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slippinmickeys · 4 years ago

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Five Seconds (5/8)

If you’d like to read on AO3, you may do so here.

October 15, 2018

The leaves were beginning to change outside the window; the maples turning russet, the birch yellow. Scully felt pendulous and gravid, the child in her belly more active than her previous two combined. Sleep was becoming difficult, but by day they’d fallen into a comfortable routine, safe and unmolested from the dangers that were beginning to feel as though they had never existed at all.

She stretched and left Mulder, half his face obscured by his pillow, his lips soft and pliant in sleep. A fresh pot of decaf awaited her in the kitchen, its automatic timer set by Mulder late last night.

The kids were still asleep, as far as she could tell -- she'd heard Lily come home well after midnight. She'd been up reading anyway when her daughter had popped her head into their bedroom door and whispered "I'm home." The girl had been wearing a small smile and Scully recognized the look. Lily was falling in love.

Will shuffled into the kitchen sleepily, a palm rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He approached Scully where she stood at the counter and put an arm around her shoulder, leaning on her. He still smelled like the sleepy little boy who liked to cuddle into her side to watch nature shows when he was six.

"Morning Mom," he said, taking a snuffly breath. He leaned down and rested his cheek against her head (he was almost as tall as Mulder, though still as skinny as a maypole). Scully wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him in closer. Affection from her kids was getting fewer and farther between now that they were active teenagers. She was determined to enjoy whatever she got.

"Morning," she said, giving his back a little rub, "you're up early."

"Yeah," he said on a yawn. "There's an open rink this morning and a couple of buddies are going. Is it okay if I join them?"

Scully nodded. "Just make sure you tell your dad, too. Know the exits before you go and keep an eye on the crowd."

Will squeezed her once and then let go, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter and holding up like James Bond. "Call me Double O Billy," he said and sidled back to his room off of Scully's bemused chuckle.

She spent an hour catching up on email that had been routed through the Gunmen and Darlene -- coded messages that they interpreted and sent to her mother, sister and brothers. Melissa was giving her a hard time about not letting her fly to Europe (where she thought they were) to be her doula when the time came to give birth. She was tempted to send Byers to her sister's house to explain exactly what was happening, but rejected the impulse. Their mother -- the only person other than the Gunmen and the X-Files triumvirate at the FBI who knew their situation (though not their location for her own protection) -- would talk her down eventually.

Mulder came padding up behind her as she closed the laptop and she felt a soft, drawn-out kiss on the side of her neck.

"Morning," he mumbled into her skin.

She reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair, then turned to receive his kiss.

"Morning," she said.

"I’ll be back shortly. I'm going to drop Billy off at the ice complex and then take Lil to campus -- she suddenly started liking football."

"I think it's the company rather than the sport," Scully said, turning in her chair to face him.

"...I'm going to choose to believe my version," he said.

Scully reached out and linked their fingers briefly. "Tell her to be careful," she said, "she's spending a lot of time out of the house."

Mulder nodded and squeezed her fingers. "I will," he said, "and when I get back, I have a few ideas for how we can spend our child-free afternoon." He waggled his eyebrows at her and let go, backing out of the room like the charmer he was.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“So why UVA?” Travis asked her. He had his head propped up on an elbow and his other hand was wrapped loosely around her foot, his thumb rubbing circles into her arch. She was on the couch in his dorm room and he was on the floor -- she’d been helping him study for mid-terms. They had been officially dating for five weeks and had seen each other at least every other day in that time. He’d introduced her to a couple of friends as his girlfriend.

“What?” she asked. It was hard enough to concentrate while getting a foot massage, and she’d been staring at the index cards in front of her, trying to find a question that would stump him.

“Why are you going to UVA? Brain like yours, you could have gone anywhere. I don’t think I’ve ever asked you why there.”

“Other than the in-state tuition?” She had told him that they’d moved from Virginia, but hadn’t elaborated.

“Other than that,” he smiled.

“I’ve always wanted to. When I was a kid, my dad would occasionally get called in to consult there and he would take me with him. I kinda fell in love with it.”

“What did your dad consult on?” he asked, “You don’t talk about your parents much.”

Travis tapped her other leg, and she switched feet, silencing a groan when his knuckle hit a particularly sensitive spot.

She had purposely avoided mentioning her family much and debated how much was safe to share.

“UVA has a Department of Perceptual Studies,” she said, and she saw him tilt his head in question.

“A department of what?”

“Perceptual studies,” she said, smiling, “it’s a research group devoted to the investigation of phenomena that challenge mainstream scientific paradigms regarding the nature of the mind/brain relationship.” Travis stopped rubbing her foot and looked at her. She went on, further quoting her dad’s friend Dr. Stevenson: “Their mission is the scientific empirical investigation of phenomena that suggest that currently accepted scientific assumptions and theories about the nature of mind or consciousness, and its relation to matter, may be incomplete.”

“You’re shitting me,” he said.

“I shit you not.”

“What kind of phenomena?” He narrowed his eyes at her.

She tried not to smile, “ESP, poltergeists, near-death experiences, out-of-body experiences, claimed memories of past lives.”

“And what did they want with your father?” he asked, sitting up.

She shrugged. “He’s a shrink,” she said, being deliberately vague.

“This is an accredited university?” He teased her. She kicked at him, and he ducked out of the way and laughed, then looked at her thoughtfully. “You know, I myself had an out-of-body experience with Trudy Carmichael under the bleachers when I was sixteen. Pretty sure I saw through time.”

Lily chuckled, then playfully challenged: “Do I need to worry about this Trudy Carmichael?”

“I doubt it,” he said, hanging his head, “I lost my virginity, and she lost my number. Not my finest hour.”

“A whole hour?,” Lily said wryly.

“One way to find out.”

He looked at her then and she looked back. The moment was charged and sat in between them. The truth was, Lily was still a virgin. She and Travis had messed around, but fairly innocently, and she’d demurred on action below the waist/under the clothes. “I’m not waiting for marriage,” she’d told him a few weeks back, but she did want to wait for love. If only she knew what that felt like.

“Hey, Frisbee,” Travis said when she didn’t say anything, “please don’t take this as a negotiation tactic -- you’ve been clear on your limits and I totally respect that -- and with the full understanding that you don’t need a reason, and you do you and all that -- but… do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what exactly?” she asked, clarifying.

“When I say ‘no pressure,’ I mean it,” he said, reaching out to squeeze her foot.

Lily looked around his sloppy dorm room. There were clothes strewn about, though mostly out of the way— socks balled up near the laundry hamper, a sweatshirt hanging on the back of a chair. The wooden loft that held his bed was posted around the couch, made of flimsy-looking two-by-fours, and did not look like it could hold his weight, much less hers in addition, and remained untried (though Travis swore it had passed inspection). His desk was more fastidiously kept, a reflection of his mind, a structured order in the midst of chaos. He was kind and smart. His smile could make her insides go liquid.

“Honestly?” she finally said, “it’s my parents.”

“Super religious?” he asked.

She had to stop herself from laughing. “No, it’s… My parents love each other. More than anyone I’ve ever known. Their love is like… romance film love. It’s practically written in the stars.”

He looked at her contemplatively. “That’s a lot to live up to,” he said. “Is that what it is?”

“Yes,” she said, then, “no.” It was and it wasn’t. She didn’t know if there was a love out there that could compare, she suspected there wasn’t. Her real hang-up, and she hadn’t been able to get it out of her head since she found her father’s first wedding picture in their attic -- was that her father had obviously made a mistake. What if she did too?

She laughed, annoyed at herself. This wasn’t Regency England. Sex didn’t mean marriage. It didn’t even necessarily mean love. Still...

“Come on,” she said, sitting up and grabbing for his class notes, “this bio exam isn’t going to take itself.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

A sound woke her. Her hips were in agony and sleeping was difficult, so initially she was more annoyed than anything; she could rarely line up more than 90 minutes straight of deep slumber. And then she heard it again.

She reached over, squeezed Mulder's bicep until she heard him sniff sharply awake and silently, pulled out the sidearm she kept inside her bedside table. Mulder, slipping out of bed without a word, pulled out his own gun and went to the door. He held up a hand, trying to tell Scully to stay back, but she shook her head angrily -- she would have his back whether he liked it or not.

When he moved into the hallway, she stepped on the back of his heel and he ended up ramming his shoulder into the doorframe. He swore low under his breath. They were out of sync.

She watched as he put his head into the kids rooms as he made his way down the hallway, nodding at her that they were both accounted for. One more thunk from the living room.

He sidled up to the wall that led to the room and backed up against it. He mouthed one-two-three and they went in, but where she usually went low and he went high, this time they rammed shoulders and stumbled into the room. Mulder flicked on the light when she finally had her weapon aimed true.

There, sitting on a high bookshelf sat Apgar, her black tail swishing merrily. Maintaining eye contact, she swiped one more of the professor's knick-knacks off the shelf and onto the floor.

Mulder dropped his weapon and heaved a sigh, tipping his head back in frustration. "Fucking cat," he hissed.

Mission completed, Apgar jumped down with a thump and weaved a figure eight between Mulder's legs.

"She must be hungry," Scully said.

"Hangry was invented by cats," Mulder mumbled, reaching down to pet the cat with his free hand.

"Our tactical coordination was atrocious," Scully said, flicking the light back off and holding her gun at her hip.

"Yes," Mulder agreed.

"When was the last time you went to the range?" she asked.

"It's been months," he said tiredly.

"We're going tomorrow," Scully said. Mulder knew better than to argue.

XxX

There were more than a few Molon Labe bumper stickers in the parking lot. Scully had to remind herself that they were in Michigan Militia territory. "Michitucky," she'd heard it called by a few guys at the Bureau. Nevertheless, she pulled up to the firing range with fire in her blood. She might not share their politics, but she would share their space, and show most of them up to boot.

They signed in and bought ammunition. She got a few extra looks for being a visibly pregnant woman, but most of the men (and they were all men) who were at the range gave her begrudging looks of approval. Mulder stood, standing straighter and closer than normal, practically growling at anyone who got too close. She had to admit that his fierce protective nature was more than a turn-on.

The range was outdoors -- different than what they were used to at Quantico. And where there were metal tables and dividers and state of the art equipment at the government facility, here it was all beat-to-shit plywood tables and sunburnt grass littered with shell casings and old ear plugs. They took the lane at the end.

They both loaded and checked their weapons, snugged earmuffs over their heads.

"You want to go first?" Mulder asked, double checking the safety on his pistol and setting it on the table behind their station.

"I can do that," Scully said, looking down at her Sig.

"Care for a little wager?" her husband asked.

"You can't afford me, Dr. Mulder," she said, admiring the still-lanky line of his physique.

He raised his eyebrows, and leaned back against the tall wobbly table. "Oh-ho," he said, "I suppose that depends on the currency." He had a smug look about him that she wanted to wipe off his face. She was a better marksman and more competitive than anyone gave her credit for.

"What are you offering?" she asked.

"Dishes?" he offered, "Laundry?"

"We had children for the menial labor," she challenged, "I can win this with one hand tied behind my back. Make it interesting for me."

He licked his lips. She had him.

"I liked the part about 'hands behind the back,'" he said, "Winner decides who wears the handcuffs."

"You're not exactly incentivizing this, Mulder."

He had a flushed look about him; his nostrils flared.

"Prove it," he said, and she felt a flush. Second trimester hormones could be a beautiful thing, she mused.

It took her several rounds before she got back into the groove. It actually had been too long since she'd practiced and she was rusty. Considering their current situation, she ought not to let it happen again. Her last few rounds were dead center. Once her clip was empty, she cleared her weapon and stepped back.

Mulder's turn.

He wasn't quite as out of practice as she was initially, which irritated her to no end. However, his fourth and fifth shots were a bit wide, and he ended around the edges.

When he was clear, she stepped back up and took a bracing breath. She raised her weapon and fired rapidly; all her shots were center mass except the last two, which she swung up and finished with perfect shots to the head of the paper dummy.

When Mulder stepped forward for his turn, she nudged him.

"How big would you say the back of the Yukon is?'" she asked casually.

His first three shots went wide.

XxXxXxXxXxX

October 17, 2018

“Mom?” Lily asked. There was a hesitancy in her voice that made Scully look up from where she was chopping vegetables for dinner. “How did you know you loved Dad?”

Scully set the knife down and turned toward her daughter. “That’s a big question, Lil.”

“What’s a big question?” Mulder came breezing into the kitchen, shooting Scully an intrigued look.

Scully suspected something was up, but didn’t want to embarrass their daughter. Lily had always had an inquisitive streak and would occasionally come to Scully with problems or questions, but she was apt to clam up when pressed.

“Lily was asking me about how I fell in love with you,” Scully said, trying to catch Mulder’s eye.

“It was the day she met me, no doubt,” Mulder said. He grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the counter and shined it on his sleeve before taking a snappy bite. “I’m catnip to the ladies,” he said around the mouthful. Lily smiled. Scully rolled her eyes.

“Suddenly, I’m struggling to remember,” Scully said with mock derision. Mulder gave her a cheeky grin.

“Did you know right away?” Lily asked.

Scully paused. “Not… Not right away,” she said thoughtfully.

Lily looked back and forth between her parents. “I guess it was a long time ago, huh.”

“Love in a time of sarsaparilla,” Mulder said dreamily. Scully shook her head and he caught her eye. “It wasn’t that long ago, Lil,“ he went on, and Scully felt the low bloom of feeling that always accompanied a look from her husband. For as long as she lived, she would always remember the first time she felt it; on the Tooms case, when he’d hooked his finger in her necklace and pulled.

