#all the surfaces are slick and there is no way to secure objects so things just! fall!

[quasarkisses]

I hate driving. I hate the car. I hate losing everything in the car. wallet, important keys, anything that matters I will apparently lose it in the car. it makes me want to tear my hair out

and there are ALWAYS a million little terrible cracks and crevices to convince myself things could have fallen into while I was busy paying vital attention to the road. no security except compartments that turn invisible when you close them so I will also forget they exist

no clear containers. no spot to even put a clear container. kill me

[mothwingwritings]

Chance Encounter

F!Reader X Strade (BTD)

It's my birthday today! This was not the fic I planned on posting for it, but it was the one I had most completed so that is how it all worked out.

I hope you all enjoy it, and thank you for reading!

DUE TO THE SUBJECT MATTER OF THIS FIC 18+ ONLY PLEASE!

Warnings: Imprisonment, physical/mental abuse, reader getting stabbed and hurt, mentions of sex, language, light editing.

Life was wrought with mistakes, one simple slip up holding the power to irrevocably change the course of your entire existence. It was impossible to get through your day to day without some form of blunder bogging you down at some point, vexing you at every turn to make the trials of life that much harder. But while inevitable, most of life’s fumbles are minor, silly little things that, though annoying, are easy enough to shrug off and live with, causing no major impediment to your existence.

That’s the kind of error that this instance should have been- a nothing moment causing seconds of agitation at best. As the cold, slick water bottle tumbled from your loose grip, the noise it made as it collided with the floor seemed blaring and dramatic, as if it were trying desperately to tell the whole world you had made an error. The bottle gained just enough momentum from the fall to roll out of your sight, disappearing into the main hall, hopefully coming to a stop before reaching the main door. After a brief sigh you chased after it, grumbling at the nerve of the inanimate object to try and make a run for it, eluding your grasp. Casting your eyes to the floor, you thought of nothing more than securing your drink as you followed after the trail of moisture it left behind.

Luckily it had not traveled far, and your eyes were quick to hone in on it as soon as you entered the adjoining hallway. Hunched over, your hand had once more clasped around its slippery, frosty surface, this time a bit more securely. Bottle now firmly in hand, you began to raise yourself, eager to slink back into the depths of the house where you would (hopefully) be left alone.

“Oh? And who do we have here?”

The sudden recognition stopped you dead in your tracks. An unfamiliar voice rang through your ears, sounding like an alarm in your head. Confusion gave way to fear, causing a several second delay before you could force your slumped form to even glance up and acknowledge who the words had come from. A cold sweat began to coat your body, mirroring the perspiration of the water in your hand.

Obscured by several strands of messy hair, your eyes fell to the front door at the end of the hall, scanning the area where this mystery voice had come from. A few minutes ago you had thought you could make out Strade opening it, but since you had heard nothing further you figured he was just checking the mail or something and he would be back in within a matter of seconds (if he wasn’t already back inside, which is what spurred your hurried supply gathering to begin with).

So when your water bottle slipped from your hands and rolled out into the hall, you didn’t think twice before chasing after it. Despite how the hall seemed a bit brighter than normal and that a slight breeze accompanied that light, you never would have imagined collecting your fumbled bottle would lead you to a confrontation with a complete stranger.

There was a strict rule about keeping yourself hidden away in the house, out of sight and mind for any and all neighbors and passersby. Whether you meant to or not, you had just broken that cardinal rule and now had to deal with the fallout.

The front door was flung wide open, flooding your vision with a blinding ray of sunlight. You squinted as your eyes adjusted, honing in on two silhouettes that appeared in the doorway. One was undeniably Strade, while the other belonged to a slight elderly woman. As your eyes grew accustomed to the light, you noted she wore a surprised, albeit pleasant, expression on her aged face, denoting that she was just as shocked to see you as you her.

You slowly straightened your posture, crinkling the plastic bottle in a tightening grip as you pivoted your body to fully face both individuals. The woman took you in with a steady mix of confusion and amusement, no doubt hankering to know more about this new woman who had entered her midst. Strade, on the other hand…

When your eyes flicked to him you had to bite back the desire to instantly flee. Outwardly he had managed to keep his cool, his posture remaining lax as he faced you with a peaceful grin on his lips and a slight twinkle in his eye. To an outsider, his expression could easily be misconstrued as a look of amused fondness, as if seeing you show up randomly was natural and welcomed. But you knew Strade and his tells well enough to know just how much danger you were actually in. It was in the way he gripped the doorknob a smidge too tightly, found in the dangerous gleam that shone beneath the sparkle of his crinkled eyes, apparent in the imperceptible way he tapped his foot. He had made his displeasure of your arrival crystal clear, needing no further assurance of just how severely you had fucked up.

“This is (Name),” Strade’s response was effortless, his face and demeanor completely devoid of any hints of worry, “Don’t be shy, come introduce yourself!”

You saw him fiddle with something in his pocket, no doubt the controls to the large, overbearing collar that hugged your neck like a noose. He gave a quick jerk of his head, alerting that it was alright to come towards him.

After several slow, shaky steps, you arrived at his side. Standing at the cusp of the doorway, the sun was so bright it was nearly blinding. You basked in its glow, feeling refreshed the moment the warm rays and fresh breeze came in contact with your skin. You took a deep, shuddering breath as you stared up into the impossibly blue sky. Fat, fluffy clouds meandered by, carried ever so slowly by a gentle breeze.

For a moment, you felt the sweet embrace of freedom.

“Oh my, Sweetheart you look awful!”

A concerned voice brought you crashing back to reality, a cold dread clawing its way back inside you. You looked towards the woman who could now clearly see you in all your glory- open wounds, old scars, fat bruises, thick collar, everything. The horror in her eyes reflected her inner emotions, a deep frown highlighting her pity and concern.

Though her reaction was to be expected, it terrified you. Strade’s meticulously kept secret was being laid bare and that couldn’t mean anything good for either yourself or the woman that discovered you.

“Impressive, isn’t she?”

You both whipped your head towards Strade, responding to his nonchalance with puzzled stares. Strade chuckled in response, “(Name) here is a stage actress by trade, and recently has been dabbling in her own makeup and special effects. It all looks pretty convincing, doesn’t it?”

A wave of relief washed over the woman at his on the spot explanation, “Dear me, you almost gave me a heart attack! It certainly fooled me!” She turned her attention back your way, staring with squinted eyes at the marks that littered your form, taking them in with a newfound appreciation. “It’s strange to compliment something so garish, but it is quite impressive that it looks so realistic. You did a great job, sweetie.”’

Your body slightly jerked as Strade’s hand clasped on your shoulder, giving a squeeze. You didn’t have to look at his face to realize he was no doubt pleased by the sick, fallacious compliment he had just second hand received.

“T-thank you,” you took the initiative, figuring it was best to act on your own then wait for Strade to prompt you. The more convincing this all looked the better. “I have been practicing a lot so I am glad they look so… natural.”

You choked on the word, disgusted by your own insinuation. Natural- Is that what this had all become?

“Well, you sure fooled these old eyes,” the kindly woman laughed so deeply it shook her frame, “But even with all the makeup it’s easy to tell you are quite lovely,”  a knowing smirk crossed her wrinkled lips as her eyes darted to Strade, “Am I right in saying you’ve finally found yourself someone special, Strade?”

It took all you had not to wretch on the spot, disgust gripping you so violently it was a miracle you were able to keep your expression neutral at her insinuation.

“Ahhh, ya caught me!” Strade laughed, slinging his arm around your shoulders, jostling you a bit in the process. “I was planning on introducing her a little later, but no time like the present, eh? (Name), this is Mrs. Schmidt, my next door neighbor.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you smiled, giving a small nod. You didn’t want to attempt a hand shake, worried that your grasp would be far too sweaty and quivery for someone who didn’t actively fear for their life simply by being in their ‘boyfriends’ presence.

“Well it is very nice to meet you too miss (Name). It warms my heart to know Strade has such a pretty young lady to keep him company, we’ve been worried he’d be a lonely bachelor for life!”

She gave a tinkling laugh and you forced yourself to respond in kind. You realized her suggestive prodding and compliments on your looks were just her attempting to be polite and chummy, but you couldn’t help but find the interaction exceptionally grating. You knew you looked exactly how you felt, chewed up, spit out, dragged to hell and back again. No amount of flowery praise could ever convince you otherwise. That, coupled with the cutesy way she interacted with Strade had you considering slamming the door in her face, effectively ending this surreal hell even if it meant willingly barricading yourself inside to be alone with Strade again.

“You know, we were all trying to marry off our neighborhoods most eligible bachelor,” she mused, reaching over to lightly touch Strade’s arm. The familiarity made your hair stand on end. To think someone could so casually touch him, staring up at him with such soft reverence, made you want to gouge your own eyes out to not have to witness the blind adoration a moment longer.

“Ah come on now, I’m not that hopeless!” You felt his laugh as he clutched you to his side, reverberating through you as he tightened his grasp. Without the threat of the collar, was he worried you would bolt? “I mean, I found (Name) right? I was just waiting for the right person!”

“Well she sure is lucky,” the old woman directed her focus back towards you “I’ve been his neighbor going on five years now and I can’t tell you how many times he has helped us out. In fact, just last week we were having issues with that old hunk of junk we call a car and it seemed that no matter what shop we took it to, it wasn’t getting fixed. We were about to scrap the thing when Strade came over and took a look at it, found the problem, and fixed it up good as new! It runs better now than it has in years, and Strade wouldn’t even accept payment! He just took a cold beer and went on his merry way.”

A wave of nausea washed over you as she continued to animatedly speak, a shine in her eye as she droned on and on about how much she adored the monster beside you. As she droned on, an intrusive thought began to creep in your head. What would she do if she knew the truth, you wondered? If she was made privy to the fact that the same hands that fixed her car have choked you, stabbed you, and beat you to the point of near death multiple times, how would she respond? If the man she idolized was laid bare before her, how vastly would her opinion of him change? Would she even believe it? Would she try and help you, or would she continue to live in her happy bubble of ignorance?

“And it’s not just us either, the whole neighborhood adores him! I don’t think there’s a person on this street this man hasn’t helped. He’s a true angel!”

An angel. This mass murderer, this menace to society, this cold blooded killer, was her angel.

Quivering with tremors, your body began to tense up. Whether from disgust, anger, or fear you were uncertain, but the uncanny nature of this entire instance was making your skin crawl and you desperately wanted to retreat back in the house and curl up in some shadowy corner, far removed from the situation.

You cursed yourself for dropping the bottle and ultimately subjugating yourself to this woman before you and the eerie words the continued to spew from her lips, fueling the revulsion that wracked your gut. The realization that the man who mercilessly assaulted you day after day, spiriting you away from all you ever loved and knew to be kept as his personal ‘pet’ and punching bag, was the block’s own personal hero, hit you like a ton of bricks. Since you had been imprisoned you held on to the secret hope that someone was on to him, that maybe a local neighborhood hero would one day report him and the police would storm the place, ultimately saving you from your nightmare. Now it was abundantly clear that was just a pipedream and an incredibly stupid and naïve one at that.

After being subjugated to this cruel revelation you decided that if Strade didn’t kill you, maybe you would just give up and find a way to do the job yourself. Was the tiny amount of hope you clung to worth it? Would you ever make it out of this alive?

Strade chortled sheepishly beside you, “Please, you give me too much credit! I just like to tinker and have a bad habit of sticking my nose in other people’s business, as (Name) can probably attest to.” He shook you back to reality, bringing the attention back to you, “Speaking of, we interrupted you didn’t we? You can get back to work if you need to, sweetheart.”

The neighbor seemed to pick up on the hint, her eyes widening as she quickly glanced down at her wrist watch.  “Oh my, look at that! The time just slipped away from me! I am so sorry to keep you, especially when you are in the middle of something important.”

“I-it’s OK,” finding your voice once more, you regarded her with an uneasy smile, “It was nice to take a little break from it all, and it was nice to meet you too.”

It wasn’t a lie. Despite the immobilizing anxiety, offensive annoyances, and ever present fear that was weighing you down the entire conversation, this chance meeting was like finding an air pocket in a sinking submarine. It rejuvenated you in a sense, treating you to a taste of ordinary life. You didn’t know what was going to come after this moment. Whether you would survive the pending punishments you were sure to receive or if you would ever see this woman again after Strade shut the door was anyone’s guess. But those worries were for the future, for now, you basked in the brief normalcy of it all, relishing the feeling of almost freedom that was only a few taunting steps away.

“I would say I’d love to see your creative project once it’s done, but it looks like it may be a little much for me. “ She giggled airily, giving you a kind smile, “But regardless, I hope it is a success! I don’t know how it couldn’t be, what with all the love and effort you have clearly put into it!”

“Yes, you can really see the passion reflected in her work,” Strade remarked jovially, making you cringe, “Seeing her like this really inspires me to work my hardest too.”

He smiled down at you, his breath tickling your ear as he leaned over your shoulder, “She’s really helped teach me that all the time and energy you pour into your work and hobbies is well worth the reward.”

This time, you were unable to stop the shudder his words elicited.

“Well, this pesky lady won’t take up anymore of your evening,” she started to turn away, giving a small wave as she did so, “It’s always a pleasure Strade, and it was very nice to meet you (Name)! I look forward to seeing you more in the future!”

Time seemed to slow as you felt Strade leave your side, offering his support to her as she hobbled her way down the stairs. It all felt unreal watching the two-the cheery expression that lit up Strade’s face, the pleasant aura that surrounded the woman he spoke to, the smile that you had forced upon your face as you waved her goodbye.

The sluggish, serene nature of it all made it feel like you were caught in a dream, one that would very shortly turn into a nightmare.

After Strade had made sure she was secure, he made his way back up the stairs, giving her one more cursory wave before shutting the door and bolting it closed. He pressed his face against the peephole, placing his hands on either side of the door frame in a white knuckled grip. For several drawn out seconds he watched what you assumed was his neighbor making her way back to her house, tapping his foot impatiently until he had confirmed she was back inside of her home.

Strade took a step back, slapping a hand over his eyes. He massaged them a bit before slowly dragging his palm down the length of his face. Releasing a groan of irritation, he slammed his fist down hard against the front door, rattling it against the wooden frame. It rattled you as well, fully drawing your attention back to your impending doom.

 “Scheisse,” he grumbled after a lengthy sigh, shaking his head derisively, “That old bitch just HAD to come at the most inopportune time, didn’t she? Even after I told her to not come over unannounced, she waltzes over here like she fucking owns the place! What a pain in my fucking ass.”

Now that Mrs. Schmidt was out of the picture, you felt her absence profoundly. Without her obtrusion barring its closure, the door was once more locked tight, effectively cutting you off from the fresh air and sunshine you were relishing moments prior. The outside world that had been dangled before you was gone nearly the moment you experienced it. Gloom replaced azure skies, your pending punishment looming like a dark cloud as you were once more reminded that while in his grasp, you were nothing more than a caged animal.

The future you had avoided thinking about had become the present- all that was left was to face Strade. How would he deal with you for causing such an inconvenience? What fresh hell awaited you now that you were alone?

“I-I’m s-sorry.”

The apology came as a jittery squeak, choppy breathing bouncing the words that tumbled from your pouty lips, “I’m so sorry Strade, I-I should have been paying more attention! If I didn’t drop that bottle, if I would have kept a better grip on the stupid thing, she never would have seen me. I am so, so sorry! This was a dumb, stupid mistake and it will never happen again! I won’t go in the kitchen or near the door at all, I’ll stay away from windows and I’ll peek to make sure no one is outside when I move around the house. I’ll be more careful, I promise! I’m sorry… Please…”

At some point during your babbling, you had started to cry. Your voice becoming such a blubbery, quavering mess that your words were now a slurry of unintelligible noises, the message you were trying to relay just barely recognizable over the sobbing. Tears stained your vision, making the world appear as wavering as your body felt, like any moment you would topple over and never stand up again.

In attempt to compose yourself, you moved to hastily wipe the tears from your eyes. Desperately rubbing away the signs of your outburst, Strade’s large hand landed atop your head. Curling his fingers into your hair, you flinched at the sensation, stiffening as you braced yourself for the inevitable pain that was to follow.

Any moment he’d clench his fist, latching onto your tresses in a death grip before roughly jerking you to the ground.  Your tormentor would then drag you down to the basement, amped up and ready to do god knows what to you to alleviate his tension and punish your transgressions. These very well could be your last few minutes alive, all because of one stupid mistake. Your breathing became even more erratic as his hand lingered, the anxiety of it all so overwhelming that your vision began to spot. Darkness was quickly consuming you, your heart pounding so violently in your chest you wondered if it would give out before Strade even had his chance to destroy you.

“Hey now, it’s not your fault that old bird doesn’t know how to mind her own goddamn business!”

In stark contrast to what you were expecting, Strade chuckled blithely. Instead of grabbing a hold of you, his hand began to rub your head, tousling your hair playfully. Confusion kept you planted firmly in place as you hesitantly looked up at Strade’s face, finding no trace of the immense anger you expected in his expression. If anything, seeing your response seemed to melt his mild annoyance, replacing it with a look of mirthful amusement while he scrubbed at your head like a dog.

“It’s fucking obnoxious though, isn’t it? How one person can come over and mess up your entire day?”

Doing your best to ignore his leering smile, he continued to speak, “That woman just doesn’t know how to shut up, if I let her flap her mouth too much the whole goddamn neighborhood will be up my ass about this. I guess I’m just lucky that she’s old as sin and starting to lose it, if she harps about you too much I can brush it off as signs of onset dementia. Should be easy enough to get people to believe, and besides that, at her age she’s knocking at deaths door so I probably won’t have to worry about her for all that much longer anyway.”

As he guffawed at his own cruel flippancy, you found little assurance in his callous words.  Shivering slightly, you had a hard time convincing your brain that you had made it out of the woods, that all was forgiven and soon to be forgotten. He felt you shiver beneath his hand, garnering his attention. He shot you a bemused glance, “What’s the matter, (Name)? I thought mein Mädchen would be thrilled to be off the hook right now, but are you actually disappointed? If you really want, I can conjure up some disciplinary action right now-“

“No,” you cut him off, desperation flooding your voice, “thank you Strade. Truly, thank you for understanding, and I promise it won’t happen again!”

Strade shot you a brief smile before releasing a breathy sigh, his hand falling limply from your head to rest on his hip. His eyes darted back to his neighbor’s house, a pensive frown forming on his lips.

“With all that said, I should probably still have a backup plan in place to cover my bases. Now that the neighborhood has a new darling to gossip about, we can’t just pretend like she doesn’t exist.” his eyes traveled back your way, causing unease to blossom in your chest, “I wonder what the story should be. We could ‘break up’ I suppose, but I feel like that would cause a shit show in its own way…”

His voice trailed off as he mulled it over, a spark coming across his features when a new idea donned on him.

“Or maybe… Maybe you could make the rare appearance every now and again, at one of our block parties or a cook out or something?”

Your brain struggled to process what he was saying, his suggestion so outlandish you were sure you had hallucinated him speaking it. “… What?”

His piercing eyes stayed locked on your petrified state, wearing an indecipherable expression as he mulled over his words. Without his typical cheekiness padding the suggestion, you couldn’t easily decipher if this was another sadistic attempt at feeding you false hope or something he was actually considering. To add to the uncertainty, you also couldn’t decide which option would be better for you in the long run. The suggested intimacy of posing as his public girlfriend made your skin crawl, but you couldn’t deny the joy rising within you at the thought of getting out of this house and being around other people. The idea of interacting with the outside world was too tantalizing to ignore, and you found yourself fixating on it the longer the quandary persisted. Would it be worth it, you wondered? Could this be your opportunity finally, after so much abuse, to find a little reprieve?

Excitement surged inside of you, your heart fluttering in your chest. Hope. For once in a very long time, you began to feel tangibly hopeful.

After several long seconds of silence, Strade’s face bloomed into a huge grin. He snickered as he closed his eyes, cocking his head to the side as if he had just witnessed you doing something he found truly adorable.

“I’m joking (Name), no need to look so distraught!” His smile grew as he gave you another firm pat on the head, “Didn’t get your hopes up, did I? Sorry, but it would require a lot of training to get you to the point where I could trust you not to cause problems in public, and as much as I would love to devote the time to that intensive training, there are just too many outliers that pose major problems for our current arrangement.”

He leaned forward, encroaching on your personal space so that he could look you directly in the eye. He cinched his brow, a look of mock sympathy displayed on his features as he cooed at you condescendingly, “You understand, right mein Schatz?”

Unsure of how else to respond, you gave a quick nod to confirm that you at least heard his words. Your brain felt like soup asyour new found hope fizzled and died, just as it seemed prone to do. All the flip flopping, uncertainty, and dread of the last fifteen minutes left your mind muddled and hazy, exhaustion creeping over you from the mental and emotional gymnastics. At this point, you weren’t even sure any of what had occurred in the past twenty minutes was even real so much as it was just some weird, unfortunate hallucination your mind conjured to further torment you.

“Good girl!” He gave your cheek a few light smacks to punctuate his compliment, before straightening himself to his full height, stretching as he did so. “You catch on quick (Name), it’s one of the things I really like about you. Thanks for seeing things from my perspective!”

Giving a slight sigh of relief, you figured this would mark the end of the conversation. He’d tell you to step back from the door, turn your collar back on, and go about doing whatever the hell he was about to do, leaving you in relative peace.

But as his beady eyes continued to linger on you, you couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. They trailed the length of your body, methodically taking in every inch of you with a gaze so intense it nearly burned. You desperately wanted to shrink in on yourself and cover yourself in any way you could, hide away to escape the assault of his stare. Though you were fully clothed, his attention made you feel naked, exposed and bare as he openly ogled you. If there was one thing you had learned while being trapped with Strade, it was that his undivided attention was never a good thing.

“Maybe it’s conceited to say” he positioned himself so that his body was facing yours, taking a step to close the small gap of distance that separated you, “but it really is nice work. What I have done to you, that is.”

His voice was low and rumbling, an edge to it that hinted at something you didn’t want to ruminate on. Unable to stand the intensity any longer, you folded your arms across your chest, hunching your shoulders to conceal yourself the best you could. It was a weak defense, but the only one you had.

Strade’s hands shot out like whips, grabbing hold of each of your arms in a unyielding grip. Yanking them away from your chest, he tugged you roughly towards him, spinning you around so that your back was flush against his chest and stomach. Once in place, he took hold of your arms once more, pushing them up so that they were in front of your face.

“Keep them there.”

Warm breath tickled your ear as he loomed over your shoulder, his cheek pressed flush against your head as he gave his command. He slowly released his hold on your arms, his hands hovering for a moment, testing the waters to see if you would continue to obey. Without his support the limbs shook violently, but you dared not move them.

As you kept your arms in place, Strade languidly dragged his fingers down their length, sighing wistfully as they traced over the scars that littered them.  Admiring his own handiwork, you felt his breathing growing labored. Your body moved in time with each rise and fall of his chest as he remained plastered behind you, his course fingers gingerly ghosting the length of your arms at a hypnotizingly steady pace.

He remained this way for several minutes, unspeaking as his fingers danced over the past wounds he had inflicted upon you. The gentleness of his touch was shocking, eliciting goosebumps in the wake of his caress. In an attempt to calm yourself, you squeezed your eyes shut. If you could focus on only the sensation of his touch it was easier to pretend it was not his arms you were nestled in, that it was not his calloused fingers tracing you so delicately. If you could not see him, if you could will his presence away, you could curb some of the self-loathing you felt in admitting that this exceptionally rare moment of tenderness felt good.

Once he was satisfied with surveying your arms, his hands trailed to your shoulders. Balling into fists, he took a shuddering breath as he latched on to the fabric of your shirt, using his grip on you to drag you farther into the house. “I want to see more, “he growled behind you, his composure slipping as you awkwardly stumbled backwards, “I want to make more.”

The moment you reached the living room he shoved you to the ground, ordering you to stay still while he made a hurried side trip into the kitchen. Though your panicked brain screamed at you to run, your body refused to budge, the sheer terror this new turn of events caused paralyzing you, halting any form of action.

It wasn’t long before Strade returned to the room, massive kitchen knife in hand as he stalked towards you. He wasted no time in mounting you, straddling your stomach between thick, muscled legs. With his weight upon you, cinched between his thighs, there was no hope of escape. Even if your numb limbs finally decided to listen to you and take action, it was far too late to escape. Whimpers creaked from your throat as he took hold of the collar of your shirt, placing the sharp edge of the knife against the fabric as he began to cut.

“You really are a good girl, (Name),” he panted over you, his knife nicking your skin as it erratically sawed through your shirt and bra, causing sharp, pained gasps to be squeezed from your throat. Strade’s smile grew with each sound you made, the excitement of it all driving him into a frenzy. “You’ve done everything I’ve ever asked, listen to everything I say. But you’re problem is that you’re just too irresistible, mein schatz. Es macht mich wahnsinnig.”

With your top now completely shredded you started to squirm, softly pleading for him to let you go as you maneuvered your body in any way that may loosen his hold on you. Tears stung your eyes as he clamped his legs tighter, your act of resistance causing a growing bulge to press uncomfortably into your stomach.

“Making a man lose his composure like this is enough to warrant a punishment in and of itself,” he released a shaky sigh as he pointed the tip of his knife over your exposed chest, pressing down until it had pierced your skin. Crying out, you wrapped your hands around his and began to pull, tugging as hard as you could in an effort to try and pull the blade from your body. But he was far stronger, and it seemed that the more you struggled against him, the deeper he plunged his blade.

“Aw come on now, don’t be like that,” he mocked, his voice dripping in lust, “I just want to play around a little bit, but you’re making it really hard not to lose control (Name).”

He abruptly pulled back, wresting his knife wielding hand from your grasp to raise it higher in the air. As he reared back, your arms folded across your chest in a pathetic attempt at protecting yourself. Scrunched up as much as you could, your arms and hands guarded your face and chest as you waited, bracing for impact. And instant later you felt a rush by your head, followed directly by a searing pain that emanated from your shoulder. Your wide eyes flicked over to see the thick knife stabbed into the plush carpet, inches from your head. The blade had ripped into you on the way down, tearing into the flesh and muscle of your upper arm. You screamed as blood flowed from the deep gash, seeping into the carpet beneath you.

“Uh oh,” Strade’s sing-song voice called above you, “That’s probably gonna leave a stain, huh? That’s why I do this kind of shit in the basement. It’s much easier to clean up my little ‘projects’ down there!”

