feet with every other step. Instead of scolding me, Jaehyun continued to waltz, ignoring my steps as though I were merely a ragdoll he was throwing around as he danced to a song only he could hear.

“The Waltz is a uniform dance with very little room for variance. One could learn the steps and even master them on their own only to flounder around like a fish when matched with a partner.”

“Yeah, but you can’t exactly learn the steps from practice alone. You need some sort of instruction,” I complained.

Jaehyun’s steps came to a sudden halt. Instead of releasing me like I had expected him to, he let my body fall, catching it in what I recognized as a “dip.”

“I completely agree, so why don’t we do a little of both? I’ll lead.”

He released his grip on me and I fell flat onto the mat.

I sat up, seething with annoyance. Jaehyun stared at me, arms crossed and with a grin so wicked, it’d make the devil anxious, though I’d be surprised if a devil greater than Jaehyun truly existed.

<><><><><><>

Jaehyun showed me exactly how he managed to pin me down so fast. When I came running towards him, he applied a heavy pressure to the top of my chest, thus using my own force against me. He explained that by stalling my upper half, I actually did half of the work for him in knocking me down. Because I had charged so fast, my legs barely had any time to catch up as my upper half was held in place, so they continued to run, flipping me onto my back.

Once I understood where exactly I went wrong, Jaehyun spent the first half of our session showing me different ways to keep myself guarded against an attack so that I could, in his words, “not be used as a weapon against myself.” The second half of the session was spent showing me examples of ways I could use someone’s force against themselves as he did had done to me. This part was my favorite because Jaehyun let himself fall to the mat every time I followed his instruction in order to show me exactly how the move would work. Even though I knew he was letting me take him down for practice’s sake, I still enjoyed hearing the loud smack it made when his body came in contact with the mat.

When we finished, he tossed me my water bottle. I quickly down the remainder of its contents.

“Here, toss it back,” Jaehyun called out, his hand outstretched.

I did as he instructed.

He began walking away motioning for me to follow.

Once we made it to the water fountain, Jaehyun opened my bottle and filled it, tossing it back to me before taking his turn to drink directly from the fountain.

I stood there watching him, unsure of what else I could do.

Once he finished, he turned to me.

“How’s your rib feeling?”

“My rib?”

I looked down at my torso having remembered where Taeyong had touched it. The pain, which was sharp and sudden at the time, had now turned into a dull constant.

“It’s alright, I guess. Better at least.” I informed him.

Jaehyun looked at me, navigating whether or not I was lying.

“Good, that’s good. I was worried that after yesterday I might have made it worse.”

It was strange. I knew that he was the one who broke it in the first place, but that didn’t keep me from seeing his sincerity.

“I’ll try my best to avoid damaging it any further during our match. I’m sorry that’s all I can do for you given the circumstances of our bet.”

I knew that his statement was bullshit. I mean, he knew about my rib when he decided upon the terms of our bet. I knew that fighting him on the matter would be pointless though.

“Will it go back to the way it was before it was broken?” I asked.

Jaehyun seemed caught off guard by the sudden question.

He took a second to think.

“Are you trying to ask if it will heal properly, or if it’ll go back to the way it was before it was broken?”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” I asked.

Jaehyun gave me a look that seemed to question if I really didn’t know already.

I quirked my head to the side showing him that, no, I really didn’t know.

“When a bone breaks, it's because the bone’s developed a fracture.”

“Okay?” I scoffed, asking if he was really trying to explain what a broken bone was to me.

“Just, listen,” He continued.

“During the healing process, a callous of extra strong bone forms around the fracture, bonding it together again. This new extra strong bone is meant to protect the fracture as the bone heals but once the bone is fully healed, the area of the fracture is stronger than it was before the break ever occurred so-”

“So, bones heal stronger?” I interrupted.

Jaehyun smiled gently towards me and took a step closer.

“Y/N, I can’t tell you that your rib will go back to the way it was before, because that wouldn’t be the truth. What I can tell you though, is that maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

Jaehyun reached a hand out towards me. Before I could think about it, I jerked away from his touch.

Jaehyun hesitated before reeling his hand back. He looked away from me for a second before returning his gaze to mine.

“We should probably start today’s match so that you have enough time to get ready.“

<><><><><><>

Just like the day before, Taeyong blew the whistle and shortly after, I was pinned to the ground. This time I didn’t charge at him, instead I chose to go on the defense. It didn’t take long for Jaehyun to make his move, pinning me instantly. Luckily for me, I didn’t suffer any pain, just frustration. It was like Jaehyun had just picked me up and set me down, easily managing to hold me there until Taeyong called the match.

I wasn’t surprised, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t still disappointed. The Jaehyun’s newly discovered tenderness from before the match had disappeared, immediately replaced with his usual dirtbag self. Not more than a second after the match had ended, he instructed Taeyong to escort me back to my room to catch me up on today’s plans. Before he left the room, he turned back towards me as I just gotten back on my feet and said, “Don’t be late now, Honey.”

I scoffed at him. He laughed at my reaction which made me want to do a lot more than just scoff at him. I was caught off guard by his sudden usage of the pet name I had called him at dinner the night before. It became clear to me that that’s why he used it instead of opting for “Kitten,” like I had come to expect from him. When spoken by him, the word felt less like a term of endearment and more like a taunt, though a taunt was still better than a threat.

“At least he’s in a good mood,” I thought to myself.

Taeyong brought me back to my room, instructing me to shower and put on the dress he left for me on the bed. Once I did as I was asked, I opened the door to let Taeyong back in only to see that both Haechan and Jaemin had been waiting there with him.

“Jaemin? What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Wow, Y/n. You aren’t gonna ask why I’m here?” Haechan pouted over-dramatically.

“I already know why you’re here, Dongfuck. You don’t have a life and so you like to drop in on mine,” I quipped lightheartedly, suddenly realizing that I had to come up with a new nickname for Haechan now that I’d discovered that his name was, well... Haechan.

Fuck, what insult even rhymes with Haechan? Faketan? No that’s stupid and probably problematic. Besides, Haechan’s darker skin tone is literal perfection. Even I have to admit that.

I physically shook my head before going on.

“I’m asking why Jaemin’s here because he normally takes care of Jisung and Chenle around this time of day.”

I turned to Jaemin who simply laughed as Haechan stuck his tongue out at me.

“Wow, you really were close friends before this, weren’t you?” He commented.

“What do you mean were? Haechan demanded wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

“Y/n and I are still as close as a pair of conjoined twins.”

“Please, never use that metaphor ever again.” I sighed already exhausted from the encounter.

“Anyways, today you’re going to be officially meeting Chenle and Jisung as their soon to be sister-in law. Jaemin is here to make sure that it goes well,” Haechan explained, answering for Jaemin before the poor man even had the chance to open his mouth.

“Wait, what?”

Instead of explaining further, Haechan guided me towards the vanity, sitting me down in the chair, and immediately going to work on my hair.

Taeyong and Jaemin both sat on the bed and got to explaining the situation.

“So, as you already know, Jaehyun has two younger brothers, Chenle and Jisung. I believe that you’ve already met them before, but as a hostage, not as their sister-in-law.

My mind flashed back to meeting the two younger boys back when I still had horrible bruising all over my face. I recalled the image of a queasy Chenle, asking if his brother really was the one who did that to me.

“I can’t tell them the same story, I told Jessi. They already know that Jaehyun was the one who nearly beat me within an inch of my life!”

Taeyong and Jaemin looked at each other, obviously aware of something I was not. Haechan on the other hand, continued to act like a dumbass.

“Ooh! Already on a first name basis with the former lady of the house, are we? So, I take it you’ve successfully gained Jessi’s approval, not that I’m surprised. Personality wise, it’d easier to believe she was your mother than Jaehyun’s. I mean-”

“We’ve already taken that into consideration,” Taeyong began, cutting Haechan off right in the middle of his rant.

“Fine, I guess I’ll just leave since I’m just gonna be a nuisance,” Haechan pouted.

When no one acknowledged him, he scoffed in annoyance, but stayed quiet.

“You see, the boys actually know a lot more than just that,” He continued, glancing at a now sheepish Jaemin.

“The boys have a habit of eavesdropping and while they were supposed to be in my care... I accidentally fell asleep and they listened in on one of the group’s official meetings.” Jaemin admitted.

“At the time, you were still under suspicion for IU’s death.” Taeyong explained.

A look of horror took over my face, causing one to come over Taeyong as well.

“D-don’t worry! Everything has been cleared up. They know that you are not responsible for the death of their sister. They have also been informed that you are responsible for the death of Lucas. They know that you killed him on accident in an attempt to fight for your life, though out of respect for you I didn’t going to any other details of what you went through that night.” He said in an attempt to reassure me.

“Wait, but if they know the truth then what about-”

“Mrs. Ho? She is to remain in the dark about the true nature behind Jaehyun’s and your relationship. They understand the gravity of the situation and have been instructed to speak as little as possible about anything that might rouse suspicion. Jaehyun and I have also decided that it would be best to pretend as though you’ve become something of an older sister to the two of them, but that this is the first they are hearing about your engagement. That’s why Jaemin is here, to help you learn as much as you can about the boys to make this ruse as believable as possible.”

“What the fuck?” I exclaimed, dumbfounded as to how on earth Jaehyun and Taeyong could have decided that this was the best route to take. Having me pretend to know about and be extremely close to a pair of teenagers that I met once and talked with for all of like, what? Five minutes?

“I know it sounds daunting, but Chenle’s been feeling a bit under the weather lately and Mrs. Ho is aware of that, which gives us an out if anything goes wrong. We even have a signal in case Chenle should need to bring up his condition as an excuse to cut the meeting short.”

“Still though,” I hesitated, not fully convinced.

“Listen,” Jaemin interjected.

“You don’t have to act like a big happy family, giving them hugs and stuff. If anything, that would make Mrs. Ho really suspicious. Just act like how you would any other teenager. Act snarky, roast them, I don’t know. There are more ways to show closeness than acting like you're in a lifetime Christmas special. Besides, it makes sense for you to not know everything about them since Mrs. Ho still believes that you and Jaehyun met only a few months ago. We just have to get you knowledgeable enough for Mrs. Ho to-”

“Knock! Knock!” Someone called from outside the door.

“Why say ‘knock?’ Why not just do it if you’re gonna say what you’re doing?” Haechan groaned, almost unreasonably annoyed by the knock knock-er’s chipper demeanor.

Taeyong scowled at Haechan before walking toward the door.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“That should be Momo with the boys,” Jaemin answered.

“Wait, what? Why are they here? I’m not ready.”

“It’ll be fine. Think of this as a practice round. You’ll do great!” Jaemin gave me two thumbs up as Taeyong opened the door.

I definitely was not ready and by the looks of it, neither were they.

Momo and Taeyong stood by the door as Jaemin motioned for Jisung and Chenle to come over.

It hadn’t been more than a couple days since I had last seen the two of them yet I wouldn’t have recognized the yellow haired boy had I not been expecting to see him. While Jisung looked almost exactly the same as the day we met, Chenle looked as though he were the one who had been locked up in the estate’s basement, not me. The dark spots that lay wrapped below his eyes took up more space on the young boy’s face than the eyes themselves. The state of his cheeks made it obvious that what he lacked in sleep, he definitely wasn’t making up for in calories. The chubby cheeks I had remembered were long gone, now sunken in to the extent one might mistake the boy for a character in a Tim Burton movie. He looked less like a teenaged boy and more like an old man, hair loss and all.

To describe him as a bit under the weather as Taeyong had only moments prior would be like saying that Hitler was kind of a douche; not necessarily untrue, but definitely not the most accurate way of portraying the severity of things. Chenle looked sickly, though I couldn’t think of any sickness with symptoms so... apparent.

Neither him nor Jisung looked particularly excited to see me, which is of course understandable since to them, I’m practically that one distant relative who your parents made you hug as a kid despite your apparent discomfort. Though, while Jisung just looked awkward and unsure of where he should focus his eyes, Chenle looked at me as though I were the cause of his illness.

It looked as though simply being near me was physically painful for him. I kept his gaze, trying to uncover the cause of his extreme discomfort towards me. It was strange. There was no hatred in his eyes, something I should have been relieved by given that we were going to have to act all buddy-buddy with each other, but I couldn’t help but wonder why he was looking at me like a child who’s about to be told on to his parents.

“I thought we could start with you guys telling Y/n your interests. Does that sound good?” said Jaemin.

The two took turns telling me about which video games were their favorites and about what sports they played at school. It was awkward at first, especially since it felt like the first day of school and our teacher decided to make everyone takes turns introducing themselves and saying three things about themselves, something which teachers don’t understand is actually torture in its purest form.

Though I was lost as fuck when Jisung tried to explain this game called Amoungus to me, Jaemin interjected to ask the two of them what their favorite show was. That was when things started to look a bit brighter.

“Well, right now, me and Chenle are watching this show called HunterXHunter.”

“HunterXHunter?” I asked, suddenly more serious than was necessary.

“Uh, yeah. Have you heard of it?” Jisung asked, confused.

“Which one? The 1999 one or the 2011 one?”

Both of the two boys lit up a bit.

“Wait, there’s a 1999 version?” Chenle asked, this being the first time he spoke without being needing to be nudged first by his brother.

“Uh, yeah. And get this, it’s better. Don’t get me wrong, the newer one is great. I love the art style, but the 1999 verion includes more from the manga that the 2011 version completely leaves out.”

“You read manga?” Chenle asked, excitedly, and for a split second, he resembled the boy I met before, still strung out, but not as much so.

“No, I just read an article comparing the manga to the show- Of course I fucking read manga,” I replied, probably laying the sarcasm on a little too thick.

I paused as the two boys looked at each other and nodded.

“Do you like shoujo or shonen better?” Jisung asked, though it sounded more like a demand.

“I won’t lie, I like shoujo a lot. Don’t roast me though I like both. It depends on my mood. Sometimes I wanna read a high-stakes power fantasy battle palooza with fucking lasers, and other times, I just wanna read about a high-schooler asking out his crush.”

“I get that,” Jisung nodded.

“Yeah, that’s because you get all your dating advice from playing dating sims,” Chenle snorted.

Jisung glared at Chenle and raised his hand, but quickly lowered it as though reconsidering hitting him when the older is in such a weak state.

The four of us started laughing only to be interrupted by a concerned voice.

“Mrs. Ho, what are you doing here?” Taeyong stuttered.

Momo quickly bowed to her, prompting Jaemin to stand up and do the same.

“Is it strange for me to be walking around my own house?” Jessi asked eyeballing Taeyong.

“No, of course not ma’am. It’s just that I was expecting for us all to meet at the dining room table later today like what was planned.”

“I too thought that that was to be the case, but when I heard my son’s laughter from Y/n’s room, I figured I’d stop by.”

Jessi walked further into the room. Everyone did their best to hide any signs of the shock, nervousness, or stress they were feeling, though nobody did a good job.

I let out a soft laugh. To think that I was going to have to rely on them, they’re the ones who’ll be depending on me to make this go smoothly.

“Jessi! What’s up?”

Jessi wipes the back of her hand over her forehead as if wiping off an imaginary bead of sweat.

“Whew. Thank god. I thought you were gonna be all formal with me again just because there were others around.” She laughed, taking a seat on the vanity table

“You know, this might actually be better having a formal meeting anyway,” Jessi said, switching to Korean for the rest of the room’s inhabitants.

“Oh, uh... sure. Why not?” Taeyong replied.

Jessi stared at him silently, making Taeyong even more nervous.

“Well?” She asked.

Taeyong hesitated, unsure of what to do.

“Yes?”

“Go get him.”

“Pardon?”

“Jaehyun. Go get Jaehyun. He should be here for this shouldn’t he?”

“Ah. Yes. Of course. Right away.”

Taeyong gave me a look as if to ask if I’d be okay while he was away. I gave him a little nod and made a “shoo” motion in response.

Both him and Momo disappeared, her bowing once again before making her exit.

Luckily, the moments that were filled with Taeyong’s absence had been taken up by the exchange of simple pleasantries. I asked Jessi how she slept, she told me she slept well. She asked me the same, I replied the same. Then she turned to Jaemin to ask whether Chenle had taken his medicine yet, to which he responded with a simple, yes.

Taeyong returned as quickly as he came which was surprising given how Jaehyun must have been busy with other matters given the meeting’s spontaneity of the meeting.

He entered the room following Taeyong and stopping to rest his hands on my shoulders as he stood behind my sitting place. I had expected him to do something physical since his mother was here, so I was able to mentally prepare myself and refrain from flinching away from his touch.

The meeting was short, with Jaehyun announcing that he and I were getting married. Jisung and Chenle reacted with surprise and then faux excitement. I hadn’t needed to do much except for sit there, which was a relief. Jaemin and the kids were the first to leave, with Jaemin announcing that it was time for them to work on their homework. Taeyong escorted Jessi back to her room leaving Jaehyun and I to be the only ones left.

“Good job.” Jaehyun said, now having sat directly in front of me on the bed.

I nodded trying my best to hide my anxiety.

“Tomorrow I’ve arranged to have several dresses sent to the estate for you to try on. You may pick whichever one you like. My mother will be there to aid you.”

“Dresses?”

Jaehyun laughed at my reaction.

Jaehyun set his hands onto the bed and leaned back slightly.

“I do believe that it is tradition for the bride to wear a dress on her wedding day,” He mused.

“Oh.” I muttered.

Jaehyun stared back at me with a relaxed smile.

I took the time to get a good look at Jaehyun, something I hadn’t thought to do during the meeting. He wore a simple white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his forearms. I remembered walking in to find him sitting on the weight machine only a few hours earlier. It made sense that he worked out given his build. Body types like that don’t just happen naturally. Even his hands were muscular.

I felt conflicted. If I had seen this man on the street a month ago, I probably wouldn’t hesitate to imagine those arms wrapped around me, or maybe even his hands digging into my hips, but after what I had experienced, all I could think about was the feeling of losing consciousness as their grip tightened around my throat.

I did my best to be subtle as I looked down at his thighs. I wasn’t surprised to see that the light grey slacks did little to hide that they, like his arms, were... large.

We sat in silence just staring at each other until Jaehyun stood up from the bed, now at least 3 heads taller than my sitting form.

He leaned forward resting his hands on the armrests of my chair. Trapping me.

I froze.

“It’ll probably take the entire afternoon to finish all the work I have left, so I likely won’t be joining you all for dinner.”

And with that, he left.

<><><><><>

Jaehyun was right. He wasn’t be able to attend dinner. I wasn’t surprised by his absence; It was everyone else’s absence I was surprised by. Not a single member of 127 nor Jaemin or Jeno attended dinner that night, leaving Jessi, Jisung, Chenle, and I to awkwardly sit around theorizing about what business they had that kept them away.

<><><><><>

Jaehyun could feel his blood boil as Taeyong and Jeno made him aware the sudden turn of events.

“And you’re sure the messenger was unaware of the message’s contents?” He asked the two men.

“We’re sure,” Taeyong answered.

“Since we don’t usually receive deliveries directly to the house without being made aware of them in advance, I took every precaution in questioning the man myself,” added Jeno.

“His story checked out. We quickly confirmed that he was a registered courier at a local delivery service within the district. I opened the letter in front of him and once I realized its contents, I demanded all information regarding the letter’s origin. After informing Taeyong, we sent over several men over to inspect their security footage, but it seems that the letter was actually delivered to them via a different delivery service. We have men over there as well checking their footage and all, but it seems as though they managed to send the letter through a system I’ve never seen before. The letter was put into several other envelopes, each one containing instructions and payment for the next delivery. Since each company only opened the outer envelope, we were unable to see any past instruction that may had been included before the letter reached each individual company.”

“How long will it take to trace the source of the letter?” Jaehyun inquired.

“We don’t know. It depends on how many companies they went through. We won’t be able to locate the original sender, especially if their trail is long gone by the time we reveal any trace of their identity. We might not even be able to discern how long the letter has been in transport for quite some time. Our best guess is that it’s only been in transport for 1 to 2 days.” Taeyong sighed, showing his frustration at the situation.

Jaehyun dragged his hands down his face, his good mood now a distant memory.

“Two days, huh?” He pondered, staring down at the piece of paper he held in his hands.

If you fail to hand Y/N over to us, then prepare for a red wedding.

“Call everyone up here, now.“

Jaehyun watched silently as his office began to slowly fill with the members of 127.

Taeyong and Jeno made sure to inform them all of the gravity of the meeting thus ensuring that none of the members were to speak until Jaehyun officially started the meeting.

“Where is he?” Jaehyun demanded.

Everyone began exchanging glances, not yet sure of who exactly it was that Jaehyun was referring to.

“We’re here,” Taeyong announced as both he and Winwin entered the room.

“And where exactly were you?” Jaehyun asked, making it obvious that his question was directed more at Winwin than the both of them.

“He was in the library, reading,” Taeyong answered for him.

“If he was that close, then why was he the last to be found?”

Winwin approached Jaehyun. He reached his hand into his pants pocket, retrieving a pair of earbuds before placing them on the oak desk.

“I had them in, so I couldn’t hear my name when it was being called,” Winwin smirked, staring straight into the eyes of the man sitting in front of him.

Jaehyun scowled.

“You know, Winwin. Ever since I relieved Johnny of his duty to keep an eye on you, I often spent my time wondering where you were and what you could be off doing.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet?” Winwin commented, his tone filled with mockery.

Instead of getting angry, Jaehyun smiled, catching everyone, including Winwin off guard.

“As it turns out, my musing was pointless,” Jaehyun explained, as he placed the letter on the desk, directly on top of Winwin’s earbuds.

Winwin read the letter without needing to touch it or lean closer to it.

He frowned but said nothing.

Jaehyun continued.

“I don’t have to ask myself where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing because I already know.”

Winwin already knew what was coming.

“You’ve been telling Wayv our secrets.”

The meeting went as one would expect. Jaehyun showed the letter to the remaining members, had Taeyong and Jeno go over what they had gone over earlier with him, and then Jaehyun posed the very important question, “How come only days after Johnny stopped watching over you, we receive a letter from Wayv confirming that they found out about the wedding?”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Yuta interjected.

Everyone looked up at him expectantly. Yuta froze, as though he came to Winwin’s defense without having even thought of what he was going to say.

Before Jaehyun could move on, Taeil began to speak.

“Wait, he’s right. Didn’t Taeyong and Jeno say that we have no way of knowing for sure how long the letter has been in transit? It’s possible that the letter has been in transit since before Johnny stopped keeping watch over Winwin.”

“Yeah,” Yuta exclaimed, having regained his momentum.

“And besides, wouldn’t Winwin have known that updating Wayv this soon after regaining his freedom would put him under suspicion?”

Jaehyun paused.

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t out rule the likelihood that Winwin’s loyalty is with Wayv. It’s highly probable that he prioritized his mission to leak information over his own safety.”

“No, that’s not necessarily true. If that were the case, then why would Wayv have sent such a message? If they knew that the wedding going to be announced in five days anyway, then why would they put Winwin under suspicion? Wouldn’t they want us to trust Winwin so he could leak information more easily?” Taeil pressed on.

Jaehyun, Taeil, and Yuta continued arguing with each other as Winwin and the others watched in silence.

“I’ve made my decision,” Jaehyun announced.

“Winwin will be removed from any NCT related activity until further notice and will be placed back under heavy watch.”

“Will I be the one to watch over him again?” Johnny asked.

“No,” Jaehyun answered.

“This time, Taeil will be the one to watch over Winwin.”

“But sir, I thought you said you didn’t want me to watch over him given our close relationship.”

“I am aware of that Taeil, but given how eager you are to prove Winwin’s innocence, perhaps that will motivate you in making sure that nothing gets past you. If Winwin were to fall under suspicion again, just know that you’ll be the one to we turn to in confirming his innocence. I also doubt that if Winwin were to display suspicious behavior that you would try to cover up for him.”

Jaehyun looked at Winwin.

“Today cameras will be set up in your room. You are not to leave your room without Taeil there to escort you. You will not be permitted to use any electronic devices without Taeil either. As for the rest of you,”

Jaehyun looked around the room.

“From this moment on, no one is permitted to speak to Winwin regarding anything NCT related.”

174 notes · View notes

kiirokero · 3 years

Text

Ataraxia (JJK)

Ataraxia: Calmness untroubled by mental or emotional disquiet; Tranquillity of mind.

Part of the Protect the Village! Oneshot Series.

Masterlist

Pairing: PoliceOfficer!Jungkook x Delinquent!Reader

Genre/Warnings: E2L (Enemies to Lovers), angst, fluff, humour, mentions of neglectful parents/childhood neglect, swearing, HPD-like behaviors/destructive attention-seeking behaviors, allusions to anxiety, read with caution on this one!

Note: I would die for RT and TITI :(

Summary: Graffiti isn’t that bad. It’s a misdemeanour in most places. So what if the rookie catches you tagging one night? You’ll wiggle your way out of it like you always do... Right?

Word Count: 5.3k

Semi-Unedited

Night was when all your ideas came to you. In the late hours where the moon comes out to lull everyone asleep, you wander the night in search of an outlet. Backpack swung over your shoulder, paint cans rattling around, sweatshirt taut to your body to fight off the nighttime chill. You search the tiny village where you spent most of your life for the perfect canvas.