“No, what I mean is… it was complicated,” Scully clarified.

Lily nodded and turned to her father. “You were married. Before Mom.”

“Yes,” Mulder said.

“Did you love her? Your ex wife?”

“I thought I did.”

“When did you figure out that you didn’t?” Lily asked.

“When I met your Mom,” Mulder said.

“So what you felt with Mom…”

“... was so much bigger than I was, that I couldn’t contain it.”

Scully felt her eyes well up. Mulder still sometimes had the ability to make her feel things all the way down to her toes.

Lily smiled, but looked pensive.

"But you thought you loved this other woman? I mean, enough to marry her?" she asked.

Mulder narrowed his eyes at his daughter. "What are you asking, Lil?"

Lily shook her head, her cheeks pink. She grabbed a soda from the fridge and walked out of the room.

“Oh boy,” said Scully.

“What?” Mulder asked.

“Travis,” said Scully. “She’s trying to figure it all out.”

“Jesus, he didn’t propose, did he?” Mulder asked. The look on his face was enough to make her laugh, but she held it in.

Scully turned fully to Mulder and leaned back against the countertop, crossing her arms in front of her.

“You want to know what I think?” she asked. Mulder nodded. “She’s trying to decide whether or when to...” She made a vague gesture with her hands.

Mulder looked at her, still not understanding. Scully gave him the stare of the dotard husband.

“Mulder…” she said, glaring hard.

Realization dawned and Mulder swallowed. “I should have had that boy killed,” he said.

Scully turned back to the vegetables she’d been chopping. “Let’s refrain from wetwork while we’re on the lam.”

“I make no promises,” he said, and slid up behind her, stepping in close and putting his hands on her waist.

“I had the guys check him out by way of Darlene,” Scully said. “He is who he says he is. And he seems like a decent kid. Let’s let her navigate this on her own, huh?” She felt his fingers squeeze and then they drifted down to rest on her hips.

“I don’t like it,” he mumbled, and leaned down to rest his chin on her shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to,” she said. “But you do have to accept it, and trust that we raised her to make these decisions for herself.” She remembered being nineteen and in college and in love for the first time. “You want to hear about Kevin McAvoy, my freshman year boyfriend?”

Mulder squeezed his fingers again and then started to turn her slowly toward him. She set down the knife on the counter and let him. His head was bent toward her and she felt his breath fan her face.

“No,” he said, leaning even more into her personal space.

“I was his Little Red Corvette,” she said playfully, tipping her head back in challenge. He smiled, but she saw something rough pass through his eyes. “He’d put on Prince and --”

Mulder leaned down and silenced her with a kiss.

XxXxXxXxXxX

In her room, Lily sat on the bed, the can of soda from the fridge sitting unopened on her bedside table. Condensation beaded on the side of it, sliding down silently to pool at the base, unnoticed.

Crusher liked to sleep on her pillow, and had left a black felted indent in the feathers, which Lily brushed away and fluffed. She looked about the room. Not much about it spoke of the young woman who slept there and had for months; no posters on the walls, no pennants hanging or pictures of friends. It was a sterile guest room decorated with the mute tones of an unmarried 60-something and lately it had been making her feel like she wasn't even herself.

She stood and walked to the desk, the one place she deposited her things. Her wallet, the phone Darlene had given her that she rarely used and usually kept switched off. Her purse was half hanging off -- likely knocked into such a position by a passing cat -- and when she righted it, she noticed the picture that sat under it. The photo of her father and an unfamiliar brunette, who's face conveyed confidence -- almost a smugness -- and a certain charm.

She stared at the picture. And she wondered.

XxX

October 20, 2018

Lily glanced over her shoulder when she sat, feeling as though she were doing something illegal, something fraught.

No one really used the computer labs anymore -- if you needed to, you could write an entire paper on your phone, though Lily found the practice ridiculous and immature. Nevertheless, there were one or two students sitting at the various desktops around the small library lab, and she checked to make sure no one was paying attention to what she was doing.

She tried to be careful. She had told Travis that she was hoping to log into the university's network to prep for some of the classes she’d be taking at UVA next semester and so she was using his password and login information. She'd checked to make sure there were no cameras on the area where she sat, and that her back was to the one aimed at the larger area.

With a bracing breath, she logged on.

It was surprising what you could find with a simple Google search, and the commonwealth of Virginia's vital records office would send you a copy of any marriage certificate for a fee of $45. Knowing better than to use a credit card, she'd opted for a more in depth search, and found what she was looking for in the Daily Press -- the local newspaper of record in Newport News, Virginia.

It was a wedding announcement, complete with two pictures -- one, the same picture she'd found in her parent's attic and the other of a similar style -- of Fox William Mulder and Lauren Edith Williams, married on August 17th, 1988. According to the article, Lauren had been a recent graduate of Georgetown University and had been employed at Schuster and McClure, a PR firm in the District of Columbia.

Lily looked at the new photograph on the screen before her. Her father looked so young. Only a few years older than herself. Lauren was pretty, had perfect posture, and was staring into the camera like a dare; her dress was all frills and white froth, the material of the dress ruched in large poofs at the shoulders, a crown of satin flowers around the lush brunette curls on her head. She looked like someone Lily wouldn't have dared talk to back in high school. She looked nothing like Lily's mother.

Lauren Edith Williams, she wrote down, and stared at the paper in front of her.

XxXxXxXxXxX

October 21, 2018

Lily was on the bus when she noticed him. It was his age that first drew her attention. Most everyone that rode this route (it went right into campus) was either a student or a professor, and something about him seemed the antithesis of scholarly. He had a sharp face, was dressed in loose clothing, a plain, black ball cap pulled low over his head. His knee bounced where he sat. She thought she could make out a tattoo curling onto the skin under the sleeve of his jacket. He could have been custodial staff for all she knew, but her parents had raised her to trust her instincts, and something inside of her pinged.

He hadn’t so much as looked in her direction, but she reached up and pulled the cord that requested a stop anyway, keeping him in her periphery when the bus rolled to the next stop. She was five blocks further away than she would have liked -- she was supposed to meet Travis just off campus for lunch. The man didn't move or rise from his seat. Nevertheless, she ducked out of the back door and onto the sidewalk, shouldering her purse and pretending to look at her phone. Only when the bus left with the man still on it would she exhale. The bus had just started to roll forward when it chirped to a stop and the front doors opened. The man in the cap trotted down the steps and onto the sidewalk, glancing briefly at her before turning and walking slowly west. Adrenaline awash in her bloodstream, she turned east.

The man had had a nondescript face. He was of average height and build, not someone you'd notice. She wracked her brain trying to remember when or if she'd seen him before, and had a hazy recollection of someone who might have been him: waiting outside of Travis's dorm when she'd come to visit him a couple days prior, or maybe even standing behind her in line at a coffee shop the day before. She should have been paying closer attention. Her parents had taught her to pay closer attention. Up until she'd done a search on her father and his ex-wife, she had. Lily silently cursed at herself.

She looked at her reflection in the shop windows along Grand River Avenue, trying to catch a glimpse behind her. She caught movement, but there were plenty of other people walking up and down the sidewalk. She needed a better look.

She swung up the stairs of the Student Union when she came to it a moment later, remembering walking in with her brother and dad only the month before, and felt the sharp pang of guilt.

When she reached the top of the staircase, she stopped to retie her shoe, glancing back behind her as she did so. The man in the cap was there, and had paused a ways away, looking down at his phone. Lily finished fiddling with her shoe and casually walked to the door, holding it open for a girl who was coming out, her heart hammering in her chest as she did so. Through the large doorway was a wide set of stairs going both up and down. When the door closed behind her, she bolted down the stairs to her right. There were a number of study spaces and she could pass through each one fairly quickly -- the day was busy and there were students everywhere; if she was lucky she could get lost in the crowd.

She ducked through the main lounge and past the small coffee shop on the lower level, looking behind her. She saw nothing, but that didn't mean he still wasn't coming. Seeing the full racks of clothing in the Spirit Shop across the hallway, she went inside, bending down to pretend to look at a few items on the bottom shelf.

Peering through underneath the hanging shirts, she watched as the man in the black cap came down the hallway outside of the shop and paused, turning toward it. Her heart leapt to her throat. He did a slow turn and then turned to keep walking. She kept her head down.

From the corner of her eye she caught her own reflection in the mirror outside the tiny dressing room -- she was wearing a bright blue shirt and her hair -- as bright and reflective as a stop sign, and always a part of herself she was fond of -- would give her away.

She stood, scanning the hallway outside the shop, and then she hastily pulled a green knit cap off a nearby shelf and pulled the tag off, shoving it over her head and tucking her hair up under it as quickly as she could. She grabbed a large tee shirt off the rack nearest her and took it plus the hat's tag to the counter, pulling some cash that her parents always had her carry out and plunking it on the counter.

"I don't need a receipt, thanks," she told the young woman helping her, and turned away.

"But what about your change?" the girl called after her.

"Tip jar," she said, turning back and keeping her voice low.

Once outside the store, she pulled the tee shirt over her head and made her way for the lower level exit that emptied onto campus. Seeing no one behind her, she took the steps out as fast as they would carry her and ran.

XxX

Darlene narrowed her eyes at Lily, and opened the door. “Quickly,” she said.

“Thanks,” Lily said, as Darlene let her into the house, peering around the block. “I didn’t want to use the phone.”

“I get it,” Darlene replied as she ushered Lily into her kitchen, where Lily sank onto one of the stools that sat before the peninsula of the counter.

"You want a lemonade or something, kiddo?" Darlene asked, leaning forward against the counter herself and giving Lily an expectant look -- there was more to it than just polite hospitality.

"No, thanks," Lily said, feeling the weight of Darlene's gaze and her own guilt in equal measure.

"Did you do something stupid?" Darlene asked outright and Lily, taken aback, sat up straighter, but didn't answer, thus confirming Darlene's clear suspicion. "How bad?"

"I think they found us."

Darlene huffed a breath. "Elaborate," she said.

"I... I ran a search. A couple days ago, in the university library. I was careful, but maybe not careful enough."

"What did you search?"

"My dad's ex-wife."

Darlene gave a low whistle. "Kiddo," she said, a statement.

"I know."

"Have you considered just asking him about her?"

Lily hugged herself.

"I have. I did. But… I wanted to know. For me. I don't want his version of this woman. I wanted to see for myself who she was. Is."

Darlene moved to the window and peered out, lowering the blinds as she did so. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Lily once again felt a pang of guilt. She looked down. "Not really."

Darlene moved around the counter to a sideboard table on the dining room side of the counter and began shuffling through a drawer.

"What makes you think they found you?" she asked.

"I think there's someone following me," Lily said, "I think maybe I’ve seen him a couple of times on campus, but I don’t know. I lost him and came here."

"Just one someone?"

Lily began to second guess herself.

"I think so?"

When Darlene straightened from the sideboard she was holding a pistol.

"Call your father right now, and tell him to get over here. Armed." Darlene's words were cold and calm. Lily's stomach dropped in her gut.

She reached for Darlene's phone, a relic from another time which hung on the wall, its cord coiled like a snake.

Darlene walked to the sliding glass door as she dialed the numbers, each tone sounding long and drawn out, Darlene pulled the long curtains closed with a snap.

"Dad?" Lily said, when Mulder answered.

"Hey Lil!" he sounded so relaxed, excited just to talk to her though he'd seen her that morning.

"Dad, I'm at Darlene's. She says to get over here. She said to bring your gun."

She heard his sharp inhale. “I’m coming,” he said, and then she heard a dial tone.

"Lily," said Darlene, walking over to her computer, which was booted up and sitting on her dining room table, cords snaking out of it and across the floor. She quickly typed hunt-and-peck with her right hand, the gun still clutched in her left. "I want you to go into the top right drawer in my dresser. In a small lockbox, code 9-10-9-3, you'll find an old Nokia phone. It should be fully charged. It’s untraceable. Do not turn it on. Take it. Put it somewhere safe -- your bra or your sock or underwear. Then get under my bed."

Lily walked to the hallway, her body on autopilot, her heart hammering and her blood roaring in her veins.

Darlene finished typing, clicked a few things with her mouse and then peeked an eye out the closed curtain toward the backyard, tapping the gun against the side of her thigh.

Pausing in the hallway, Lily turned back to Darlene.

"Is someone coming?" Lily asked.

"Kid," Darlene said, shooting her a look, "they're already here."

#MSR #AU #Sequel #Of the Eight Winds #shits getting real for the mulder family #fanfic #XF #my fic

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kbstories · 5 years ago

Text

Entangled

en·tan·gled (adj.) Twisted together; interconnected.

Eustass Kidd joins the Flying Six. The Kidd Pirates go to war.

(Or: Welcome to the worst timeline.)

Tags: Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, References to Brainwashing, Rescue Missions, Hurt/Comfort (It’s a solid 80% hurt you have been warned)

Set in Wano, Act Three. Spoiler warning for all of Wano. This is an AU where Kidd is imprisoned on Onigashima and Killer doesn’t eat SMILE.

Content warning for some torture, some blood and references to brainwashing.

***

They’re dead, they said.

Wiping blood from his mouth, Kidd had laughed. “My crew? Dying to cock-faced cunts like you? Never.”

They fought to get to you and they died, they said as cruel hands dug into Kidd’s hair and put him under, over and over.