He gave a throaty laugh as he ripped the knife from the carpet, the violent withdrawal of the blade sending a fresh wave of agony through you. You flinched as Strade clasped his hand over the open wound, whimpering loudly as he applied pressure. It may have been an attempt at quelling the blood flow, but as you felt him jab his fingers deeper into the wound, it became clear he was deriving immense enjoyment from the act, grinning from ear to ear as you winced at the stinging sensation.

“Hey now, don’t be too upset! This sort of thing happens during the creative process, right? Things get messy, it’s the price you pay for creating works of art,” your blood ran cold as his beastial eyes bore down on you, the rest of his face offputtingly serene as his wide grin continued to spread, “And YOU may just be my magnum opus! It’s such a treat having you as my own little personal canvas~”

Releasing your shoulder, he moved once more to grasp his knife with his bloody hand. He licked a stray drop that began to creep down his wrist, shuddering in pleasure as he tasted you, taking in your horror and butchery with great fervor. With a flick of his wrist, the blade slid across your chest, leaving an angry trail of crimson in its wake. You screamed once more as blood poured from the pulsating wound, streaming down your chest until it washed your breasts in gore. Strade groaned at the sight. Driven by his craving for carnage, he readied his blade once more, a crazed smile on his face as he gleefully considered his next move.

“Be careful not to tease me too much (Name), or I may accidentally take this too far.”

[strawberryhierophant]

Spinners and Things (writing practice)

Buster kicked up his heels. A white Spinner dangled from his fingers, fresh from the 3-D printer's shop. This one — tear-drop shaped and glossy — had been sent over by the Chats, who wanted him to promote it on his channel. Buster flashed a broad smile and shot a sly look at the camera sitting on his desk.

"Now watch this!" he said and gave the Spinner a shake. Instantly, its sleek plastic surface went dark, then shimmered into multi-colored life, like the glistening rainbow in an oil slick. He heard the ding of approvals from his followers.

"Oohhh!" Buster warbled, hamming it up for the viewers, as a beam of light emanated from the device in his fingers, like a flashlight. The Spinner's bright beam concentrated itself into a tight glowing pillar of light teeming with various iridescent shapes which swam and collided against one another in the air as though they were alive. It was like something you might see under a microscope — back in the old days, of course, when microscopes were still used.

"So the light comes out, right?" Buster began. He heard the unique bing from his speakers, indicating that someone was asking a question. But he ignored it for the moment. "Looks pretty cool. A bit more realistic than the B-Model. You can tell the shapes are sharper." A barrage of ding ding dings indicated that his followers agreed. "And then basically you just tell it what you want. Like this: Samus' helmet!"

With this, Buster gave a shake of his hand, and the Spinner's light wavered, then receded into itself, then re-emerged as a white helmet floating in the air.

"Nah," Buster shook his head, exaggerating his disappointment, before flashing a look at the camera. "I don't like that. It's supposed to be red."

Buster gave the device another shake, and the helmet reformed itself: bright crimson. This new helmet even gleamed, as though it had been polished. The details were immaculate. Anybody would have mistaken it for a physical object.

"That's better," Buster announced, smiling. "So then, yeah. Just like that. Easy peasy. And then you just put it on."

As if responding to Buster's desire, the helmet floated quickly above the young man's head, dissipating into a red mist for a moment before securing itself quickly around his face and neck, at which point the helmet's sharp details once again returned.

"And now I'm wearing it! Looks pretty real, right?" Buster leaned in, turning his head for the camera to show off the helmet at different angles. "And this is still in Beta, but the graphics are already way better than the B-Model. I played Barrel Racer on this thing earlier and it felt like I was really there!"

Plus, it's perfect for streaming, Buster thought to himself. This is going to improve the optics of my stream. I mean I look fucking cool in this thing! "Doesn't it look just like Samus' helmet?"

A series of dings. Comments flying across his screen. Buster watched the subscriptions go up. He grinned.

Outside his quarters, Chat Scouts moved through the hallways, making their daily deliveries, navigating the multi-level living complex where Buster resided — the one he'd never left before. Outside, on the roads, more Scouts zipped across city streets devoid of all human life, completing secret tasks.

Elsewhere, different Scouts scanned the live-streams. One of them sat watching Buster's, who was busily filming himself, demonstrating a new Spinner, performing for nobody at all. The Scout was not sentient, or it might have felt a little bad for Buster. But it's purpose was not to feel. It had been designed with one job: supply the streamers and content creators with artificial subscriptions and artificial likes. The Chats found that accompanying these artificial engagement with dings and AI-generated comments helped a great deal. And so the Scout did its job. It engaged. It built an artificial following for Busters. Other Scouts did the same.

Anything to keep the animals in their cages, that was the motto.

[uremovals]

Simple Ways To Make Moving Furniture Easier

There's lots to consider whilst you're transferring. Whether you are entering into a brand new domestic, office, or simply looking to rearrange a room, there's usually a right and a incorrect way wherein to do things. With furniture especially, you'll be far better off when you have particular guidelines in area to ensure no damage comes to your self, different humans, or other gadgets. Different items of furnishings require extraordinary tiers of care and moving techniques. Here are some popular pointers to ensure your safety and the safety of these around you when you're shifting fixtures.

Heavy fixtures For heavy objects which include couches and sofas, you could need to look into shopping for sliders to region below the legs if you're shifting it on a slick surface consisting of floorboards, linoleum, or tiles. Stay in a low role in case you're pushing the furniture and ensure you bend on the knees rather than solely through your returned. Staying low as you push will make shifting heavier gadgets easier.

If specific pieces of furnishings may be dismantled, flow these first. Transport less difficult gadgets before heavier or cumbersome items that can want extra room for transportation. Clearing the way will make it less difficult to deal with, convey, and in the end pass greater cumbersome objects.

If you could keep away from man with a van crawley a piano yourself, then do. Pianos may be very volatile objects to move and are best transported by using experts.

Protect your furnishings If you observed that particular objects are prone to being broken at some stage in the move, wrap them earlier than you delivery them. Wooden tables and such may additionally only need plastic sheeting to shield them if they may be on the again of a vehicle or if you need to prevent scratching. Glass-pinnacle tables take a little extra care and you'll should be a bit extra sensitive wrapping them. For a DIY process, you may wrap it in newspaper and bubble wrap consecutively earlier than encasing it in styrofoam after which placing it carefully in a box. For greater delicate gadgets, it's miles really useful to allow a professional provider pass them. Some moving companies provide a unmarried-object service so you can ask them to move a few gadgets for you if you don't need a full moving carrier.

Label any fragile items. Whether you are doing the activity yourself or you've got employed a expert moving business enterprise, make certain you label specially delicate gadgets and bins as FRAGILE to hold others within the loop and remind your self in the course of the flow. Chances are you'll lose tune of what is going in which within the chaos of moving but labelling your boxes will make sure they are dealt with with care, irrespective of who's managing them.

Keep yourself secure If you're going to be at danger even as shifting furnishings, wear apparel with a purpose to guard you. For instance, if it's far possibly that you would possibly scratch yourself as you pass, try and wear longer sleeved shirts and pants in which possible. For heavy lifting, you need to put on gloves and don't forget to always carry from the knees.

Create a clean and unobstructed path for any furniture which you're transferring. Ensure all youngsters and pets are out of harm's manner earlier than you begin shifting and speak with others who're supporting you move.

The maximum vital element whilst transferring is to take it slow. The more you rush via the system, the much more likely you're to injure a person, yourself, or damage other items at some point of the method.

[emperor-palpaminty]

Bruh I am SOFT can I have Western Tech with Fluff prompt 20?

DOCTOR VICTOR TRECH THE THIRD HAS MY HEART, bless you anon, especially this prompt? i’m melting

Also I had to changhe names again, Shaeeah isn’t a very “western” name, Suu became “Sue”, and Jek is close enough I think so he’s good!

And for those of you who don't know the AMAZING creator of this AU @hellothere-generalangsty has started that Tech was GOING TO PROPOSE but the woman turned him down. Ouch. Naturally I will use this to make myself sad.

Prompt 20: “My, oh my. You’re such a beautiful creature.”

Tech rolled up his sleeves, tying off the stitch. “There.” He slowly clipped the string and set his needle in the sanitization bowl. “You’re all set.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Mrs. Laquwane smiled, her thick hair being tugged at by her son, Jek. “Are you feeling better, Shay?”

The girl nodded, glancing down at the puckered wound. "Will I get better?"

"Of course you will." Tech smiled gently, watching as Jek admired his sister's wound. "Ah, don't touch it, Jek." Sue tossed her son a frown, before turning back to Tech. "Here." He handed her a small jar, tapping on the lid. "Apply that to the cleaned surface every night. If you need more, let me know. I'll drop by next week to examine the stitches."

Sue smiled, pushing one of her thick braids over her shoulders. "Thank you, Tech."

“Of course, Mrs. Laquwane.” Tech smiled politely, nodding, as Shay grabbed her bonnet, examining the stitched in her arm again. “You have brave children.”

Jek tugged on his mother’s second braid, eyes gleaming in their sly, childish way. “Can I get stitches too?”

“Oh, heavens, I hope not.” Sue sighed as Tech chuckled, shaking his head slightly, waving politely as the trio left. He leaned on the doorway, chest swelling with pride- another long day of good work was done. A grin that only emerged when he felt like he had a genuine job well done fought its way onto his face as he ducked back into his office.

Tech slowly rolled up his things. He tugged the curtains shut and picked up his bag, sighing softly as he plunked his hat onto his head. Tech tucked his key into his pocket, shutting the door as he slowly began the trek home - just a few streets away.

It was only beginning to darken when he reached the inn. He nodded to Cid and tugged the watch from his pocket. He swelled with pride, examining the elaborate design on the clasp and the cover of the face. The time stated it was only now past six-fifteen, and he was late.

Cid frowned, puffing on her cigar. "You're late."

He offered a small smile, taking the little stack of mail she offered him. "I understand that."

She chuckled, tucking the cigar into her mouth. "Need some company? I bet one of the girls would-"

"No, I am quite alright." Tech spoke quickly, face flushing. "Thank you." Her laughter followed him up the stairs.

He unlocked his room, walking in, pausing briefly to light the oil lamp. The flame caught, and he blew out the match gently. He dropped the medical bag on his bed, sinking into the mattress with a soft creak. 

He turned over envelopes, skimming the names on them. Some were letters from family, a letter from one of his Universities (probably inviting him to lecture), and one was...

The light spilled on the cream envelope, dripping like blood. The name alone made his throat dry. Miss Sawyer, he swallowed, fingers trembling. He opened the letter, shakily.

His face was warm, eyes unbearably hot reading the words- palaces of paragraphs, telling Victor how wonderful life was and how it wasn't the same without him. She had told him he wasn't enough when he had gotten on one knee. That being a doctor's wife was not suitable for a woman of her stature- and here she was, months later, pouring an arsenic-laced honeyed apology into a leaf of paper.

Tech stood, abandoning the letter on his bed. He took no time to try and tug his overcoat back on, or button his waistcoat- he just flew down the stairs, past Cid, tears blearing his eyes, throat chapped as he tore towards the stables.

It was about twenty minutes into the ride when he knew where he was going, horse slowly manuvering up the red hills, caked with rocks. He closed his eyes and leaned his head on the mane of the horse, inhaling its scent of alfalfa and leather. The horse knickered softly, pausing in it's canter as a dog barked.

Tech glanced up, pushing a hand in his sweat-slicked hair. The door to the house was thrown open, warm light pouring out into the falling night, and the herbalist ran out, a bulky jacket thrown on over her coat. She ran towards him, not walked, ran, her hair loose instead of pulled into a bun or braids. Her eyes shone even in the darkness as Tech climbed off the horse. "Doc, what-"

No words came from him. He reached out, collapsing against her, leaning down aw(wardky and pressing his face into her shoulder, every shaky breath inhaling the old smell of her jacket- smoke, pipe smoke, and vanilla. He clutched her, his breathing hitching.

She was secure, safe. He needed only her.

The herbalist only paused for a moment before closing her arms around him, vocalizing no objections. They stood together, the light at her back, and he steadily found his shakey feet on the steady ground of her.

Tenderly, she tugged away. "Let's go inside." She said, gently. "I have some tea, and a fire." Her lips pressed into a smile, and she nodded in encouragement, leading him to the warmth of her house, her home.

___

The couch was comfortable, Tech found, curled up, with the Herbalist handing him a cup of tea. He took a small sip, mumbling his thanks as she plopped down next to him, the heavy coat still on her shoulders. She watched him, eyes softened in the glow of the fire. "You've been crying."

He drew in a sharp breathe and started into the tea, the water bruising with leaves and their colors and he nodded. "Yes," He managed. He blinked to help bring some comfort to his dry eyes.

She crossed her legs, watching him. "You wanna talk about it?"

Tech glanced up from the cup, eyes scanning her face. "No," The doctor rasped. "I don't."

"Mm," She hummed, standing softly. Tech stared up at her as she moved, lowering her cup. "I can leave you alone-"

"No." Tech moved quicker than he could think, moving to her, crashing to his knees and grasping the skirt of her nightgown. "I can't be alone," His words were short of air, shallow. "Not again, not again."

He didn't want to look up. He just wanted to keep his face in her nightgown skirts, holding them- holding her- and forget what he had been running from. Hell, he had forgotten, the moment he saw her riding up to his stagecoach, like an angel of battle, and the only thing stirring in him was an overwhelming sense of her.

She moved her hands in his hair, shushing his cries. "Victor," She said, and the way she said it broke him. That concern, that love-

Quietly, she slid to her knees, too, and hugged him to her. "I'll stay, I'll stay with you. Or you can come sleep with me again." A rack happened in her lungs and she shook her head quickly. "Like last time. When I put my head in your lap-"

Tech picked his head up and kissed her, fingers winding in her coat. Her words were cut short by his kiss, the fire, the need in it. She hummed and pressed her hands in his hair, tugging him closer, tighter, and Tech felt like the fire- warm, hot, needy, comforting- his lust and his love were an oxymoron within themselves.

She pressed herself away, chest rising and falling against Tech's as her fingers brushed down to his waistcoat. Her eyes darted to his own, and she licked her lips, the delectible tongue peeking out from the supple fresh-kissed lips.

Tech ran his hand down the side of her face, the warmth exploding in his heart. "My, oh my," He sighed. Her skin was rosy, flushed from the kiss, cheeks the tint of rose-hips. "You're such a beautiful creature."

She sighed, leaning into him as he tugged her close, surrendering to his kisses.

Tech was done running for his past- he had found his future, here, in his arms.

[korpuskat]

i'd be appalled if i saw you ever try to be a saint [Pagan Min/Reader]

[Ao3 Mirror] Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 1,944 Content: DFAB & Gender Neutral Reader. Blasphemy & Sacrilege, Inappropriate Use of Religious Objects, Shibari, Bondage, Suspension, Begging, 

"I didn't think you'd be into... this..." You murmur, raise your arms as Pagan's nimble fingers slide the rope around your chest, once, then twice, forming lines across your skin with the deep red-brown material.

"Oh? Why's that?" He grins and it makes your stomach flip- a completely different anxiety than the one that's born from being completely nude as he takes his time forming shapes with his preferred medium. "One must be adventurous to rule a kingdom, and it's quite aesthetically pleasing."

"Thought it would be too similar to your work."

"Work, hah." He carefully threads the ends of the ropes back behind you, pausing to give you a moment to turn away from him. "Maybe for De Pleur, but I for one do not make it a habit to personally tie up terrorists with this much care." With only light touches he brings your arms back and binds them at your elbows, weaves the rope around your outstretched limbs until you can no longer pull them apart or lift them, as he secures that set of knots to harness forming at your chest.

"Though," He starts, then taps your shoulder to make you turn again. His eyes wander over your body, appraising his work thus far before lowering himself to his knees to begin working again at your waist. "This does give me some ideas."

"Thought you didn't want to tie up terrorists." You tease him and it earns you a half-amused glance and raised eyebrow.

"I don't, but someone must. It's the only way to stop them from making a mess of things." His hands are tireless, forming a thick, intricate weave along your outer thigh before it splits into individual strands- and Pagan tips you backwards onto the bed as he finishes that foot with your toes extended, leaving your leg as immobilized as your arms. Only a few minutes in and you can't move the majority of your body- and the thought sends a wave of heat through your body, culminating between your legs. In a vain attempt to subdue the building desire, you press your thighs together- which does not go unnoticed.

"Always so needy." He tsks, but his words carry no weight. Even if you didn't know your neediness made him feel wanted, his own excitement was obvious, tenting the front of his pants. "Almost done." He purrs and rolls you onto your stomach. He touches your unbound leg. "Lift, please."

The angle is odd, but you raise your leg as much as you can. It must be enough, because Pagan rests your ankle in the crook of his arms as he works more rope down this leg. He seems to work quicker, his own impatience growing- and you can't blame him. That heat burns between your legs and you have nothing left to sate it with other than the imaginings of what's to come.

"There." Pagan sighs, and steps away from the bed. He walks around in front of you, once again appraising his work- and you realize you can't put your leg down. Without his support, your leg hangs in the air, the rope shorter on the back of your leg than the front, the tension alone keeping it up. It's an odd sensation, like your weight isn't spread the way it should be- but you don't focus on it long as Pagan retrieves his phone.

All at once the heat rushes to your cheeks and you're ducking your face into his plush beddings. He laughs, always one to enjoy your embarrassment. "Nothing to be shy about, darling. Don't you want to look good for your king?"

"You're horrible." You grumble into the mattress, try desperately to close your legs as he circles around.

"Mmm," His clothes brush against your inner thighs. "Is this so horrible?" His fingers slip between your labia, slick and easy with your building arousal. Unbidden, your hips buck as best they can with the ropes restricting them, and still Pagan is as careful as he was threading the ropes. Never once do the pads of his fingers touch your clit, circling tantalizingly close and never quite making contact. All it does is fan the flame, all your focus centered on the feather-light pinpoints of his touch.

He stops as quickly as he started, coming around in front of you once more. Your mouth is already open, correctly anticipating his ritual of making you clean his fingers.

"Now this may take a moment." Behind you once more, he messes with the ropes- and you struggle to figure out what's happening- until you feel a peculiar pull across your body. You twist in your binds, try to glance over your shoulder- all you get a glimpse of him with his shirt sleeves rolled up, buttoned to expose more of his forearms as he grabs the rope again and pulls.

This time you slide right off the side of the bed. "Pagan?" Your voice shakes, not quite sure what to make of it- and he pulls again, not even answering you. One leg bent back, you balance carefully on the toes of one foot- each pull on the ropes takes more and more of your weight. He keeps going until you're nearly hanging by your leg, almost inverted except for your one leg that still dances across the floor, skittering across Pagan’s plush carpets for purchase, not quite supporting you and not quite dangling.

Pagan exhales, and with your new position you spin lightly in the center of the room, field of view drifting around until you catch sight of him again. He's trying off the rope, and mutters half to himself, "Let's buy a winch next time."

Though he sweats lightly, as soon as he makes eye contact with you the exhaustion wears off quick. His fingertips remain light and teasing as they trace down the long lines of rope, testing the strength of his knots that keep you in your perilous position.

"I think," He says, breathless, "this is right where you belong, don't you?" His fingers race along your arms, up to your shoulders, up and up till they're stroking through your hair. You strain to look up at him, watch as the fire builds in his eyes. "It's what you really want, to be under my power. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, nothing to do but to obey me."

With a whine you avert your eyes, try once more to bring your thighs together- and all it takes is a rough tug at your hair to bring your focus back to him. Your hands flex aimlessly, staring at him as he licks his lips, "That sweet pussy of your must be aching by now. I know you want to beg, so go on."

"P-please." It's hardly more than a whisper, and Pagan's face hardens, more insulted than amused by your first attempt. A forceful swallow and you try again, "Please, Pagan... touch me?"

"Tsk, that was pitiful. You can do better than that."

A bite to your lip and you’re still fighting to get the words out past your shame. "Please, I need it, I'm aching," You whine, can't even drop your head with his hand still tangled into your hair. "I- I'll do anything you want."

The knuckles of his free hand caress the side of your face. "Oh, I know you will, darling. But that's bargaining not begging. Is the blood rushing to your head already? Come on dear, let it out."

You're aching and he won't stop, ruthless, almost sadistic and all you want- all you really want- "Use- use me. Please, King Min, please, use me- I want- I want to make you cum, I want to taste you, please-"

Pagan grins, unashamedly pleased in your slow descent into subspace. "All you had to do was ask." Finally, he releases his hold on your hair which leaves your scalp tingling and your neck straining to keep watching. It's a sight worth fighting for; he unbuckles his belt and makes short work of his pants, the pink fabric parting- and your whole body throbs. With one hand he strokes himself, takes care to draw his foreskin back and watch as you begin to drool. If he could, perhaps he'd tease you like this for hours- make you watch him slowly please himself while you beg and insist that you could help. It would be agony for you both.

His own impatience is what makes him grasp your hair again- and he doesn't even have to tell you to open your mouth.

His taste and scent fill your every sense- the faintest twinge of sweat, but mostly soap and his cologne. Until, of course, he holds the sides of your head and begins to move. The first hint of bitter precum has you moaning, remembering the last time you'd had the privilege of making your king come undone with your tongue.

"I didn't tell you where these ropes came from, did I?" He manages to say between grunts, doesn't wait for you to try to answer. "Some unloyal citizens had thought to- oh, to rebuild one of those bell towers."

Your mind fights to the surface to understand, but all you can manage to do is stare up at him with big, glassy eyes. "They're sanctified. Meant to dispel fucking demons." He says and lets his head fall back. The weight of his words begins to settle in- and he pulls you as far as you can go and holds you there. Your nose flush with his abdomen, pressed against the black, well trimmed hairs. Your throat spasms with the intrusion, gagging- and Pagan doesn’t let up until your chest begins to burn.

He pulls you off him entirely. You gasp in lungfuls of air as he wrenches your head up again. He's half-crazed, panting, as rabid as you've ever seen him- "Are they working? Do you feel like you're curing evil?"

There's no right answer. Nothing you could say would be right, but he’s pleased enough at your open-mouthed panting, how you’ve nearly come undone just from sucking him off.

Pagan grabs the rope and spins you, your one foot dragging on the floor until you're facing away from him again. His hands find your hip and your strung-up leg- and there's nothing for you to do but squirm. He pushes in and his first thrust is like music; your whole body sings for the stimulation, the attention, the touch of your king. As rough as he can be with your body swaying, his fingers dig into your skin, desperate for any sort of leverage. Hard, then harder- his short-clipped nails biting into your skin. It's still not good enough; he grabs the ropes that twist around your arms, his fingers winding around his own knots as he yanks you back onto his cock.

His other hand reaches around, latches onto your throat and pulls as hard as he can, your body aching as you're bent backwards, straining against the ropes. Close, close enough for him to pant in your ear as he fucks you- "They're for worship.” He spits the word, drives it home with a thrust so hard he must bruise your cervix- and follows it with a hand sliding over your side, over each line of rope. Down, over your belly, down to your still-neglected clit. You keen as he brushes it, draws faint circles over it- "Do you feel worshipped?" His teeth close around the shell of your ear- and that's all it takes.

Lightning passes through you, leaves you gasping, begging with empty words as Pagan grunts, mutters a "Fuck, fuck!" A long, stuttering sigh- and his forehead rests against your shoulder, breath slowing in rhythm with your still-twitching body.

The serenity doesn't last long- the ropes cutting into your skin brings you down from your high. A single tiny "Ow." has Pagan up- and through his own post-orgasmic stupor manages to cut through the ropes and steady you enough to fall back onto his bed together.

With half-asleep limbs you shuck the knots from your body. Pagan watches with one eye before conceding, "Maybe too adventurous."

----

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[wrightaboutthat]

Unnecessary Yearning ~A Narumitsu One-Shot~

Summary: "You should have heard him talking about you after the Steel Samurai case! He kept saying 'Wright...Wright...Wright' over and over!"

Stricken with new feelings, Edgeworth attempts to carry on with his work and make do. Only, visions of a certain attorney lead to methods turning a little less than professional.

Written from Miles' POV.

Tags: Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Longing, Arousal, It's what the kids call, Denial, Mr 'I'm saddled with unnecessary feelings' Edgeworth lol like YEAH OKAY SIR, How's that going for you, Canon Compliant, Yearning

Additional Notes: Hello everyone! This is my first work in the Ace Attorney fandom. Glad to be tipping my toes into the universe, and super excited to finally be writing the boys. Thank you so much for reading! <3

You can also read the work on AO3 here [x]

It’s going to be a long night. My brain feels utterly thick and heavy from all which weighs down on me: evidence to sift through, cases to win, and losses to be recuperated. The latter two earn a stiffening of my figure, bits of bitter venom surging through my veins to match. I try not to mull over them too much however, what with all the deeper implications they carry. No; far too complex and far too unnecessary.

I instead focus on the present, focus on the current matters that await within my office. My silver gaze momentarily scans the various files atop my desk, before drifting over to my stewing tea. I straighten a bit, attempting to hone in on the delightful fumes, the tantalizing call of work to be done..

...But still, does my mind feel oddly muddied. Unsurprisingly, a scowl furrows my face as a result. 

Walking to grab the warm tea, I momentarily turn my attention towards the world beyond my window. The lights of the city below glimmer and flash as activity bustles on. The last bits of setting sunlight cast dramatic colors upon the horizon. Unfortunately though, as I continue to stare, something else tantalizingly flashes within the reflective sheen. Or someone else, rather.

Him. Him.

Ahh. The man who rose from the ashes of my past. The man who viciously inserted himself back into my life. The man who dared to make me question my own reality. So he’s to blame. He’s the culprit. He’s the reason behind the present strangeness. He was indeed the trigger behind previous emotional oddities, so it only makes sense that he’s tormenting me now.

...Or does it?

My frown grows- particularly when the swirling imagery doesn’t fade away. In fact, it grows all the more detailed, all the more vivid. It’s like my brain genuinely teases me for a few fleeting moments, letting me see him and all that he is. That sickeningly corny grin on his face. The way he sheepishly runs his fingers through his hair. The image of him behind me, slamming us into the very surface providing such visions...

I startle something terrible, backing away with a bubbling mixture of revulsion. How unexpected and heinous. How dare he. How dare he affect me so. How dare he insert himself into my workplace where he’s not welcome. 