The only lights to aid you in your search are the dim lampposts that illuminate the sidewalk, but that doesn’t stop you from finding the jackpot. Blank, empty white wall, vast space to work on, flat. You could feel the anxious desire to pick up your paint cans on the tips of your fingers. Quickly, you put down your backpack and got out your colors.

Red, green, yellow, blue, black, pink, purple. All the colors you needed to make a stunning art piece. Sure, the shop owner might not appreciate it, but you only paint pretty things. You may be a “delinquent” but that doesn’t mean you have to spew hate and vulgarity to all of Bangtan Village.

What were you feeling tonight? Writing? Animals? Flowers? Flowers. Definitely flowers tonight. Wasting no time, you picked up a can and started spraying. Red here, green there, a bit of pink. You paint and paint and paint. Like your brain is on autopilot, letting your hand do whatever it wants. Left, right, up, down. You watch as your piece comes to life in front of you. Roses, daisies, marigolds. It looks like the garden of your mind.

Taking a step back, you admire your work. Clean lines, bright colors, eye-catching. You feel proud. This was better than the sketches. It captured your every breath, every emotion, a true piece of art. You felt at ease looking at the picture of all your pent-up emotions laid bare on the bricks. Expressing the sorrows that plagued your mind through the image of dull, weeping flowers.

Sure, it still looked beautiful. When you looked at it as one unit, it was the perfect image to be painted on a flower shop. But if you looked closer, you could see the anxiety in the shaky lines, the sorrow in the dulled colors, the anger in the frenzied coloring. But you didn’t feel like that at the moment.

Graffiti was an outlet for you. The ability to get people to pay attention and see what you’ve been trying to get people to see. To show people that you weren’t okay. You wanted someone-anyone- to listen to you, to see you. You wanted someone to look at you and see you as a person who was struggling. Because you really were struggling.

Shit parents and anxiety were the things that defined your life. Your life givers made it known to you that they really didn’t care what you did, where you were, who you were with, nothing. They weren’t terrible, luckily enough. They were just neglectful. They forgot you were there half the time, so you had to force yourself to grow up and do things on your own.

You would cook your own meals, do your own laundry, make your own money. For as long as you remember, you were living as your own person. You brought yourself back up from the depths of panic and kissed your own wounds. You told yourself to suck it up and keep pushing. But soon enough you started to ask yourself exactly why you were still pushing.

No friends, no family, not even an animal companion could give you the comfort you so desperately sought out for when the thoughts of “why?” clawed at your fragile mind late at night. When you felt like you couldn’t breathe when things went south. You tried. You tried to make friends. You tried to reach out. You tried to get help, but it was all the same. “Your fine, get over it,” Whether those were the exact words or the implied ones, that was the answer everyone gave you.

“You’re an adult.”

“Everyone feels anxious, you’ll be okay,”

No matter how hard you tried to use your words, to shout and scream on the rooftops that you needed support, big or small, nobody listened. It’s as the world went deaf to you. Like you were invisible, walking through the streets like a ghost. So you turned to more... Destructive ways of gaining people’s attention.

Yes, you knew this was wrong. You knew that if you got caught, it would go on your record. But you didn’t care, not at this point. The thought of people seeing this in the morning and thinking about you (Well, not you specifically, but the person who’s been painting the town for months now) Excited you. Having people's attention excited you. Hearing people whisper about the delinquent who's been tagging Bangtan Village left and right made you giddy. Because you had their attention.

The sound of heavy footsteps tore through the tranquil bubble you’d put yourself in. “Shit...” You whispered to yourself, grabbing your things and sneaking away from your- admittedly pretty -crime. Because not only did you get the citizen's attention. You got the attention of the police department as well.

Steadily, you took silent footsteps as you weaved your way through the back alleys of the main street shops. You could still hear the boot falls of the person making their nightly rounds. Even if they sounded calm. You knew they were looking for you. You knew he was looking for you.

You made the haste decision to abandon your bag full of paint cans and respirator behind a dumpster, noting down its whereabouts so you could retrieve it in the morning. You knew that if you got caught with them in your possession, then they would no doubt charge you. So you were left with your sweatshirt and a heartbeat that pounded in your ears.

You continued to make your way through the back alley mazes. Navigating them on muscle memory. This wasn’t the first time you’d had to make a silent getaway. You could still hear the footsteps, they were getting heavier. Step... Step... Step... Your anxiety shot through the roof and you wiped your clammy hands on your worn out jeans.

But then they stopped.

There was no more ominous pounding of boots against concrete. Just the ambiance of the crickets chirping their nightly melody. It was calm again. So when you saw an opening out onto the beginning of main street, you breathed a sigh of relief. Home was only a few yards away now. You could go home to your small, dingy apartment and sink into your tiny bed, dreaming of a better life.

What world would you escape to tonight? Would you go on your own adventure where your the loved main character? Would you explore what was underneath the sea and discover what laid dormant at the bottom of the ocean? What about dreaming of befriending your favorite comfort characters from your favorite shows? Finally, having friends for once.

“L/n,”

You jumped as a voice cut through your train of thought. Looking to your left you saw none other than Jeon Jeongguk leaning against the entrance of the alleyway, giving you a stern face. “Well, isn’t it the rookie? Did they put you on guard dog duty tonight?” You chuckled, regaining your composure and throwing on a mask of confidence. Jeongguk rolled his eyes and stood straight up, towering over you.

“What are you doing out so late, L/n?” Jeongguk asked you with a stoic face. “Going for a walk,” You answered, voice unwavering. “Oh really? So you know nothing about the recent act of vandalism on Yoongi’s flower shop, huh?” He tilted his head, talking to you as if you were five. “What? Another tagging? Crazy,” You said, in an feign surprised voice.

Jeongguk sighed, stepping away from you. “You’re coming with me, L/n,” Jeongguk deadpanned. Your eyebrows furrowed, and you looked at him incredulously. “What? But I didn’t do anything!” You complained, your poker face unbreaking. “Well, I have reason to suspect you know at least something. So by the laws our government has set up, I get to bring you to the station for questioning,” Jeongguk said in a sing-song voice.

“I feel like that’s an abuse of power,” You pointed out, crossing your arms. Jeongguk looked at you, unimpressed. “Public law number 130-13. Any suspect can be put in police custody as long as the officer has circumstantial or physical evidence proving they know or did something.” Jeongguk regurgitated like a parrot. You chucked, “Nerd,”

“Whatever, just come on.” Jeongguk groaned, and you reluctantly followed. You knew running would do nothing, it’s a small community, he’d find you in like, 5 minutes. And fighting him? Have you seen Jeongguk? That kid’s all muscle. A total gym rat. He could flick you and you’d get a concussion. You didn’t want to fight him anyway. So you had to follow him, but that didn’t mean you wanted to.

“Nice place you got here, Rookie,” You snickered, looking around the relatively small police station. Jeongguk sighed and led you to a small interrogation room. You say “interrogation” like it was intimidating, but nothing’s intimidating about a small room with metal tables and chairs.

You sat down on the opposite side of Jeongguk, giving him a smug smirk as he looked at you with disdain. “So... What’s up officer?” You asked, resting your head on the table. “What were you really doing out there, Y/n?” Jeongguk asked, huffing. “Like I said. I was taking a walk. Bangtan Village is nice, ya know?” You restated, not giving up the facade.

“I know you did it,” He deadpanned, leaning closer to you. “You see, Rookie... Public law number 130-6. Officers cannot make an arrest without physical evidence or a confession that proves the suspect is guilty without a reasonable doubt,” You stressed the last T, shit-eating grin still on your face. You sounded knowledgeable, but that was the only law you cared to memorize. “Aka. The law don’t give a shit what you think you know,” You sat back up, leaning in your chair. “That law's flawed,” Jeongguk complained. “Take that up with our mayor, Rookie,”

“You’re insufferable,” Jeongguk spat.

“I know,” You chuckled.

“Why’d you do it? You know canvases exist for a reason, right? Yoongi’s going to pay someone to cover it up.” Jeongguk asked, voice raising a few octaves. “Rookie, buddy, if your fishing for a confession. You ain’t gonna get one,” You snickered, tilting your head in a teasing manner. “Besides, whoever did it-has been doing this-makes pretty good artwork so...” You shrugged. “So you’ve seen the recent tagging on Yoongi’s store?” Jeongguk pried. “I never said that. I’ve seen their other things. Figured the art you're talking about, which I definitely haven’t seen, is just as good.”

Jeongguk looked like he wanted to hop across the table and strangle you. It was funny, really. Jeongguk was right, of course he was, but he could never prove it. You didn’t confess to anything, you hid the evidence well, nothing could connect you to the crime. This wasn’t first time Jeongguk tried to pry open your mind and get you to spill out an “I did it,” just to show his hyungs that he really could catch a criminal, just like them.

Not that you’ll see a bunch of criminals in Bangtan of all places

The only reason Jeongguk knows it was you (Therefore starting up this hilarious game of cat and mouse,) Was because he knew the kind of person you were. He’s known you since highschool. He would hear whispers in the hall about you and your trusty paint cans, tagging the principal’s prized Chevrolet with the words “Ya mom raised a nerd” because he pissed you off that one time.

You got away with it too. The principal never got wind of who did it. Even if everyone at school knew it was you. I mean, come on, who else carried black spray paint in their bookbag? Plus, not a lot of people come to Bangtan, therefore not a lot of delinquents with a taste for artful vandalism existed here.

“Listen Rookie, you have no proof that it was me. You interrogated, I answered. Now I get to go home,” You smiled, getting up from your seat. Jeongguk just tsked at you, rolling his eyes at your “friendly” wave goodbye. “Nerd,” You chuckled to yourself, skipping out of the police department.

Today couldn’t get any worse.

“But I already finished the piece! My policy states that the down payment isn’t refundable!” You let out a frustrated groan as the lady on the other side of the line complained that your policy was unreasonable and she should get her $150 dollars back because she wasn’t interested in the china set she commissioned from you anymore.

“Look, I don’t care what happened on your end. At the end of the day, I told you it wasn’t refundable, and you still paid it. You agreed to it. So either I can send you the set and you pay the rest of the amount we agreed on. Or I keep the $150, and you have no custom china set,”

Guess she really didn’t want that china set, since she huffed and said, “Fine, keep the damn glass,” Which set you off more because china is made of kaolin and quartz, delicately painted with subtle details. Not! Glass! It didn’t help that bills were coming up and you were tight on money this month.

Being a freelance artist is unstable. You knew this. You knew that there were other professions that you could throw yourself into that would give you a more stable form of income. But it would also chip away at your spirit. You loved painting, you loved pottery, you loved making porcelain.

Now you were stressed, anxious, and the owner of a china set fit for a 50-year-old lady. You wanted to cry. You felt like sobbing. What were you supposed to do now? The only other commission you had was a landscape portrait that costed only $160, and with bills coming you’d have like $60 to spend on food.

You covered your face with your hands as you started to breathe erratically. It felt like the walls were closing in on you. Like a snake was curling its way up your body and squeezing your throat. Shakily, you stood up on your wobbly legs and grabbed your bag full of spray paint that you recovered earlier in the day. You needed your outlet.

You ran out into the chilly night air, making your way towards main street to find something to paint your frustrations on. You needed to calm the sickly feeling that bubbled up in your throat, to throw water on the fire in the pit of your stomach that urged you to scream into the woods that surrounded the village.

Finally, you made it to an empty wall. The one on the side of “Kim’s Confections” that you painted a week ago. The owner painted over your image of the night sky, you guessed. It didn’t matter though, you were too focused on ripping open your bag and pulling out your paints.

What were you feeling tonight? Red. Okay, what’s red? Apples, flowers, fire. Fire, that’s it. What else... What does fire do? It burns. Yeah, lets burn shit. What shit are we burning? Uhh... Flowers? That works...

You quickly picked up your red paint can and started spraying. You had no idea what you were doing, this wasn’t in your sketchbook. This was purely a product of the emotions currently plaguing your mind. You could already tell it was going to be ugly... It looked like chaos incarnate, but it was an accurate picture of what you were feeling.

You furiously painted the wall with blobs of different colors that weren’t mixing well at all. Like yes, green and red are contrasting opposites, but they don’t mix well. And what was pink doing next to a neon orange? You didn’t know, you barely even cared.

However, you did care when you heard those same familiar footsteps.

“Why today, Jeon?” You huffed, packing your things and running off into the back alleys. What you didn’t expect was for the footsteps to start running with you. Panicking, you ran faster, focusing more on getting away than where you were going.

They were getting louder and louder, closer and closer. “Shit,” You whimpered to yourself when you came upon a dead end. The familiar feeling of tears pricked up in the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Thump... Thump... Thump... You refused to turn around to face the last person you wanted to see today.

“Well, we meet again L/n,” Jeongguk’s voice echoed off the bare brick walls. You said nothing, opting to continue looking at the wall in front of you. “Come on, L/n, it’s time to give it up,” He sighed, taking a few steps closer. “I know,” You whispered out, feeling the dread creep into your mind at the thought of your only outlet being taken away.

Scratch that, today could get worse.

“I see you’ve got this place nice a cozy for me, Rookie,” You chuckled, holding onto the cell bars with two hands, trying to hide the fear you felt inside, the anguish. Like always, Jeongguk just rolled his eyes, laying back in the chair at his desk while he wrote up a report.

Jeongguk said nothing to you as the hours dragged on, and that made the situation worse. You would poke fun at him, call his name, you even asked how his day was. Nothing. You felt invisible all over again, and it made you even more scared. It was like you were that naïve six-year-old girl again, begging for an ounce of her parents' attention.

“Mom, I made you this today,”

“Dad, there's a father-daughter dance at school this Friday,”

Nothing.

It was always nothing.

Because even if there was another body in the room, you felt alone again; you felt pathetic. Unwanted, unheard. At times like these you would paint a gigantic mural on the side of someone’s business on main street, but now you can’t. That’s what got you in this mess in the first place. All you wanted was somebody’s eyes on something that was you, whether that be your work or your features, and now that was yanked from your grasp.

After this you couldn’t spray paint anymore, because then the entire police department would watch you like a hawk. Nobody would whisper about the mysterious pretty painting in the street anymore. And Jeongguk wouldn’t be the cat chasing the mouse anymore.

Jeongguk suddenly put his pen down with a huff, the action much louder in the quiet police station than it would be in a normal setting. “So, Y/n, I know you're not dumb. You’re obviously under arrest for vandalism. And with the severity and amount you committed, there's a $300 fine and a week of jail time,” Jeongguk explained, sounding bored.

Your eyes widened. “What? A week of jail time?” You exclaimed, feeling your heart drop. “Yep,” Jeongguk confirmed, popping the p. “No... No, Rookie, you can’t do this...” You whimpered out, trying to calm your breathing. You saw a look of sadness flash in Jeongguk’s eyes before he returned to a stoic state. “You’re the one who committed the crime, Y/n,” He stated, messing around with some papers.

“Jeongguk please,” You begged, using his actual name for the first time since highschool.

Jeongguk paused, his back turned towards you and hand frozen in the motion of putting away a file. He took a deep breath and continued his movements. Going back to ignoring you. You felt dejected, so you gave up and slumped onto the small bed in the cell's corner. Just as you were about to close your eyes, you heard the slap of a book on the floor.

You looked over your shoulder to see Jeongguk at the door of your cell, giving you a tight smile. On the floor was what looked to be a sketchbook and some pencils. Cautiously, you got up from the bed and grabbed them, giving Jeongguk a curious look.

“It’ll be okay,” He said.

Over the next few days, life fell into a routine. You would wake up, Jeongguk would give you breakfast, and you would draw in between meals. Nothing else. Sometimes you would try to strike up conversation with the stubborn police officer who kept you company most days, but he would either stay silent or reply with one-word answers. So you quickly gave up on that.

Sooner or later, the sorrow you felt turned into bitterness. You were mad at yourself, mad at the world, mad at Jeongguk. A week in jail? What was that supposed to do? Teach you a lesson? As if. If anything, it just made you want to do more illegal things as a big “Fuck you,” To the officers who walked past your cell with looks of pity on their faces.

Yes, people in Bangtan were overly nice, and no, you didn’t need their pity. You survived on your own long enough without anyone’s pity, so you didn’t need it now, when you were already fucked up. Where was this kindness when you cried to the school counselor about your home situation and she sent you away with the excuse that you were “Pms’ing” and “It wasn’t that bad”

You felt this boil in you every night and through the day. And it was still boiling in you when Jeongguk set you free and paid your fine. (Which made you angrier cause now your set back on bills AND food) “Don’t get into trouble,” Was the last thing he said to you. You knew his words should’ve made you angry, but knowing that you wouldn’t see him every day now made you... Sad...

The world felt cold... Colors seemed to dull and noise seemed to be muffled everywhere you went. You felt, empty. Alone. Sad. You felt like you didn’t have a purpose now that you caught up on all your commissions and going out spray painting the town was an even more risky thing to do. On the bright side, you were able to pay your bills.

But that didn’t help the dread you felt when you woke up every single day. The bitterness was still there, but now it was buried with dread and trepidation. Sometimes the fire of your anger would burn bright, sometimes it was just embers. The intense mood swings you were feeling gave you emotional whiplash, and all you wanted to was lay in bed all day.

“It’ll be okay,”

Jeongguk saying those words to you swirled in your head daily. They never left. Not since he first said that. You could hear the slight accent in his voice and see the slight squint in his nose when he speaks. That’s what fueled your fire the most. He did nothing for you. Why are you giving him the time of the day? He locked you up.

But there was also this voice that reminded you of the playful bickering the two of you shared, the sparks in your eyes when the two of you looked at each other, your game of cat and mouse. It told you that if you tried, maybe he could be your friend. Maybe he could help you. He’s a police officer, he’d want to help anyone... Right?

But if he wanted to help you, why would he lock you in a jail cell?

That bitterness and conflict in your mind led you here, to an empty wall. Why were you here? Why did you have a spray paint can in your hand? Why were you painting again? Why Y/n, why? No matter how loud the angel on your shoulder screamed at you to go home, do something better with your life, be something better. It fell on deaf ears.

Not even the crickets were chirping as those boot falls made their way towards you. Nothing but the spray of your paint and the thud of Jeongguk’s steel-toed boots fill the surrounding night. Jeongguk only sighed in disappointment when he saw you standing there. Waiting for you to turn to him before he said anything.

“Isn’t it the Rookie...” You muttered. The same teasing words were there, but they lacked the enthusiasm. “What are you doing, Y/n?” Jeongguk asked, still sounding very unimpressed.

“Your smart Rookie, what does it look like I’m doing?”

“What I told you not to do,”

“Ding ding! We have a winner,” You exclaimed sarcastically.

“Did you really not learn your lesson?”

You scoffed, “Learn my lesson?” You stopped painting and turned towards Jeongguk. “Learn my lesson? What exactly did you do to teach me a lesson?” You scowled. “Was a week in jail not enough?” He retorted, and you felt yourself boil over.

“Listen here, Jeon. Do you know what that week really did to me? It made me bitter. It made me feel like shit, like I was back living with my parents,” You spat. Jeongguk’s face fell at the mention of your parents. He knew what you went through, everyone knew. Bangtan was a small village, after all. “I mean come on, you really think locking me up behind bars is going to change me? Look at where I am Jeon! In the same goddamn alley doing the same shit cause I didn’t learn my lesson!” You ranted, and you felt tear prick at the corner of your eyes. You couldn’t stop them from overflowing this time.

“Police officers are supposed to help people, ya know. You don’t just catch criminals, you should help them. You wanna know the best way to prevent people from becoming re-offenders? Helping them!” You cried, throwing your paint can on the ground. “But no, you just care about handing in that report, huh? You caught me! Now you want nothing to do with me! I get it Jeon, really. Nobody wants anything to do with me...” You sniffled, feeling your anger dissipate.

Jeongguk looked like a kicked puppy. He didn’t know what to do when you started crying, but he knew that he needed to do something. “Y/n...” He said, reaching out for you, but you backed away. “Don’t... Just go away,” You said, but you didn’t really mean it. No, you wanted Jeongguk to come closer, to help you, to tell you it was okay again. Luckily, he understood that.

While you were wiping the tears away from your face, Jeongguk pulled you into a hug. At first you struggled, trying your best to get away from the muscle bunny, but soon you relented, falling into the comfort that his muscular arms offered you. “I’m sorry,” He whispered to you, squeezing you tight. “You’re right, I should be helping. Let me start by helping you,”

You sniffled, pulling away from his chest to look up at him. “Help me? I’m a lost cause,” You croaked, but Jeongguk shushed you, pulling you back in. “My friend goes to this therapist, he says they’re great, maybe they can help you,” He offered.

“Maybe they can,”

“You're a pain in my ass, you know that Hobi?” You groaned, squinting at the laughing red-head who was currently sitting across from you in your studio. “But it’s too funny. I mean, a delinquent falling in love with a police officer? A classic,” He teased. You just rolled your eyes, bringing your focus back to the pot you were working on. “I’m not in love,” You retorted.

Hoseok snickered, “You remember what Dr. Choi said about lying to ourselves?” You wanted to strangle the shit-eating grin he had on his face, but you opted to huff and show your disdain instead. “Sometimes I wish you weren’t in my group therapy sessions,” You complained, but that smile never left Hoseok’s face.

After that night in the alley with Jeongguk, he lived up to his words. He introduced you to your current therapist Dr. Choi and got you the help you needed. Soon enough, you were slowly getting better. Your desire for graffiti slowly dissipated, and you opted for a canvas. It was easier to sleep at night, and Dr. Choi introduced you to a support group. Which is how you met your friend, Hoseok.

But Jeongguk still stuck with you. He would check up on you every day and keep you company when he had the time. Recently he’s been showing up at your place with cupcakes from Taehyung’s bakery, (You recently learned his name and he admitted your paintings were cool, but they didn’t fit his aesthetic) Sometimes you’d even visit the station, dropping off lunch for him.

Jeongguk and you became quick friends. Besides the ironic differences between the two of you, you also had a lot in common. You’d have movie/video game nights, sometimes you’d let him paint with you, he even introduced you to his other friends (All six of them,) Outside of work, he let down the intimidating police man facade and became a lovable bunny.

Maybe a bit too loveable, since you seemed to like Jeongguk a bit too much these days.

“How would I even tell him? “Hey! It’s me, Y/n! Delinquent turned mural artist who has a huge crush on you! The police officer who arrested me and put me in jail!” Ha, no.” You dramatically exaggerated with your hands. “Oh come on Y/n! He’s pining over you too!” Hoseok said, trying (and failing) to convince you. “Didn’t you write that love letter to him? Why not give him that?” Hoseok suggested. You immediately cringed, hiding your face in your hands. “No way, that’d be so embarrassing,”

“So your saying that if I ran over to the police station with this slip of paper and handed it to Jeongguk you’d never forgive me?” Hoseok asked, holding up the infamous love letter you wrote for Jeongguk 3 weeks ago.

“You wouldn’t dare,” You glared at him.

“Y/n... You’ve been debating telling him for months...” Hoseok groaned, “Maybe you just need a little... Push!” He said, jumping out of his seat and running out the door.

“Jung Hoseok, I’m going to kill you!” You yelled, running after him. Unfortunately he was like, 90% legs so it was hard to even keep a foot’s distance between the two of you. “Hobi! He’ll hate me!” You whined, huffing a puffing. You really needed to get back in shape. “No he won’t! He literally talks about you all the time! I’m doing you idiots a favor!” Hoseok yelled back, bursting his way into the police station.

“Jeon Jeongguk!” Hoseok called, getting weird looks from the other officers. Jeongguk’s head popped up from his desk and he got up to see what his friend wanted. Not before you tackled Hoseok to the ground, however. The paper flew out of Hoseok’s hand as he fell to the ground with an “Oof”

Jeongguk looked at the two of you with a smile, choking down his laughs as he picked up the paper. “Don’t read it!” “Read it!” You and Hoseok said at the same time. But Jeongguk’s nosy self had already opened it and was reading the words. You groaned and hid your face in Hoseok’s shoulder out of embarrassment. Jeongguk just chuckled, leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek. “Let’s go to dinner after I’m done here, yeah?” He said, giving you a wink as he walked away.

“What just happened,” You asked, putting your hand up to your cheek.

“You just started a new chapter in your life. This one titled “Me and Jeongguk, the most cliche shit I’ve ever seen,” Hoseok smiled, patting your head.

“Shut up... I got a mural to spray paint,”

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jeongguk #jeon jeongguk #jungkook x reader #jeongguk x reader #bts fanfic #bts oneshot #bts

59 notes · View notes

thewhumperinwhite · 3 years

Text

The Kennelmaster's Boy (Part 1)

@marseny since you asked so nicely 😌 here's What I Did To Andry. This is several years prior to the events of WKW. I suspect this little flashback will be three parts.

TW for: parental abuse.

Also: Andry worries about it, but you don't have to: no dogs are harmed in this piece.

----

The first time, Andry really does sneak down only to see the puppies.

Sometimes people tell him that as a Prince, he should have no need to sneak anywhere. And it is true that no part of the palace is expressly forbidden him, except for the Lady's Mouth in the courtyard, where he would be frightened to go anyway. And no one in the castle has the authority to send him away from wherever he wants to be, with one obvious exception.

