#So nothing was done before he finally went nuclear.

[privateolives]

GRHJGUMERGJMERGAM YOU HAVE SMT OCs??? I wanna know more

I sure do. Long long ago when SMT//Imagine was still novelty me and my roleplaying crew at the time decided to make a roleplay guild called Clan Volatile. Because these fuckers were all ticking time bombs in their own right.

My ticking timebomb of choice was a young man called Dastolle Kobayashi, the resident clan tank and horribly abused workhorse.

So for those of you not in the know, SMT Imagine was an MMO set in the interrim between SMT1 and SMT2. My roleplay group at the time decided to set up an rp guild in the game, exploring the first generations of humans who wouldn't remember the days before the nuclear fallout of SMT1. None of them would survive to make it to SMT2, which was also part of the concept. Having a good ol' look at those people who perished when things started to get ugly again.

He's a sweet guy, if not the smartest... though he's still smarter than people give him credit for. Unfourtunately he's also incredibly traumatised and suffer from intense amounts of anger (secret) that's being kept in check only by his intense fear of abandonment (Apparent to anyone with eyes).

He's unquestionably loyal to his clan. Why? Because he doesn't trust his own judgement on who he can trust or not - and his departed mentor promised him that these people would be his friends.

It... didn't go so well. He's the "best friend" of an incredibly abusive clan leader who's sanity is probably compromised by his demon fusion wings (remember the freaky lore with the demon accessories?) and something of a (rather objectifying) interest to said leader's twin sister.

They're all C-rank demon busters, so only in the about level 20s or so. Real nobodies doing grunt work that noone has time to keep much of an eye on. They can survive, and that's good enough.

He doesn't like books (they're religious items that steal people away) and may or may not be trying to burn a clanmate's bible without him finding out. He's staunchely neutral due to both his parents leaving him for each their faction when he was younger, and mostly uses beast demons. They're nice and simple. His primary demon is a fire-breathing unicorn who likes to mess with people and has a narcisism problem.

He took up smithing as a secondary clan-job. He mostly makes swords for their leader, he likes his hammer.

I also had a cool thing going where I had reaction images drawn both with and without the visor that let ME know when he was being mildly deranged under the cover of the visor, but other people wouldn't tell because they couldn't see his eyes. There was a lot of interesting psychology going on with him.

Dastolle is a docile guy who works hard to try and ensure his "friends" won't abandon him out of an extreme fear of being alone again. It's the only thing keeping an increasingly boiling anger down.... for now. But he's got a dark and bloody future ahead of him.

I can talk more about his story if there's any interest.

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝙸𝚇. 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: this chapter contains a sensitive content warning (please refer to the dedicated warning below), POV switching, soft!Joel, protective!Joel, mental/emotional/financial abuse, trauma responses, high functioning alcoholism, angst, hurt/comfort | WORD COUNT: 13k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: The storm rolls in.

Please read with caution if you have difficulties with works concerning domestic violence and abuse. This chapter contains several depictions and discussions of graphic violence. Highly sensitive portions WILL BE MARKED with my sensitive material banner if you wish to skip the more challenging portions. The sensitive material banner looks like this:

April Fool’s Day felt like a very fitting start to the month. Every day lately had felt like one massive joke the universe was playing on you, repeating ad nauseam and never letting you forget just how stupid you were. The extent to which you’d fucked things up with Joel had illuminated your shortcomings so brightly that it nearly burned everything else out. You’d gone so full throttle with your defensiveness that you risked severing the entire relationship during your first real fight.

The fact that it was entirely avoidable made it all the more humiliating. Of course, avoiding it would’ve required you to not be so damn defensive over everything, holding things so close to your chest that they ended up crushing your ribcage and making you implode on yourself.  

The shame in the aftermath was almost immediate, starting before you’d even walked all the way home, and it had only flourished since. You’d responded like a child - petulant and overreactive. Like you were nothing more than an injured animal backed into a corner, all bristled fur and warning snaps of teeth before finally striking when pushed too far.

But you hadn’t been backed into a corner, and Joel had simply sought understanding and connection. The trust he’d asked you to grant him was something he’d more than earned by this point, but you had still rebuffed his kindness and treated him just the same as someone acting in bad faith. A brief moment of retrospection made it obvious his usually coolheadedness slipped in the moment after being shaken up by your disclosure about what had actually happened on New Year’s Eve.

Of course he wasn’t himself after learning that you’d been carrying around such a jarring experience. Of course he’d begun to worry what else you might be shouldering on your own if you were capable of hiding such an upsetting event. Of course he’d reacted by pressing you for an assurance that there wasn’t anything else you were dealing with on your own – especially when he was right there and wanted to help.

He’d toed that line for months around you and had finally crossed it no more than a hair, and you’d gone nuclear. It had been too much, but, the further removed from the fight you got, the more you realized it was always going to be too much. It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d walked on eggshells or barged right in with it. Your inability to handle his push for emotional intimacy was inevitable, and you never even put in the effort beforehand to counteract any of your spiraling. You could’ve at least had a plan. You could’ve at least had something to fall back on. But you didn’t. You’d failed yourself and, maybe worse, failed Joel. 

You’d barely spoken to him the entire week following. Too much anger seated in your chest. Angry at him for prying. Angry at yourself for not giving him the trust he’d earned. Angry at all the life experiences you’d accumulated that made it impossible to just behave like a normal fucking person for once.

Just like he’d done the whole time you’d known him, Joel let you dictate where things went from here. He gave you the space you were clearly signaling for, and you wish he’d force your hand. Call your bluff. Not give you the option to avoid him. You wish he’d put his foot down and demand you get over yourself and your pride and whatever else was holding you back. Make things get back to normal. But of course he would never disrespect your autonomy like that. He’d already apologized for poorly vocalized feelings on his part and pressuring you for information when you clearly weren’t comfortable sharing it. 

You, on the other hand, were too much of a coward to apologize.

What if you apologized and he realized just how crazy you’d acted? What if acknowledging your faults only highlighted them to the point he realized you were never going to grow past the broken person you are? What if by speaking on all your shortcomings he realized he was wasting his time on somebody who was too far gone? Too much of a lost cause? Too undeserving of someone like him?

So, you didn’t apologize. You don’t acknowledge it. You just keep the two of you in an emotionally stunted purgatory. When you kissed him good morning and goodnight, it felt so reserved and loaded. It was like all the life had been sucked out of your energy together. Like you’d sucked all the good out of this relationship just like the emotional vampire you were. The shame spiral was hollowing you from the inside out, and you didn’t know how to make it stop.

You were already on week 3 of fucking up you and Joel’s relationship, and you wanted to slam your head into the wall until you stopped acting like this. Why were you acting like this? Not only was it completely draining, but you had put yourself right back into that cycle of not chasing happiness and going after a better life. 

It took every ounce of willpower you possessed to keep your cool with your dad, but your anger was steadily chipping away at whatever sanity you had left because his girlfriend — no, fiancé — Denise had shifted wedding planning into top gear and made it a sort of forced group activity whenever she was over, which unfortunately was happening more and more. She’d been making herself quite cozy in your house lately and especially when her kids were at after school clubs or spring break sleepaway camps.

While you cooked everyone dinner, cleared the table, and started on the dishes, she set up shop right in the middle of everything with her tacky venue pamphlets, hideous color palette cards, pricing charts for cakes, and all other assortment of wedding planning staples. You were looped into all of it by default as you stood at the sink washing dish after dish and putting leftovers into containers.

You bitterly wondered to yourself why she wasn’t the one cooking the meals and cleaning up after everybody since she was so desperate to be your dad’s wife. If she wanted to play house so bad, why not start right now and spare you the chore of all this mundane labor and forced interaction?

It had never been a mystery what your dad saw in her. She was an attractive woman who fulfilled the role of beautiful wife with two kids young enough that they could be “trained up” with a bit of effort. It was the redo for the perfect nuclear family that your mom, brother, and yourself had never been able to uphold. It made your stomach twist to think of how your dad would no doubt take all the mistakes he’d made with you all – namely, not being harsh or strict enough – and correct them with this second try. 

What Denise saw in him became a little more clear with night after night of inane, one-sided conversations she held with your dad somewhere nearby throwing her a bored hum of agreement every now and then. It was clear that she was projecting her idealizations of a man onto your father rather than seeing what was in front of her. The way she didn’t even seem to care if he answered her or seemed interested made it obvious that any man could be sitting in his place. He was her little paper doll to play house and happily ever after with.

She was so lost in her willed delusions that she was missing the writing on the wall. You had no doubt this time around with a wife and kids that your dad’s corrections would be swift and fierce. Denise was so busy projecting her dream life onto him that she didn’t even realize the horrors waiting for her and her children in the near future. 

Would you have to be there to witness your dad destroy another three lives? Would you have to watch him overpower and break down more children? Would you be the silent, complicit counterpart in all this, having learned to keep quiet if you want to survive? 

You start to feel nauseous imagining the looks of panic in their eyes, settling on you to please save them and watching their faces drop and contort when they realize you can’t. You’re stuck here, too. This is your prison, too, and has been for a very long time.

“Are you even listening?” Denise snips.

You whip around to find her looking at you expectantly. Your dad wasn’t sitting at the table anymore. Denise held a trifold pamphlet in her hand, but you couldn’t see what it was about.

“Are you talking to me?”

“Well who else would I be talking to?” she drones with an eye roll. “You’ve really got your head in the clouds today, huh?”

You grit your teeth at her blatant impoliteness but hold your tongue as best you can. “I must not have heard you over doing the dishes,” you say pointedly.

She’s already got her focus on the pamphlet again and hardly acknowledges your remark. “Well put that thing down for a minute and let me ask you about this.”

You rest the soggy sponge on the edge of the sink and dry your hands on the towel hanging from the stove. Your brain was just going through the motions as it tried to multitask and figure out what on earth she could possibly have to ask you about. You’re not sure you’ve ever held an entire conversation with just her. Usually your dad was hovering around, no doubt making sure you didn’t say the wrong thing and incriminate him.

She motions for you to sit without glancing up, and you settle into the chair across the table from her. “Uh, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

“I need to make sure we can count on you for the wedding party. We’re working on the lists right now, and I don’t want to put you on there if it’s going to be a problem.” She pins you with a haughty look and crosses her legs and arms.

You sit in silence for a moment, stunned at the idea that you’d ever willingly take part in this stupid marriage. “Uhhhh, I’m not really sure what you mean by that.”

She rolls her eyes again and shakes her head like she’s already talked this over with you a million times. “What I mean is,” she huffs with a sour look, “the people in your dad’s life seem to have a bad habit of just…. running off and leaving their responsibilities in the dust. I want your word that you are going to actually be reliable and not blow the whole thing off the day of just because you get a wild hair up your ass.”

It takes a while for her words to register. The charge of them felt too audacious to have actually come out of her mouth. Had she really just said that? It barely sinks in before she’s talking again.

“So? Are you going to give me your word that you’re not going to skip town so famously like your mom and Calum?” Her eyebrow is arched so high it almost reaches her hairline. She leans forward and snaps her finger in the air as if you need to be yanked from some inattentive state. “Hello? I’m talking to you!”

“Go fuck yourself,” you say quietly.

“What was that?” she asks, turning her head slightly to hear you.

“I said,” you repeat louder, “GO. FUCK. YOURSELF.”

She gasps and drops back against her chair, hand clutched over her heart. “Excuse me?!” “I don’t want anything to do with your sham of a wedding,” you seethe. “I don’t want anything to do with this entire stupid marriage that’s just going to end up in the gutter because you’re such a shallow, vapid bitch that you can’t even see what you’re dragging yourself and your kids into. You’re a shitty mom and I guess a shitty wife since this is gonna be your second marriage. Failed the first time. Gonna fail again.”

Denise sits in a stunned silence before her look of shock morphs into a furious indignation. You cut her off before she can even think to speak negatively about your brother again.

“So to answer your question, Denise: NO. You can’t count on me to be there. I wouldn’t waste my time on somebody who’s so far beneath me and my brother. Keep his name out of your disgusting mouth and spend more time worrying about what sort of hell you’re about to drag your kids into.”

Your chest heaves with adrenaline, fists balled tight, as she jumps up from her chair and rounds on you. She shoves a shaky finger in your face and hisses, “How dare you!”

You swat her hand away and stand your ground. She’s not much taller than you, and, much to your morbid amusement, she’s patently nervous to engage in such a confrontational, physical way.

“What the fuck is goin’ on in here?” your dad thunders.

You spin around and lock eyes with him. Your face must be a dead giveaway because his own darkens with a foreboding anger. Denise swipes her things from the table and shoves them into the tote bag hanging off one of the chairs before shouldering past you, sniffling loudly, and stopping in front of your dad in the doorway. 

“She doesn’t even show you any respect, so I don’t know why I thought there’d be any for me.” 

She looks back at you with an expression of pure disdain and straightens herself taller. “I’m not staying a single night in this house if she’s going to be here,” she declares before stomping past your dad and down the hallway to the front door.

He calls her name, but she doesn’t stop. Her disregard for his instruction seems to surprise him. He chases after her out of the house and leaves you standing in the kitchen. Your head is pounding, and everything is a little fuzzy around the edges. Your chest bounces up and down with stilted breaths, and your entire body begins to tremble with the realization of what you’ve just done. You hadn’t meant to unleash all of that on her, but something about her mentioning Calum was the last straw.

It never felt quite right sticking up for yourself. You were never convinced it was worth it – that you were worth it. Too much trouble for too little of a person. But Calum? He was someone worth sticking up for. Despite having virtually no interaction at all with him, Denise felt qualified to make outlandish statements and character judgements about him. Maybe she felt emboldened because he wasn’t here to defend himself, but you couldn’t just let his name drip from her mouth like a poison she was trying to spit out.

You hear her car engine roar to life. The peal of her tires sound all the way down the street until it fades away completely. You unclench your hands and run your clammy palms against your jeans. The silence grows louder as you wait for your father to come back inside and address you. Your eyes dart to the back door for a split second. 

Should you run? Did you have time? Could you just bolt and run to Joel’s?

The heavy creak of footfall in the hallway makes you jump. Your dad walks wordlessly past the doorway and heads into the garage. You stand frozen on the spot, bewildered at his decision to not even confront you about making Denise upset and speaking negatively about him. Was he going to make you wait it out? A sort of psychological torture knowing that his reprimand was inevitable?

His footsteps grow louder as he stalks back to the kitchen with a large glass bottle in tow. He eyes you as he takes a large pull from it before setting it aside on the counter. Your fists instinctively clench again as he calmly approaches you. Without a word or a warning, he draws his arm back and forcefully strikes you across the face with an open hand hit. The impact of it knocks you off balance, and you catch yourself before dropping to the floor.

“Get up.” His voice is a monotone, distant reverberation.

You shakily prop yourself up from the tiles and stand up again. Even though you knew it was coming, the second hit still catches you off guard. You crash into the floor hard this time – so haphazardly that your knees are stinging just as badly as your face.

“Get up,” he repeats in the same dead tone.

You shake your head. You lock your vision to the tiles beneath you, too frightened of making eye contact with him should he consider it some sort of challenge of his dominance. You hear the bottle clink against the counter after he takes another large gulp. You track his dress shoes as they get closer.

“No? You can’t face the consequences of your choices?” he derides.

He doesn’t wait for an answer. The thick sole of his shoe connects with the meat of your hip, sending a sharp shooting pain down your leg. Your mouth opens in silent wheeze. Somehow amidst all of this you still don’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing you scream. He kicks you again, forcing you onto your back, and you stare blankly up at him. The ceiling lights illuminating him from above cast a shadow across his face, but you can make out the hard edge of his jaw where it pulls into a sneer.

The vice grip of his hand encircles your bicep, and he wrenches you up with it just as his other hand balls into a fist and strikes you twice in the face. A shrill noise fills your ears like a bell’s been wrung, and white speckles dance in your vision. You taste the metallic bite of blood before you feel it drip from your nose and mouth. You’re too disoriented to realize you’ve been hoisted up onto the table until you feel the wiry cinch of his fingers closing in around your throat like a vice.

“You think you call the shots,” he hisses. “You don’t call the fuckin’ shots.”

He grips your throat tighter and throttles it for what is probably a few seconds but feels like an eternity.

“ The only reason you’re even allowed to breathe is because I let you.” To emphasize his point, he squeezes hard enough that you start choking and coughing against the pressure. Your fingers work fruitlessly against his hold, and he lets go just as black begins to fog your vision. You scramble for the hallway, your brain screaming at you to run run run. Your entire body snaps backward, and you hazily gather that he grabbed your hair and yanked you downward.

“Running away from your problems, huh?” he tuts. “Just like your mom and brother.”

Your hands are clamped around his forearm, but it doesn’t do much to loosen his grip on your hair where the hold of it makes your scalp prickle.

“Well, you don’t get to give up and run off like they did, so how about we clear a few things up, hm? Here’s how this is gonna go from here on out,” he fumes.

His eyes bore into yours, but there’s nothing more than an angry void staring back at you. Even the vicious wrath and violence consuming him are not enough to bring life to his eyes. You swallow hard and feel the sting of your skin where he’d just been choking you. He jerks you around like a sad little puppet and effortlessly maneuvers you across the room to the sink. Droplets of blood fall and bloom into the dirty water. You plant your hands onto the edge for the tiny bit of leverage you can manage, but he threads his arm through your elbows and captures them behind your own back and against his chest. You can only go where he directs you to go, and that place is head first into the dirty water. 

You gasped as your face plummeted but managed to hold your breath just before the wide cast of his palm held it submerged. You puff out a blast of air and suck another one in the second your mouth rises above the liquid.

“You are going to apologize to Denise,” he spits.

He slams your head under the water again rougher this time, and your face knocks against plates and glasses before coming up again.

“You will not embarrass me.”

You don’t close your eyes in time and get a heavy, soapy wash in them. They sting and burn, but your arms aren’t free to wipe it away. You splutter and wheeze, desperate to center yourself and keep as calm a mind as possible. It was hard to think beyond the primal instincts of catching and holding your breath. Apparently your survival instincts are vexing to your dad because the next time he sends you under, he grabs and twists one of your wrists while simultaneously digging a knee into the soft curve of your inner thigh. You scream at the surprise pain, gurgling and inhaling water in the process.

You’re still shrieking and coughing when he brings you up, and he screams in your ear. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

You flinch and whimper but manage to choke back frightened sobs.

“If you ever embarrass me like that again, you might never come back up from that water. Understand?” It’s said like a twisting knife through your ribs, and you wordlessly nod your understanding.

“You realize nobody would give a shit if you were dead? You know how long you’d have to be missing for someone to realize it and go lookin’ for you?”

“Dad, please,” you whisper. “Please don’t.” You’re not sure what you’re asking of him other than to not hurt you anymore tonight.

