mine: tw au

anonymous asked:

Alternative to the previous ask-someone kidnaps patton for info and starts to tell him lies to break his spirit- they tell him theyve killed logan and that ann is also captured and about what they will do to him unless Patton gives out the information


It was hard to kidnap him in the first place, but this syndicate knows what they’re doing. They lure Patton outside with hints that they kidnapped Roman and Ann, who were out shopping at the time. As soon as he’s in the city, panic clutching at his lungs, a bag is pulled over his head and he feels a gun pressed to his temple. He lets himself be dragged into their car so as not to be shot, and prays that they’ll let the other two go and leave Logan alone.

The gun and bag don’t move until he’s tied to a cold (metal?) chair. He blinks in the sudden light, waiting for his eyes to adjust. “That was kind of rude,” he says slowly, tilting his head to either side so his neck pops. Situations like these must always be dealt with calmly. “Can it be assumed you want Sadie back, Sean? Because I can mail the parts back to you if you’d like.”

“Cut the crap, Sanders, we know she’s still alive.”

“Then what exactly am I here for?”

Sean smiles dangerously. “If you tell us where she is and make your guards back down, then we don’t have to make things messy.”

“I’m so scared, a pretty boy with a knife,” Patton deadpans. “Go on, cut me up. I have nothing to say to you.”

“Aww, sweetheart, you think I’m gonna hurt you? No, I know you’re a masochistic little whore, have been since we were teenagers. But you know who might not like it?” 


Leaning in to whisper in Patton’s ear, Sean laughs. “Your whore.”

“You bluff; you tricked me to get me here, but you don’t actually have anything but your silver tongue. Speaking of tongues, I bet Sadie loves that thing I taught you to do-”

“Watch your mouth, Sanders. I already took care of your right hand man. What was it? Landon? Logan? Laurens?” He studies Patton’s face. “Logan. He put up a good fight, but he’s not tough like you, sweetheart. Do you wanna know how he died?” Patton looks away, his face neutral, but Sean grabs his chin and forces him to look into his eyes. “My man, Mark, pinned him down on the floor of your office. Ripped off his clothes- interesting stuff there, hmm? And he ruined your Logan until he was begging to die. Then, and only then did Mark take pity on him and blow his brains out all over your carpet.”

Patton’s mouth is dry, but he doesn’t let his fear show. “You don’t have the balls.”

“Wanna bet?”

Sean calls someone on his phone, requests something in a language Patton doesn’t speak, and in is brought a bloody, tattered shirt. It’s the same dark blue as Logan’s button-down that morning, and the shirt pocket holds a stained, poorly laminated fake. The fake Logan never goes anywhere without. One look at it, and Patton turns his head to the side to throw up, grimacing from the taste.

“Food poisoning. It’s had me down all week,” Patton complains, spitting to rid himself of the taste. As nonchalantly as he’s playing things, he wants to scream and cry and drink and apologize to Logan. His lungs want to quicken their pace, but Patton schools his breathing steady. “You could have bought a shirt and bloodied it and made a fake. Sean, you’ve lost your edge if you think this is gonna work.”

“Lost my edge?” 

The next item is worse, so much worse. The body is naked, skinny, tall, and the face obliterated. It’s too far away to tell if the scars are Logan’s or merely paint. Patton wants to believe it’s fake, but he can’t. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. Once again, he leans to the side to throw up, and allows a couple stray tears to run down his cheeks.

“Believe me now, sweetheart?” Patton nods. “Now, let’s talk about your whore. You tell me something useful, I let one of my gunmen leave the room. There are twenty in the room with him, mind you. You give me bad information or act like a brat, and your whore will pray for death. Got it?”

“Y- yes.” 


Halfway through the question/answer dance they’re doing, Patton gives a wrong answer that should trip the necessary alarms to kill Sadie and make Sean let Ann go. But they fail. Sadie screams in fear, but confirms she’s okay, and Sean gives Patton a disappointed look. “I didn’t want to do this, sweetheart.”

“Wait- no, please, I’m sorry, I- I-”

Sean stares at Patton, smirking as he lifts the phone to his lips. “Jensen? He’s all yours.” 

“You sick fucking bastard!” Patton screams before he can stop himself.

“I’d suggest you keep your outbursts to yourself, sweetheart.”

Eventually, Sean’s team get Sadie and begin the journey home. But Patton is still there, still believing that Ann’s been desecrated by someone he had the power to stop. 