But Andry sneaks lots of places—to the kitchens to beg treats for Asher, or the Salle d'Armes to train on his own when his fencing lessons are done. It feels better, safer, to go unseen in the castle where he's lived all his life, every once in a while. Otherwise, he can't ever be sure who will tell his father where he's been, out of malice or ignorance. And he can't ever tell what will make his father angry, if he does hear of it. An excursion that earns him nothing but a roll of the Lion's eyes this week might get him boxed ears or worse the next. Better to go quietly, if he's at all unsure.

Truth be told, he isn't unsure about this one. The King has made it very clear that he doesn't want Andry near the Royal Hounds, anywhere but on a hunt. "I don't keep lady's lap dogs, boy," the Lion has told him, more than once. (The last time his fist was tangled in Andry's hair and he shook him by it, hard.) "I catch you coddling them again, I'll toss you in the kennels with a roast around your neck, and see how softly you can stroke them then."

But Brunie's been huge and sluggish with the weight of a huge litter for weeks, now, and Andry wants to see if she had the puppies alright. So he tucks his long gold braid under the collar of his plainest tunic, and creeps down the servants' stairs to the kennels.

Brunie thumps her tail tiredly on the straw-littered floor when she sees him, her belly clustered with a dozen fat gray puppies, crawling over each other to reach her milk, occasionally toppling over as though unsure what to do with their chubby little limbs.

Bombur is sitting next to her, looking very pleased with himself, and Andry can't resist reaching into the pen to scratch behind the wolfhound's silky ears.

"You had the easier job, old boy," he says softly, while Bombur rolls his big dark eyes back blissfully and lifts his chin for scratches. "No need to be smug."

At this moment one of the pups, belly full of milk, tumbles and lands in a heap at Bombur's feet, and Bombur lowers his head and noses the pup closer to the bars, looking up at Andry expectantly.

Andry should be getting back, now. But Bomber pants and wags his tail, and the little pup blinks sleepily at the uncomprehensible world around it, small and round and unafraid, and Andry relents, and bends to scoop it carefully up, tucking its warm weight in the crook of his arm and stroking its velvety head with the one finger and the utmost gentleness.

The puppy yawns enormously and immediately rests its tiny head on Andry's arm and goes to sleep. Bombur pants up at him, looking pleased and softly foolish, as though Andry the Lion's Son is as easily trusted as anyone else, and Andry is blinking embarrassed tears out of his eyes by the time he hears the sudden voice behind him.

"Hell are you doing in here?" the voice says. There's no real rancor in it, but Andry still spins on his heal, cradling the puppy against his now-pounding heart, with a nonsensical instinct to shield it against the intruder, who almost certainly belongs here far more than Andry does.

A boy is standing in the doorway to the cellar proper, paused in the act of propping an old straw broom against the wall, surveying Andry with curious dark eyes, below a mop of dark hair cut in a working-man's short crop. He can't be more than a few years older than Andry, though he is several inches taller.

His homespun tunic doesn't cover his arms, and Andry can see that they're corded through with wiry muscle. Andry feels his own face suddenly heat up, though he isn't sure why.

The boy puts his long-fingered hands on his hips and—almost smiles at Andry. "Well," he says. "I was about to holler for the Master, but you must be someone, for Old Lord Bombur to watch you holdin' his pup without a show of teeth." Andry looks dumbly down at the wolfhound, who is still wagging his tail, the new boy apparently included in his good mood. "Who are ye, then, boy?"

Andry stares, stupidly. The puppy in his hands makes a grumpy little huff, hurt that he's stopped scratching its head, but Andry's hands have gone entirely numb and won't respond to his commands.

"I," Andry says, his voice crackly and too high. "Um," he says, and that seems to be all he can manage now.

"...right," the boy says, and he takes a step forward; Andry, entirely without meaning to, takes a matching step back, his hand still curled protectively around the wolfhound pup.

Bombur stands, and snaps his teeth once, to warn Andry to stop backing away with his puppy. The boy raises his dark brows, presumably for a similar reason.

"You're not—stealing one of the King's Hounds, are you?" the boy says, but his tone makes it clear that he doesn't believe that Andry is capable of making off with the pup.

Andry lifts his chin, feeling obscurely offended. "What if I was?" he says, feeling stupid as he said it; he should be glad not to be thought a thief, he should be putting the pup down and making his exit, he should be being as unmemorable as possible.

The boy grins, and steps closer again, and Andry realizes (with muffled horror) that he doesn't want to be unmemorable.

"I'd stop you, obviously," the boy says, and he steps easily into Andry's space—Andry lets him, feeling sweaty—and lifts the puppy easily out of Andry's relaxing fingers.

The boy sets the pup neatly back in the pen, where Bombur sniffs it loudly to make sure nothing's amiss. The boy does not step away from where he's standing, really quite close to Andry.

"What's your name?" the boy asks him. He's properly smirking now, his voice teasing and inviting, and looking Andry right in the face—like it's a face he doesn't know, but likes.

Andry stares up at the boy. He wants—to lie, or more than that, to change, to say a different name and have it be the truth. But that isn't how it works, and suddenly Andry has forgotten every name except his own.

So instead he turns on his heel and runs.

Andry can't sleep that night, too busy making lists of names to give in place of his own. He's thought of and rejected almost fifty different names before he even realizes he's decided to go back.

----

The Kennel Boy's name is Marten, and he's been the kennelmaster's apprentice for nearly three months. He thinks Andry is a lesser Noble's son named Aiden, and also, an idiot.

Andry hates looking stupid, normally. He more than hates it—it frightens him. He hates to do things wrong, even in front of people who won't hit him for it.

But on his third or fourth visit, when Marten insists he's holding one of the puppies wrong, the older boy pushes into Andry's space, rearranged Andry's hands with his own warm calloused fingers. Marten sees Andry's answering blush, and laughs, but doesn't move back.

Andry holds the puppies wrong on purpose. Never in a way that would hurt them—he's very careful; always just barely wrong enough. He offers to help sweep the kennels clean on the next trip, and misses large swaths of dirty straw, until Marten puts his hands on his hips and asks him if he's ever held a broom in his life.

"Maybe you should show me how," Andry says, cheeks burning with his own boldness, and Marten grins, transparently pleased, and does.

It can't last, of course. Andry stands on the balcony, almost a month later, still and straight beside his father, and sees Marten's face in the crowd—pale with shock and then looking away, half-running from the courtyard.

Andry knew he was doing wrong, a little, from the beginning; Marten's easy smile always made the lies sit heavy in his stomach. But he is still surprised at the force of Marten's anger when he learns that Andry is the Lion's son.

"You lied to me," he says, in a voice that shakes, his warm calloused hands in fists at his sides. "How could you, how could you not tell me you were—you liar!" The dogs shift in their pens at Marten's raised voice, and he squeezes his eyes shut, turns and will not look Andry in the eyes. "Get out," he says.

Andry reaches for him, wants to turn him around, wants to pull the boy's hands open and twine their fingers together, wants, wants things he doesn't even have words for yet.

"Get out!" Marten yells at him, and Andry takes to his heels again, tears in his eyes.

----

Andry stays away. If there are tears shed in the privacy of his bedroom, that is his own business; Asher kindly keeps his mouth shut, let's Andry hide his whimpers under his sheets and doesn't remark on his red and puffy eyes in the mornings. Andry is a Prince, and while he sometimes sneaks, he will not beg.

He doesn't need to. He wipes sweat from his eyes in the sparring ring by the guard barracks and when he looks Marten is there, leaning against the ring's fence and watching him with wary eyes.

"You hold a sword a lot better than a broom, Your Highness," Marten says. His voice is carefully neutral. He's standing only a few feet away, and the farthest from Andry he's ever been. "Come on," Marten says after a moment, his voice a fraction softer. "Old Bombur keeps on howling; no one babies him like you do." He meets Andry's eyes, nervous and angry and sorry, and Andry crosses the ring to stand before him, unable to do anything else. "Come back to him, why don't you."

Andry does not spoil the moment with tears; only follows Marten back down to the kennels. Marten lets him hold the broom again, and the next day when he calls Andry "Your Highness," he smiles, like it's a joke and not a curse.

Andry has never been more relieved; too grateful, really, to think clearly. When Marten asks, the following month, if there is space in the Lion's retinue, and when they next go out on a hunt, and who will handle the Hounds, Andry does not notice the boy fails to meet his eyes.

#winter king's ward #wkw extras #backstory #parental abuse #abusive parents #fantasy whump #emotional whump #(though this just set up really. the actual trauma is Next Time)#emotional manipulation

15 notes · View notes

reading-while-queer · 3 years

Text

Ninth House, Leigh Bardugo

Rating: Mixed Review Genre: Fantasy, Mystery, Dark Academia Representation: -Bi/pan protagonist -Jewish protagonist -Latina mixed race protagonist Trigger warnings: Sexual assault (in scene), rape (in scene), CSA (in scene), graphic violence, murder, drug use, drug abuse, drugging of another person, overdose, domestic abuse, medical abuse, violence by dogs Note: Not YA

Why is it that every time I read Leigh Bardugo, I love the book with a passion...except for one thing that makes me want to tear my hair out?

Here’s what seriously impressed me about Ninth House, Bardugo’s entry into New Adult. The pacing was phenomenal. The measured, perfectly timed revelations of information had me finding excuses to listen to the audiobook - taking extra neighborhood walks, doing extra loads of laundry - because I was so hooked. Then, there’s the worldbuilding. Bardugo managed to walk a delicate line, successfully suspending disbelief while still asserting that eight Yale secret societies do secret magic rituals to the benefit of the oligarchical capitalist machine (we all kind of suspected this was the case, right?). But the best part of the book, the part that had me recommending Ninth House in more than one group chat, was, of all things, the point-of-view jumps.

Rarely are point-of-view switches the star of the show, but I was so excited to see a genuinely original, intrinsic-to-the-heart-of-the-whole-novel use of that technical tool. The point of view jumps crank the volume up on the theme of the whole book. We start with the main character, Galaxy “Alex” Stern; she is the point-of-view character for the present semester during which the principal action of the novel takes place. Her upperclassman and mentor Daniel Arlington (or “Darlington”) is the point-of-view character for the semester before - all because something happened to Darlington. Alex is telling people he’s doing a “semester in Spain,” and all the reader knows is that her explanation isn’t strictly true. The point-of-view jumps being so strict (there is never an Alex perspective chapter during last semester, and never a Darlington perspective in the present) serves to separate the two characters from each other with a really incredible emotional effectiveness. The heart of the novel, for me as a reader, was yearning for these two to be reunited - and all because Bardugo holds the two character points-of-view separate across an unbreachable temporal divide. It’s a powerfully effective technique.

But let’s backtrack. Alex is a 20-year-old high school dropout from the west coast. As the story progresses, we learn that Alex can see ghosts, which is why, despite never finishing high school or getting her GED - or even applying - Alex is a freshman at Yale - contingent on her joining the secret society called “Lethe House” as apprentice (“Dante”) to the current leader of the society, Darlington (the “Virgil”). Lethe House is the governing body of the eight Yale secret societies that practice the magic that keeps the elite in power. These secret societies make books sell, make T.V. anchors charming and compelling, and open portals to other parts of the world - when they aren’t throwing over the top Halloween parties with magic designed to alter one’s perception of reality.

Darlington, by contrast to Alex, seems to belong at Yale. He’s from an old family, and he’s preppy and well-read. Most of all, he loves Lethe House and its history of keeping the secret societies from harming people in their pursuit of magic and power. That is, until he disappears just in time for Alex, only half-trained, to investigate the murder of a girl on campus.

The first three quarters of the novel are fantastic for the reasons stated above. Bardugo’s approach to mystery writing is effective. We have half a dozen suspects, most of whom, as elite ivy league magicians, are at least guilty of some misdeed. Having all your red herrings end up somewhat culpable anyway is a good way to keep your mystery difficult to solve until the end. We were off to a good start.

Unfortunately, in the end, Bardugo made the all-too-common choice to value “surprise” over the most compelling, satisfying solution. So while the reader doesn’t see the ending coming, that is at the steep cost of the ending not being justified by the rest of the book. Bardugo even has to invent new rules of magic off the cuff to justify the ending. When the rest of the book so painstakingly developed the rules of magic in a way that made sense and never felt overly expository, undoing all that effort feels like a monumental waste. And for what did Bardugo undermine all her hard work? A mystery that the reader won’t have all the clues to solve? It’s really okay - in fact, good - if the reader can puzzle out your story. It means your story has symmetry, internal logic, or perhaps, some sort of message.

This is what had me tearing my hair out. I know exactly how I would have written the ending of Ninth House to be the perfect conclusion to a stunning book. I know exactly what the message should have been. Is it somewhat ridiculous to say that Bardugo misinterpreted the message of her own book? Perhaps. But given the out-of-left-field-ending, the theme of the book ends up being a rather cheaply bought “No matter how traumatized you are, you can be a girlboss” instead of the message that the very structure of the novel itself was pointing to since page one: one of companionship, trust, and restoration (frankly, a better message for a novel with a main character who suffers so much loss and trauma. But, sure, “girl power” is a theme...I guess...)

Here’s what I mean by the structure of the novel itself pointing to a different theme. (Spoiler warning for the rest of this paragraph). Because the point-of-view switches in the first two thirds of the novel were used by Bardugo like two magnets being held apart, the only way to create a feeling of resolution was, so to speak, putting the magnets back together: getting Darlington back into the “present.” The degree of disconnect between reader expectations and the reality of the book is comparable to picking up a romance novel only to have the two leads decide to just be friends at the end. Bardugo set expectations - akin to genre expectations - but unfortunately Bardugo kneecapped her first book in the service of the sequel.

And then there’s the trauma. Alex’s backstory wouldn’t be the same without some level of trauma; it’s an important part of her character arc. Even the explicit presence of sexual assault on the page was justified in the case of Alex’s backstory - and I think that is rarely true. But when it came to a side character’s explicit in-scene rape, which was used as a clue in the broader murder mystery rather than treated as a crime in its own right, that tipped me over into feeling the trauma in Ninth House was more excessive than necessary for character development. The resolution to that side character’s rape is oddly cartoonish - like an over-the-top prank rather than justice - and again, the only reason the rape happens to the character is to give Alex more information she needs to solve the plot. Maybe that wouldn’t bother some readers, but for me, a book has to bend over backwards to justify showing me a character being raped. Bardugo does well earlier in the book when depicting Alex’s assault; the assault is the explanation for why Alex doesn’t view magic with the same childish excitement as the rest of Yale, and it’s part of what holds her apart from the entitled secret societies. It needed to be in the book. Everything else was gratuitous.

That said, there’s one thing still to address in this roller coaster of a review, and that is: wait, is this a queer book? I had gone into it assuming that it would be, mostly because all my queer friends were reading it. And the answer is….kind of? Knowing Bardugo’s history with putting queer characters in her books, I’m going to assume she wasn’t baiting when she had Alex claim to have loved a girl in her backstory. Which, in the context of the rest of the novel, would make Alex bi or pan. As a book that a lot of queer fans of Bardugo’s YA have read, or will read, it feels appropriate to review it here.

This was a mixed review from start to finish, but to finish up: if you are thinking about reading Ninth House, go for it! There is so much to like about this book. Take to heart that if you read and liked Bardugo’s handling of sexual assault in her YA titles, you should be prepared to be surprised by Ninth House. It is not the same. I would not have called her handling of sexual assault in Six of Crows, for instance, restrained - but compared to Ninth House, it absolutely is. Despite my strongly worded feelings about the ending, Bardugo left room to redeem herself in the sequel (which, if you ask me, is why the ending was so bad in the first place...). I for one will definitely be reading the sequel the second it comes out.

#leigh bardugo #ninth house #fantasy #mystery #dark academia #not ya #mixed review #bi #reviews only #protagonist of color #jewish protagonist

30 notes · View notes

hollyhomburg · 5 years

Text

Reasons Wretched and Divine (Pt.2)

(Dog hybrid! Namjoon x Reader) (ft. Bear! Taehyung) (Eventual Polyamory)

Tags: graphic domestic abuse, minor body horror, blood, major character death, hybrid mistreatment, implied spousal rape, unplanned pregnancy, depression, nightmares, PTSD, Dog hybrid! Namjoon, Bear Hybrid! Taehyung,

W/C: 5.2k

Song Rec: Hozier- to be alone

A/n: so yeah! here is the much-awaited second part of reasons wretched and divine! No jimin or yoongi in this yet. but it’s coming!

- There is a moment when everything shifts, the world spinning off its kilter. You tearfully holding the pregnancy test in your hands, the horror welling up in your stomach that Namjoon feels in turn when it really really hits him what it means, what you’ve been going through.

- Because he’s seen the hickeys, but he never thought- it never made sense- but now- You're hyperventilating, your breaths coming in deep gasps that rattle around your chest like a gale-force wind. Namjoon holds you up, stopping you from falling to the bathroom floor.

- Your lower lip quivers, and your shoulders to small for all the ache that lies between. You ghasp out his name “Joon- Joonie- this can’t happen- this wasn’t supposed to happen to me- if I have his kid- he’s never going to let me go.”

- Namjoon wishes- wishes beyond anything he’s ever wanted- every desire he’s ever had because this takes precident- he wishes that the pregnancy test could be wrong.

- But as he lets out his own choked breath even he can admit- your scent is changing, it’s different now than it was when he first met you. slowly shifting to become somehow softer and sweeter, a change that he can’t quite place yet but probably would have been able to tell in a few days and now that he knows he can pinpoint it.

- “Namjoon- I can’t” you sob and he pulls you to his chest, thanking his lucky stars that this happened when your husband was at work, that he’s not here for this. “I don’t want to raise them here- I don’t want this-”

- Namjoon swallows back his panic, the part of his brain that was trained to deal with crisis taking over, knowing that once he suggests this the future might be out of his hands. “We can leave- we’ll go- I think- We could leave now- it might be our only chance-“

- In a very haphazard way you grab as much as you can carry, and the money you keep around the house and a few things you can pawn maybe, you throw it in the first bag you can get your hands on.

- It’s probably better if you stay off the roads Namjoon’s says, and he knows that there are some train tracks a little ways away through the woods- you’ve heard the sound of it on occasion on the quieter nights- you could follow that. You might have an old college friend in the city you could stay with and Namjoon does too- the old captain, Namjoons old partner- maybe him.

- Maybe he could take you to the police station and you could give a statement- and if the police system really was for protecting the people, maybe that would be enough to put your husband in jail.

- You pile everything into one bag and don your most sturdy coat- in a panic you don’t think to check. Only to open the door to find your husband about to reach for the doorknob, come back from work early.

- The way your husband just grabs Namjoon’s arm and twists it until it breaks will haunt you forever- the savage crack that started the worst night of your life.

- Namjoon’s scream echos off the walls. your husband closes the front door calmly. Freedom and safety so close and yet, so out of reach. Your hopes falling in a second.

- What happens next isn’t pretty, the night passes on in a blur of pain and words that will haunt your dreams, and will one day make you reach for namjoon after- reassure yourself that he’s still there, that he’s still alive, that you both survived.

- He goes for you after Namjoon’s incapacitated, his hand around your throat. he manages to get both of you to the basement while namjoon pleads- “please don’t hurt her- I promise it was my idea- please-.” neither of you is surprised when he pushed you down the stairs to the basement and then namjoon after you. Namjoon’s arm bleeding rivulets from where the bone pokes through.

- The night moves on, syrupy slow and painful, and looks a lot like this.

- Namjoon with an inwardly piercing collar with barbs so that every single time he lunges to protect you it digs into his neck. Your husband screaming until his voice has turned hoarse. “So you wanted her so bad that you were going to try to take her away from me? well, This is what your protection gets her!”

- Blood in your mouth where you’ve bitten your cheek, spilling out onto your red lips when he hits you- the same cheek had touched Namjoon’s cheek just a few weeks ago, he remembers it vividly, and the gentle stroke of the back of his fingers to brush your hair behind your ear. And now- your husband grabbing you by your hair and shaking you like a leaf in front of Namjoon.

- “Maybe after I kill her she’ll be reborn as a bitch and she’ll finally be at your level mutt. But then again you’re both already worthless.”

- hours later your husbands cellphone starts to ring upstairs and he goes to retreive it. You’re crumpled on the floor motionless, Namjoon’s hand is starting to go numb. it’s hushed and cryptic at the top of the stairs, you can barely make out the words but you’re not really trying to do anything but muster the energy up to crawl to where namjoon’s tied to the wall, leaving a small trail of blood as you go. stilling when he pears down from the top at both of you. “I’ll deal with both of you later, get ready to meet the devil mutt.”

- but this is already hell- There is already too much blood on your clothes, too much red.

- Namjoon knows enough to know that the blood between your legs isn’t a good sign if you’re pregnant. You manage to crawl over to Namjoon and get him free just before you truely pass out and Namjoon drives you to the hospital, almost crashing the car several times (he’d never driven one before, and doing it with one hand wasn’t easy).

- They treat you and your baby. And Namjoon almost sags in relief when one of the nurses tells him you’re both okay- actually does fall over, the adrenaline finally fading and the true pain of his broken arm really hits him, sending him to his knees now that he knows that you’re safe- that you’re going to be okay.

- They diagnose it as compound fracture; now in a thick and bulky cast. Cracking it back into place had hurt almost as much as the initial break. Namjoon is just being wheeled back to his room from the x-ray when one of the nurses comes leading two police officers.

- Namjoon gives a statement to the police in his room while he waits for one of the nurses to come by and tell him that you’re awake and out of surgery. Since he introduces himself with his police number, they take his word as the truth (namjoon was worried- your husband was well known in town, but police do protect their own- even their hybrid units)

- Then they leave, after they give Namjoon reassurance that a man will be placed outside your room until your husband is found and booked for the crime of attempted murder. A crime scene photographer will be coming by then as well- They’ll take pictures of your wounds later when you're awake- of course.

- A nurse hovers, and namjoon shoots up out of his wheelchair when she says that you’re ready for him, that you’ve been asking for namjoon and that you’re awake.

- When Namjoon sees you in the hospital bed, the light of morning streaming through the window across your bruised face, he falls into you. Crying heavily into your lap as the stress and fear finally breaks from the day before, the nurse standing barely pausing as namjoon breaks apart. As Namjoon strings his good arm across your waist and gets as close as he can to you, you reach out to him too- hand fisting in the back of his hospital gown as strong as you can with how bruised up you are.

- “I was so fucking scared- and it’s-“ “it’s finally over,” you say, more than a little weepy yourself. Namjoon pulls himself up onto the bed so that he can press his forehead against yours, an uneasy smile tugging on his lips, cheeks stickey with tears.

- later, with you leaning against Namjoon’s good side, your cheek against his bruised collar bone, the officers come by to guard outside your door. And they must have you stand so that they can take photographs of your injuries. Namjoon refuses to leave the room when they do, even though they got a woman police officer to take the photos. He won’t leave you alone now- not when your husband is still out there.

- He turns to the officer, “is there any word on the suspect yet?” it feels so much better to call him that, and Namjoon is anxiously anticipating seeing your torturer in handcuffs. The woman nods, “they should be taking him in now”

- But they aren't.

- The police officers arrive to the farm to find him still absent, the farmhouse empty with all the lights on, door open, exactly how you left it. His car is missing as well. It takes them a few hours before they find it parked just off the interstate The next morning.

- it takes them even longer to find your husband at the bottom of a ravine a few hours later, a bullet in his back and one in his skull.

- You and Namjoon are suspects at first but since they have video footage of you both at the hospital around your husband’s time of death you’re mostly cleared. No one mourns the loss of your husband, least of all you and Namjoon.

- You linger in the hospital for a few days, the doctors just want to make sure that there really isn’t anything wrong with your baby. And they allow namjoon to sleep in your room in your bed once he makes it clear that he will make himself a nusance if they don’t.

- Namjoon’s old captain comes to visit, Namjoon is surprised, but he guesses that his old precinct must have been called and given his id number after the police got involved. You’re still asleep, namjoon seated when he knocks on the open door.

- They talk softly at the door for a long while, until your stirring sleepily and reaching for namjoon. and namjoon sees the old captain's eyes darken when he sees the fading black bruises on your cheek. The stitches at the top corner of your lip that will probably leave a scar. “Have you found somewhere you want to be?” Namjoon nods, smiling gently at your sleeping form. “yes, I believe I have.”

- The old police chief is the one that drives both of you back to the farmhouse, your introduction is brief and a little less than ideal as you’re still in a fair bit of pain. Both of you get more tense as the farmhouse comes into view, the rolling vacant hills and the yellow police tape blocking the front door. But you both don’t really have anywhere else to go other than here.

- “He deserved what he got,” he says to Namjoon before he pulls out of the long driveway. If anything Namjoon wishes he was the one who’d done it, but you both have your freedom now so Namjoon will count his blessings and take your husbands mysterious death as one good thing.

- As a result of your husband’s death, you become very very wealthy and inherit not only the farm but Namjoon too. “You know, if you wanted your freedom I’d let you go, even like- get you an apartment and find work for you somewhere else or-”

- “Don’t be ridiculous I’m staying.” he’s mad at you for about half a day because of that, spends an afternoon angrily throwing things into a bunch of bins to be put in the attic. How could you even think of letting him go? where else would he want to be but here helping you- especially after the last few months? Now that it’s over things are...not good but strange in their emptiness.

- But you had to offer, you had to ask him if he wanted to stay with you, you don’t have anywhere to go but this house, and it isn’t exactly filled with the best memories, even if your husband is gone.