He huffs a humorless laugh and shakes his head. “Un-fucking-believable.”

He flings you across the room, sending you flying into the table and chairs. They screech and clatter around your bumbling body, and you don’t have the energy to fight the fall. You lie in a crumpled heap halfway under the table and suck in generous lungfuls of air.

“Clean this mess up and fix your face,” he barks before gripping his precious bottle of liquor and ambling down the hall and up the stairs. 

The reality of what just happened begins to register. Your body throbs all over. Your chest is tight, and your breaths feel harder to take. Your body shakes with the effort of getting yourself off the floor. Little drops of blood fall from your nose. You grab up a handful of paper towels and shove them against your face. The applied pressure drowns out the quiet little cries that are wedged in your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to take normal breaths, but the adrenaline slamming through your veins practically demands your inhales barely make it past your windpipe.

Everything hurts. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. It hurts to cry. Your mind goes a bit numb as you quietly right the upturned chairs, wipe up the dirty floor, and clear out the sink. Your hair and face drips water onto the floor you just dried.  You can’t say how much time has passed, but it’s dark outside now. Upstairs is quiet. You pray he’s drank himself to sleep. Your mind is chaotic and sluggish all at once, and pulling a cohesive thought together feels impossible.

A deep part of you just wants to go to sleep and not be conscious for any of this. The louder, bigger part of you is ringing every alarm bell in your mind. This was just like the time you thought your dad was going to kill Calum in front of you. It was the same feeling of fear, except this time you held it for yourself.

Calum. He said go to Joel’s. He’d made you promise that you’d go to Joel’s if you needed to. 

You want to. 

You’re going to.

But what if your dad finds out? What if he shows up to Miller Contracting offices? What if he finds Joel’s house? Did he own a firearm? You don’t think he does. But what if he did? Would he hurt Joel for intervening?

Your brain fires off a million miles a minute, but none of it is helpful. Your phone buzzes on the dresser. It’s Joel. You hit the big red button and shoot him a text.

You: I don’t feel good. I can’t come to work tomorrow. Sorry.

He calls again, and you decline again.

Joel: Please answer the phone. Do you need anything? You: I’m ok You: I just rly need to sleep rn Joel: Please call me tomorrow morning when you wake up! You: ok I will Joel: Get some sleep. Please tell me if you need anything.

You set the phone back down and sink down onto the edge of the bed. Your head feels heavy in your hands. Your body gives way and slumps to the floor. You lay there so long you feel the impression of whatever you landed on pressing into your arm. You crawl to your dresser and pull yourself up to look at the clock.

11pm.

You slink quietly to the bathroom and run the tap. You should probably shower, but you don’t want to risk waking your dad. You look at yourself in the mirror for the first time and burst into a fresh wave of tears. You bury your head into a washcloth and cry. You cry until you can’t anymore. The crying makes your face even puffier. You douse the washcloth in ice cold water and press it against your face. It’s not enough to offset the swelling. It’s going to look even worse tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Would your dad even remember any of this in the morning? Worse yet, would he feel like he hadn’t gotten his message across the first time and come back to make a firmer point?

A shudder rolls through your body. You can’t stay here. You can’t be here. He might kill you. He wants you dead. He might try to kill you the next time. There will be a next time. The next time could be the last time. You can’t stay here. You can’t be here.

You clean yourself up as best you can and change into a hoodie and clothes that aren’t soiled with blood. Your hands shake and make it hard to hold the bobby pin steady while you unscrew a few vents and retrieve the small amounts of money you’d been diverting over the past several months. You have enough to stay somewhere for a little bit. You cram what belongings you can into a backpack and threadbare dufflebag. The rest will have to get left behind.

Your head is empty and buzzing. The night air smarts against your busted lip, throbbing nose, and puffy eye. Your legs are a lead weight, each step forward harder than the last. The shed door feels impossibly heavy and strains muscles you’re pretty sure you’ve never used before. The effort of mounting the bike almost makes you cry again. The muscle spasms and sheer exhaustion make it difficult to steer. You bike slowly but surely to the rundown, affordable motel you’d passed enough times to have the location burned into your brain. There certainly weren't enough reserves there to have found lodging any other way.

The front desk clerk barely gives you a second look as she slides you a room key. Paying cash makes things easier. You aren’t even sure the credit machine is working anyway. Her lazy drawl curls into your ear: there’s some vending machines on the righthand side of the building if you’re hungry or thirsty. You give a curt nod and wobble to your room. It smells moldy and is full of dust. You lock the door and collapse into the bed. Dawn bleeds on the horizon.

Joel anxiously passes your house on his way to the office. Nothing seems amiss. Maybe you really were just feeling under the weather and needed a day to rest. Your texts last night were so curt, and the declined calls did little to ease his worry. You hadn’t texted him this morning like you’d said you would. Maybe you were still asleep.

You’d been off ever since that argument. He’d apologized for overstepping your boundary, but things hadn’t gone back to normal. You’d been pulling away ever since. He was afraid you were going to break things off entirely, find a different job, find a new life without him . . .

It’s almost noon, and you still haven’t replied to the text he sent this morning just to check up on how you were doing. The anxiety makes his stomach clench so tight he can’t even eat lunch. It just about bottoms out when you text later that afternoon to say you weren’t going to be able to make it in tomorrow either. You don’t respond when he calls. It rings and rings and rings before going to voicemail. Last night you’d at least hit the decline button and sent him to voicemail after the second ring.

Something was wrong.

To hell with boundaries. He needed to check on you. He needed to see for himself that you were okay. If you were upset with him and planning on breaking things off with him, he at least wanted a chance to beg and plead for you to hear him out and keep trying. He’d do anything you asked. He’d do anything to make things right.

Your dad’s car is in the driveway when Joel pulls up and parks along the curb. He knocks on the door – three firm raps – and waits. A few seconds pass before your dad swings the door open, a waft of grain alcohol emanating from him with the motion. Your dad looks surprised for a split second before pulling his face together into a tight sneer.

“Joel Miller,” he drawls. He drags it out like the punchline to an unspoken joke.

“Sorry to interrupt your evening activities—” Joel deadpans before getting cut off.

“You here to get the rest of her shit, huh?” he scoffs.

The callous lilt in his voice instantly raises Joel’s hackles. Dread pours into his bloodstream. Where were you? What had happened? Were you okay?

“Yeah. S’pose I am,” he responds tightly.

Your dad mutters something about “not brave enough to handle her own messes” under his breath and gestures broadly for Joel to enter. He stumbles down the hall, pausing at one point to steady himself, before waving Joel off into your room.

“S’all yours, pal,” he slurs.

Joel pushes past him and takes in the disheveled state of your room. It was clear that you’d left in a hurry. Anger swells in his chest as he pieces together what at this point is undeniable. How long had you been living in this? Why hadn’t you told him? He’s sick to his stomach knowing he could’ve helped if you’d just let him. He’s angry with himself for not demanding you let him help.

He gathers up what’s left of your things, but there’s nothing to pack it in. He improvises with some plastic construction bags from his truck. 

Your dad hovers and sways in the hallway, snorting loudly at the bags. “Yeah, that’s about right,” he chortles.

“What’s that now?” Joel grits out.

“Couldn't help but-but laugh at the garbage bags. Just very fitting,” he notes with a theatrical shrug. 

Joel shakes his head, not following the wet brained commentary spilling out.

“Garbage for garbage,” your dad clarifies in a nasty tone.

Joel feels like he could grind his jaw to ash with how tightly it's clamped. He’s held his tongue long enough.

“Could say the same about you havin’ nothin’ to offer,” he bites back. “A big nothin’ of a man who has nothin’ to offer either of his kids. Two kids that have done worlds beyond what seems possible considering the absolute shit hand they were dealt with having parents like you.”

The look on your dad’s face sours instantly. “Y’know, I’m not sure what the ‘arrangement’ is between the two of you, but I’ll just say I’m glad she’s somebody else’s problem now. Best of luck with that one. Even her own mom never even looked back when she left. My ex was dumb as shit, but she was smart enough to know neither of those kids are easy to love.”

Joel draws himself up to full height and towers over this poor excuse of a man and a father. He considers kicking in a big patch of drywall in the hallway or maybe even your dad’s head for a split second, just to fuck something up. Just to send a message. Just to show dominance and sow the seed of fear. Just enough to make your dad uncertain of his own safety.

But he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction or waste any more time here. He needs to figure out where you are and if you’re okay. The last of the plastic bags are shoved into the bed of the truck and into the seat. He starts up the engine and shifts it into drive.

“You got anything to say to her, you go through me,” Joel growls out the driver side window without bothering to make eye contact. 

“Oh, don’t worry. I already cut her line today,” he laughs from the porch. “Should be cut off by now or at least by tomorrow. Couldn’t call her even if I was dumb enough to want that kinda thing.”

Joel doesn’t bother saying anything else. He waits until he’s parked in his own driveway before pulling his phone out and calling you. No answer. He calls four more times with no answer. Every time it just rings and rings and rings until sending him over to voicemail. There’s no new texts from you. He starts to panic.

Joel: Please just let me know you’re okay.

He placates himself with the thought that maybe you went to Kenzie’s. She didn’t live too far away if memory served him correctly. He unloads your things from the truck and haphazardly sets them down in the living room. A work email pops up, but he ignores it. He goes straight for the text notification bubble and breathes a sigh of relief to see it’s from you.

You: I’m ok You: just need to rest more You: hopefully will be better over the weekend You: sorry for having to call out

He stews over what he should say. Were you hiding from him, too? Were you getting out of the city? Where were you?

The same work email comes through a second time. Then a third. Then a fourth. Joel clicks on it and reads the vague, nondescript request from some woman named Jasmine to please reach out to her about an urgent matter concerning her parents’ flooded basement. He hasn’t done a basement in a while. This lady’s gotta have the wrong contracting company, and, by the looks of it, she’s not going to stop pestering him until he responds.

Joel sighs and taps the number she gave. It rings twice before it goes through. He wants to get this conversation over with as fast as possible and send this Jasmine woman on her way and in the right direction of whichever contractor it is that’s actually responsible for her parents’ basement.

“Hey there, just giving you a call back from an email you sent. I’m not sure you’ve got the right compa–”

“Sorry, is this Joel Miller?” she interrupts.

“Yes, ma’am, and I’m one of the owners of Miller Contracting. Like I was sayin’, I think you’ve got–”

“Hi, sorry again, but I wasn’t sure how else to get a hold of you.”

Joel’s throat suddenly feels tight. “Who is this?”

“My name’s Jasmine. You don’t know me, but I’m Calum’s girlfriend. I think you know his sister? That’s why I’m calling,” she explains.

“Is she with you? Is she okay?” he abruptly prods.

The line is quiet for a moment, and then a deflated reply, “No. No, she’s not. I was calling because–”

There’s some muffled conversation coming through, and Joel talks loudly into the receiver. “Hello? HELLO?”

“Yes, hi. I’m still here. Sorry. That’s Calum. He’s a little worried is all. He hasn’t been able to get a hold of her, and—”

The line is a fuzzy static for a few beats before a male voice comes through. “Joel? This is Calum. Man, I haven’t heard from her, and I was trying to think of how to get in contact with you. Jazzy thought of sending the email. You haven’t heard from her? She didn’t respond to any of my texts yesterday, and when I tried calling her earlier she didn’t pick up. It’s not like her. I’m getting fuckin’ nervous, man.”

“She responded to my texts last night and today, but she didn’t say much. Said she needed a few days off from work but didn’t say why. Just that she wasn’t feelin’ good.”

“So you haven’t seen her?” Calum presses, sounding more panicked by the second. “When’s the last time you saw her? Heard from her?”

“No, I haven’t seen her today. I went by your house to check on her, but she wasn’t there. Your dad was shitfaced. Most of her stuff was gone. He assumed I was there to get the rest of it, so I just went with it. I don’t know where she went, but it’s pretty clear she left the house for good.”

There’s a muffled conversation on the other end, and Joel strains to listen to it. Bits of “Calum, baby, you have to stay calm, okay?” and anxious sounding responses each time is all he can make out.

“Joel, man, please–”

“Listen to me, kid. I’m gonna go find her, okay? You listening to what I’m sayin’? You hear me?”

“Y-Yeah, I hear you,” Calum stammers. “I just– you don’t know everything about what’s going on. It’s… it’s not a good situation.”

“I gathered as much,” Joel lightly corrects. “Give me your number and Jasmine’s number. I’m gonna get to the bottom of this and make sure she’s safe, alright? I’ll get in touch with one of you to let you know when I find her, and I promise you she’s safe with me, okay?”

“Thank you,” Calum breathes.

Joel jots down the multiple numbers Jasmine gives him – “just in case” –  and, after giving another round of assurances, ends the call. He takes the time to center himself and calm his racing thoughts. He wasn’t going to be effective in locating you if his mind was shooting off every second. The device location feature on all the work phones springs to mind, but his search comes up empty. He knows someone who could help him figure it out, though.

“Dad?” Sarah’s voice comes through. “What’s up? Shouldn’t you be in bed by now, gramps?”

“Uh, yeah. Probably. Very funny. Listen, I need your help with somethin’.”

“Is everything okay?” she asks, voice shifting into concern.

“Sort of.”

He explains the situation without the more worrisome details and is feeling like he’s finally getting somewhere when she walks him through the steps and helps him locate the dingy motel a short drive away where your location pin is highlighted.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, baby girl?”

“Look, I know I was kinda… I know I was sort of hinting at it with some jokes when you were here helping with our kitchen – and I’m not saying I know everything about your, um, situation with her – but what exactly is the plan? I mean, does she want to be found? Because if you go looking for her but she doesn’t want to be found….”

Her loaded silence hangs heavy over the line. Joel understands. If he inserts himself into a situation where he’s not welcome, he could land himself in trouble or just make things worse.

He lets out a heavy exhale. “I think if anything I can’t live with the idea of her being out there scared and by herself.”

“I get that, dad, but what if… look, just- just be careful, okay?”

“I promise I will, baby girl. I’ll shoot you a text when I get this sorted out, alright?”

“Okay. Just please be careful, and, like, get Uncle Tommy to help you or something if you need it, okay? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

It warms his heart to hear how protective she is. “I’m not gonna get hurt. I just need to get to the bottom of all this. I swear I’ll text you when I get word of somethin’, okay?”

“Okay. Love you, dad. Be safe.”

“Love you, too, baby girl.”

The pitter patter of rain snaps against the window as the call ends and quickly picks up into a full blown shower within minutes. The windshield wipers on his truck can barely keep up with the downpour, but thankfully it’s not a long drive to your location pin. The bright orange doors with peeling paint all look alike in the wet blur of the storm. He can’t even make out room numbers. 

Between the late hour and the storm, there’s not a lot of movement. He considers knocking on doors until he finds you, but he doesn’t much want to get the front desk or cops called on him for disturbing the lodgers. He wants to get out and walk around just to feel like he’s doing something productive, but that didn’t seem like that great of an idea, either. So, he waits. And waits. And waits. The storm picks up and stalls in a waning cycle. A few people answer their doors for food deliveries or step outside for a smoke, but he’s only eliminated a handful of possible rooms that could be yours.

It would’ve taken you a long time to get here by walking, so he assumes you biked. It was unlikely you’d leave that outside, though, given this wasn’t the best area. It was sure to be stolen if left unattended. There really isn’t much separating the rooms from the parking lot and nearby street. The thought of you being here by yourself, practically out in the open, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It wasn’t an ideal layout for privacy and protection if your dad wanted to find you and somehow managed to figure out where you were.

You haven’t responded to any of Joel’s most recent texts and calls. He dims his phone and sighs. A crack of thunder makes him flinch, drawing his attention to a dimly lit hallway he hadn’t noticed before. His insides get tight when he starts to wonder if you’d even gotten a room at all. What if you were just huddled up in some random hallway because you didn’t have enough money for a room?

That singular thought is all it takes to get him jumping out of his truck and making a beeline for the flickering hallway. The buzz of old vending machines grows louder as he approaches. A small figure stands in front of the machines, hugging tightly around their torso as they look over the offerings. The smaller frame skewed feminine in build, but it was far enough away that he couldn’t be certain. The last thing he wanted to do was give some poor, unsuspecting woman a scare.

Joel kept his distance and pretended to be on his phone, although he wasn’t even certain the person could see him from where he was loitering between a minivan and a tall truck. They seemed skittish and distracted as they grabbed their dispensed snack and scurried back across the parking lot. He wanted to yell out your name, just in case, but that would frighten the already jumpy person regardless of who it was. Thinking quickly, Joel pulled out his phone and tapped your contact icon. The figure paused just as they got to their door and tugged a glowing phone from their pocket. A quick tap and the screen went black – just as Joel’s did.

The figure slipped through the room door and quickly closed it behind them. It could’ve been a coincidence, but this was the closest thing to finding you that he’d come across all night. With a renewed determination, Joel strode quickly across the lot and towards the room.

The rain had finally let up enough for you to wander over to the vending machines. Your face – along with pretty much everything else – was still sore, but the bag of flavored popcorn you got was as soft a food as you could find to settle your gnawing stomach. You hadn’t eaten or drank much of anything due to the discomfort of moving your jaw and chewing. Your stomach gurgles on cue and reminds you that the tense ache crawling up the nape of your neck is probably going to get worse if you don’t get some water and food soon.

The bag slips from your hand at the first gentle knock on the door.

At first you thought you were hearing things, maybe from low blood sugar or lack of sleep over the past couple of days, but then a second firmer knock came. Your legs froze to the spot. How had your dad found you? What was he going to do? Were the people who’d been staying in the room next door still there? Would they be able to hear you if you called for help? You should’ve answered Joel’s call that just came through instead of hitting the decline button.

“Baby, it’s Joel. Are you in there? Sweetheart, if that’s you in there, please just let me talk to ya.”

A sharp gasp jerks your entire chest as it culls into your lungs. Without even thinking, your body propels itself towards the door and towards Joel – towards safety.

“Joel?” you ask in near disbelief. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me, sweetheart. Been lookin’ for you. Been worried sick,” comes the muffled response.

You begin unlocking the door but pause when you remember the current state of your swollen and bruised figure.

Misunderstanding your hesitance as not wanting to see him, he offers, “I know you want space, but… just-just a minute is all I’m askin’. Just give me five minutes and I’ll be outta your hair. I swear it.”

Your heart plummets to the floor knowing he believes you don’t want him here. “No, it’s not that. I want to let you in. It’s just….” You struggle to find the words. “Listen, I need you to close your eyes, okay? Promise me you’ll close your eyes and keep them shut the entire time.”

There’s a loaded silence on the other side of the door. You can only imagine the confusion of such a request, but you aren’t sure how else to go about this.

