#and that's why dawn of the dreadfuls was better than the 'original'

[kanyniablue]

i actually think pride & prejudice & zombies would be a good concept if you cut out the mid 00's orientalism and really focused on the idea of a zombie non-apocalypse where society has changed to accommodate the threat but not actually collapsed

[deadsetobsessions]

Between the whole “clone trying to kill her original version” thing and the whole “trying to find herself after being freed from the millionaire fruit loop halfa” thing, Danielle “Ellie” Phantom figured that she’d fit right in with Gotham.

They’ve got shades, a concerning amount of undead, and the people there seem to have traumatic backstories galore. Perfect.

Danny might die again if she told him where she’s staying, though. So she won’t tell him!

Ellie touched down in an alley near the first bus stop into Gotham, returning to the visible spectrum and returning her intangibility. She wanted to explore everything, and where better to start than the entrance of Gotham?

She slips out of the alley, walking past the terrified looking tourists. Ellie ignores the smell of soot they gave off, attributing correctly that it came from the explosion she heard before she approached Gotham. The city, like any other major city, was littered with trash and odd bits of metal. There’s graffiti too, but less so than the sunnier cities. The clouds- and smog, because Ellie could smell it miles away from the city- that obscured the sky left the city in a chilling atmosphere. Hazy. Like, a graveyard at dawn. Perfect for someone like Ellie.

It’s so different from Amity, stone where she dreaded plaster, gloom and doom where she dreaded seeing sunshine she couldn’t reach. 

Ellie wandered, under bridges, and in between paths. She danced through shootouts, glides past brawls, laughs when pick pockets find their hands empty after bumping into her.

She gets a coffee and one of those delicious lemon bars, with Vlad’s money. Hers, now that Tucker’s gotten his hands on Vlad’s inner systems. The barista gives her a suspicious look, but she brings out her strongest midwestern accent and the look melts into exasperation. And pity, but Ellie doesn’t really care about that. She “ooh’s and ahh’s” at the grimy stone, the gothic inspired architecture that Sam would kill to experience, goggles at the boarded up buildings. There’s a cathedral or two or five, she doesn’t remember, but the pretty glass seems to be broken at most of them. She wonders what happened. Then she remembers that there are vigilantes here, and concludes that she has to remember to look up more often. A giant clock-tower. A district with less people and fancier homes. A university! She might apply after she’s done traveling around and have gotten her GED.

Her shoes pound the pavement, something about the effort it takes to take a step burns in her soul. Yes, this is what it means to be free. She kicks the knees of two would be robbers in as she passes them on her way to purchasing three bars of the best chocolates she’s had in her short existence.

The cashier looks at her like she’s odd. Oh, well.

And then night falls. Ancients, does the city truly come alive. There are screams and sirens and surges in ectoplasm that balances her essence of being out. Ellie, with a new pep in her step, follows the trail of ectoplasm right into an area called “Crime Alley.”

“It feels almost like… a haunt…?”

Ellie hums and keeps walking. Maybe this is the territory of one of the undead Gothamites…?

She’s got a bit of Danny’s saving people thing after all, because the three bars of candy on her is gone in minutes to children with hollow cheek and dead eyes. 



Ellie startles backwards as a body slams onto the pavement in front of her, barely missing the risen steps of the building they were in front of.

“Oh.” She says. Because this is one of the Undead. And he’s Red Hood. Danny is going to flip.

“Run- run, kid.”

Ellie tilts her head. “And why would I do that?”

“You’re gonna get hurt, brat!” The man barks, and winces as his ribs shuttered. The red helmet’s tinny voice doesn’t intimidate her nor does it hide the concern and fear bleeding into the guy’s body language.

“Not really?”

And with that, Ellie slams her elbow into Goon 1, knocking him straight into another building. Goon 2 tries to grab her and she phases out of his reach, floating upwards and slamming her fist into his face. He joins Goon 1 in decorating that building’s new mural, called the two dumbasses that picked a fight with a wandering Ellie.

Hood watches her, cradling his ribs.

“You a meta?” He grumbled at her, wheezing as she crouched down and poked his sides. He smacks her hand away.

Ellie, who has clearly spent too much time near Danny, replies, “Being dead is a medical condition.” without missing a single beat.

Hood, on the other hand, misses several beats.

“What?”

Ellie barrels on, amused at his fumble. “Did you know you died?”

Hood looks at her and Ellie swears she can see the dumbfounded expression.

Ellie laughs, free and sharp. Yes, Gotham is nothing like Amity.

[it-was-summer]

Video Killed the Radio Star- Tape #2 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: THIS CHAPTER FOCUSES MAINLY ON THE FIRST ENCOUNTERS WITH YOUR KIDNAPPER. I didn't put any warning before the scene starts, but the entire chapter is essentially that. So please keep that in mind. I changed a lot of this from the original version. I have grown okay? I saw inconsistency in my writing and I am trying to fix it. Thank you so much for everyone's kudos, notes, comments, reblogs, bookmarks, EVERYTHING! Please let me know what you think and enjoy.

Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist

Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star

Previous Chapter: Tape #1 > Next Chapter: Tape #3

WARNING: Kidnapping, morphine use, abuse, talks of death, and more. Remember you are not alone if you struggle with this content.