And how ludicrous that I let him.

I clench my jaw and walk back to my desk, fingers knotted through my hair. There’s work to be done. There are matters to attend to. There are things that call for my attention. And none of them should deal with him.

But they do. Dammit, of course they do; with my subconscious stumbling from their presence, they scream the loudest of all. They dare to surge to the forefront. Because while case papers are visibly scattered before me, while knowledge swims within, he’s there in front. Flashing before my trembling vision, waltzing to the tip of my subconscious, and settling in the worst possible manner between the apex of my thighs.

No...

This cannot be happening. There’s no possible way this can be happening. I try to think of something else, anything else. All the work that needs to be done. That vile security guard from our case prior. But I can almost hear him chuckle at my lackadaisical efforts. And thus, does my strangely bewitched body mewl in delight, persuading me to hopelessly swell further.

I fume and begin to walk around the room, hoping to shake it off. Perhaps laps will serve me better. Perhaps getting my blood flowing will pull it from more problematic locations. But alas, I see him, I hear him, I feel him. I begin to bulge something terrible against my pants, the tight fabric no longer comfortable. It’s painful even, especially with all my movement, chaffing and rubbing atrociously.

But I don’t want to give in. I don’t want to fall into such vile acts. I don’t want him to hold such power over me.

And yet...

It’s like he materializes behind me, his hands gently yet firmly grasping my hips. He stills my furious stride, before I can practically feel his breath against my ear.

“You’re a mess, you know that?”

I grit my teeth. I want to argue. I want to deny it. But when I feel his hands starting to guide mine, when I’m lead to the fly of my pants, I really have no objections to his point. I can feel his grin against my neck then, and I can’t help myself; I shudder despite the rampant denial.

I still try and stop. I still try and hesitate. But the more I wait, the more painful it gets. The more I stall, the more vivid the visions become. A confusing and overwhelming mixture of emotion bubbles up then. I’m furious, but desperate. Appalled, yet curious. I consider things just a second more...

And then I’m deliciously coaxed; with my back facing the window, with my body towering over my desk, I unzip myself and allow the product of his doing to spring free.

The typical groan of relief departs my throat, but it’s hushed, captured as I bite my lip. A second later, my brow furrows something fierce, continuing to dance between enjoyment and revulsion.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” I can picture him saying, leading to a furious blush and stronger swell. Would he say such a thing? I cannot be certain, yet all rings clear within my subconscious. So much so that I growl at him.

“Shut up, Wright...”

“Yeah yeah. Now shhh,” he murmurs back through reveries, “Just enjoy yourself, Miles.”

Miles.

My name, so rarely uttered, growled off his lecherous tongue...

My eyes roll, and I grasp myself then. I wrap my fingers around the taut, soft skin. I firmly grab the stiffness was as he likely would. And it takes every bit of my power to not release a growling groan into the quietness of my office.

My office.

My eyes, slick with both a furious and midnight sheen, fly back open at the notion. I stare at myself in horror, stare at how utterly erect I am. All because of him. All because of him. 

I grit my teeth; how long will this dreaded back and forth go on? And which side will come out on top? Naturally, I careen for the reasonable, for the chaste maturity. But unfortunately, and unbelievably, my mind is no match for my body. My mind is no match for his spell. Because just as my grip lessens, he manifests behind me once more.

“I worry about you. You work way too hard, Miles,” he subconsciously murmurs in my ear, his vocals deeper and more honeyed than usual.

“Wright...”

“I like you saying my name like that,” he chuckles, and I can almost feel the flick of his tongue against my earlobe, “But I like you putting all your troubles to the side even more. So relax, dammit. Don’t be such a hardass...”

His tease, his care, his sultriness...It’s all too real. It all feels too real. I release another growl of frustration, but feel myself being tugged into the rabbit hole further. I begin to relent, begin to cave, allowing his very image to guide me down and down and down.

And so when I finally begin to move, when I finally begin to pull and tug, it’s entirely his essence.

He works me. He strokes me deeply. He topples my body towards the awaiting mahogany desk. Though I wish to deny it, though I wish to bellow in protest, it feels...utterly incredible, like it never has before. It’s intense, and electrifying, and unbelievably arousing. Once more are my eyes rolled away from view, noises of pleasure circulating around my chest. I have to fight against them, swallow them down, but yet again, does the attorney come out on top. The vision of his fingers, of his work, naturally pulls a centered vocalization from my lips.

“Wright...” I growl, “Wright...Wright...”

I’m rewarded with his voice in my ear once more. “Just like that...Fuck, Miles...”

My stomach clenches; would he even stoop to such naughty vocabulary? Would he even dirty his softer tongue so? Hearing it feels forbidden, yet so very divine. My hips practically buck, riding the reverie and falling deeper.

“Wright...Wright...Wright...”

The passes become harder, faster. His name grows louder, deeper. My mind falls grayer, darker. But of course, similar patterns are followed. Of course, the tug-of-war that is my reality is suddenly yanked in the opposing direction once more.

Because a series of loud raps on my door yanks me far harder than my own hand, startling me something terrible. My head whips up towards the mahogany barrier just in time to hear the reason, the culprit.

“Mr. Edgeworth, sir?”

Magma still burns in my veins. Evidence still twitches betwixt my fingers. His voice still moans in my brain. So very quickly, despite it all, do I bellow back to the damned detective.

“NOT NOW.”

Despite the fire I’m standing in, I can feel the saddened deflation on the other side of the door.

“B-but, sir...”

“PAYCHECK, GUMSHOE,” I snarl, attempting to instill as much threat and as little waver as possible.

He whimpers like a gloomy pup, before finally, thankfully, backing away.

“Y-yes, sir...”

His footsteps depart, but a bit of my fantasy is stolen along with him. It’s like pieces of foggy bliss are yanked out the door and down the hallway, loosening my grip on myself and the situation. Am I safe? Am I free from them?

As if to taunt, I feel myself twitch, and he manifests once more. I feel him again: the heightened movements of his panting chest against me, the ragged groans in my ear, the twinge of his teeth against my neck...

No. Safe from Gumshoe’s interruption perhaps, but still locked deep in the throes of Wright’s intrusion. How utterly strong he is. How much of a hold he has on me...

“Nngg...”

I groan in both frustration and persistent arousal. I want to stop. I want to latch on to the interruption and calm back down. But I can’t. I’m transfixed. He has me.

“Accursed attorney...” I growl through my teeth.

Right on cue, I can see that smug grin of his, sending droves of new warmth barreling down my body. And thus, does the cycle begin again. It only takes a few strokes to fully get back into it, but then I’m unimpeded, unshakeable beneath his spell. The angry, shaky breaths manifest once more, and my hips are coaxed back into movement.

I’m what they would refer to as “pent-up” I suppose, everything zinging to life at the thought of that damn man. His energy, his confidence, his very essence...

My lips curl into a snarl, coupled with the tightening of my hand. Anger and disgust towards the situation does no good; in fact, it only serves to amplify. And as such, I’m thrown into an endless loop, the fiery emotions driving me higher and higher. The more I push away, the more he pulls. The more he pulls, the higher the inferno roars. I’m practically jerking, practically trying to fight against the inevitable. But it’s no use.

I can see myself furiously pounding him into the very desk I’m leant upon. I can picture him folding me over the couch and having his way with my sorry form. I can imagine my angry body knelt before him, marveling in what I’m about to consume...

My entire lower half gives a mighty quake, and I tighten in a plethora of places. I’m going to finish. He’s going to make me finish. My ebony-soaked eyes reel about my surroundings, before flashing with a realization. I need to capture the evidence. I need to halt its sullying path. I need to be utterly inconspicuous about this.

So in perhaps the last allowed second of logical thinking, I snatch a handkerchief off my desk and blanket it over the incrimination. And there I hold as I utterly plummet into flames. My face wretches, my muscles tense, and consequently, comes a most forbidden hiss.

“Phoenix!”

And out it all spills. My anger, my deeper complexities, those wretched feelings...It floods against my fingers and into the handkerchief, my vision flashing white with every sharp burst. My jaw clenches something terrible, the temptation to yell through the release so very tantalizing. But I stay hushed. I manage to keep it contained to shivering grunts and rolling snarls. Instead, my body takes the brunt, my hips jutting with each intense crest. My legs begin to liquify, and my form begins to shake, so with a final spurt, do I collapse forward on my desk with a hand, the wretched evidence in the other.

I heave and gasp through the aftershocks, straining for normalcy to return. I claw my way down from the mountain, trying to get away from the outrageous act. It’s very difficult to do so when I can picture him stroking me into utter completion, whispering lecherous praises and deeper affections into my ear...

I straighten myself and slam my hand on the desk, disgust desperately surging through my veins to block it all out. One look at the soiled handkerchief and my equally dirtied hand amplifies this, my face contorting into a deep scowl.

I was really just enraptured by my urges like some hotheaded grade schooler. I really just turned my place of work into a place of dirtied fun. I really just pleasured myself because of him.

Because of Phoenix Wright.

Damn him. Damn him damn him damn him...

My clean hand comes to capture my face, my fingers harshly grasping my temples. I take a moment to hide away from it all, perhaps in a better attempt to deal with the rampant feelings flowing through. Regret, disgust, anger...But where the icy emotions exist, as do the fiery still, to my dismay. Deeper desire, longing, yearning...

I’m no better off from such an act. The more primitive urges are satiated, yes, but I’m still atrociously in limbo, atrociously in the middle.

I tuck myself back in, clean my hand with tissues, and throw the wretched handkerchief away. I focus on adjusting my attire, on straightening my cravat, on re-composing myself...

...Yet I still find myself unable to do much else than stand with both hands leant against my desk, deep in thought and emotions. I heave a harsh sigh, trying so hard to make sense of it all.

How did this happen? Why did seeing him after all these years lead to this? How could I be so foolish? I doubt we’re really even considered friends, and he’s certainly not...mine.

My eyes widen at the mere thought, before I force further bile to manifest. No. He’s not. And he won’t be. He’s my rival, if anything. Nothing more. Perhaps I was simply carried away by the excitement of our banter, the passion brought to the table. Perhaps my body simply craved an outlet for stress and tension. Yes.

But despite the logic that presents itself, despite the perfectly sound explanation, I still can’t move. I still can’t put it aside and simply get back to work. Nor can I rid my thoughts of that idiotic, passionate, absurd, torturous man.

Dammit indeed.

[sunflowersturn]

Cloak and Armor

You’ve been waiting on Obi-Wan to come home for a long time.

3007 words, warning for babbys first smut

People who (probably) want to be tagged: @karasong @killerqueenofalderaan @kaminobiwan @labyrinth-runner @afogocado

The days always seemed longer when Obi-Wan was out on a mission, no matter the time of year on Coruscant. You tried your hardest to fill them, to keep yourself constructive and busy, but at the end of the night when you were alone in your bed you couldn’t help feeling cold and lonely. It was only natural, when you found one of his (many) spare cloaks accidentally tucked behind a couch cushion, that you would start wearing it around your apartment.

It still smelled a little like him; like the incense he used to help his meditation and the tea he would never admit he preferred and just the ever so slight hint of ozone from the use of his lightsaber at some point in the past. You liked to curl yourself in it after a hard day of work and tuck your face into the fabric, closing your eyes and imagining it was his arms around you instead of the heavy wool. Sometimes it helped and sometimes it didn’t, but the times it did you often found yourself drifting off to sleep still wrapped in the folds.

Tonight was one of those nights. A hard day, a long week, days blurring together until you felt as though they were one, long, agonizing headache. You made yourself some tea (his favorite, of course) and sat yourself down to watch some holos with his heavy cloak wrapped around your shoulders. You drifted off within minutes, and woke to the sound of heavy knocking on your door hours later.

You were bleary as you stumbled your way over, and didn’t bother to look at the security screen before you were unlocking the door. If you had, you might not have been so shocked to see that it was Obi-Wan leaning on the door frame and giving you a weary smile.

“I hope that you’ve been a bit more careful than that while I’ve been away, darling,” he said, looking and sounding about as exhausted as you’d felt. But there was still a light in his eyes as he looked at you.

You made a strangled sound, unable to form proper words, and threw yourself at him hard enough to make him grunt at the impact as his arms wrapped around you. He chuckled and walked you back inside your apartment so he could kick the door closed behind him and bury his face in your hair.

It wasn’t until the door clicked shut that you realized he felt a lot more...rigid than usual, and you lifted your head to see that he was still wearing his armor. He hadn’t even bothered to change out of it after his debriefing, you realized, and your heart warmed at the thought.

“Couldn’t wait to get over here to see me?” you asked, trying to sound teasing but coming off a bit breathless as you looked up in his eyes.

He grinned, slowly, and lifted a gloved hand to push hair out of your eyes. Your skin tingled at the unfamiliar sensation of the smooth leather and you leaned into the soft touch. “It took every ounce of my energy to shield my thoughts of you from the blasted council. If I stopped to shower or change I wouldn’t have been able to make it.” He quirked a brow at you. “Does it bother you?”

“N-no!” Your cheeks flushed when you realized how vehement that denial sounded and of course he immediately picked up on it. His eyes were already dark but now they were glinting as he backed you up further still, out of the entrance hall and into your apartment proper.

“I see now,” he said. His voice was soft and low, belying that look in his eyes, and that damned smile was still spreading across his face, growing darker and more devious by the moment. You were suddenly conscious of every thought flying through your head, knowing that he could pick up on any one of them at any given time through the Force. “You like it, is that right? You like seeing me like this. Knowing that I absolutely couldn’t help myself and I just had to be here as soon as I possibly could.”

Your face was bright red and you couldn’t even bring yourself to shake your head, because you knew that he’d plucked all of it straight from the source. You put your hands on his duraplast arm guards, sliding them slowly up the slick, cool surface, and swallowed deeply.

“Well, after being cold and alone for almost a month, a girl likes to feel special,” you said, and thankfully your voice didn’t shake. When you glanced up at his face you could see that there was only a thin ring of blue-green iris around his pupils and you grunted a bit when your back hit the wall that separated the den from your kitchen.

He chose not to speak, dipping his head down to kiss you instead and the force of his affection was absolutely searing. You moaned, shocking yourself with how loud it was despite being muffled by his mouth, and parted your lips immediately for his tongue. Your hands slid the rest of the way up his arms, fingers catching where the plates of his armor overlapped, until you could reach his hair to clutch at the strands. He must have showered at some point on the way back from his mission, because it was still soft and silky as it ever was between your fingers, and you realized that he must have planned to do this at least that far in advance.

Obi-Wan finally managed to pull his mouth away and panted into the space between you, leaning his forehead against yours. “Once we completed our mission objective, all I could think about was getting back here to you… I almost thought about leaving Anakin to debrief alone, but that would have been a bit much for the council to swallow.”

You shook your head and leaned up to kiss him again, fumbling when you reached for the lapels of his robe and found the lower edge of his chest plate instead. You didn’t care about the council politics, didn’t care how long it had taken him to get here. He made a soft, agreeable sound against your lips and braced a hand against the wall behind you as he started to move the other from around your waist to reach for your own clothes.

“Ah, what…?” he said as he pulled back from you, ignoring your whine of disappointment. His brow was furrowed with confusion as he looked at you and it appeared to take him a moment to realize what he was looking at. “...is that my cloak?”

You looked down at yourself. The sleeves hung down several inches past your hands when you allowed your arms down, and it definitely dragged the floor when you didn’t pick up the hem. You looked back up at him with an expression caught between sheepish and amused.

“It’s definitely not mine,” you said, and if it were possible you could swear you saw his eyes darken even further.

Your breath caught in your chest as he pressed himself against you, chest plate digging lightly into your front, and you let out a soft, helpless sound against his lips as he leaned down to kiss you again. His arms were reaching down, hooking under your thighs, and before you could fully process what was going on he had lifted you up, back sliding against the wall, so he could pin you between it and his body. You moaned deeply into is mouth as you reached for his arm, finding the gap between his arm guards to give him a squeeze of appreciation.

Do you know how maddening that thought is?

You gasped against his mouth when you heard his voice in your head and you moaned deeply once again, feeling your head spin as his tongue slid against yours and he pressed himself even closer.

The idea of you wandering around this apartment in my clothes, darling, drives me absolutely wild. He projected the words into your head with the Force, voice echoing and intense, filling your mind with that crisp Coruscanti accent you adored. Did you wrap yourself in it after a shower so you could smell like me? Did you curl up with it at night when I wasn’t here to hold you? Did you touch yourself and imagine I was here to help you…?

Yes, you thought, knowing he would pick up on it. Yes, you had. Yes, you’d clung to it at night in leiu of his warm body laying beside you. Yes, you’d wrapped yourself in his scent and touched yourself while you dreamed of his hands and his lips and his tongue. Yes, you’d done all of those things.

He groaned against you and his grip on your thighs tightened possessively. Obviously the thought of you wearing his cloak fed into something that he hadn’t realized he liked so much. Your sleeping shorts left most of your legs exposed, and you could feel that soft leather sliding against your skin. That, too, seemed to awaken something in you that you hadn’t known you needed before. You squirmed a bit, whining as you tried to find the right angle, and managed to hook your legs around his waist before you pulled your mouth away from his for air.

“Obi,” you said, tone plaintive and desperate. It was mostly natural, only played up just the slightest bit because you knew he loved to hear you pleading. You kissed his jaw, along the line of it and up underneath, with soft and quick pecks between pleas. “Please, Obi, I can’t wait any longer. I missed you so much. Please…”

Rather than responding with words, you felt a sudden spike of emotion from him through the Force, full of desire and possessiveness and an ache that was just as great as yours. You moaned out loud, tucking your face into the crook of his neck as the feeling washed over you and ebbed away again.

“Hold on, lovely,” he murmured in your ear, and you tightened your grip on him as he pulled you away from the wall and moved quickly to your bedroom, closing the door behind him with a push through the Force so it closed with a quiet snap.

It was dark in your room aside from the light coming in from the city outside, and it took a moment for your eyes to adjust—not that you noticed much, as you were busy trying to kiss Obi-Wan’s neck around the high collar of his chest plate. He was much too graceful to stumble into the bed, but it was a bit of a rough landing and you grunted as his weight came to rest on top of you. He started to try to stand, but you still had your legs wrapped around his waist and you gave him the pleading eyes once more, knowing he could see you better than you could see him.

“I can’t wait, Obi, please,” you said, hoping he picked up on your silent request.

You couldn’t see his expression very clearly, but you did see the flash of his white teeth in the dark as he smiled. He leaned down to kiss you again, only lingering for a moment on your mouth before he started to move. His beard tickled a bit as he moved down your jaw and to the vein in your neck and you whined, canting your hips up into his. You were surprised that he wasn’t wearing armored trousers underneath the robes but it hardly mattered when you could finally, finally feel exactly how much he wanted you pressing right up against your core. You let out a broken moan as he hissed against the skin of your neck.

“Patience,” he said, voice stern and close in your ear, but you knew he didn’t really mean it because he was pressing down into you, too. You shook your head and whimpered again, bucking up against him to spur him on and listening as he choked out, “Maker…”

He lifted his hands to your thighs again, this time encouraging you to let him go so he could lean up off you and help you out of your clothes. When you started to pull your arms from the sleeves of his robe, he silently shook his head at you, and you just barely caught the motion in the dark. Your heart beat unsteadily in your chest as you stopped. He pulled down your sleep shorts and your underwear underneath and you heard him suck in a breath. You squirmed, rolling your hips back and forth, and he said something in a language you didn’t recognize at first—until you realized it must be Mando’a. Had his troops been teaching him to curse in their native language?

The question was driven from your mind when you heard him attending to himself, undoing the simple closure of his trousers in the dark. Normally you would have offered to help, but you hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights and you would only be getting in the way. Your mouth still watered as you pictured what he was doing. Pulling himself out of his underwear, allowing those trousers to fall down from around his hips. You had a very clear image in your mind and you moaned and fidgeted again, earning yourself a gloved hand on one thigh, squeezing you in warning.

Finally, he was settling above you. Finally, you could feel the blunt head of his cock leaning against your entrance. Finally, finally, finally, he was sliding home and your eyes rolled back in your head as you stretched around him. At first it was almost uncomfortable, as you’d only had your own company for so long, but it didn’t take long for you to relax and you let out a throaty moan, reaching up blindly to find him in the dark. Your fingers skittered across cold duraplast, unable to find purchase until you found the gap between spaulder and chest plate and you latched on tightly as he bottomed out inside you with a groan of his own.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, and you pulled him down to you again, needing to have his mouth against yours. He hummed as he allowed your tongue past his lips and you could actually feel yourself tearing up when he drew his hips back, irrationally emotional at even the idea of him pulling out of you, until he snapped them back and filled you up again and you saw stars.

His pace was brutal, but it was exactly what you wanted. Quick, dirty, and rough. You’d been on your own for too long, gently easing yourself through orgasms just to pass the time in the evenings that would have normally been spent with him. Tears were building in your eyes still and you kept your grip on him tight and close, as though you were afraid to let him get too far away from you, and your fingertips stung with the effort of keeping your grip on his armor. His hands were still on your hips but almost as soon as you thought about it you could feel that soft leather glove traveling up your body, under your shirt and to your breast. He gave you a rough squeeze and you cried out into his mouth.

After a moment you could feel him shifting above you again, though he didn’t break his pace, and his hand was under your thigh, encouraging you to lift it up higher, spread yourself wider. You caught his meaning without needing an explanation and pulled up your other leg. He groaned deep in his throat as the motions pulled you tighter around him, and you couldn’t help the tiny scream that ripped out of your chest when you realized the new angle was making him hit that spot that made you see stars in other galaxies.

“O-Obi, I’m—fuck, I’m—” you started, and he knew without you needing to finish. You had thought it impossible before, but he picked up the pace once again and you let out a squeal each time he drove himself home. Those tears were stinging and welling up fast. “Are—are you—?”

He may have nodded in the dark and forgotten you couldn’t see him, because it took a moment for him to answer with a breathless. “Y-yes, darling, yes.” Just hearing him sounding so rough was enough to have you fluttering, but then he reached down and pressed his thumb into your clit and that was enough to send you over the edge. Your vision went white and everything else in the universe outside of the two of you just completely disappeared. Tears slid down your cheeks and you let out a ragged sound not unlike a sob as you came, and you could feel Obi-Wan joining you shortly after, prolonging your own as the feeling of his hot cum sent yet more waves of pleasure tingling up your spine.

It took a moment for you to realize that he had stopped moving, and he was hovering over you and panting breathlessly. You let your legs down and wordlessly held up your arms for him, smiling when you heard him chuckle and felt him lay down, partially on top of you, and wrap his arms around you once more. You were sure you made quite the picture, tangled together with him in his armor and you in his cloak.

“I’m going to need to get changed,” he said softly into the space between you, and you hummed. “I’ve tried to sleep in this before, it’s not fun.”

“So get up and get changed,” you said, and you didn’t remove your arms. After a long moment of no movement, you smiled to yourself and pressed a kiss to the first part of him you could reach.

[filthfichunter]

Decided to upload one of the scenes/ideas not originally included. You can read the whole thing on AO3 here

Coda to Peace and Quiet

Chapter Warnings for: Object insertion, belly bulge (see tags and previous chapter warnings) my writing style is best described as flinging words at a wall and seeing what sticks. Not beta read sorry!

This could stand alone, the basic scenario from chapter one: Geralt using a drugged unconscious Jaskier.

Enjoy!

___________

Part of the reason Geralt had started on the whole enterprise was to get some rest for himself. While fucking the unconscious bard as often as he wanted had started out invigorating, it had become  almost obligatory. 

Geralt didn't want to fuck his bard every night, but after his initial reticence was burned away it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity.

The potion ingredients weren't cheap.

Undressing Jaskier, propping his lax body up in some accommodating pose and fucking untill he was ready for sleep himself had become stale. 

Geralt wasnt uncreative. There had been variety in the way he tupped his friend. Including inventiveness that came about from afternoons on the Path blocking out the worst of Jaskier's chatter with fantasies about fucking. And contemplation about the logistics involved in carrying them out.

Some didn't require much extra in way of material. A log the right heigh and sturdiness. Rope enough to get Jaskier strung upsidedown from an overhanging tree limb. A treat to bribe Roach into taking two passangers on a trotting midnight path round and round the campsite, Jaskier jolting up and down impaled on Geralt's cock.

As a Witcher he had many tools at his disposal.

Some required additional clean up time to consider. It had taken half the morning after to clean, and repolish the length of silver chain he kept for securing shapeshifters.

It had been worth the bother. 

On that night he hadn't been interesting in fucking Jaskier. Instead he had decided to see how many links of the enchanted silver chain he could feed past the rim of Jaskier's puffy (no longer virginal looking) asshole. 

Each link was as thick as two of Geralt's fingers held together and as long as an egg stood on its end, not a challenge when compared to the other things Geralt had successfully stuffed into the bard already.

And all that before you took into account the size of Geralt cock, which the bard was taking regularly with minimal preperation required at that point.

The challenge came in the sheer number of links available. The chain measured nearly fifteen feet and was heavy enough (and valuable enough) that it normally lived in a special enchanted pack attached to Roach's saddle.

The special pack was also treated on the inside so that the silver chain was less likely to tarnish, a slick film covering the surface.

---

Jaskier's ass was spread open and pointed up to the sky, his head and upper back touching the ground while his knees rested bent near his ears shoulder width apart. Geralt had heard the pose called a plough, and had put name and form to function using it on numerous occasions for fucking.

It gave the best vantage point for seeing what could be stuffed into that much beloved body.

The bright cold silver almost sparkled in the moonlight as Geralt pressed link after link down into Jaskier's depths. He had an upclose view as the weight of the chain drew the length deeper and deeper.

The first few had been easy. The puffy wrinkled rim opened over the widest part of the chain link before reflexively clenching tight from the chill of the metal.

Jaskier's rim fluttered open-close open-close with each new addition. Between the weight of the links and the contractions of over worked muscle each new silver link seemed to almost be pulled down one after the next.

A little past a quarter of the way there was a wave of muscular spams that rolled through Jaskier's usually pliant body. Geralt had to stop and massage the lightly haired belly. His little toy was likely cramping from the weight and unusual pressure being placed against his insides.

If he pressed down hard enough into the soft vulnerable flesh of Jaskier's body he could almost feel where the hard metal chain was starting to bunch up. He could hear the faint rubbing of silver against silver with his Witcher hearing. The dull rasping metallic sound audible even through the layers of flesh, muscle and skin.