“I’ll keep ‘em shut. I won’t even touch you, baby. I swear I’ll keep my distance, okay? I swear it.”

“Okay. I’m– I’ll open up the door for you now, so close your eyes, okay?”

“They’re closed.”

You draw in a deep exhale and brace yourself for the interaction ahead. No more secrets. No more hiding. No more lying. You pull the door open and want to crumple into him right then and there. Big, broad, and safe. Waiting for you. Came looking for you even though it’d been storming for hours now.

You gingerly grasp his hand and lead him inside, shutting the door closed behind you. His nose wrinkles at the damp smell of the dingy room that you’ve become nose blind to at this point. You guide him to the edge of the bed where his knees hit and prompt him to sit. He reaches for your other hand and gently holds them in his own.

“Sorry. Know I’m not supposed’ta touch you. Just need to feel that you’re really here. Been worried about you.”

“That’s okay,” you whisper. “You can hold my hands. You can hold me. It’s okay.”

“How come I can hold you but I can’t see you?” he hedges.

“That’s… hard to answer.”

“Hm. Got anything to do with your room lookin’ like a bat flew outta hell?”

Your stomach clenches uncomfortably. “How do you know that?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Went to check on you. Like I said, I got worried. Your dad answered the door and assumed I was there to get the rest of your things, which I did.”

“Did he… Did my dad say anything?”

“Nothin’ worth repeating,” he huffs humorlessly. “Just some shit about turnin’ your phone off. Told him if he ever wanted to talk to you he had to do it through me.”

“Y-You said that?”

“Yeah. I did. And I meant it.”

A velvety, piercing thread of emotion weaves around your ribcage at his words, and you’re overcome with the magnitude of just how much this man in front of you cares about you.

He shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat. “I really wanna see you, sweetheart. I wanna see you and hold you. I just need to hold you tight for a minute. Please.”

“Joel,”  you choke out in a flare of trepidation and warning of what happens once he sees you. “You have to promise me, Joel. You have to promise that you won’t have some big reaction. I really don’t think I could handle that right now.”

His brow crunches together like he’s recognizing that whatever he’s imagined is probably not bad enough. “I promise.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can– You can open your eyes.”

His lids barely flutter apart before his jaw sets hard, eyes going into a muted fury as he takes in your constellation of bruising and swelling. He dips his head and nods a few times as if he’s gathering himself, honoring your request that he not have some huge response.

“This happen a lot?” he grits in a low, dangerous tone.

You shrug and ignore the hot feeling growing behind your eyes. “Been a while since it was physical.”

“Is he–Did he–Did he touch you any other kind of way?” His question catches like it burned his throat on the way up. He looks up again, eyes boring into yours.

“No.” You shake your head and drop your gaze. “No, nothing like that. Just, uh, knocked me around a little. Shook me up to make a point, I guess.”

“Do you–Are you hurt?” He grimaces at his own inane question.

You shoot him a humorless smile and shrug your shoulders again. “Feel better than I did this morning, I guess.”

“Did you go anywhere? Were you seen by somebody? A doctor?” he presses.

You shake your head and squeeze his hands tighter. “No. Just, um, just came here right after. Got some ice from the machine in the lobby and got most of the swelling under control. Don’t think there’s anything so fucked up that I felt like it would justify a stupid expensive emergency room visit.”

“I’ll pay for it. I don’t care. Whatever it is, I’ll cover it.”

The impulse to reject his offer springs up, but you let the dismissal die on your tongue. If you wanted to honor this newfound trust in your relationship, you had to have the actions to back it up. You weren’t going to hide anymore. You weren’t going to ignore and rebuff ever offer to care for you. You weren’t going to weather the storm alone.

“Only if you’re, you know-only if you’re sure. If you want, we can go in the morning. I’ll go with you tomorrow. I, um, appreciate you offering to pay.”

He can’t conceal the brief astonishment of your amiable acceptance, and it quickly bleeds into elated relief. “Yeah, of course, sweetheart. Okay. Good. Yeah, we’ll go tomorrow and get you looked over. Make sure everything is okay.”

You lean into him, arms vining around his broad torso, and sink into the asylum of his embrace. “Can I stay with you tonight?” you whisper.

His body tenses as he pulls back to see your face, wearing an expression of confusion on his own. “What do you mean ‘stay for the night’? We’re goin’ home tonight, you and me. You understand what I’m sayin’?”

“Your home?”

“No. Our home,” he reasserts. “So let’s grab your stuff and get the hell outta here. Let’s go home.”

You bury your head in your hands in an effort to stimy the swell of emotion threatening to overcome you. He shushes and pries your defensive veil away, laying a tender path of small kisses along your forehead.

“None of that. Not anymore. No more hiding, okay?”

Your body mindlessly lists into his hold, and you allow some of your weight to shift to him. “Okay.”

It’s late enough into the night that the lobby isn’t busy, but that doesn’t stop Joel from constantly glancing up from his phone to make sure you’re alright. He closes out the text window to Sarah and opens up a new thread to Jasmine and Calum before sending them a quick update that he found you, you’re safe, and you’ll be with him. He hesitates to add anything more before discussing it with you first.

Now that he knows it’s you, he watches the skittish, hesitant way you move about. Hugging closer to yourself as you talk with the clerk who looks like the only thing of interest to her at the moment is ending the conversation as soon as possible so she can step outside for a cigarette. He can’t see your face, but just the way you hold yourself looks like some part of you has been extinguished. He hopes it’s just the stress and exhaustion from whatever happened between you and your dad and not something that has taken root in you and altered you. He doesn’t think he could forgive himself for not insisting to check on you sooner if that were the case.

The drive home is hushed and calm despite the frantic energy of relief flowing from you both. When he cuts the engine in the driveway, you reach out and stop him before he can get out.

“Hey,” you say softly. He stills and soaks up your tired, buoyed demeanor. “Thank you for coming to find me.”

He swallows hard and nods, thumb smoothing over your fingers in gentle, tentative strokes. “Thank you for lettin’ me in.”

You both know he doesn’t just mean through the motel door.

“I know it ain’t easy,” he adds in a hush.

You dip your head in quiet agreement. “It’s not. But sometimes it’s easier than others, you know? If it’s–If it’s the right person.”

He brings your hand to his lips and presses a chaste kiss there. “I do.”

He studies you for another moment and nods. “Let’s get you inside so I can get some food in you.”

You don’t say anything about the black bags full of your things scattered about the living room, but he wishes he’d taken a few seconds more to make it look less chaotic. He wishes he knew how to explain to you that sharing a home is something he would choose and isn’t just something that happened as a result of misfortune in your life. He’d choose you a thousand times over, any day of the week.

He subdues his reaction when you tell him the softer the food the better because of your injured jaw and face. He whips up some scrambled eggs and sliced banana and even cooks another egg when you’re still hungry. You have an odd look on your face when he takes the dirty dishes to the sink, leaving them to be scrubbed clean in the morning when you’ve both had some rest.

When you’ve made it to the upstairs hallway, the look on your face when he offers you the guest bedroom is almost comical. “Just wanna make it clear you’re not, you know, obligated to, uh, to stay in my bed with me,” he explains. Your face softens as you insist that you absolutely want to stay with him. He tries to not let on how elated he is to hear that. He rifles through the medicine cabinet and makes you take something for the pain and the swelling.

“Do you think I could get a quick shower? I just– I feel so gross, actually. I didn’t really notice in the motel, but I think between the state of the room and the lack of food I didn’t really notice.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

He shows you his setup in the main bath and grabs fresh towels and washcloths. His heart pinches when you wince trying to get undressed. 

“Do you mind?” you ask and gesture to the hoodie engulfing you.

He crouches down to shimmy it from the bottom up even though his knees scream in protest. While you work the top half, he helps you out of your pants and panties. He has to fight back all the anger ballooning at the sight of your body covered in red marks and bruising. He heaves a sigh and stands again, only to freeze when he sees the telltale maroon ring of clenched hands around your neck.

“Did he fuckin’–” he cuts himself short and turns his head away until he can regain his composure. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him if I ever see him again.”

“Joel,” you caution – a soft reminder that a hostile reaction, even if it’s not directed at you, is not what you need right now.

His hands are pinned to his hips as he paces around the bathroom trying to reign in his disgust and anger for your father. He shakes his head and wipes his brow, pinching the bridge of his nose while he takes deep breaths. He’s brought back to reality and what should be his focus when he hears the water start up.

“Sorry, baby. M’sorry, I got beside myself for a minute there,” he atones. “Here, lemme get you situated.”

He adjusts the controls until a pleasantly warm spray is falling into the stall. You take his hand when you enter and let out a small, placid sigh at the soothing water. He helps get you washed up, making sure to be extra delicate around all the injured swaths on your body. You sway contentedly under his care and the warmth of the shower, and it nearly makes him misty eyed that you’re trusting him with this.

You appear to be slipping into a relaxed state when you tilt your head and get an unexpected spray of water into your mouth and nose. Joel isn’t sure if it was just the surprise of it or if it actually stung your nostrils, but your reaction is borderline panicked over it.

“Hey, whoa whoa.”

“Sorry. Sorry,” you sputter, eyes clenched shut. “Just got freaked out for a second. Sorry.”

Something in the distressed bend of your words gives him pause. “Tell me what I need to change. I want you to be comfortable. Is the spray too strong? Do you want me to adjust it?”

You shake your head, fat drops of water falling from your face and blending in with tears that have finally broken free from the edge of your lashes. You sniff loudly and turn your face away, and that’s when realization hits Joel like a ton of bricks.

“What the fuck did he do to you, baby?” He can’t begin to imagine what on earth that monster did to have you go from such a peaceful spot into full blown panic.

“I don’t want to say. It’s just gonna upset you.”

“You can tell me. You can tell me anything. I won’t get upset with you. I won’t get upset. You can tell me,” he insists.

Your wet, wide eyes slide over to meet his, and thankfully whatever you see makes you feel safe enough to voice it.

“Part of our… argument,” you begin in a shaky breath, “was by the kitchen sink.”

His eyes narrow slightly at the fear creeping into your voice, and a bad feeling starts brewing in his gut. He thinks back to a little earlier when your expression was indiscernible as he cleared the dishes.

“It was so scary, Joel,” you whisper, barely audible above the sound of the streaming water.

“Tell me. You can tell me.” He cups a hand along your jaw and strokes the purple and green patches of your skin with his thumb.

“He kept… He was holding me under the water. In the sink. Where I had been doing the dishes,” you choke out.

“Jesus christ,” he heaves, wrapping his arms around your dripping wet body and drawing you into a gentle hold.

“I thought he was going to drown me,” you sob.

“You’re safe now, sweetheart. You’re safe, you’re safe,” he repeats in a calming chant. “He’s not gonna get to you ever again, you hear me? You never have to be afraid of that again.”

Joel’s shirt and one leg of his pants are completely soaked by the time he manages to calm you down. He guides you out of the shower, towel dries you, dresses you in an old, soft t-shirt and pair of boxers, brushes your teeth, and gets you snuggled into bed. That same sense of gratitude of you letting him help you washes over him as you cuddle into and sniff his comforter, whining softly like a tired little kitten in need of a midday nap.

He makes quick work of peeling the wet clothes from his skin, brushing his teeth, and crawling into bed. He’s dead tired and realizes a moment too late that he’s gotten into bed completely naked. Any indication that you’re offended or think he’s trying to put a move on you now of all times goes out the window when your eyes flutter open and you pull him closer.

“You’re so warm,” you mumble sleepily into his shoulder.

He breathes a little laugh from his nose at how precious you are. “Go to sleep. We can talk more in the morning.”

“M’kay,” you slur back. You flatten your bodies together, arms wrapped around his middle, and start to drift off.

Joel watches you and strokes your cheek until you’re asleep. He tries to not stew in the hatred and rage he feels for what your dad did to you. It’s probably for the best that he didn’t know the full extent of the situation when he went to your house and collected your things. He’d have beaten him to a pulp, if not worse.

His stomach felt rancid at the fleeting relief it had been to hear that the brutalization hadn’t gone past physical assault. And to think you’d phrased this as “a little knocking around” in the grand scheme of things. It made him nauseous to entertain the reality of what you’ve been living with all these months. No, years.

Joel wanted to kick himself for asking such a stupid question in the motel: are you hurt? Of course you’re hurt. How could you not be with all the nasty purpling patches blending into bits of puffed flesh that hadn’t fully recovered from the swelling? How could you possibly be okay after fleeing your own home in the middle of the night just to avoid another violent attack by your own father? After he toyed with the idea of killing you?

Guilt clung to Joel like a too tight second skin. He could’ve done something if he’d known. He could’ve gotten you out of this situation, helped you avoid it altogether, if only he’d just pushed for you to tell him the truth. If only he’d shown you or proved somehow that you could trust him. He watches your eyes dance behind your lids, and he prays your dreams are peaceful.

“I’m never gonna let him hurt you again. You’re never gonna be hurt like that ever again. I won’t let it happen. You’re safe with me,” he whispers into your ear. “I love you.”

He kisses your temple softly and pulls you into the cocoon of his arms. You can’t hear him, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not a promise that can be kept without action, and he intends to show you he will keep it until the day he dies.

It’s the heat bordering on furnace that stirs you. Soft little breaths from Joel’s open mouth puff against your forehead. Your eyes droop a little, the cradle of his body so intoxicating that it practically lures you back to sleep. Warmth engulfs you in an entirely different way now, waking up in a safe place with a sanctuary of a person. Even through your muddled mind, you know you’ve never experienced this before in such a profound way.

The loud gurgle of your stomach wakes him with an amused, confused smile.

“Mmmm sounds like somebody needs suh’more eggs,” he gently teases.

“That actually sounds good,” you admit.

His eyes peel open at that, and his grin broadens. “Yeah? You gonna let me cook ya somethin’?”

“Yeah.” You nibble your bottom lip in a shy grin and immediately wince at the sensitivity of your teeth against your healing split lip.

“Careful, baby,” he cautions with a pinched brow. He runs his thumb tenderly against your lip and presses a small kiss there.

You nod an acknowledgement and snuggle your face into his chest, fingers grazing through the little gray and brown bits of hair in the middle of it. “What time is it?”

“Don’t matter. You don’t worry about what time it is or what day it is or any of that. You just focus on relaxing and feelin’ better.”

You snort at his cliche girl dad answer and throw him a sarcastic “sir, yes, sir” for good measure. His eyes brighten at the first bit of genuine levity you’ve shown since he found you at the motel.

“We’ll get you somethin’ to eat and then get you checked out by a doc, okay?”

You remember last night’s promise to be seen by a medical provider and groan. “Alright,” you concede with a sigh.

“That’s my girl,” he beams.

Just as he had offered, Joel whips up some scrambled eggs, bacon, and sliced banana for the both of you. You busy yourself with finding something comfortable to wear and get dressed. Breakfast is a quiet affair with Joel spending most of it fussing over you. He makes you take another pill for the pain and swelling. He sets you up in the living room to finish your water and juice without any explanation, although the clinking of dishes from the kitchen gives you a pretty decent guess that he wanted you away from the potential trigger of it.

You don’t ask where he’s taking you to be seen. You trust him to make that decision for you, even if it’s a bit nerve wracking to relinquish that sort of control. He pulls into a mostly empty lot next to a newer looking building with a large sign that reads CORBITT HEALTH SYSTEMS URGENT CARE. The woman at the patient intake station looks warily between your appearance and Joel’s contrasting broad, strong frame. It hadn’t occurred to you until this moment that people were going to assume he had done this to you. Joel shouldering any of the blame for your current state made you sick to your stomach.

“Can my friend come back with me? To help me?” you blurt out in some effort to absolve him of the unmerited charge.

She doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she doesn’t eye him as coldly now that you’ve insinuated this isn’t a significant other. “Sure. Assuming you don’t have any life threatening medical concerns, fill this out and get it back to me.”

You try to concentrate on the form, but it hurts to pinch your fingers tight enough to hold the pen. Joel wordlessly takes the clipboard and pen from you and quietly fills out what he can while you supply him with the rest. He turns the clipboard in for you, and it’s soon after that you’re called back. The series of waiting rooms is making you anxious, but at least there’s two chairs side by side so you don’t have to hoist yourself up onto that crinkly papered examination table.

“Thought she was gonna set me on fire with some telepathic brain powers,” he chuckles low and quiet. He jerks his head back towards the direction of the main waiting area.

“I hate that she assumed you did this,” you huff.

“Can’t really blame her, though, to be fair.” He shrugs it off, considerate to almost a fault. “It’s kinda the norm for the asshole who did it bein’ the same one breathin’ down your neck so you can’t talk to anybody in private.”

“But you didn’t do it,” you protest, growing more and more irritated at the idea of him bearing the brunt of responsibility for this.

“No, I didn’t,” he agrees softly. “And you’re never gonna go through anything like that ever again.”

His hand finds yours and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“You’re really gunning for Boyfriend of the Century Award, you know that?” you tease.

A loose, jubilant smile spreads across his mouth.

“What?” you ask. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“‘Boyfriend’, huh?” he repeats with a practically beatific glow.

“Oh,” you exhale in a laugh. “Uh. Yeah. I mean, if that’s… okay with you? We don’t have to do names or anything. I didn’t think when I– it just came out.”

He snorts and shakes his head, dipping to press his mouth faintly against yours. “More’n okay with me, sweetheart.”

You don’t know what you ever did to deserve this man. The memory of you telling Joel you didn’t need him or anybody else echoes like a ghost in your mind. 

“Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“I-I don’t think I’m too good for help from people.” You shift awkwardly in your seat but hold yourself to be present in the conversation. “I know I need your help.”

“Where’s this comin’ from?” “I just.. when we had that fight, and I said I didn’t need anybody… It’s not true. I need you. I want you, and I need you in my life.”

“That makes two of us.” He raises your hand to his lips and plants tiny pecks on each knuckle. You turn your hand to cradle his jaw and lean forward.

“I was scared. I was so scared you were going to find out and then leave like everybody else.”

He rests his hand atop yours and bends his head to kiss your wrist, working his way up your arm as far as your sleeve will allow. “Not gonna happen,” he says plainly. “I’m not goin’ anywhere unless you’re comin’ with me.”

Before you can get too caught up in his declaration of commitment, a quick knock at the door signals it’s your turn to be seen. At one point during the appointment, the provider informs you some tests will need to be conducted to make sure there’s no internal injuries, and you both leave Joel to sit in the room while they guide you into the hallway towards the bathrooms to start with a urine test. You round the corner with them but stop short of the restrooms when they turn to face you and speak in a low tone.

“I wanted to speak with you privately,” they inform you. “Is the person who gave you these injuries here with you today?”

The question rattles you more than you expected. You certainly hadn’t anticipated the topic to come up in the middle of the hallway between rooms. There it was again – that assumption of Joel being your abuser. You do your best to hide your irritation. You know they’re simply doing their job. When you don’t answer, they rephrase it.