“Do what you want to Sanders’ slut. Just make sure you kill him when you’ve all taken your fill.”

“NO!” Patton screams, thrashing in his chair and burning his wrists on the rope, but it doesn’t help. 

His head is spinning and everything hurts and Patton’s never been suicidal, but right now, he really wants to die. Something in his expression gives it away because Sean laughs at him and puts a gun to Patton’s head.

“Say the word and I’ll pull the trigger,” he taunts. “It can be over. You can see them again, see your mother again. Doesn’t that sound great, sweetheart?”

Just then, the door to their room swings open. Roman, holding his non-dominant hand to a bloody patch on his side and aiming a gun with the other. “Drop the fucking gun, McLoughlin.”

“You shouldn’t be making any demands right now,” Sean says, looking Roman up and down.

Roman steps closer and makes it very clear he’s aiming for Sean’s head. They stare at each other, and soon Roman has his gun pressed to Sean’s temple, the same place the gun currently is on Patton’s head. 

“You fire, so do I.”

“I know.”

In a split second, Roman knocks Sean’s hand upward, misfiring the bullet into the ceiling. It’s too easy to shoot Sean dead. “Boss? Boss, you with me?” he asks, kneeling to untie Patton with hands that are bloody and slippery. Pat can’t look away from them. “Look at me, Boss. C’mon.”

“They’re dead. Oh my god, they’re dead and it’s my fault, and I-”

“Who’s dead?” Roman asks, scooping Patton up to carry him out of the building, since he’s obviously too hysterical about something to walk on his own

Patton sobs into Roman’s shirt, shaking like a leaf. “Ann and Lo are dead, he said- they r- they’re dead, oh god, I’m sorry-”

“Patton. Look at me.” His voice is stern and Patton freezes, looking at Roman. “They’re okay. Logan and Ann are at home. As soon as we heard you were gone, I put the whole place on lock down. I was talking to them just before I came into the room.”

“B-but the body in the c-corner of the r-room-”

“Wasn’t Logan’s. Trust me, okay? And can you walk because I don’t know how far I can carry you. There’s a car waiting for us outside.”

Patton nods and they both run as fast as they can, climbing into the car waiting for them. One of the medics Patton hired in case of an emergency starts tending to whatever’s making Roman bleed all over his clothes. As it turns out, he got grazed with a bullet. During the ride home, Roman manages to fall asleep, exhausted. As soon as he can, Patton flings himself from the car and runs inside.

Patton nods and they both run as fast as they can, climbing into the car waiting for them. One of the medics Patton hired in case of an emergency starts tending to whatever’s making Roman bleed all over his clothes. As it turns out, he got grazed with a bullet. During the ride home, Roman manages to fall asleep, exhausted. As soon as he can, Patton flings himself from the car and runs inside.

“Logan! Ann!” He yells as loud as he can, running to the stairs because they’ll be faster than waiting for the elevator. He keeps calling their names as he climbs up to the top floors. He has to stop at the tenth floor, one from the top, because he can’t breathe. Still, he screams their names and hopes they’re alive and able to hear him.

Just as he’s about to call for them a final time, they come skidding into the room. Logan is still wearing his dark blue button up and his fake is faintly outlined in the front pocket. Beside him, Ann is flushed and looks like he’s been crying but he’s undeniably present and alive. Patton throws himself onto both of them and holds on, sobbing and clinging to them and terrified that if he lets go, they’ll disappear.

“I thought- I thought-” he can’t even explain.

Logan and Ann help get him to his room. They work together to get him out of his grimy clothes, clean him up in a shower, and tuck him into bed wearing cozy pajamas and buried under a thick blanket to combat his shivers. Ann curls into Patton’s arms, and Logan holds the both of them, a solid, unwavering presence to help Patton find sleep. An hour or so later, Roman joins them, and they take comfort in each other.

I just, I just fucking love the idea of Stiles building a new branch of the FBI. 

Like, he does his time in the trenches, he shuffles paperwork, he goes on missions, he takes down numerous bad guys. He’s a good, nay GREAT agent. But then something happens, someone of the supernatural evil persuasion comes on the scene and wants to take the world down. 

Stiles with all his supernatural knowledge goes to the director of the FBI and tells him, this is what he is and this is how we beat him. and because this has been going on for months Director Watsizname lets Stiles assemble a small task force to try his idea out. 

(Of fucking course Stiles reaches out to Derek to help, but I imagine the scene kind of like the one where Charles and Xavier try to get logan into the xmen and logan just goes ‘no’ and they leave him out of it.)