“They didn’t”, Kidd bit back. “They’re alive”, words fractured by the water in his throat, his lungs. Again – they will come – and again – they’re fine – and again – they’ll come for me. By then he couldn’t catch enough breath to speak but it was there, conviction burning bright in his chest.

They said, he’s dead, and even though his eyes could barely see and his ears were ringing, Kidd recognized blue and white and Killer. Kidd’s veins ached with whatever they pumped into him, his brain struggling to tell truth from lie, dream from reality.

The mask is there, real. The seams Kidd worked a full day and night on to get them just right, cracked apart and caked with blood where Killer’s temple would be–

They’re dead, they say and Eustass Kidd’s world shatters apart.

***

The Victoria Punk strains against the raging of the sea, waves mighty as mountains crashing against her skull and bursting into a thousand pieces. Killer doesn’t turn his head away from the spray, lets the ocean sting every inch of exposed skin.

Under his mask, his eyes stare straight into Onigashima’s soulless gaze.

“Hey, you there! Spikey’s friend!”

Strawhat’s voice rings true through the winds and the rain. Killer keeps his arms crossed and nods, the gesture over-articulated to carry despite the storm. “Stick to the plan, Strawhat! We’ll catch up to you on the other side!”

A smile and a thumbs-up from Strawhat to his right, a sardonic laugh from Law to his left. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for an optimist, Massacre Soldier.”

All Killer gives him is the bird. Kidd would’ve laughed at that, he thinks.

Wire is at the helm, hands steadfast and solid. “Keep course”, Killer tells him as he hops down on deck. “There’s a spot at the bottom of the bay. The Punk should be safe there.” Heat flanks him as the rest of the crew gathers, every face around him retaining that grim sort of tenacity that carried them through the past month.

There’s exhaustion there too, so keen Killer can sense it: None of them can quite shake that phantom presence permeating the Punk, the constellation of their very being-together fundamentally incomplete.

To sail into battle without Kidd is… wrong, inconceivable, almost. Killer has endured all magnitudes of that feeling while they scoured every corner of Wano Country in search for that element that will make them whole again, that unique gravitational pull that makes their individual parts click into each other like carefully-crafted machinery.

(It doesn’t get easier, being without him. Missing him. Killer can’t tell why he ever expected it to.)

“Stay low”, Killer reminds his crewmates, his voice as steady as it’s been since this nightmare started. “Find the Flying Six, that’s our priority. We have to get to Kidd before the raid starts, or things will get messy.”

For years, Killer’s mask has been a comfort; the immediate “Aye, Captain” he gets in return makes him wince where the crew can’t see it. It’s a necessity, for them to remain in the dark about his weakness – about the visceral fear that shot through Killer when he realized Kidd is gone and all eyes fell on him to make the next step.

(This has been a possibility since the very beginning yet Killer never expected to live long enough for it to become reality. Always together, even in death, that was the plan.)

From the moment their boots touch land, all Killer can think of is Kidd. Find Kidd, save Kidd, a near-obsessive mantra playing in his head on an endless loop as they leave the Punk behind.

For weeks he lived as Kamazo the Manslayer, every scrap of intel extracted in crimson splatters under moonlit skies. Alliances made and information combined for one purpose alone, and it’s worth it to pass by hordes of drunks and people-soon-to-be-drunks unnoticed. Every step the Kidd Pirates make on Onigashima is accounted for, their approach methodical sans the perpetual chaos Kidd’s mere existence brings.

Killer hates how easy it is, to become something other than themselves. There is no time to waste on regret, not here. They have to keep going.

Finally: There is the fortress, there are the Flying Six – and among them, a flash of red Killer would recognize anywhere, anytime. His vision narrows down to the shape of Kidd perched on the parapet, dressed black-on-black like the rest of them, and a murmur goes through the crew behind him. By some animal instinct, Kidd’s head turns and he stares right at them, too.

And for the first time in a month Killer inhales and feels his lungs unfold, his chest swell with a full breath. Kidd is there. He’s right there, and Killer’s too far away to pick up any details but Kidd is alive and now he knows they’re here, too. All that’s left is to get him out of here and regroup and–

“Soldier, watch out!”

–the shout is almost drowned out by Killer’s instincts. He tears his scythes up in the last second to deflect the little bits of something raining down on them. Shrapnel, the ground littered with it in moments.

What the…?

The thunderclap of Conqueror’s Haki precedes a furious roar he has heard a hundred times, a hundred battles over. Killer catches sight of Kidd, and how scrap gathers and swirls around him, the eye of a silver-tinged hurricane about to hit, and his mind stalls as that murderous glare locks on him.

Then Kidd is upon them.

Metal screeches against metal, the air turning sharp and heavy with Kidd’s will as his fists clash against Killer’s scythes. There’s not a shred of hesitance to the strike: A fraction of a second is all Killer gets to seek out Kidd’s eyes, glowing with the sparks exploding in all directions between them, and Killer’s gut drops at the cold fury he finds there.

That, and bloodlust so strong he can taste it. Oh fuck.

The force of the attack has Killer’s heels skidding back a few feet – motherfucker, Kidd isn’t holding anything back, is he? – before Kidd’s gaze flicks to the side and he scoffs, a pissed-off tch.

A breath, drawing deep. Flames engulf them both, then, the fire throwing up a wall that gives Killer some room to breathe.

“Heat”, he gasps, and they motion for him to move. Wire isn’t far behind, grabbing Killer by the elbow and dragging him away from the inferno swallowing the person they came to save. “You okay? Killer. Did he–?”

Killer can barely look elsewhere. “No. I’m fine, Wire, let me– What the hell did they do to him?” The last part is little more than a snarl, something venomous and ugly within him stirring. Just a glimpse of it sends Killer’s heart on a warpath, beating hard enough to throb even in his fingertips.

Wire’s expression is drawn, lips a tense line. “I don’t know but this is bad. There’s too much metal on all of us.” Which is by design, to help Kidd get around in a fight and– Fuck. Fuck.

A handful of seconds, that’s all Heat can buy them. Fire can’t hold Kidd, not for long, the man himself forged in heat and pressure just as the metal he commands. Killer grits his teeth to see Kidd emerge from plumes of smoke wiping soot off that same look on his face, lethal and so cold, and he pulls both Heat and Wire behind himself.

“Leave him to me. Take the others and–”

Wire’s hand goes bruise-tight on Killer’s arm. Heat hisses, “Killer–”

“Listen to me. Kaido’s forces will follow him here any minute. Keep them off our backs. Buy us time. Whatever this is, Kidd will fight it. I just have to make him listen.”

Two little words stick to Killer’s tongue, almost making it out of his mouth. Captain’s orders. He doesn’t have to say them, though, the tense sigh Wire exhales an answer in and of itself.

“Fine, just– Stay sharp. Let’s go, Heat.”

“Yeah”, Heat says with a final glance Kidd’s way, and they’re gone. Disappearing from Killer’s limited field of vision, and Killer trusts they will keep the crew safe. It’s not like he can turn and check, not with Kidd stalking ever-closer.

Coming for him, not the crew. Just him. A joyless smile stretches Killer’s lips wide. Good.

“Care to explain what game you’re playing, Kidd? We’re here to take you home.”

Kidd snaps at him, “Shut the fuck up”, teeth big and white against the backdrop of black leather Kidd is wearing. His face is bare for the first time in years, his hair slicked back like he couldn’t give any less of a damn how it looks. Killer’s gaze falls on the symbol of the Beast Pirates on the thick belts crossing over his chest and his heart lurches, skips out of rhythm–

“I don’t care who you are. I’ll fucking kill you for wearing that mask.”

Killer stares.

“Who I…? The mask is mine. It’s mine, Kidd, you made it for me. I’m–”

Oh shit, the earth itself shakes from the pulse of magnetism Kidd draws in every last bit of metal with, Killer’s arms threatening to snap out of their sockets as his scythes are pulled in, too. “Don’t you dare”, the words are a growl more than anything. “Don’t you fucking dare say his name”, and the pressure drops to be replaced by brute physical force as Kidd lunges.

Killer doesn’t stand a chance against Kidd, he knows that. There’s his Devil Fruit, his natural strength, his skill with damn-near every weapon he’s collected – ever since he unlocked the Haki to match, Kidd has shrugged off any and all limits imposed on him. Killer knows what Kidd can do, knows his body better than his own, some days, knows every emotion that flashes in that rust-red gaze of his.

And, with Kidd hellbent on ripping him apart, Killer knows he’s but one misstep away from a very violent death.

Countless times they’ve fought yet this is an entirely different beast: The only advantage Killer has is speed, and even that is rendered meaningless in the face of Kidd’s powers turning the metal on his body into anchors, his wrists and neck aching trying to withstand that particular gravity. Time and time again they collide, a spray of sparks and panted breath as Killer stares into the hate-filled eyes of the man he loves and doesn’t back down.

As he tells him, “It’s me, Killer, it’s me, I came back for you”, and Kidd snarls, beyond words.

Something has to give and for a moment there, Killer thinks it might not be him. Kidd is panting, growing pale and covered in sweat. This close, Killer can see the fresh wounds left to scar, dotting his chest with sickening precision, and the mottled bruises blooming on his neck, right over his pulse point.

Whatever they put him through, it’s recent enough for Kidd to look like he’s on the verge of collapse once he’s burned through his rage, and Killer despises himself for drawing hope from that.

Then Kidd stumbles, Killer hesitates – and Kidd nails him in the side, a punch too swift for Killer to block, and the taste of copper spills on Killer’s tongue as he feels his ribs give before he twists. The second fist is inches from connecting when Killer slips his hand out of the metal guard slowing him down and elbows Kidd in the face, stomach turning at the immediate gush of blood that clearly spells broken nose.

They fall apart, Killer holding the scratched-and-bruised mess of his midriff and Kidd groaning with his face tucked into his elbow. Struggling to breathe through the pain, Killer fumbles for his second scythe, throwing it to the side where it lands with a dull thud, unseen. Kidd is staring at him, mouth open and painted crimson.

Then Killer’s fingers hook into the back of his mask and he pulls it off, the world suddenly too-bright, too-loud, overwhelming – it all pales against the fear choking him, smothering any ounce of reason Killer clung to without Kidd there to guide him.

“Kidd, it’s me”, he says, the words small between them, on the brink of vanishing altogether. Well and truly lost, for the first time since they met. “Your partner. Please. I don’t know what to do. Please come back to me.”

And Kidd– He staggers towards him, like he can’t help it. “You’re dead”, he whispers, helplessly hoarse. “You died. You’re dead, Kil.”

Killer’s eyes sting as tears well up; he bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. Thinks, oh, and his mind puts together the puzzle pieces even if all he feels is his heart break.

“I’m right here. Right here, Kidd.”

Step by step Kidd’s fists lose their substance, metal falling to the ground in chunks and pieces and loose gears. Kidd asks, “…Killer?”, and it sounds so painfully uncertain, so threadbare and fragile that Killer throws caution to the wind.

Kidd’s knees give the moment Killer reaches for him. He doesn’t manage to catch the fall but it doesn’t matter, the feeling of Kidd’s arm sliding around his neck like breaking the water’s surface, like coming home at long last. His stump is left bare, bandaged and sore-looking, lacking the mechanics that have become Kidd as much any other part of him. Killer holds that shoulder before he does anything else, the tension there beyond unbearable to watch.

“Killer”, Kidd rasps, and Killer kneels so he doesn’t have to strain himself so much. “K-Kil, fuck, I didn’t– I thought–”

Half-realized words turning to heaving gasps, and Killer wraps himself around him as his shirt grows wet where Kidd’s head is tucked against his neck, equal parts blood and tears with how fucked up Kidd’s nose is. Murmurs against his hair, “It’s okay”, rubs a hand up and down the groove of his spine.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. We’re all here, Kidd. Not leaving you behind, ever, got it?”

It’s there, with Kidd in his arms, that Killer becomes aware of their surroundings once more: There’s distant cannon fire, and battlecries cut short; the cracking of rifles and ringing of blades being drawn and crossed; bit by bit, the world reshapes itself into the beginnings of a war around them. The first thing Killer sees is a loose circle of backs turned towards them. Dead ahead, the signature woosh of Heat’s breath-turned-fire illuminates the silhouette of each and every member of their crew fighting tooth and nail to uphold the perimeter.

Closest to them, Wire’s trident blurs with motion as he smashes a volley of arrows out of the air, aimed directly at Kidd’s vulnerable back. A glance over his shoulder, and Wire’s eyes widen as they meet Killer’s.

Properly catching his gaze, for the very first time. Killer nods at him, mouths, we gotta get outta here. Wire reads his lips and smiles, unwavering.

Kidd is stirring as well, eyes red-rimmed and weirdly naked without the heavy black around them. He wipes at the blood that hasn’t quite stopped dripping down his chin before he looks up. Stares at Killer like he can’t quite believe he’s there, and then:

“Shit. Fuck, Killer, your mask”, Kidd mumbles urgently, an exhausted motion of his hand pulling closer the scattered remnants of their fight. “Where’s– Ah.”

And something in Killer breaks a little more at the gentleness with which Kidd handles his mask, his fingers unsteady as they wipe dirt and blood off the blue-white stripes before offering it to Killer, those red eyes tender with unspoken emotion.

Kidd doesn’t do apologies, mostly because there aren’t many actions he deems truly reprehensible, but... If apologies were Kidd’s thing this would be it.