“Do you have any concerns leaving with the person accompanying you today?”

You shake your head, too nervous you’ll snap at them for accusing Joel. He didn’t deserve this. Every part of you knows this person is just doing their due diligence, but Joel didn’t deserve to be viewed as some abusive scumbag.

Your patience wears thin after the third delicately worded question regarding your current safety with Joel. “He wasn’t the one that did this,” you snip. “If you really need to know that bad, it was my dad, alright? Joel made sure I don’t have to go back, so can you please stop acting like he’s the fucking monster here?”

Their eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but they quickly fix their expression to the placid, neutral one from before. “Ma’am, I really intended no offense with my question. Our goal is to make sure you are not in immediate danger. We have resources like emergency housing or crisis intervention for people in those situations, and it is my duty to you as my patient to determine whether or not those resources would be helpful to you,” they explain calmly.

You sigh a long exhale and shut your eyes. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I-I know you’re just trying to do your job. I appreciate it. I do.”

They accept your awkward apology and move on with the appointment. You end up actually having to pee into a cup as well as go through some imaging to check for breaks or concussions and everything in between. When you finally wind up back to your room, you tell Joel what the practitioner had said to you in the hallway. He of course lauds the artful intervention – “that’s actually so smart because it doesn’t raise any suspicion from whoever is here with you.”

It turns out you’ve got a fractured nose that needed to be aligned and packed, but it should heal without any need for surgical intervention. With your nose splint in place and prescription for pain medication in hand, you and Joel stop by the checkout desk. You grimace at the paperwork the woman slides over to Joel. You don’t even want to think about how much today cost you. Well, how much it cost Joel. You probably couldn’t even begin to cover the cost of it. The topic of medical bills whips your brain into an alarming train of thought.

“Joel.”

“Yeah? What’s wrong?” He stops midway through opening the truck door for you.

“We need to go to the bank,” you practically choke out.

His expression hardens in understanding. Your joint account. The one your dad’s email is linked to that you don’t even have the password to. The one you can’t close without both parties consenting but either party can withdraw any amount at will. 

The drive there is tense and quiet. The woman at the teller window nearly gets a verbal lashing from you when she glances hesitantly between you and Joel, doing the exact same thing the patient intake woman had done at the urgent care. Thankfully Joel ushers you off to the side before you can give her a piece of your mind. A different woman comes round with a dubious glance at Joel and leads you both to her office.

Your heart lurches as you force yourself to calmly and politely explain that you need to access your account and transfer the money into a new, single user account. Her fingernails clack loudly on the keyboard, her mouth drawing up to a worried pout.

“Was this something you and the joint account holder had discussed?” she wonders aloud with a tone that doesn’t sound very promising for you.

“No,” you answer flatly. “Is there a problem? I thought I could transfer the money without his authorization?”

“Well, yes, you could.” She fidgets in her seat nervously and folds her hands on the desk before leveling you with an uneasy look. “I asked because I assumed there must have been some previous discussion with perhaps a … miscommunication between the two of you about who would be initiating that action.” You stare blankly at her, not grasping what she’s trying to explain, but you don’t have time for her to dance around the subject. “Look, I’m not trying to be rude, but—”

She glances Joel’s direction like she’s looking for someone to help her out. You turn to see his face pulled into a stony frown.

“So he already transferred it to his personal account,” he grits.

“Ah, yes, that would–ahem–that would be correct,” she confirms.

All the blood drains from your face as it dawns on you. Your dad got here first. He drained your account. The only money you have to your name is what you were able to hide in the vents and escape with. You’re aware that Joel has continued the conversation, but you don’t make any of it out. Everything sounds and feels like you're underwater.

His warm hand covers yours, a reassuring stroke of his thumb against your trembling fingers. “I’m gonna get this paperwork started for your new account, okay?” You blink a few times and realize he’s been given the document for you to open your own account. It seems silly to open an account when you’ve got no money to put into it, but Joel doesn’t seem deterred by this distressing turn of events.

You give a jerky nod and take a deep breath. “Okay.”

It was hard to see this dismal end of a situation as the new life chapter that it was, but as you watched Joel scribble his address – your address now, too – into the banking form for a new account, you at least knew wherever you were headed with him was better than what you were leaving behind.

Thank you all so much for your patience on this one. It was a tough chapter to write, but I'm really proud of myself for sticking with it until I worked through it. Thank you all so much for reading!

If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic abuse, the National Domestic Violence Hotline has a 24/7 hotline that can be reached at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233). There are also chat and text options available through the site.

💜

✦•······················•✦• TAG LIST •✦•······················•✦

Anyone who comments or reblogs is added to the next tag list. Also anyone who I think might be interested gets tagged. If you want to be removed from the list, please lmk and I'll take you off ASAP.

@anoverwhelmingdin @beelzebeth87 @bizarrelove-triangle @bonezone44 @bubble-pop-eclectic

@circumspectre @confusedpuffin @copperhalfcent @criticalarchitecture @cumberpegg

@cutie-with-that-booty @daydreamingmiller @electriclasso @ellenmunn @elli3williams

@emma-2104 @eupheme @everyth1ngfan @favorite-fan-fic @fishingforpike

@gay4magnetobutfanfiction @guiltyasdave @heartstoptrying @jodiswiftle @joeldjarinff

@joelmillersblog @joelscowgirl @jupiter-soups @keylimebeag @koshkaj-blog

@lavema @lilac-boo @littleficreccs @littlevenicebitch69 @lunpycatavenue

@magpiepills @pedropeach @pfannkuchen07 @reneerocks3617 @drunk-and-capable

@sherala007 @slowdivings @survivingandenduring @sweetpascal @tbeep

@the-orange-tabby-cat @thethirstwivesclub @tonysopranosrobe @toomanystoriessolittletime @wand-erer5

@weho2kcmo @perotovar

[drakulana]

all it was // law x reader

this is the part two to the first spark. i definitely recommend reading that one first. read part one here!

part 3

content: fem! reader, more sloooooow burn

wc: 4.2k

༺☆༻

The crew had been preparing for departure all day. A day full of running checks and tests on all the engines and reactors within the ship. A day spent in a small boiler room with crewmates, having no choice but to shove past one another in the narrow halls, mumbling quick apologies to one another. It took five long hours to run all the tests, and they still weren’t done. They still had to start up all the generators along with actually turning on the reactors. They hadn’t even started warming up the engine room yet. Normally, they wouldn’t take this long to depart, but when given the opportunity their captain made it mandatory to run all of the checks and tests to the furthest extent. Trafalgar Law was not one to cut corners, and for once, they were not pressed for time.

The boiler room was humid and stuffy. (Y/n) was standing shoulder to shoulder, sandwiched in between Penguin and Shachi as they worked on the turbine's connection to the nuclear reactor, an assembly line formed between them. One soldering wires, one tightening bolts, and one looking over everyone’s work to make sure no mistakes were made. There was no room for error when working on machinery that was heavily relied upon. Once they were done with one part of the turbine, they’d move onto another while a fourth person would come in to look over to make sure nothing was missed. This went on for about an hour and a half, until they were finally done. However, (Y/n) still had lots of work to do. 

She had spent a week and a half on the pestilent Bronze Island gathering up all the information she could. From citizens, to landmarks. Countless hours of talking to locals, gathering double the amount of information for both her and her captain. The past week and half was filled with sleepless nights where she spent organizing all of her information, trying her best to keep quiet while she snuck off to an empty corner of the submarine. She had worked hard, and she still wasn’t done with all of her work. She made her way up to her quarters to gather up all of her things while pondering on where she wanted to do her work. She needed some place quiet. While pondering over where she was going to work tonight, a memory played back in her mind. If you ever need a place to hide, don’t hesitate to come in here to read or to finish your research. Her captain’s offer rang through her head, however, he had been scarce within the past week. Only ever mumbling a soft acknowledgment whenever accidentally brushing elbows in the narrow halls. He was busy, she knew that, and she wasn’t going to be the one to disturb him. She would hate to be a nuisance, and no matter how oddly comforting his presence was, she was not going to be selfish when it came to his time. It was not her place to do so. 

(Y/n) was exhausted, but she could not get herself to abandon her pen for just one night. She was already in the zone. Why spoil the tenacity? Walking through the mostly empty halls, she found herself in the kitchen. It was quiet, it had better lighting than the library, and was more comforting than the metal walls in her bunk. She settled into the chair and spread out her papers, eventually getting lost within her work. Pages upon pages, scrawled across in shorthand cursive. Ink smeared slightly on the edges of some of the paper, some in better shape than the others. (Y/n) paid no mind to the misspelled words, or the messy handwriting, these were rough drafts after all, and she had no plan to show them to anyone. 

It was maybe an hour before her exhaustion started to catch up to her, all the information of Bronze Island becoming one big daydream about the island. The work they did there, the people she met, all the new little details about a place she had only ever researched before were still fresh on her mind, ready to be recorded in those notes of hers. It wasn’t long into her small reverie that her captain had wormed himself into her mind. This was not the first time, and she knew it certainly was not the last. He had a way of appearing in her thoughts, her mind always coming up with a way to bring him to the forefront. Although she had to admit the thought of him was nice, it was distracting. It was inappropriate. It was unprofessional. It was many things, but why had none of the moral obstructions present stop her from indulging in her thoughts. 

She would be lying if she said that she didn’t entertain these thoughts late at night. She’d be lying if she said that she hadn’t thought about him in ways that she shouldn’t have been thinking about her captain. How his golden eyes caught in the light, gleaming like fine jewelry. How he carried himself with such conviction, and how his predominant intelligence seemed to exude from him. There was also a dark air around him, a dangerous one. One that she found too enticing for her own good. One that shouldn't draw her closer, shouldn’t leave her wanting to understand what was under the surface. She would tell herself that it was her curious nature, alway wanting to record facts about certain people. Yeah, that’s all it was. She would reason with herself every time. It wasn’t at all the way he still seemed to look good no matter how much sleep he missed. It wasn’t the dominant energy around him, that gave everyone a reminder on why he was in charge. It wasn’t the way his commands, and comments towards her made her stomach turn, and mind wander. She was only interested for research purposes. Yeah, that’s all it was.

༺☆༻

On the other side of the ship sat Trafalgar Law. He was working on recording all the samples that he had made on the island. The steady grumble of the engines vibrated through the walls. It was comforting for them to be back to sea once again. It made him feel better to know all the checks and tests had been run on their ship before they had left as well. His crew had worked hard, and he was proud of them. It was days like this he was grateful for each and everyone of them. After all, what is a captain without his crew? He let himself feel proud for once. It was a rare feeling, he never liked to indulge himself in such petty things, like pride. Pride made a man reckless. Pride was a damning distraction. Distractions were not the kind of thing Trafalgar Law liked to mess with, not when he had goals that he had not yet accomplished. Tonight though, he let himself feel the tiniest miniscule of pride for his crew. He let himself revel in the thoughts of every single one of his crew members, but one just kept sticking out to him. (Y/n). He told himself it was because she was still newer to the crew. She was new, and had this amazing drive for new information. Her knowledge was astonishing. He would tell himself that these thoughts were strictly professional, and not at all personally rooted in the feeling that he would get when she called him Captain. It wasn’t at all the way her eyes lit up whenever he asked her about something she was writing about. It wasn’t at all the way that her cheeks would tinge pink whenever he would give her an order. He was simply just proud of his crew member. Tonight, he was letting himself feel a little proud. That’s all it was. 

The praise never stayed long when he allowed himself to feel such things. Whenever thoughts like this would arise too much for his own liking, he would bury himself in more of his work. He didn’t have time to concern himself with superficial feelings. Law stared at the pages in front of him. The recorded data was written in that same pretty cursive handwriting that had seemed to scrawl across his mind from time to time. Against his will, the owner of the handwriting was now back at the front of his mind. Two weeks ago, Law had offered his space to her. Fourteen days and she had yet to take him up on his offer. Not that he was counting. Part of him was thankful for that. Thankful that he wouldn’t have to confront the warm bubbling feeling he would get in her presence. Grateful he could ignore the electricity that would course through his limbs whenever the two brushed against each other by accident in the narrow hallways. He could ignore the way her laugh harmoniously bounced off the walls in the common area while conversing with her crewmates. He could ignore how their gazes were usually held for a second too long. On the other hand, something nagged him deep down. Thoughts of regret towards the offer threatened to arise, but whenever they did, he found himself burying himself into more of his work. The papers on his desk had remained twice as high in the past fortnight. Books were more scattered than usual. Crumpled up papers with ink smears fell around his desk. Every now and then, his mind would drift to (Y/n) and he would find himself stalling his work, staring at a page for far too long. Tracing the arches and curves of her letters and words within her work. It unnerved Law how undisciplined his mind had been lately, and over a crew member of all things. He huffed to himself and looked over at the clock that was hanging on the steel wall. 11 p.m. He needed a break, opting to go get a cup of coffee to wake him up. 

In Law’s book, 11 p.m. was hardly late. His crew turned in earlier than usual, leaving the cold corridors of the submarine empty. He made his way into the kitchen of the submarine, only to find the woman who had been taking up his mind for the past two weeks. She was sitting there at the table, papers laid out in front of her as she wrote short handedly on her notes. A small pang of odd discomfort settled when he realized she had opted to do work here rather than in the quietness of his office with him, like he had offered. The feeling quickly went away whenever she raised her head and peered up at him with her pretty eyes that always seemed to captivate him, as of lately. A small smile graced her lips as she noticed it was her captain. There it was again, the odd warm feeling that he seemed to get around her. “Good evening, captain,” she said warmly. “I see you have emerged,” she teased him. Law had been cooped up in his office for nearly a week, not counting the times he had to leave, like to eat or go to the bathroom. It wasn’t unusual for Law to work in his office for days on end, everyone knew that. Law stalked over to the woman who was sitting at the table, “What’re you working on?” he asked her, picking up a paper that had been pushed to the side. He examined the paper, holding it in between his fingers. Little doodles adorned the corners of the page, and messy shorthand was scribbled onto the lines. Information about the island that they had just departed from about a week ago. (Y/n) studied his movements closely, he had never seen the rough drafts of her work, just the edited and refined versions. “Just adding some information about Bronze Island,” she replied as she watched his face closely as he analyzed the paper. The rough draft of research was not something she shared. From corner to corner, the pages were filled with messy shorthand, and various notes in the margins while tiny doodles adorned the spaces in the corners. She was very nervous for her captain to see these. She watched as his face remained still as ever, the only movement were his golden eyes. After a few anxious moments, he laid the paper down, “This is very good work, I can’t wait to see it when it’s done.” His praise was rare. A small smile broke out onto her face. 

“Thank you, captain,” she beamed up at him, grateful for his praise. Law nodded at her, walking away from her to fix himself a cup of coffee. He stood in front of the coffee pot, glancing over his shoulder at the girl sitting at the table, papers spread out in front of her. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” He broke the silence in the kitchen. She thought for a second. A coffee would probably wake her up enough to get to the stopping point she had planned to. She peered up at her captain, “I would like that, thank you.” 

Law continued brewing the coffee, pouring two cups as (Y/n) made her way towards him. He handed her the cup of coffee, their fingertips brushing. A familiar warm feeling bloomed within the both of them, the same one they had been trying to push away. They locked eyes as everything seemed to stand still. A silence fell around both of them. The mere few seconds felt like hours. As quickly as the feeling came, it went, and they pulled their gazes away. (Y/n) took her coffee and made it the way that she liked, Law opting for black. Predictable, she thought to herself. They stood there in the comfortable silence, before Law spoke up. “I am working on the trials we ran on the island, I could use some of your notes, would you come to my office with me?” He asked her. Her eyes locked his once again, that twinkle he had found all too beguiling present in her irises. “Yes! Let me just grab my things,” She beamed, “Here, hold this,” She placed the coffee cup in his hand before turning to grab her things. She gathered up all her papers in her arms, and all her pens, denying any help that Law had to offer as they made their way to his office. 

Law’s office was dimly lit, the only light coming from a lamp in the corner of the room. It was bright enough to illuminate the workspace, but not bright enough to spread to the corners of the room. It was cold in his room, probably to aid him in staying awake if she had to guess. His desk was stacked high with papers and books. Crumpled up pieces of paper scattered around his desk, not enough to make his office too messy, but enough to be noticed. In the right corner of the room was Law’s bookshelf, lined with books, mostly medical, but a few novels scattered throughout. (Y/n) wondered what kind of novels the Surgeon of Death liked to indulge in reading. She couldn’t fathom him reading anything of fiction. In the corner of the room was her captain's bed. The blankets were thrown to the foot of the bed, while two pillows propped up on each other at the top. (Y/n) pulled her gaze away from all the furniture and how it was set up in his quarters, and set her things down. She took the papers that contained all the information she had and spread them out in front of her. She looked up at her captain, “So, where are we starting?” She asked him. 

“Let’s start with the sample records you recorded the other day,” He said. They had collected a bunch of samples from the island they were visiting. These samples ranged from swabs of sidewalks and door handles, to buccal and nasal swabs from willing citizens. Law had been culturing the virus over the past few days, checking up on it every hour to see how it was developing. No wonder the man hadn’t gotten any sleep. Law constantly worked, it brought him a sort of peace. It was something he had complete control over. He rarely let anyone assist him if unneeded. Everyone on the crew knew that. 

Y/n took out the data that she had collected from the culturing virus in the lab, flipping through the pages to make sure she included everything. As she flipped, her finger glided across one of the edges of the paper. A sharp pain traveled through her finger causing her to yank her hand back from the stack of papers. Muttering a curse under her breath, she laid the pack of papers in front of Law before looking down at the finger that had started to ooze red. “I’m sorry, excuse me for a second,” she said as she stood up from her seat. Before she could make her way to the door, Law stopped her with a gentle, “Let me see.” Hesitantly, Y/n reached towards Law as he took her hand to examine the measly paper cut that hardly needed a bandaid. As Law reached to hold her hand, butterflies erupted within her stomach. A heat rose to her cheeks, and she looked away. Law didn’t miss her reaction, but he didn’t say a word cause he was dealing with his own stomach flipping. He kicked himself, telling him that there was no reason to give such notice to something as small and ordinary as a papercut. He blamed the doctor within him for his following actions. Opening a drawer in his desk, Law pulled out a small first-aid kit. It contained antiseptic, bandages, and antibiotic ointments. Y/n started to protest, “Captain, that’s really not nec-” she started, but being cut off by her own hiss as he poured antiseptic on the papercut, paying no mind to her protests. “You don’t want to lose your finger to an infection, do you?” He asked her, as he cleaned her wound. She hissed at the cold sting from the antiseptic. “I hardly think anyone has ever lost their finger to a papercut,” She mused, as he added some antibacterial ointment and wrapped her finger in a bandaid. Law gazed up at her, catching her eyes that reflected the light of the small desk lamp. In that moment he could’ve sworn he was putting a band-aid on the finger of an angel, not that he would ever admit to that. He quickly pushed the thought away before replying, “You’d be surprised at the results of an untreated cut. Even the smallest ones can fester into a nasty infection,” He told her, as she gazed back at him. She held his golden gaze, pink still resting in her cheeks. 