At the midway point Geralt had to start adding more pressure behind each new insertion. Each new link pushed the last link deeper, but there was only so much space to start with.

The constant hard pressure of the metal links moving across and up against his prostate had Jaskier's cock leaking a near steady burble of clear seminal fluid. The bard's cock was only halfway to hard, more flacid than not, but from that point on Geralt made it a point to include it in the deep massaging rub. The belly was noticeably more pooched out than when he'd started.

He developed a routine. He would push a link in, run his fingers around the sweetly swollen rim of Jaskier's asshole (bisected by the chain still remaining), and then make a circuit with his hands over the rest of his favorite parts on display.

He would roll his knuckles, deeply pushing hard along the seam of perineum, cup and squeeze Jaskier's not unsurprisingly large testicles, ring his fingers around the full blown erection for a few pumps before turning his attention to palpating under his friends belly button, up over abdominals and back down to his asshole. He'd push in the next link and repeat.

Over and over untill with a good 18 or 20 inches still left Geralt decided it would probably be safer to stop.

The last link was only half way inside, the widest part of it kept pushing out and back into Jaskier along with his breathing. He was overful, burdened by the odd position and the heft of feet of silver resting inside his body.

Insertion done with Geralt sat back onto his knees and prepared the main part of the evening. Sure to wear his friend out so that the next days peace was guaranteed. A sore tired bard would welcome a chance to doze on the back of Roach and wouldn't sing, or compose verse, he would just be docile and thankful to Geralt for the kindness.

His favorite variety of Buttercup.

He quickly rolled the bard over onto his back. In that position the swell in his belly was obvious. The taut stretched skin appeared almost embossed by the chain visibly straining against it's over full container.

Geralt took the very last link in the silver chain and staked a long 'U' shaped stake through it and into the hard sod covered ground. Jaskier wouldn't be going anywhere.

The thing about enchanted silver is that it reacted much like his medallion, vibrating in the presence of specific spells.

Geralt cast Quent, erecting a protective circle around his friend. Immediately the entire length of the chain began to writh and vibrate. Jaskier's confused over stimulated, and overwhelmed body tripped over into a climax, cum spurting out on to a belly vibrating from within.

Three or four links had been forced out of Jaskier's ass by the contractions of his channel. He'd likely push more out with each following orgasm too.

The slick seed of Jaskier's release danced rapidly up and down, it looked like a rain puddle disturbed by the passage of a herd of trampling horses, or left over wine dancing within a goblet, disturbed by the loud noise of a banquet hall.

Geralt added his own cum to the oscillating mess.

The spell should last untill dawn. Meanwhile he could rest and still have time to retrieve the chain, clean it, pack it, and then quietly meditate before the potion wore off and Jaskier regained consciousness.

____

I have one or two other outlines for the other cut scenes, let me know if there is interest! 1) spectral black dog with ectoplasm jizz, 2) hair removal, Geralt shaving 🪒/magic-ing Jaskier hairless, 3) shoot me a prompt and I'll see what inspires

[comfy-whumpee]

Experiment 5

CN: lab whump. Fantasy gore/tree gore. Bystander syndrome.

The holes and gaps had scabbed over with thick bark by the time Pike chose the fifth piece he wanted from his Subject One.

 Spencer had been living at the lab for the last fortnight. It wasn’t too bad, not least because going home apparently pissed Pike off, and made their working conditions worse. They had been put on cleaning duty four days in a row and outside food and drink had been banned. It seemed his demands only grew as the project developed, but hey, they could handle it.

 They came out of the little on-site kitchen to find him already striding down the corridor. It was 7am, but he was fully dressed, dark hair slicked back, serious eyes focused straight ahead. “With me,” he said to them as he passed.

 This was really why they stayed. It meant they could be a part of things. No more showing up hours after the latest development. No more being late to the exciting ideas.

 “Patel!” Pike called as he reached the ground floor, Spencer at his heels. “The saw!”

 Spencer stumbled over the last step, catching a hand on the chrome banister. The saw? No way, after last time, really? What, was he going to take her other arm? What was the fucking point? Why couldn’t he take small samples, like she mattered?

 “Clipboard, Drew,” he snapped, and they grabbed one from the desk and quickened their step, catching up just as he pushed through the doors to the courtyard.

 Silver Birch didn’t sleep. She was always awake, always looking at the sky or watching whoever was watching her through the windows. When the doors opened, she was already turned that way, her body leaning away from her tree. She was almost completely free of it now, though she still lacked proper legs. It didn’t seem to cause her any difficulty to balance a foot away from the trunk.

 Her head was still bare. Nothing had grown to replace the stolen hair. Just like how the flower hadn’t come back.

“Take notes,” Pike ordered. “Subject One, sample R-1. Operation site at the rear of the torso, eight inch incision.” Patel arrived, delivering the saw to his hand, and Spencer gripped the clipboard tightly. Pike didn’t notice, crouching to examine the site. “Subject shows half-centimetre exterior bark coverage.”

 Spencer copied down what he said. Then they processed it. “Eight inches? Surely that’s unnecessary for a sample.”

 Pike ignored them, drawing the saw across whatever invisible line he had marked in his head.

 “Sir! Eight inches for a single sample? When you cut off her hair it didn’t grow back, surely we shouldn’t—”

 “The subject is not female, Drew,” Pike interrupted, casting her a freezing glare. “Cease your sentimentalising of its camouflage. Your role here is to develop its language capability, not treat it like a person.”

 “She’s intelligent, sir.”

 “Enough.” He turned back, making quick work of the dark, deep brown bark, and exposing again the silvery layer beneath with its pale tracery, imitating the roots that secured her underground and mapped almost identically to a human nervous system. “The imitation nervous system is unchanged for the cover grown atop it. Its purpose remains unknown.”

 He held the saw out to be taken, and it was exchanged with a wood shaver.

 “A layer of the wood will be removed to expose what is underneath.”

 He drew the blade across the smooth surface. Spencer found that they were watching the dryad’s face for pain. There was none, of course. She looked mildly displeased, but that was all.

 “Sample R-2,” Pike said, and the shaving was delicately sealed into a bag for later. “No visible change to the exterior.” But, before they could stop him, he did it again. A faint swish-scrape sound, and Pike’s impersonal voice. “Sample R-3. No change. Photography.”

 He stepped back, and one of the other technicians began taking photographs of the site before any further changes were enacted.

 This was stupid. He didn’t know what he was looking for, just like the rest of them. Spencer had read the reports, on sleepless nights between shifts in their lumpy on-site bed. The attempts to grow a new dryad had failed. They couldn’t even grow a tree sapling. They had all grown slowly or never even sprouted from their clippings. None of them had any sign of the unique root structures that Silver Birch had used.

 “What is the purpose of the imitation nervous system?” Spencer blurted, when the photographer stepped back and Pike approached. “Silver Birch? Tell us what they’re for.”

 The bald head turned, eyes fixing heavily as always. She stared at them.

 Spencer met her stare. “Tell me, please.”

 For a long moment, she didn’t reply. She barely look like she had understood the question. But then she spoke in her wispy voice. “Imitation.”

 “Imitation? Do you – need them?”

 “No.”

 Spencer’s head spun. Why map a nervous system so accurately, if it was all for decoration?

 “Do you need any of the things we took from you?”

 “Need? No.”

 Why the fuck had she wasted so much of their time with objections, if none of it was needed?  Why hadn’t she just said? Why had they spent so many nights feeling guilty?

 “Drew, notes,” Pike cut in, and Drew ignored him.

 “Why create it? Any of it?”

 Silver Birch blinked. Her eyes weren’t fucking real. She didn’t even – did she even see through them? Was there a point to meeting her gaze, or was it like Pike said, and they were as real as the pattern on a peacock feather?

 They would ask that later.

 “When change,” Silver Birch said, “you looking at me. No change, no looking at me.

 Everyone was staring, watching the confrontation, even Pike observing the two of them with interest. But Spencer couldn’t bring themself to care, not this time. They felt – stupid. Like Pike was being proven right. Like they’d been strung along by an imitation of life—

 “I am intelligent,” Silver Birch said, turning away and, for the first time, addressing someone other than Spencer or Pike. She looked out across the scientists gathered out of the woodwork for Pike’s experiment, meeting gazes with her disapproving frown. “Humans are intelligent and I am intelligent. I am sapient. I have thought. I work. I adapt. That’s intelligent.”

 The courtyard was silent. Pike was watching them. Spencer clenched sweaty fists and was about to reply, when she spoke again.

 “You didn’t treat me like a person. I am a person. When I looked like one, then you treat me like a person.” Her head turns again, and Spencer feels their heart stutter as the eyes return to them. “You. Spencer Drew. See I am a person.”

 Spencer swallowed. Silver Birch stared down at her, the bark-lined cheeks of her face severe, her eyes impossibly wide, and her expression faintly echoing Pike’s – and yet Spencer realised they liked Silver Birch more than anyone else in this fucking lab.

 They pull away and glance at Pike. He is already looking at them, eyes moving over their expression, their shirt, their clenched fists, right down to their battered work shoes. His eyes are cold and – analytical.

 He wasn’t looking at them at all. Just looking.

 Their chest shrank tightly around their heart. They turned, looking to Patel, his second in command.

 Patel didn’t look back.

 They turned further. Gregory, Miller, Petrova, none of them would meet Spencer’s eye. Some of them looked, but...

 “Drew,” Pike said, and their head flicked back to him, eyes wide. He showed no recognition of their sudden fear. “I have underestimated your work. I believe you are crucial to this research.”

 They should thank him. Or ask him why. “Crucial?” they repeat faintly.

 Pike acted as though they had not spoken. “Gregory, as we discussed.”

 Gregory stepped forwards. Spencer turned to him, and instinctively moved back when he approached. Gregory looked unbothered, grabbing their wrist and pulling their arm out. With his other hand, he snapped something around it.

 They looked down.

 A bracelet. No – an electronic cuff.

 For monitoring them.

 They turned their eyes to Pike again, holding the arm away from their body. “Sir, you can’t do this! The law—”

 “Has never been part of our work here,” Pike said flatly. “Your working conditions will not change, provided you can maintain your rationality. You are simply too valuable to leave.”

 Spencer looked to Silver Birch. They didn’t know why.

 She met their gaze. “I’m sorry,” she said.

 A hand landed on the back of Spencer’s neck and pushed. They stumbled forwards. They left Silver Birch and Pike behind as they were steered, too panicked to resist, into a small sterile room with nothing but a cot inside.

 The door closed. The door locked. How long ago had they prepared this room?

 They slumped down onto the cot and pulled their sleeve back to look again at the cuff. A black band tight around their wrist, with a small, blinking light, and a label.

 Subject Two.

[emospritelet]

Key to the Cell - chapter 12

Really hoping I can get this fic finished soon - there’s not much left to go!

[AO3]

x

Belle’s heart was thumping hard as her hand inched towards the dagger, its presence oppressive, a heavy atmosphere pressing in on her from all sides. Her fingers seemed to reach a barrier in the air, a smooth, invisible surface as slick as ice. The spell. I can’t touch the dagger until I break the spell. She took a deep breath, her heart in her throat. The dagger gleamed with a bluish light, the letters of Rumplestiltskin’s name picked out in black along the blade. I can only break the enchantment if there are strong feelings. Do they have to be mine or his? What does he feel for me, if anything? What do I feel for him?

She closed her eyes, trying to remember all she could about him: his thin frame wrapped in leather and silk and his glittering skin and too-large eyes gleaming with mischief. The way he would grin almost proudly when she said something clever. The warmth of his touch when they danced. The memories made her smile, and as she felt something against her palm she closed her fingers instinctively. Her eyes shot open at the feel of smooth leather. She was holding the dagger, her hand wrapped around the hilt, and she gasped in delight.

“Do you have it?” called Nova, and Belle glanced up.

“I can touch it!” she replied. “I’m going to see if I can take it.”

“Be careful!”

Slowly, very slowly, Belle drew the dagger towards herself. It moved easily, and she shoved it in the satchel, heaving a sigh of relief.

“Okay, I got it!” she called. “I’m coming up!”

Climbing out of the well was far harder than climbing down, and Belle’s boots slipped and scuffed against the stone walls, the rope catching and pulling at her nightdress. Should have taken Rumplestiltskin up on his offer of breeches there and then, she thought resignedly. This thing’ll be in tatters by the time I get back.

Her arms ached by the time she got to the top, and Nova grabbed her, pulling her out until they both toppled over and fell on the soft grass. Belle lay on her back, breathing hard and gazing up at the curiously empty sky.

“You did it,” said Nova eventually. “You broke through Blue’s enchantment.”

“Looks like it.” Belle sat up, massaging her arms and looking around. “Your fairy sisters?”

“All in here.” Nova gestured towards the pink sack she had created, which was leaning against the side of the well, bulging with round objects. “I got all of them, and as soon as we get out of here and I get my hands on some fairy dust, I can free them! What about you? Do you think you can help your friend?”

“I hope so,” said Belle, instinctively patting the satchel. “He said this was what he needed.”

“May I see?”

Belle hesitated.

“I think we should get out of here while we can,” she said. “There’s no telling if Blue felt me take the thing, after all. I’d rather not be here if she turns up.”

“Good thinking,” said Nova fervently. “After you then, Belle. I have no idea where I’m going.”

Belle nodded, and Nova pulled her to her feet, patting her arm comfortingly before picking up her sack. Belle reached inside the satchel for the crystal wand, flinching at the feel of the dagger against her fingers. It felt oddly slick, as though it should be oily to the touch, and she felt as though she wanted to wipe her hand on her nightdress. Wrinkling her nose, she managed to grasp the cool shaft of the crystal wand, drawing it out of the satchel with a sigh of relief. The sooner I get this thing to Rumplestiltskin, the better.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and focused on the wand, feeling a trickle of magic flow through her.

“Show me the safest path back to where I entered this place,” she said aloud.

Opening her eyes, she saw a thin, gleaming trail leading out of the clearing and into the forest.

“Well done!” said Nova encouragingly. “Did you say you only just started to learn? You’re a natural!”

“It’s certainly easier than I thought it would be,” admitted Belle. “It does make you tired, though, doesn’t it?”

“I’m sure it gets easier with practice,” said Nova, as they set off. “I don’t know how humans can manage without fairy dust, but they do. I’ve met plenty of witches and sorcerers in my time, let me tell you.”

“Are there - light - sorcerers?” asked Belle, and Nova looked thoughtful.

“I’m sure there are,” she said. “I heard there was a good witch in a far-off land called Oz. She sent an emissary to the fairies once, seeking help with something. Blue didn’t tell us anything about it, of course.”

“She doesn’t seem to trust her fellow fairies all that much,” observed Belle, and Nova shrugged. 

“I think it’s just that she’s very strict on rules and discipline and doing things the way they’ve always been done,” she said. “I had only just started my training then. I was far too junior to be trusted with diplomatic secrets.”

“The only diplomacy I was trusted with was finding a decent marriage and securing our lands,” said Belle gloomily, and Nova looked interested.

“Of course, you said you were from a noble family. Who’s your fairy godmother?”

“Never had one,” said Belle. “The Blue Fairy said my house was too minor to bother with. Or - or words to that effect, anyway.”

“Oh.” Nova winced. “Sorry.”

“That’s alright. I was more offended by the fact that she wanted me to marry the terrible man my father has chosen for me.”

“Ugh.” Nova looked dejected, shoulders slumping as they traipsed along. “You’re being made to marry someone you don’t love?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” said Belle firmly. “Come on, it’s this way.”

They skirted a large tree, following the glittering trail out of the grove and into the flower-filled meadows. 

“Did you say you came here through a portal?” asked Nova, as they climbed the grassy slope.

“Yes,” said Belle absently. “One moment I was standing in the library, and the next I was here.”

“I hope we can find our way back out again,” said Nova fervently. “Last time I tried to make a portal it kind of backfired. I wasn’t concentrating and I ended up in the middle of a fruit market.”

Belle giggled.

“I think we’ll be fine,” she said. “The trail is showing us the way, but now we’re out of the fairy grove, Rumplestiltskin should be able to guide us.”

Nova stumbled, snatching the sack of Orbs close to her as she tried to keep her balance, and Belle clicked her tongue in exasperation at speaking his name.

“Rumplestiltskin?” squeaked Nova, eyes wide. “The - the Dark One?”

“The very same.” Rumplestiltskin’s snide tone floated in the air around them, making Nova squeak again and clutch at Belle’s arm. “I see you’ve picked up a stowaway, my Lady. Careful! One flea carried into the castle, and you end up with an infestation.”

“She’s my friend,” said Belle firmly. “And she helped me retrieve your dagger, so I’ll thank you to be nicer to her.”

“Belle, was it the Dark One that sent you here?” asked Nova anxiously. “You’re - you’re friends with the Dark One? The item you took from Blue - that was keeping him trapped, and you’re returning it?”

“Yes,” said Belle, her eyes on the trail. “He’s been nothing but kind to me, and he keeps his word. He’ll be able to help you, I’m sure of it.”

“If the price is right, perhaps.” Rumplestiltskin’s tone was dry.

“Blue will never forgive me for this!” said Nova fretfully. “Freeing the fairies she imprisoned was bad enough, but this…”

Belle sighed.

“It was my doing, not yours,” she said. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t completely honest with you. I made a deal with him, you see. A friend of mine put herself in mortal danger to save me from the terrible man my father promised me too, and Rumplestiltskin saved her in turn, just as I asked. As payment, I offered to retrieve his dagger from Blue. She has him trapped, imprisoned, just as she imprisoned you. It wasn’t right.”

Nova was silent, but Belle could see the conflict in her eyes, evidence of some internal struggle.

“Blue always said the Dark One lied as easily as breathing,” she said quietly.

“So does she, when it suits her.” Rumplestiltskin’s voice made Nova jump again. “I never lie to those I deal with, thank you. Bad for business.”

“He’s never lied to me,” added Belle, and took Nova’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get out of this place and back to the Dark Castle. We can talk about it when we’re clear of Blue’s portal.”

Nova sighed, but fell into step beside her. They followed the twisting path, around the patch of flowers with their hypnotic, swaying movement and enticing scent and between grassy mounds. The trail was now back on the green path of grass that she had started out on, and Belle felt a surge of relief.

“Almost there,” she said, quickening her pace a little. “When I entered the realm it was—”

The flower-strewn meadows disappeared, the bright sky above winking out, and she stumbled, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dimmer light of Rumplestiltskin’s library. Nova clutched at her, almost falling, and Belle held her upright.

“Well well,” said Rumplestiltskin snidely, from beyond the doorway. “This one’s looking a little worse for wear, I must say. Out of fairy dust, are we?”

“She’s been locked up for the gods know how long,” said Belle sternly, an arm around Nova’s waist.

“Not my concern. My dagger?”

Belle sighed in frustration as Nova pushed herself upright and scowled at Rumplestiltskin. The two of them traded glares as she reached inside her satchel and retrieved the dagger. Rumplestiltskin’s eyes immediately fixed on it, his expression a strange mixture of loathing and longing. He took a step forward, rocking back on his heels as he seemed to hit an invisible barrier in the library doorway, and he pressed his palms against it, still staring hungrily. She licked her lips, the dagger feeling alien in her hands. Oily. Dirty.

“You hold the dagger,” he whispered hoarsely. “You control the Dark One. Do you know what power you could wield, my Lady?”

“I don’t want power,” she said immediately. 

“You could command me to do anything,” he said softly. “I could level kingdoms. Summon tempests. Rain down fire upon nations and raze cities to the ground.”

Something flickered to life in his eyes, something dark and ancient, burning inside, and Belle could feel her heart thump hard in her chest, fascination and fear making her skin tingle. Rumplestiltskin’s lips twitched, a brief smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he dropped his eyes. 

“But you wouldn’t want that, would you?” he said quietly. “Not you. You would think to use it for good. You could have me make barren lands fertile, end pointless wars, shower peasants with gold coins so they never know hunger again.”

“Belle,” said Nova nervously. “Belle, I really think—”

“I don’t want power,” repeated Belle, her tone firm. “And I made a deal in good faith. If holding the dagger gives me control over you, I return it to you. Whatever spell the Blue Fairy has cast on you, Rumplestiltskin, I release you from it.”

He seemed to sag, the barrier he was leaning against disappearing, and he staggered into the library, flailing for a moment to keep himself upright before snapping his heels together and brushing himself down with the air of one who had fully intended to almost fall on his face. Belle extended the dagger to him on the palm of her hand, and he took it almost reverently, turning it over in his hands, long fingers caressing every inch of it.

“Rumplestiltskin,” he whispered. “Rumplestiltskin is my name.”

“You can say it.” Belle beamed. “You’re free from the spell!”

“So it seems.”

There was a tiny smile on his face, his head bowed, his hands moving ceaselessly, black-nailed fingers stroking against leather and steel.

“You kept your promise,” he said quietly, not looking at her. “More than that. Our deal was for you to retrieve the dagger, not to release me from the enchantment. My debt to you grows each day, Lady Belle.”

“In that case,” she said, glancing at Nova. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind agreeing to help with something.”

The dagger stilled in his hands, and Rumplestiltskin looked up, eyes narrowing as they flicked between Belle and Nova.

“What’s in the sack?” he asked suspiciously.

“Orbs of Avalon,” said Belle. “Trapped fairies, dozens of them. Can you free them?”

“See?” Rumplestiltskin flapped a hand at Nova. “Infestation! I said so, didn’t I?”

“I doubt they’ll want to set up camp in the Dark Castle,” said Belle, in a dry tone. “And you did say you owed me a debt. Freeing the fairies and sending them somewhere safe should clear it.”

“We didn’t agree to terms!” he snapped.

“Perhaps not,” she acknowledged. “But think of it this way. All these fairies were imprisoned by Blue. For standing up to her. For speaking out of turn. For disagreeing with her decisions. You would be setting free dozens of fairies who can stand against the Blue Fairy and change the way that things are done.”

Rumplestiltskin tapped fingers against his lips, looking thoughtful.

“Well, anything that causes the Chief Gnat a headache has to be worth doing,” he said decidedly, and flicked his fingers, making the sack disappear.

There was a flurry of small explosions, the tinkling sound of breaking crystal, the air filled with flying shards of it, and Belle squeaked and covered her face with her arms, though none of the shards reached her. An excited cry made her open her eyes, and Nova had flung herself into the midst of a pile of bodies, fairies with hair that was dark and blonde and red and white, fairies in the same smock-like dress in a myriad of shades. They were all gasping and hugging and crying, their excited chatter rising in pitch as they got to their feet. It made an odd contrast with Belle and Rumplestiltskin, each standing in silence. She looked at him, and his eyes met hers as he wrapped his fingers around the dagger, holding it close to his heart.

“Lady Belle!” 

An excited voice made her glance around, and a pretty fairy with messy blonde curls and a green dress almost knocked her over with a hug.

“Nova said you freed us!” she said breathlessly. “I’m Tinkerbell. Thank you so, so much! I thought we’d never get out of there.”

“Oh.” Belle smiled, patting her back before easing out of the bone-crushing hug. “Well, it wasn’t really my doing, it was—”

“Yes, it was,” interrupted Rumplestiltskin hastily. “It was all your doing. Most heroic. A selfless act. Congratulations, Lady Belle.”

Belle shot him a flat look, but his words had attracted the attention of the fairies, all of whom were now looking nervous. They clustered together in a riot of colour, murmuring anxiously, and Rumplestiltskin gave them an unpleasant grin.

“I don’t suppose you want to be here,” he said. “Rest assured, the feeling is mutual. As luck would have it, I too can create portals, and I can rid this castle of your insufferable presence and have a little peace. Just tell me where you want to be.”

“The fairy realm!” said one excitedly, but was shouted down by her sisters.

“Don’t be an idiot!” 

“Blue and her followers would be on us in a moment!”

“We need to hide until we recover our strength!”

“I don’t have the energy to light a candle right now!”

“So you need fairy dust, and plenty of rest,” interrupted Rumplestiltskin. “Luckily for you, I know of a place. A cave above the mines. Dark and dank, I expect, and therefore the last place you’ll be expected to hide. Plus there’s enough room for you all to - well, to do whatever fairies do as they wait for their magic to return.”

The fairies muttered, clustering together again.

“That’s the Dark One.”

“We can’t trust him.”

“The mines, though.” That was Nova. “I’d - I’d like to go to the mines. And we could get some fairy dust!”

“How do we know he won’t tell Blue where we are?”

“Because I have perhaps even more reason to hate that officious little flea than you do!” he snapped. “The offer is there, and you won’t get a better one, but I’m not waiting around all night. Tick tock!”

The fairies shared troubled looks, but seemed to come to an agreement without speaking. Nova stepped forward, head held high.

“We accept, Dark One,” she said. “Thank you.”

Rumplestiltskin grunted.

“You should thank the Lady Belle,” he said. “If it were up to me I’d be conjuring a very large fly swatter.”

Belle shot him an exasperated look, but was almost bowled over by Nova pulling her into a hug.

“Thank you, Belle,” she said, in a muffled voice. “The mines! You know what that means?”

Belle hugged her back, unable to keep the smile from her face.

“I hope you find him,” she whispered. “Let me know when you do.”

Nova nodded, pulling back with a somewhat wobbly smile on her face, and Belle patted her arms comfortingly.

“You’ll be safe too, won’t you?” said Nova seriously. “I don’t just mean here, I mean - I mean that man you spoke of.”

Belle wanted to shudder as she remembered her last encounter with Gaston.

“I’ll be alright,” she said. “I made a deal, remember?”

“As did we.” Nova shook her head. “Fairies, being helped by the Dark One. I could never imagine such a thing.”

“It was pretty far down on my wish list, I assure you,” said Rumplestiltskin sourly. “You could probably find it just below blowing my own balls off in a freak magic accident.”

Belle bit her lip, trying not to laugh even as her cheeks flushed, but Nova smiled.

“Well, perhaps this means we can cooperate again in the future,” she said airily. “Since you don’t object to acting on the side of good.”

She stuck out a hand, and Rumplestiltskin eyed it cautiously before shaking it.

“Good and evil are relative terms, dearie,” he said. “I won’t kill you next time I see you. That’s probably as good as it gets.”

“See?” chirped Nova. “Progress!”

Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes, pulling his hand away and wiping it dramatically on his waistcoat. Nova turned on her toes.