Killer exhales a soft breath and presses a kiss to the line between Kidd’s shaved brows. “C’mon”, he says, and he hides his face before hoisting Kidd up to his feet, a breath shuddering out of him as his ribs shift in his chest. Kidd’s hand brushes over the furrows he left on Killer’s skin, frown deepening yet he doesn’t speak.

Piece by piece, they put themselves back together until they’re Eustass ‘Captain’ Kidd and Massacre Soldier Killer once more. There is hell to pay, a war to win and an Emperor to kill – when Kidd steps forward to rejoin their crew, he doesn’t waver and neither does Killer, following close behind.

#one piece #eustass kid #killer one piece #kidkiller #one piece fanfiction #fanfiction #hi someone please take them off my hands all i do is make them suffer #this fic is also on ao3!!#my stuff #one piece spoilers #op spoilers #tagging just in case!

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unimpressedperson · 6 years ago

Text

Once in a lifetime, changes were not doubts | m.yg |

(Found this lovely, cutie utie pic on @mnygni‘s account)

Genre: Fluff, a bit of angst

Warnings: Existential crisis

Pairing: @cypher-yngi x Min Yoongi, reader x Min Yoongi

Word Counting: 1.5k

Synopsis: Once Emerson met with her old high school colleagues, she began questioning her own life choices.

A/N: Heeeeeey EM!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! I PURPLE YOU GIRL! IT’S PART OF YOUR BIRTHDAY GIFT! It’s a short one shot, sorry for the small lenght. This piece of writing was inspired by the song ‘Triste, Louca ou Má’ from a brazilian/mexican band called Francisco El Hombre. It’s such an empowering hymn. Hopefully you’ll like it ♥ Forgive any grammatical mistakes. Good reading xX

It’s highly unedited

The link for the playlist attached to the oneshot and your second birthday gift ♥: Emerson’s Greatest Hits

- x - x - x - x -

Emerson felt like Schopenhauer, facing existentialism and digging in her own thoughts, craving realization or new ideas. Although, her brain worked in a fast pace even during the ungodly hours of the morning. After so many sleepless nights, there were no clues on what's a proper slumber under blankets and anchored by pillows, only flying and allowing her body to float around through dreams.

Tired of stiring between the sheets, she took a deep breathe, opening her blueish-greenish eyes, staring at the darkness consuming wholly the bedroom. When you cannot rest peacefully, nights and days seem to last long, long dusks and long dawns. The yellow mornings and purple evenings all feel the same, no longer being capable to differ them.

She couldn't pierce her eyes closed anyway.

Still feeling the queer comfort of being left sitting in the dark, Emerson got on her feet, hazy with tiredness, awake with one thousand thoughts cruising, synapses and explosions, lighting the darkness behind her eye globes. Brain producing more energy than the whole neighbourhood.

It's weird to imagine how much electricity a body can produce, but cannot spread. Humans are nothing but a storage of unused energy. We are atomic and Emerson knew it, she swore that if the room was quiet enough, she could feel atoms setting, blood rushing in her eardrums, result of the heart beating, pulsating the red and white globes through veins.

Standing up felt weird, anything a palm in front of her face couldn’t be seem. The darkness is terrifying once you’re no longer hiding yourself from everything outside. Once you feel obligated to navigate along it, reach the light switch and hope it will be there. Not being able to perceive a fly in front of you is scary, and Emerson knew it.

Instead of turning the lights on, Emerson decided to keep walking through darkness, listening to shadows speaking. Telling her secrets only daylight can keep, nighttime is a loud speaker, a tattletale. Corners whispers, but once you drown it all in black, then nothing else contain their incessant talking, babbling nonsense.

Emerson listened to them, not stopping their ranting.

Darkness, sleepless nights, tiresome afternoons, nothing could quite hurt her anymore.

Nothing but loneliness.

Maybe, all the rating could not bother Emerson, their voices fulfilled the silence, not leaving room for loneliness. A loneliness daylight couldn’t occupy, fill to the brim. Shadows are full of sounds, everything seems livid in darkness.

Why turn the lights on, when the gloominess hugged so tightly those who accept it?

However, in that specific night, Emerson felt lonely, even accompanied by her ghosts, loud thoughts and thuds of her feet hitting the cold ground.

Emerson felt numb by sleeplessness, but awake with jolts of thoughts. Finally reaching the kitchen, after an eternity of walking and exploring the darkness, she got to the door and, only then, turning on the lights, hissing with clarity, asking for apologies from the shadows who were abruptly shut down. She could no longer bear listening to them. She was going insane.

The fridge was opened and Emerson grabbed a box of milk, not worrying about pouring the content in a cup, drinking straight from it. Long sips, nurturing her body and slowly blowing away the fog.

A long day ahead. A long day back.

Sitting on a chair and reaching for her laptop, Emerson began remembering the past day.

A high school reunion. Almost 12 years passed and yet douchebags were douchebags, people still talked shit about each other, but now whilst rambling about their conquerings, children, jobs, travels, fulfilled dreams, and well, Emerson felt like just Emerson.

A gymnasium crowded with people on their 30s, old students, old friends whose destinies run apart. They were now gathering 12 years of news, 12 years of events and occurrences. Dyed hair, wigs and a lot of dieting shakes, adults swimming in debts and bills, yet proudly bragging and showing off their achievements.

Emerson decided to sip on her non-alcoholic fruit punch and observe, questioning all her life choices, mainly the moment where she accidentally accepted hanging out with venomous colleagues. She was sitting on the benches and taking a mental note on never accepting anything without thoroughly reading ever again, specifically if the e-mail has her school emblem and the option to turn down.

Staring at everyone, showing off their kids and apartments, Emerson thought about life.

In ten years she rented her own small place, kept a good long-distance relationship with a korean music producer, a stable job as a psychologist, yet all the bragging made her question: How much did I actually change?

Growing old felt easy, but growing old comfortably always bugged Emerson. Once she left high school, her dream was to evolve, grow out of her shell and be Karen Horney for the teenagers. Unfortunately life ain’t that easy and concluding university costed too much of her sanity, despite all the loneliness and issues, she managed to survive.

Leaving the High School meeting felt reliving. What a waste of precious time, getting around people she hated or barely knew. It drained all the energy from her body and once she arrived at home, let her flesh and bones carve their shape on her bed, hopeful and wishing for some rest. But her brain couldn’t shut off and get in R.E.M sleep, going through everything that happened during all those 12 years.

In a well filled with loneliness and gloominess, Emerson met Min Yoongi through internet.

After finishing high school and entering university, Emerson discovered a profound love for acoustic rap. Her roommate showed a song from Rap Monster and his lyrics about anxiety and fear of failure, some of them masterpieces and within weeks, the girl was dipping down on a spiral of acoustic songs, charged with unhuman levels of sentimentalism and words. Among the talented rappers, a certain small yet rageful guy named Min Yoongi, or Agust D, started playing on Youtube.

Agust D, stage name from a korean rapper who moved to United Kingdom when he was 14, wrote about depression crudely, getting rid of metaphors whenever the subject was himself, but showing off his writing skills and capacity of creating parallels between rap and philosophy. Emerson fell head over heels for him and commented on one of his videos with such passion, expressing how grateful she felt for finding out about his work.

What actually surprised her was his answer: his personal e-mail address, an emoticon winking and other of a phone. He asked for her phone number in a subtle way. Smooth.

Their bonding was instantaneous.

Although he lived in Northern Ireland, too far from Emerson, yet they worked their arses off in order to meet monthly.

Her dating aspect of life was amazing, a long-term relationship with someone compatible and comprehensible.

Why did she feel so incomplete and lonely after all?

Staring blankly at her laptop screen, suddenly her vision got wet and blurry. Tears streaming down her face, ruining the make-up she applied in order to look more mature. Black eye liner? Ruined. Concealer? Stained. Mascara? No longer existing. Everything running down and breaking the coat of foundation.

Emerson wanted to improve herself and wished upon a star everyday.

She had an amazing life, with a good job and a stable relationship. Yet her brain couldn’t see how amazing she was. No one half as strong and tough could go through hard times on her previous job, all the bullying and mental health struggles without letting the existential pain drop them to their knees.

Her insatisfaction seemed pointless, whenever she thought about rationally, but couldn’t control her brain. Could not hold the negative thoughts down.

Everyone on that goddamn high school reunion seemed to have improved, matured and grow out their childish pants. Changing and living their best life, regardless of bills and difficulties.

Yoongi always bragged about how great his girlfriend was and her co-workers constantly compliment her skills, her empathy.

How could she not understand it? How could she still feel so lonely despite everything surrounding her?

Why couldn’t she feel like evolving and changing?

Out of nowhere, the ghosts decided to pronounce themselves even without shadows to support their voices, asking her why she was crying, who did hurt her and saying the sweetest words, slowly helping and making everything seem to be less lonely.

After crying a river, she cleaned the last remaining tears. The clear, small and, before contaminated by rests of makeup, the black eyeliner corrupting the pureness of each drop, now clean and sheer, the most raw demonstration of innocent sadness.

Indignation.

Rage.

Frustrations.

Among so many changes, ups and downs.

Evolution, it’s not solely a synonym for improvement. Changing, this defines the human evolution. It frustrates. It hurts you. Changing is painful. Emerson felt so much pain whilst watching time flying by.

The teardrops, now transparent, candid like newborn soul, brought to this world within seconds.

In that moment, pure, crude, bare, stripped of luxe, all the past risks and struggles drowning in realization, oh in that moment, Emerson realized her growth. Her changing.

The ghost now had only one voice and the source from every word was placed in front of her: the laptop.

“Hey, love, are feeling better now?” - Yoongi asked through a video call, his gummy smile flashing and making Emerson grin.

She was changing, growing, improving and slowly accepting it.

- x - x - x - x -

Hey babe, did you like it? Here’s the translation for the song I mentioned above:

“Sad, mad or mean

Shall be qualified

Those whom she denies

Follow thus method.

The cultural method

Of husband, of family

Take care, taking care of a routine

Only rejects anyway

Well known method

Those whom are painless

Accepts everything shall change.

That a man doesn’t define you

Your house doesn’t define you

Your flesh doesn’t define you

You’re your own home.

That a man doesn’t define you

Your house doesn’t define you

Your flesh doesn’t define you.

She’s gone senseless

Untied knots

Will live in her own

She’s gone senseless

Untied knots

Will live in her own.

Cannot perceive myself on that word

Female: hunting target

Settled victim

I’d rather burn the map

Trace the roads all over again

See colours through ashes

And reinvent life.

And the man doesn’t define me

My house doesn’t define me

My flesh doesn’t define me

I’m my own home.

She’s gone senseless

Untied knots

Will live in her own.”

youtube

#bts fluff #bts angst #bts reactions #bts oneshot #bangtan sonyeondan #min yoongi #suga #rm #kim namjoon #bts #francisco el hombre #bts fanfic #happy birthday emerson #i purple you #bts ships

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writing-anomaly · 6 years ago

Text

Torn

Fandom: Jojolion

Summary: Yasuho’s life is tearing at the seams. The volatile Rokakaka trade is catching up to them and when Josuke unravels, Yasuho is pushed to her limit. She’s left more vulnerable than ever as she struggles to protect two men who barely know her.

This a story in which the protected must become the protector.

Chapter 7

Author’s Note:

Excuse my pseudo-science, I'm pulling stuff out of my butt ( | )

What I say is scientific law in this alternative universe, so let's just say it works, mmkay.

"Impossible."

The last time Yasuho had seen Kira Yoshikage, his decayed wrist was poking out from under a mound of dirt at the wall eyes. She had called the police herself and saw the body collected by the coroner. By all means, the authorities should have ordered it to be cremated at this point.

Yet there he was.

Hooked up to every kind of machinery she'd never seen before.

Yasuho stood up and approached the body with caution. His alabaster skin was cool and smooth beneath the finger she dragged along the curve of his calf. The muscle, small and tight, clung to the bone like a wet towel.

Yoshikage was naked, save for a small linen cloth to cover his private. His chest was broad like Josuke's and glistened with a soft sheen as the contours of his rib cage expanded abruptly with each pump of a rather loud contraption.

Just how long had the body been in this hospital?

There was chart board clipped to the side of the bed which Yasuho wasted no time to inspect. Whomever had decided to keep it, must've had a goal in mind. She read the report with bated breath.

~~~

Case study: Hybrid Rokakaka recipient

Subject: Kira Yoshikage, 29 �� Ship Doctor

Suspected of rokakaka theft, subject was confronted by Damo Tamaki's group, but managed to escape along with one other individual, kuujo Josefumi.

They sustained grave injuries that led to consumption of a grafted version of the Rokakaka. (Base plant, determined to be a peach tree.)

Subject was later nuetralized by Yagiyama Yotsuyu and buried underground near the Higashikata estate. When the subject's body was discovered by civilians, it was retrieved by Rock Human division 901 and brought to University Hospital for further research.

The body of his co-conspirator, Kuujo Josefumi, has yet to be found.

(Damo Tamaki has adopted his family registry and other identification files.)

Research findings:

Upon retrieval, body was found to have begun the decay process. Damo Tamaki reported removal of subject's liver, along with various other cuts and lacerations sustained during an interrogation process.

When inspected, the wounds were found to be sufficiently healed. The liver was partially regenerated as well.

Moreover, after connecting the body to life support, cell turnover was stimulated and the body began to revive immediately. The liver produced could sufficiently filter toxins out of the blood stream and functions normally.

There has been no detectable brain waves since retrieval, however, when disconnected from life support the body can support itself for 72 hours before showing signs of breakdown.

Equivalent Exchange Results:

1. Irises are bicolored

2. Testicles are missing

3. Tongue is bi-textured

4. DNA showed abnormal chromosome count and appears unstable.

When considering the state of the subject's body, we have concluded that the Rokakaka fruit produced through grafting, has introduced a new form of equivalency. While the original Rokakaka produced an exchange within the consumer's own body, we speculated that the grafted Rokakaka produced an exchange between two individuals with minimal adverse effects. Findings will remain incomplete until the other half of the subject's equivalent exchange is found and studied, or a similar fruit is cultivated and tested.

Further Action:

1. Retrieve the body of Kuujo Josefumi

2. Locate the exact tree on which the Rokakaka was grafted in order to conduct research under controlled conditions.