A small smile broke out onto her face, “Well, thank you doctor. Whatever would I do without you?” She teased him. It had been a while since she had shown her playful side to him. He secretly wished that she would do it more. Law’s usual smirk crept up, “You would have no fingers,” He played along, “It’d be bad to have my researcher have no fingers, how would you record all the data I need?” He paused, “Besides, don’t you need these to write your book?” He held up her fingers between his inked one before gently letting them go.

“So I’m a useful asset to you?” She asked him, her tone still playful, however the question held some truth in it. She had worried she wasn’t enough for this crew. She remembered the words Law had said to her when he asked her to join. Your knowledge outweighs your weakness. However, not a day went by where she didn’t think that she was a burden. Her strength did not match the crew’s, and no matter how hard she trained, her work always seemed to get in the way of her actually improving. She knew she was the weak link, and she knew her captain knew that too. Law looked up at her, furrowing his eyebrows. The joking was now over, “You’re not an asset, you’re a member of my crew,” he said seriously, “I wouldn’t let anyone I didn’t think was worthy onto this submarine. Each and every one of my crew members has their strengths and weaknesses. Just cause you’re not out on the battlefield doesn’t mean you’re not valuable. You’re a very hard worker. Having you around takes a lot of my workload off. You’re more than needed around here,” He assured her. A small smile came back onto her face. Seeing her smile at his words did something inside of him. Something he wasn’t sure if he should indulge in. Something that made him want to whisper sweet praise to her if that’s what it took to make her smile like that all the time. It took a few moments of them standing in front of each other for them to realize how long they had been looking at each other. Law cleared his throat before pulling away, pushing down all the rising feelings again. It was unprofessional. It wasn’t right to feel these things. Law had to pull himself together. 

༺☆༻

After about two hours of going through data, the caffeine had started to wear off and drowsiness started to creep in. Law was unyielding when it came to his work, never stopping for more than a few minutes before delving right back into the research. An unwelcome yawn ripped through Y/n’s system. Law noticed this, and he knew she had been working more lately trying to get all the data recorded on top of adding all the information she had gathered for her book. “Y/n, you can go to bed, it’s almost 3:30.” He had told her with a sincere tone. Y/n shook her head at him, “No, it’s okay, I can keep working,” she assured him before looking back down at her page. Truth was, she was exhausted and felt as if she could hardly keep her eyes open, but she didn’t want to seem like she couldn’t keep up. Just a few more minutes, she thought to herself. The sound of the clock on the wall was almost hypnotizing as it aided in lulling her into closing her eyes. I’ll just rest my eyes for a second, she told herself as she let her eyes close, propping her head up with her hand, still holding her pen in her dominant one. The chair she was sitting in was hardly comfortable, but right now it felt as if it had become one of the coziest places on earth. A few seconds turned into a few minutes. A few minutes turned into her letting the darkness of sleep welcome her.  Law looked up at her when he heard her breaths start to become slower, and deeper. He let himself study her for a minute. He watched as her chest rose and fell with her soft breaths, her hair falling across her face as one of her hands propped up her head. He stood up and made his way in front of her to wake her. He gently reached out to shake her, almost feeling bad for having to wake her. He didn’t want to disturb her peace, he knew she had been putting in a lot of extra work lately. He could tell she hadn’t been getting any good sleep since their arrival to the island. His tattooed hand gently gripped her shoulder, giving her a light shake. He whispered her name a few times, but to no avail, she was out cold. Law gently shook his head as he contemplated his next moves. He didn’t want to leave her asleep in the chair, she would surely be sore in the morning, however the thought of carrying her to her bedroom was quickly written off. The crew would never relent if one of them saw, even if it was late at night, you never knew who could be awake wandering the halls. Law glanced over at his bed, and then back at the sleeping woman. He gently reached down and removed the pen and notebook from her hands, setting it on the desk in front of her. He was careful, but was sure of the fact that she wasn’t waking up when she didn’t so much as stir at the sudden absence of the items she was holding. Law hesitantly scooped her out of the chair before laying her down in his bed, covering her up with his blanket, letting her head rest on his pillow. He stood there and stared for a minute, selfishly reveling in how she looked in his bed. He knew it was strange behavior for him. He’d never let anyone fall asleep in his office, let alone move their sleeping body to his own personal bed. He mulled over his decision for a split second, and then did what he did best. Ignored the gnawing feeling, and buried himself in his work for the hundredth time that week. He ignored the small breaths and snores that left her body. He ignored the warm feeling that rose whenever he looked over at her. He had to remind himself, she was a part of his crew. He was her superior. He brushed off the unprofessional thoughts. She was his subordinate and that’s all it was.

@drakulana 2024 // i do not give permission to copy, translate, or repost without my consent

taglist: @pinksaiyans , @buttmishaaaa

lmk if you would like to be added to the taglist!

[xxavengingangelxx]

Behind Blue Eyes 1/1

Summary: What exactly happened to Val between days 6 and 10 after she was captured? Why did she suddenly become so compliant? From Graves’s POV. Because, well because Val doesn’t remember. For the simple reason that Graves doesn’t want her to. Maybe out of kindness (because those days were rough), but maybe because generally, a brainwasher doesn’t want their target to remember being brainwashed. 

Inspired by one of my fave YouTubers, Dark5.

I thought about titling this Your beauty never really scared me, a line from one of my favorite songs, Mary on a Cross by Ghost. Just because reader is gorgeous (yes, all y'all are gorgeous!) and Graves wants her but while her beauty might have intimidated other men, of course it didn't intimidate Graves cuz he's a narcissistic used to getting what he wants ;)

Warnings: Torture (nothing graphic), brainwashing, threats of harm, general mindfuckery, etc. This is sadistic Las Almas Graves, a heartless mercenary, kk? ;)

Tags! @unicorngirly1, @c0d-lvr, @bellgraves. I had a taglist when I was posting more often but I lost it so please let me know if you'd like to be added :)

-

This is connected to my fic Long Way from Home, link to the first part below. It's a fic where Graves captures 141's translator in Mexico thinking she has valuable information. She undergoes torture enhanced interrogation techniques thanks to Graves and Shadow Company. She holds her own much better than Graves thought she would.

-

It took 6 days to finally break Val. She finally let go of information that wouldn’t have harmed anyone anyway. Those homing beacons we got from her were old, and she knew that. She refused to give them up for the simple fact that she was defiant. Shepherd’s happy she broke. But he said he’s still flying down. He said he wants her actively working for us.

He told me I have 4 days. 4 days to bring her to our side. I told him that’s impossible, that it took a lot longer than that to essentially brainwash someone. Yes, she’d broken but not willingly.

He told me I knew what to use to do just that. Brainwash her. I know what he was referring to. But no. I didn’t want to. It might kill her.

“Ten Minutes to Midnight,” Shepherd told me.

He told me to do it or he’d kill her. In front of me.

So I relented and went to a computer with some heavily encrypted files. The kind of computer that had a case designed to live through nuclear war and electromagnetic pulse attacks. I pulled up something I learned from the CIA in my dealings with them.

The file titled 10 Minutes to Midnight: The Brainwasher’s Handbook.

The below might sound brutal but just remember I did it to save her life.

-

Val had no idea where she was. The last 24 hours had been a blur and her life had been turned upside down. Everything had changed…everything. Well, her life had changed since Las Almas, I’m certain. Pretty sure she’s never been held captive before.

She’d broken. And that’s what mattered. She was still sedated, somewhat. I couldn’t tell if she was passed out due to exhaustion or if she was still drugged. Maybe both.

But I only had 4 days so we had to fast track this.

She was dead weight when I picked her up. She was definitely lighter than the last time. She was clearly choosing not to interact with me (full on scowled at me before I picked her up and it was hard not to smack her) so when I got back to my barracks I sat her up on my bed, against the wall.

I told her, “We’re not done yet.” And the terrified look in her darker eyes told me that this just might work. Poor thing was still so tired and weak.

We had to be careful here because we didn’t exactly want to erase her entire identity. We needed Val to keep her identity. But she just had to want to work for us. She had to be more violent. Just not towards us like had been for the last 6 days. Seriously, it was getting annoying and exhausting having to be on edge in case she took a swing at me anytime I was within arm’s reach of her. She knew it would result in her getting her ass beat but she seemed to think it was worth it, saying she liked seeing me bleed (she scratched a lot, too).

I tried, really tried to do things the easy way.

I asked told her to come work with me.

And, well, she said fuck you. So disrespectful.

I walked away. Because I wanted to fucking hit her, push her into the wall. But there was a better way to start things. She wanted water and who was I to tell a lady no? I just added a benzo to it. She was out like a light. It was comforting, just watching her sleep, listening to her breathe.

I moved her to what we call one of our soft interrogation rooms. It wasn’t a cell, it wasn’t a concrete cube like she’d been locked in before, but it certainly wasn’t comforting. Just your basics, nothing else: somewhere somewhat comfortable to sleep and less harsh lighting than the rooms (yes, rooms as in multiple because we’ve been moving her to base after base every day) she’d been in before. With one main difference: have you heard of white torture? Everything in that room was white, everything she was allowed to wear was white. It was a form of sensory deprivation that made people easier to brainwash. I made it clear to my men: Val doesn’t leave this room. This is the only room we’d convince her to work for us in. And after she came around, she was never to see this room again.

Because it might trigger memories of how she used to be.

Anyway.

Brainwashing is easy. And it’s not like I have to spend 24/7 with the target. A few of my men were trained in CIA techniques so they knew where to pick up when I needed a break. Val would be worked on 24/7.

Step 1: Assault on identity          

Telling the target they’re not the person they think they are. I told Val she wasn’t who she thought she was. She thought she was an inseparable part of 141. She saw Price as a father figure and the other boys as older brothers. Well, except for Johnny for the simple fact that she used to fuck him. I’d make sure he stayed extra far away from her. He might be a potential trigger for her.

No, you’re not a part of 141. No, you hadn’t known them for years. No, you could not trust them with your life. They’ll kill you if the catch you. Or help lock you up in a military prison the rest of your life. No, they’re not going to forgive you for betraying them, even if you told them it was under torture.

She put up one hell of a fight against this and it was certainly admirable. She even attempted to escape two hours into the ordeal when one of my boys opened the door to that room. But if the first step doesn’t get accomplished, the nine other steps won’t either. So every time she would deny my statements, I would hurt her. Nothing too bad, of course. I couldn’t leave too many new injuries on her. Just stress positions, pressure points, and keeping her awake. I feel like she’d had enough physical abuse coercion.

After 12 hours of repeated verbalizations and some pain she became noticeably less cocky and sure of herself. Hour 14, she sounded confused for lack of a better term. Granted, she had been kept awake for more than 14 hours but she appeared really confused. I asked her to confirm her identity and she seemed even more confused. She whispered her name, but it sounded as if she was asking a question. But I could tell she was doing it only because she was scared. She wasn’t turned yet but this is only the first step so of course she wasn’t.

Her beliefs and her identity were weakened. Not broken yet but weakened. And so I moved onto the next step.

Step 2: Guilt

This step is generally more violent. It has to be. This is where you convince your target they’re the scum of the earth…a horrible person. I told her that 141 were war criminals and that she had helped them. I had to do this step in full uniform to add to the effect. She always showed more fear when I showed up in uniform. I was the only thing with color in that room so she was dead focused on me. She was desperate to look at anything that wasn’t snow white, even if it was her tormentor me.

Yes, Val, you’d helped war criminals. And you resisted my men and I, who were not anything close to war criminals. That we only killed when we had to. And that we certainly didn’t take advantage of females in our group like Soap had done her.

Predictably, she got violent.

So, unfortunately we had no choice but to respond in kind. Of course, no serious injuries. But she felt pain nonetheless. The more hours that ticked by, however, the more exhausted she became and the less she fought. She wasn’t even trying to cover her ears and scream over us to go the fuck away or to shut the fuck up anymore after about another 12 hours. She stopped just screaming into the dark void of her room. She just listened.

But one thing that she would not stop reacting violently to (as in swinging, scratching, kicking, biting, you name it) was the suggestion that the Scot of 141 had taken advantage of her. That was fine, we could drop one or two items off our list. So we left that one alone.

She still hadn’t slept by the way.

Step 3: Self-Betrayal

I told her to admit that she was bad. I told her over and over amid physical okay and sexual threats. Although she, as always, resisted, under the threat of breaking her arm, she agreed in a desperate tone of voice. Because I promised her she didn’t want to have a serious injury on-base, that it would lead to misery. She agreed that she was a bad person because of her job and the people she worked for.

I forced her to admit that her parents were bad people, clearly, and maybe that had been passed onto her. Genetics and all that shit, right? She admitted, on demand, that she was a bad person.

And after she did that, I let her sleep. Only for a few hours. Just long enough to where she slept deeply enough to where a simple ultrasonic wave caused a concussion without leaving marks or making her any the wiser. But weaking her to the next part.

Step 4: Breaking Point

Psychic driving: Strap a someone (preferably concussed) down, give them paralytic drugs and make them listen to a repeated statement hundreds if not thousands of times. Then, you just break them down with something called depatterning which uses drugs, electric shocks and sensory deprivation. The result? It destroys your target’s personality. Then you get to replace the personality with whatever you want.

The only issue we ran into is that we couldn’t quite erase her entire personality or identity. We still needed Val to be Val. Just anti-141 Val. Maybe a version of Val that was a little more trigger happy. A version of Val where maybe, just maybe, she’d kill for us. The CIA would do that shit to people for days, sometimes weeks, we just did it for 36 hours.

And after about 36 hours of that shit, she was almost totally different. After she had been unstrapped, she seemed numb. She gave me this look, this broken, shocked look and then she just broke down. She started screaming and crying about how she didn’t know where the hell she was, who she was, what she stood for. She actually begged me to tell her who she was. Later that night she was convinced she was back in Las Almas. She got psychotic. She wasn’t there. She had fallen off the brink and it was time to pull her back.

Step 5: Leniency

This is kind of like the Stockholm syndrome building stage. She heard me come into her room and she instantly backed up, retreating against the wall, eyes focused on the floor. So I soothed her, promised I wouldn’t hurt her. I mentioned that because she was making progress in trying to make up for all the bad she had done and that I wouldn’t hurt her. I asked her if she wanted something, anything to eat. She told me she wanted a burger and fries. Simple enough. So I got them for her. It was the first time she’d something other than white rice in days.

But I made sure she knew that the only reason I was doing this was because she was making an active effort to make up for all the bad she had done beforehand. I started showing up in civilian clothes. She agreed to make an effort to right the wrongs she had done in the past. Later that night, She got to sleep in a warm room, a normal room for the first time (i.e. not a white torture room). She got to sleep in a warm bed all because, I kept telling her, she was changing herself for the better.

While it may not seem like much, after days of torture and interrogation followed by now days of brainwashing techniques, these small acts of kindness make her think I saved her life and that she owes me. She even said she felt obliged to me and so clearly there was increased trauma bonding.

Step 6: Compulsion to Confession

Next I told her that she could do something for me after everything I had done for her. I told her she could help herself feel better, too. How? By confessing that her past life had been a mistake full of bad deeds. I told her she could confess to me. And while she resisted at first, a little prodding eventually convinced her.

She confessed that her whole life she had lived a lie, that she had been brainwashed by the military to believe she was doing good, but that in reality, she had done horrible things. Her job had turned her into a horrible person. She confessed all of this.

And the best part? She thanked me.

Step 7: Channeling of guilt

Val started this stage on her own.

“I feel bad,” when I asked her why, she gave me this perfect answer about how she had done bad things with her life. She didn’t know how to fix things, she told me. How could she fix things, she wondered, if she had been doing them for such a long time?

She couldn’t have said it in a better, more perfect way. When I asked for the specifics of what she had done wrong, she had no idea. It’s not uncommon for subjects to be confused as to the specifics of what they’ve done wrong. So I told her that her previous identity and belief system were the source of her agony. What she had believed in were the cause of her pain. And I told her that if she wanted to alleviate her guilt, that she would reverse her identity and her beliefs. She could still be saved, I promised her. I told her she wasn’t a bad person but that her beliefs were bad. Easily fixable, I promised her.

While I didn’t take into account how many hours each stage took, the stages lasted shorter and shorter.

Step 8: Releasing of Guilt

This step involved convincing Val that it wasn’t she that was bad but that her previous beliefs were. She smiled for the first time in days and asked if this meant that she could fix what her past beliefs had made her do. I promised her that’s exactly what it meant. All she needed to do was denounce the people she had worked for and denounce that belief system.

To test her, I handed her her dog tags (we’d taken them from her to prevent a third suicide attempt). She wanted to melt them down because she said it reminded her of her 141 days.

I told her not quite because we might have to work with them again in the future.

This was when she realized that she wasn’t a bad person but that her previous beliefs had made her bad. And that she could make up for it by working with us and for us.

Step 9: Progress and Harmony

The path to ‘good’ was helping my cause, I told her. If she really wanted to make up for the things her past beliefs and dedications had caused her to do, she would follow the instructions I gave her. She agreed and this is where generally, the abuse use of force stops. I don’t need to hurt her anymore because she’s agreeing. She’s so far gone that abuse is unnecessary and might work against me. I gave her the illusion of choice (when in reality I’m not giving her a choice) in that she can choose between going back to her bad, evil ways or that she could choose a better path. I reminded her that her old ways had burdened her with so much guilt that they had led to a mental breakdown.

Remember that breakdown you had a few days ago? I had asked her. She nodded. I told her that her guilt had been so overwhelming that she had broken down and I had saved her. In order to prevent another breakdown, she would choose my way. Needless to say, she made the right choice.

Step 10: Final confession and rebirth

Who are you? Still Val, just a better person (she’d actually forgotten her first name as a result of this and maybe the almost week of torture we dealt her before). She said she was more than willing to work with me.

To make sure, I told her I needed to try something.

Downers and Uppers is what the CIA called it back when they did it.

My medic 10-4 and I got ahold of amphetamines and benzodiazepines. He set up an IV of each on each arm.

I watched as he drugged her with the ‘downer’ until she was almost asleep. Then he injected her with the ‘upper’ which jolted her awake and sent her heart rate skyrocketing.

Round and around it went, up and down. And holy shit did she reveal more information about 141. Some theories of downers and uppers that suggestions made during this interrogation technique seem to…for lack of a better word…stick.