- The first night you and Namjoon walk into the house and just sit for a while, realizing that this place will never be hell again, if either of you have anything to say about it.

- You live the first few days after the funeral in a fog, but then when it breaks, it’s when you go into your husband’s old den, where he kept his guns, and decide to sell them all- you have no use for them anymore, you don’t want them anywhere near here.

- Then you tare away all of the modern things and the decorations your husband put in the farmhouse. Namjoon finds you burning your wedding photos in the fireplace, and just says, “What can I do to help?”

- You point at the fine china plates in the cabinets, and you have the vivid memory of your late husband backhanding you across the face after you’d dropped one. “Take care of those.”

- You cracking open his expensive bottle of champagne for Namjoon, giving it to him because you can’t drink. You dance in the living room shattering glass after glass and plate after plate into the trash bin that Namjoon brought inside. You throw your old mattress out the top floor balcony and drag it onto the gravel. Namjoon pours gasoline on it and both of you shout and crow as your damned marriage bed burns and burns under the stars.

- And for a moment, the two of you are so gloriously free that it’s almost like the last 6 months never happened. Namjoon looks over at you across the fire, your cheeks finally glowing like he’s never seen and Namjoon yearns, his head spinning with alcohol- the first time he’s ever been drunk and he realizes he wants you- needs you. And maybe it’s wrong- because you’ve just gotten out of that hell of a relationship.

- He doesn’t have to want- not for long.

- Because that night, you drag Namjoon’s mattress out of his room, and put it next to the single mattress from the guest bedroom side by side in the living room. You sleep with Namjoon there, cuddled up under his arm feeling safer than you ever have before. Falling asleep with a smile on both your faces.

- Namjoon’s never had a home but he can feel himself start to carve one out here with you.

- You and Namjoon wake up early and watch the sunrise over the hill, you drive into town and buy your weight in wildflower mix spreading it along the fields that your husband kept prim and proper- because who needs plain grass when you can have flowers? When you can have queen Ann’s lace, snapdragons, cosmos and buttercups in excess. Filling jam jar after jam jar with color in your white and black themed house.

- But then the nights get longer. And the two of you realize that your husband might be gone, but the memories never will be. One night Namjoon is woken by your screaming. He never sleeps deeply anymore, is always twitching awake from some nightmare. His arm might have healed, but there is always a lingering fantom pain, a slight numbness in the tips of his fingers that he feels when he reaches out to help you button your jacket, or flick of bit of fuz off of your shoulder, or gently tug your hair from where it’s gotten snagged.

- most nights you thrash around in your bed until namjoon shakes you awake. You sob into his arms and fall back asleep eventually hiccupping even in your sleep, clutching onto namjoon like he’s still the only good thing in your life.

- Namjoon just holds you, running his fingers through your hair realizing that it’s going to take more than just a few weeks for the weight of what you’ve been through to really fade. The nightmares come almost every single night without fail, Namjoon moves into your room- the guest room for now- though you’re in the middle of repainting the master suite.

- It gets so bad that you stop sleeping at night, twitching awake when you fall asleep and staying up to watch late-night television no matter how much Namjoon asks you to please come to bed. Namjoon wishes he could just hold you and make it all better but it doesn’t work that way.

- love won’t fix this, even if Namjoon will love you in whatever way you let him. even if it will always be this way- just namjoon and you gently and carefully takeing care of each other.

- Sometimes you go easily, and other times the shadows under your eyes are so deep that he sits on the couch with you (an old velvet thing you found in one of the back of the barns and pulls you to lie your head on his lap, running his fingers through your hair- the only thing that makes you relax these days. For a little while, the way he can see you pleasantly shiver, the tension slowly receding is enough.

- “Did you know I used to dream of doing this- back when we used to hug in the hallway at night?” he says one night when sleepiness has tempted to think confessing might be a good idea. You turn your face from the tv. “No- you didn’t” you say, a small smile tugging on his lips, tempting ideas that he shouldn’t be thinking, Namjoon should give you your space.

- You don’t sleep when you can avoid it. It gets so bad that Namjoon gets worried, he begs you really to tell the doctor. There isn’t much that they can do safely with you being pregnant, not much medication that’s safe to take. But sleepy time tea, melatonin, and therapy twice a week on Monday and Friday do wonders too.

- Namjoon brings you your sleepy time tea every night, and he can judge if you’re going to go to sleep by the amount your hands shake when you take the cup from him.

- You get better, the flowers begin to bloom with spring, and your belly gets a little rounder at the front a tiny bit noticeable just enough to show if you know- if you’re looking for it. Namjoon can’t stop looking at it, something pecular and soft digging it’s hooks into his chest, and you never seem to judge or be uncomfortable with the affection you see in his face.

- on a cold night, one of the few, you and namjoon sleep closer than usual, his nose bauried in your hair, his arm slung around your waist. his hand open to cradle your stomach- just a little, just a little bit protective, as much as he dares. that night you don’t have nightmares- you sleep straight through till morning for the first time in a verry long time.

- He thinks you’re finally getting better until he wakes in a thunderstorm and finds you standing in the grass underneath the torrent, shivering in your thin clothes. Your shoulders are shaking and your large white shirt is sticking to your skin, your lips are turning blue.

- “Honey, come inside, get dry,” his hands smooth over your shoulders, a whine low in his throat. Recently he’s gotten more comfortable with showing his lupine instincts again. After so many years holding them down. his tail hangs low between his legs. ears pressed against the side of his head.

- He doesn’t like the way you’re shivering. Doesn’t like the way that your eyes are staring off into space, angry and tear filled. Like you can barely tell that Namjoon’s there, so lost in the painful maze of your own memories that he can do nothing but stand and wait. He’s just about to say your name again when you speak.

- “Namjoon,” you say, your voice shaking, angry, teeth gritted, and Namjoon catches a little bit of your sweet scent, twined with pepper strong anger, you’re furious under his gentle fingers, looking to wipe away the warm tears that mix with the cold spring rain. “This can’t be all there is, this can- I can’t just be this, there has to be something good, something better to come out of this.”

- You feel so cheated, none of this is the way you wanted it to be, your life, your first kid, you didn’t want to resent them- the life already nestled with in you- but you did. Or maybe resentment isn’t the right word for it- maybe fear that you would resent them clouds your judgment and makes you unsure...if you even should keep it.

- Even if you know you want to, you’d always wanted to be a mom, and despite the fact that the child is your exhusbands. You know it won’t feel like that forever.

- And though you thought that maybe- you’d be doing in alone. You look at Namjoon and know...that he’ll be there, probably, in all likelihood, in all hope- you think he’ll stick around. You’d never force him into any sort of role he didn’t want. But his hands when he touches your stomach feel like a balm to ease away your worry And fear of being a single parent. None of it seems so weighty with him around, with him looking at you so tenderly.

- Maybe in another world, another timeline, this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe you where suposed to have met Namjoon first. You’re sure of it sometimes, that your life was supposed to be different and that nothing was supposed to go this way. You feel bitter and angry, but the only person to be angry at- the only person you want to scream and shout at- is 6 feet under already.

- Not for the first time, you wonder who killed your late husband. You wish you could take them out for coffee or maybe cook them a nice meal.

- (Maybe one day you will get the chance)

- You thought after he was gone everything would be okay, but you never expected it to be this way for everything to feel terrible even if you were free, for things to be this bad, to be haunted by the memories like a house would a ghost.

- You look like a ghost, wan and thin and pale, soaked to the bone.

- Namjoon tugs you inside feeling his heartbreak when you go into his arms limply and easily, like you don’t know how to do anything but follow his hands. namjoon a benevolent puppeteer. He gets you inside, gets you warmed up with a bathtub waiting. when he goes out to the kitchen to get started on some tea he sees that he left a light on out in the barns, twinking dimly with the others down at the bottom of the hill.

- As he hovers his brain turns over all of the empty and unused space, the barns, the chicken coup unused, even the sturdier show room. There is so much room on the farm, so much space.

- Inside his head, an idea blooms like a flower. small and yellow and hopeful.

- He dosne’t say anything at all when he helps you out of the bath, still in a fog, dries you off with a warm towel, he’s a little detached But inside his chest, crackling in his lungs, buttercups take root like hope as he thinks.

- Even as he dries’ your hair and you dry his, your hands lingering over his ears and rubbing. “you take such good care of me” you say, but he’s barely paying attentionl. Would it really be so easy? could it really be done?

- It’s not until later, with you streached out on the bed beside him, your hand lingering an inch away from his on the bedspread. Both of you have been awake for a while, just listening to the thunderclaps outside and enjoying the quiet warmpth indors that Namjoon murmurs the words into open air.

- “I think have an idea, something that we could do to...help I guess. to make this good” you sit up and look down at him. and he lets himself cradle your cheek in one palm. “i want to make this better for you.”

- You swallow, and prod, and namjoon talks quick, words fast and puncy as they come out freely. Suddenly the idea takeing form as you nood along. a bright understanding blooming in your eyes. and your replies- fast with excitment as you realize, and build upon his idea.

- “We could change the barns- we could make it like- bunk rooms-” “yeah and then we could get the kitchen like- we don’t even use the second sitting room- make it bigger-” - You decide to open up your farm property as a home for wayward hybrids, strays, and those fleeing abuse. you’ll take anyone really, anyone who needs a safe place.

- The barns on your property are already half renovated, nearly ready and easily transformable from being a garage for your late husband's expensive car collection to housing. You sell the antique car collection for no small amount of money, and even sell his newer car too, keeping only the old red truck, and a smaller more fuel-efficient sedan for what you might need.

- It’s a good thing your late husband had a penchant for things expensive, the barns are already refurbished and winterized (the winters don’t even get that bad here- it rarely ever snows in any significant amount). They’ll be warm enough you think for the winter, but seeing as its early spring. You know It will be a while before you’ll find out. It’s easy to turn the lower floors of barns into common space and the above hayloft into rooms full of bunk beds.

- There is a set of train tracks a few miles behind your property, and you and Namjoon chart a path through the woods, drawing arrows on the trees with white spray-paint back in the direction of your farm. At the place where the forest breaks out into train tracks, you hang a sign. “Safe place for hybrids this way: free food and shelter.” You put up a few other signs along with a shitty map that Namjoon draws at bus stops and along the bridges of major interstates.

- Namjoon rests a hand on yours as you drive away from another truck stop. letting you know that he’s proud of you with his soft smile and his dimples poking through. You reach over prodding at them with a soft look on your own face.

- “I didn’t know you had dimples,” you say, because in truth- you don't think you've ever seen him smile so wide. he makes a noise on the back of his throat and keeps looking at you like that.

- There might be a little bit of blush on your cheeks as namjoon keeps looking, soft and gentle, but you keep your eyes on the highway in front of you.

- It takes a few days, but then the first few start trickling in. You think you might be a little overbearing, a little over Eger to open up your home, because the first few hybrids don’t stay for more than a meal, eyeing Namjoon and the scars on his face With wary eyes. Even if he’s just an over-excited little puppy, he is a little too intimidating looking.

- The disappointment when they eventually move on crushes you and Namjoon. And after a little, while he makes himself more resigned, a little colder and shyer around the other hybrids.

- And then one afternoon while Namjoon helps you in your garden on the edge of your property (which has been completely unattended in the last month since your husband's death) you hear it, someone wading through the stream. Muted chirps of “ow ow ow- stay away from me-” Namjoon comes upon the person on the riverbank, his arm swelling from countless bee stings, face scratched up by brambles and two curved ears sitting furry in his long tangled hair.

- “I’m Taehyung,” the bear hybrid tells you as you give him an ice pack and Benadryl to put on the bee stings (which he got when he tried to raid a bees nest for its honey). He eyes the fresh teal paint and mortar dust disaster of your kitchen (in the process of being renovated and widened substantially, made larger for a future you only hope you have).

- You feed him and give him a cleaner pair of clothes to wear. You offer him a spot in your house or in the barns after dinner, and none to surprisingly- he picks the barns. Makes him more comfortable he says, makes him feel like he’s not intruding.

- The next day you meet him out in the field, early in the morning before the sun hangs high and shines hazy and golden. You’d been Intent on waking him for some breakfast Only to find that he’s already standing looking out over the backfield, twiddling a daisy over his fingers. Looking out in wonder at the sheer magnitude of flowers.

- But there is a sadness and longing in his expression, Taehyung looks at everything around him that is lazily and quiet and simple and wants to be apart of it with every fiber of his being.

- “Is it really okay if I say here more than you’ve let me? Are you sure I won’t impose at all?” he turns- half panicked with worry that you’ll turn him away. “I can help you with things around the house? To pay my rent and my food if you only let me stay- just please,”

- You can’t help but notice the darkness in his eyes, and the paler band of skin around his neck that must have been from a collar. You don’t know what Taehyung’s coming from, but it’s obvious he needs a place to be safe, to take a rest and be still. You saw his shoes yesterday, how worn out on the bottoms they were- you don’t know how long he’s been running, but he’s certainly running from somewhere. You want to give him a space to heal a little, from whatever put that darkness in his eyes.

- “Of course! you can stay as long as you want Tae.” Taehyung swallows past a thickness in his throat, as you both watch a little bird flicker from out of the woods and land on a nearby fence post. small and blue, it trils a brief song in search of a companion and then flutters off. (You can’t remember ever seeing a songbird on your ex-husband's property. Maybe they too have returned along with the flowers.)

- Taehyung’s hands shake as he gently tucks the daisy he cradles behind your ear, and then shyly stuffs his fists in the pockets of Namjoon’s old shorts. “No one’s called me Tae in a long long time.”

2K notes · View notes

hustlebonezzzz · 4 years

Text

We need to talk about Courage the Cowardly Dog

In what seems like a stream of relentless plagues, wildfires burn around the world, billions of desert locusts swarm and threaten African crops, and of course, COVID-19. How could we forget about COVID-19? The bright side of a world-wide pandemic is that this quarantine has provided ample time to revisit shows the shaped my childhood. When I was a kid, Courage the Cowardly Dog was my absolute favorite, hands down.

The title sequence explains the show perfectly:

“We interrupt this program to bring you… Courage the Cowardly Dog Show, starring Courage, the Cowardly Dog! Abandoned as a pup, he was found by Muriel, who lives in the middle of nowhere with her husband, Eustace Bagge! But creepy stuff happens in Nowhere. It's up to Courage to save his new home!”

And that’s it. Crazy stuff happens, and Courage is left to try and save the day. As I watch it now, I can’t ever picture a show like this being aired today. Many times I’d catch myself thinking, “They let this air??” Some of the episodes are straight-up disturbing or tear jerking

An episode that is both disturbing and tearjerking is “The Mask.” This episode tackles subjects such as same-sex relationships, domestic abuse, and sexual assault. These elements are heavily present within the episode, yet are veiled behind a funny children’s show. The veil is lifted when viewing the episode with adult eyes, and it becomes a realistic animated drama.

The beginning of the episode starts with Courage relaxing outside his home and minding his own business. Suddenly, a frightening masked individual walks onto the scene and beats Courage, all while proclaiming a hatred for dogs. This scene is hilarious as a child for the sheer slapstick humor element.

The masked figure smashes Courage with a sink because “Dogs are evil.”

We later learn that the masked individual is a cat named Kitty. Kitty hates and beats Courage because he is a dog, and she associates all dogs with an evil dog that is keeping her best friend captive in an abusive relationship. Her best friend is a bunny named Bunny, and her abusive boyfriend is called Mad Dog. Mad Dog is a thug.

Courage, being the gentle and kind soul he is, decides that the best way to get Kitty to leave him alone is to save her best friend Bunny and show that not all dogs are like Mad Dog. So, in the dead of night, Courage sneaks out and goes to the rundown industrial zone where Bunny is being held captive. A car with blaring hip-hop music comes to a screeching halt in front of a building with busted and boarded up windows. Courage watches and cowers behind another car while Mad Dog aggressively pulls Bunny out of the car. Her facial expression is empty and sad. They enter the building and Courage spies through the window. Mad Dog is upset that Bunny is visibly unhappy, and suspects that she’s thinking about her best friend, Kitty.

Although we don’t see it, Mad Dog decides to beat Bunny up for thinking about Kitty and not being happy with him. We are only left with this frame:

Bunny is shoved into a pot after being beat by Mad Dog.

As I watched this scene, I was in shock. As a kid, you just assume that he throws her around and roughs her up a bit before throwing her into a giant pot with dirt. Hell, this scene might even be funny to a child. Now, this appears to be an obvious metaphor for feeling dirty or soiled after being sexually assaulted. Bunny was not just being beat up. This episode also does a great job of showing the psychological manipulation that is a part of an abusive relationship. While yelling at Bunny, Mad Dog says “I told you to forget her! I take you from a two-bit joint and make you a class act and you want to make me second rate!” It’s incredible how Mad Dog tries to manipulate Bunny into thinking that this life is the best she could ever get as he screams at her in a dirty, run-down apartment.

The emotional manipulation only continues as Mad Dog tries to comfort her afterwards, asking why things can’t be like the good ol’ days when she still loved him. He makes it seem as if it is her fault for being clearly depressed because of this physically, sexually, and emotionally abusive relationship.

Mad Dog tries to comfort Bunny after lashing out on her for thinking about Kitty.

By the end of the episode, Courage the cowardly dog saves the day and breaks Bunny out of her prison. Kitty and Bunny are reunited and run away together by hopping on a train and never looking back.

Bunny and Kitty embrace each other after finally being reunited

So yes, this series has always maintained a creepy and provocative vibe throughout its duration, and undoubtedly has some dark themes and screwed up moments intertwined. These subverted themes only become more prevalent the older you get. You don’t notice these surreal elements as a child, and I don’t think you’re supposed to. I certainly didn’t see anything wrong with “The Mask” in my youth. Yeah, of course I felt sympathy for Kitty and Bunny, but there was a happy ending and that made it all okay for me. I saw the slapstick humor of it all, which is the kind of humor that really resonates with kids. It is a vital part of most children’s programming. Without it, this show wouldn’t be for kids, that’s for sure.

“The Mask” of course isn’t the only episode that touches on sexual abuse. In “Freaky Fred,” Muriel’s creepy barber nephew comes for a visit. Fred speaks through child-like rhymes and always ends it with how he’s been very “naaaaauuuughty.” Naughty is said in a way that is all too sexual, uncomfortable, and violating, whether you are a child or an adult. The innuendo behind the uttering of “naughty” becomes more apparent to a mature audience.

In this episode, Fred the creepy barber corners Courage in the bathroom and forcibly shaves his pink fur, all while confessing to his compulsive urges to force himself upon others and shave off their hair. He recites a poem about his first victim while doing so: “This dripping here, this droopy curl, unfold sweet memories of a girl, whose tresses, oh they’d twist and twirl, and tempt me to be… naughty.”

To put it bluntly, it seemed like this scene was mirroring sexual assault based on the dialogue and the overall mood portrayed. Fred likes to force his apparent hair shaving fetish onto anyone who is vulnerable that he can get alone. By the end of the episode, we find out that Fred was committed to a mental institution and escaped. The authorities show up to Courage’s home and take him back.

Fred’s character design alone only points to him being up to no good, and the smile never leaves his face.

Fred gazes menacingly at Courage before proceeding to forcibly shave his fur off.

If sexual abuse is on the table for this series, they certainly wouldn’t shy away from covering parental abuse. In the multiple episodes that feature Eustace’s mother, the audience comes to learn why Eustace’s character is a crotchety old man who takes joy in tormenting and scaring Courage. Throughout all of the episodes, Eustace yells “Stupid dog!” at Courage. It’s even a part of the opening title sequence. When Eustace’s mother, Ma Bagge, is introduced, we quickly notice that she is just like Eustace. She constantly yells “Stupid boy!” at Eustace and berates him at any chance she gets. For the first time ever, we feel sympathy for one of the most hated characters on the show. Eustace’s whole shtick comes from being mean and cranky. It all comes together and we see that Eustace is but a product of his mother’s emotional abuse, a cycle that we often see in the real world. Other episodes detail his painful childhood, showing that deep down, a mean and cruel old man is not who he truly is. Episodes show that throughout his entire life, he constantly tried to win the love and affection from his mother, however, she always found fault in him and he was never good enough.

Eustace presents gifts to his mother, Ma Bagge, in hopes of winning her approval.

As said previously, many of the episodes aren’t dark and twisted on the surface from a child’s point of view, but an episode that is heartbreaking whether you are a child or an adult is “Remembrance of Courage Past.” This episode details Courage’s origin story. We see that Courage once had loving dog parents that adored him. Courage’s parents take him to the vet, but in a strange turn of events, his parents are locked in a rocket and blasted into space by the sadistic veterinarian. There isn’t really any rhyme or reason, the vet is just plain evil. The vet asks to speak to the parents in private, and Courage is ushered into the waiting room. He later hears his parents crying out for help and he sees them being carried away in a net by the vet. Baby Courage follows them and sees his parents stuffed into a rocket. Baby Courage is unable to save them because the veterinarian notices that he is in the room and begins to chase him. Baby Courage escapes through a shoot that leads to an alleyway. From here, he watches the rocket blast off and waves goodbye as he cries. This is where Muriel finds him all alone and adopts him as her own.

Left: Courage’s parents cry out for help from inside the rocket.

Right: Muriel finds Courage all alone in the alley and takes him in.

Seriously, this episode is so sad. We learn that Courage wasn’t truly “abandoned as a pup.” Courage deeply fears losing his current family because of how his real parents were ripped away from him. It was a tearjerker then, and it still is now. Now, he simply can’t bear the thought of ever losing his family again. This motivates him throughout the entire series to save his family no matter what the obstacles and no matter how scared he is.

Now all of the episodes that have been covered thus far were terrifying in their own way, yet there is one episode that continues to linger in the minds of its viewers. The episode in question? “King Ramses Curse.” But why this episode?

First, a quick plot overview: Courage finds an ancient artifact in their yard. It turns out to be a cursed slab that was stolen from a museum. The police were hot on the museum robbers trail, so they ditched it in Courage’s yard. A resurrected King Ramses appears at their home to retrieve it. However, Eustace found out earlier that day that the slab is worth millions and won’t let King Ramses have it back, despite King Ramses threatening to send 3 plagues, each worse than the last.

King Ramses first tries to drown them, and for a kids show, I’ll admit that it’s pretty intense, but expected at this point. I audibly uttered “Now that’s a curse” as I rewatched. The next plague is just forcing them to listen to a really bad song, bringing the humor element back in and giving a break from the horror. Back to the horror, the last plague is a swarm of locusts that destroys everything in its path. In the end, Eustace refuses to relinquish the slab as Ramses menacingly looms over him. The episode concludes with Eustace being trapped in a sarcophagus, crying out for help. But the unfolding of these surely traumatic events isn’t what scared me as a youngin’.

So why did this episode scare so many children including myself? Simply put, the visuals.

King Ramses, was a 3D-animation overlayed on a 2D-background. Frankly, late 90s and early 2000s 3D-animation was a little creepy looking in general. The art of 3D-animation was still a work in progress. Hell, Disney and Pixar were still trying to perfect it with Toy Story.

King Ramses stands outside the home of Courage.

Courage the Cowardly Dog had a highly experimental animation style considering the time in which it aired, 1996-2002. The animators didn’t stick to only 2D-animation alone, but instead incorporated elements of live-action, claymation, and 3D-computer animation, amongst other things. The show really had a knack for mixing mediums. What made this show so generally creepy was the way the mixed mediums didn’t fit in with the familiar 2D-animation style. It was unexpected and unsettling.

Left: Example of live-action element

Middle: Example of 3D-computer animation

Right: Example of claymation featured in the show

While revisiting Courage, I can’t help but notice how this series hones in on the feeling of helplessness and life’s unpredictability. These aspects are part of why this show can be a bit traumatizing to young viewers. Yet this series still shows the value of hanging in there no matter what and doing the best you can despite the circumstances, just like Courage the cowardly dog.

At the end of the day, elements like the underlying adult themes and the visuals made Courage the Cowardly Dog stand out when it first aired, and it's a show that continues to stand out against the ever changing social landscape. Comedy and horror aren’t synonymous in most of today’s cartoons. It’s been nearly 18 years since the last episode of Courage aired, and 18 years since Cartoon Network has aired a new horror cartoon. That alone is telling. Courage the Cowardly Dog was truly a product of its time and still sparks debates today with its gloomy narratives on society. Cartoons like this are so special because there may never be anything like it again. Even the creators were surprised that they got the OK to air the show, and I’m grateful that they did.

9 notes · View notes

quinntessentiallyglee · 4 years

Text

Alright, since none of you seem inclined to talk me out of it, perhaps you can help me kick my D.E.B.S. verse off on the right foot by providing a little feedback before I finally cave and make this a reality.

For anyone not familiar with D.E.B.S. (and I can not recommend the movie enough if you fall into this camp), the basic premise is that there is a secret test embedded in the SAT that determines aptitude for espionage. Women who score highly on the test are recruited into D.E.B.S. (Discipline, Energy, Beauty, Strength), a clandestine paramilitary academy.

Question the first:

Should I go all D.E.B.S. or a mix of D.E.B.S. and Villains? without spoiling too much for those of you who haven’t seen the film, half the reason I love D.E.B.S. as much as I do has to do with the Lucy Diamond character, a villain, and I think having a few OC villain’s built into the Verse from the start to go with my OC D.E.B.S. might not be the worst idea.