“Let’s go, sisters!” she called.

“What do we do?” asked Tinkerbell.

“Just - move together a little more,” said Rumplestiltskin, one finger moving in a circle.

The fairies clustered together, linking arms and trying not to step on each others’ toes, and his finger lifted in the air.

“Bye, Belle!” called Nova.

Belle waved, and a plume of red smoke engulfed the fairies, dissipating and leaving nothing but a few fallen faewood flowers, crushed on the hardwood floor. She let out a sigh, suddenly very aware of how weary she was. Turning to face Rumplestiltskin, she saw that he was caressing the dagger again, watching her somewhat furtively.

“Thank you for doing that,” she said, and he shrugged.

“I never break a deal, my Lady.”

“I’m counting on that.”

A brief smile, and then he snapped his fingers, making the dagger disappear.

“You look tired,” he said. “It’s been an eventful evening.”

“Indeed it has.” She ran her hands over her face with a sigh. “I’m exhausted.”

“One snap of my fingers, and you can be back in your own bed,” he said, and she shook her head.

“Not yet, please,” she said. “I’ve had a little too much excitement to sleep, tired though I am.”

Rumplestiltskin tapped his fingers together, before gesturing to a comfortable-looking couch in a corner of the library.

“Then please sit down,” he said. “I could make some tea. If you like.”

“Thank you.”

It seemed to take an effort to pick up her feet, but she moved first one, then the other, stumbling towards the couch. Rumplestiltskin took her arm to steady her, and she sent him a grateful look as he helped her sit. Her nightdress was creased and damaged where the rope had pulled at it, showing tiny patches of pale skin, and she blushed, trying to pull her coat over herself. A snap of his fingers, and a thick, fur-lined cloak fell in her lap. Belle smiled, pulling it around herself and feeling warmth spread through her as a tea set appeared on the small table in front of them, steam coming from the spout of the teapot.

“Perhaps I should have brought cakes.”

Rumplestiltskin was frowning at the cups and saucers, and Belle shook her head.

“No, I’m not hungry. Please, sit down.” She patted the couch beside her. “It must be so nice to be back in your library again.”

“Yes.” 

He eased himself onto the couch, perched on the edge as though he wasn’t entirely sure how he had gotten there. She watched him looking around, eyes flicking from shelf to shelf.

“How long has it been?” she asked, and Rumplestiltskin turned to face her.

“Since I was trapped? A long time. Countless years.”

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, and he smiled a little.

“No matter. It seems that things are looking up.”

“For both of us,” she said. “It’s a good thing I found that book.”

“A very good thing indeed.”

He reached out to pour the tea, an amber stream filling the delicate porcelain cups. Belle took hers, adding a little milk and stirring.

“Do you still have a connection to the book?” she asked thoughtfully. “If I were to use it in the same way, would it call you to me?”

“Not anymore,” he said. “Now that I have the dagger, I may come and go as I please without the need for such enchantments. You need only speak my name, my Lady, and I shall come to you. At any time.”

Belle took a sip of her tea, setting the cup down in the saucer.

“That is actually very comforting,” she admitted. “I have to confess I’m - scared - at the thought of returning to Sir Gaston’s castle.

Rumplestiltskin set down his cup, concern flitting across his features.

“I promise he won’t harm you,” he said. “He’ll be asleep three days, at least.”

“Which leaves another four for me to endure before the wedding,” she said. “You said you’d be there the day before, is that still the case?”

Rumplestiltskin nodded.

“I shall arrive with the setting sun,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “And I must ask that you pretend not to know me. It wouldn’t do to cause any suspicion that my presence there is down to you, hmm?”

“Well, I shall try,” she said. “Although I’m afraid I’m not a very good liar.”

“Simply play the part of a clueless noble,” he said, fingers flickering in the air. “They’ll recognise you as one of their own.”

Belle gave him a flat look.

“You don’t think much of the noble houses, do you?” she said, and he shrugged.

“I was never given a reason to think they cared for anyone but themselves,” he said. “That didn’t change with this.” He gestured up and down himself, and Belle sat forward, intrigued.

“So - so you were a man, once?” she said.  “An ordinary man?”

“Far too ordinary, as it turned out.”

He sounded weary, and she wondered what his life had been like, before he became the Dark One.

“Did you have family?” she asked curiously.

A look of pain flashed across his face and was gone almost immediately.

“I did,” he said eventually. “A son. I lost him.”

“Oh.” Belle chewed her lip. “I’m - I’m so sorry.”

“Yes.”

He had hung his head a little, and she wanted to reach out to him, to touch him and send him comfort.

“Will you tell me about him?” she asked gently, and he turned his head to face her, a tiny smile curving his lips.

“Not tonight,” he said quietly. “But I shall see you again, my Lady. Once more, at least. Perhaps one day we’ll have time for that conversation.”

“I hope so,” she said. “I’ve learned so much from you in the short time we’ve known one another. I never imagined I’d be able to use magic!”

“It’s not often I have such a quick study,” he said, his smile widening.

“Well, perhaps there’s more you can teach me,” she said. “Perhaps I can help my people. It must be wonderful to be able to use one’s power for good.”

He was silent for a moment.

“Yes,” he said. “As I thought. At first.”

The few hints he had dropped of his life before the Dark Curse were making her burn with curiosity, but he drained his cup, placing it back on the table, and she sensed that their conversation was over. She drank her tea, and he took the cup from her, getting to his feet and holding out his hands to help her up. Belle stumbled a little as she shouldered her satchel, her legs wobbling, and he pulled her closer to steady her. She sucked in a breath, her heart thumping as his eyes met hers.

“Sunset,” he said. “Be ready.”

He released her hands, wrapping the cloak around her shoulders and gesturing with flicks of his fingers, and that familiar red smoke enveloped her. When it cleared, Belle was back in her room, and she gasped and stumbled a little, grasping the back of the chair to keep upright. The broken shards of the water jug were gone, as was the spilled milk that Gerta had dropped, and she let out a breath, one hand pressed to her belly. It was still dark outside, and she undressed quickly, shoving the ruined nightdress to the back of a drawer and putting on a fresh one. Climbing into bed felt heavenly, and she laid her head against the cool pillows, feeling her body relax as it prepared for what sleep it could get before the maids woke her for breakfast. He’ll come for me. He’ll come for me, and I shall be free.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

All the Demons Underground

Kevin had gotten cleaned up. Wearing a suit and the red necktie, he almost looked like a real FBI agent. For a change, he wore no makeup, had no paint on his fingernails, and had his hair dyed in a simple black and slicked back.

Two of the local deputies grunted and grumbled as they toiled away in front of him and the sheriff. Each shovel sliced into the dirt, uplifting and tossing away another chunk of soil to the sides of the unmarked grave behind the McLaughlin house.

The mustachioed sheriff waited patiently, leaning against the hood of his SUV and keeping Kevin company in silence. Kevin avoided eye contact and thumbed through his phone, taking a deep drag from his cigarette and pretending to be haughty and standoffish. He flipped through a flurry of emails that had piled up in his inbox; a veritable cascade of aggregate messages from the various occult mailing lists he subscribed to.

Sheriff Bailey winced after taking a sip from the coffee in his thermos can and then asked, “You’re not really FBI, are ya?”

Kevin looked up, staring at him over the edge of his phone’s display, his brow arched. His mind reeled, running through dozens of different ways to deflect and answer that question without getting into hot water. Scenarios of how he would need to escape and evade arrest followed hot on the heels of those thoughts.

Most of all, what confounded Kevin the most was the fact that this country bumpkin could see through his glamour.

Out of earshot of the two other men busied with unearthing the grave, their rhythmic chunking of soil and grunting droned on while the awkward silence grew in between Bailey and Kevin.

He took another long drag from his cigarette and blew out the smoke under a soft sigh.

“It don’t really matter to me either way,” Sheriff Bailey said, breaking eye contact. His gaze came to rest on the men doing the digging. “We see a whole lotta weird things in this town, and the faster you and the weird things are outta my hair, the happier of a camper I am.”

Kevin flinched and dropped the cigarette from between his fingers. A stack of ashes rained down with it, the death-stick burnt down to its filter. He stamped it out underneath his shiny, oversized shoe.

He savored what the sheriff had just told him. Rolled his jaw as he followed his gaze, watching the two men dig. Set his jaw and then asked the sheriff, “You’re not concerned about some schmuck rolling into town, impersonating a federal agent?”

The sheriff shrugged.

“That’s your damn problem, son, not mine. I can feign ignorance if people ask, and my paperwork’s easier to file if I do so.”

Kevin reached into his jacket’s inner pocket and removed a heavy weight from in there. In his hand, he held a perfectly rectangular gray slab of stone covered in scuff marks.

The sheriff scratched his temple as he shot a glance at it.

“Do you know whose this is, sheriff?”

He shook his head in response and asked, “That a whetstone?”

Kevin nodded.

“The hell am I gonna know whose whetstone that is?”

Kevin put it back into his jacket, produced another cigarette from a crumpled pack, and fired it up. The flame from his lighter illuminated his face in a warm red glare that contrasted the wintry twilight of the world around them. Kevin inhaled sharply and let the smoke billow out as he answered.

“It’s very important. It belongs to someone connected to the disappearance of my—”

Kevin paused, taking another drag. He pondered how to phrase this part.

“Your partner,” the sheriff interrupted.

“Sure. Let’s call her that,” Kevin said. “Anyway, I have reason to believe that this object belonged to the waitress who took the early shifts at Jones Diner, not far from here. Do you know her name?”

The sheriff took another sip from his thermos, then sloshed the liquid around in his mouth as if he was rinsing his teeth with coffee. He swallowed.

“I don’t know who you’re talkin’ about. That damned hole has been abandoned for almost thirty years. I was barely outta high school when it burnt down.”

“What? I was just there this morn—”

“You ain’t the first to and it sure as hell seems like you ain’t gonna be the last to experience that, son. I’m tellin’ you, we see a lotta weird things in this town. And Jones Diner? Pretty high up on the list.”

Speechless. This rendered Kevin speechless. His heart raced, trying to piece together what he had seen just this morning. The diner had looked and felt like it had been frozen in time in a different era, sure. But it was all too real. He had firsthand experience with the unnatural, but never witnessed anything like this.

“I’m gonna have to kindly ask you to never go there again,” the sheriff said. He set the empty thermos can down on the hood behind him and blew warm air into his cupped hands, then rubbed them together. “It’s an old derelict that could collapse at any time and kill ya. Before we start babblin’ about the why, lemme just shut that down right away. Some of the people ‘round these parts think that it’s some old Native American curse. Had a health inspector confababulate somethin’ about swamp gas which was just utter horse-crap. Me, I just think there’s strange things in this world that defy explanation, and I think we’re all better off not botherin’ with bendin’ over backwards to make up dumb explanations.”

Kevin noticed how much of his cigarette had burned away without him smoking it, caught up in the sheriff’s diatribe on dissecting unnatural phenomena.

“Be that as it may, I’m not leaving town without at least knowing what’s in there,” he finally said, pointing with his cigarette at the growing hole where the deputies repeatedly stabbed the earth with their shovels.

The sheriff shrugged. “Ain’t gonna stop you either way. Only God knows where our paths all lead. Yet we’re all the emperors of our own fate, Agent Hammet.” The way he enunciated the name of Kevin’s fake identity almost sounded like singing.

A loud thunk heralded the shovels of the deputies discovering something solid at the bottom of that shallow grave. Something heavy, wooden, and hollow.

Kevin turned to look, taking a greedy drag.

“Paydirt,” Deputy Yang half-shouted.

The two deputies started working more hastily, likely happy to soon be done with this drudgery. The shovel-blades scraped over the wooden surface of the container they continued to reveal while Sheriff Bailey and Kevin approached the hole.

Inside the hole rested a wooden trunk, reinforced with black iron bands and secured with a fittingly old-fashioned heavy iron lock. The deputies scuffed it and wiped some dirt off of its surface.

“Old trunk o’ sorts,” Deputy Yang said unnecessarily.

“We’ve got eyeballs, son,” the Sheriff sighed, his gaze now transfixed on the mysterious old chest. “This what you were hopin’ to find, Agent?”

Kevin shook his head. Slowly, at first, then with more fervor and feverishness. His eyes glazed over, his mind raced once more.

He had expected a coffin. He had dreamt of a coffin. He had dreamt of Kim, trapped inside that coffin, while another woman looking exactly like Kim, dressed exactly like Kim, shoveled dirt onto it.

Exasperated, he tore his gaze off the chest in the hole and swept their environs with his eyes. The old decaying MacLaughlin house. The old metal water pump where Kim washed her hands after the burial. The misty pine woods that swallowed the old haunted residence.

Doe eyes stared back at him from in between the trees. He locked eyes with the creature, then the deer darted away, disappearing into the forest.

He had dreamt of this exact place after conducting the ritual properly.

Something was not adding up. Nothing was working out as it should.

Kevin had made no error when working the magick, no miscalculation.

Something about this town—this place—was off. Wrong.

Corrupted.

Kevin asked the men to clear out and he approached the trunk hastily, haphazardly flicking his cigarette off to the side. He yanked the shovel out of Yang’s hand and started beating at the iron lock with the blade, striking it with growing force and violence until it broke.

He kicked the chest open and a cloud of dust exploded outward, causing all four men to cough. Once a gust of wind dispersed the cloud and cleared their sight into the trunk, they all leaned forward, straining their eyes to peer at its unlocked contents.

A small, leather pouch, sitting on top of a pile of brownish ceramic shards. Dwarfed by the size of the container, the pouch looked lonesome. Forgotten. But far newer than the chest itself. While the trunk had the appearance of an object left behind in a previous century, the small leather pouch looked like it was made in the last ten years.

Kevin crouched down and opened it. Dumped the pouch’s contents into his palm.

Chicken bones, dust, dried rose petals, and a crumpled up poker card.

Finally something that fit his premonition. These were the exact objects Kim had used for the ritual out here. But how had they gotten inside this trunk? Why had he dreamt of her in a coffin here?

He discarded the items except for the card, letting them tumble into the chest where they joined the ceramic shards. He unfurled the card so he could see which one it was.

The Queen of Spades. Someone had punched vicious little holes into the card where the queen’s eyes and mouth would be, likely using a black ballpoint pen to do so, given the scribbles and streaks on the card.

When Kevin figured the local lawmen to be conspicuously quiet about this discovery, he looked up at them.

They loomed, like dark human towers. Leering. Grinning. Their teeth looked all wrong; all yellow and black and rotten. Bad breath smelling of dead animal carcasses hit Kevin’s nostrils as they stifled hideous laughter. Their eyes were all milky-white, like they had gone blind in the last few seconds, yet they stared at Kevin with burning malice and sinister intent.

Worse, they stood all too close. At arm’s length.

Without thinking, Kevin thrust his fist into his jacket to grab his gun. He pulled out a wax-coated human hand instead of any pistol, with each of the hand’s fingers ending in a wick and its wrist cleanly severed and capped by a tin foil.

So baffled at this occurrence, the three men took him by surprise and grabbed him, dragging him out of the trunk’s hole, kicking and screaming. His shouts only caused flocks of birds to scatter from the treetops, with nobody within miles of this backwater place to hear his pleas.

Sheriff Bailey—or the demon inhabiting him—chortled.

Kevin struggled to break free from their combined grasp. In his mind’s eye, he sensed his impending death as they raised a hand each, every one of them holding a jagged, sharp-looking ceramic shard from the trunk in their fists, clutched like wicked little knives.

They stabbed and the sticky warm substance emerged from fresh wounds like pus. The repeated stabbing made Kevin break out in cold sweat, thrashing against them but never fully breaking free as they pushed him down, held him down, pressing the air from his lungs and robbing him of his ability to escape.

All the pain took its sweet time to reach his brain, setting in with bizarre delay. His thrashing around caused him to roll over, grabbing at the many cuts and gashes with utter futility as the blood pumped out between his fingers. Kicks and blows rained down on his back.

He somehow fell despite crawling, hitting his head. It hurt worse than all the other hurt and he pushed himself off the ground.

Rather than finding damp soil and mud to be clinging to his face, the floor was cold and hard and smooth. And clean. No blood pooled beneath him, only damp sheets, coiling and roiling as they moved in accordance to his own limbs, tangled up in them.

Disoriented, he looked around in the motel room. The smell of Tibetan incense burning on his nightstand grounded him in this reality again.

The spell had failed somehow, though he knew where to look for Kim now.

The only problem would be all the demons in that town.

—Submitted by Wratts

[nika-the-hunter]

House of Mist [Ch. 11]

Central Seattle Ruins, Pacific Northwest. House Mist Territory +157 days 

Nicole and Rykis walked down the path that had been worn through the tall grass. The old road surface was clearly visible here under the dirt. It was cracked and crumbled, resembling gravel more than the flat concrete it had once been. The other trees, not the evergreens, were starting to get their leaves again, and were bringing brighter shades of green to the pale urban ruins. This was her first spring, and it was wonderful, everything was so full of life. 

 Her meeting with Fort Discovery had gone well; so well in fact that she was absolutely convinced that working with the House of Mist had been the right decision. She and Rykis had spent the remainder of the day walking around the small settlement named after the original park it was built on. There had been a fort there before at some point in ancient history, but its name had been lost to time. 

She met many Humans in the fort; over half of them had ties to the region that went back to before the Collapse. Those that had migrated over to Fort Discovery from elsewhere had interesting stories of the world outside the region as well. She had made it a point that return trips would be common for her. The children that her Ghost was entertaining followed him the whole time, trying to play tag with the mechanical ball. 

Pedro and Athena had ideas for expansion that Nicole could help with. They had been in radio contact with a group of people due east that were worried about a band of Fallen lurking around their town. The town had been cautious about Mist, but stories of the friendly Fallen out west had apparently made the journey to them. They were willing to move into Mist territory but had no way to do it without drawing the attention of the local Fallen crew. Pedro had planned to bring it to the Kell’s attention soon, but the campaign against the House of Devils had kept the Kell busy. Now that things were calming down, he would bring it up and suggest that Nicole help convince the others that Mist was extra safe. 

When Nicole finally left Fort Discovery, she found the Archon taking a video call with an Eliksni Vandal who wore a banner she did not know. Though there was a lot she did not know already. It was hard to tell the color of the armor with the screen glare from the angle they were at, but it looked green. Marakis had ended the call and turned to face the two who had approached. He briefly mentioned that he was speaking with the House of Exile, before asking about their tour. Later Rykis told her that the House of Exile was an Eliksni collective that lived up on the moon. Mist apparently had a trade deal with them regarding Ether. 

On the flight back to the Archons compound, they all talked briefly, Marakis was interested in how she and Rykis were getting along. He seemed really excited with a Guardian and Eliksni living together and seemed to read the subtext of what was really going on quite well. Sparing them the embarrassment of just saying it. 

The day was nearly over by then with the sunset lighting the sky in a bright gold. Their walk back towards downtown kept them in the shade already. Her Ghost spent his time orbiting around the two and occasionally flying off to scan something dangling in the old windows. The ruins were mostly empty, Mist Eliksni lived in the newer buildings that were further downtown. Those buildings were still old pre-Collapse construction, but they were in much better shape than the stone and steel skyscrapers that made up ninety percent of the city. Over the centuries after the collapse, those buildings had remained free of overgrowth and were still somewhat waterproof, unlike her hotel across the lake. 

“So, are we headed back to the Kell to catch that truck back, or are we walking home on our own?” Nicole asked.

“No, the Kell gave you the choice of living elsewhere now. You’re not restricted to Baron Acskis’ outpost.” He replied. 

“So... where are we headed then?” He did not really answer her question. 

“We’re headed to where I lived before. I think that you might like it.” She could see the edges of his face move behind his mask in what she recognized as an Eliksni smile, then he shrugged. “If you do not, then we can go to your hotel tomorrow, or maybe somewhere else.”  

“Oh, alright. It’s been a while hasn’t it?” 

“Mm, not as long as you think, I visit it whenever you’re busy around Bellevue.”

Nicole nodded. “Well that’s good; I’d hate to keep you from home.”

There was a bleep from her helmet that was clipped to her belt. She looked down and saw something flashing on her visor. “Oh hey, give me a second.” Her helmet slipped over her head, but she did not activate the seal. 

The blinking icon opened into a list that took up half of the view screen. The word Quests was in bold at the top, with little icons and what she guessed were the quests themselves listed on it. There were only a few entries. The currently highlighted ‘quest’ had a graphic of one of the metro trains she had seen in the tunnel over a banner for Umic. Memory Troubles was the name with the description “Locate Metro Security Records.” 

The chirp of her Ghost sounded from the helmet’s internal speaker. “Hey! You finally checked out the Quest tab!” 

“What is this?” She asked. 

“Well, you seemed to be getting a lot of things to do, so I decided to put together some of my own quests for you. Usually these come from the Vanguard at the Last City but given how we’re not planning on going there any time soon, I’ll do it for you for now.” 

“Okay... why did it just pop up now?” she stopped Rykis. “Hold on for a second.”

“Well follow the marker and find out!” the Ghost replied, at the same moment a diamond shaped marker appeared. He sounded excited which was very unlike himself. 

Nicole nodded in the direction the marker showed and started to go. “Sorry Rykis. My Ghost found something he wants me to see. We gotta’ detour.”

“Then lead on, Neh-cole.” 

The marker led back and over one block, to the front doorway of a tall office tower. The building's stone facade was crumbling in places, leaving piles of rubble underneath the trees. Once at the door, the icon appeared again further inside. It stopped at a stairwell leading down into the dark. “Alright, we’re here. What did you find?” 

Her Ghost appeared from inside the doorway and played his flashlight over the remains of a sign hanging on the wall. The letters had faded but most were still legible. -Metro Transit Authority. Regional Security Office.

“I found the place!” He did a spin inside his shell. At first, she was not sure what he meant, but the name of the ‘quest’ connected the dots. The camera down in the subway tunnel had been looking right at where her body had been. It was still working and sending the data back somewhere and something was still giving it the command to record. Robust systems were still working somewhere. But if she wanted to find out what had happened to her, all she needed to do was go down and find the network hub. It was not a priority; she had actually forgotten about it up until now. The discovery of her cause of death was more of a hopeful curiosity than an actual objective. However, there it was... at the bottom of the staircase were some answers about her previous life. Under the helmet she bit her lip and gave it a good two seconds of thought. The answer was obvious.   

Down she went. Quickly at first, but immediately slowing for caution; the stairs were slick and covered in moss. That was something she was used to seeing out there. Buildings, trees, rocks, and even growing on the side of Eliksni crates that had been sitting just a little too long; moss was everywhere. The bottom step was submerged beneath a few centimeters of water and somewhere deeper in the basement she could hear flowing water.

At the far end of the large open space, Nicole could see dozens of blinking green lights hidden behind a window. The working systems were a good sign that this was the right place. She stepped into the ankle-deep water and apologized to Rykis. He was not wearing any sort of water-resistant footwear, but he followed her anyway without complaining. Sloshing through the water, Nicole noticed that people had died down here fairly quickly. A few had died at their workstations, leaving their skeletons collapsed over keyboards and left computers in stand-by mode.

The sign on the side of the door said that it was the data-storage room. It was exactly what they were looking for. The blinking lights were the status lights for over a dozen large computer racks. The hum in the room was loud, and the air was warm. The doorway was raised higher than the water, someone had some forethought when they built the place in the basement, so there was no water inside. Once inside with the door closed behind them, Nicole could not hear the water flow anymore.

Nicole had no idea how to search all this for what they wanted, so she waved to the machines. “Okay Ghost, do your thing.” 

He chirped and flew over to one of the stacks. “This might take a while. These cameras have been recording for centuries...” The Ghost flew from stack to stack, an optical beam connecting with each tower. “Just have to find the feed from your station and trace where it goes. It was Olympic... I think?” 

“Well take your time, Ghost. It’s not like Rykis and I can do anything.” 

After a few minutes scanning through the various racks, he had found the data. “I got it!” he exclaimed with all his fins expanding out from his core. “Well, are you sure you want to watch this, last chance.” 

Rykis looked at the Ghost, and then to Nicole. “What did he find, what are we looking for?” 

“Well he found the recording of how I died. The first time.” Nicole grimly smiled. “I'm hoping it’ll give me something to work with. So yes, Ghost, start it up.” 

He floated over to a dormant computer station and interfaced with the monitor. The screen flickered and flashed to life. The multiple camera feeds from across the station appeared. There was even sound. 

Olympic Park Station  -28 minutes

Umic Security Officer Nicole Walker rushed down the escalator leading into the chaotic subway station. Her heavy plasteel ballistic vest almost knocked her off balance in the shifting sea of Seattle citizens. Thirteen hours ago, she had thought that the vest had been overkill; her regular uniform had woven strands of sapphire wire which was good enough to stop mid-caliber ammunition. But as the day progressed, she no longer felt that way, and was grateful for the vest. 

Gunfire at the top of the stairs brought her around with her rifle, aiming the carbine towards the odd colored daylight streaming in at the top of the shaft. The citizens and refugees parted and dropped to either side, clearing a firing lane to the doors. At the top of the stairs her partner, USO. Keane, fired out the door and onto the street. An explosion rocked the shaft and people fell, more pushed deeper into the station. “I’m gonna’ close the doors!” Keane shouted. “Get in here now.” 

He fired again, Nicole tried to get back up the escalator, but the parted sea had closed and everyone that was up near the top was making their way down whether she was in the way or not.

A cluster of blue energy shots peppered the wall above Keane. A large group of people finally made it through the doors, and he slammed his fist into the switch on the wall. The station’s storm shutters dropped from the ceiling and bounced once off their rubber seals. 

They were locked in, and the bad stuff was locked out. 

Another explosion from outside shook the ground again, more gunfire erupted nearby, it was all muffled by the storm shutters. “Everyone downstairs.” Nicole ordered. People that had remained on the stairs, even after the crowds fled, slowly got to their feet, and moved down to the station. 

The trains were still running, “Thank the Traveler...”  Nicole muttered. There were casualties and moving the injured on foot down kilometers of tunnel was just not going to work. 

“Please form a line! Cue up at the marked positions!” A Transit cop in a high-visibility vest was directing the panicked people to where they could board the next subway car. “We’ll get you all out of here as fast as we can. The trains are running double-time and filling up at previous stations!” 