She couldn’t lie during this hellish cycle. Literally could not. When I asked her if she’d work with me, without hesitation, she said yes.

And that’s when I knew we were done.

Well, almost done. The only thing left was to use ultrasound to re-concuss her and erase or bury the memories of the past 4 days deep.

Then I carried her back to my room. 10-4 said she should be able to sleep it off.

-

I told Shepherd it’s done. With a few hours to spare. I got her changed into more comfortable clothes I’d kept with me from one of prior nightly liaisons.

So then I picked her up again, led her back to that cold, sterile, cell. She’d wake up here and remember being tortured but she wouldn’t remember us coaxing her to our side.

She continued sleeping it off until I decided to really test the waters. I knew that because we did a shortened version of Ten Minutes to Midnight (its supposed to take weeks, ideally), there were going to be some kinks.

And that was confirmed when she watched me step into that cell.

“What do you want?” she whispered. At least she wasn’t charging at me or yelling at me.

“How long have you been here?” I asked her.

“I don’t know. You’re using all kinds of sensory deprivation.”

“10 days,”

And she snapped up at that. “No way,” she claimed.

So I pointed out how far along her injuries were healed. “Surprised you don’t remember screaming when we stitched ya up seeing as we didn’t use anesthesia.”

“Val, you were gone,” I paused before adding, “You don’t remember ripping that IV outta your arm and saying you wanted to die?”

She shook her head.

“You’re lying,” she said. She then pulled up her sleeves and saw the numerous IV track marks and the slices into her skin from her suicide attempts (One from a piece of glass, like seriously? And the other from ripping that IV out of her arm).

“You’re lying!” She yelled. And then she shoved me. For a second there I thought I was gonna have to drag her back to the drawing board. So I issued one warning: “Next time you put your hands on me I’m gonna break your arm,” and where before she would have dared me to, swung at me, scratched me, she complied.

I stepped closer towards her and she muttered I not get any closer. “When did you get here?” I asked again. I tossed her my watch. The look on her horrified face almost made me feel sorry for her.

“Havin’ a rough night?” I easily took my watch out of her trembling hands. “Tell you what. Come hang out with me tonight.”

She gave me this scared look. So I promised that as long as she wasn’t violent, I wouldn’t be either. She was also apparently terrified of my boys so I promised they wouldn’t lay a hand on her either.

She full on flinched when she heard me lock the door to my room. So I told her to relax, that we weren’t doing anything she wasn’t comfortable with. She was so confused. She had no idea she’d broken and she had no idea she’d been brainwashed.

So I wasn’t totally taken off guard when she walked up to me and kissed me. And I sure as hell found out that night that she was definitely on our side.

The clock just ticked one minute closer to midnight for you, 141.

-

Learn more! This fic was also inspired by a video from one of my favorite YouTubers, Dark5.

[fallingblueroses]

Another little piece of Geoff and Kathy's transformation.

***

Layne drove Geoff back to his house as he lay in the backseat and desperately held on to his human form. Breathing was a struggle and he had to constantly swallow back vomit. His hands were tightly wrapped around the door handle for a focal point.

Layne glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Almost there, Geoff."

Geoff nodded. "Okay." His voice was raw and gutteral, and he barely recognized it as his own.

Time seemed to stretch out to unbearable lengths as Layne drove on, but he finally stopped and shut the car off. "We're here. Come on." He helped Geoff out of the car and steadied him as they went in the house.

Geoff went in first, and Layne shut the door behind them. The sound acted as a trigger and Geoff fell to his knees, unable to keep the changes back anymore. His breath came in harsh gasps as his body convulsed, and for a few seconds he struggled to stay awake. Layne's hand fell on his shoulder, and Geoff gratefully reached up and held it.

To his shock he smelled Eli coming before he heard the tenor's voice. "Layne?"

"It's us," Layne called. He helped Geoff back to his feet, and Geoff frowned as he looked around. Everything felt a little wrong, even accounting for the obvious. He looked at Layne and jolted as he realized that he was looking down at the beatboxer. Layne had always been just slightly taller than Geoff, but now Geoff had a good three inches in height on him. Layne's eyes widened as he saw it too.

Eli swallowed as he noticed it. "Kathy and Cesar are in the living room."

Geoff nodded. "Thanks." He walked into the living room, and Kathy ran into his arms when she saw him. He held her close for a bit and then pulled back to look at her. She'd also grown in height a bit; they were still the same size relative to each other. Kathy's wings were smaller in proportion to her body, not extending so far above her head as Geoff's did.

Kathy's frightened eyes looked at him. "What's happening?"

He shook his head. "...I wish I knew." He pulled her close again and without thinking brought his wings up and around to cover her. Kathy sighed, put her arms around his neck, and relaxed against him.

After a bit Cesar cleared his throat. "This house isn't built on top of any old graveyards, is it?"

Geoff sighed. "No."

"You haven't been playing with Ouija boards? Bought any cursed artifacts at yard sales?"

"No and no."

"Haven't been cursed by any old witches? Drank any suspicious potions?"

"Not that I know of." Geoff gently pet Kathy's hair.

Cesar tried again. "Been around any nuclear power plants lately?"

"Nothing's happened." He kept petting Kathy's hair. It comforted him as much as it did her.

"Well something had to have done this," Cesar said.

"It was just a normal day, until I started getting hot," Geoff said. He rested his head against Kathy's.

Kathy murmured against his chest. "We need to pick up William from school."

"I'll call Cyndi and have her pick him up along with Doris," Layne said. "...Do you want him to stay with me for a while?"

A jealous pang went through Geoff, and Kathy shook her head. "No. I want my baby."

Layne nodded. "All right. I'll go call her." He stepped out of the living room.

Geoff sighed and looked at Eli and Cesar. "...You might as well go home. Nothing you can do right now."

Eli slowly nodded. "I'll check in with you guys later."

"All right."

"Call us if you need anything," Cesar said. Goodbyes were exchanged and the two of them left. Layne left soon afterward to return to PattyCake, and Geoff and Kathy sat on the couch and waited for William to come home.

[betustamorla]

Jason Todd x Helena Bertinelli-Timer Soulmark Soulmates AU-Short story part 3

Here are Part 1 & Part 2, or read it fully at Ao3

The warm sunlight on his face dissolved the darkness of sleep into the red blurriness of his eyelids. Jason groaned and shifted, his body immediately resented the movement, and he turned and hugged the pillow at his side. It smelled fucking nice. Nicer than anything he’d wash any bedclothes of his. Then the smell of coffee and bacon reached him. Finally, he opened his eyes.

He didn’t recognize the white wall to the side of the bed, nor the way the light entered through the window at its foot and other side. Jason incorporated himself slowly and moved the bedding away. He looked down, the only thing of his clothing remaining were his boxers.

“Fuck,” He muttered. His guns, his knives, everything was gone and nowhere in sight. And someone was making breakfast on the other side of the half-closed door. Memories of last night flooded him and he breathed out, passing a hand down his face.

His soulmate, huh? What did he know of the Huntress? Not much. She worked with Birds and sometimes Batman. He didn’t know her civilian name or anything else for the matter. And it seemed like she knew more about him than he of her. He didn't like this at all. And the fact that she had seemed unfazed by him being her soulmate. Hell, she’d even brought him to what he assumed was her place, and not only that but right up tucking him in bed right beside her. What. The. Fuck.

Had she done something to him while he slept?

The door opened and a pair of dark blue eyes peered at him with curiosity. Her dark hair fell around her shoulders as she cocked her head to one side and leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed.

“Feeling better?” Her voice was smooth and her tone firm.

“I—Yeah…” What the fuck was wrong with him? Yes, she was pretty—fucking gorgeous—but it wasn’t his first time seeing a beautiful woman before, so he attributed his surprise to the beating of yesterday.

“Good. You can take a shower before eating breakfast. I cleaned what I could from the blood and rubble with a towel, but it’s not the same as a bath—Oh, and here—” She moved out of his sight for a second then reappeared and tossed a bundle of clothes at him– “I went to buy some clothes for you, I don’t think any of my clothes would fit you.”

“Where are my things?”

“Over at the laundry. They’re a dirty mess and I won’t be washing that.”

“No one asked you to.”

“No.” She smiled at him, and Jason wanted it to drop because his mind had gone blank again. “Shower, over there. Then we can talk over breakfast.” She didn’t wait for a response and walked away.

Jason didn’t know what to do. This was simply put, extremely fucking weird. To feel at ease and nearly trust someone you just met—come to think of it, he didn’t even know her name. Fuck damn. He shook his head and took the bundle of new-smelling clothes. A bath sounded good to him and the purplish and greenish hues appearing all over his body would start hurting more as time went on, so—

Great, now I smell like a girl. He thought sourly walking out of the bathroom at having nothing else but flowery sweet stuff to wash with.

“Someone could figure out your secret identity by this smell,” He said sniffing. It had come out more naturally than he’d been expecting— because it was.

“Oh, it fades by the time I finish at school so it is fine,” She answered after raising her eyes shortly from the newspaper she had been reading. “Sit down, before it gets cold

“School?” He asked dubiously. And almost chose to remain standing, but the bacon, fried eggs on toast, and glass of orange juice called too much to his hunger.

“I’m a teacher at St. Ignatius High School.”

Jason took the seat opposite her and took a piece of bacon. “Shouldn’t you be in school by now then?”

“It’s Saturday.” Finally, she folded the newspaper and put it to the side, Jason glimpsed at the headline “Nuclear explosion wipes Blüdhaven”. Fuck. Wasn’t that unlucky if not wholly unsurprising? He wondered if the Golden Boy had made it alive. Bruce must be going nuts if he didn’t, or maybe not, for all he seemed to care—

The realization that he was being intensely stared at hit him immediately. He looked up at those piercing dark eyes and irritation replaced the anger.

“What?” He snapped.

“Nothing. Your sudden change of intense emotions is distracting.”

Jason leaned back into his chair and looked at her up and down, then said slowly, “Stay away then.” He had read and heard what finding your soulmate entailed, you kind of formed a link or some bullshit like that. Something that allowed you to feel to some extent what the other was feeling, and he remembered the calmness and the steadiness that had surrounded him last night, it hadn’t been his. He passed his tongue over his teeth uneasily, mainly because he didn’t hate it as much as he wanted to.

She, for her part, answered his rudeness with a sweet smile then a light shake of the head. And Jason felt like a child in the classroom after giving a stupid answer to a question. Meanwhile, Huntress had started to fill her plate with food, but before starting to eat she crossed and tilted her head slightly while he guessed made a quick prayer then started eating.

Jason shifted uncomfortably for many reasons. His body aches for being too long in one position, how she was so condescending and calm, and her religious inclinations, or the fact that she seemed to be able to pick more of their link from his emotions than he could.

Maybe if you weren’t trying to reject it you could get the hang of it. Yeah, right. His mind supplied.

“What’s your name?” He finally asked after shoving an egg on a toast into his mouth.

“Helena Bertinelli.”

“Hm.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me yours?”

“Nope.”

“That’s mean, Jason.”

“Yes. I’m mean, so what?” Of course, she already knew who he was.

“Well, I think you’re cute.”

Jason choked on his toast.

“Did you do something to me last night?” He said after drinking juice and reaching for another toast.

Now it was her turn to choke, then she followed with laughter. Jason stared blankly for a moment, she really was beautiful, then looked away when he realized his thoughts.

“I’m not attracted to minors.”

“I’m twenty,” He growled.

“You could have fooled me with all that angsty-edgy-rebellious vibe you get going.”

Fuck damn, he’d walked right into it, hadn’t he?

“You reaching your forties?” He shot back and felt like he’d played more into her hand.

Her smile widened and winked at him, “Fifties.”

“Ha. Funny,” He muttered into the glass of orange juice, then put it down and asked, “Then why put me in your bed?”

“There’s no other bed here, and I wasn't sleeping on the couch or the floor. Besides, you became too restless when I separated from you.”

Jason felt his face heat, in parts embarrassment and parts anger. Again he was being controlled by something he couldn’t choose. He glared odiously at the zero marks on his wrist.

“So what will you do now, Baby Bat?” She–Helena asked after a moment of silence while both of them ate.

“If you call me once more that, I’ll—”

“Kill me? Go ahead and try, Baby Bat,” She taunted him.

He growled but somehow he didn’t feel too much against it anymore. And the more he showed dislike the more she would call him that it seemed. Jason started to worry that this calmness and control was not his own, was being forced on him, was keeping him complaint and—

“Calm down. I wasn’t being serious.”

“No—I know… Listen, this—whatever this is, it’s not going to work. Whatever sick force is trying to bind us, we don’t have to let it control us.”

Her demeanor visibly softened, “I’m not forcing you to stay, Jason. Or maintain contact with me in any way. You seem to have gone through a lot, and while I don’t condone many things that you’ve done, I can’t say I don’t understand them. But if you keep down this path you’ll just end up self-destructing and whatever good you might be trying to achieve—it will corrupt and twist. Spilling blood when you may choose not to spill it, just taints you, whether the one you kill is evil or scum, it still will leave its mark on you. And if you chose to stay, you can’t keep that up.”

“Then so be it. I will see all those fuckers in hell if needed.” Jason shrugged. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. But now that she’d said that, it was the closest to whatever he could have pictured if he’d had more time.

“I don’t think that’s what you really want,” She said after a pause and examination of his face.

“And how would you know?” He snorted.

“Because you’re still a baby in many respects. Even if you’ve seen more than most. You need time to grow and find joy in life. Wouldn’t you rather find that than Hell? Life is tough enough as it is, you don’t need to make it more so.”

Jason didn’t answer, he should have felt insulted, being called a baby—except she hadn’t said it mockingly, nor pityingly, nor patronizing, and she just sounded— tired and a little sad. “So you won’t try to make me stay nor follow me,” He guessed, not a twinge of disappointment there…not at all. 

“No.” Her answer was firm.

It’s not like it surprised him, why would she want a soulmate like him? Just someone else in the long list of people who rejected him. He passed his tongue over his right sharp teeth and asked—challenged, “And what happens when I keep going the way I am? What happens when we come face to face?”

“I’ll stop you if I can.” Then she smiled sadly. “I can’t save you from yourself, Baby Bat. That’s not in my power. But I can accompany you on your path if you want to walk another one.”

That answer deflated him somewhat, he’d been expecting a definitive clean-cut where she’d state to pretend to not know him, or completely ignore their bond. This was so confusing. And he felt a twinge in his heart, a flake that held hope and trust… And it wasn’t his. 

He looked up and asked, “And what would that be?” He asked quietly and the most earnest he’d been all this late morning. How would that look?

“Who knows? Perhaps somewhere far away. Have you been to Italy?” Jason shook his head. “Perhaps you’d love it, the small villages and the countryside… Or maybe just traveling around—there’s enough injustice around the world where they could use some helping hands. The world is wide and many good can be done—many atonement as well…”

They fell into a lull of silence and both drifted into their thoughts. Jason wondered at the last part, he knew she wasn’t speaking just of him. He didn’t know what her story was in-depth, but doubted he’d search more about it. A future day, a different future—could he have that? He hadn’t stopped to think, to even think about thinking. There was something in the back of his mind always nagging to keep moving, don’t stop, don’t look, don’t listen, or the air will run out, or the soil will not give. The laughter won’t stop.

“Baby Bat, you really need to do something about those mood swings.” Helena’s comment pulled him to the present again. “I have to leave now,” She continued looking at the clock over the fridge, “I have to help in the Parish kitchen. Saturday stew night for the homeless, God knows there are too many in this damned city—” She trailed off and got up from her chair.

Jason reached for an apple and bit down on it while following her movements around in silence. It still was odd to think that he really had a soulmate after all it was a fifty-fifty chance you got to be born with a timer, and some timers froze—which meant your soulmate had kicked the bucket. Jason had been expecting that to happen, but it hadn’t and now here they were. For good or for bad he still hadn’t quite made up his mind yet. She didn’t seem about to go and tell Batman about their connection so that much was a win on his books…

“Alright, I’m off. You can eat whatever’s on the fridge, and be a darling and wash the dishes, would you? Thanks. If you leave, make sure everything stays closed.” All these, she said while putting on her purple jacket and pulling her dark hair free from it after finishing adjusting it. Jason had just hummed in response to all, and when he thought she was finally leaving she paused sighed, and walked to him. Jason had to fight the urge to move away from her as strongly as part of him wanted to allow her to reach for him, in the end, he stood still, not wishing to show her how much she affected him, even if he was sure she could feel it to some extent.

Helena took his chin and made him look up at her gently, then after their eyes locked she leaned down and kissed his forehead. The warmness and softness of her lips seemed to envelop his body for the longest of seconds. Then her lips were gone, and she said softly, “Be careful out there, my Soulmate.” He felt her warmness move away and he opened his eyes, he hadn’t even noticed when they had fallen shut.

Jason saw her take her purse and walk out the door, yet he stayed in the same spot for who knows how long, it could have been minutes or hours. My Soulmate. Resounded in his head. Those two words had been uttered with so much fondness and joy–he’d felt it as she had felt it–, it still took some of his breath away, because he hadn’t thought—he hadn’t believed whoever his soulmate would end up being would be glad to have him after they knew who he was, what he was. But she knew enough of his ugliness and debased things he’d done and still seemed happy to have him. It was unbelievable, he couldn’t—

He let out a shaky breath and passed his not-less shaky hand through his hair. Then he snapped out of it and got moving to find his gear before leaving this place before his mind got any muddier. Or more clear, something whispered in the back of his head.

[gravityfallsweirdgirl]

DARKWING IN:THE MEG

Somewhere deep down in the ocean, in the Philippines trench, a crew part of research facility lab was in danger, trapped in a damaged nuclear submarine as the hull is being rammed by an unidentified creature. Two lab rat scientists: Marks and D'Angelo were struggling with a damaged hull.

"Anything to report" a mysterious voice sounding like James Monroe Iglehart

"Nothing yet sir" says Dr Marks

"Let me know what you find"

"So far nothing yet sir" says Dr. D'Angelo

"Can you tell me what happened"

"Well, It just keeps getting worse" Dr marks says.

"D'Angelo, Marks, talk to me. What's going on"

"We've moved to the sonar room. We couldn't finish the research sir" Dr D'Angelo says.

"It's a mess, sir" Dr Marks added.

"This is the worst I've ever seen. We need you to send for help sir, we got 10 men down and in end of medical attention"

"We're heading-Heading back to the escape pod now"

"Not until you tell me what is-"

But then something outside hit the sub lab causing everyone to tremble.

"Marks. D'Angelo. What the hell was that?"

"I have no idea sir but we were ambushed by some creature"

"Listen, sir I think we got something outside the ship. Something dangerous, it's what attacked us"

"Something's crushing the hull. We're coming back sir"

"Get back to the escape pod now. Now"

"We're right behind you"

"You guys, move!"