Question the second:

While I will almost certainly add my Glee three, and probably my OCs (I’m not sure Mal fits, so she might be left out) to the Verse, I have a very, very, long list of potential FCs, and even whittled down to the ones I think might best fit, which ones would be the best to start with? (This is by no means a complete list of FCs I would like to see in this verse, let alone of FCs I’d like to play--so if you have any you’d like to suggest, please do.)

Anna Kendrick -- Status: D.E.B.S. (Graduated) / Villain: I can sort of see her as a Villain, but only just. Primarily, I see her as a D.E.B.S. in a mentor/handler role.

As a D.E.B.S., She’s someone who’s been out of the academy for a few years and has a bit of a rep, both at the Academy and among Villians as a no-nonsense, get-the-job-done (by-the-book or not) type, which she is, but unbeknown to most, she’s fairly laid back when not on the job.

As a Villain, She’s more of a Lena Luthor type; someone who’s inherited the family business--and drama--and is suspect more for her family name than anything she’s done... while still morally and ethically ambiguous enough that those keeping an eye on her feel justified in keeping an eye on her.

Ashley Tisdale -- Status: D.E.B.S. (Graduated) / Villain: I see her more as a Villain role, but I can also see her as a D.E.B.S.

As a D.E.B.S., she’s been out the Academy for a while, probably the same class as Anna (and always in Anna’s shadow... not that she’s bitter about that or anything). Unlike Anna, she’s very by-the-book.

As a Villain, I see her as less of a ‘world domination’ type, and more of an ‘I just want money’ type. She tends to draw the line at any real violence and prefers to use her wiles to lure her marks into giving her whatever it is she’s after, be it cash, cars, gems, or government/business secrets she can auction off to the highest bidder.

Brenda Song -- Status: D.E.B.S. (Graduated) / Villain: I see her more as a D.E.B., but I can see her as a Villain.

As a D.E.B., she’s also likely from the same class as Anna and/or Ashley, but unlike them, she’s not a field agent (usually). Primarily she functions as an Analyst/Case Officer with a bit of a “Mother Hen” attitude when it comes to her agents. While not top of her field, she’s solidly in the top third.

As a Villain, I’m seeing her as a mercenary-for-hire. Not the Big bad, but works for--and has inside knowledge on--a lot of them. While competent in hand-to-hand, her primary skills lie in assassination, both subtle and direct.

Charisma Carpenter -- Status: Academy Faculty: Charisma specializes in Negotiation and Seduction. She has a storied career and is something of a legend among the D.E.B.S. (and among a few of the older Villains), some of which might have to do with rumours that she may have started for her own amusement.

China Anne McClain -- Status: D.E.B.S. (Recent Graduate?)/ Villain: While China makes an excellent Villain, I see her primarily as a D.E.B.--if one on the border of switching sides.

As a D.E.B.S., she’s an expert in bladed weapons, always carrying at least one on herself at all times. When she first came into the D.E.B.S. program, China had a bit of a patience/temper management issue but has improved on both over the course of her training and is now a highly valued agent... if a little direct in her solutions at times. Her class is a few years behind Brenda/Ashley/Anna’s.

As a Villian, she broke away from the D.E.B.S after a mission gone south and, like Brenda, is now a mercenary for hire. Unlike Brenda, China has aspirations to be more than just ‘a fucking minion’ and is biding her time until the opportunity presents itself to become one of the top dogs.

Demi Lovato -- Status: D.E.B.S. / Villain: I’m fifty-fifty here, I can see both fitting her equally well.

As a D.E.B.S., She’s still a year shy of graduating, and already a little disillusioned with the life of a spy. This might have something do with the fact that outside of a few special cases, she’s rarely called on to put her specialty in explosives to use in the field, leaving her feeling like a bit of a fifth wheel. Or it could be the fact that she’s never really clicked with the other D.E.B.S.

As a Villain, she’s started out as a small-time grifter before catching the eye--and wallet, of the local Crime Boss’ Consigliere. A few years later, and Demi was sitting high, heiress apparent to the whole organization. This did not sit well with some of the longer serving members, and shortly before her twenty-first birthday, several of those members decided to take her out of the running.

They failed. After that, no one questioned her claim to the throne. Especially after rumours of her ‘souvenir collection’ started to circulate.

Emily Osment -- Status: D.E.B.S.: While she could possibly work as a Villian too, I don’t see her as one.

As a D.E.B.S., She’s known best for her oddball sense of humour and ‘distractability’, often bouncing between several subjects in the span of a conversation. Some describe her as ‘an excited little puppy’, others as ‘a wash-out waiting to happen’. Either way, no one can deny her test scores which are consistently in the top fifth percentile across the board. Despite her test scores, Emily has failed to shine in any one particular specialty, proving instead to be a middle-of-the-road jack-of-all-trades.

Emma Watson -- Status: D.E.B.S. (Graduated) / Villain: Another one I’m split fifty-fifty on.

As a D.E.B.S., She excels at languages. Much to her disappointment, this has led to her playing more of a support role--translating intel, acting as a liaison between D.E.B.S. and foreign agents/agencies, etc--with little to no Fieldwork since her graduation.

As a Villain, she comes from old money, and while the initial deposits all those years ago might not have been ill-gotten, enough of the ones since have arrived under questionable circumstances (and often in disguise). Not one to hide from--or be hidden from--the truth behind her family’s wealth, Emma has apprenticed under her parents for the last several years in those borderline illegal activities that help to keep the coffers full while dabbling in a few over-the-border ones on her own.

Hayley Atwell -- Status: D.E.B.S. Dean/Director / Villain: Another fifty-fifty. I can easily see her in both a white hat and a black one.

As D.E.B.S. Dean/Director, She’s held the position for several years and, unlike the rest of her faculty, remains something of a mystery to the Agents and Agents-in-training serving under her--all of which she knows by name (as well as knowing them better than they suspect, or she lets on). Like Brenda, she has a bit of a ‘Mother hen’ attitude when it comes to the women under her command but where Brenda’s comes in the form of bordering-on-annoying-at-times check-ins both on and off the clock, Hayley’s is decidedly of the tough-love variety.

As a Villain, She’s one of the big ones. Years of experience have taught her all the tricks in the book on both sides of the battle between good and evil, and she’s invented a few more along the way. Her criminal syndicate is a sort of Anti-D.E.B.S., though nothing as formal. Most of her recruiting is based on gut instinct and necessity rather than tests (secret or otherwise). A careful look at the files for her recruits would turn up a common element, though: Almost all of the women in her organization were victims of one form of abuse or another before they were recruited. It might come as no surprise then to learn that Hayley’s criminal endeavours have a bit of a Robin hood flavour, tending to target the corrupt regardless of their public perception--a fact which has pissed off more than one government who had their hands caught in the cookie jar--with a fair portion rumoured to be passed along to the Poor. It should be noted that while numerous charities and foundations have received sizable donations after one of Hayley’s heists, there has been no confirmed connection between Hayley or her syndicate and any of the organizations in question.

Salli Richardson – Status: D.E.B.S. Dean/Director / Other: I'm leaning more towards "Other" but in any verse where Hayely is a Villain, I see Salli as her D.E.B.S. counterpoint.

As D.E.B.S. Dean/Director, much like Hayley, Salli has held the position for several years, and like Hayley, Salli remains something of a mystery to her students/agents. Unlike Hayley, however, the question mark hovering over her past is more the result of security clearances and protocol than a deliberate attempt to create an air of mystery around herself. Despite this, She is not a stickler for the rules and values results and competence over blindly following orders (a trait she shares with her Other self).

As Other, She fell just shy of a qualifying score for D.E.B.S. recruitment on the secret test--a fact that, should she ever learn it, would annoy her both because she came as close as she did to becoming a D.E.B.S., and because she wasn't considered good enough to become one. Either way, the same skills and inclinations that almost made her a D.E.B.S. candidate led her in to law enforcement (C.I.A. or F.B.I, I'm not sure which) where she managed to work her way up the ladder with surprising speed despite the 'Boys Club' mentality she faced, both as a woman and a POC. Not long after one of her operations crossed paths with D.E.B.S., she was officially read in on the D.E.B.S. program and named the official liaison to the D.E.B.S.. A position she resents, considering it a career dead end, and a particularly galling one given that whenever she has to deal with "that bunch of fetish costume-wearing, Jane Bond wanna be's", her official contact is someone half her age. While not a Villain, she definitely counts as an Antagonist to the D.E.B.S. as a whole.

Selena Gomez -- Status: D.E.B.S. (Graduate [?] ) / Villain: While I can see her as both, I’m leaning more towards her as a D.E.B.S.

As a D.E.B.S., she has a much more laid back attitude than most of her fellow Agents(-in-training). At least when it comes to spycraft. Get her started on anything Tech (where her own talents shine) or anything pop-culture, and she can be almost overpoweringly enthusiastic. Unlike most of her Class, Selena is hoping for a support role once she Graduates (or is very happy she got one after graduating, grumbling only when necessity forces her into the field).

As a Villain, she still has those mad Tech skills, putting them to use as the notorious hacker, Conchita, infamous for raiding servers for whatever catches her eye before leaving behind her calling card, an eight-bit, animated, laughing clam.

Tessa Thompson -- Status: D.E.B.S. (Graduated) / Villain: I see her more in the Villain role, but it’s a close contest.

As a D.E.B.S., she’s a few years ahead of Anna/Ashley/Brenda. At best, Tessa was in her final year at the Academy when they were fresh recruits, but more likely she was a year or two graduated herself by that point. Known best for her resolute calm in the face of danger, she’s a veteran of several of the more action-oriented missions of the last few years. She is rarely seen on campus and tends to spend most of her time in the field. The general consensus is that she’s being groomed for a leadership position down the line, possibly even for the Dean/Director’s chair.

As a Villain, She retains that calm-under-fire demeanour and is most likely someone’s right-hand/second in command (Hayley’s if she’s also a Villain, With Emma as second choice, likely as Bodyguard). She has no desire to take the top spot and prefers to spend her downtime alone (when she’s not in the mood to relieve a little stress with the help of a one-night stand or two, that is. She doesn’t do long term.)

Zendaya Coleman -- Status: D.E.B.S.: Again, I can see her as a Villain, but I feel she fits best as a D.E.B.S.

As a D.E.B.S., she’s something of an outcast in her class, but not because she’s not likable. On the contrary, she’s very likable. That’s part of the problem; she has a way of getting a person to drop their defenses around her. A trait that plays largely into the main reason why her fellow D.E.B.S. avoid her when they can; her PsyOps Specialty.

Question the third:

Do I add the D.E.B.S. verse to this blog, or make a new blog for it? Either way, I will likely test out one or two D.E.B.S. verse characters here to gauge interest before setting up another account, but in the course of writing this, it has occurred to me that I might be better off making the whole thing its own thing in the long run.

3 notes · View notes

xpouii · 5 years

Text

Docthor Day 4: AU Day

This is Day 4 of of Docthor Week by @lostcybertronian

Dr Edward Iplier climbed out of the taxi and pulled his jacket tighter around him. It was cold this close to the coast, and Mythea Asylum backed right up to the seaside. He took a moment to look over the beautiful building, and the few residents milling about the grounds all dressed in white. He climbed the stairs and went inside, cradling his briefcase under one arm. A few nurses ignored him, some even giving him dirty looks, until finally one man stopped and reached for his hand, “Dr Iplier it’s an honor to finally meet you in person.”

“You must be Director Trimmer,” Edward said, smiling, if a little overwhelmed by the man’s enthusiasm.

“Oh please, just Mr. Trimmer. I don’t have use for big titles. You’re early! That’s admirable for someone who’s traveled so far to our little slice of paradise.”

Edward looked around the sprawling entrance hall, nodding, “It’s an old habit, Mr. Trimmer. So, tell me why I’m so popular here already.”

“Oh ignore the nurses,” Trimmer said, beckoning him down a long hallway. “Your treatments and philosophies are new, and most of our nurses would prefer to just tie down patients or send them off for a lobotomy. I’ll personally be glad when the whole practice stops!”

“Well I hear your facility performs a record low amount of them,” Edward said. “Only two last year. That’s almost unheard of. It’s part of the reason I agreed to work with you.”

“Very good sir, very good,” Trimmer said. “I have given you an office on the lower level with an adjacent bedroom. It’s a little dreary, but it’s the furthest away from the hubbub so that you can conduct your work in relative peace. There are three patients in the same hallway, but they’re all relatively harmless. I’ll introduce you once you are feeling up to it.”

“Oh, please, right away,” Edward said. “I’d love to meet my neighbors.”

Trimmer smiled and clapped his hands together, opening a door that led onto a landing with stairs going down. It smelled cold, and wet, but not moldy or mildewed, and Edward liked the space already. Once they reached the bottom of the stairs he stopped to admire the old sodium lights with a smile. Trimmer was patient, letting him sightsee as they went at a crawl down the corridor. “Here is our first gentleman,” he said when they reached a door marked 178. Trimmer knocked smartly, “Wilford! It’s Bim. I have someone to introduce!”

The door was opened and a large, burly man with an expressive face and a vibrant mustache emerged into the hallway, “Well hello! I’m Wilford Warfstache.”

“This is Edward Iplier. He’s our new psychiatrist.”

Edward extended his hand and Wilford shook it. He was strong, and his eyes betrayed his wily intelligence, “Great to meet you, Doc. I hope the nurses don’t run you off!”

Edward chuckled, “Thank you, Wilford. It’s nice to meet you, and they’ve already given me an icy reception.”

“Wilford here works as a custodian on the night rotation,” Trimmer said. “He has grounds privileges and if you’re ever unsure where to go, he’ll get you there.”

Wilford gave a little salute, then returned to his room with a flourish, “He’s great,” Edward said.

“He wasn’t always,” Trimmer said. “He was in a fairly ugly battle in the war, came home and murdered his best friends and one of the men’s wives. It’s truly tragic how those who defend us are often abandoned to their own broken minds once they return home.”

Edward nodded, his eyes lingering on the door as he followed Trimmer on, “Such an impressive turnaround. Has he been-“

“No,” Trimmer said. “No Lobotomy, but he’s had extensive hypnosis sessions and we monitor him closely. Any attempt to break him out of his delusions usually ends in a backslide, but he is completely harmless as long as you play along.”

“Good to know,” Edward said. “I’d like to see him, as a patient if I could.”

“You have access to any and all of our patients,” Trimmer said. “As long as you promise not to break him. I have a bit of a soft spot.”

Edward chuckled, “Of course.”

The next room, 179 was on the opposite side of the hallway from his own, and Trimmer had to knock twice before it was opened. A young woman emerged with a shadowy expression, “Yes, Mr. Trimmer?”

“Yan,” Trimmer said with a gentle voice. “This is Dr. Edward Iplier. He’s our new psychiatrist. Remember I told you that you would be seeing someone new?”

Yan folded her arms, leaning against the doorway, “What good it will do me. Thanks, Mr. Trimmer.” She looked Edward up and down, giving him a stiff nod of greeting, and then disappeared back into her room.”

“You have a teenage girl down in the same hall with-“

“Yan is a very special case,” Trimmer said. “She’s an androgyne.”

“I believe they go by transsexuals now,” Edward said. “So she was born male?”

Trimmer nodded, “I’ve yet to find a doctor who can work with her beyond wanting to cure the one thing that I think isn’t wrong with her. Other than that she has a rather violent attachment tendency. She isn’t allowed around any of the male orderlies or patients her own age as a result, thus why we keep her sequestered with the two gentlemen down here. I do desperately hope you can do her some good.”

“I believe I can,” Edward said. “I’m most certainly willing to try. Alright, who’s next?”

Trimmer walked down another door, knocking gently. After a long moment of silence, the door opened, just halfway, and the patient stepped out. “This is Eric,” Trimmer said. “Eric, this is the new psychiatrist, Dr. Edward Iplier.”

The young man stared at the floor, twisting a yellow cloth in his hands, “Hello.”

“Eric suffers with debilitating anxiety and asked to be sequestered from the general population. He doesn’t feel comfortable in large groups, or any groups.”

Eric glanced halfway up from the floor, head turned toward Edward, “N-new psychiatrist?”

“That’s right, Eric. He’s here for you,” Trimmer said. “And a few others, but I’ve told him about your case.”

“I’m certain that I can help you,” Edward said.

Eric nodded, a shaky, unsure movement, and backed up a step toward his room, “May I?”

“Of course,” Trimmer said. “Thank you, Eric.”

The young man closed his door so softly it barely made an audible sound. Edward cleared his throat, “Fascinating. He seems to be suffering from more than just anxiety.”

“He had a trouble childhood and early adulthood,” Trimmer said. He witnessed the death of almost his entire family, and his father is extremely abusive. He is the one who brought Eric here, dropped him off like a dog at a kennel. This poor man has never been trained to handle social situations, and he still harbors fear and resentment for the things that happened to him before he came. Group Therapy is impossible, and one-on-one sessions don’t work well with most doctors as they just don’t have the patience it takes to treat Eric.”

“I’m confident I can make some leeway,” Edward said. “I’ve worked similar cases in young children, but the symptoms seem to be similar enough. I’m sure I can apply the same actions to get the same results.”

“Wonderful,” Trimmer said. “Now, let’s see your office shall we?”

The room was dusty, but not overwhelming. It had recently been cleaned, as the dust was all in the air instead of settled on surfaces. There was a large, impressive desk, and several empty bookcases. “I’ll have to send for my books,” Edward mused. “I didn’t expect so much room.”

“You’re a bit of a celebrity here,” Trimmer said. “At least to those of us with a vision of the future. I want to take this hospital out of the dark ages. It’s been a staple of my life since I was a child. My mother was a nurse here and my father was a doctor as well. I just want to make them proud.”

“I know they would be already,” Edward said. “This place is beautiful.”

“Every beautiful place has its dark secrets,” Trimmer said. “Speaking of, I believe you’d like to see the isolation ward?”

Edward nodded, “It would be nice to know my way to it. A good deal of my time will be spent there, I suspect.”

“Let’s hope so,” Trimmer said. “That means you haven’t given up!”

Trimmer laughed and Edward smiled, indulging him, eager to lay eyes on the isolation ward, a chance to prove his theories and hypotheses on real violent offenders. It was the reason he’d agreed to transfer from his plush job upstate.

“This is the isolation ward,” Trimmer said. “Patients here don’t ever interact with the general population, and you’ll have to use the consultation room here to interact with them. This is, of course, a large part of why I invited you here. These individuals need our help, more than anyone else. They’re prime candidates for lobotomy if you can’t help them.”

Edward nodded, “I’m guessing I’ll be meeting them through a door?”

“A quick introduction, with names, so you can decide whose files you’d like first. Here we have Dark. Very aggressive and manipulative, but rarely becomes physically violent unless provoked. He has a bad habit of causing the other patients to become violent, and it’s almost impossible to monitor him. He’s smart, smarter than any one of us, I’m guessing.”

The man inside had his hair in his eyes, and a heavy beard, “When am I going to be permitted to shave again?”

“When you don’t threaten to decapitate the kitchen staff,” Trimmer said. “Dark, this is the new psychiatrist.”

“Edward Iplier,” Dark said, standing up. “I heard about you. You’re a modern man. You don’t have that downstairs urge to shove an ice pick in my eye. What a strange personality trait for a doctor.”

“So I’m told,” Edward said. “I look forward to our first session.”

Dark grinned, but it was stilted, more of a sneer, “Oh as do I, Doctor.”

Trimmer slid the window shut over the grate and sighed, “He’s a handful. I’m not sure there’s much to be done for him, but still. He’s very concerned with his hygiene. It’s the only way I can get him to do anything.”

“This next patient is nicknamed The Author. He is responsible for a record string of murders, all described in detail in books he would go on to publish. He’s our little celebrity. He is the most violent, most dangerous man here, and he will not hesitate to attack you. Do not let your guard down. He opened the window of the door, “Stand clear for spit.”

Edward chuckled, all too familiar with these sort of patients. “Hello, I’m Dr. Edward Iplier, your new psychiatrist.”

The man appeared at the window, wrapping his hands around the bars of the window, “Why don’t you come in and we’ll start our session, Edward.”

“Soon, although I’m told there’s a special room for it.”

The Author grit his teeth, “Of course, too afraid to come into my world, are you?”

“I hear you’re a successful writer.”

“I hear you’re a pushover who lets your emotions rule you, and that this asylum is going to chew you up, spit you out and send you back where you came from. I hope I get to kill you instead. You would look so pretty bleeding to death, wouldn’t you? Those eyes wide in panic, blood trickling out of the corner of your mouth while I bathe in your chest cavity.”

“Enough pleasantries,” Trimmer said. “Thank you, Author.”

“Pleasure,” the Author growled, and Trimmer closed the window.

“We try not to indulge his threats,” Trimmer said. “He is very sadistic, and he gets great enjoyment from the fear of others.”

“Don’t worry,” Edward said. “I don’t scare easily. Anyone else of note?”

“Oh plenty of patients, but those are the five I want you focusing on the most. Two of them to save their lives, and three of them to hopefully reintroduce them to society. I think you can handle much more, but I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“I’ll offer some open office hours then,” Edward said. “If any of the less particular patients should show any interest.”

“I’ll let the nurses know,” Trimmer said. “Although don’t expect a stampede at first. You’re going to have do a lot of politicking to get patients outside of the five I’ve handpicked for you.”

“Sure,” Edward said. “Thank you, Mr. Trimmer. I’m going to do everything I can to fulfill your wishes for these patients.”

“I know you will,” Trimmer said, taking Edward’s hand in both of his. “I’m counting on you.” He left then, disappearing into his office, and Edward made his way back to his own room.

The Author stared across the table, pulling against the restraints, testing them. “Are you certain this is necessary?” Edward asked.

The orderly chuckled, and left the room, “Good luck, Doctor.”

“Barbarians,” the Author said. “You see how they treat me?”

“I expect it’s a lot better than you treated those thirty-four people,” Edward said. “But this isn’t a competition of depravity. Id like to talk to you about your mental well-being.”

“No shit,” the Author said, chuckling. “Do you smoke?”

“I don’t.”

“The one fucking doctor who doesn’t smoke,” he growled. “Well, if you want anything out of me. It’ll cost you a cigarette.”

“And I am to hold it to your mouth for you to smoke it?” Edward said, raising an eyebrow.

“Unless you want to unstrap me,” the Author said. “You’re welcome to.”

Edward chuckled, “It says here your father died when you were seven? And that your mother raised you until she kicked you out of the house at fourteen? Was she a prostitute?”

“As you know,” the Author said. “I didn’t only kill women. I don’t have a hatred of women. My mother was a laundry worker, and she did the best she could. She threw me out because I tried to castrate her boyfriend. Honestly, she did me a favor.”

Edward scribbled as the Author spoke, and the patient’s eyes fixated on the pen, licking his lips. Edward glanced up, “Do you like pens?”

The Author glanced up, “I am a writer after all.”

“Of course,” Edward said. “Well, maybe if you decide to stop being violent, or if we are able to successfully control your symptoms with medication, you can write again.”

The author laughed, “Not unless you’re going to give me people to kill. Come on, Edward. Let’s start with that orderly huh? He treated you like a fool. Don’t let him do that. I could use that pen and split his sternum open. I could pull out his intestines and make you a scarf. I’d do that for you, in exchange for the pen.”

“That’s really more of a threat than a deal,” Edward said. “I’m not sure an intestine scarf would go with my eyes. So tell me more about your time on the streets.”

The Author snarled, fighting his restraints with vigor, testing each buckle and strap to its limit, and Edward watched, unaffected as he did so. Finally, he stopped, and his expression turned to a smile, “Well, you can’t blame me for trying.”

“If you decide you want to take this seriously-“

“Oh come on Edward. They’re going to shove an ice pick in my eye and scramble my brains. That’s all they can do. There’s no fixing me. You can’t fix an evil man.”

“There is no such thing as an evil man,” Edward said. “You’re an ill man. You’re mentally unwell, and I believe you could benefit from some of the new medications that-“

“Medications? You trying to dope me up? Make me a drooling ragdoll? I don’t think so. I’m not taking any of that shit.”

Edward cleared his throat, “This is different. Thorazine has been very successful at helping individuals with unpleasant urges to gain control over themselves, and no, once the medication has levelled out you won’t be a ragdoll. There are side effects but that can be handled.”

The Author scowled, “I don’t think you get what I’m saying. I’m not letting you put any pills in me. I want to go back to my room now.”

“We aren’t finished.”

“That’s not your decision!”

Edward smiled, “Actually, due to you being mentally unsound, it is my decision. We can sit here all day and talk about your childhood and each one of your victims and why you did what you did, but you don’t like that do you? Why’s that?”

“What’s to talk about?” the Author muttered. “It’s all in the book.”

“Almost every other serial killer loves talking about what they’ve done. You’re an anomaly.”

“Don’t try to flirt with me now after you already insulted me, Edward,” the Author said. “Listen, I’m a lost cause alright? Just let me go and wait for the pick already.”

Edward sighed, “There isn’t going to be any ice pick. Mr. Trimmer has already made that promise, so you’re going to sit in that cell until you decide to cooperate, or-“

“Or?”

“Until I medicate you without your cooperation. It would be much easier with your input, but I don’t necessarily need it.”