Nicole walked over to one of the small coffee shops along the wall that had its lights still on. The windows were smashed, but two of the original employees were busy passing out water and snacks to anyone who came for them. She grabbed two bottles of water and a small bag of sugar cookies. Downing her bottle in one go, she headed back into the space between lines where Keane was wiping the sweat from underneath his helmet. “You alright?” She offered him the other water.

Taking the water, he also drained it. “Yeah... uh... just glad those doors are doing the job.” He nodded over to a group of Seattle Police Officers talking on the other side of the next line. “They got working radios. Military’s been trying to get up here for hours apparently. Something is bogging down the roads, and the weather is just insane.” 

She nodded. “We could really use the help. A bunch of street cops and some deputized, heavily armed, and highly skilled, security guards ain’t going to help everyone.” Nicole smirked; trying to add some humor into the situation. 

Keane returned the look with a thin smile. “Yeah, doesn’t mean we can’t try.” 

The ceiling chimed. “Train approaching... train approaching.” 

At the front of the lines, the Transit cop checked his wrist pad. “Alright people, this train is only two-thirds full! Stay in line and wait your turn. We’ll all make it out, just don’t push.” 

The sleek subway train slid into the station and squeaked to a stop. The cars were packed, but apparently only part full. Once the doors opened, no one got off, and the lines began to squeeze in wherever they could. With a blow of their whistle, the crowds stepped back and allowed the Transit cops to get the doors sealed and sent the train on its way. “Next train arrives in... five minutes,” chimed the ceiling. 

Two more trains came and went, but the population count in the station did not seem to be decreasing. People were just spreading out now that there was more room. 

Nicole noticed a lone kid standing in the middle of the station clutching a stuffed animal. It was covered in dirt, but she thought it might have been an Orca. The little girl could not have been older than five, but she did not look scared or sad. Nicole walked over and took a knee beside her. “Hey there kid, where are your parents at?” 

The girl looked at her and shook her head. “I dunno, mommy went to get daddy. She said to wait here.” 

“Well which way did she go?” Nicole asked. Hopefully it was not far. 

The little girl pointed the stuffed Orca up the stairs. “She went up there.” 

Nicole looked up that direction and frowned. That was not good. 

“Train approaching... Train approaching.” 

Unknown to Nicole, the station security system picked up a conversation going on down one of the maintenance corridors, coming towards the station. 

“Holy shit Sam, where did you get those?” Voice one spoke out, in audible surprise. 

“From nowhere. I ain’t telling.” Voice two was gruff, and noticeably angry. “Here, take it, it's loaded.”

Voice one huffed and had to hurry to follow “What the hell are we going to do with them?!” 

“We’re getting on that next train. I'm getting us out of this place.” A sharp click-clack sound was registered with the system. It was identified as the racking of a shotgun pump by algorithmic analysis. 

It would have alerted the authorities if there was anyone left to pick-up. There was not.

Back in the station proper, the next train was slowly gliding into the station. It was only one fourth full. Plenty of room for evacuees. The door in the backside of the station burst open and out rushed two men. One had an assault rifle, and the other in the front was carrying a large gauge semi-automatic shotgun. He fired it into the ceiling once. “Everyone fucking back off. We’re getting on that train, you hear me?” the man bellowed. Chunks of plaster fell to the ground around them.

People froze in place, some dropped to the ground. The traffic cops had their hands on their sidearms, but nobody drew their weapons; not with a threat like that in a crowd of civilians. “Hey now, there's plenty of space for everyone. Just put the guns down.” One of the cops motioned slowly.

“Nah, we’re going. Now. Get everyone out of the way.” The guy in front swept the gun across the station. “Stay the fuck back.”

Nicole eyed the gunmen, both the shotgun and the rifle had large drum magazines, however the guy with the rifle seemed put off by what was going on. That did not change the fact that he was still waving the gun around the crowd.

One of the cops that had been back near the coffee shop came around slowly and half crouched. He looked like he was going to try and tackle the shotgun wielder. If shots started flying, things would go bad very quick.

Nicole threw herself in front of the kid who was just out in the open, well in the line of fire. Too many potential targets had been behind the kid.  

The man with the gun reacted to Nicole's sudden movements and fired at her. Under normal conditions, if that shotgun had been loaded with buckshot, it would have just caused a few dents in her plate vest. However, that gun had been loaded with high-velocity solid slugs. 

At the range they were at, there was nothing that could be done. The slug smashed into the center of her plasteel plate, causing it to deform beyond its threshold. Her chest cavity was crushed. The plate had stopped the bullet, but not in any manner that would have saved her life. 

Central Seattle Ruins +157 days 

Nicole watched her original self crumple to the floor and die. The others, who she did not know or recognize, took down the men with the guns. They tried to revive her, but it was no use, she was already gone. Her fellow security guard was visibly distressed and started to kick the guy who had shot her while he was detained. However, the officer in the bright yellow vest pulled him off and shoved him away. The girl was loaded onto the train with the Umic guard and sent away almost immediately. 

The people that remained in the station pulled her body far out of the way, moving it to its final resting place on top of the mezzanine above the tracks. One of the people that helped carry her body placed her arms on her chest and draped a tablecloth from the store over her. He seemed to say a prayer and leave, but there was nobody else up there to witness it.

“Well there you have it.” Her Ghost blinked. “There is more to the recording near the end, but that's how you died.” The video sped up and the station eventually emptied, leaving her body sitting alone on the platform. Nobody else entered the station after the last train zipped down the track. “Huh...” She had expected some firefight with the cause of the collapse, not getting shot by fellow Humans. It did not change anything though, she had hoped that when she found the video of her death it would unlock the memories of that past life, but nothing came from them. No insight into who she was, or any of the people they had known. It felt almost like a wasted trip; the question of how she died was answered, but there was no extra reward. “I can tell you're disappointed. If you thought that it would help your memories, I could have told you that it wouldn’t.” The Ghost replied to the look on her face. “This bit at the end though might cheer you up a little.

Nicole sighed as the video clicked and moved on. With no movement it switched to an ‘extended event monitoring’ mode. There were only subtle indications on how fast time was passing in the station; a steady drip became a flood of water down the tunnels, drowning the track.  Dirt piles slowly grew across the floor from the corners, eventually enough for plants to grow and sprout under the steady station lights. Her body rapidly deteriorated on screen, becoming food for moss and other things that made the station their home.

The video would briefly slow when the occasional animal triggered the cameras, or some big event like part of the roof caved in. The system timestamp degraded into error symbols before the first lightbulb went out. 

When the station was looking similar to how it was when she was revived, the camera slowed down back to real time. Movement appeared from the other side of the platform and an Eliksni scurried in looking around the space. They were small and about the size of one of the Not-Dregs. 

Rykis made a sound behind her, like a squeak almost, but she continued to watch. 

The Eliksni on screen cautiously poked around the ruined metro station, digging through the shelves and boxes left in the cafe. They crossed out to the station mezzanine and came across the moss-covered remains of Nicole’s former life. The Eliksni knelt and picked up the old ballistic helmet, the skull still secured by the chinstrap. However now that it was disturbed the skull slipped free and fell to the ground with a loud thunk. A dull ache spontaneously formed on the back of Nicole’s head and then faded. 

Setting the helmet upside down, the Eliksni carefully returned the skull to its place on the remains. Then they pulled a backpack out from under the moss and ferns that laid beside her body. Digging through it, they pulled out a tablet and what looked like a small stack of notebooks. They put the notebooks back into the pack and threw it over their shoulder but put the tablet into another bag. 

 The image froze in her head as the video went on. She had seen that bag before. It was so familiar, still covered in paint brushes and other small tools. Her eyes slid over to Rykis watching from beside her. The same bag was slung over his shoulder, looking a bit smaller after all the years. If an Eliksni could look any more guilty, she doubted it. 

“Rykis is that you?” Nicole asked him. “Did you take my backpack?” She would not say he stole it; she was dead at the time after all.

Slowly, Rykis nodded. “Yes. that was me. Years ago.” His fingers tapped together nervously, and he seemed to think he needed to say more. “I still have your stuff; I was going to give it back when we got to my place.” 

Nicole raised her eyebrow. “Oh, really now? How’d you know it was mine before we saw this recording?” 

He nodded towards the screen showing the current status of the old station. “When we went down there on your third day. You stopped over where your body had sat for so long. I recognized it right away. Yours were the only bones in the station, and the only bones I had seen down there that day.”

“Well we just saw why. I hope that guy made it somewhere safe. We’ll never know though.” Nicole sighed and waved her hand in the air. “Alright, we found what we were looking for. It didn’t help me, but let's get out of this flooded basement. Rykis, lead on to your place.” “Yes yes.” he chittered. “Follow me.” 

They headed back up to the surface and into the early hours of night. The occasional streetlights continued burning brightly through the trees that grew around them. Some lights were still on in the various buildings, making the skyline an odd patchwork of light and dark. The walk only lasted a few blocks, not long at all. It was actually directly behind the Kell’s hall. Rykis had probably gone home after her last meeting there. She was mainly mentally exhausted, there was a lot that had happened today. 

The building Rykis called home turned out to be the old Art Museum. She smiled at that, of course the local artist would choose to set up shop in an art museum. The windows had all been patched over with metal scrap, just like he had done over in her building, and the door was sturdy and weather-proof. He held it open for her to go in. 

“Anyone else live here?” She walked in and found herself inside a small tunnel made of hanging tarps. The light was provided by the warm Eliksni tube lights that stuck up from the floor every few meters. Her question was nearly answered by voices from behind some of the curtains that broke off from the tunnel. “Yes actually. Many of Mist’s more artsy Eliksni live in the building. But there is more than enough space that I can have this for my own,” Rykis replied. He closed the door behind him and latched it shut. 

Taking the lead again, he took her up the stairs and through a set of double doors, to a half sphere structure in the middle of a room. Tarps and string lights spread out from the structure which was attached to the walls and ceiling of the big room they were in. Nicole could see faded and water damaged paintings hanging from the walls which had to be old Human art. The dome structure was obviously Eliksni construction with heat and light pouring out into the cold building from behind the curtain. “Come in, this is my... uh... home.” He pulled the curtain open and gestured her inside.

"It looks very cozy." Nicole followed him through the curtain and into the space.  He had probably left it to warm up while he went to meet her. 

There was a mix of Eliksni and Human furniture inside. In the center of the space was a table covered in small jars and brushes; she could see a few unfinished canvasses sitting around it. It appeared that Rykis was quite good at traditional painting. 

Rykis had walked over to a locker leaning up against the wall. "Take a seat, let me see if I can find it..." He motioned for her to sit at the table with his lower arms.

Nicole sat where he pointed and watched Rykis dig through the locker. From there she was able to get at a better look at the canvases he had leaning against the bench. 

She recognized the scene in the painting. The looming Spiderwalker in the snowstorm. Nicole had been standing a meter to the right when this had happened. It was the battle at the Pass, when Rykis had charged the tank with a flare to alert the artillery on the ridge. 

One of the other paintings was of the interior of her hotel tower, after she had done some cleanup of the swamp, and made it more like a pond. The light was captured perfectly, and the colors were wonderful. Her art viewing time was cut short as Rykis brought her attention back to him when he placed a hard-backed case on the table. It looked just like the one from the video, just a bit cleaner.

“So, this was mine? From before?” Nicole picked it up and looked it over. The case was made from a slick stretchy material, and the edges cracked when she bent it too much. The straps had rotted away at some point and their remains dangled haplessly at the side. 

“Yes, it should be everything.” Rykis nodded, sitting across from her. “I was young and looking for salvage back then, I had tried to trade your tablet, but it didn’t work and wasn’t worth anything. I did like looking through your sketchbooks though.” 

“Sketchbooks?” Nicole pulled open the bag and heard the rubber seal peel apart, still holding strong over the centuries. Carefully, she emptied the bag and found an old data-pad, and a few notebooks. 

“Yes, there were some really old, stylized drawings that I think you did. Just take a look.”

"Well if you say so." Nicole opened one of the old notebooks and slowly paged through them. The pages were remarkably well preserved; they were filled with drawings of places and things, as well as some random animals and creatures she did not recognize. They were not as good as Rykis' drawings, but they were fairly good. If these belonged to her, Nicole wondered if she had retained those skills as well as her warfighting abilities.

While carefully flipping through the pages, a small rectangle fell out from between them. 

The piece of plastic material was a photograph; it was not even faded at all. Five people were standing in a semicircle, and they were posing with bright yellow guns which looked really strange. She saw herself near the middle of the group in a Umic hat and leaning up against a man wearing a vest with Mars Tactical stitched onto the chest. On the other end of the group was the other Security guard from the recording.  

She flipped the picture over and found that it was not actually a piece of paper, it was something more advanced. The back flickered and began to form words across its surface. "11th Quinquennial Intersystem Defense Technologies Convention. SimFire Combat 3rd place team. Hosted by Clovis Bray"

"Huh," Nicole muttered. "Check out me back in the day." She passed the photo to Rykis and put the sketchbooks back into the bag.

The data-pad looked to be in okay shape, but when she tried the power switch nothing happened. At the moment, it was not really worth her time. She figured she could get her Ghost to fix it, but she should probably save it for later. A lot had happened today, and her head was a little fried. 

Setting the data-pad back onto the table, Nicole ran her fingers through her hair and let out a sigh. "Well... This has sure been a day. Wanna take me to bed and call it a night with the newest member of Mist?" 

Rykis let out more of a purr than a chitter. "Mmm... Yes Guardian." 

He dropped the photo on the table and came over to pick her up. By the time they reached the bed on the other side of the room, her armor and her Ghost had made themselves scarce. Hopefully the neighbors did not mind the noise.

--

[grim-faux]

17 - Prometheus Lies

More of the floor had fallen due to rot or fire higher up on the stairs.  I nearly missed it in my climb, I was still taking the steps as I flicked the nightvision on and stumbled upon the gaping tear.  It was a large jump and I had my doubts about being able to drag myself up on the other side, given the slick tile, but no other options were available. This time I made sure the camera was secure in its pack before I put my back against the cool plaster and steeled myself for the short sprint.  Focus on the leap, on footing, don’t hesitate—