Every researcher and scientist and faculty got to the escape pot but it was locked and they see something biting into the lab.

"Marks. D'Angelo. Report"

"I see the creature sir, it's-I don't believe it sir"

"What? What? What is it?"

"The create It's 60 feet, you're theory was right sir, we have to warn people"

"Finally after all these years we have finally found it, fowl will be impressed"

"Sir Let us out! The escape pod is locked"

"Oh I know"

"Sir please, hurry, please! The men are injured and the lab is unstable at any minute now this whole place will collapse with everyone in it"

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that"

"What? But it, there are people here"

"Yes but that creature is part of our project"

"You knew about this didn't, how could you sent us"

"It was the only way, we needed test subjects"

"You were using as as your guinea pigs"

"Oh no no no, lab rats is more like it"

"Sir Don't leave us!"

"I'm sorry but I'm afraid I can't let you go" the boss presses a button the last thing he heard was his lab workers screaming before the lab exploded.

"Hehehe, phase one is complete now on to step 2" the mysterious boss pulls out his phone.

"It's me, it's here...I need you to bring them in...I don't care if it's risk it has to be done, good, bring in the bait time to set the trap" he hands up, "soon you will be mine"

Two months later, in saint canard, in the mallard's residence.

Lived Drake, launchpad and his daughters: Gosalyn waddlemeyer mallard, morgana Macawber, Abigail waddlequack and Iclynn.

Note: iclynn is a clone of Drake created by fowl.

Gosayln was reading an article about the incident which had her concerned.

But then Abigail had a letter in her hand when gosayln heard her cheering.

"Yeah" Abigail cheered.

"What is it Abigail! What's wrong?" Drake rushed downstairs along with gosayln who seemed concerned.

"My application went through" Abigail says.

"Oh that's great Abigail" morgana says when Abigail ran in the living room, she was reading a gothic magazine.

"What did you apple for?" Launchpad asked who was holding iclynn.

"A oceanographer for the underwater research facility for Mana One, they supervise a mission to explore a deeper section of the Mariana Trench, previously concealed by a thermocline of hydrogen sulfide"

"Wow sounds big but aren't you pushing yourself a little too fast into a career Abigail, I mean you are only 14 seems just you're kinda rushing into this" Drake was a bit concerned.

"Come on Drake, this is my future, I love the ocean, I want to study the ocean please, please say I can go"

Drake sighs, "ok ok only if you promise that you'll be safe"

"Here's a better idea, you guys get to come with me" Abigail says.

"Huh?" Everyone was shocked.

Thr application was approved byan incredible scientist named Dr. Quackson.

"And he says that I can bring my family to show the underwater lab" Abigail explains the letter but the moment gosayln Heard that name she was surprised.

"Did you say Dr quackson" she asked which had everyone intrigued.

"You know him gosayln?" Drake asked.

"Yeah he was an old friend of my grandfather"

"Oh I didn't know your grandpa knew him" Abigail says.

"Well I haven't seen him in awhile not since was a little, it's been so long I don't know if he even remembers me"

"Well since you know him, this will be a perfect time to show you guys this new project I'm helping them with is gonna be great"

They were taking a helicopter ride to the ocean, but Drake looks down at the ocean, he starts to get a

Flashback.

A young boy his leg wrapped by a seaweed trapped, he was struggling trying to free while reaching out for the surface, ending the flashback.

But gosayln was concerned about Drake, "hey you ok" she grabs his arm.

He was startled at first but was at ease, "you seem nervous about something" gosayln says.

"Oh I'm fine, I just...have a bad moment with the sea" he looks down at the ocean and was having another PSTD attack.

When they land on top, they were greeted by a duck in a lab coat with orange hair.

"Abigail, so glad to have you on board" Dr quackson and Abigail approach each other, exchanging handshakes.

"It's so good to have you here Ms. waddlequack"

"It's so nice if you to invite my family here, I been looking forward to it sir, oh Dr quackson, this is my family"

"Welcome to Mana One" Dr quackson greeted.

[katie-the-bug]

Take a wild guess what I'm still reading.

For those just tuning in to my running commentary on Left Behind, we're following: Rayford Steele, a True Christian (TM) who's trying to convert his daughter and not-girlfriend; Chloe Steele, who exists just so Rayford has someone to worry about; Hattie Durham, Rayford's not-girlfriend and a newly-minted Antichrist fangirl; Bruce Barnes, failed pastor and expositor extraordinaire; Buck Williams, a reporter who's done a really bad job hiding from a global conspiracy; Nicolae Carpathia, the ridiculously charming barely-disguised Antichrist.

"As long as you don't expect me to cook or something sexist and domestic like that." Chapter 14 is off to a great start everybody.

We finally get Nicolae's take on every child in the world dying instantly, and his response has to do with quantum fields, lightning, and nuclear weapons. I understand he's supposed to be obviously lying here, but really, there's about as much proof for his theory as there is for the Rapture - which is to say, none.

Nicole also refers to the disappearance of children and "fetal material." I simply adore that a) LaHaye and Jenkins just had to make their villain pro-choice and b) this is how they think pro-choice people talk. Regardless, I'm rooting for Nicolae effective immediately.

The Steele's home gets broken into offpage, which I suppose is meant to show how lawless and cruel the world has become, but it falls flat. All the characters are back to work and traveling with only minor hitches from piled-up cars, governments are proceeding as though nothing has happened, and the characters can go shopping without incident. If the authors were trying to get across an image of societal collapse, they're failing miserably.

On call with Rayford in Chapter 15, Hattie mentions that her sister works in an abortion clinic and is getting no business because nobody is pregnant anymore, and Rayford (whose viewpoint is considered "correct" now that he's a True Christian) concludes that said sister is hoping for people to need abortions again so she can keep getting paid. Just in case you thought that the authors viewed abortion providers as anything other than baby-killing mercenaries.

The rest of the conversation has Rayford thinking Hattie is stupid for hoping her sister won't be out of business for too long. Actually, he's had a similar attitude throughout the whole story - part of the reason he beats himself up for wanting to have an affair with her is because she's young and vapid. Was I supposed to like this man? Because I don't like him at all.

M*A*S*H is still on at its usual time. But sure, the world is in chaos.

Nicolae has been declared "Sexiest Man Alive." Out of all the ways the authors are trying to show that everybody loves Nicolae, this is the funniest.

It has been mentioned several times that the Romanian Nicolae is of Italian descent. I would like to know how this matters at all. Is the Antichrist supposed to be Roman? Then why not make him Italian? And if he has to have some other nationality, why Romanian of all things? Why not American, which is what he acts like most of the time? I'm just going to assume there's some obscure interpretation of Revelation that indicates a Romanian Antichrist and leave it at that.

So, just to give you an idea of what's going on in Buck's plotline: his friend in London was on the trail of a global conspiracy. He died in a very suspicious "suicide." His other friend came to warn him that this conspiracy was coming for him before dying gruesomely in a car bombing, which Buck used to fake his own death. Buck returned to America, met with people who knew he was Buck, and went right back to reporting despite being worried that the conspiracy will arrest him for his friend's murders. He meets with Nicolae, who he knows is probably part of the conspiracy and more importantly knows exactly who he is and what he did. Nicolae is now explaining his entire evil scheme after no prompting. I think Buck is stupid, but fortunately for him, so is this conspiracy.

This whole plotline, incidentally, ends with Nicolae persuading Buck not to reveal the global conspiracy and, in exchange, phoning his fellow conspirators to get Buck off the hook. So our story about our intrepid journalist on the run from a global conspiracy ends in him not exposing a damn thing. Anticlimactic.

At the beginning of Chapter 17, Rayford watches the news. Once again, the sudden and mysterious death of every child in the world is a secondary concern to Nicolae Carpathia and *checks notes* two religious fanatics in Jerusalem yelling about Jesus Christ.

The book takes a few pages to let Bruce explain everything that's going to happen in the next seven years - and by extension, exactly how the authors think the end of the world will go down. This isn't even foreshadowing, this is straight-up spoiling the rest of the book series.

In Chapter 18, the aforementioned religious fanatics are attacked, and for some reason THIS is "turn on the TV right now" level news.

Okay so it's been shown and explicitly mentioned at least once that Nicolae doesn't use contractions in his speech. This means that, when he's pretending to act surprised about the suspicious death of one of Buck's competitors, he exclaims "You do not say!" like he's a posh French lady in a cartoon. I really want to know why the authors thought it made him sound sophisticated.

Nicolae meets Hattie and immediately gives her his personal number. We get no details, but I feel like there's a much more interesting story to be told here about the most charming man in the world being himself charmed in an instant. I know their relationship won't work out because Nicolae's gonna start acting cartoonishly evil in a little bit, but I'm gonna ship it while I can.

That concludes my thoughts on Chapters 14-19. I think I'm gonna have to start doing this in a more organized manner, maybe one post every five chapters or so just so they don't get too long and I don't have to think up silly titles for every single post. We'll see.

[writer-of-various]

Snippet...[Warnings: N*zis, Strong Language, and the Crew are just a warning to anything]

"I'm done, man, honestly, I'm done." Dempsey shut his eyes, his breathing growing shallow as he struggled to gain control of the anger that is brewing inside him. Richtofen frowned, looking at his teammate and shaking his head.

"No–"

Dempsey made a noise, like a strangled animal, and jumped up from the old chair he was sitting on, his arms outstretched as he lets out another noise. "I'm done, Eddie! This time travel BS is fucking with us! I mean, come on, the Nazis won? The Soviets won? The US turned into its worst possible nightmare?! Fuck this man, I'm done!"

Nikolai shrugs, "I mean...at least we haven't gone back in time and gotten the Black Plague or went into another universe that was dictated by women." He avoids Lilja's hard stare, her eyes narrowed. Takeo sighs.

"You're making it worse." He mumbles, and Nikolai gives him a look.

"Worse? No, I'm trying to say that what we've seen so far is nothing compared to what could possibly await us. We've chased after some stupid piece of uranium, we're looking for some artifact, we encountered a crazy group of people from the future of another world that plans to use zombies to gain control of their world– I mean, how can anything possibly get worse, actually?"

"Alright, you better shut up before I knock all your teeth out. I'm sorry this isn't going according to plan, but if we decide to avoid this, then everything we've known is completely fucked. Our old lives were the same, fighting the undead constantly while we followed him," Lilja points at Richtofen, who gives a small, sheepish smile. "We died so many times, we sacrificed so much. But Samantha needs us. The universes are merging, and if we don't stop it, we can face a death more horrific and real than we have ever gone through."

Dempsey sighs, nodding his head while walking closer to the group. "I know...I'm sorry. It's just...these different versions of us...Vietnam? Post World War Two? Fuck, being royalty? How do we know that this...is actually who we are?"

"Because we remembered each other. The dreams, the memories...I've told you all this before and you better start believing it. Fate brought us together. In a horrible way, but we found each other again. And I think now, that's all that matters." Lilja offers him a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Dempsey doesn't notice this and smiles back, nodding his head once more and rubbing his hands together, the light returning to his eyes.

"Alright, where to next then?"

As Lilja explains their next objective, she can't help but think back to her sadistic self. She knew everything her previous selves have went through, the troubles they endured in both World Wars by the Russians and then Germans. To see her Ultimis self joining the Germans, to becoming a sick person who loved to get her next thrill by torturing POWs and traitors of Germany?

To see Richtofen growing more insane by the second, his desire to rule the world so unreal, so different, even from his Ultimis self. And the brainwashings, how they changed Dempsey and Takeo. Dempsey, someone who loves to help others and has a big heart, to be changed to a supersoldier with no empathy or that childlike light in his eyes. Takeo, someone who knows the pressure of being honorable and someone who takes his actions into full responsibility, to be so reckless and bloodthirsty.

And Nikolai, to betray his home, his people, to indulge in severe drinking and drug use and to be...she can't describe it. It makes her stomach churn, to have seen them in their worst versions, to force the boys to see themselves like that?

The outcome of World War Two was always a big topic among everyone, the 'what ifs' like a scary story. What if Germany won? What if the Soviets caused a nuclear fallout? What if the USA finally pursued Manifest Destiny? What if all the countries that have abused by bigger powers teamed up and caused another war? Her country being the cause of another war.

"Lilja, you okay?" Richtofen looks at her with a questioning gaze, and it makes her feel so...vulnerable. She wants to cry. She wants to just say "Fuck it", and give up. She doesn't want to see what else awaits them. She doesn't want these memories, she never wanted them, she never asked for them. They weren't a gift, they were a curse. Like being chosen by the supposedly dead Kronorium.

Instead, she forces another smile and nods. "Yes, I am. Let's get to work, the fate of all humanity depends on us."

There's no hope for wherever they go next. Because it's another death Lilja is going to be pained with.

So I planned, like a year or something ago, to try continuing the Zombies storyline since these recent CODs have been disappointing in continuing Cold War's story. I haven't published much story content, rather Headcanons and short snippets here and there. I'm not even sure if I have actually discussed this topic with y'all. But, basically, in these storyline, I chose my OC, Lilja, to be the new leader of the crew. She is chosen to attain all memories from her Ultimis and Primis selves, and she has to reunite the crew after Samantha Maxis manages to contact her with many warnings, the main one being that all universes could merge and humanity could end once that happens. If this wasn't OC led, Dempsey would have been the "Chosen One" and have been the new leader.

Anyways, basically they are guided by Samantha (and sometimes the evil forces from the Dark Aether who disguise themselves as Samantha) to time travel and jump universes to find objects that can help them in the final battle against the Dark Aether to save Samantha and basically the whole fucking universe.

The Crew has to jump universes to not only find significant artifacts, but they have to kill the different versions of themselves, and killing another version of themselves is painful in pretty much all the senses (for example, Nikolai shooting another version of himself in the head gives him a horrible headache.)

This snippet takes place after the crew finds themselves in an alternate universe where Germany won WW2 and took control of pretty much the whole world (with some territories given to its Axis Powers allies.) The versions of the crew are, as you can imagine, terrible and troubled and it affected the crew a lot to see themselves represent themselves as followers of the Nazi party. It's hard enough for me to write shit like that, but the What Ifs of World War Two are always a big topic among pretty much everyone and I couldn't ignore the opportunity of putting this theory to the test with our crew, who are World War Two oriented.

So this is basically what I've planned to write, and I might not even the get the chance to actually write a full on story about this potential work of continuing the zombies storyline (this is all my own opinions) since I won't get the chance to actually see how Gulf War's zombie storyline works out. Anyways, I hope you somewhat enjoyed this and I understand if you just left midway through my rant.

Have a wonderful day!

[zimonlemon]

end of a time — a dystopian wasteland. part 1

    Earth, once thought to be the greatest utopia in the known universe…now nothing but a sad dusted wasteland. Humans are greedy, the biggest sinners imaginable. It happened so fast, it started with the famine from the war and it only went downhill from there. Turns out, nothing really matters anymore when your world is in a full blown war against itself. As if humans weren't assholes already, crime rates only seemed to triple in numbers. Disease, famine, homicide; the cherry on top of the world's first all out nuclear warfare.

— it's a miracle any of us survived at all.

         I used to be alone, but I've somehow managed to gather a group of survivors. The group only seems to get bigger the more we return to the surface. Though, not every expedition are we met with a fruit basket and welcoming smiles. We've lost too many allies for it to be considered humane up there on the surface where what we call surface dwellers or the mutated patrol. Those who choose the surface are always much more aggressive and deranged than your average human; they're like a fork in the road you can only hope you never come across. 

         My group and I are sewer dwellers, "gophers" as others refer to it as. We used to have a bunker, but we've long since outgrown it. Currently, we have six— on the verge of five. During our last surface visit we found a small child, and as you can imagine coming from the fallout zones they're horribly devastated. Skinny and almost yellow, barely able to open their pus crusted milky eyes. We don't think they have much longer, and even if they did survive by either miracle or curse, they sure as fuck wouldn't be human anymore. At least with us if they do actually take their final breath, they'll pass on feeling like they had a family again rather than dying out in the fallout abandoned in the trash like well.. trash. 

         Our oldest member is 37, and he's absolutely useless. Before the world collapsed the only thing he knew was a cubicle and how to use a fax machine. He likes to think of himself as our leader by deduction of his age but we all know it's Ace, he's our unhinged 23 year old. He claims to have been part of a gang before the end of the world— absolutely no one refutes this. He definitely has more survival instincts than all of us, potential combined. 

           Regardless, even with six (—five) of us we have a fair supply of rations to work with. This however is a story in of itself, back when we were still just a small group of four we lived in this survivor refuge called 'Salvation's Hope'. It used to be an old military site, it wasn't the best held up but for what it's been repurposed for it works; it was basically the Red Cross gone post apocalyptic. Food, medicine, clothes — you name it, they probably had it. They were very proud of this fact. Pride, one of the many deadly sins of humanity. Pride, the sin that led to their damnation. A surface group of raiders, Starfall (or some other cliche bullshit of a name) decided that those supplies were better suited into the palms of their own greedy little hands. As the camp was going to literal shit, our group managed to grab enough to fill up each one of our rucks and run; we've never looked back since. Hey, we never claimed to be saints. Down here, we're all sinners —doing what must be done to survive. If not for yourself, then for your group.

[pumpkin-headed]

EXTREME SPOILERS FOR HUNTER X HUNTER AHEAD, BE WARNED.

Netero is a character that heavily inspired my own creations, I am going to explain just what I see within that terrifying old man.

His ideologies are quite simple. He does not care for weak people, in either body or mind, and when faced with death, he went down smiling.. in the worst way possible.

He may have loved to fight, but he knew there was a chance he wouldn't win. So he made sure he had a way to get his job done in the event of that.

"Dont underestimate the human race, Meruem."

In his final moments, Isaac Netero not only gave the king of ants, Mereum, this grim reminder but us as well.

"King of ants, Meruem. You know nothing of the bottomless malice within the human heart!"

A haunting reminder of the horrifying wrath humanity is capable of.

The ants ruled through brutality and power, but we have been in that game way longer.

"If there's a hell, I'll see you there."

The last words from the man who dedicated himself to praying.

Before he stabbed through his heart with his own fingers.

Unleashing the greatest evil humans in both the manga and our own genuine real world have ever created.

One that hunterxhunters world pushed far past our own.

One that was small enough to hide within his chest.

Our greatest shame and our strongest weapon.

The nuclear bomb. And almost poetically, this one takes takes the shape of a rose.

This is not a dissection. It is a small analysis of that moment and what made it so powerful to me.

[ardinwriter]

So I’ve been rewatching Salvation, for like the 20th time, and I love it, but I definitely feel like they try to fit too much into each season, making them over complicated.