~~~

Yasuho's brows furrowed.

As far as she knew Kuujo Josefumi's body was no more. Josuke was all that was left, which meant he was their main target as of now.

"Oh, God.. Josuke.."

Yasuho, heaved a frustrated breath. Her head suddenly became foggy as she attempted to process the seriousness of her dilemma.She'd only come to Kaito's office for a quick errand and ended up walking straight into devil's chamber. There was no doubt in her mind, Kaito had to be a Rock Person; he was connected to the people who left Josuke to die at the wall eyes!

And he had married her mother.

This was bad.

Very bad.

Yasuho's finger trembled where it rested on the metal handrail of the hospital bed causing what she assumed to be Yoshikage's stand, Killer Queen, to look at her curiously from where it was nuzzled against his body. The sight of it's massive muscles cuddling Yoshikage's significantly smaller frame would have been comical in less stressful circumstances. But considering what she was currently dealing with, Yasuho realized that she was in danger.

"What should I do?"

She wasn't confident in her ability to carry Yoshikage's body, but she couldn't just leave him there either. He was a part of Josuke, of that, she was sure.

Her phone gently chimed, bringing her out of her train of thought.

There was no text, or call to show on the history, but she was smart enough to take the hint that Paisely Park gave to her. She had to tell Josuke what she found. He'd know what to do.

But what could she tell him?

'Hey, I just found your corpse, mind if I take it home?'

Not that she could take it home.

Kaito would be there...and he would know what she did. Lost for words, she activated her phone's camera and documented Yoshikage's Medical records, storing them to her phone along with pictures of his body and started to text Josuke.

Right as she was about to press send, she heard the main door to the office open with a loud click! Yasuho quickly ducked to the side, behind a thick cart alongside the sole entry to the hidden room.

"I see you've made a mess of the place, Yamada-san..almost makes me regret moving to the gynecology department." A deep, but unfamiliar voice rung out along with two sets of footsteps.

"Not at all, Dr. Tomoki. My office is ordered efficiently for what I need to accomplish." Kaito's lyrical voice was a stark contrast to his companion's low monotone.

"What was that again? I heard you lost a patient today. What was it that you were accomplishing?" She heard a mild creaking noise followed by a thud of a body sitting onto a chair.

"Oh c'mon Tomoki-kun" Kaito teased. "My best services are reserved for those who can afford my talents, as you well know."

"I'm not familiar with failure in any sense. I only know success. I've never, in all my practice, have lost anyone or anything."

"How lucky your patients must be." Kaito's hearty laugh was cut short by a sudden wail of plastic grinding into the tile floor.There was a moment of silence and had Yasuho not been looking at the light protruding from the only opening to the room, she wouldn't have realized how compromised her safety had become.

The elongated shadows of the two men grew within the entryway.

Yasuho sat, hunched, in the darkness of the hidden room, holding her knees tight to her chest and trying not to draw attention to herself.

Silly her, didn't think to close the door.

She was reckless like that.

Too caught up in the chaos of the situation to cover her tracks.

A growing desperation set her heart aflight.

Facing Kaito alone didn't seem like a good idea. Every rock-human she'd come in contact with, seemed to be a stand user. Not to mention his companion could be insanely strong... There was no telling what kind of powers they held.

Her confidence in her fighting ability was lacking. She'd dealt with one other Rock Human in the past with the aid of Jobin's son, Tsurugi. The deception of his stand, Paper Moon King, tricked the murderous rock-being into getting hit by a bus. They barely managed to escape.

But in this moment, she was without aid.

Yasuho' s whole being was overcome with terror when she looked up, seeing the profile of a tall man dressed in a lab coat. He was peering past the barrier at Yoshikage's form. A name tag that read Dr. "Tomoki" was pinned awkwardly on his sleeve, barely visible.

His refined lips were down-turned in distaste. "Damn fool. I remember when the brat used to come in here with his mother Kira Holly."

"You're familiar?" Kaito's head peaked from beyond the other doctor, confusion clear on his handsome features.

"Unfortunately." Dr. Tomoki continued. "Holly-san was one of the best surgeons in Morioh. Her spoiled child used to run these halls with undeserved privileges. I, myself, have seen him assist her without a license."

"Really? With the prudes that run this place?" Kaito questioned.

"You can't prove malpractice when the treatment is stand-based." Dr. Tomoki ran a hand over his tall hair, producing a crunch as it was met by the resistance of his stiff follicles. Yasuho could've sworn she saw dandruff flying off of him like snow.

"He was always a cocky young man. His stand power really made him believe he could get away with taking one of our Rokakakas." Kaito didn't seem bothered by the downfall of rock human debris blowing his way and listened interestedly as his friend continued.

"Yoshikage thought he could cure his mother's disease with it. Now he's dead, and she's been carted off to a quiet corner of the hospital to mentally dissolve in peace."

"Damn. Karma's a bitch." Kaito stepped fully in to the room and sauntered to Yoshikage's bedside.

The cat-like stand hadn't moved an inch since the two rock humans arrived, nuzzling Yoshikage's cheek as it had been before.

"Oh, look. A wild pussy." Kaito lips stretched into a mirthful grin as he mocked the stand.

"Leave that thing alone. It's nothing more than Yoshikage's pitiful shadow." A twinge of irritation rose in Dr. Tomoki's monotone.

He paused for a moment before stepping wholly into the room as well. "Speaking of which, I'd wish you'd be less reckless... you left this backroom open. Now I'm forced to clean up your mess."

Yasuho's heart stopped as he turned his body toward her.

Dr. Tomoki locked eyes with her crouched form, penetrating every mental fabrication of safety she'd woven to calm herself. He cocked his head to the side as Kaito followed his line of sight.

Her stepfather's festive demeanor and Tomoki's deadpan were like night and day. The sole similarity shared between the men was a mirthful grin that left Yasuho to become undone. Her body shook involuntarily as she dropped her cell, mind barely registering...

"....please!" She could hardly collect her words before Tomoki shut the opening in the wall behind him, shrouding them all in darkness and strangling Yasuho's only source of light.

To be continued...

#Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo stands #jojo part 8 #Yasuho hirose #killer queen #stand attack #josefumi kujo #yoshikage kira #paisley park #josuke higashikata

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dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd · 7 years ago

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The Raven and the Hawk, Part II

PART I HERE

Cresora, one of Ikora’s Hidden, has had an alarming vision of Mara Sov, but it’s incomplete and the Reef Awoken won’t listen to her. She goes in search of Osiris for his help uncovering the rest of the vision but his methods are as strange as they are effective. Set after the events of Curse of Osiris.

Thank you so much to everyone who read, liked and reblogged Part I of The Raven and the Hawk. I know Osiris isn’t everyone’s cup of sexy tea but his character is too interesting to me, and then I had this idea. I’ve always had a thing for older men with mysterious power and knowledge. Thanks for reading!

[Ikora sounds worried about you. Shall I play her message?]

Cresora hadn’t opened her eyes yet but Ghost could always tell when she was awake. She rolled onto her back and looked at the bright Mercury light illuminating the ceiling. Deep in the Infinite Forest she seemed very far away from the Tower, Ikora, the Reef. From everything. How wonderful it was. And last night… She smiled to herself. That had been rather wonderful, too.

At the Reef she’d always been playing a role, pretending to be one of the many Guardians bringing in bounties or fighting in the Prison. No one, not even her fellow Guardians, knew that she was really there to spy on Mara Sov and her brother, to report back to Ikora about alliances the Reef might be making behind the Vanguards’ back. That meant always being watchful and always smiling for Uldren even when she didn’t feel like it, which was most of the time as she was constantly on edge.

Then came exposure. And the shame.

It thinks we are stupid, brother. It doesn’t understand our power, this sneaking mudborn worm.

No one and nothing could be as cold and cruel as Queen Mara Sov. Her icy wrath had been terrible but worse was the indifferent gaze of the Prince as he’d stood beside his sister’s throne while Mara Sov related every false piece of intelligence they’d fed Cresora; every private word she’d spoken to Uldren; every tryst they’d had that apparently even he had only been pretending to enjoy. He’d told his sister every sordid, intimate detail of their bedroom habits, a fact Cresora found as bizarre as it was mortifying.

Finally they’d sent her back to the City with a warning never to return, but that didn’t mean it was over. Ikora’s questions came next, and they went on and on, making her relive every excruciating detail. How keenly she’d felt her failure even through Ikora’s gentleness. Her Vanguard leader never got angry, never shouted at her, but her disappointment was palpable and it was worse than any Reef Awoken’s sneers.

[Cresora? Ikora’s message. She wants to know what we’re doing.]

She sighed. Always questions. Always checking up on her now. Here Osiris could ask her questions if he wanted to but she didn’t owe him anything. How freeing that was.

Not right now. I saw Osiris working on a pulse rifle yesterday. Let’s go out and put it through its paces.

The Mercury sun was hot and it felt good to be out in it, running up and down stone ledges and leaping across yawning chasms. The strange pulse rifle made short work of the Vex and she seemed to be able to cast Stormtrance more often than usual, vaporising dozens of enemies in her path. For once, too, Osiris’ reflections seemed to be staying out of her way.

When she returned he was in the large main room, a set of glowing cubes in his hand and a triangular portal before him shimmering away to nothing. He smiled at her and she felt her face warm slightly, remembering what had happened between them last night.

Osiris nodded at the pulse rifle as she set it down on a workbench. ‘What do you make of it?’

‘Good range. Good magazine. Easy to reload. It seemed like when I killed Vex it made my Light grow stronger.’

He looked pleased. ‘Yes, that’s the effect I was aiming for.’

‘Recoil pattern’s a bit random though.’ He was watching her with a slight smile on his face and somehow she knew his mind had strayed to things other than guns. ‘Might need some fine tuning.’

‘Sleep well?’

‘Fine, thanks,’ she replied, voice husky. Even though she’d left his bed feeling annoyed the experience had been beautiful. Strange and intense, yes, but she didn’t regret it.

‘Do you want to try what we did last night again sometime?’

She tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘You’re direct, aren’t you.’

‘I find it’s quicker.’

[Isn’t he Mr Efficient.]

Tell me about it. I guess he knows what he likes. She remembered his look of satisfaction in bed as he’d told her how much he’d enjoyed himself. The intensity of his expression as he’d fucked her while she told him everything that she’d seen in her vision.

Her confidence in her ability to detect authentic reactions had taken a beating recently but she was pretty sure they’d both liked what had happened between them. ‘Which part?’

‘Either part. Come find me later, if you want to.’

Osiris went upstairs, and Cresora spent the next few hours writing up a report on the Infinite Forest as if she really had been tasked to do so by Ikora. It kept her hands busy, though anticipation akin to nervousness kept revolving through her belly. He’d left the decision entirely up to her. She wasn’t used to having so much choice.

Finally, she stood up, wiped her damp hands on her robes, and went to look for him. Knocking softly on his door she pushed it open. He was writing at his desk and got up when he saw her hovering in the doorway.

‘I don’t want to disturb you if you’re …’

But he crossed the room toward her and her words dried up as she saw from his expression that he clearly wasn’t busy, not one bit, and he was in fact very glad to see her. He put one hand up to caress her cheek, a question in his eyes.

‘Both parts, please,’ she whispered. ‘I liked both.’

He kissed her softly, his thumb stroking her cheek, and her nervousness dissolved.

‘All right. We’ll try something a little different this time.’ He undressed her but he didn’t touch her like he had the previous night, and when she was naked he told her to get into bed. She watched him, sitting up beneath the blankets, as he took his robes off and walked about the room naked collecting things. He poured water from a jug into a basin and placed it on the side table next to the bed. With a twist of his hand Solar energy flared, and a wisp of steam rose from the surface of the water.

Out of a drawer he took a wickedly sharp knife, drawing it from its scabbard and placing it next to he basin. Then he got into bed with her.

‘Warm enough?’ he asked as she scooted against his side, and she nodded. They were sitting up together and she had a pillow behind her back. The room was very dim and hushed, candles flickering again, and the warm gold, brown and deep red colours in the room were soothing.

He put the basin of warm water beside her on the bed and picked up the knife. ‘Can I have your arm?’

Realising what he intended to do she held it out. He took it in his warm hand and examined her wrist. ‘Is it common for thanatonauts to combine sex and death?’ she asked.

Osiris smiled slightly. ‘It depends what you mean by common. Look at me.’ As she lifted her eyes to his he cut her quickly and deeply. She hissed in pain, a few drops of blood spurting over the blanket, and he guided her hand down into the warm water.

‘A bullet would be quicker.’

‘The point is not to be quick, but to slowly starve the brain of… I’ll explain later. Are you all right? If it hurts too much we can try something else.’