The Author shifted in his seat, looking around the room, “So you really want to give me this stupid pill?”

“More than anything,” Edward said smugly. “If it doesn’t work, we stop right away.”

The Author grit his teeth, staring at the floor, “Fine.”

#docthor2k19 #dr iplier #the author #docthor #fanfiction #wilford warfstache #yanderiplier #eric derekson #Darkiplier #bim trimmer

35 notes · View notes

herenortherenearnorfar · 5 years

Text

What Do We Do With Civilian Orcs?

The idea that elves were going around slaughtering whole families of orcs is baffling to me. The Kinslayings are a big deal for a reason. The orcs are elves’ kin and even if they might express hatred towards them it’s the hatred felt towards Frankenstein’s Monster or any innocent abomination. When I see a malformed little pedigree dog with no training I don’t hate the dog, I hate the culture that made this little drooly monster that can’t breath. Certainly there are some grudges more vitriolic and personal than others (Elladan and Elrohir, for example, or Beren towards the orcs occupying his home) but largely people pity orcs. The issue is that they’re just too dangerous to rehabilitate.

I either saw or hallucinated a very good post about orc POWs recently but it included this quote from Morgoth’s Ring.

... the Wise in the Elder Days taught always that the Orcs were not 'made' by Melkor, and therefore were not in their origin evil. They might have become irredeemable (at least by Elves and Men), but they remained within the Law. That is, that though of necessity, being the fingers of the hand of Morgoth, they must be fought with the utmost severity, they must not be dealt with in their own terms of cruelty and treachery. Captives must not be tormented, not even to discover information for the defence of the homes of Elves and Men. If any Orcs surrendered and asked for mercy, they must be granted it, even at a cost.* This was the teaching of the Wise, though in the horror of the War it was not always heeded

Footnote: Few Orcs ever did so in the Elder Days, and at no time would any Orc treat with any Elf. For one thing Morgoth had achieved was to convince the Orcs beyond refutation that the Elves were crueller than themselves, taking captives only for 'amusement', or to eat them (as the Orcs would do at need).

There are obvious reasons why Morgoth would brainwash his shock troops into thinking that death is safer than surrender. It makes the likelihood of him getting stabbed in the back far less. It also means that orc soldiers were willing to take a lot of measures to avoid capture, which suits his purposes nicely. But soldiers aren’t the only orcs out there. There must be orc villages (certainly their numbers replenish quickly) and even orc families. Why can’t they be redeemed? And if the “Wise” obey the fantasy Geneva Conventions then what happened to all those orc non-combatants in war time?

First, lets remember that brainwashing doesn’t only effect soldiers. Civilians would have a whole head full of Morgoth’s Best Doublethink too. That means that they’re going to be trying to avoid capture as much as possible. Orc civilians aren’t going to stick around in villages that elves are bearing down on if they have any possible escape route. They’ll run. And frankly, most of our heroes probably aren’t going to chase them. Capturing orc civilians means having to treat them well and that means dealing with a bunch of hostile, vulnerable prisoners. Better to let them go. (Obviously some more pragmatic individuals are going to suggest actions that do not follow the fantasy Geneva Conventions because, after all, letting orcs go means you have more orcs to deal with later, but lets pretend for now that we’re dealing with “the Wise”. Which hopefully, we are! Tolkien’s work emphasizes the fact that, though evil is everywhere basic decency is also found even in the darkest of places.)

So if you’re an elvish force moving through an orc village at night, congrats, most of the civilians will have left. It’s hard to tell how orcs age or if they bother to keep around the old and infirm but their maybe-elvish roots suggest that they’re pretty sturdy lifespan-wise, making for a more mobile population than a human village. Orc kids also seem to age fast, to account for Mordor’s great armies, so most orcs should be able to evacuate. Maybe, maybe there are some stragglers- pregnant people or those with very small children, but your best solution there is to just turn a blind eye. The orcs are more scared of you than you are of them. And, not to get too dark here, most of the elves probably learned pretty early on that the best way to keep orc parents from smothering their sobbing infants was to just... pretend not to notice them.

If the attacking force is human things might be more complicated, as there’s less of a conditioned fear response to humans than elves. You’re more likely to see both good and bad outcomes. The good- some orcs children and other assorted non-combatants have probably accepted human help over the years. They might not have stuck around for long but they got wounds treated and even accepted a meal or two. The bad- they’re also a lot braver around humans and a lot more willing to launch ill advised attacks. Similarly, humans have less of the orc pity/hatred baggage elves do which is a mixed blessing. They’re more willing to see orcs as people! To believe in their innate goodness and not write them off as broken goods! And also a bit more likely to just murder the lot of them because the human kinslaying taboo is not as universal as the elven one.

The problems start to arise when there isn’t space for an orc civilian population to escape. It’s sunny or they’re surrounded. Either way it gets... messy. Suicide as a method of escape when boxed in by enemies is very historically accurate and as much as it makes me squeamish I feel like it’s a very orcish thing to do. So all things considered, the “Forces of Good” probably didn’t have to do a lot of civilian killing. Morgoth’s excellent conditioning job and the realities of war (you can try to avoid moving through civilians areas for a while if you know it ends poorly but ultimately you do have to secure your surroundings) probably did it for them. Of course awareness of this as a factor would have made the humans and elves partially culpable in how they handled the taking of orc encampments, but again, there’s only so much damage minimization that can be done.

Certainly, there would be survivors. Even the semi-archaeologically evidenced Siege of Masada had a handful of them. Thus the moral conundrum of “what happens to orc civilians” is moved from a large group (orc communities who would not tolerate being taken alive) to a smaller one (individuals on whom the brainwashing didn’t take, the old and canny or the very young and helpless, the injured and the fragile). These people may have been taken prisoner and in the early days efforts may have been made to “rehabilitate” them.

The text suggests these efforts failed so let’s dwell for a second on why that might be. Obviously no being is made evil. Destructive actions and toxic behavior can be taught, however, and once learned they are hard to unlearn.The evil of Morgoth was in his ability to begin cycles of violence in others. Orc society wasn’t bad because they were bad, it was bad because they were systematically (and likely intentionally) abused for a very long time with the intention of making it impossible for them to reintegrate back into elven (and later, human) society. You can say this about Morgoth and Sauron, they know how to mess people up mentally. Orcs may be sentient and capable but their empathy, non-violent social skills, and other gentler instincts have been stripped away by years of calculated pressure. Even if a captured orc was completely unable to fight back (which would be their first instinct) or harm themselves (their second) they would still struggle to respond to their captors, reforge social bonds, and relate to others without the paradigms of violence and control that orc relationships are built on. We see in LotR that even in casual situations orcs define each other by servitude and power, there’s no reason to believe that civilians would be dramatically different- a bit softer perhaps but still sharp.

So most adult orcs, even civilians, aren’t going to be able to integrate into an elven or human community, even if you do take them prisoner. Best case scenario they’ll book it, worst case, you’ll have a tragedy on your hands. They’re still going to suspect you’re keeping them around for food, they’re still going to hate you, and ultimately things are still going to end poorly.

But what about a very young orc?

This is where things get weird. Maybe they’re safe and happy and noticeably orcish and raised in woke adoptive families but we don’t see evidence of that. You’d think The One Good Orc would at least get a lay. Humans raised by elves got like, seven. One option is that orc infants raised in elven or human environments are mostly elven, so it never gets mentioned, But that just plays into some very weird and frankly disturbing history that most imperialist nations have re: baby kidnapping, so let’s not do that.

There must have been abandoned orc infants at some point. Logistically the facts of the story demand it. Orcs (presumably) have lots of babies, the good guys sometimes retake lost territory, there are Geneva Conventions. But we never see the natural results of such an event so we’re left with with a mystery. Having written previously about elf infants and their finickiness, I have a (tragic) solution:

Orc kids just... don’t thrive in the care of strangers.

No one has figured out how to hand rear baby orcs yet! It’s very unfortunate. Maybe it’s the all meat diet. Maybe Morgoth threw in a failsafe. Most likely it’s a natural result of them previously having been elves. If elf kids are vulnerable to sudden changes in environment, why not orc kids? Obviously they’re going to have to be hardier overall, they’re more likely to be orphaned and probably less treasured, but infants as young as a few weeks can distinguish different types of faces. Being able to tell weird squishy strangers apart from good strong orc babysitters would not be a stretch for even a newborn. Maybe that’s what the fangs are for, they break up the face geometry enough to throw alarm switches in a baby’s brain. And once an orc child knows that they are not with friends they could easily just... fail to thrive. Which is, again, awful, but this whole situation is awful. The orc life is tragedy.

So, orc civilians are unwilling to be taken alive, hate captivity, and even at a very young age mistrust non-orcs. Orc infants are very difficult to take care of if you’re not an orc (there were some hesitant handpuppet attempts at some point in Lindon but they could never replicate the musk) and any orc old enough to fend for itself is also old enough to try to fight you and have a bucketload of subtle brainwashing and serious behavioral issues. You don’t have to commit war crimes for this to still be a volatile population.

However, I wanted to end this very depressing essay on a happy note. The text notes that “few orcs ever did so in Elder Days” which means that it did happen. There were orc success stories. In the War of Wrath some of the Easterlings took in orc injured and successfully integrated them into the community to such an extent that the only marker a few generations later was their weirdly long lifespan and fondness for rare pork. In the mid-Third Age there were a handful of offshoot communities in the far North which had an orc living in their village, a relic of some ancient war. Early in the Fourth Age several families in Rohan and Gondor fostered older Uruk-Hai children. And by the time the last orc villages were being encroached upon by Men, the vestiges of Sauron’s cultural conjob had worn off to the point that the orcs came out and treated with their new neighbours and over time Men and Orcs grew together.

And that’s why the British are like that.

#tw for suicide and vaguely referred to child death #the silmarillion #orcs

25 notes · View notes

bountyofbeads · 4 years

Text

What It Took for a Fox News Psychiatrist to Finally Lose His License https://nyti.ms/2MbUGZu

What It Took for a Fox News Psychiatrist to Finally Lose His License

Keith Ablow was a popular fixture on the cable channel until 2017, and a high-profile therapist. He left a trail of vulnerable female patients who claim he abused them.

By Ginia Bellafante | Published Dec. 20, 2019 | New York Times | Posted December 21, 2019 |

Late in 2009, a 28-year-old woman not long out of graduate school found herself in a stressful job at a Bronx hospital and decided it would be useful to talk to someone. Searching online, she came across the name of a psychiatrist, Keith Ablow.

Dr. Ablow was familiar to her from his writing, both his journalism and the best-selling thrillers he turned out — “Denial,’’ “Projection,” “Compulsion,’’ “Murder Suicide.’’ She had read all of those, as well as “Psychopath,’’ a book about a psychiatrist who prods the interior lives of strangers only to kill them, baroquely obscuring the distinction between patient and victim.

The woman — who has asked to be identified only by her confirmation name, Monique — found Dr. Ablow just as his media star was rising. That year, Roger Ailes had hired him as a regular contributor on Fox News, where he would remain until 2017, speculating about the mental states of political figures and presiding over viewer segments like “Normal or Nuts?”

Dr. Ablow offered counseling in the conventional sense, but he also conducted life-coaching via email. Monique engaged with him this way at first, but after she answered various questions about her past, mentioning adolescent bouts of depression, she agreed to see Dr. Ablow in person. His busy schedule meant that she would have to go to his primary office, in Newburyport, Mass. He was impressive to her, and so Monique made the five-hour trip for her first visit.

Over the next year and a half, Monique saw Dr. Ablow two or three times a week, at the reduced rate of $350 an hour. During this time she found herself coming unwound.

Her anxiety about work did not recede. On the contrary, she felt increasingly addled and insecure, and problems that had been latent for a long time resurfaced. She began cutting herself, something she hadn’t done in years.

Monique came to believe that Dr. Ablow had not only failed to help her; he left her more damaged than she already was. For his part, Dr. Ablow would maintain that whatever boundaries she thought he violated — the frequent texts and emails, the intimate revelations about his own life — were in the service of her treatment, well within the standard of sound psychiatric care.

As Monique would discover, it would take years — and several other patients coming forward with their own stories of manipulation — for Dr. Ablow’s transgressions to be taken seriously.

The case represents a core challenge of psychological treatment. At a cultural moment in which all kinds of relationships are policed for abuses of power imbalance, psychotherapy takes place in seclusion: two people, alone in a room, with one holding extraordinary influence over the other, just as it has been since Freud. It remains a world with murky oversight, and if you are harmed, it is not obvious what can be done.

By the time Monique left his care, her new marriage had fallen apart and she had developed a dependency on Valium, Xanax and Adderall. She also said she had drained her savings of $30,000 to pay for the treatment.

Most alarming, she had become obsessively, insidiously reliant on Dr. Ablow’s affirmation, a circumstance she and her lawyer would later suspect he engineered.

On an unusually hot late-summer morning, in a coffee shop just north of the city, Monique recounted how she had come under Dr. Ablow’s thrall. When she finally disentangled, she filed a complaint with the disciplinary board in New York that oversees psychiatrists — a body that works secretly and can take years to respond to charges. In this case, when it finally completed its initial review of Dr. Ablow, it found no reason to sanction him.

As we spoke over several hours, Monique’s caution gave way to a fluid and emotional narrative. It was easy to imagine her on the other side of conversations that played out this way hundreds of times. She was, in fact, a therapist herself.

That she had this training compounded the embarrassment anyone in her situation would surely feel. Monique was reflexively skeptical about human motivation. As a child she had resisted authority. How had she landed here?

From the beginning, Dr. Ablow presented himself as an idealized caretaker more than a guide. “As if he said, ‘Let down your guard, let go of everything and completely fall on me, because I will give you everything you ever needed. And you need nothing but to trust me,’” she reflected.

This was intoxicating to Monique. Her childhood had been marked by her father’s volatility, her mother’s emotional absence, a difficult relationship with her brother. With Dr. Ablow, she found herself in the strange state of feeling both further weakened by her past and protected from it.

If therapy is the project of overcoming, Monique belatedly came to believe that Dr. Ablow urged her neither toward strength nor self-reliance. “He did make me feel beautiful and precious and special,’’ she said. “But very broken.’’

On May 15, Dr. Ablow’s license was suspended in Massachusetts after an investigation determined that his continued practice was a threat to the “health, safety and welfare” of the public. He is appealing the ruling.

This article is based on interviews with Monique and others, including her current therapist as well as legal and medical documents obtained by The Times. Dr. Ablow did not respond to attempts to speak with him directly, but his lawyer, Paul Cirel, issued a statement on his behalf, writing in an email that his client would not “breach the ethical/confidentiality standards of his profession” and comment further.

Earlier this year, Dr. Ablow referred to the claims Monique made in her legal complaint to the health department in New York as “groundless.” He has categorically denied all allegations of sexual misconduct against him that have come up in subsequent cases. And he has said, as he did with Monique, that to whatever extent he revealed personal information with patients, he did so in the effort to help them work through issues of psychological importance.

On Feb. 5 next year, a hearing will take place in Massachusetts that will ultimately determine the future status of Dr. Ablow’s medical license.

From the outset, Monique had inklings of doubt about Dr. Ablow, but she easily suppressed them. Her first meeting with him ended with a prescription for an antidepressant. Although she found it curious that he would administer drugs so quickly, she deferred to his approach.

The boundary between patient and doctor was permeable from the start. Dr. Ablow took Monique to a taping at Fox; he connected her with a literary agent when she wanted to write. On one occasion, she mentioned she was near his office with her dog. This was in Newburyport, where she still went for treatment on occasion, running up bills in local inns, in addition to seeing him in New York. She knew Dr. Ablow had expressed an interest in meeting her dog, and he briefly left a session with another patient to come outside and play with him, she said.

Their sessions had an improvisational, transgressive tone. According to her official complaint, Dr. Ablow twice wondered, for no apparent therapeutic purpose, whether Monique had genital piercings. At one point, when she was describing a conflict with her father, Dr. Ablow responded: “Why don’t you tell your father to come stick a gun in my face and see what happens.”

Money was an ongoing problem for Monique, and she eventually questioned why so much of her costly time in therapy was spent listening to Dr. Ablow talk about issues he confronted in his own life — that his sister was drawn to broken men, that his son did a lot of pacing.

These confidences nonetheless made Monique feel as though she held outsize status with Dr. Ablow. Which made it all the more painful for Monique when she felt dismissed by him — when he would arrive late for their sessions, she said, or text and email during them.

Any of these incidents might have given her pause, but it took what she regarded as an explicit act of cruelty to compel her to leave. Early on, Monique had told Dr. Ablow that she feared, above all, being physically trapped — imprisoned, taken somewhere and locked up.

Many months later, during a disagreement about something relatively minor, she said, Dr. Ablow suggested that he might have to hospitalize her. Hospitalizing a distraught psychiatric patient is not an unreasonable course in certain circumstances, but Monique was certain he was preying on her vulnerabilities.

“I couldn’t trust him after that,” Monique said.

When Keith Ablow was in medical school at Johns Hopkins University in the 1980s, after graduating from Brown, he hoped to become an ophthalmologist. It was a mentor at Hopkins who suggested psychiatry, recognizing someone profoundly curious about other people’s lives.

His ambition was evident early on. He wrote the first of his 16 books, “Medical School: Getting In, Staying In, Staying Human,’’ while he was still a student. A paperback edition featured a blurb from The New England Journal of Medicine.

In the mid-1990s, Dr. Ablow was interviewed for a book, “In Session: The Bond Between Women and Their Therapists.’’ The author, Deborah Lott, had met him at a gathering of clinicians and found him to be insightful on the subject of boundaries and transference. Ms. Lott thought of him “as one of the good guys,’’ she said recently, “an advocate for women.”

Before his emergence at Fox, Dr. Ablow was a familiar presence on daytime talk shows, where he delivered advice with a brash compassion. Ms. Lott had lost track of him until his television appearances. As a Fox commentator, she said, his persona was radically different from the one she remembered. (A spokeswoman for Fox confirmed that Dr. Ablow’s contract was not renewed in 2017 and had no further comment.)

On TV, Dr. Ablow’s habit of diagnosing political leaders, particularly President Obama, who he believed suffered from abandonment issues that made him a weak leader, sparked criticism from a profession that maintains a fierce distaste for this sort of conjecture.

In 2014, Jeffrey Lieberman, chair of the psychiatry department at Columbia University, publicly denounced Dr. Ablow, who in turn responded with a clever press statement: “I am apparently joined by my nemesis Dr. Jeffrey Lieberman in rejecting the position that psychiatrists ought not comment on public figures. Lieberman condemned me as a ‘narcissistic self-promoter’ — yet he has never interviewed me.”

In November of that same year, Ms. Lott received a circumspect email from a young woman who had read her book and had questions about Dr. Ablow’s involvement. It was Monique. She was wondering what Dr. Ablow was doing in a book about boundaries. “She had no ax to grind,” Ms. Lott recalled, “other than trying to make sense out of what had happened.’’

Two years earlier, in 2012, Monique had outlined all of her allegations against Dr. Ablow in a lengthy complaint she made with New York State’s Office of Professional Medical Conduct, the agency empowered to suspend and revoke psychiatric licenses.

In these documents, she claimed that Dr. Ablow had crossed multiple boundaries, overwhelming her with details about himself — that he had been attracted to his children’s babysitters, for instance, and that his marriage was unfulfilling.

He asked her to coffee frequently. He encouraged her to move in with a female friend of his in Manhattan when Monique separated from her husband, only to later tell her that the roommate he recommended was “nuts.” He mentioned to Monique that he wanted to send a former all-star running back for the New York Giants to her as a patient. He also suggested that she date him.

At one point, while she was still seeing Dr. Ablow for regular therapy, he offered her a job with his life-coaching business. She took it, counseling people remotely. For a few months, she was both his patient and his employee.

In the course of her efforts to establish her own practice, Dr. Ablow encouraged Monique to move to Newburyport, which would be cheaper than New York.

She almost went through with it.

Monique had recently married a man after a four-year engagement, yet her ambivalence about him persisted. Dr. Ablow knew all about this. In fact, when she emailed him on the eve of her wedding, he gave her confounding advice. In his reply, he implicitly encouraged her to go through with it, at the same time remarking that marriage itself was “absurd.”

On the day she planned to move and leave her husband behind, in January 2011, a tremendous storm hit the Northeast. She decided to stay in New York, where she continued to see Dr. Ablow for another six months.

Once she made the decision to leave Dr. Ablow, Monique met with a Manhattan lawyer, Audrey Bedolis, who has concentrated in psychotherapeutic malpractice since the early 1990s.

Ms. Bedolis knew that cases without accusations of sexual misconduct, clear physical abuse or some other singular, dramatic incident are typically hard to litigate; she and her client eventually abandoned plans for a lawsuit. But Ms. Bedolis believed that the sheer volume of Dr. Ablow’s boundary trespasses would surely result in disciplinary action from state authorities.

In the dynamic between Monique and Dr. Ablow, Ms. Bedolis saw something all too familiar. Though she knew only Monique’s side of the story, it seemed to her a clear case of exploitation that, while it did not involve sex, was just as devastating. “First he medicated her when she never thought she should be medicated,’’ Ms. Bedolis said. “Then he lured her in as the only person who could help her.”

For several years, Monique waited to hear something from the conduct office in New York. In October 2017, the office finally wrote to say that it had found “insufficient evidence’’ to bring any charges of misconduct against Dr. Ablow.

One week after the New York board wrote to Monique saying that it would not sanction him, it sent a separate letter to Dr. Ablow, stating that in her case, he had failed to render proper care and treatment and that he prescribed medications inappropriately. He was told to refrain from boundary violations.

But there was no punishment for this; his license to practice psychiatry in New York remained in good standing.

This spring, however, based on Monique’s claims and the testimonies of four other female patients, as well as several former employees of Dr. Ablow’s, the Massachusetts Board of Registration in Medicine ruled that Dr. Ablow practiced “in violation of law, regulations, and/or good and accepted medical practice.” As a result of that suspension, he consented to cease practice in New York, where a renewed investigation by the conduct office is underway.

Three of the women — like Monique, all young — told an investigator for the Massachusetts board that Dr. Ablow had become sexually involved with them during the course of their treatment. One of them said that he introduced her to sadomasochism and hit her with a belt during their encounters, exclaiming, “I own you.”

In a formal written response to the board, Dr. Ablow denied this, as well as the charges that he had been physically intimate with the other patients involved in the case.

In a statement issued in August, Dr. Ablow’s lawyer, Mr. Cirel, addressed the charges in a series of malpractice lawsuits brought against Dr. Ablow, which were settled out of court this year, as well as the allegations in the complaint to the state, writing: “We are pleased that the civil matters have been amicably resolved. Dr. Ablow can now focus his attention and resources on overturning the Board of Medicine’s order of temporary suspension, so that he can restore his medical license and resume helping patients into the future, as he has countless times in the past.”

Last winter, before the suits were settled, Dr. Ablow appeared on a Boston-area news show, where he addressed them and claimed to be a target of cancel culture. “A male, a public person and a Trump supporter,” Dr. Ablow said in the interview. “So am I surprised? Yeah. But shocked? No.”

In his rebuttal to the Massachusetts board, Dr. Ablow said that one of his accusers had a history of falsely accusing men of sexual misbehavior and that she had essentially confused what happened between them with the actions of a recurring character in his novels.

The documents filed in conjunction with Dr. Ablow’s suspension reveal something else as well — that in three separate instances in which his medical license came up for renewal in Massachusetts, between 2013 and 2017, he failed to notify the state that he was under investigation in New York. During the renewal process, an applicant is asked specifically if he or she is under investigation in a different state. Dr. Ablow said that he wasn’t.

After her time with Dr. Ablow, Monique was apprehensive about trusting a new therapist. Eventually she returned to the psychoanalyst she saw during her first year of graduate school, Robert Katz. Recently, she gave permission to Dr. Katz to speak about her experience with Dr. Ablow.

Monique entered treatment with him shaken by what had happened to her under Dr. Ablow’s care, he said. Dr. Katz viewed the boundary violations she described as a means of grooming her for a sexual relationship.

Of everything she brought up, Dr. Katz added, one detail stuck out most in his mind: that Dr. Ablow had suggested to Monique that she become an escort to earn the extra money she needed. (Dr. Ablow has denied ever saying this, and denied it again when another patient made the same claim.)

In recent years Monique has settled into a successful private practice (this is why she insisted on anonymity in exchange for participating in this article).

Still, even now, after all she has come to understand, she finds herself occasionally missing the connection she had with Dr. Ablow, longing again to experience how much she imagined she meant to him.

When a psychiatrist, psychologist or social worker is barred from practicing, it does not necessarily mean that they are prevented from dispensing advice, in an office, for profit. Life-coaching is a career open to almost anyone; requiring no credentials, it is largely unregulated.

After the suspension of his license, Dr. Ablow repositioned himself. The Ablow Center for Mind and Soul in Newburyport identifies Dr. Ablow on its website as someone who “practiced psychiatry for over 25 years before developing his own life-coaching, mentoring and spiritual counseling system.” Over the summer, he took courses in pastoral counseling at Liberty University, the evangelical Christian college in Lynchburg, Va.

The Ablow Center is expanding its services, including free therapy for veterans once a month. It also announced an essay contest for high-school and college students considering a career in counseling.