Like, S1 is great, right up until they threw Monroe and Resyst in. 

Asteroid and Atlas and Russia should have been plenty. Most of the season stays the same, Resyst still exists and helps them get the gravity tracker launched past Russia, but not to steal Tess, just for money and so Darius Tanz owes them one. Then maybe in the last episode introduce Q17 as the ones blowing up aircraft carriers to get us to the Russian nuclear launch. Everyone except Darius and Liam still end up in the bunker, etc.

And then S2:

Have the nukes destroyed during launch by the Russians when they see the US isn’t retaliating. Diplomacy still on thin ice, so the President orders Darius to keep the the bunker sealed until things smooth out some, maybe 45 days. No VP Darius, no world being held hostage by Resyst. Instead use the season for the Monroe plot and Q17, while Darius and Liam try to figure out what’s up with the asteroid and Grace acts as a senior advisor to the President. Having Monroe and Q17 at the same time is perfect because then you get a great half season of “are they the same, are they working together, etc.”.  

Meanwhile, keep the tension between Grace and Darius by having Darius see and misinterpret something when he reopens the bunker that makes him think Harris and Grace are back together. 

2/3 of the way through the season, sort out the Monroe thing - including Darius’ kidnap plan because I love seeing him and Grace’s dad interact. Ditch the Grace killing Claire, instead have the bodyguard that Darius insisted Grace keep do it instead and then go immediately to the police instead of a cover up. 

End the season by wrapping the Q17 plot with both Darius and Harris gravely injured. When Grace stays with Darius, he makes some snarky comment about how she should be with her boyfriend which is when she realizes why he’s been being how he is, but before she can correct him, he’s rushed into surgery. When he wakes, she’s at his bedside, confesses that she loves him, but before he can respond, Liam rushing in, telling them that the asteroid is about to hit, that nothing they’ve done has stopped it, tv on to watch. Darius remembering the thought he had as he went under for surgery and tells them he doesn’t think it will hit. Watch as it doesn’t hit, but comes to a stop above the Earth.

Into S3:

Start several hectic weeks after the last season ended. The ‘asteroid’ has taken up an orbit around Earth, effectively becoming a second very small moon, obviously not naturally occurring. Darius and Liam have been working constantly with scientists around the world to contact it as Grace and the President - with Harris now as VP - try to shore up international diplomacy and stop other countries from shooting at the thing.

A few episodes in, it’s clear that Darius and Grace have not found two seconds to talk about her confession at the hospital, despite several attempts that we see. Darius, finally frustrated by that after a meeting in the Oval office, turns to the President and says something like “I’ve been trying for 6 weeks to get 10 minutes alone to talk to Grace, Madam President can we borrow your office for a few moments”. The President is hopeful that they’re finally going to talk - they have not been subtle - and has everyone clear the room. Not talking so much as a take on the end of 2x9 with him just kissing her and the makeout session. The next episode starts the same way as 2x10, but without the secret service men outside her house.

Efforts to talk to the thing continue and Grace, who has become good friends with the younger woman, discovers that Jillian has been theorizing some of her own ways to talk to the thing, ways that are less math and science and more humanity. Can’t really get anyone to listen though.

1-3 episodes of some other country attempting, despite everyone else telling them not to, to blow the thing up.

Then conclude with Grace convincing Darius to try one of Jillian’s approaches since nothing else has worked. Shortly after they send Jillian’s message or whatever, a small chunk of the ‘asteroid’ breaks off and begins a slow decent towards the White House - like slow enough to have debates/discussions and gather important people.

As the landing gets closer, Darius and Grace ask the President for a favor, which she grants, but we don’t see what it is.

Cue the landing. The President, Harris, diplomats of all kinds, Darius, Liam, Grace and Jillian all out on the lawn waiting. When it does, everyone kind of looks at each other trying to decide who goes first, then the President turning to Jillian and ushering her forward. Saying that science and math and diplomacy failed before, so she thinks it’s good to start this round with Jillian’s heart.

Jillian stepping forward as the ship comes in to land and a door appears and starts to open. Pan to Darius as he puts his left arm around Grace’s shoulders. She raises her left hand to cover his. Zoom in on their shiny new wedding rings. Then pan back to the ship. Go dark before we see who comes out.

This show was always at it’s best when it was about the people instead of the situations and I feel that moving away from that hurt the show quite a bit, especially in S2.

[bookoformon]

Ether 13, Part 5. "The Survivors."

Most of the second half of the Book of Ether focuses on Coriantumr, "the return to innocence" but our main character is having trouble doing that because there is a war raging. Worse, everyone in Ether is hiding from what is going on and nothing good is getting done. It reminds me of a nation that is being run by a corrupt two party system that likes to puts it head up other people's assholes like ours instead of doing its job.

The people of Ukraine say, "Oh I don't know these missiles just seem to fall on us." Someone should explain this to them before too long.

In America, the debate over contraception continues in spite of the fact federal law forbids state interference in pregnancies, it states this in a prominent law school's library....it's a shame the kangaroos didn't check this out before all those pre-teen pregnancies starting popping up or all those women died due to restrictions on abortion, isn't it???

The world is blaming Israel for what happened on October 7 and Israel is blaming Palestine but really it's the CIA we need to blame since the real responsible parties in Gaza and Iran are the same ones responsible for the tragedies that have taken place since RVW was overturned and Ukraine can't properly defend itself: The Republican Party.

That man they call the Butcher in Iran openly stated on camera he was an American. The nuclear powered Poseidon nuclear torpedo on board the Dali that took a short trip into the Key Bridge in Baltimore was a cleverly disguised cruise ship stacked not with cargo containers but mobile homes, and these were filled with filthy Mormons on their way to fight alongside Hamas and conquer Israel at last.

Then yesterday, a bunch of European dipshits said they wanted to recognize Palestine as a state except Palestine cannot be recognized as a state as it has illegal terminology in its constitution that legalizes Sharia law. Palestine should not have been recognized in the first place with this terminology in its constitution.

Finally the nation is pretending Donald Trump should be allowed to live and serve another term in the White House. Yesterday, Nikki Haley, a stupid, stupid bitch said she would vote for him either way.

Enter our next character Shared, "the survivors of service." Survival, according to the Rab is supposed to teach us what is important. So it appears more wars, tyrannies, and devastations are important to us. We can't just get enough. The next few verses in Ether explains, although we can't get our innocence back, we can certainly try to be enlightened:

22 And it came to pass that Coriantumr repented not, neither his household, neither the people; and the wars ceased not; and they sought to kill Ether, but he fled from before them and hid again in the cavity of the rock.

23 And it came to pass that there arose up Shared, and he also gave battle unto Coriantumr; and he did beat him, insomuch that in the third year he did bring him into captivity.

24 And the sons of Coriantumr, in the fourth year, did beat Shared, and did obtain the kingdom again unto their father.

The text mentions the people went into a hiding place a second time. This actually refers to the opposite: a hiding place is out in the open among things that are in plain sight. Hiding places involve experiences we have come to take for granted whether they are good or not. The Republican Party is a good example.

How is it these fuckups managed to pull the underpants over the heads of the CIA, the White House, the Mossad and every intelligence agency on the planet, stock Gaza with weapons through its top bud in Iran and sneak an impregnable battle cruiser into Baltimore Harbor, 35 miles away from Washington DC? Why is President Biden allowing them to intimidate and hassle everyone about Jesus and this abortion shit without a deadly response? People are dead. A large number of people have been maimed, and no one seems to know what do except move forward. We are expected to survive all of this bullshit and do so without twitching a single muscle in response. Everyone is hiding from reality.

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 22:  And it came to pass that Coriantumr repented not, neither his household, neither the people; and the wars ceased not. The Value in Gematria is 7267, ז‎ב‎וז‎ ‎, zaboz, "a waste."

v. 23:  And it came to pass that there arose up Shared. The Value in Gematria is 7322, ז‎ג‎בב‎, zgbab, "an incident between the young shoot and the father."

v. 24:  And the sons of Coriantumr, in the fourth year, did beat Shared, and did obtain the kingdom again unto their father. The Value in Gematria is 3859, גח‎הט, "overbearing pride that slowed down."

The Rab says the only way to survive and return to our innocence, meaning our freedom form illegal things is to observe Shabbos. How and why this is done can be found in the scriptures of any religion. Shabbos entails the effort needed to produce, distribute, and enjoy food. It is the very opposite of making war, shooting missiles, causing strife and trouble. The world needs to slow down as God says and reestablish the traditions that have helped us survive without being survivors. Today would be a good day for someone in a position of authority to tell the world this is what America plans to do.

[thots-and-thoughts1031]

So I promised myself I wasn’t going to post anymore about Bees because we had sworn a truce after one hell of a falling out Tuesday, but he broke the truce bc one of the posts (it was cross posted so still just the one post, but duplicated) apparently glitched and didn’t get deleted, so he went on a rant airing out all his grievances with us again. Even though he said he wouldn’t.

He called my husband (who is Bi) homophobic bc he is still dealing with the internalized homophobia that comes with being raised in the South. He has been learning and growing for years at this point, and gotten better much much better, it’s usually internal struggle thoughts and nothing outward. Also the comment he keeps referencing, that was made was back when we had all just became friends, before my husband realized he was bi, and before he started working on himself.

He also says we harp on this one thing, where one of his villains gave me nightmares, and he never cared about it. He cares so little that he can’t remember that it was me (the wife) that had the nightmares because I can’t do body horror despite loving horror movies.

One of our main problems was because he keeps judging a commission he found on my husbands computer because he woke it up when we were trying to tell him to let us do it (to discord call one of our friends). He keeps saying it’s morally questionable and all this, when it was just weight gain drawing commission. I’m fucking plus sized and my husband often got commissions of me to make me feel more comfortable with my struggles with weight. And he keeps acting like him posting that about us on his tumblr isn’t a massive breach of privacy and friendship.

We should have ended it then and there. But no, we gave him 2.5 more years and he goes nuclear when we finally had enough.

Background- we made an RPG horror story post about him and everything he’s done to us, everyone agreed that he was being ridiculous. But apparently one of our other friends saw it, and sent it to him. So everyone went kablooy.

[stoptellinglieslois]

Principal of pleasure part 34

Dick get's a phone call from Lois.

Superman x Nightwing Pairing

Dick

I jogged to the driveway and got in my car and tried to drive away from the manor.

As people trying to scramble out of the place.

I finally got out of the small traffic jam at the manor and got on the road.

As I recollect my conversation with Damian my phone rings I looked on the caller id and it was Lois.

I panicked at the sight of her name I wanted nothing to do with her right now. Hoping she would drop the call and it kept ringing.

I didn't want to pick it up it would look suspicious but if I do pick it up it was the unknown that I was worried about I don't really know what I am going to expect from her so far I did nothing wrong.

It couldn't be anything serious or pressing so I picked it up. "Its was you wasn't it Dick he's fucking you." Her voice boomed through the cell like a nuclear boom.

I gripped the wheel hard and the car swerve as she yelled at me through the phone.

"Lois what are you talking about." I thought lying would be the best bet, But she caught me with my pants down I don't know how far the lie would take me this isn't like me to lie not to Lois I need to think fast.

"Don't fuck with me Grayson you know exactly what I am talking about I can't believe you." Lois didn't want to play the game of stupid tonight it was over I was caught.

"Look I didn't mean to hurt you or Jonathan but Lois I am not gonna lie to you please for the love of everything mighty don't say anything to anyone." I pleaded with her even though I had no right to do that.

"Fuck off Dick he is like your uncle your father your mentor how could you." She ignored my plea and continued ranting.

"How did you find out Lois." I asked her. my eyes started flowing with tears.

"You smell just like him when we first got married, on our first date it's the only cologne that Clark owns it's his father cologne that cologne has been discontinued since the late seventies no one smells like this." Lois knew from the moment she smelled the air about me and Kal. she knew right then and there I didn't want to fight with her lying wouldn't work at this point.

"Please Lois don't tell anyone please I know you hate me but right now this won't get Clark back to you."

"No he made it clear that our marriage is over we are done. Dick how could you come to us when Bruce wanted nothing to do with you and replaced you with Jason." Oh that stung like a stab to the heart and Lois twisted the knife more deeper into me.

"I had no intention of ruining your life Lois." I started crying tears rolling down my face as she was yelling at me.

"You're married to Barbara she's pregnant with your child and you went and fucked another man."

I went silent I knew this would be a disaster but I know this was going up shit creek as soon she mentioned Barbara.

"I am leaving Barbara before you even confronted me tonight I was going to stay with her, I need you to not tell anyone because Lois your marriage has ended but we have family who wont give us a chance to explain ourselves. Bruce will destroy Clark do you get me." I was still crying softly not trying to provoke the fire breathing dragon.

"Yes I know Bruce very well would not stand for this shit." She exclaimed out angrily.

"Did you know Bruce also loves your husband he professes this to me every time he sees me." I knew what I was doing and it was wrong, I wanted the heat off of me and Kal for a bit because Bruce is scary and a force not to anger he would not forgive us if he found out.

"He loves Clark ?"

"Ask Clark he will tell you everything." I was grasping at straws right now.

I knew me and Kal being together would be the calamity of a train wreck the conductor jumped out the window and there was no one controlling the train.

"I can't believe this what the fuck is going on here."

"Well Lois..." She cut me off quick.

"Ok I won't get anything from this conversation but I want all of us to meet up ,You and Clark I want the full truth from both of you." She said anger seething out of the cell her voice was pure venom.

"I would meet but please don't tell Bruce."

"He will find out eventually about the two of you if he hasn't already. Clark always told me he's the world's best detective." I knew I was screwed but I needed to put out most of the flame of this wild fire.

"We will all meet tommorrow at the farm." And she hung up abruptly.

I needed to call Kal this was one of the worst moments of our life, The rang only once.

"Dick Lois called me and she knows about us." I cried in frustration and I realised we're trapped since the moment I left the cabin and went to this ball.

"She wanted us to meet up at the farm house we will go together as a couple." Kal said tired but not cracked down by this.

"What if she already told Bruce about us." I said knowing she already found out about us from just his cologne alone Bruce as well made comments about the way I smelled tonight and that I smell familiar to him.

"If he knows Dick then that will be his own personal feelings, He could have feelings for me but that's it I hold no ties to him." Kal said he sounded pretty much resolute with what was going on tonight.

"I just want us to be ok."

"Fine we will meet Lois tommorrow and we will talk to her and hopefully I could bring closure for her." I breathed deep it like the first time today.

"No matter what Dick I won't let this shake us."

End of part 34 next is part 35

Thank you for reading

[thranduilland]

Expanding on the idea of 'Hob as Curiosity of the Endless' that I had the other week.

Hob as Curiosity of the Endless, but he had his own run in YEARS AND YEARS AND YEARS ago with an amateur magician who was also a fanatic puritan trying to trap Desire (in an attempt to destroy them) but got Curiosity, instead. The spell went super wrong and that facet of Curiosity ended up 'dying' and being reborn in Hob, who was supposed to become the new Curiosity on the night 7 July 1389 when he was supposed to have a near-death-experience that severed the last of the spellwork on him to wake him up to his new existence.

Instead, he had a near-Death-experience of a different sort and became 'immortal' instead. Destiny is still sulking about it but no one has visited him long enough to ask why since it happened so... Without that eye-opening, life-changing push to break the spellwork, the potential for Curiosity remained slumbering inside of Hob, though it started to wake with every year that went by. He still needed something BIG to shatter the last of the spellwork, but nothing that happened was really big ENOUGH, so he continued on with an unexplained, insatiable desire for the next new thing, good or bad or middling. If there was something to be created, he wanted to know about it and he wanted to see it!

1916 rolls around and Hob is starting to struggle. World War 1 has changed the face of warfare so greatly that even he's not sure he'll know himself when it ends. He's pushing on, working through it, just getting things done... then June 10 1916 rolls around and Hob wakes up from an odd dream about a cult, his stranger, and magic to find that he feels... different. The last of the spellwork has fallen away, but Curiosity is sluggish to assert himself, to bring his memories to bear, so Hob moves on with his life as he always has. The odd dream forgotten to the sound of early morning gunfire and men dying horrible deaths...

Unknown to Hob, with Dream locked away, humankind has forgotten how to dream and Curiosity is picking up the slack. But where Dreams and Nightmares might once have helped influence how a person might go about their curiosity in the Waking world, now only the burning question of 'what if-?' remains. The more the Dreaming decays, the stronger Curiosity grows, and humans suddenly make leaps and bounds they never dared to make before. The curiosity had always been there the question of 'what if-?' but before dreams and nightmares tempered the enthusiasm for the projects and they often ended up invented or coming about in ways different than initially intended.

Tangled in with all of this, of course, is the fact that Destruction is also absent. No one to rein everyone in when the scale of atrocity rose too high. Curiosity was there pushing and pulling and trying to wake themselves up, trying to find themselves in this world that they know but that is unfamiliar to them all the same. What if-? What if-? What if-? Desire nudging and cajoling people along to the answers, pushing and prodding until we ended up with Nuclear Weapons, holocaust, inhumane experimentation on a scale that beggars belief. Untampered greed and unsatiable curiosity. Humans pushing, humans pressing, humans asking 'what if-? What if-? What if-?' and never stopping long enough to consider the consequences, never stopping to consider the 'shoulds', the 'could's, the 'whys', only the 'what if-?' but never what comes next.

Curiosity finally stirring enough within Hob to take note of things. Of Destruction and Dream's absence and the impact they themselves are having on everything. To finally start to merge their thoughts in with Hob's, slowly, so Hob won't suddenly lose his damn mind, but quickly enough that Hob might start to rein things in... just a little, just enough for everything to not be so horribly unbalanced. Just enough that maybe people will ask 'what if-?' and wait a moment to think through the consequences before leaping to an answer. Just enough that people might consider ethics and morality before leaping whole-heartedly into anything... enough that Curiosity's struggling and overworked siblings, Convalescence and Contemplation, might finally be able to bring some measure of order back to things...

The process is still going when 2021 rolls around and Dream finds Hob sitting at the New Inn grading papers. Dream doesn't notice the Endless being lurking in the back of Hob's mind, peering at him through Hob's eyes. And Hob doesn't notice there's anything amiss, either... until a few months have gone by and the last of Curiosity finally settles within Hob, they finally become one and the same... Hob suddenly understands why he's immortal and why he's never been able to stop asking 'why?!' and 'what if-?' and why life never got boring or too hard, even when he was at his worst...

The next time Dream meets with Hob, he almost doesn't notice anything is wrong, almost. But there's just... something not right about Hob but he can't quite put his finger on what it might be... but when he asks, Hob just smiles at him like the cat that got the cream and doesn't answer, instead launches into a story about the latest inventions... but Dream just can't shake that something has changed, he doesn't know what, but he's determined to find out...