It did hurt, but as a minute ticked by the pain eased to a slight throb that she thought she could ignore. She ignored the rapidly reddening water as well.

‘Will you touch me?’ she whispered, reaching her free hand up to his face.

He made a noise in the back of his throat and kissed her, as if he’d been hoping that she really did mean she wanted both, the visions and him, and at the same time. He caressed her nipples, plucking the peaks, and then slid his hand down her belly between her thighs. She was wet already, because the of the intimacy of the dimly lit room, because of his obvious delight and capability. Because his strange attentions were heady. He stroked soft circles on her clit, sensations sparking through her, and she kissed him with her open, panting mouth. He was slow about it, bringing her close twice and then easing off, watching her carefully, his eyes flicking toward the bowl of bloody water as if gauging the timing something.

She thought about his fingers, just his fingers, and the feel of his mouth against hers. He rubbed firm, tight circles in exactly the right spot and her orgasm rose up like a bird taking flight and she came, shuddering against him.

As it eased off black and grey dots filled her vision and she slid weakly to one side. He pulled her back against him, but her light-headedness wouldn’t clear and there was a slight buzzing in her ears.

A moment later she realised he was speaking softly, a his lips murmuring against her temple in what sounded like a recitation. ‘… in Death’s shade, and his fruit is sweet to taste. Let him lead you to the banquet hall and let his banner over thee be wisdom.’

‘What’s that?’ she whispered without opening her eyes. He was warm against her, bright and golden, as her own body grew cool and sluggish.

‘It’s from the Thanatonaut’s Lullaby. Words to say to yourself or to someone else as a passage is nearing. Do you want me to keep going?’

The words were comforting, as was the sound of his voice. ‘Please.’

‘He shall strengthen thee with knowledge. His left arm is under your head, and his right arm embraces thee.’

Her eyes were closed and she felt heavy and cold, but not unpleasantly so. She could feel him against her, but not her body on the bed. There was just his voice, and the faint sensation of his Light shimmering against hers. Her breath was barely stirring but he talked on, soft and low, knowing she could still hear him.

‘I charge you by the gazelles and by the does of the field: do not arouse or awaken my love until she so desires. I charge the …’

The universe moved around her, flashing past at remarkable speeds, uncontrolled. The world was spinning, spinning, and then it slowed and she was in that velvety purple-blackness, studded with Light.

She reached out, trying to propel herself through the air or whatever it was around her – and saw not a hand, but a dark feathered wing. She was a bird? She pulled back her arms – no, wings – and flapped them, and she rose upwards. Then she laughed in delight and turned a kind of somersault. Looking around she saw the hawk watching her in the distance but drawing no closer. How strange that they were birds here. How beautiful it was.

But there was something else, something darker even than her black feathers or the void around her. It was a feeling, like a nightmare she couldn’t awake from. The queen. Where –

Light flashed through her. Pain blazed in her arm. She’d been shot, lost a limb. If she’d blown her cover –

Cresora gasped and jerked violently, looking for the battle and her gun but there was something holding her.

‘Shh. It’s all right.’

Her unfocused eyes fastened on Osiris, and then she looked down at her naked body, at his. The bowl of bloody water was gone and so was the knife. Her forearm was smooth and unmarred. She pushed her hand through her hair, her head spinning. ‘Oh, Traveler, that was intense.’

[Did it work? What did you see?]

The queen was there. I felt her, but I didn’t have enough time to find her.

[Did Osiris see?]

I don’t know.

Ghost blinked its optic at her, and then sank out of sight. She could feel Osiris watching her, wanting to ask what she’d seen. Putting the queen out of her mind for the moment she said, ‘I saw you there. You were the hawk, weren’t you? Do you see what I see?’

‘Not all of it. I get a sense of things around you. I can see you.’

‘Can you? What sort of bird am I?’

He touched her dark hair, smoothing it back from her face. ‘You’re a raven, and your feathers are like black velvet and your eyes glow golden, just like they are now.’

Cresora rubbed her fingers through his chest hair, trying to picture it. It was lovely, but she still didn’t have what she needed. How could she get closer to that vision, and without Osiris seeing it?

She looked into his golden-brown eyes, so reminiscent of the hawk’s she’d seen in her vision. ‘So that’s what you style yourself after. I wondered. I thought you were just flashy.’

He laughed, shaking her on his chest. ‘I’m flashy, am I?’

‘Yes, you’re –‘

But he rolled her beneath him and stoppered her mouth with his. He kissed his way down her body to her sex and she felt him curl his tongue around her clit. Desire sparked through her as he licked her slowly, heating her body from the inside out, making her feel intensely alive, hyperaware of his hands on her thighs and the movements of his tongue. Languidly, she wrapped her legs around his shoulders and smiled up at the ceiling, her eyes closed. She couldn’t stay with Osiris for long, maybe just another day or two while he showed her a few more things about thanatonautics. Then she’d have to move on. But Traveler’s Light it was good being with him now. He sucked on her clit and she moaned and reached down and interlaced her fingers with his.

‘Do you want to hear what I saw?’ she whispered, her eyes closed. She could tell him some things. She would just keep the queen to herself.

He stopped the movements of his tongue long enough to say, ‘You know I do.’

She told him of the rushing lights, the feeling of plummeting, of finding herself in the void. Then the stillness, and realizing she had not arms, but wings. Of feeling them beat against the darkness. Seeing him on the horizon.

Several times she had to break off and cry out, and he stopped before she could come. This happened three times and she was gripping the sheets with her hands, her eyes clenched tight at yet another denial.

‘Please, please let me come.’

‘Have you told me everything yet?’

‘Yes,’ she said, half-laughing, half whimpering.

‘Lies. Keep going.’

She talked as he lapped at her carefully, just enough to keep her on the precipice but never enough to push her over the edge. She writhed against his mouth, hoping to make up the difference herself, but he took hold of her hips and held her still. She told him how he appeared to her in the darkness, glowing like one of his reflections but more real somehow. More vital.

‘And that’s everything, please let me come.’

He kissed her inner thigh to blot his mouth and sat up and knelt between her legs, looking her over with pleasure. ‘Did you know that you flush the prettiest shade of purple when you’re aroused?’

She reached for him, not interested in talking, but he grasped one of her knees and turned her over, and then raised her hips up to meet his. The tip of his cock slid against he entrance and she pushed back against him. His thickness pierced her and she buried her face in a pillow and moaned. Even that brought her some release and he held still while she moved slowly back and forth on his length, savouring the feel of him, pushing him all the way to the hilt, and then pushing a little further just because the pressure felt so good.

Osiris slid his hands to her waist, gripping tightly, and then began to fuck her. She braced one hand against the wall so that her body would resist every thrust, needing it hard, needing to feel all of him. It was so good, she was nearing her peak again –

The he pulled out. Cresora’s head reared up and she practically snarled over her shoulder, ‘I’m going to murder you in a minute. It’s about my turn anyway.’

He laughed quietly, obviously unrepentant, and slid two fingers into her, rubbing firmly on the sensitive place deep inside her. All the blood rushed to her face but she knew he was going to stop again, and then he did. ‘Having fun?’ she panted.

‘Yes, thank you.’

She felt the silky bluntness of his cock press into her and was aware of every inch of him. His knees pushed hers wider and he began to thrust again and she finally thought of a way to make him keep going, or to at least distract him from keeping so close an eye on when she was about to come. ‘What about you? Tell me what you see.’

He thought for a moment, and then his voice rumbled somewhere over her head. ‘You go to a very different place than I do in my visions. I begin somewhere golden and bright. Yours start in darkness, and I see you, black against the void.’

Her body relaxed as he talked, and she closed her eyes and listened to the vivid descriptions of his own visions. The strange words painted pictures in the darkness behind her eyes and she savoured his words as much as the feel of him. His voice was ragged now, speaking her name, what sounded like curse words or endearments in that other language he knew. As she approached her peak she came up on her hands, arching her spine to drive him deeper. She came first, her orgasm cresting and then cascading through her while he drove it higher with his thrusts. He growled her name and reached forward to grip the nape of her neck.

Then they both stilled, breathing hard. Osiris put his arms around her spent body, sitting back on his heels and taking her with him, his length still inside her. Her back was flush against his chest and she turned her head and kissed him, both of them panting, her arms wrapping over his own. She laced her fingers through his and held on tightly.

This is what proper lovemaking is, with someone you’re connected with. With someone that you like. She’d forgotten how it was supposed to be. She’d shared every emotion that she’d felt with Osiris, every sensation. She’d held nothing back.

Or almost nothing. That dark place where she was sure the queen was, he hadn’t asked about it and she hoped that during the vision he’d been too busy watching her to notice it.

He smiled against her neck. ‘You can murder me now if you like. I don’t mind.’

‘Tempting. Maybe in a minute.’

He released her and they sank down onto the bed together, bodies cooling. She nestled into the crook of his arm as he lay on his back, and propped her chin in his shoulder. ‘Those words you were saying. The lullaby. It was very beautiful. Why was it written?’

He considered this, his hand stroking circles on her behind. ‘It wasn’t so much written as uncovered. Remembered through thanatonautics. There are many parts. Old passages that seem to have special energy to them, that are soothing. I think much of it is ancient poetry or religious texts.’

Words having energy of their own. Magic in their ability to soothe. She liked that. ‘Did you uncover any?’

‘I did. The part I recited to you, though small parts have been changed to make it relevant to thanatonautics. It’s my favourite part.’

‘Oh? Why?’

‘It’s the part for lovers. There’s sweetness to the words that the other passages don’t have.’

For lovers. It was a nice thought, other Guardians wrapped around each other like they were now, whispering the words to each other. Walking in darkness and light together. Seeing stars and velvety night. I charge you by the gazelles and by the does of the field …

Cresora felt Osiris watching her speculatively, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin. So, she had a lover. How unexpected that was, though not undesirable. His warmth and the way he touched her was as welcome as his help.

‘Can I ask you something?’

Wariness prickled her. Rubbing her finger along one of his ribs, she said, ‘If you have to.’

‘I know Eris Morn quite well. I suppose you could say we’re friends, even now. We spent time on missions together before I was exiled and before she, well. Before all the things that happened to her. We went to the Reef together several times.’

Cresora stilled. He’d named one of her fellow Hidden and the Reef in the same sentence. When she looked up at him he was studying her closely. ‘Well? Ask your question.’

He regarded her for a long moment, and then shook his head. ‘Actually, I don’t think I will.’

She sat up, her back to him and her heart pounding. How much did he know? How much had he guessed? Had he seen things in her vision? He’d figured something out despite her best efforts to conceal her secrets.

He put out a hand to touch her but she shrugged him off. ‘Cresora?’

Getting out of bed she reached for her robes and pulled them around her. Then she bundled up the rest of her clothes in her arms and marched out of the room.

‘Cresora,’ he called after her.

But it was too late. He’d spoiled everything.

[Where are we going?]

I don’t know. Away from here.

[The Tower?]

No, she replied emphatically, doing up the long laces of her boots. There was almost nothing to collect. All she had were her robes and her guns.

Osiris appeared in her doorway, seeming to have paused only to pull on his greaves. He looked at her, the gun in her hands, the sniper rifle already on her back.

‘You’re leaving.’

She checked the magazine of her auto rifle and slammed it back in place. He already seemed to suspect so much. About her, about the Reef. She had a terrible feeling he was going to find out everything about her whether she wanted to tell him or not. ‘I am. I don’t like what we’re doing. I’ve changed my mind about thanatonautics.’

‘I don’t think that’s true, Cresora.’

He watched her silently as if trying to puzzle her out. She didn’t owe him anything but she hated leaving lose ends behind her. They had a habit of reappearing when you least expected and tying you in knots.

‘It’s very powerful what we’re doing. I’m not used to it and I don’t like it.’ She didn’t feel safe here, not when he was rooting around inside her head. He was strange and cunning and secretive and she couldn’t be more attracted to him. If she stayed then she’d reveal everything to him in time even if she didn’t mean to, and she couldn’t bear someone else having power over her like Uldren had.

His brow cleared, as if he understood what she wasn’t saying. ‘I don’t need to know what you’re looking for and I won’t intrude on your visions or even be in the same room with you unless you want me to be. Just stay here until you’ve found what you need. Sagira will guide you. She won’t see what you see. She’ll keep you safe.’

Cresora kept her head bent, pretending to examine the rifle. It was tempting. She’d seen the faith Osiris and Sagira put in each other and the strength of their connection. Sagira had been with Osiris through all his visions and the pretty golden Ghost must know so much that she could share with Cresora. She could even teach her own Ghost what to do.

But there would still be Osiris near her, with his charm and his shrewd gaze, tempting her to confide in him, to trust him.

‘I’ve had enough of thanatonautics. I’m not going to do it anymore.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

She holstered the auto rifle on her back. ‘I couldn’t care less.’

He put a hand on her arm as she tried to push past him. ‘It’s not just Tower prejudice that aligns madness with thanatonautics. Sometimes it really happens. There are important things that I didn’t tell –’

‘Having too much fun to be a good teacher? Can’t keep a student’s loyalty, can you.’

His eyes were narrowed and cold as he watched her fasten on her helmet and walk away. Outside the spire his reflections tracked her silently, that same angry expression in their eyes, limned in gold.

Cresora went to Io, where she knew the grouchy, cantankerous Asher would leave her alone, and holed up in a shallow cave on the far side of the Pyramidion. Ghost was able to transmat her some supplies from her vault but she didn’t need much for what she planned to do.