Beyond that, visitors to the center’s website can find regular blog posts from Dr. Ablow, like a recent entry with the headline, “Why a Depression and Anxiety Consultant Could Be the Key to Recovering.”

For anyone “still’’ feeling anxious or low, Dr. Ablow had some wisdom: “It may have nothing to do with you,” he wrote, “and everything to do with the treatments being offered to you.”

______

Ginia Bellafante has served as a reporter, critic and, since 2011, as the Big City columnist. She began her career at The Times as a fashion critic, and has also been a television critic. She previously worked at Time magazine. @GiniaNYT

#fox news #mental health #mental ill health #mental heath support #u.s. news #public health #health #health & fitness #health news #nyt > top stories #top news

1 note · View note

harostar · 5 years

Text

Random Internet Person: POLICE DOGS ARE ABUSED AND FORCED TO WORK. THEY ARE TOOLS TO BE RUTHLESSLY USED AND MISTREATED AND ABANDONED. COPS USE THEM BECAUSE THEY’RE COWARDS.

Me, who actually works for a department with a K9 unit:

ETA:

Sure thing!

Disclaimer: These are primarily based on our department, and word of mouth from others familiar with K9 units. Mileage may vary in individual cases, because I cannot speak for every single person or unit.

There have been a lot of changes with K9 units over the decades, moving away from the “Aggressive Dog that lives in a cage” kind of deal.

The typical situation now is a team that lives together, with the dog a normal family pet during off-hours. Many retired K9s simply settle down at home, and live out their golden years with their handler. There are some cases where this might not be practical or workable, and in those cases the dog is usually adopted by someone within that work/social circle.

They usually work for about 6 - 8 years, depending on their individual health and ability. Health issues always mean an early retirement, whether the department has a replacement lined up or not.

The one unfortunate deal is that, yes, teams may be separated in cases where the handler leaves while the dog is still young. The reason is, unfortunately, down to the enormous investment that every single dog represents. The dogs are usually very expensive to begin with, even before factoring in the time and money invested into their training. They have to maintain their training on a regular basis, so a lapse means losing their certification. Because replacing the dog is no easy feat, Handlers understand in advance that quitting their job may mean the dog being assigned to a new partner.

Not ideal, but difficult to avoid when there’s genuine community need for that dog’s skills.

Dogs may or may not receive Schutzhund training. Some dogs have a wide range of training, while many others are trained for one specific specialty. This is usually Detection work, focusing on a particular type of scents (Drugs, Ordinances, Human, Cadaver). The primary factor for these decisions is the personality of the dog, based on what interests THEM. Being SUPER CURIOUS and focused is a good trait for Detection work, so they look for puppies that are always searching-searching-searching until they find whatever thing they are looking for.

Believe me, these are SMART dogs. What that means is that they aren’t just well-trained and obedient, they are also have all the issues High-Energy Smart Doggos have. They absolutely will look for trouble, when not given something to do. (Our previous Good Boi famously destroyed the interior of a patrol vehicle when Mom was taking too long grabbing paperwork. He got bored, so he slipped out of his kennel and proceeded to get into mischief. He was very pleased with himself, Mom not so much when she had to report the damage.)

As I mentioned earlier, these dogs are an enormous investment for most departments. That means being spoiled rotten, both in terms of their routine care and how people around the department treat them. Man, I wish the department paid for me to have a Mani-pedi and a massage every week. They also tend to be absolutely adored by everyone that works with them. They aren’t simply Cute Doggo OMG, they are a trusted member of the team that people depend on. Trusting that dog with your life is a major aspect of having a K9 team in your department.

Of course, we have to touch on the issue of Apprehension and dogs being hurt in the line of duty. In general, the theory is that a K9 on scene is an incredible method of PREVENTING further violence. Not always the case, but many-many-many times this is how things play out. Most people either don’t want to hurt a dog, or don’t want to risk facing one. I know it sounds weird, but that is the general line of thinking.

But yeah, most of the time a K9 unit becomes involved when tracking is needed. A person simply cannot locate a person the way a dog can, whether finding a missing person or figuring out where a suspect is hiding. Depending on how many dogs are available, a K9 unit may only be called out when there’s an immediate situation. For example, around here the local dogs are brought out when there’s a major concern for community safety or a person in danger. (Missing kids, suicidal subjects, suspects believed to be armed and loose in a community)

Dogs being hurt is a worst-case scenario, honestly. Some departments have the resources to purchase protective gear for their dogs. Others barely have enough funds to provide ANY gear for anyone. That is one issue that bothers a lot of people, because K9 gear is usually very expensive and not readily available as standard equipment for a department.

Like I said early on, these dogs aren’t just a handler’s partner that they trust with their life. These are family dogs that live with them, and that comes with all the attachment. A K9 being hurt or even getting sick tends to be a heartbreaking situation for a department, because they’re part of the team. (Everyone was pretty upset when we found out the reason our last Officer Good Boi was retiring months earlier than planned because a routine check-up had found cancer. He’s gotten surgery and doing great, with a good prognosis for his golden years. But man, hearing about the diagnosis was a kick in the gut.)

Uh.....I guess I have rambled out most of what was in my head. Questions are absolutely welcome, so please don’t hesitate to ask.

17 notes · View notes

nycttophilic-a · 5 years

Text

Lia Michaelis~

=BASIC INFO= FULL NAME: Jezilia Michaelis NICKNAME(S)/ALIAS(ES): Jez (by her dad), Jezilia (by everyone in the Port Mafia), Lia (by her mom). Lia is NOT her nickname—yet—, but your muse can definitely give her that name. She starts all threads by only going by Jezilia. PRONUNCIATION(S): Jez-ee-lee-a AGE: 23, verse dependent GENDER: Female SPECIES: Human (ability user) BIRTH DATE: October 31st SEXUALITY: Panromantic demisexual =PERSONALITY= PERSONALITY: Dark, dreary, mysterious, twisted, brilliant, cold EMBODYING QUALITY/IDEA: A really dark and mysterious introverted woman. LIKES: Being alone, music, reading, writing music, sweets, darkness DISLIKES: People, crowds, bright lights, the outdoors, obnoxious people, the Port Mafia FEARS: Crowds, losing her loved ones WEAKNESSES: She has very little empathy, and expresses little to no emotion. It’s hard for her to show love to the people she cares about. She often struggles to convey her feelings to them, so she just doesn’t do anything about them and suffers in silence. Also has severe anxiety in crowds. STRENGTHS: determined, strong willed, musically talented SPECIAL/SIGNIFICANT BELONGINGS: She has a crystal necklace around her neck that belonged to her mother. She is always wearing it, but it’s not often seen. =PHYSICAL AND HEALTH INFO= HEIGHT: 5′10 WEIGHT: 122 lbs BODY TYPE: Tall and very slender as well as precise over every movement she makes. JEWELRY: Black earrings, a black choker, dark jewelry like that. Her mother’s necklace PIERCINGS/TATTOOS: Normal ear piercings, her left ear has a couple other piercings SCARS/DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Her hair is raven black but her bangs are white as snow, so that’s an easy way to find her in a crowd. Body has scars from extensive training. =RELATIONSHIP INFO= RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Verse dependent PARENTS: Kira Black (mother, supposedly deceased); William Michaelis (father, deceased) SIBLING(S): None (ability, Demona, is like a sister to her) – BEST FRIEND(S): Demona FRIENDS: N/A ACQUAINTANCES: N/A ASSISTANTS: her squad, the Shadow Demons GUARDS: N/A ALLIES: The Port Mafia PETS/SPECIAL ANIMALS: – ENEMIES: The ADA, the Guild, the Rats, the DoA (verse dependent) MAIN ENEMY(IES): ADA, Mori, her father MOST HATED: Her father, herself =STORY INFO= STORIES THAT THIS CHARACTER APPEARS IN: Bungou Stray Dogs STATUS: Alive BACKSTORY: Lia’s parents grew up together and lived on the streets together in London. Her father was secretly an executive in the Port Mafia, but her mom didn’t know this. One day, he left for work and never came back. Kira was pregnant with their child, which she didn’t realize before. She was sixteen. When Lia was 3, she and her mother were attacked in their apartment. The details are still unknown, and it’s believed that her mother died (which is what Lia believes as well). Her father, unaware that he had a child before hand, came and collected her. From then on he trained her under him in the Port Mafia. The training was brutal and what no child should go through, but he really did love her and want the best for her. He thought what he was doing was for the best. Lia hated what he did to her but had very mixed feelings about her father. When she was fifteen, she finally snapped and shot him in the chest, killing him. She thought that if she killed him she would be free from the mafia life, but she was sorely mistaken. Mori (who had just became the new boss at this point) allowed her to live despite the fact that she killed an executive, which is treason in the PM. This is because of how strong her ability is. Even though he allowed her to live, she’s still a prisoner without anyone realizing it. She’s more trapped than she ever was now, but her shackles are invisible. No one knows what happened to her father, and it’s said an enemy organization killed him. Mori wants to keep Lia’s little “slip up” a secret because if the PM ever learned that he allowed the murderer of an executive to live, they would want him dethroned. And we can’t have that. – PLACE OF BIRTH: London, the United Kingdom PAST LIVING QUARTERS: London. CURRENT AND FUTURE HOMES: Yokohama. – NATIVE LANGUAGE(S): English LANGUAGES SPOKEN: English, Japanese, French, a tiny bit of Russian (only from being exposed to it), some German, Japanese sign language =TALENTS/OCCUPATION/EDUCATION= OCCUPATION/JOB: Mafioso—squad leader BOSS: Mori TALENTS: Stealth, experience in combat, her ability. YEARS OF EDUCATION: No formal education, taught some things by William. LEVEL OF EDUCATION: N/A =COMBAT= SKILLS/TECHNIQUES: Prefers long range attacks. Has excellent agility and is pretty strong. Relies heavily on her ability, but is good at hand to hand anyway. Just in case. SPECIAL POWERS: Her ability, “Demon’s Embrace”. This allows Lia to manipulate and control shadows. She can use these shadows to do pretty much anything, like attack, hide her, transport her/other things and/or people, sense the area around her, give her night vison, and almost anything else. She can make the shadows solidify so that she can attack people and make tendrils that impale her victims, so in this sense her ability is similar to Akutagawa’s. HOWEVER, one major downfall to her ability is that she cannot make shadows. This means she’s basically ability-less during the day and in any sunlight, so she does most of her work at night. During the day the most she can do is create throwing knives from the shadows of her hood hat disappear in a matter of seconds. Her ability is the strongest at midnight with no moonlight. WEAPON(S) OF CHOICE: Her ability. If she can’t use her ability, she often will just use a gun that’s hidden under her coat. Will use her own two fists if necessary. STRENGTHS: Agile, fast, excellent at long range attacks at night, is basically undefeatable when in complete darkness, high pain tolerance WEAKNESSES: Can’t use her ability in light and also become physically weaker and drained in light, especially daylight. =VERSES= ~hσld чσur вrєαth αnd cσunt thє dαчѕ; wє‘rє grαduαtíng ѕσσn~ [High School Verse]—Lia, a human now, is quiet and dark and often can be found listening to music and not paying attention to class or those around her. She secretly works every day to provide for her adoptive sister and mother, since Kira is a single mom trying to become a doctor.

~ѕσund σf mч hєαrt; thє вєαt gσєѕ σn αnd σn~ [Band Verse]—Another Verse where Lia is human. In this one, she’s a quiet (erm, silent) electric guitar player who secretly has a few hundredsongs up her leather sleeves.

~í’m α crєαturє whσ‘ѕ up tσ nσ gσσd; í‘ll lσvє чσu líkє α vαmpírє wσuld~ [Vampire Verse]—This verse is very simple and the same for all of the muses that have it: the character is a vampire. This verse is very flexible, so if you have ideas please let me know so we can incorporate it into the thread!! But it’s nothing major, I just love vampires lol

~wє clαím thє lαnd αnd thєn thє hσrízσn; αnd σntσ thє wσrld íf wє ѕσ dєѕírє~ [BSD-Decay of Angels! Verse]—This is a side verse to Lia’s BSD verse. Here, Lia met Osamu Dazai in the Port Mafia and fell in love with him, only to have him leave her. At first, she believes him to be dead because that’s the easiest to believe. But when she learns he’s alive, she’s furious and destroyed to know that he would leave her in darkness after showing her this beautiful light. So, when a certain Russian approaches her and asks her if she wanted an escape from her dark and lonely life, who was she to say no? Thus, she joined the Decay of Angels...

~gσd dαmn ríght; чσu ѕhσuld вє ѕcαrєd σf mє~ [Tokyo Ghoul Verse]—In this verse, Lia is a half ghoul from birth. Kira was a human (died in childbirth) and Sebastian was a ghoul (whereabouts unknown). Lia is an incredibly strong ghoul, since she’s a one eyed ghoul, but no one would be able to tell. She lives her life as a human like Eto does, hiding her ghoulish nature. She’s also a member of the CGG, and an excellent one at that.

~íf í tσld чσu whαt í wαѕ wσuld чσu turn чσur вαck σn mє?~ [Monster! Verse]—An AU where the world is humans/monster hunters vs. monsters. Here, Lia is a wisp. She was created by the demon that protected a certain forest in order to lure humans in for him to devour. She isn’t alive and never was, so she doesn’t understand emotions and being alive. But she’s willing to learn. More information can be found here.

~í cαn вє hαppч wíth чσu; вut í cαn‘t вє hαppч íf í‘m dєαd~ [Simulation Verse]—Do you want to ship your muse with one of my four girls? Then this is the verse for you!! That is, if you’re prepared for some REALLY messed up shit and triggers like suicide, abuse, murder, blood, and many others. This verse is not at all for the faint of heart, and it’s best if you don’t really know what you’re in for. If you want to learn a bit more about this verse, you can find it here.

~tαkє mє thrσugh thє níght; fαll íntσ thє dαrk ѕídє~ [Villain! Verse]—A verse for My Hero Academia. Lia is just a normal human in this verse, and not related to Kira in any way. She works for the government as an investigator and uses her quirk—Hood: if she pulls her hood over her head she goes invisible—to investigate villains. However, she’s actually a villain in secret. She works for Anne and Leic at the Underworld (villain organization) to get info on other villains. She is loyal to them, not the government.

like this post if you have read it and agree to it, please.

#Lia Michaelis #~🥀I’m super bored (OOC)🥀~#{ Lia’s Bio Page }

3 notes · View notes

fallen-imagine-angel · 6 years

Text

New Year, New Me (Harry Potter AU with Peter Parker) Chapter 7

Notes: Hey guys, so here’s chapter 7 of my Harry Potter AU with Peter Parker! Chapter 8 should be up soon, probably by the day after tomorrow or maybe a day later or so. However, my other peter parker fic for the follower celebration should be up by tomorrow or the day after!!

Summary: Where you come back from winter break and face the trials that await you at Hogwarts this semester.

New Year, New Me - Chapter 8

Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 1,565

Warnings: mentions of physical/emotional child abuse!!!! please don’t read if that triggers you!!! also, there’s not much MJ or ned in this chapter sorry

It’s January 1st and your mom is getting you ready for the train ride back. She muttered a short incantation under her breath, which you couldn’t hear before all of your wounds disappeared. Well, it looked like they disappeared. They’re really still there because you can still feel them and feel the pain they’re causing, you just can’t see them. That’s the point, you guess.

“Well, dear, have a great rest of the year at school! We’ll see you over the summer and you’d better behave next time.” Your mom laughs light-heartedly as if she isn’t torturing her daughter.

“Right. I gotta go.” You leave her behind as you get onto the Hogwarts Express. You sit in an empty cabin and stare out the window. For some reason, this semester seems like it’s going to be a long one.

Once you arrive at Hogwarts, you rush your regular dorm and set your bags down.

“Hey.” MJ’s already there, giving you a skeptical look.

“Hey!” You internally cringe. What if Peter told her what you said? Your life would be over.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, closing her book and setting it on her bedside table.

“Oh, nothing, I’m just...really tired from packing and stuff.” You lie, smiling lightly at her. She narrows her eyes at you.

“Okay.” She shrugs and goes back to reading. There’s a knock at your dorm door so you open it to see a Slytherin girl scowling at you.

“There’s a Hufflepuff boy outside the common room asking for you.” The girl jabs her thumb over her shoulder and you panic. What if it’s Peter? Oh god, what if Peter’s asking for you so he can yell at you more? What if he’s asking for you so he can get the last word in? It doesn’t sound like Peter, but him yelling at you in the first place was way out of character for him.

“Thanks.” You nod numbly and walk to the entrance of the common room, walking out to see a smiling Ned standing there, waiting for you.

“(Y/n)!” Ned greets you with a large hug. You hug back lightly, trying not to scream in pain from how many cuts and bruises he’s hurting all over again. It’s not his fault, though.

“Hey, Ned.” You grunt out, and he realizes how hard he’s squeezing you. He lets go and you groan as you stumble backward.

“Sorry!” He apologizes, and you give him a small smile to reassure him that you’re fine. You’re not really fine, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Hey, (Y/n).” A sheepish voice emerges from the shadows and you narrow your eyes at Ned. They tricked you.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n), but you guys need to talk!” Ned holds his hands up in defense as he backs away from you and Peter.

“Fine.” You say, too exhausted to start a fight. Ned walks away, leaving you and Peter alone.

“(Y/n), I just want to apologize. I know the things I said were harsh and I was having a rough time trying to balance friends and Liz. But I’m better now, I promise. For real this time. Please let me have another chance.” Peter gives you his signature puppy dog eyes. Had this happened a week ago, you might’ve had some words for him. But since it’s now, all you can do is sigh and nod.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have used the word mudblood. It was wrong of me and I’m really sorry.” You apologize, too, but yours has less emotion in it.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks, reaching out to touch your upper arm in concern. You flinch away from him, though. He looks at you, his concern rising even higher when he sees you flinch.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just really tired from, uh, packing and stuff.” You shrug.

“Okay...well, I have some good news!” Peter grins, and you know he doesn’t quite believe your lie, but he doesn’t want to press you right now.

“And what is that?” You sigh. Your definition and his definition of ‘good news’ are usually very different nowadays.

“I asked Liz to be my girlfriend over Christmas break, and she said yes!” He grins at you, raising his hand for a high-five. You stare at his hand, then back at his face. You don’t make a move for his hand, so he lowers it slowly.

“How great. I’m so happy for you.” You close your eyes, exhale shortly, and open them again. He takes in your behavior, a new face of concern showing up.

“Okay, seriously, are you alright? You look….ill.” His eyes rake over your face and body.

“Checking me out, are we, Parker? Tsk, tsk. You have a girlfriend.” You try for a joke but can’t find the effort in you to actually make it funny. This only concerns Peter further.

“(Y/n), you have to tell me what’s going on.” He grabs your shoulders, making you wince in pain.

“Nothing’s going on, Peter. Now please let me go.” You whimper, afraid he’s going to hurt you more. It’s nothing to do with Peter, just the fear that has been ingrained into you this past week that you’re going to get hurt every day. That, and Peter isn’t exactly being gentle.

Peter releases his hold on your shoulders and gives you a pained expression.

“I don’t believe you. There’s something going on, and I’m going to figure it out. Let me help you, (Y/n).” He frowns.

“I’m fine. I’ll see you later, Peter.” You whisper, trying for a small smile before walking back into the Slytherin common room. He can’t stop you by the time you’re past the threshold.

~+~

The rest of the semester goes exactly as you suspected, slow. It’s a week from summer break and the pain and bruises have started to fade away, but the everlasting memory of them never will. Anytime anyone remotely close to you raises their hand, you flinch. This causes severe concern in Peter and eventually in Ned and MJ, too.

Speaking of those three, you’ve tried to avoid them at all costs. It’s not that you don’t like them, it’s actually quite the opposite. You’re trying to protect them. If your parents find out that they’re your muggle born friends, they won’t stop until your friends are dead. You can’t let that happen, so you avoid them. They keep trying to talk to you, especially Peter, but you always find a way out of the situation.

Until now, that is.

“(Y/n).” Peter grabs your arm and you gasp, turning around and ripping it out of his grasp.

“Don’t touch me. Please.” You whimper, biting your lip hard as you realize how much you just gave away your situation.

“Uh, okay...anyway, I just wanted to catch up a bit. Are you excited for summer?” He asks, giving you a large smile that you’re still in love with, no matter how hard you try to forget it. No matter how hard you try to forget him. “Not really.” You shake your head and look down at your feet.

“What? Why?” He frowns, reaching for your arm again before thinking better of it and dropping it midway.

“I just….love it here, that’s all. I love the teachers and the classes and I’ll be sad to leave.” You lie, looking back at him and giving him a reassuring smile. He doesn’t look too reassured and is about to say something else when you’re interrupted.

“Peter, there you are! I was looking all over for- oh...hi (Y/n).” Liz looks surprised to see you and Peter talking.

“Hi.” You suddenly become a lot more self-conscious. Here’s the love of your life, standing next to you with his girlfriend.

“Well, Peter, we’re waiting for you in the Great Hall whenever you’re ready for lunch…” Liz purses her lips awkwardly before making her way back in the same direction she came from.

“I should go.” You whisper, biting the inside of your cheek as he doesn’t argue.

~+~

A week later, it’s time to go home. Ned and MJ had spoken to you about the summer earlier this week, saying that the four of you should all hang out sometime. You had agreed, but you know it won’t work out. Not with your situation.

“Sweet, sweet (Y/n) (Y/l/n). Are you finally going to cave now that it’s going to be the entire summer and not just a week?” Flash asks, stepping into the cabin you’re sitting in.

“No.” You stare at your hands in your lap. You will never torture innocent people, or hopefully any people at all. You made a pact with yourself and you won’t break it.

“That’s too bad. I hate your pretty face being hurt like that.” Flash scolds, grabbing you chin between his pointer finger and thumb, making your heart rate pick up. Not from sexual tension, but from fear.

“Let me go.” You warn lowly. You may not be able to stop your parents, but Flash is another story. Especially when you have all of your strength. He complies, letting go of your chin and chuckling.

“I’ll see you this summer, (Y/n).” He flashes you a grin before walking out of your cabin and to his own. You let out a sigh of relief that you didn’t know you were holding.

This is going to be your longest summer yet.

Tag List: @carry-on-ms-believer @nerdofthehighestcalibre @trumpettay

31 notes · View notes

atakportal · 6 years

Text

Revealed: Disabled Marine Shows Men Over 40 How To Eliminate Weakness And Build Combat Ready Conditioning At Any Age…

New Post has been published on https://click.atak.co/revealed-disabled-marine-shows-men-over-40-how-to-eliminate-weakness-and-build-combat-ready-conditioning-at-any-age/

Revealed: Disabled Marine Shows Men Over 40 How To Eliminate Weakness And Build Combat Ready Conditioning At Any Age…

Product Name: Revealed: Disabled Marine Shows Men Over 40 How To Eliminate Weakness And Build Combat Ready Conditioning At Any Age…

Click here to get Revealed: Disabled Marine Shows Men Over 40 How To Eliminate Weakness And Build Combat Ready Conditioning At Any Age… at discounted price while it’s still available…

All orders are protected by SSL encryption – the highest industry standard for online security from trusted vendors. Revealed: Disabled Marine Shows Men Over 40 How To Eliminate Weakness And Build Combat Ready Conditioning At Any Age… is backed with a 60 Day No Questions Asked Money Back Guarantee. If within the first 60 days of receipt you are not satisfied with Wake Up Lean™, you can request a refund by sending an email to the address given inside the product and we will immediately refund your entire purchase price, with no questions asked.

Description:

If you want to strip off excess body fat and build impressive levels of endurance while rewiring your muscles with the kind of primal power and control that repairs joints and prevents injury…

This letter will show you how one Disabled Marine did it…

And how you can do it too, without any fancy equipment, and in less time than you might imagine.

Hi, my name is Helder Gomes. And I’m a Service-Connected Disabled Veteran. Yet you’d never guess it from watching me train.

In fact, some of my clients call me “The Super Soldier”.

I try not to let it go to my head. But secretly, I kind of like it.

Imagine being told your body will never be able to do what it used to. Not even come close. And that you’ll have to settle for a life of “soft, weak and tired”.

Then imagine the looks on their faces when you not only prove them wrong, but suddenly…

When the odds are stacked against you, you can’t help but bathe in victory just a little.

Super Soldier? That’s an Army thing. But, yeah… I’ll take it.

Anyway, what does this have to do with you?

I want to give you my “super soldier serum”.

If you’re willing to put it to the test, I believe it will change the way you train forever.

And when put to work, these “machines” will prove — beyond a shadow of a doubt — your body’s best years are yet to come.

This underscores an important point…

See, you don’t need expensive gym memberships, functional training “circus tricks”, or puke-inducing workouts to gain an advantage over other men.

No. With what I’m about to reveal, you can unlock the hidden power in even the most basic exercises to revitalize your body and build high levels of fitness… with less reps, and no matter your age.

You’ll unleash a level of inner strength and confidence you may not know you possess right now… even if It’s buried beneath years of wear and tear.

So, if you suspect you’ve stumbled onto something unlike anything you’ll ever hear about from your average clipboard-toting trainer, you’re right. In fact…

What you are about to discover is the same secret training method I’ve taught to some of…

These are some of the scariest dudes you’ll ever lay eyes on… who have high fitness standards to meet for their jobs, but can’t afford to be fatigued and sore all the time.