I hit the edge of the floor with my middle and gagged, I couldn’t see in the shadows where I would collide with the splintered wood.  I recovered and was able to get my elbows under my chest and hoist up.  My chest ached, as did my bad arm, nothing new.  Had to keep going, couldn’t stop, never again. Soft glowing candles decorated the broken shelf across from me.  The usual message Follow the Blood was painted on the wall above them.  I leaned through the gate examining the closed in surroundings, a gate on my far left looked locked.  Probably was.  A lone battery had been left to me between the candles wax drippings.  I took it feeling very little gratitude to my ‘benefactor.’ It was like being given a brick in this place.  Or a flashlight.  Didn’t help much but to keep me going. I paused as I glanced to the darkened hall at my left.  I thought…could’ve been ‘Farther’ Martin.  But I didn’t linger to certify this, blood was marked to the dark hall ahead.  I adjusted my hand under the cameras strap and took my time, in no hurry and with no drive for my current objective.  I wasn’t certain where I was headed, only that I was in another one of the numerous and indistinct corridors.  In a room someplace nearby, someone was shrieking as though their skin was peeling off.  I shuddered, but felt no other sentiment toward the matter.  Too preoccupied with that tingling in the back of my skull.  I was anticipating the horror that awaited my presence but it never ceased to terrify me. Blood was brushed across the floor curving to the right.  Follow the Blood. However, there was still a stretch of corridor to check ahead.  It wasn’t worth the trip at any rate, the corpse of another patient with his head nearly twisted off his shoulders, the air rich with copper, and a door boarded up.   Disquieted, I returned to my marked path and found the floor there wrecked by the fire, a light hung from above enabled me to store my camera away.  I inched closer to the wall, the boards underfoot reduced to charcoal and dusted with white, creaked as I moved to the edge.  A door sat nestled in the wall on the left, with the faint traces of blood marked on its sides.  There was very little space to press my heels back onto, and maybe I just didn’t give a damn how dangerous this stunt was on the unstable remains of floor.  But it was my path and that was all my mind had locked onto.   The light overhead flickered occasionally, but its illumination remained steady.  As I inched along, a shirtless patient began to patrol on the floor below bumping into walls despite the light and smashing his fist against doors.  I grimaced as I moved, the path was not as stable as I had hoped and shifted under my weight.  I didn’t need to fall down there with him. When I was directly across from the door, I braced for impact and leapt, hitting the ledge and freezing when the splintered wood punched into my chest.  My coat absorbed most the impact, but I still lost my grip and slipped backwards.  I barely snagged the edge with my hands and dangled, below the patient sobbed something about his shadows, I really couldn’t jot it down.  The wood lamented my weight and creaked, I held on for dear life trying to decide what to do. It wasn’t really up for debate.  I growled between my teeth and pulled my body up as much as my arm would allow, then swung my leg up over the burnt timber.  I fit my heel onto a little notch that held my weight, enabling me to lift myself parallel with the side, until I could get my elbow over.  I scooted the rest of the way up until I had cleared the edge, and rolled far-far from it.  I had to pause and catch my breath and let my muscles a moment to loosen.  I felt the familiar spreading warmth in my backside.  Damn. Maybe next time I should just drop and run like a bitch. I jerked up when I caught a flash of static, light flooded the next room.  I regretted it and winced as my ribs pulsed.  Damn it.  I heard thunder and chalked it up to the fierce weather that raged on outside. The room was large but cluttered by all manner of bed and furniture, most stacked in the center as well as along the walls.  I paused when I cleared the doorway, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.  It felt like someone was watching me, though I couldn’t – could not detect a physical presence of any sort.  The room was empty aside from me, and silent, the soft patter of rain outside hammered on the thick glass as my heart thudded in my chest.  The feeling wouldn’t leave and I was wary to travel further within the labyrinth of disorder, fearing something inhuman would lunge out at me and shriek as my brain erupted inside my skull. I moved towards an open area on my left, crouching low and peering over the confusion of beds and mattresses.  My battery was already getting low on power, I had to watch it and would probably need to change it soon anyway.  Nothing was on this side, the shadows the nightvision couldn’t penetrate revealed no hidden eyes, no shifting shapes.  Absolutely nothing living. I moved around the support pillar off center of the room, rising to my full height and slipped forward, ready to bolt at the first hint of movement. The floor shifted beneath me, I turned the camera down as the boards gave a horrendous groan and I fell.  My spine jolted between my muscles when I hit, and I twisted in a stunned mess on the floor.  Right in my ear something shrieked and I turned over in time to see that hazy form dart overhead, at the outskirts of the NV.  I rolled aside and crawled behind a pillar, before I peeked out to watch it glide out of sight. It was gone.  Whatever the fuck it was, it was gone.  It could come back.  I had no sick desire to move around too much and draw attention, but I was becoming aware of the small room I was in and its lack of doors.  And escape. I moved away from the pillar scouting the open area visible.  It was identical to the floor above, I’m sure, but less clutter, more boarded up doors and windows.  A few items had been abandoned, a table cart and some bed frames stacked.  I pressed my palm to the side of my head while examining the blocked double doors.  This was one of many I had passed in the burnt out corridors, either those that had been locked inside had escaped, or there was nothing here to begin with. On the floor around a sequence of stacked bed frames, lay rotted wood and masonry.  I lowered my arm to peer up the way the shape had flittered, and saw a large hole where the floor had collapsed.  Maybe patients had been trapped in here, and they found a way out? The NV was dimming, I had to stop and change that before I could secure the camera and climb up.  I was detecting a pattern here. It was nice to actually grip something smooth for a change rather than the splintered and rough floor surfaces of lately.  I hopped up to the ragged floor boards and pulled the camera up before climbing onto the floor.  The camera wasn’t necessary, light flittered through the murky windows, allowing my eyes to perceive some of the dark edges.  More beds discarded, empty of mattresses and patients.  I kept low as I slipped towards the obstructions, trying to see the odd flickers just beyond the perception of dark, lights that flashed behind my eyes without the storm.  That odd vibration in my muscle.  Maybe I just wanted the paranoia, maybe I wanted the delusions to be true.  It felt more real than my current predicament.  Most of all, I feared what I was thinking. I stopped when that churning sound occurred and felt myself quiver.  There was nothing, I told myself.  The room was empty as far as I could see, I was seeing things.  I wasn’t seeing things.   Or was I? It sounded like scratching, or subtly rubbing.  Over and over, in a constant rhythm until I wasn’t sure if I was still hearing it or if it was the sound in my ears.  I let it drone on and ignored it as I ventured around the thick pillar near the hole, and scanned the cameras visor for movement, eyes.  A lone wheelchair sat beside the gaping hole I had fallen in.  A few feet beyond it was a small connecting hall, with light cutting through the dark shapes I imagined shuffling around.  Blood had been splattered along the floorboards, I shut off the NV to confirm the crimson hue before pushing the next door open. Somehow this room seemed darker, the shadows pressing on the NV range and giving me a feel for claustrophobe I was not accustomed to.  I took a few tentative steps forward testing the depth of my view, the black veil gave and retreated as I pressed further into the room.  Beds upturned, blotched with dried blood.  Overturned desks and rushed shelf stacking; I took the open path along the wall at the left.  On one of the beds beneath a shattered window, boxes had been dumped, more scattered files lay about the crusty mattress.  I gave my perimeter a short glance before poking through what remained of the damp pages.  I pulled out one file with two names that seemed familiar, couldn’t remember where I might’ve read about them. (Excerpt from the diary of Shirley Pierce, Mount Massive Mental Hospital Patient, 1952-1964) How can I not remember where the cuts are coming from?  They hurt so deeply, even days later.  Doctor Newhouse tells me that it’s my fault, I’m subconsciously resisting the hypnotherapy.  But I want so much to get better, I don’t know how I could be doing this to myself, Dr. Newhouse says it’s another condition of my bedroom-inspired hysteria.  Poor Bruce, I make him suffer so. I’ve tried, subtly, to ask Mrs. Jackson if she’s had similar “issues” with her husband, but she is loathe to talk about it.  Her husband, too, has found comfort in a younger woman. I know the doctors mean well, and with the help of the government men who’ve joined the staff, I am in the very best hands possible.  I should just take my pills and sleep, and hope for more pleasant dreams tonight. I was unmoving for a time, unaware that I had been standing a full minute holding the side of my ear.  The date on the page.  That date barely came to me.  That was long ago.  Long-long ago.  I reread it a few times before it finally began to sink in.  God, I’m an idiot. Mount Massive was shut down in the early 70s.  Miles, you fuckin idiot.  How did I not see this sooner?  It was staring me right in the face.  Right in my face.  Murkoff came along and ‘reopened’ it.  What was I reading again? She was committed to the Asylum from 1950 to 1960, before Mount Massive was shut down.  But they were doing experiments before then.  I didn’t need to linger on the subject any longer. I lost my train of thought as I knelt beside the bed, staring at the page.  I was certain of what was in this note, but I couldn’t focus. Was that what the patients meant when they talked about sleep therapy?  I thought this over carefully, ignoring that buzz in my head.  The Whistleblower said ”Sleep therapy going too deep.” The experiments were happening before Murkoff came along, the government was involved before Murkoff commissioned Dr. Wernicke.  Was I just blocking this information out?  Everything that was started here.  Could this go any deeper?  The Hypnotic transgression to alter individuals thought patterns, and the Project named Walrider for those side effects?  It seemed to lock together, yet the same old holes remained in my theories.  Murkoff never started this.   I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  One mass hallucination.  Nothing more.  And I was buried deep in the center of it seeing what the patients saw, feeling what they felt.  For them it was real, and for me it felt real.  Too real. I lowered the camera and pressed my forehead into my palm.  A massive hallucination.  That was all it was.  But… hallucinations didn’t tear people to pieces.  Had I really seen the MHS cops murdered?  I was drugged at the time, my recollection wasn’t the most credible. I stood off the bed and continued around the room, passing between stacked beds and mattresses.  They must’ve been storing all this away when Project Walrider took its wrong turn, they butchered up most the patients and needed to put they vacant beds someplace.  What a grotesque thought. Even though some of them did NEED to die, they were still human beings.  I think.  I had no idea what the female patients were like, aside from the one transgender I had come across.  I hadn’t had the privilege thus yet to run screaming from a woman.  I’m such a man. Another small connecting hall appeared to my left, but the door that would lead to the next room was blocked by something large and unmovable.  I couldn’t budge it with my weight and gave up to resume my path to the front of the room. The sunken outline of smashed out double doors loomed ahead, and a corridor beyond that.  I hastened my steps, but jerked to a halt when that dark shape drifted by.  I recorded that - I SAW THAT!  That was no hallucination!  NO!  You can’t tell me I didn’t see that! I backpedaled around the corner, until I toppled backwards over a table cart and lay staring up.  That buzzing in my head was getting obnoxious.  If I didn’t think about it, it would dissipate somewhat, but it was there at the back of my mind scratching at my thoughts. I sat the camera on my chest and pulled up the most recent recorded file and played back the last few minutes. Yes!  A clear shot between frames, as it was at the center of the door.  I stared at the image trying to make sense of what I was looking at.  It looked….almost skeletal and corporal, at the same time.  Like black dust, or a statue carved from obsidian.  I could almost describe it as beautiful, if my mind were not so fractured. Time to go.  I pulled my legs off the overturned cart and stood.  It was going to the right, maybe I should try the left.   The hall extended a distance and took another left.  Double doors sat in the corridor to my right, but as with many doors they had been boarded up tight.  I blinked as I turned, and felt a searing blaze of light behind my eyes as though I’d been hit.  I didn’t understand it, I knelt to my knees and waited for the pain to subside, it didn’t actually hurt.  Felt like the memory of a hard punch, like when Trager beat me out of the dumbwaiter, I was shaking all over again and my breath came labored. Anxiety attack.  Just an anxiety attack.  Not shock, just relax, deep breaths, get it under control Miles.  I was in a bad place for this, I was totally exposed and if a patient happened upon me I would be done for.  Get it together, deep breaths, rhythmic breathing.  My chest felt like it wanted to splint open, and I dropped the camera beside me as I fell over.  The dust tickled my nose but I kept trying to drag myself back into focus, my left leg went numb.  Just anxiety, not shock, not heart attack.  I’d know if I was having a heart attack. The pain in my head died somewhat and the feeling slowly returned to my leg.  Good, good.  Get up and move, walk it off. I fumbled in the dark for my camera and picked it up.  I half expected a face to be staring right in the visor, it was almost a shock that there was none.  I pushed myself up and resumed walking. Chairs, broken beds stacked, more doors tempting but going nowhere.  On the wall there was the occasional dark arrow, still seeping with the fresh lines of its making.  I took another left, coming to realize I was going in a circle if this route endured.  Some open double doors, at least I was still headed somewhere, and apparently I could not have gone in the wrong direction.  A few feet away the flicker of candles caught my attention, yes, I was going the right way.  Though I think I could’ve come the other way, and still reached this place. This door would still be here when I came back, the blood stained arrows were still running thick lines down the plaster.  The door left ajar, inviting me. It could wait.  I crept slowly down the corridor, always aware the thing could be at any turn and suddenly spring from nowhere as though from thin air.  The hall took a right and a ways down I could see light, wavering from an open door. Inside was the mother load of files.  Shelves stuffed with boxes, and binders full of notes.  Boxes stacked around the room, many had been torn to pieces, some still had scraps of folders and pages littered everywhere.  None of them looked complete, exerts from Frankentein’s Monster, and more letters from family to patients and vice versa.  Some of the pages I handled felt brittle and were yellowed with age, a few dates on letters read as far back as 1950.  On the wall was a cross painted in blood and the familiar word in bold LIE The red was fresh, it still trickled down around where a trash chute was set into the wall.  My shoes squeaked on the tile as I checked down the opening, then proceeded to go through the boxes. “I recognize the handwriting.  Father Martin killed a man here.  Are the “LIES” he’s talking about all the files missing from these boxes?  The facts?  The records?  They look like government agency material, at least thirty years old, probably older.  I start thinking MKULTRA, CIA.  Mind Control.  The buzzing won’t stop.” There was a file about patients claiming to see a Dr. Wernicke in their dreams, though they had never known a man by that name.  There was a file of one individual that screamed so much his tongue and throat had swollen, and he had perished.  Another about a violent individual that had eventually died from blood loss when he had worn the skin from his fingers away, and tore his entire face off. I started feeling sick, I wanted to stop and sit down, rest a moment.  But I couldn’t.  There was no telling what lay ahead, everything was coming together now.  Or maybe it was the feeling I was having about this place, the hallucinations.  The whispers. I returned to the marks on the wall, the door left ajar encouraging my progress.  As I moved forward to push it open, someone shut it from the other side.  I drew my hand back.  Was the door now locked?  No, it couldn’t be, this was where I was supposed to go. That just sounded insane. I took the handle, it turned easily in my mutilated hand, and I pushed the door open just a bit.  My movement wasn’t unheard by the occupants of the room, and I cued in on soft foot falls just before they entered the range of the nightvision. The twins! I slammed the door shut and pulled the little cart with the candles on it and put it between the door and I.  Why I did this, I’m not sure.  I took a few steps back as the door opened and the first twin gave the small cart a baffled look before he scooted it aside with his machete. I took the hall I had first come down, through the double doors and paused to look back.  The twins stepped into the hall, glancing one way then the other.  I crept behind the corner and watched, they couldn’t see me I was certain but they knew I was here, or someone was here.  The candlelight, they might have seen me standing in the doorway! One twin began down the opposite hall, while the other turned and moved in my direction.  They were going to corner me like they tried in the caged hall, but this time there was no window for me to use to get around them. They were counting on me coming this way, with no other option but to follow the Priests blood trails.  This didn’t hardly seem fair, but I wouldn’t get a word in edge wise if I was caught.  I might still beat them back to the other room, but it didn’t change the fact I had to get by them to that door and with the two of them patrolling, it was only a matter of time before I was caught. I ducked aside when the twin reached the open double doors.  I needed a way to get around them, someplace to hide and double back. The stacked beds I passed.  I dropped down and scooted under them until my shoulder was to the wall.  My camera was getting low on power again, damn.  Why now? I held still as the bare foot falls grew louder with each step.  I shut the camera off and tucked it into jacket, gritting my teeth hard when the fibers caught on the remains of my index finger.  At least the bone was exposed only on that finger, the camera and loop somewhat protected it in my travel.  I shut my eyes and focused on the sound of the brittle wood as the twin stalked past.  Couldn’t see me, couldn’t know I was here.  I exhaled a low breath when his steps faded down the hall, and I began a count once I could hear them no longer. One-one thousand.  Two-one thousand.  Three one-thousand.  I was still counting as I slid out from under the bed and moved towards the door, and the candle light.  Four one-thousand.  Six one-thousand.  A sharp pain filled my skull as the candlelight clashed with the NV.  Couldn’t pause.  Keep moving.  Eight one-thousand.  Nine one-thousand. The door to the room was left open, I could barely make out the extending edges through the failing nightvision.  I entered and flung the door shut, all the time keeping by the wall and straining to pick up early warning I heavily relied on.  I couldn’t gamble that the other twin was unaware of my intentions, and would still be out to corner me off at his brother.  With the door shut I was more likely to hear of their return. Now it was impossible to see through the visor, I had to fumble and get the batteries switched out before proceeding.  It was another room identical to the previous ones I cut through, the few items of furniture scattered about, broken night stands, beds along the far wall.  I crept around the thick pillars, wary of what might be lurking. A door to the side of the room was jammed in its frame, another on the opposite side gave false hope.  Through the window I could see broken wood and the dusty tile on the floor far below.  I tried the handle out of habit, locked.  It didn’t matter, there was no visible way to climb down.  I pressed my palm to my head, the stress caught up to me as the revelation hit.  I could easily die if the twins returned this moment, and I had still not gotten my shit together.  Keep moving, keep moving.  Where didn’t I check yet?  It was obvious enough. The back of the room?  I moved close to the wall and the windows.  It sounded like the storm had lessened for a short while, but boards nailed against the wall made it impossible for the meager amount of light through.  The joining corridor was on the right side, and the door beyond open.  Boards had been torn away allowing chunks of light through, enough to pick out the jagged floor where the fire had eaten through the wood.   The wood protested my weight but the structure seemed stable enough for my weight, at least where the damage was not as sever.  Each gap of ruined floor was a distant, I couldn’t tell from a glance what sections were solid enough.  I tried not to think of it either. I sprang forward clearing the gap easily, the floor creaked under me and I tottered as wood snapped and clattered somewhere below.  Needed to stay sharp, none of this floor was stable.  For now it held. I crossed to the corner where the fire had done ‘less’ damage, and maneuvered around a bed as the wood groaned, warning its lack of patience with my weight.  The wall beside me had burnt out, leaving the skeletal remains of the framework within.  I leaned against it certain I saw something at the edge of my vision, something there without the NV.  There was comfort in my dependence of the camera, a trick of the light.  A voice reverberated from the floor below and I moved the camera over the demolished room, seeking its source. A bright beam flashed over me and I met eyes with ‘Father’ Martin.  “Only God needs be so mysterious.  Be patient, hold faith.”  As he spoke he turned away, looking across the edge of a gap of where he stood upon.  I couldn’t be sure, but I doubted he was speaking to me.   I moved on, reinforcing my resolve.  I needed to get out of this area, with the twins geared to hunt me down.  They wouldn’t hesitate to gut me on the spot, and I felt in my deepest fears that they wouldn’t kill me before they went to work.   Shuddering, I edged myself onto a thin path that ran flush with the wall, I had very little room for my feet but the edge felt stable enough.  The ruined timber moaned as the structure shifted under the malicious storm, it sounded like the whole place could topple at a wrong move, yet still it stood.  I used the NV to make sure that I was scraping onto a solid surface, the charcoal was black and blended with the shadows.  The floors center between the support pillars was still intact, not a big surprise.  Another break in the floor separated me from the next door, by a distance I was leery to attempt jumping, but I was certain that I had leapt farther previously this evening.  There was no easier way over. Lamps undamaged by the fire gleamed down, revealing the tile floor of the room below.  I focused on the door trimmed by light, wide open and inviting with only the ominous abyss of dark beyond.  I would have a moment to gather myself before I pushed resumed.  The floor didn’t seem stable enough on my island, I shuffled near the edge and tested the thin boards.  It made quite a bit of noise, but it felt solid.  Maybe made from a different wood, from whatever comprised the asylums charred sections?  I clicked off the NV and put some distance between myself and the edge, then dashed forward and threw myself out over the fissure. I hit the other side with more force than anticipated, the wind gushed out of my lungs and my arms hit the boards.  Hard.  I didn’t have a chance to inhale, my body began to slip backwards.  I panicked and slung the camera out of my grip a safe distance and braced my hands and elbows against the splintered wood, sweat trickled into the corner of my eye obscuring my sight.  I think I might’ve snapped a rib. It sounded like it.  Or was that the floor creaking against my weight?  As I pulled myself up, the board snapped and I fell catching the next piece with my hands.  A streak of light flashed through my eyes as my ragged finger tips locked into the timber.   The whole floor was falling! I clambered up, kicking and clawing for a stable grip, and finally got my torso over the edge in time to witness— My camera!   My camera was skidding backwards, off the slanting floor!  No!  I shuffled along trying to reach it before it fell.  Visions of it hitting the black tile, dashed into a million pieces of plastic and metal.  All my evidence!  My only source of light in this shit hole!  I reached, scratching it with my remaining fingertips as it tipped, then flipped jolly like over the edge.   Down, down, and down it went.  Everything in slow motion as I was stuck up here, watching it get smaller and smaller, the further it descended.  Any minute now, a millions pieces scattered everywhere.  You wouldn’t be able to tell what it was in the first place.  Scattered to the far corners.  I’d never be able to find them all and put it back together. But it didn’t scatter.  I watched as it bumped against a board, and held my breath, right before it hit the other side of the floor above a thin black hole.  Then, vanished into the dark abyss.  I reached for it.  I could still feel it in my hands, solid and comforting.  This couldn’t be happening.  It was in one piece but it was gone.  Fuck!  Why didn’t I secure it?  Why didn’t I remember to protect the damn thing?  It was gone forever and I was the one to blame.  Fucking idiot, Miles!  Your life is over!  The damn camera was the only thing keeping you— The floor whined as the boards gave out, and a piece clattered hollowly in the open room.  I shifted, dragging myself up just as I saw the door to a room below swing open and a dark figure creep into view.  Shit! Another panel snapped away before I had latched onto the next, and I was hanging by my hands snarling as hot needles pulsed through my fingertips.  GET UP THERE MILES!  I clawed my way up as the floor crumbled out from under me.  I dug my fingers into what I could reach and braced myself, launching forward as everything under my feet snapped free.  I was running on literal open air as the ground dissolved under me, I dove into the awaiting doorway and locked my hands on the frame as I spun about, to witness the last of the floor break away.  I took a few deep breaths, and gazed at the open door with light pouring through.  No evidence of the prowler below, I’m not sure if it was a twin or someone else hunting me. I was still shaking when I turned to the dark corridor awaiting my trespass.  I had become so dependent on the camera, the total blackness was like a wall I could never pierce with my conviction.  Memories of those inexperienced cavers returned to my thoughts, how they had been lost for days before they succumb to hunger and thirst. How do you get lost in a cave?  The darkness is disorienting, and even when you feel you must be turned in the right direction, it is impossible to be sure.  You can run in circles for days before you realize you’ve been in a room of nine by nine. I didn’t stand a chance navigating the dark totally blind, while the patients strolled about, conditioned to the dark halls that was their world.  Aside from all the evidence I could not afford to lose.  It would be better if I died trying to find it, rather die getting beaten to death by something I couldn’t identify. The ruined floor echoed a strange sound as the wood settled, almost like the shriek of a dying man.  I pondered it, as I pondered how to go about locating my camera.  I reviewed my recent progress through the asylum, deducing if I returned the way I came I would not be able to access the floor below where the camera should be.  That was not considering the twins, I didn’t doubt they were still hoping to stumble upon me in that section of the hall.  I wiped some sweat from my eyes, and recoiled at the blood soaking my palm. Oh god! After scrapping some of the fresh blood from my hands, I picked my way down what remained of the floor.  At least ‘if’ I returned, I could still climb up easily.  Small miracles.  There was no sign of the creeper, this made me uneasy.  He could as easily have been a spy for Father Martin, as he could have been one of the violent lunatics that’s only purpose was to shatter skulls.  He had to have come from somewhere, I doubt he came from the floor above or had a way up there.   This was all speculation, I had no reason to believe there was a way to access the lower floor through here.  I planned to turn back if it became too dangerous, or if there was no visible way to progress.  I don’t know which way I preferred more. The room was dim, light pouring through broken windows offered miniscule guidance, cutting dark lines over the beds and furniture that looked jammed into the space.  I heard no sound, nothing to indicate a living body present.  The path on my left was packed high with bed frames, to my right was a space I could slip through.  I didn’t want to attempt climbing over anything unless I absolutely had to, my hands were shaking against my sides.  They felt hollow and light without my camera.    A flash of lightening pulsed from the windows, I crouched down when I though there was a shape peering over the shelves on my right, but it was already gone before my eyes adjusted.  It felt like the ringing was getting louder, maybe my heart thudding harder in my chest.  I crept along listening to the sound, trying to blot it out with thoughts of the mountains.  How calm the night had seen before the storm.  I climbed over a bed and scanned the front of the room as it brightened with a blaze from the windows. Shadows raced back into place as the light died, I thought eyes were staring back at me but I didn’t have the NV of the camera.  Couldn’t be anything there.  Just the noise in my head making me feel like there was something that should be there, but couldn’t be. My camera.  Think about that for a bit.  Where would it be?  Fell through the floorboards, would be on the floor below here if it didn’t shatter into a million pieces.  My quest seemed lost, everything I had been through, everything that I had witnessed was on that camera.  I would go completely insane, and they’d find my body with my last words scrawled into the notebook and they’ll scratch their heads, no clue of what the hell happened here.  What horrors were witnessed. The camera will be there, in one piece, because I will it to be so.  With my fuckin mind! Bed frames and shelves.  They filled the gaps on either side of me as I moved towards another set of open doors.  It amazed me how comforting furniture could be in a place like this.  It looked like the doors had been blown apart, I couldn’t find where the other had fallen.  A sound startled me, the clatter of timber as something came down hard on the floor above.  I knelt down and listened to the noises of footfalls overhead, silt trickled down getting into my eye.   I blinked it out then checked beyond the doorframe, a soft whimper wheezed out of me at the black veil that greeted me.  I would get lost forever and die of hunger, or get beaten to death by someone in the dark.  By a shape in the dark. My spirits were lifted when the frail light spilled from a crack in the wall.  I crawled to it, on my hands and knees, and peered inside hearing water running from somewhere.  Another shower room.  Lockers had been torn from the walls and stacked in odd areas, some were left along the floor.  I tested the stability of the plaster that blocked me, and found I could tear the chunks out.  Enough that I could easily slip myself under. I entered and stood up and made my way along the side of the room that was open, and into the shadows that devoured my form.  I used my less torn up left hand and set my fingers on the wall feeling where I was going and tried not to get turned around, but my fears were unfounded, the wall gave way to the other side of the washroom and a light blazed from the ceiling. I checked a few of the stalls that would open, confirming there was no one hiding, nothing to surprise me.  The drum of the water intermingled with the buzzing in my head, my body quivered despite how dry the top layer of my coat had become.  It was bone quaking trembles, stemming from my muscles.  I needed to shut the water off, stop the insistent white noise.  I tried to figure out how to work the faucet, but the valve was snapped and spun uselessly in my grip. Beneath the spout was a tear in the floor, the wood exposed under the tile and something under that.  I went to the next stall over, the door taken somewhere left the access open for full view.  Inside was a large hole to the level below, and where my camera must be. I dropped down onto a plank of wood, and felt the hollow vibrations of lockers through my feet.  For a moment I listened and waited, that had been loud.  The drum of water above enveloped my senses, I few droplets of icy water splattered my neck.  Along the ceiling the thick pipes transporting the water crossed, thick calcite had formed along edges where water seeped.  Rather wait and confirm my isolation I crawled down onto the next floor. It was a sizable closet to store supplies and some furniture.  Everything had been dragged out into halls and used to board up doors, it was empty but for the lockers gathered into the center of the room.  I walked around it before I located the door, it was a relief to escape the consistent sound rattling my mind.  I gave no consideration to someone waiting outside, how reckless I was being.  I didn’t care.  I peeked out into the dark hall. The edges of a broken bed came into focus, the light from the closet didn’t tread far but the glow of another lamp did reach around a corner some distance away.  It was impossible to tell with the wall of black.  I opted to follow the light for now, until I needed to get lost in the dark.  I’d save that as last option if I could.  The hall that cut right was too bright for comfort, I lingered by the wall briefly, the light didn’t extended far.  Beyond the shadows bars were stacked, or bed frames, silhouetted against soft light a large window.  I really wanted to know that lights origins. I climbed over a broken bed frame and listened, as the crackle of thunder and the flash of static illuminated a figure darting across the room far ahead.  It looked like he had some destination in mind, but I wouldn’t just stand at the edge of the shadows and wait for him to come this way.  Couldn’t be certain of what I saw, I wasn’t confident in the stability of my mental faculty. A door boarded up on my left thudded as something hit it, or fought to get through.  I picked up the pace before they could get through while I was there.  Those boards had held all through the shit storm, there was no reason for them to give now. Light pulsed through the bars of the beds stacked at the end of a hall, cutting me off from the room.  But I was certain the figure I’d seen had been there as well.  A hall was to my left with light spilling like cold silver between the bars of a gate.  It was too far up out of sight, I couldn’t see where the light filtered down from. I hesitate when I thought there was a voice, or someone mumbling.  I listened, trying to get past the ringing in my own head.  The silence without the constant drum of rain on windows to drown out my thoughts, made the walls vibrate with a resonance of silence that was almost as thunderous as the sound of clatter.  No longer could I hear the voice, but it was probably my paranoia diluting my senses.  I was on high alert and couldn’t shut myself out. As I neared the corner, leaning forward— A man lunged out at me snaring my neck and bad shoulder.  I gave half a yelp as the air was cut off in my throat, the man yelled in my face and shook me.  My vision buzzed with static as he applied pressure, I couldn’t decide which was hurting worse.  The blood flow had been severely hindered by his grip on my neck and my ears started ringing.  I slapped my hands down over his elbows and struggled to pull his arms off, get them unlocked as he pushed forward nearly causing me to topple.  When I fell it would be all over, I wouldn’t have the leverage to throw him off.  I didn’t have it now. When I reached my limit, I knew I couldn’t take much more of this, I dropped to my back on the hard tile and somersault backwards.  The patient, placing all his weight against me fell forward.  I jammed my foot into his stomach and propelled him along as he tumbled over me.  Weak and stunned, I rolled aside not prepared for what would come next.  I only heard the man climb to his feet and dart off screaming about the coming and Billy.  That went well… I coughed into the floor until my throat reformed, the cold and dusty air of the Asylum a welcomed return. I was still rubbing the soreness out of my neck as I CAUTIOUSLY ventured into the next room.  I felt the walls as I went, making sure I wasn’t missing any doors that could lead to the room my camera was in.  I had no idea where it might have fallen, I would just go through the rooms I could find and then go into more detailed search once I was comfortable with the layout. The patients spent all of their time in this place, skulking through the dark, hiding in the shadows.  No wonder they could track me in the dead black.  With no other option, they had adapted to this way of life.  A scary thought. A wild blaze burned through the room, and for a brief moment I could see figures, men shaped.  One crouched on a table holding bars, fully focused on the world outside, a far away world.  I slunk forward, the second one seemed to be staring across the room directly at me but made no action.  I kept along the side of a bar, or some sort of countertop on the opposite side of the room.  I lost track of the other figure that had been in here, but as the windows pulsed with storm I located a door to the side of the room.   I lurched back and dropped to my side when something flashed in my vision, what exactly I couldn’t be sure.  But I felt nothing, no punishing blow and heard no sound of feet.  I couldn’t even be certain I had seen anything to frighten me, only that I had fallen on my side and felt the warm spot on my back.  I just wanted my camera.  It didn’t matter if I made it out alive, I just wanted my camera back. I crawled pathetically through the double doors that awaited, there was one tall window at the end of corridor, but the oppressive shadows huddled at the very breath of its light.  It appeared to be the connecting hall, where I saw the figure dart through.  I lifted to my feet and held my arms out, unable to see an inch in front of me.  I kept on my toes ready to run at the sound of movement, anything that indicated I was not alone.  I didn’t feel alone, but I couldn’t believe I would miss another living presence in the small space I now occupied.  The concept that this was an error of my thought, terrified me.  I was probably not alone, just kidding myself again. I took a shallow breath as I felt around the edges of another door, a lamp from outside glistened off the metal bars of shelves.  I blinked, and saw red, blood vessels in my eyes as the storm blazed.  My breath was labored and dots evaporated at my vision, contrasting with the shadows.  I blinked but I still couldn’t see. I moved around the shelves trying not to linger long in the light.  Another doorway opened in my path, on the other side windows cut long shapes on the tiled floor.  I crouched down and put my face just far enough past the opening to see what lay ahead, but was met with the invading veil of black.  I thought I heard movement, a voice, but as I bided my time and listened trying to perceive what my eyes failed to, it felt like my mind was playing tricks on me again. Something glint in the corner of my eye, and I drew back to spin on it but saw nothing.  Just the beads of the metal shelves as the light hit their sides.  I took a deep breath, I was shaking badly and my head pounded with the soft prattle of rain.  Or was that the humming in my bones?  Why’d I keep thinking of these things? I forced myself to leave the doorway and scoot away from the wall, into the indiscriminate shadows.  It was some sort of commune room with tables bolted to the floor.  Maybe the patients cafeteria, or some sort of indoor recreational area?  Being in this room right now unsettled me, like being in an orphanage after some sort of catastrophe killed all the children there.  Almost the same difference, if you considered the less violent patients.  Just mentally wrong, and locked away from their families that might’ve been trying to do the right thing for them. The cold seeped through my coat, I had not nearly dried out yet, even so it just seemed to burrow into everything.  It was getting darker as I moved from the windows, into areas of boarded up doors and the suppressive veil tightening over my shoulders.  I slipped over a broken counter, a frame with glittering glass sat before metal slats for trays.  This might’ve been the patients cafeteria, or where medicines was dispensed.  It was the same thing, wasn’t it? I saw something in the furthest distance flicker against the black wall.  I paused to stare and barely believed my eyes.  I blinked.  Was it possible?  On that table beside a large cooking pot? I let out a small whine, it was!  My camera!  Right there, not no more than a few feet away. Okay Miles, keep it together.  There’s the camera, don’t go running over there and tripping and tearing your fingers open again. But…My camera!  I edged towards it, pushing my senses into the wall of black, working to determine if there was anything I could stumble over, anything left lying in my path.  Something clattered to the floor, echoing off the walls in the next room.  I had no idea what that was from.  Might have been the floor above, the broken room my camera fell from still settling in my absence.   I could sense movement.  I couldn’t be sure if this was my paranoia or the unnatural state this room was in, where I was accompanied by a threat.  The big fucker?  I wouldn’t know until I picked up the camera, and by then it might be too late.  It sounded like something was being smashed on hollow metal, or someone was trying to flush something out. I dithered for a moment, debating what I should do. It was getting me nowhere, so I continued forward trying not to imagine what was beyond the black lurking at the edges of my senses.  I was distracted in my elation, finally the comfort of the camera back in my hands.  But I had not reached it yet, I was still vulnerable.  Too vulnerable.  Keep calm, deep breaths.  I was shaking, the nerves in my muscles buzzing into my mind.  Get the camera, it’d clear things up for me. I began to pick up on something else as well.  The typical rot of the asylum, of old bodies left to decompose into the carpet and wood, which was constant in the back of my mind.  But I was sure I smelt the patients.  Don’t think I’m being weird, you can go fuck yourself – but, it was that musty smell they had.  The baked on sweat, filthy clothing and the disregard for hygiene they shared, with this place going to hell.  It was the smell of something alive, and it was getting stronger. I put my hands on the pale light of the desk, where the NV poured out of the visor.  I couldn’t quiet my breathing, I had to get the camera and turn it, locate what it was in the dark.  My hands quaked on the cool wood, and I shuffled around to the backside and set my hands over my camera.   It was like reuniting with an old friend that I thought was lost forever.  Such a strong feeling for an inanimate object, but it still brought tears to my eyes.  I gently picked it up and fitted my ruined finger under the strap, then fixed the visor; it had been jarred before it dropped through the floor.  Slowly, I brought it to my eyes, reveling in the familiarity of seeing the distorted green hue of my surroundings.  The buzzing in my head was thunderous now, and I slowly turned from a solid wall on my right, to the large room revealed through the visor.

[fallingstarstuff]

Chapter 25 (WIP)

This is a preview of Chapter 25 (well, more like the first 2/3rds of it) and it is a work in progress, so some wording may change in the final cut. Also Tumblr ate all the formatting and I’m to lazy too put it back in, so just imagine italics in all the right spots.

Full fic on AO3: From the Mouth of an Injured Head

For @cipher-the-sidhe

 - - - - - - -

You had so many questions.

In that moment, none of them mattered.

Gaster shuffled inside your apartment while you clung to him with your legs dangling, his arms wrapped securely around you while nudging the door shut behind him with a foot.

Gaster had feet.

The hand that wasn’t holding the bundle of weeds rubbed soothing circles on your back, but you could not stop crying. Your joy at seeing him was a very fragile and perilous thing, made of spun glass and inches from turning to dust. Part of you was convinced this wasn’t real. 

Stars, let this be real.

You could feel hard bones pressed against your body under the lab coat. No longer was he an amorphous dripping mass of shadows. Skeletal arms, ribs, the knobs of his spine, all of it so strange and unfamiliar. He even smelled different, or rather you registered a scent where there was nothing before. He smelled of ozone, old books and magic. 

Your sobs waned, hiccups taking their place and you felt Gaster bend down, his spine bowing, to set you on the floor. Your fingers tightened their grip on his lab coat, not wanting to let go. His head turned, reassuring kisses dusting your neck, and after a few moments your arms slowly unwound, falling back to your sides.

Gaster straightened up, smiling down at you in an abashed way that didn’t reach his eye sockets. 

<I apologize for taking so long to return, the journey here was far longer than I expected.>

You shook your head, still trying to take him in with wide eyes, “I don’t understand.” you whispered. “It worked?”