As she lay on a pallet on the ground she watched the sunrise paint the sides of the Pyramidion a tender shade of pink. Once her mind was clear, she got out a handcannon, bit down on a fold of her robe and shot herself three times in the thigh.

As she reeled, gasping and snorting in pain, Ghost hovered over her, flashing and whirring.

[I don’t know how long to leave you in there for – what if something happens –]

I’ll be all right. Just do whatever Osiris told you to do. But maybe give me one or two more minutes. I didn’t have time to find out anything those other times.

[But Osiris said –]

I don’t give a damn what Osiris said.

It took a long time to die and there was no one there to distract her from the pain. To hold her, whisper to her. To keep her warm. As much as she wanted to ignore what he’d said his words kept revolving through her mind. Madness. Could this really send her mad?

When she died, she didn’t so much as find herself in her vision but was hurled violently into it. Cresora tumbled over and over in the void, unable to stop the world from spinning and herself within it. This wasn’t how it had been with Osiris. The blackness around her felt like hatred, shame and fear, coalesced into suffocating darkness. Her ears were filled with cruel laughter and screaming. Then the screaming grew so loud and she realised it was the queen screaming and as if a veil was ripped away she saw Mara Sov’s white face, contorted in agony, her mouth open in a long, endless wail. It was like her nightmare only much, much worse, because she couldn’t wake up.

Cresora looked around frantically for any sign of where she was but the vision was black as night all around. Bring me back Ghost, please, she begged, knowing that Ghost couldn’t hear her and that it was only doing as she’d asked, giving her more time in this horrible place. She put her wings over her head, trying to block out the screaming.

Light cascaded through her and she came gasping and shuddering back into her body. The world was still spinning and she crawled on her hands and knees to the cave entrance and threw up.

[Cresora! You’re shaking. That’s it, we’re not trying that again.]

Berating herself for her cowardice, she went back to her pallet, lay down, and picked up the gun.

[No! You’re going to hurt yourself and I won’t be able to make it better.]

It’s worse for the queen. You didn’t see what I saw.

[She doesn’t –]

No matter what she did to me, she doesn’t deserve this. Before she could change her mind, Cresora pulled the trigger.

It was exactly the same terrifying, useless vision and when she came out of it Ghost begged her again to stop. But she doggedly pulled the trigger, refusing to think about anything except getting back inside the vision.

She tried again, and again, and it was the same every time. Pain, darkness and terror.

On the eighth try, or maybe the ninth, a bird came screaming out of the darkness toward her, a golden brown streak of feathers and fury. He had his talons up and she thought he was going to attack her, but he only hovered before her, wings beating the air, yellow eyes flashing.

Cresora twisted and flew away. Not fleeing, but showing him she didn’t care how angry he was with her. This was her decision and not his to approve or disapprove. She heard his shrill scream as he chased her through the void. She drew him away from the queen’s torment, flying faster and faster with him right on her tail.

When she opened her eyes and saw the Pyramidion Osiris’ hawk cry was still sounding in her ears. How had he found her? If he appeared again she would attack him. She had no qualms about tearing every feather out of his golden tail.

As she picked up the handgun and reloaded it she saw a silver shimmer.

[Uh-oh.]

A triangular portal opened at the cave’s entrance and out stepped Osiris. There was anger in every line of his body as his gaze darted around. His eyes beneath the golden helm were the furious hawk’s and they fastened on the gun in her hand, the blood on the stone.

He yanked down his bandana. ‘You lied to me.’

Cresora had been shaking since her first passage and she tried her hardest to quell it as she sat up. ‘How did you find me?’

‘A little trace of my own.’

That last scream she’d heard from the hawk, the sound that chased her into consciousness. He’d been marking her somehow. ‘How clever. Go away.’

He hunkered down before her, examining her face. Cold sweat beaded her brow and she swiped at it angrily with her forearm.

‘Why won’t you let me help you?’

She hated the pity in his eyes. She was a poor, confused Warlock who wanted to be loved by the Reef Awoken. If only it was simple as that. ‘Because I don’t trust you. You’re manipulative and secretive.’

‘As are you, Cresora.’

She gestured wildly with the gun. ‘I’m like this because I have to be. You enjoy it. How strange and clever you are. How your ridiculous followers adore you.’

‘I wouldn’t have started teaching you if I thought you were going to be so reckless with it.’

‘That’s your fault, isn’t it? You didn’t seem particularly keen on waiting to find out what sort of person I was.’

His jaw clenched and he watched her with a seething expression. What a surprise, the ‘Great Osiris’ didn’t like having his faults pointed out to him.

‘Do I have to go to the City to get away from you? Because I will. Oh, and speaking of the City, Ikora was wrong to invite you to return. Yes, I do know about that. Your permanent banishment is justified.’

‘Is it,’ he bit out.

‘Yes. By what you did at Twilight Gap. Or rather, what you didn’t do, commander. Shaxx and Saladin still aren’t speaking, did you know?’

‘Titans are stubborn to the point of stupidity.’

‘Oh, are they. I happen to know a few stubborn and stupid Warlocks as well.’

‘My exile is none of your business and if you’re trying to pick a fight to distract me you’re not being terribly subtle about it.’

Cresora got to her feet, throwing the gun onto the pallet. She would have to wait until he was gone to try again.

He followed her to the cave entrance. ‘Guardians die, whether at Twilight Gap or in the field. It’s not a very remarkable fact. But I don’t like losing students for pointless reasons.’

‘My wishes are not pointless!’

‘No, but theirs are. The Reef Awoken. I know what you’re trying to see has got something to do with them and they will still sneer at you, look down on you, no matter what you do for them.’

‘So I’m not to do it for me and I’m not to do it for them. You’d rather I do it your way, with you, for you.’

He ground his teeth, seeming at the very end of his patience. ‘Cresora, you know that’s not what I’m asking. What are you afraid of me seeing?’

Cresora’s mouth snapped shut and she turned away, her face flaming.

[I thought so.]

Shut up.

He stepped closer, moving around to see her face. He was silent for a long time, watching her. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I like you very much, too.’

‘You shut up as well.’ He put a hand on her shoulder but she shrugged him off and turned away. She had a barb ready on her tongue to fling at him – of course the Great Osiris believes I’m besotted with him – but even through her anger and shame she hated how shrill and defensive she was becoming.

Cresora took a shaky breath. ‘It’s not that. It’s… I’ve had to do horrible things as one of the Hidden and I don’t like people knowing about them. Anyone.’

The silence stretched. She could feel him waiting for her to go on. ‘I’ve taken shortcuts because I’m lazy and it disgusts me that it wasn’t even worth it in the end. I can’t bear the thought of anyone seeing the things I did.’

‘You’re not lazy. You’re extremely dedicated and if you weren’t so upset with yourself you’d see that.’

[You know I don’t like him very much, but I believe that he sincerely likes you.]

That’s fucking worse then.

[Sorry.]

She felt his keen eyes on the side of her neck.

‘Is this something to do with Prince Uldren?’

A wave of self-disgust rolled through her. So he knew even that, or he knew enough to guess. ‘I went to bed with you because I wanted to,’ she said tightly, hot tears spilling down her face. ‘Not to get something out of you. Maybe at first I was – oh, damn it all to fucking hell.’

She buried her face in her hands so he wouldn’t see. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder, his thumb caressing her neck. When she didn’t shrug him off he turned her toward him and put his arms around her. She hid her face in his chest so he wouldn’t see her trying not to cry.

Ghost? Can you transmat me out of here please?

[No.]

Traitor. And she burst into tears.

Osiris held her while she cried, knowing that she was releasing months of bottled up emotions all at once. He and her Ghost watched each other silently. He’d had the impression that the robot didn’t like him very much, but at that moment he could have sworn there was something approving in its synthetic blue gaze. It was tough when your only friend was an AI. Tough on them, too.

Cresora wiped her face and pulled away. ‘I’m all right now,’ she said in a husky voice.

He looked down at her, perplexed, wanting to give her some peace and privacy but still worried about her. Self-disgust had never much plagued him but he could see it was crippling her. The sensitive side of being a mentor wasn’t one of his strengths but he had to say something. ‘I’ve made a lot of people angry with me over the cycles and I can honestly say not once has it bothered me.’

She sniffed gloomily. ‘Lucky you.’

‘But that means I don’t begrudge people their mistakes.’ That was a lie. Other people’s mistakes were a waste of his time. But after a show of temper he usually forgave. Or rather, forgot, because he was busy doing other things.

Even through her misery she managed a small smile. ‘Are you admitting to having made mistakes?’

He stroked her damp hair back from face, and put a finger under her chin, raising her eyes to his. ‘I’m saying that there a thousand things I would devote my time to before I thought even one less than admiring thought about you.’

That, at least, was the whole truth.

She gazed at him with red-rimmed eyes, a frank, assessing look. In all his dealings with the Hidden he’d never found them to be a particularly trusting set of Guardians. They spent too much time alone telling too many lies.

‘I’m so tired of thinking about them,’ she whispered. ‘I want to put an end to this chapter of my life and this is the only way.’

‘Then let me help you.’ If she had to go back to that terrible place then she should at least not have to go alone.

Cresora thought it over for a long time, and then finally she nodded.

He took her back to the forest, and as they walked the stone pathways up to the spire she told him about her vision. Her first one.

‘It was during the Red War. I’d been shot in the stomach and I was dying my last death on the Farm. My head was filled with her, Mara Sov, and how I wouldn’t live to put that terrible time behind me. It was ... worse than knowing I was dying. Another few hours, maybe even another hour, and it would have been too late for me. I saw the Light spread throughout the universe and then I was sucked down into this small, dark place, and I saw her.’

Osiris had heard of first visions happening that way sometimes. A slow death. Strong emotions.

‘I feel like I was given a second chance to put things right.’

Osiris felt his mouth twist in annoyance. ‘Your life wasn’t given back to you for her sake.’

‘No. I meant for mine. The queen isn’t dead like everyone thinks. She’s in pain, terrible pain, and she’s trapped. I don’t know where and I haven’t been able to make one Reef Awoken listen to me, and the prince has disappeared.’

What Uldren did to me.

I went to bed with you because I wanted to. Not to get something out of you.

The scraps of what he’d felt through her visions and the things she’d told him, the prickly way she’d behaved towards him when he asked questions, began to assemble into a complete, ugly picture. Osiris remembered the disdain in the queen’s eyes as he and Eris had stood before her throne, emissaries from the Tower. Anger burned through him at the thought of what Cresora had been putting herself through in order to help a woman who loathed her.

He would help uncover the rest of Cresora’s vision but there was no doubt in his mind who he was doing it for.

In his room he gathered the things they would need.

‘Knives again?’ she asked.

He shook his head, making up a preparation, pounding a dried plant in a mortar and pestle and mixing it with wine and water.

Pouring the mixture into a cup he held it out to her. She sniffed the cup. ‘What is it?’

‘Hemlock. It’s one of the few poisons that work for thanatonautics.’

‘What does it do?’

‘It paralyses you slowly from the feet up. When it reaches your heart, you die.’

‘Oh. Fun.’

‘It doesn’t hurt. You feel numb and warm. And it doesn’t dampen visions which is the most important part. Drink. About a third should do it.’

‘What about the rest?’

‘It’s for me. I’m going with you this time. Properly, not just at the edges.’

She hesitated, the cup near her lips. ‘You don’t think I should be doing this for her, do you?’

He said nothing. She could make her peace with the things she’d done at a later time. All that mattered for the moment was getting that vision for her in the safest possible way.

Cresora drank, grimacing at the taste, and he inspected the cup.

‘More.’

She took another swallow and handed it back. That should do it. He drank the rest down and put the cup aside.

Looking at her fingers and toes, she said, ‘Nothing’s happening.’

‘It takes a while. Let’s go for a walk.’

He took out his cubes and summoned a portal, and they stepped through into Past Mercury. She looked around in surprise at the grasslands and rivers bathed in gentle sunshine. They walked together, following a stream, and he watched her as she took in the beauty of the place.

There hadn’t been time for him to form anything like a friendship since his exile. Now that he had Sagira back and that dark future he’d glimpsed had been averted it meant he could take stock of what he had and what he wanted. The company of clever Warlocks had always been his favourite. Cresora neither flattered nor disdained him. And she felt like heaven in his arms.

He opened his mouth to tell her that he’d meant what he said, that he liked her very much, but she was looking at her feet and frowning.

‘Osiris? I can’t feel my toes.’

Later, then. This wasn’t the time. He led her over to a patch of shady grass beneath a tree and they lay down together. She put a hand on his chest, uncertain, and he drew her to him, holding her tightly. Even as he grew numb he could feel her Light burning in every place she touched him.

‘You said this was dangerous to do without someone watching over us.’

‘Sagira will be looking after us. She’s done this for me many times.’

[I’ll be right here, Cresora. Osiris knows what he’s doing.]

He felt her smile against his chest. ‘Your Ghost loves you very much.’

‘She does, einayim shell.’

‘Will you whisper me that passage again? The one for lovers?’

He closed his eyes and bent his head so that his lips were against her hair, and murmured the words that he knew by heart. When he reached the end he started again, but in the language in which he’d first uncovered it. As the minutes passed it became harder and harder to keep talking as the hemlock was nearing his lungs. Cresora was as still as stone in his arms.

‘Cresora?’ he whispered. She didn’t answer.

He’d drank more of the poison because he’d wanted to go first, so that she wouldn’t have to be alone in that place, but he was still stubbornly conscious. It took several more minutes for the poison to stop his heart and for him to sink into darkness.