So Stiles gets like Argent and the Yukimauras, and beacon hills reunion am i right?

anyway… stiles and his task force work and get the guy, (there is an opposing task force also trying to get the guy, but they’re a human task force so they don’t know what they’re getting into.) and stiles and his little force of high school bffs gets the big bad and to reward him, Director Watsizmane gives him another case in colorado and Stiles gets a new partner and Stiles thinks it’s hilarious that he gets to roll around the country like fucking Sam and Dean Winchester to fix supernatural shit gone bad. 

That starts the construction of the Supernatural Affairs Division of the FBI (”Boss, our acronym can’t be FBI: SAD. that’s just… well.. sad…”) erm… the Supernatural Investigation Division? (”Now people will think my name is Sid or they’ll think of dying babies, do you want people to think of dying babies director?”) How about Department of Supernatural Affairs? FBI: DSA? Is that okay for you? (”DUDE!!! That is sooo much better!!!”)[Stiles goes around for days opening doors and yelling “FBI: DSA GET ON THE GROUND!!!” to his coworkers who have no idea what he is talking about]

the department is kept in the dark, theless people who know it exists the better. Stiles makes the code of the department” Nous protègons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protèger eux-měmes” for Allison. (and the fbi director and the president aren’t happy it’s french, they would prefer latin or something. but Stiles is firm that it needs to be french.)

The department grows slowly, only bringing in experienced agents who have already seen some questionable things while on missions. They work with Area 51 sometimes, other times they work with a supernatural version of liverpool. 

Soon, the DSA is big enough to warrant it’s own headquarters (”Stilinski, it’s not a secret lair” “Chief we have an airplane hanger mined into a mountain. It’s a secret lair,”) 

Derek, Stiles’ husband, helps out sometimes, but not too often, he’d rather stay at home and focus on his woodworking business or something.

and eventually, Stiles becomes the head of the DSA and he has a really cool office like Ice Cube’s in 22 Jump Street (as per his request (omg what a loser)). he’ll sit up in his office as he sees new kids, both human and supernatural, come into the secret lair for the first time and see how great it is. they stop many many supernatural attacks in america, but also worldwide. Derek brings him lunch sometimes.

this is his legacy, and when he retires, they put a bust of him in the hall of fbi fame and another in the DSA headquarters. 


Teen Wolf AU: Where Lydia is awarded the Fields Medal and lands on the cover of TIME, where they do a piece on her accomplishments and personal life.

STEREK AU ✥  FBI  {for @pheobehalliwell}

Agent Stilinksi and Agent Hale work in separate branches of the FBI, Stiles in Intelligence, and Derek in the National Security. They get along like a dog and a cat: a big, grumpy cat and an overly-excited puppy. So, Stiles finds it best to just not get in his way. But when the biggest lead on the kidnapping group comes their way, not only does their teams decided to group up as a unit, they decide that in order to track down the alleged couple, Derek and Stiles should go undercover to a string of high-end events as a couple. A couple. 

One month of discrete undercover work means that Derek and Stiles need to become Derek and Stiles, and Agent Lahey even suggest they live together to be able to seem believable (Stiles swears he’s going to get revenge). One month of fake hand-holding, fake terms of endearment, and fake hugs and kisses, and Derek learns that maybe Stiles isn’t so bad to be around, even if he is always spastic and leaving socks everywhere. And Stiles thinks Derek is actually kind of nice if you get him to open up, and he is an amazing cuddler. 

And if, after they make the arrest and close the case, Stiles stills stays over at Derek’s, no one says anything. 

(And Agent McCall definitely doesn’t say anything when he catches them in the conference room with flushed cheeks and messy hair. In fact, he just sends a mass text to Agents Martin, Argent, and Tate.)

It’s been a while, but this was my Sterek Secret Santa gift, a little mix of Criminal Minds AU and Sterek.

anonymous asked:

So if Little Ann is easy to scare and big Ann is already nervous enough when Patt start drinking.....

Patton doesn’t like to drink more than a glass of wine, if that, when Ann is little. but sometimes he’s already tipsy or drunk when Ann slips into head space. Drunk Patton is loud and angry doesn’t like dealing with a sensitive and scared Ann. Luckily, every time it’s happened, one of the other two have been around to get Ann somewhere safer and make Patton sleep it off.

anonymous asked:

86 and andreil??