<Yes, perhaps not precisely as intentioned, but as you can see...> He gestured almost grandly to himself, the success of the extraction process self-evident, <I am sure there is much explaining to be done, I cannot imagine what the experience must have been like from this side.> he glanced around your apartment, noting the machine that was ripped apart in your hallway and the huge chunks of wall missing as well as the scorched and warped platform. The scene of destruction curved his mouth into a confounded frown.

Despite the litany of questions you meant to ask, somehow the first one out of your mouth was: “Why do you have a bunch of weeds?” you rasped, pointing at the greenery. There were dandelions, queen anne’s lace, and buttercups, all slightly wilted clutched in his hand.

Gaster flushed, and you noted that the color blooming on his skull was not the muted lilac you were used to, but a several shades closer to violet. <I had read that humans offer bouquets of flowers as tokens of affection. Unfortunately the options available along the road were quite limited.>

He held out the bunch of foliage, and you couldn’t help the broken laugh that escaped you, nor the slow, tired smile as you accepted the hastily constructed “bouquet”. “Thank you. You are too sweet. I don’t have a vase or-” you blinked, your exhausted mind sluggish to process his words. “What road?”

<The road down from Mount Ebott. I will speak with Doctor Alphys but clearly the procedure did not go entirely as planned and the convergence point collapsed. When I was ejected from the void I was flung out of the most proximal convergence point to this one.> he paused, waiting for you to find the answer, like his favorite pupil who always knew just what to say next.

You didn’t.

You were so tired.

Your head throbbed.

You SOUL hurt.

<...I exited the grey door in the Underground.> he provided the answer when you did not respond, eye sockets narrowing. His phalanges gripped your chin, tilting your head up so he could examine you closely and critically for the first time since he arrived. You were sure he was alarmed by what he saw. You could hardly stand to look at your own reflection, skin paler than ever, bloodshot eyes, and bruises under them. Chapped lips, wild-maned, broken.

“I look like shit.” you supplied, knowing he would never say that, even if he concurred.

<You look like you haven’t slept.> he signed, concern growing.

“‘Cause I haven’t.”

<Alex, it’s been two days.> His skull contorted with dismay.

“I thought you were dead!” you cried, voice splintering as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. Gasters eye sockets widened, taken aback. “Everyone thinks you’re gone. I couldn’t feel you and there weren’t any readings and Sans said I killed you!”

He dropped down to one knee, lowering himself so he could hug you again as you broke down into tears, pulling you against his ribcage and softly stroking his phalanges through your tangled hair. Your weeping almost instantly slowed, soothed by his presence alone. He wasn’t dead, he was here, he was out of the void, he was here with you.

<I don’t understand, I can still sense you now, clearer than ever. It was how I navigated my way here. The link between our SOULs should still be there...May I see your SOUL?> he signed as he reluctantly pulled back.

You nodded, wiping your eyes with your palm and bracing yourself. The embers in your chest flared like they’d been exposed to fresh oxygen as you drew your SOUL out, hissing in pain through clenched teeth.

Gaster gasped, his bones rattling.

It was worse than you could have imagined.

The normally vivid blue was dull, no longer the bright glowing radiance that made your surroundings seem dim in comparison. Instead splotches of ashen grey mottled the surface, obscuring the usual luminosity giving your SOUL the appearance of being diseased. Of course it felt like it burned, but you hadn’t expected it to look like it too.

<What did you do!?> To say Gaster was horrified would be an understatement.

You shrugged, “Pulled you out of the void, apparently.”

There was an incredulous pause, then, <...What!?>

“The machine broke,” you gestured at the mangled device, “So I guess I got you out myself. Things got really foggy there at the end. I think I hit my head.”

He shook his skull, utterly dismayed at your flippant response. Swiftly, he took the flowers from your hands, dumping them on the counter and without warning, scooped you up, one long arm under your back, the other tucked under your knees as he stood back up and held you in an effortless princess carry.

<Have you any idea how much I’ve wanted to do this?> he signed with summoned hands, looking rather irate as he walked towards your bedroom, stepping over broken machinery.

“Carry me off to bed?” you said with an attempt at a cheesy grin, the expression marred by your exhaustion.

<Hold you, like this,> he corrected, <and I wish it were under any other circumstances. I have not seen a SOUL Burn so severe in all my years, how are you still standing!?>

“Alphys didn’t seem too worried.”

<Had she misplaced her glasses!?> he signed, outraged.

“Nah, I did actually, couldn’t find them anywhere... I didn’t give her a chance to look at my SOUL. Kicked them all out. Started cleaning. Didn’t stop.” you muttered. 

<If you were a monster you would likely be dust. You nonchalance at this is deeply troubling, can you not feel the pain?>

“It does hurt. Feels like fire in my chest.”

<And you haven’t slept. I take it you haven’t eaten either. Have you had anything to drink??>

“Sorry.” you murmured, leaning your head against his bony shoulder. 

<No apologizing.> he tutted, shaking his head, <Humans are truly remarkable creatures.>

He laid you down on the bed, propping pillows under your back so you remained upright. Part of you wanted to object to being coddled but another part would have let him do whatever the hell he wanted. Let him dote on you, let him fuss. Whatever made him happy, whatever let him stay.

Which was why you tried to get out of bed to chase after him as he attempted to depart your bedroom, and he rounded on you with an uncommon amount of anger.

<Stay.> he signed sharply, pressing you back down against the bed, one large hand splayed over your chest. <I am only going to be a minute.> His expression softened, <Rest, please. It is my fault you are in this state->

“This isn’t your fault!” you yelled.

<We both know that is far from the truth.>

“Please don’t leave me, I don’t know if this is real, I can’t feel you.” your voice was trembling now.

He leaned down, kissing your forehead. <It is very real, I assure you. I will be right back. Please, stay here.>

“...Kiss me first.” you ordered, eyes hard.

He arched a brow bone at you. <I just did.>

“No, properly.” You were never like this. Needy and burdensome, sure, but it was rare you demanded something of him. But you needed to feel him, to know this wasn’t just a particularly vivid dream. And if you couldn’t sense him with your SOUL, well, this method would suffice.

Gaster was never one to deny you, and so his long fingers slowly curled along your jaw, tiling your face towards him and his skull lowered to meet your lips with his. This was the same, familiar in all the ways his restored form was not, soft lips against hard bone. And when your lips parted in an open invitation he did not waste a second, his tongue delving into your mouth, heatedly gliding over your own.

This was very different.

There was no icy cold. No strange shifting shadows, but a solid warmth, his tongue slick and buzzing with the unmistakable frisson of magic. Like fire whiskey, like a tingle of electricity, lighting your nerves, even your charred SOUL lurched in your chest from shock. 

You squealed a surprised sound at the unexpected sensation, and before you could manage to pull away, his hand swiftly snaked around to the back of your neck, fingers woven through your hair as he cradled your head and kept you firmly in place. Insistently, yet not without tenderness, he kept kissing you, allowing you to feel and understand that he had changed. Even this act, this thing you had loved and found comfort in, would not be the same as it once was. But it was him. Undeniably, it was Gaster, he was here. A tension in your frame relaxed and you finally reciprocated, a tangle of tongues and lips and breath as you felt him sigh in relief.

Slowly he drew back, looking into your eyes, searching for a sign of alarm or discomfort. He wouldn’t find even a hint. 

<Please, let me take care of you.> he signed, fingers carding through your hair.

You relented with a nod, and true to his word Gaster was gone and back in short order, fussing over you once again. He had water that he made you drink, and some nearly expired granola bars he’d raided from the very back of your snack stash, probably the only pre-packaged food he could manage to find that was remotely healthy.

“I’m not hungry.” you murmured.

<You need food if your SOUL is to heal.> holding the opened package out to you sternly.

Reluctantly you ate, the food flavorless and tasting no better than ash.

<I would like to attempt to administer healing magic to your SOUL, if you will allow it.> he signed, sitting next to you on the bed. 

“Your magic is back?” you asked. It should have been obvious, if he was no longer in the void, it would stand to reason his magic would have returned to him.

<I have not yet attempted to utilize any, this will be a field experiment.> he signed with a wry grin, <May I?>

You nodded, and with a wince, drew out your damaged SOUL again. He examined it closely, phalanges hovering over the surface but never making contact with the core of your being.

The ring-shaped pupil in his left eye socket lit up a brilliant ultraviolet shade.

Then, for the first time, you felt Gaster’s magic.

It was completely novel. You were familiar with Sans and Papyrus and how their magic wove about them, but Gaster’s was very far removed from theirs. Very far removed from your own. If Papyrus was a steady stream, you a flame, and Sans a veritable firestorm, Gaster was...highly structured. Rhythmic and orderly. Layers of magic that conformed to perfect, precise arrangements.

It was like music.

Warmth and green light spilled forth from his fingers and you gasped, shuddering as his magic poured directly into your SOUL. Stars that felt so good. Like your SOUL was submerged in warm water, seeping in and soothing all of the damage your outburst of magic had inadvertently wrought. There was a sort of pressure there too, like a firm hug, or being swaddled in warmth. It was hard to translate what your SOUL felt into physical sensations, that magical core just too far removed from the physical matter of nerves and flesh. Those sensations were overwhelming after only a few moments, and you felt Gaster’s hand hold yours after you screwed your eyes shut and tried to remember how to pull air into your lungs properly.

It could have been a few minutes or a few hours by the time his magic abated, your SOUL slipping back into your chest and your breaths a shaky series of pants.

<How do you feel?>

“Mmmelty...” you slurred, “Like goop...” 

He smirked, then stifled a yawn behind a hollow hand, and you watched him, fascinated.

“You’re tired.” you said, awed and wide-eyed.

<It would appear so, yes. I believe I am long overdue for a nap.> he grinned.

You matched it, perhaps a little more conniving. “You’re sleeping here with me.”

<I would think not.> he quickly retorted, his grin slipping quickly into a frown, <You need your rest. I’ll sleep on the couch.>

“Like hell you will.” you responded hotly. You doubted he would even fit without his feet hanging off the end, “You’re staying with me. My house, my rules, and tonight I need my boyfriend here with me.”

He stared with raised brow bones at your declaration, as if waiting for you to correct yourself.

You did not.

<I haven’t any other clothes.> he weakly objected.

“So?”

<I would rather not sleep in this coat.>

“So take it off.” you said, like it was obvious.

<I am not wearing a shirt underneath.>

“Oh.” Was he shy?

<I don’t want make you uncomfortable.>

...Stupid, stupid skeleton.

“Gaster I swear to god, if you don’t get in this bed in the next five seconds I will use my magic on you, I don’t care what state my SOUL is in.” 

He sighed, hastily unbuttoning his lab coat, unbuckling his belt and kicking off his slacks, both carelessly tossed to the floor to reveal boxers with a little bone print pattern. It also revealed his bones, and you couldn’t help your eyes roving over his new (or perhaps old) form. He looked just as one would imagine, an animated skeleton with a broken skull, but it was so very strange to see the monster you’d fallen in love with appear this way.

“Cute.” you commented pointing at his boxers, and he rolled his eyelights. 

<I had to pilfer through my old office in the lab, it would seem everyone forgot it existed when they forgot me. My options for clothing were considerably limited.>

He crawled into bed with you, mattress dipping down with his additional weight, and you situated yourself against him. You didn’t have much choice, he was huge, taking up much of the space.

<Are you sure this is ok? I can wait until you fall asleep and go to the couch.>

“Does this bother you?” you asked, glancing up at his wary eyelights. 

<What do you mean?>

“Am I offending your modesty?”

<Not particularly...I thought you were afraid of skeletons.> 

“Not this one.” you answered simply, fingers lazily trailing over the bones of his arm in a tired sort of fascination. “Never you.” He wore the fondest of smiles then, carefully running his fingers through your messy hair, and you felt your eyelids grow heavy.

“Wanna make it even?” you murmured, words slightly slurred as you fought to stay awake.

You heard him make a sleepy ‘Hmm?’ sound, and felt it through his ribs, a low and deep hum that made a strange heat curl in your belly. 

You reached for the hem of your shirt, grabbing a fistfull of the fabric and tugging it up your body--

Quicker than you could track, his bones clamped around your wrist, pulling your hand right back down, your shirt along with it. Gaster’s skull was a blazing amethyst, and his eyelights were dim little pinpricks.  

<No. That will not be necessary.> You could hear his breath shuddering slightly, and you thought you might have heard a quiet rattle of bones.

“No fun.” you mumbled, rolling onto your side and tucking yourself securely against him. He was, well, bony. Hard and solid against you, perhaps not the most comfortable bedmate. You hardly cared, he was here, you were not alone.

<Will you please sleep now?> he asked, perhaps a little amused and exasperated at your antics.

“‘s long as you’re here, yeah.” you drowsed, words thick. “Thought I lost you.” Your eyes slipped closed and you could no longer read his signs, but you could feel unfamiliar arms made of bones wrap around you, and very familiar lips pressed against your temple. 

“...Love you.”

You were asleep within seconds.

You did not dream.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

The Bad Guy (2)

Bucky x fem!Reader

The Fallen Soldier

Theme: It’s a good day in New York City for Bucky Barnes, who seems to feel right at home till his morning is disrupted by a bad guy. Maybe New York isn’t the same place after all. Now he has teamed up with the Bad Guy to fight the good fight. But this Bad Guy is bringing things on his surface he never knew he had

Chapter warnings: swearing. so much swearing. dumb assholes.

A/N: @writing-prompt-s​  once gave a prompt last year that stuck with me…I don’t remember the exact wordings but it had something to do with the reader/writer being the villain having a crush on the hero, always finding excuses (or crimes) to meet them. One day they are getting their ass beat and you decide to jump in and save the day. This one is same but with a liiiiiiiitle twist

Word Count: I get one good day and look at me taking out a chapter after another. What is the reason behind this good mood? Spending time with fam? Posting ITA? Them sexy sexy reactions? Good sleep? Meds? Maybe all of them!!

MASTERLIST in bio, love. Tags are open

The mansion up the hill overlooking those city lights was packed with people in their expensive swimwear right and left. Butts were swinging to loud beats, crystal glasses filled with alcohol and unwanted drugs clinked around the six thousand square feet of area. Skinny babes and naked dudes smoked and snorted by the pool while some made out in the pool, around the tennis court upstairs in the balcony; basically any place they could find. Guards stood by the openings in the front and back- well, definitely away from the booze-redden crowd running horny for those black-clad abs and standing there in silence and sharp observation- making sure no intruders or unwanted objects entered the place.

People coming in and wobbling out threw greetings at a slick-looking man sitting on the rooftop making some colourful drinks with the drugs in a sophisticated palette kept on a clear glass coffee table right next to where the multiple not!y/h/c girls- five to be specific- sat surrounding him. None of these ladies looked above twenty-five. But everyone looked like they were all up over that golden-haired broad jaw guy- who could have a name like Chad or Hunter- just for the pills.

“Looky here chicks,” his deep voice with a crustiness to it announced with the cocktail glasses raised for his company to take, “this is how you get to feel a new high. One of these and you will have the night of your life. Uh...scratch that, the second-best night of your life because later on, I’m going to fuck each one of you raw.”

The women hooted while forcing to keep those smiles when he looked away, clearly uncomfortable with that man. One of them was trying her best not to sneeze from all that heavy cologne he was wearing.

“How long do we have to do this Katie? I better be paid well for this,” the not!y/h/c sitting at the other end whispered to her girlfriend.

“I don’t know Samantha,” Katie muttered through her teeth that were all smiles for the man, “just keep going till he tires himself out.”

“Ugh, I have to submit my thesis tomorrow. I hate this guy! Fucking him was not a part of our deal. I wanna go home before I kill this man!” she grunted to her teeth before doing a one-eighty on her expression when he raised his glass at her and winked with his tongue out and wiggling. Samantha wanted to cry but she kept telling herself she was doing it for her tuition fee.

Downstairs, in the driveway, a woman dressed in a golden shimmy dress under a chinchilla fur overcoat and Impera Louboutin walked towards the entrance. Her red acrylic nails played with her hair while the other handheld an LV bag. Those cat-like movements stopped only when the bodyguards stopped her at the door. “Identification,” the grey-eyed Caucasian questioned.

This not!y/h/c wore red-rimmed groupie shades tinted black even in the night. Her lips red, and so were those huge danglers that clinked whenever her head moved or even tilted. She peeked over her shades at the boys and their toys stopping her from going in. The boys saw golden lenses checking them out and waited patiently for her to say something.

Sighing, she raised her bag and gestured the men to look into it.

The boys looked at the bag and then each other. “What’s in it?”

She dropped her head back and groaned lightly. “My identification,” she answered, almost singing it like a stereotypical white teen tired of the drama surrounding her.

The boys opened the zip and raised their brows at the stuff they saw inside. Leather whip, handcuffs, feather, candles, cable ties, ropes, anal beads and strap ons.

Trying to keep a straight face, they zipped the bag back up and handed it back to her before opening the door. “He’s on the rooftop.”

The woman smirked with those wet red lips at them. While walking in with those swishing hips, she grazed that bulge in the pants of the one standing to her right, making him flinch before going back to his position- but not without a smile on that seemingly uncrackable face.

The woman’s smile disappeared the moment she entered the room, her lips turning into the hues of disgust till she found a glass tumbler filled with scotch and dunked her hand in it till she was sure she had got everything off. Wiping it clean with a napkin, she moved through the crowd of stoned youngsters roaming about half-naked, dancing to Sasha Sloan’s ‘At Least I Look Cool’. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey from next to two girls making out in the kitchen, she walked out towards the poolside, howling like a wolf to blend in. Within no time, everyone else there howled like her, getting more into the spirit.

“Haha..oh you all are such fucked up dolts,” she muttered under her breath, dancing her way to the stairs leading to the rooftop.

The wind was adding to the pep in her steps, her skin loving the cold waves over all that makeup. There were two guards standing as security at two ends, looking down at the party. Rest of the crowd was those college girls dressed as elite strippers trying to hog the man’s attention as much as they. All except Katie.

“Ooh, what do we have here,” the man whistled at the woman entering the scene with the sexy saunter.

“Hi Hunter,” she sang in a low, almost sweet poison laden voice, keeping the bag down on the coffee table, “I’m your birthday present. From your best bud.”

The fur coat was dropped down to reveal the gold sequin dress held tight around her with only two thin straps going around her shoulder. All eyes went to the smooth hairless baby-like skin shining under those dim lights around them. Tattoos covered the arms and the back- intricate works inked in black, some phrases etched in Kanji on one arm while some not so popular gangster signs on the other. The back seemed to carry the face of some strange creatures along with Kanji scripting the borders.

The shades were thrown away to reveal her face to Hunter, who was already feeling the tightness in his pants. “So, Hunter-” she opened the bag to take out the rope, making that bad boy’s pupil dilate in excitement- “what’s it gonna be. Full public display or a private show?”

“Everybody out!” He was already shouting, flailing hands at security to walk away. “What the fuck you lookin’ at,” he yelled at the girls, making them jump and scrammed.

“Oh thank God,” Katie said under her breath.

“You’re welcome,” the woman threw in her direction, making Katie feel her lungs tighten at the suggestive wink she got from her before she ran down the stairs.

Hunter jumped up and down the couch in anticipation, grunting at the woman. “Come on, you crazy bitch. Come to daddy.”

The women smirked at Hunter, walking across the table to close the distance between the two of them, opening the cork to the whiskey with her teeth and spitting it away somewhere in the dark. “Open your mouth,” she ordered.

A slap echoed through the air when he didn’t obey. His grunts of pleasure followed next and before you know it, he was looking up at her like a needy puppy. The whiskey went down his tongue, burning his tongue and throat till he had to shut his mouth and spill it out.

“Open up!”

And he did. Again. Once she was satisfied, she threw the bottle away. Some sort of ruckus could be heard downstairs but Hunter didn’t care. His guys could handle it.

The rope came next. Wrapped around his neck and gradually tied securely with a knot. The excitement in Hunter’s pants was already showing. The more she tightened the rope, the more he shivered with pleasure.

“You have been very naughty, Hunter. Very, very naughty.”

Hunter nodded in submission. “Yes. Oh God, yes. I have been so naughty. Punish me, you cunt. Slap the bad outta me,” he growled.

She yanked the rope towards herself, nearly making him fall on the concrete floor. “Follow me on your fours, you bad dog.”

And he did. His hands and knees were scraped by the rugged tiles underneath but he did not care. Soon both of them were at the edge, the glass railing looking down at the lit-up pool.

“Get on the other side of the glass,” she commanded.

“What?”

Even with those golden lenses that were clearly fake, she looked menacing. Without uttering another word- to not get on her bad side because she had his balls in her hands- Hunter pulled up his leg to move on the other side, right on the edge.

“Good boy,” she purred and lifted a corner of her lip. Wrapping the rope around her arm, she got out of her Louboutins, feeling a lot more relaxed than before. “Now,” she sighed while cracking the knots in her neck, “let’s get started.”

Hunter never saw her foot coming to kick him right in his gut, pushing him back, nearly making him miss his footing, his instincts grabbing at the rope within seconds while a high pitched scream left his lungs that got mistaken for another howl wave downstairs.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He yelled at her. Unfortunately for him, no one downstairs could listen to his cries over the loud music reverberating throughout the house. The security was nowhere to be seen downstairs. Just a bunch of drunk bastards enjoying the booze and drugs.

“Where’s your boss?” she asked with a dead expression. No emotions reached her eyes as she held Hunter’s life in her hand her one foot resting on the glass while she watched the man cry tears of desperation.

“Where. Is. Your. Boss?”

“I ain’t telling you shi-”

Her fingers loosened the hold on the rope, making him scream and cry huge tears. “HE’S COMING TO TOWN THIS THURSDAY. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DON’T LET ME FALL. PLEASE I’LL GIVE YOU MONEY. I’LL GIVE YOU DRUGS. DON’T LET ME FALL OH MY GOD!!!”

“How many girls did you sell in your life, Hunter?”

He shook his head, hanging onto the roop around his neck with his dear life. “No, please no,” he whimpered repeatedly to the point all you could hear were squeals. After some time they were gone too.

“How many?”

“I...I *hic* I didn’t c-count af-after three hundred. I’m sorry. Please let me go.”

“Hmm,” she twitched her jaw while wrapping the rope around her arm again, reducing the distancing between them.

Hunter seemed to find his breaths back, his face swollen with all the crying and yelling. “Was your boss gonna buy the painting that was supposed to be stolen from the gallery?”

Hunter nodded. Those damn tears still didn’t stop. But now the tears were not the only thing leaking from his body.

“Do you know what I hate more than my periods?”

He didn’t ask. He was just trying not to puke his guts out.

“I hate the scums who get rich off other’s bodies. Do you know who that includes? Hmm? You do? You.”

The punch landed on his throat and the rope was dropped. Like a theatrical representation of Adagio for Violin and Orchestra in E major by Mozart, Hunter kept falling down, his hands still flailing in the air to catch hold of something, anything while she looked at the view till she was sure he was down in the pool, splashing the water everywhere. People hurled cheers and salutes while that man tried to catch hold of his senses for his life. She turned away, picked up her shoes, her fur, and her bag, and walked towards the open fireplace to dump the latter into the fire pit. The fire ate it up like a beast hungry for more. Walking away, she jumped over the railing to land on the edge of the estate, strutting straight into the forest barefoot, not stopping till a familiar SUV was visible at the road down the hill amongst multiple high-end cars parked in front of the mansion. The lights turned on the moment she came into view. The door was unlocked for her to climb in and sit in the front on the passenger side.

A security personnel ran by the car. “Hunter’s been attacked! Some bitch threw him off the roof. Code blue! Code blue! Everybody on the grounds now!” his walkie talkie crackled as he ran towards the mansion.

“This is NOT how we’re supposed to work!”

The street lights revealed the new handsome face and those black luscious hair on the driver’s side. Those blue eyes were clearly not impressed by your work, those hands already working around the wheel to make the engine come to life and get the hell out of here.

James Buchanan Barnes rode the car out like nobody’s business in the darkness of the night with one incredible ‘bitch who killed a man from the mafia’.

“Yeah, I brought my stealth suit for nothing,” Scott called out from the back.

The smile on those red lips broadened. With a yank of the hands, the luscious curls came off- revealing them to be a wig all this time- exposing the one who carried out the information extraction.

It was you. You were the ‘bitch’.

The lenses came off too. So did the acrylics.

“I’m just getting started, my darlings,” you stated.

“You should not have gone in alone. And what was this, a disguise?” He asked, pointed at everything that was not you.

“This, my guy-” you peeled off the false nose and cheek paddings- “was my way of cheating face recognition. You should try it sometimes too, Sergeant Barnes. You could’ve really used it when you killed those important faces in New York.”

Bucky was left speechless at the reveal. “Oh sweetheart, I do my homework. Just ‘cause I’m not on the other side with those so-called heroes I won’t do my research?”

“You must’ve been quite the college student,” Scott quipped.

“Top ten of my class,” you acknowledged, doing a hi-five with him without looking.

“I have to say, Barnes, I am disappointed that I didn’t get to see the Winter Soldier. Maybe on our next mission?”

Bucky could see from the corner of his eyes your tongue licking your lips in anticipation while checking him out without any filter. He could feel his hands tighten on the steering wheel. That gaze did something to him. Every. Single. Time.

“The Winter Soldier’s dead,” he commented, “along with all the evil he did,”

“Hmm,” you pouted, looking ahead at the road, “too bad. Would’ve have loved to take him on a ride. Summer in the streets-” you clicked your tongue- “winter in the sheets.”

“...I’m gonna put my earphones on,” Scott muttered and slid into his seat, away from whatever was going on between the two of you.

Bucky adjusted himself where he sat. “Wh-ahem- what are those tattoos on your...uhh skin?”

“Oh, these?” you were easily distracted, “these are just temporary inks. This one is my favourite opening from the anime Naruto. This is the name of the guy I had a crush on from the same anime. On my back are names of all the fav characters from One Piece with what I think is their Patronus.”

Silence.

She is a nerd. Bucky’s inner voice whacked him in the head. Speak for yourself, number one fan of Captain America.

“Now back to you,” you continued, “Mr back from the dead and evil.”

Come, on Buck! You are a ladies man! You should be all up in her business by now. What is wrong with you?!

“It’s okay,” your voice broke his anxious thoughts, “we won’t do anything against your will. I’m all for consent.”

You rested your cheek on the headrest while continuing to stare at him. “There is nothing sexier than having permission to do all the things you want me to do,” you declared softly.

And just like the teasing notes of the violin, the former winter soldier felt himself falling for the villain once again.