I’m talking about members of the leanest and meanest fighting groups in South America and Eastern Europe…

Special Operations Units in the Middle East…

And First Responders, fellow Devil Dogs and former Navy Seals back in the States.

They have the resources to train in any discipline they’d like. And yet, time and again they contract me out for days (to weeks) at a clip to pace them through my system.

Why? One dead-serious reason: they need one of the good guys to expose and eliminate their weaknesses before the “enemy” does.

It’s kind of crazy when you think about it…

You throw out all the “rules” that Average Fitness Joes live by.

Let me give you some perspective…

See, when your body starts falling apart you’re slower to get going in the morning… fighting more aches and pains throughout the day… setbacks come more frequently, and motivation to exercise gets harder and harder to come by.

It’s nearly impossible to stick to a program when you feel beat up and blue all the time.

Worst part is, this screws with your hormones, eating away at lean muscle mass, and packing fat around your midsection and sag around your chest.

I was headed down that path.

Take a look at this picture…

Just don’t be fooled by the smile, because…

First, my wife isn’t hugging me; she’s holding me up. That’s why we’re standing so far apart.

Second, I’m covered in sunscreen and shame. And only one of them was going to wash off.

Third, I’ve lost all sense of purpose in my life.

The Marines had long since classified me no longer “fit to serve”. I’d fallen from bad-ass to fat-ass. I was just waiting for the day my wife could no longer stand the sight of me and finally wise up and hit the bricks in search of a real man. And I saw nothing but darkness in my future.

I remember sitting there not too long after this photo was taken. Just staring at it. Thinking, “Man, what a certified piece of dogshit you’ve become.”

I couldn’t get through a night without waking up in a cold sweat. Couldn’t put on a shirt without feeling like my shoulder was being ripped out of the socket. I couldn’t even make it from my bedroom to the bathroom on my own two feet, most days.

I cringed at the thought of being the dad that has to sit back and watch as some other guy teaches his kid how to play sports, or how to defend himself, or how to be an honorable man.

Why am I telling you all this? Not for your pity. But, because it’s important you know where I’m coming from if my advice is going to mean anything to you (even if that means being transparent to the point of risking embarrassment). Anyway, it should be obvious that…

And it wasn’t for lack of trying either. I’d easily drop money I didn’t really have on books and dvds and trainers. But, even beginner or “easy” workouts turned out to be anything but. In fact…

A lot of it was actually doing me more harm than good.

Most programs seemed to be created for young, able bodies. And most trainers didn’t know what to do with a body that had limitations.

So just about anything I put my body through left me regretting it the next morning.

And the doctors? Their only answer for my shoulder was: “Try not to lift your arm too high”. Their solution for my knee was to stitch in parts from a dead man to replace the parts that were missing; and even then I was told I’d still never walk in total comfort…

They told me to take it easy.

And that “acceptance” was the first step towards happiness.

And a bunch of other head-shrink stuff. Well…

They obviously didn’t know who they were talking to.

Because, able-bodied or not…

No one could give me answers, so…

I went out and found them on my own.

I knew I needed to take my research “off-grid”, and…

…on the darker corners of the fitness and human performance world that I’d spend my days and nights.

And guess what I discovered?

At an unconventional strength seminar I tracked down a bear of a man known as “The Crazy Russian”… who exposed me to weird “mental tricks” to elevating your strength simply by changing the way you THINK about how your muscles move your body…

I studied somatic exercise and other therapeutic modalities… looking for secrets to rejuvenating a body that’s stopped responding to exercise the way it used to.

I even ran into this “off-the-wall” body worker who believed most personal trainers should be charged with gross negligence — if not physical abuse — for much of what they subject their clients to. But…

And hesitant as I was, I even threw myself into the martial arts… in hopes of uncovering how some of these guys keep kicking ass well into old age. And to my shock…

Punching arts, kicking arts, grappling arts… knife, stick and weapons fighting… all of them… had a very real “magic” of internal power and body control that…

This is just the tip of the iceberg.

Once I dove headlong into the rabbit hole, I found myself mixed up in some controversial exercise theories and strange body disciplines.

The kind of stuff you almost never hear about in the magazines or mainstream media. This is why…

Look, as a guy who was once a complete and total mess, I can tell you I’m pretty darn vigilant about what I subject my body to. So when I started experimenting with all the secrets I was digging up, I kept close track of how my body responded. And guess what?

But it gets better because…

I started doing things with my body that not only shocked the hell out of the doctors who told me my best days were behind me… but gave my “glory days” a run for their money.

Imagine their surprise when I ran the New York City Marathon.

Or when they saw videos of me tossing around kettlebells like they were softballs.

Or when they heard I was rolling around on the mat with champion martial artists.

Best of all, my friends and family were now looking at me with a newfound sense of pride and respect, instead of doubt and pity.

And it wasn’t long before guys started talking…

…and word spread through back channels and I was getting cryptic messages from some dangerous dudes who wanted a peak behind the curtain.

They wouldn’t take no for an answer. And yet…

When I started letting them in on it, they couldn’t believe the simplicity. But I told them…

After years of putting countless moves, methods and strategies under a microscope, I discovered the most powerful secrets all had one thing in common:

Well, the first step of this is a simple mental shift.

That’s because you can’t separate your muscles from your nervous system (not unless your a dead man). No…

The key in this first step is simply understanding that your nervous system CONTROLS your muscles. Like a puppet master, it’s pulling your muscles strings. And it dictates what they do and how they feel.

In other words, it determines your strength, flexibility and pain. In ways that most guys are normally NOT aware of.

Anyway, the second part of this is to…

You can think of it like the difference between hammering the gas for more acceleration, and fine-tuning your engine for greater horsepower.

This is why I named my secret training system the Precision Fitness Operator System (PFO-Sys for short).

See, I figured out there are three “Power Principles” that separate Average Fitness Joes (AFJs) from Precision Fitness Operators (PFOs)…

…and allow you to train like the puppet master, instead of the puppet… so you can eliminate weakness and build combat ready conditioning at any age.

They understand that your mind drives your movement. Not in some airy-fairy “woo woo” sense. The science is clear on this. So much so that studies have shown your brain can regulate force production without you ever having to move a muscle.

This is why mental imagery can cause strength gains, it’s also why certain lower body exercises can increase the strength of your upper body, or why stretching one limb can increase the flexibility of another (unstretched) limb. So…

While AFJs train their muscles, PFOs sharpen their neural drive, and train their brain to send stronger, clearer signals to their muscles, which translates to more muscle engagement by recruiting more muscle fibers (or getting the fibers to work more quickly and efficiently).

This “reprograms” your nervous system so it activates the right muscle fibers with greater precision… granting you better muscle contraction/relaxation balance… and developing a primal strength and control that AFJs may never know…

They understand that “unified movement” makes every exercise safer, more efficient and more powerful. Don’t misunderstand me. This isn’t about “whole body” versus “isolation” training. Think of it this way…

Every good fighter pilot runs through a pre-flight checklist, eyes and flips a bunch of switches before his mission is a “go” and we have lift off. Well, PFOs do something similar with their joints, breathing, muscle engagement and form before cranking out reps.

More, they know flipping the right “switches” on and off as you move through an exercise can be the difference between a “ok” rep and a power rep.

AFJs train “harder” than they need to because they leak power. PFOs get more done with less time spent training simply by plugging their structural leaks.

By not leaking power, they prime their body to take advantage its natural, spring-like ability to load, absorb and redirect “shock”… keeping the pump on their muscles, and the pounding off their joints… smoothing out their movements so they’re less taxing on your body, but deliver more powerful results at the same time.

They understand the real measure of a man’s fitness is his ability to “keep it together” under extreme pressure. And, more important, older PFOs understand there’s a thin red line between your comfort zone and the danger zone. See…

Contrary to popular belief, pain is not weakness leaving the body… meaning “no pain, no gain” is a mantra of diminishing returns… and… stepping outside your comfort zone can often lead your body to protest and work against you.

This is why PFOs never train to muscular failure. That’s an AFJ approach, and it can lead to some nice mass gains. But, it can also lead to repetitive strain syndrome, tendon flare ups, chronic soreness, aches and pains… and fractured technique, exposing weakness. Instead…

PFOs train to technical failure. They know that, in the field, technical failure can be the difference between life and death. And their training reflects that.

By shooting for technical failure (and never missing their mark) under incrementally increasing pressure, PFOs avoid entering the “danger zone”, instead expanding their comfort zone from the inside out. Studies show this is an easier and less tiring way of increasing strength and functional capacity of your muscles, and therefore a highly efficient method of training.

These three Power Principles are so simple, yet so game-changing, that any guy can use them to turn even the most ordinary exercises into body re-building machines…

And yet, it’s easy to apply these principles the wrong way… because, quite often, applying them the RIGHT way requires LESS effort, LESS speed, LESS intensity than you might imagine.

This is something most guys have a hard time wrapping their head around. And a hard time nailing down on their own after spending so much time in an AFJ kind of world.

Which is why I believe my Precision Fitness Operator System is so valuable.

It’s proof positive that…

Making the simple shift from Average Fitness Joe to Precision Fitness Operator with PFO-Sys:

Saving your body undue wear and tear… IF that’s what you want.

Anyway, there’s a good reason for you to be excited about all of this. You see, for years the only way to learn PFO-Sys was to contract me out privately… and it never came cheap. In fact…

Because Fight Camps and Spec Ops Units usually booked me solid.

These were often several days, to multiple week-long contracts costing thousands of dollars in billable hours, plus comped travel expenses, room and board.

And being a Vet, Professional Warriors always got priority over Civis. So the little downtime I had for teaching locally was extremely exclusive.

See, recently a publishing house warmed me over to the widespread demand for something like this. Turns out the head honcho over there is a total badass… a real life Ninja.

With extensive studies in Bujinkan and other martial and fitness disciplines he travels the world as a writer and anthropologist…

…digging up some of the most effective health secrets known to man and sharing them with his readers.

With his kind of reach, I could connect with more guys than ever possible through private contracts alone. Obviously, that has economic and logistic benefit. Or so he tells me.

Which is why I’ve made a publishing deal: we could test this low cost offer in a few places, and if it does well we keep it on the market and go wide with it. If it doesn’t however…

That means, if you’re reading this message, the deal is still on. For now.

This is an unbelievably exciting package… designed you so don’t risk a single cent putting it to the test in your own home.

Here’s exactly what I’m giving you today:

It’s called the Warrior Zero Bodyweight Challenge. Check it out…

On my computer I have a “classified” folder named The Warrior Zero Project. It contains all of my research, tests, experiments and “top secret” programming.

The name stems from an attitude of self-reliance and survival… paired with an acknowledgment that the best comebacks start from ground zero.

Anyway, the heartbeat of every single piece of body re-building, combat conditioning advice in The Warrior Zero project is my Precision Fitness Operator System. And…

The foundation (and critical starting point) for learning, owning and mastering PFO-Sys is the Warrior Zero Bodyweight Challenge. And that’s what you’re getting your hands on today:

This is a PFOs bible… and now, it’s yours. Inside you’ll discover:

Most fitness gurus think it’s the WORST exercise in the world. Yet recent research confirms it may be the single most effective exercise to increase life expectancy. Plus…

Ask any Elite Operator, and they will tell you this exercise is MISSION CRITICAL.

The “Go-Muscle” secret of developing kinetic chains. (Bodybuilding athletes miss this critical training factor and suffer for it when called upon to use their “muscle” in the real world.)

The controversial power of “single rep cycling”. Ultimately, this will allow you to get more out of every workout, with less reps and without beating your body to shit.

— How to scale your training — safely and naturally — by deploying the same secret “symmetry” code Leonardo da Vinci used to create a perfectly balanced human in his famous Illustration “The Vitruvian Man”. (Ancient Greeks and Egyptians used it to design perfectly balanced works of structural art, and Bio-Mathematicians are now confirming this secret symmetry is encoded in living matter everywhere.)

— 3 “PFO Mission” Challenges. There are several weeks between challenges. And you can think of the weeks leading up to each challenge like reconnaissance — everything you’re doing is to put your mind and body in the best position to complete your Mission with flying colors. More…

You’ll know, in real time, whether or not you’re ready to “level up” or whether or not you’ve got a little more work to do before pushing your body beyond its limits and out into the danger zone.

This challenge system is a fire starter for guys who lack the motivation to stick to a training program.

And a whole bunch more…

These videos aren’t simple demonstrations the likes you’ll find on blogs or Youtube. They present a measured, “precision” approach to exercise that reveal:

Force transfer secrets… posture and alignment tricks… the overlooked power of ground reaction forces… selective tension… AND…

Why 99% of all Average Fitness Joes totally miss the boat when it comes to “ab” training.

3 priming switches all PFOs flip before each workout to make sure all systems are “go” for maximum gains. (Plus, one common switch AFJs flip that undermines the power in all their movements.)

The secret to freeing up a tight back almost instantly. (Sheds rust and stiffness — within minutes you’ll suddenly feel lighter and more energized than you might believe.)

The truth behind your body’s “linchpin joint”. (And why a simple positioning tweak can double — even triple — the power of every exercise you perform.)

The #1 exercise mistake Average Fitness Joes make that wreaks havoc on their knees.

The ultimate lazy guy’s exercise for strengthening muscles weakened and shut down by chronic sitting. (Plus, one simple adjustment to this drill that electrifies your core more than any set of sit ups and crunches will ever do.)

A seated movement that exposes “asymmetrical deficiencies” in your hips with just one rep. (These deficiencies are often the true source of a muscle ache or joint pain.)

How to get more mobility from any movement by changing the way you breath.

The vital coaching cues you can get from an inanimate household object that most clipboard-toting trainers will never tell you about. (And how it can correct dangerous — and painful — structural leaks within seconds.)

The Hollywood “Walk of Fame” secret to unlocking fully integrated, pressing power.

How to use the three-legged table test to determine whether or not your TRULY ready (and safe) to progress out to harder and harder pressing movements. (If there’s any “wiggle-wobble” here you know with 100% certainty you’ve got more work to do before moving any further.)

Why your shoulders determine the proper depth of push up for your body type. (And when chest-kissing the ground can set you up for a setback.)

A special 3-second, 3-point mental “checklist” for correcting your posture on the fly. (This is like hitting the reset button on your posture so that you maintain a safe, but powerful “exercise frame”, even when you’re bent over.)

A cadence secret most military guys know (instinctively) that helps your body draw power up from the ground, absorb and redirect shock like a spring.

The ancient “tribal trick” that accelerates your learning. (For many guys this is also a “short cut” to healthy knees, hips and lower back.)

The one “ab” exercise that melts away tension across your entire spine and strengthens your core in a way no plank could ever do. (Takes years off your body in just minutes a day.)

A sneaky little “recovery accelerator” technique. Deploy this post-workout to abate soreness, stiffness and restore muscle balance in a few short minutes.)

And many more PFO secrets that you’ve really got to feel to believe…

It’s like having me in the room with you, right by your side. I’ll coach you along with my student, Frank, as we move through each workout in real time.

You’ll quickly realize this isn’t BUD/S or some hardcore body-wrecking bootcamp insanity.

Instead, you’ll learn to use your body’s natural ability to load, absorb and redirect shock…

Turning simple movements into body-rebuilding machines and peak-performance-powerhouses…

While reinforcing your joints (saving them wear and tear)… and allowing your muscles to recover while in motion.

This keeps your muscles fresher longer… your metabolic fire churning… and your body operating as a single integrated unit.

Because I want to help you stack the odds of success even more in your favor…

Breathing is something you are always doing, whether you are paying attention to it or not.

Yet, learning how to pay better attention to and control your breath is an overlooked “nervous system hack” that can provide more powerful workouts, faster recovery, shots of instant energy and a wave of general stress relief.

Here’s some of what you’ll discover inside this module:

The one thing almost every new student does WRONG with their breathing during exercise that undermines their performance and increases risk of injury (plus an easy fix)…

A type of breathing that enhances the benefits of any exercises (bonus: it also helps rid the body of toxins, which can lead to faster weight loss)…

How to use your breathing to guide your training progress — instead of using reps, sets, resistance, or time (this is a wise alternative for anyone suffering exercise-induced pain)

How to use “geometric” breathing to expand your lung capacity and control your heart rate — this is especially important for resuming command of body functions when fear and stress stage a “military takeover”.

The ancient breathing technique that increases your antioxidant defense status (and combats oxidative stress) after hard training…

It also reduces the “fight-or-flight” response of the parasympathetic nervous system and could enhance vagal activity (which can reduce anxiety, anger, and inflammation)

A special kind of “explosive” breathing that energizes your entire body almost instantly… leaves you feeling amped, alert, and ready to tackle your workout.

How many times have you just wanted to throw in the towel and rattle off excuse after excuse as to why something can’t get done?

We’ve all been there. Yet there are times when if you do not accomplish the task at hand, it does not get done.

Getting your body into shape is one of those times. But, make no mistake… developing intestinal fortitude isn’t just about trying to be a “tough guy”.

Your Warrior Zero Intestinal Fortitude module goes beyond “gut checks”. I’m not simply barking orders at you to “pick your sack up and keep moving…”

No. It’s more than that.

Intestinal Fortitude is about developing the kind of situational awareness and “streets smarts” that not only develops toughness, but wisdom.

Which is why, in Warrior Zero Intestinal Fortitude I’m going to reveal 10 things I learned in the Marines that are guaranteed to make you a better man.

You’ll learn about the mental toughness Marines are known for, and the physical endurances it helps them push through. Plus, you’ll discover:

Insights on Overcoming Adversity… How to develop Unshakeable Self-Confidence… How to Control Fear, Stress & Anxiety… The Ultimate Guide To Self Discipline… How To Harness the Power of Positive Self-Talk… and more…

I think you’ll really enjoy this module.

You’ve got enough to focus on with your Warrior Zero Bodyweight Challenge. You don’t need a bunch of restrictive diet rules to follow.

That’s why, your Warrior Zero Supportive Nutrition module is based on 10 PFO “Fueling Principles”.

Much like the PFO “Power Principles” that guide your workouts, these Fueling Principles give you the flexibility required to make eating for your health feel NORMAL…

…and not like some crazed fitness freak.

You’ll quickly get your head straight about eating clean and making the right food choices for reducing body inflammation, fueling your workouts, and aiding your recovery.

This is NOT a diet. But a set of principles you can apply to your lifestyle, no matter how busy your day is, or selective your taste buds.

Now, I’m going to tell you what this costs and how to secure your own copy in just a second. But, first we need to get very, very clear on something:

In fact, there are some guys I hope never find out about it. No joke.

This stuff isn’t for hot-headed, young bucks who think an “old dog” can’t teach them a few new tricks…

…or for the kind of guy whose endgame is being surrounded by gym-bros strutting around stiffly with inflated, puffy muscle, a dumbbell in one hand and a cell phone in the other…

…or even the kind of blood-pressure-popping psycho who would rather die under the bar than dump out of a rep.

So, I’m telling you now — don’t even think about trying this program unless:

1) You are serious about eliminating weakness and building combat-ready-conditioning at any age… and want an advantage over other men… so you can step up to the plate and be the man you’re needed to be…

2) You are willing to slow down and shift your focus from training like an Average Fitness Joe to training like a Precision Fitness Operator… so you can reprogram your nervous system and rewire your muscles for an almost unbelievable primal control and power… without killing yourself in the gym…

3) You are sick and tired of feeling soft, out of shape and always doubting yourself… sick and tired of workouts that make you feel like something is wrong with you… or simply sick and tired of watching other guys do the things you should be doing… but no longer can.

Still with me? Good. I’m damn proud of Warrior Zero and this outstanding package I’ve been able to put together for you on this page.

Given the chance, you’ll find it’s got more integrity and value than what you’ve probably come to expect from most things in the fitness world.

You’re getting EXACTLY what I teach all around the world. Not some watered down “lite” version of my system. But…

And you need to know this before you make your decision. See, this isn’t some put-on Hollywood production… with slick stage design and hired guns who model for a living to huff and puff half naked on screen. No.

You’re getting quality video instructionals and follow alongs, filmed in HD, in my private headquarters. It’s me and one of my actual students walking you through every last detail of how to train like a Precision Fitness Operator.

I’m also delivering everything to you digitally, so don’t expect a big brown box on your doorstep.

I’m doing this for two reasons: 1) this allows me to offer this special Warrior Zero package to you at a much lower price, since there are no shipping and manufacturing costs and… 2) this gives you the convenience of reading and watching the material at home and on the go, via smart tv, desktop, tablet and phone.

If you can get past these “flaws”, you’re good to go, because…

Look, a lot of guys are going to be miffed at me for sharing this secret training system with you… especially since you won’t be paying even part of what they had to shell out for even a single lesson.

But, it is what it is. I’ve come to realize just how many guys desperately need an alternative to the type of fitness the mainstream is trying to force-feed them.

They’ve spent too much time and money on gimmicks and false promises to justify spending even a dollar on something new… even if it’s a simple system that will change their lives. I get it.

Listen, I’m a Marine and an Eagle Scout, and I stake my reputation on my promises.

Perhaps, more important, I’m just a guy about to eclipse 50 with a body that’s been through the wringer — and I honestly want to share this incredible new program with you, and I don’t want you to worry about getting scammed or “taken for a ride” or anything like that.

It’s hard enough to find someone you can trust in general, even more so on the internet. The least I could do is make it as easy as possible for you to try it out, without any risk. Right?

Click the ‘add to cart’ button below, fill out and submit the secure order form on the next page and you get instant access to everything with your own personal account on my private server.

This price wouldn’t even buy you fifteen minutes of private time with me at my regular coaching fees. Yet for less than the price of dinner and a movie, you can own my training system for yourself… with this Warrior Zero package that reveals to you everything you’d learn in private sessions.

And you know what? I’m so confident you’ll see impressive results that I’ll put ALL the risk on myself with a 100% unconditional, money back your-prerogative-guarantee:

Here’s how it works: Order your personal copy of the Warrior Zero Bodyweight Challenge. Download all of the manuals and videos, or stream them from any of your devices, whichever you prefer.

Put the secrets you’ll find inside to the test.

Take a full 60 days, if you want.

This way you’re not rushed, and don’t have to worry about life getting in the way, or any other excuses guys make for themselves when facing a new challenge…

Notice the difference you feel in your muscles and joints as you’re training like a Precision Fitness Operator.

Notice the fit of your clothes now… the difference in the way you start to carry yourself, and the way the people around you respond… and take a good, long look at the new man you see staring back at you in the mirror.

If you decide at any point that you’d like to go back to training like an Average Fitness Joe, give up your physical advantage over other men, and settle for anything less than your body’s best…

Simply shoot an email over to [email protected] and let me know. I’ll have customer care process your 100% guaranteed refund straight away. No hassle whatsoever. Your prerogative. It’s your body and I trust your judgement here.

And, you get to KEEP anything and everything you’ve downloaded. Consider it a gift for giving the Warrior Zero Bodyweight Challenge a “test drive”.

So now all that’s left is to ask yourself one final question…

Maybe you want to be more attractive to your wife… instead of looking (and feeling) like a crippled old man…

Maybe you want to build the kind of endurance and all-day-energy that makes it feel like your body is running on rocket fuel…

Maybe you simply want to build (and maintain) outstanding levels of conditioning and develop real muscular power and control with less time working out and without pounding your joints…

Only you know that. But, what I do know is, to a man — everyone of them who has become a part of The Warrior Zero Project — has never looked at fitness the same way again, and is a better man for it.

Remember: no matter what anyone says, you ALWAYS have a lot more fight left in you.

Here’s to proving them wrong.

I hope to see you on the other side, and look forward to hearing about your success.

Helder Gomes — United States Marine, International Combat Instructor, Head Coach NTC-HQ

WARNING: other guys might start asking you for advice when you train out in public. That’s ok. It’s a natural side effect of training like a Precision Fitness Operator. Embrace it. These guys, no matter how young or old, are ready for a paradigm shift. And they’re in need of a good, honorable man to lead them. Be that leader. Give them a few point pointers, if only the 3 “Power Principles” you’ve learned in this report. Then send them off in the right direction, and on the path to proving all their naysayers wrong and proving to themselves it is possible to eliminate weakness and build combat-ready conditioning at any age…

Siddle, Bruce. Sharpening the Warriors Edge: The Psychology & Science of Training. PPCT Research Publications. 1995.

Asken, Michael, and Christensen, Loren, and Grossman, Dave. Warrior Mindset. Human Factor Research Group. 2010.

Grossman, Dave, and Christensen, Loren. On Combat: The Psychology and Physiology of Deadly Conflict in War and in Peace. Warrior Science Publications. 2008.

ClickBank is the retailer of products on this site. CLICKBANK® is a registered trademark of Click Sales Inc., a Delaware corporation located at 1444 S. Entertainment Ave., Suite 410 Boise, ID 83709, USA and used by permission. ClickBank’s role as retailer does not constitute an endorsement, approval or review of these products or any claim, statement or opinion used in promotion of these products.

Click here to get Revealed: Disabled Marine Shows Men Over 40 How To Eliminate Weakness And Build Combat Ready Conditioning At Any Age… at discounted price while it’s still available…

#Agehellip #Build #combat #Conditioning #disabled #eliminate #marine #Men #Ready #Revealed #shows #weakness

2 notes · View notes