Osiris opened his eyes, and saw the raven. She flew to him, nipping at his feathers impatiently and then turning to lead them down into a place so dark it seemed to suck up light itself. There was no hesitation on her part but as he skimmed the air behind her he could sense her fear.

Then he heard the screaming.

The raven shuddered to a halt, staring at something as if paralysed. He moved around her and saw the queen. It was as she’d described, Mara Sov trapped in darkness, writhing as if in pain. There were portals into nothing all around her but he could distinguish nothing else. They needed to move outward and see where this place lay. He brushed her wings, trying to get her attention. Finally she shook herself and they flew in a slow spiral, upward, outward. The vision began to take shape. His eyes darted around, seeing vast rooms. Hive structures. The icy rings of a planet.

The Dreadnaught.

The raven fluttered mid-air, its golden eyes wide with surprise as she finally saw where the queen was. Then she opened her beak and called a long, keening note. Arc energy raced over her feathers and was cast down toward Mara Sov, a trace she could follow in the waking world.

Osiris swooped over her, around her, knowing they had little time before their Ghosts called them back. They took flight, wings skimming close on the currents of the void. Enough of this place. He wanted to show her how it could be golden.

There was a glimmer on the horizon that was as familiar to him as his own Light. They were nearly there –

Light shuddered through him. He opened his eyes and saw with sinking disappointment the grasslands of Mercury. Cresora stirred in his arms and sat up with a cry.

‘We found her. I know where she is. Osiris.’ She clasped his robes, giddy with relief and excitement.

Osiris smiled tightly and glanced at Sagira, who was watching him closely. It wasn’t her fault. She given them enough time for what they’d gone for.

He got to his feet and saw that Cresora was already looking around for her guns, her helm, that she intended to go right away.

‘I’ll come with you. The Dreadnaught is as big as a planet. My reflections can –’

‘No. I’d rather go alone. It’s how I’m used to working and I know I can find her.’

He watched her in silence, taut with irritation, his earlier unspoken words still unspoken and incongruous now she was so eager to be gone. One more minute, Sagira, he thought bitterly, though unlike Cresora’s Ghost Sagira couldn’t hear his thoughts. She thinks it’s all darkness. She doesn’t know what I can show her.

Fishing out his cubes he opened a portal. ‘One thing first, little bird, before you fly away. Back to the spire.’

In his room he put several documents into her hands, maps of the Dreadnaught and information about Hive structures. It wasn’t much but he had to do this at least, if only to delay the inevitable.

She noticed the sniper rifle sitting to one side, the one she’d used that first day, and she took that too.

Finally, he summoned another portal. ‘This will take you to a safe landing zone on the Dreadnaught.’ He stood back, waiting for her to leave.

Cresora hesitated before the shimmering triangle, and then turned and pressed a kiss to his lips. ‘Thank you, for everything. You’re …’

He studied her golden eyes, wondering if there were things she hadn’t had time to say, either.

‘If anything happens to me please see that Uldren hears where his sister is.’

She fitted her helmet over her head, gave him one last nod, and was gone.

Nearly two weeks passed and he’d heard nothing from her. She hadn’t promised that she would let him know how she fared but he’d been sure she’d send word of her success or failure. Sagira tried to get a message to Eris but it was the same as it had been since the Red War. She was uncontactable.

Finally, he came out of the Infinite Forest and opened a channel through his Ghost’s to Ikora’s. His old student sounded surprised to hear his voice.

‘I’m looking for news of one of your Warlocks. Cresora.’

There was a puzzled silence on the channel. ‘How do you know Cresora?’

‘I just do. Has she returned? When was the last time you heard from her?’

But Ikora remained evasive as always about her spies. ‘Cresora missed several check-ins with me.’

‘I know. She was with me. In the forest.’ More silence. He felt his patience running away like sand. ‘Yes, I do know she’s one of your Hidden. I’m not asking for your secrets, I just want to know if you’ve heard from her in the last two weeks. That was when she left me.’

‘Where did she go when she left you?’

‘To the Dreadnaught.’

This seemed to confirm something Ikora knew. ‘I sent some Fireteams but they – You’ve always got on with my Hidden, in some ways better than I do. I know you and Eris are close. If Cresora was your friend too then I’m sorry to tell you that her Ghost came back from the Dreadnaught without her a few days ago.’

Osiris closed his eyes.

Ikora went on heavily. ‘It’s my fault. I knew she was under emotional strain when I –’

He severed the connection. In silence he watched a hobgoblin pick its way across the sands in the distance.

Sagira spoke gently. [Osiris, I –]

He turned on his heel and strode back into the Infinite Forest, letting time and space swallow him up. There wasn’t anything he could do, no timeline that he could find her in. No reality that still held her.

If anything happens to me see that Uldren hears where his sister is.

It was her last wish but it was pathetic and naïve and he hated it. What had she even hoped to get from the Reef Awoken? He remembered their coldness, their pride, their sneering. He and Eris had privately despised and laughed at them, but Cresora had taken their contempt to heart and put herself though hell for them. And now she was gone. All he had left were her last wishes.

He stopped in his tracks. He imagined finding the Prince and telling them what he knew. Uldren’s indifferent eyes when he heard what Cresora had done for Mara Sov. Uldren would find his sister and the Reef would be restored, and they’d never think of Cresora again and the sacrifice she’d made for their cold, unfeeling hearts.

Osiris’ lip curled. Fuck the Reef. Fuck the prince. And fuck, especially, the queen. Let her suffer where she is for her very long, Awoken lifetime.

He kept walking, deeper into the forest and further away from the reality that contained every worthless Awoken in the universe except the only one that mattered.

‘Einayim shell’ means ‘my eyes’ and it’s a Hebrew phrase meaning something very precious. Thank you to @aquanovadragon for telling me about this endearment.

The passages Osiris recites to Cresora are adapted from ‘The Song of Solomon’, the last book of the Hebrew bible and one of the books of the Old testament.

Thank you so much for reading this story. I enjoyed writing it so much and I hope you enjoyed it too.

#osiris x female guardian #thanatonautics #osiris #curse of osiris dlc #destiny fanfiction #thanatonauterotica #oc: cresora

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maximuswolf · 4 years ago

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The Serpent Decoded via /r/atheism

The Serpent Decoded

The serpent has a goal of looking like something and then it lies to itself that looking like something is the path to being something.

Genesis is a medley of poetic creative that conveys timeless truths to help the reader through life. The serpent is a warning about toxic human beings. He uses a set up of God's words as a poetic macrocosm for logical truth. So God tells Adam and Eve to not eat the fruit in the middle. Moses doesn't use over exposition as literary tool so it is left up to the individual reader to understand that all the fruit is the same.

The whole point of that beginning exchange is to poetically explain the power of God as all knowing and giving Eve all the tools to avoid a mistake.

It's also a clever way to point out that the serpent is not observed by God, which shows how advanced the Hebrews were. Think about it. The serpent is nothing because it is not observed by God, that's the observer effect.

Together, those things give a pivotal advanced life lesson that God isn't a diaper changer here to baby you. Think about it. God doesn't directly say to look out for the low life in your form that can talk to you that's scrounging around paradise. That wasn't needed to be said when all the fruit is the same and it's loving information to say to avoid the fruit in the middle. Eve was supposed to figure it out on her own. That to set the tone to the timeless saying, 'God helps those who help themselves' because you are supposed to be conscious so you can independently understand with accuracy. You're supposed to understand a serpent when you meet one.

They don't use words to exchange information for positive benefit at a level above itself. It only talks as a way to scheme to get something (from making you think that it's more advanced than it is to getting something from you like a gift or a date or an opportunity).

So Eve meets the serpent in it's latest scheme, trying to get understanding. The background is it has deluded itself that eating the fruit would magically make it understand. Now idiots add in illogical information that's not in the text by designating the fruit as magic because they are the type that Moses is lampooning with the serpent. What Moses was going for is that the serpent has a lifetime inability to understand and have tried many things and it never helped it understand so now it is fixated on the fruit but it never ate it before. The story is that simple but many toxic individuals like the serpent tries to confuse you about it.

So with a focus on the literary purpose and the situational set up it is easy to see how much work it took for Eve to get herself damned. Logic is the key, if something doesn't make common sense with sound logic then you are going out your way to cause your self trouble. So the serpent asks her what God told her about the fruit to slyly phish for information. So Eve's first mistake was not noticing that phishing attempt but that's a little bit of an advanced level of enlightenment.

The most important thing in life is being able to discern the motive of others. So Eve was supposed to understand that the serpent had a motivation of needing her to eat the fruit first and that was perfectly crafted poetry from Moses to display how mindless toxic human beings are by following what others do to fit in. Moses is conveying that the desperation of the serpent made it rise above it's codependent nature to trick Eve in to doing it first so it can follow along.

So basically the serpent turns Eve in to a crash dummy. She went out the way to allow it because God directly told her what the deal was. That is perfect poetry of how we go out the way to make mistakes and have no true excuses.

The rest of the story is the innovative literary tool of a connected medley of poetic universal truths. The way the serpent isn't punished is the most beautiful poetry because it is showcasing how the serpent was not punished. Get it. It was always helpless to the point of needing to use others like a baby crawling. It doesn't have legs because it stands for nothing because it is nothing. It never had arms to reach for it's own fruit. Moses also poetically tied the physical acts of child birth to Eve being so sympathetic to the listen to the helpless and desperate serpent that she went out the way for it and troubled herself.

Moses then tied Adam listening to her to a man being a laborer. That's one of the kinks in revealing that a man wrote it from their perspective because we all know that's not absolutely true in all ways because there have been early societies where women provided based on the connection to having children to take care of. A similar little hiccup shows up later in Genesis when Moses crafted a poetic scenario where angels in disguise visit Sodom and to denote evil he crafted a situation where the townsfolks tries to rape the angels. The fact that they tried to rape the angels isn't the wrong that was the focus but to understand how gays are attacked by that is to understand how simple minded toxic animals live with a permanent closed mind stuck in an animal pack system where they have to prey on easy weaknesses of others. They seized on that meaningless literary tool like vultures seizing on dead meat. Again, it's Moses displaying that amazing level of creative enlightenment when he used that situation of rape to set up a picture of true evil as not making sense by having Lot offer his virgin daughters to the stop the rape. Get it? That was the point that evil was shown. That's actually a good metaphor when you dissect it because it defines evil as not making sense. The assumptions by Moses, though, is the imperfections to prove that it was not written by God but is a sign of God because it is a creative masterpiece that shows someone at the height of creative enlightenment. Again, those of us with poetic souls and critical thinking that allows us to have wider perspectives can understand the poetry of being connected to God as being connected to logic.

There's a connection between the deeper and more detailed the truth then the more accurate the result is. Keep in mind that the serpent is incomplete from lacking a connection to God and in an Earthly sense that's a connection to logic. These loud mouthed losers acting like the poetry in the Bible of a hearing the booming voice of God is just them displaying that they're a crafty animal not made by the lord like the serpent.

The only personality it has is scheming it's something it's not to you and lying to itself to quiet the insecurity caused by the advanced subconscious logic of the brain. The need to scheme is just animal flight coming through in the skillset the DNA code allows for the human species. So the serpent is tasked with never being enough and can only result to scheming to trick others who may be viewing them that they are enough. That creates a handicap where their actions never go beyond eye level so that lack of forward thinking is a sign of not being able to critically think and incorporate control of emotions with logical benefits of desires and the effect it has on others because that's too complicated for simple animals like them

Look at the crafty animal not made by the lord and apply the motive, 'how can I scheme to get me a break' and you can see that it applies to everything they do.....seriously. Try it....the funny thing is whatever it is will never be smart enough to give them a break unless you're on the stupidity level of Eve and is listening to a scheming low life and ignoring what God told you directly.....you have to be so stupid that you ignore firm logic to listen to the scheming low life trying to talk to you.

They are so stupid that they can lie to themselves and that goes to an absolute level. Remember, the formula for lying to yourself is that you get a selfish benefit from it and it doesn't make sound logical sense to the point that it even makes you feel uneasy that makes you not even want to think to the point that you would rather risk hurting yourself with an avoidable mistake than helping yourself by catching a glaring hole you overlooked. If something has the belief that if they look like something they will be something then that means that they have no critical thinking skills. That means they are toxic and will even try to scheme on how being right is bad or how the truth can be bad because someone is crazy or how being unselfish means you're gullible. All those things mean that is a toxic individual who is capable of doing any level of negativity when under pressure.

The Bible is poetic universal truths. 'Serpents' lie to themselves that not being able to understand poetry doesn't mean that they are less than a person....if someone is a visual learner then that's showing they have no critical thinking skills. They're just looking what others do and mimicking like a parrot does with sounds. That's the basis of 'monkey see/monkey do to make monkey feel good'. The fact that they will then scheme to get a break by not admitting that they don't understand is what throws many off.

So the serpent is inspired by Moses' views on evil human beings through living in Egypt. They felt God was a selfish based word for their feelings and he leaves that for the person reading it to see by the serpent's use of the word.

Everyone looking for a big boat or talking about Adam and Eve as historic figures weren't the target audience of Genesis. Those types that don't have active and creative brains that understand poetry are like the serpent and capable of drowning in their thoughts because they're not swift enough to ride the winds of change.

Submitted January 31, 2021 at 04:33PM by KanyeWestisJesus via reddit https://ift.tt/39wmzHz

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