86: “Perhaps you’ll take me out one day — or do I have to make an appointment?” (I combined this with a prompt from foxpaws10 from ages ago based on this post, and I kind of warped both of your prompts i hope this is still okaaay basically it’s doctor andrew and that’s all u need to know)

His morning is a string of disasters that begins with covering the ER in the Sunday rush of hypochondriac elderly and fussy children. It’s one long stretch of kicked over paint buckets, a mess you can’t ignore, splattering the walls and getting on his shoes.

Andrew chose surgery almost entirely for the distance of it, the sterility of a room with a slab of meat, a tray of knives, and a sickness he can actually cut out.

He’s a doctor because he can be, and patients sometimes like that he doesn’t speak a word to them, like silence equals genius.

He likes that there are some patients that come into the ER unconscious and leave the OR unconscious, and all he has is a problem and a ticking clock. He always solves the problem. He thinks maybe it’s because he is one.

The sinking ship of his Sunday in the emergency room goes from slippery to debilitating with one patient.

Two showy ER doctors with their lab coats off and their sleeves rolled up go into the private room they’ve cordoned off, and they both come out looking pinched in the face with their stethoscopes clenched in their fists.

“He’s a fucking disaster,” one of them says, leaning up against the information desk with his eyes still pulling back to the closed door of the room.

“I know. I thought, I dunno. That the news was exaggerating.”

Andrew tilts his head and listens without making any move to leave his post, filling out inane charts as illegibly as he can.

One of the residents chances a look at him and Andrew makes a point of catching him. The guy startles, then juts his chin.

“Maybe you’ll get along with him, Minyard. He’s as crazy as you.”

“You’ve mistaken the hospital for a playground,” Andrew says mildly. “Give me his chart.”


“His chart.”

He looks at his friend, mouth slack, and then the one holding the chart holds it out like a dirty rag.

“He’s Boston’s starting striker,” he stage whispers. Andrew takes the clipboard and ignores him, scanning the details. “We’re not supposed to let any patients know.”

“That Neil Josten is causing a scene ten feet away from them?” he says, and the men titter uncomfortably. “Why should he get the luxury of privacy?”

“How did you—“

“The news is available to everyone, Bryant, you fuck.” He rounds the desk and makes for the closed and shuttered room, dropping the chart in the receptacle outside.

“He shouldn’t be allowed to practice,” someone says behind him, and then someone else, softer, scornful: “surgeons”.

Andrew wrings the door knob and finds himself abruptly face to face with the singular most swollen person he’s ever seen. He’s obviously bolting for it, his gown gaping at the neck and someone’s stolen shoes jammed on. Andrew scans the defiant face, the shock of red hair, the near invisible trail of blood from an incorrectly removed IV.

“Sit down.”


Andrew watches Neil Josten— and it is him, one of the handful of strikers on Boston’s team and certainly the most newsworthy — size him up. His eyes run the same circuit Andrew’s would if he were looking to fight his way out: door, threat, surreptitiously behind him for a weapon, back again.

“I’ll drug you,” Andrew says simply. Neil’s good eye, the one that isn’t purpling, goes narrow.

“Are you allowed to say that?”

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SterekReverseBang 2017

Titel: Dancing On Blades

Author: @tryslora

Link to Fic : AO3

For my second contribution to the Sterek Reverse Bang I had the honor to work with @tryslora. She created a wonderful fic for this gifset. I can’t thank her enough.

My first art contribution to the SRB was posted on June 8th  and  June 29th.

Fool Me Once

read on ao3

I’m back from my brief hiatus with a fic that absolutely no one asked for! I hope you enjoy it!

Andrew had lived in Baltimore back when he lived with the Stevensons. Baltimore was an ugly city, full of run-down factories and towns that had bigger gangs than budgets, side by side with stadiums and news stations and hotels.

Gentrification, Andrew’s word of the week, was terribly appropriate here.

Gillian Stevenson was a teacher who thought strongly about everything. She was either with you or against you. Unfortunately for the school board, she wasn’t with them.

Andrew would head to her classroom once the dismissal bell rang, listen to her complain as he helped her clean up after her students, and hopefully be given a slice of whatever cake she was pairing with her wine to dull the agony of the impending parent-teacher conferences.

He liked Gill.

Markus Stevenson was a gym teacher Gill had met at one of her old teaching jobs. Markus had been a football player in college and seeing a borderline malnourished child on his doorstep made him want to encourage Andrew to find a passion in sports.

He supposed Markus could be worse.

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