Tape Contents: The team starts to comb through your apartment. Meanwhile, you spend your time in a less fiery version of hell.

Word Count: 3,721

March 2, 20XX 

After recording the video, you were damn near catatonic. Your eyes were having a hard time pulling away from the corner of your living room, staring at the fading white paint as it met the trim. You tried to turn on the television for some sort of distraction, but every time you heard a sound a little too close for comfort, you would pause the screen and comb through your apartment like a mad woman. You had locked the windows, the door, hell, you even considered shoving a chair under the knob of the front door. 

You didn’t, though. Sitting in a silently lit room with your legs to your chest. You were trying to remember to breathe in the correct order: in, then out, out, then in. Every so often, your breathing would hitch, and you would start over again. You tried to find something to keep you grounded in the moment, a texture to rub your hands over, but the dread kept building. 

It kept building until it was two in the morning, and you couldn’t handle it anymore. 

You were turning off lights slowly, fingers lingering on the switches before you turned them off, dashing into your apartment’s bedroom and shutting the door behind you. Your body was moving as if it thought the darkness was going to kidnap you. Maybe it would, maybe that fate would be better than what the depths of your mind were producing as you found a light to plug into the wall. The old wall plug-in emitted just enough light in the room that you let yourself relax in the dark of your bedroom. 

When you called your mother earlier, she reassured you that the police were there for you, patrolling the neighborhood every weekend. You tried to tell her that their cars were dwindling, and now it seemed like only one was bothering to make the rounds, but she didn’t listen. One was enough for her, so why couldn’t it be enough for you? 

It was wrong to be angry with her, wrong to be angry with the police, wrong to be angry with yourself. The worst part was being angry with Adeline, the way she was trying so hard to be supportive despite her daughter dying of cancer. The guilt felt like a prod: scorching, agonizing, pushing its way into your chest, where it made its home near your heart. You didn’t want to be angry, not with her, not with anyone, but the feeling of isolation had you crying tears of frustration in your bed.

Maybe they were all right, maybe you were just being crazy. You would go into work tomorrow exhausted and weary, but alive. Everything would be fine. You told yourself this mantra over and over again as your tears slowed, your eyelids became heavy, and your breathing got deeper. Everything would be fine.

Dawn crept into your bedroom window. The sun had yet to rise, its glow just dim on the horizon. You couldn’t have been asleep for longer than two hours or so when you heard soft breathing. Your eyes were heavy and slow to open as you listened to the sound. 

Liquid bubbling with a soft ‘ glug’ sound had you stirring a little, eyes fighting you as you tried to open them and focus on the sound. As your body stirred, a hard hand grabbed your mouth, pressing down on your lips as your eyes snapped awake. The last thing you remembered was a gloved hand shoving a handkerchief to your face and the smell of ether before your world went dark. 

March 5, 20XX

Garcia was smiling. It didn’t take long for the field techs to bring back your computer adorned with pink and green sticky notes with passwords, notes, and to-do lists. She always liked a woman who had a plan and stuck to it. “This girl just made my job easier,” she chuckled softly as she logged into your computer with ease. “Not that it was ever hard, but it was sweet of her to help me out.” 

The whole thing seemed clear of any suspicious emails, apps, or spying devices. She frowned as she moved to your phone logs that she received earlier that day; the most recent call was from an unknown number. The voicemail that followed sent chills down her spine, the sound of sobs before the line went dead. She shared with the team her favorite member, actually, Derek, who was listening to her intensely over the phone while the rest of the team combed through your apartment. 

To say they felt a little shocked was an understatement. You were more prepared than you had let on. Each ‘gift’ was labeled and in baggies in the drawers of your desk. Emily was the first to see a folder in a nook of the desk; as she opened it, she was greeted with a picture of… herself. She let out a huff of a laugh as she started to pull out photos. Spencer, David, Derek, JJ, and Aaron. “She’s got everyone but Penelope.” She said, waving Spencer and Aaron over with a slight flick of her wrist. 

Spencer tilted his head at the blurry photo of himself on the desk, an amused look in his eyes as he read out loud, “‘Give this man a pair of glasses, now!’” He looked over at Hotch and spoke in a curious tone, “Do I really have the kind of face that tells everyone I need glasses?” 

Aaron looked up from his photo and gave Spencer a slight grin. "Do you want me to lie?” he asked, much to Spencer’s dismay. 

Emily spoke up, “At least yours says that she’s asking for my number on mine.” She turned the photo of herself over to them and pointed at the writing. She pointed to Hotch’s photo and grinned, “‘Give us a smile, baby’ is kind of funny, come on.” 

Hotch's frown deepened as he looked at the writing, “She was trying to have a sense of humor,” 

“A sense of humor in stressful situations could indicate that she approaches them in a light-hearted way, she’s optimistic. The type to never give up.” Reid spoke softly beside her. 

“It could also mean that she’s the kind of person who draws people in with her personality,” Prentiss suggested softly against Reid’s anecdote, “She’s easy to love.” 

She let her words sink into the air around them like a cloud, watching the gears turn in the minds of the two men near her. Her gears also started up as she set the picture back on the desk, leaning against the wood gently when her eye caught a glimpse of color on the floor. 

She maneuvered away from the desk and towards your nightstand, crouching down to the floor as she picked up a small beaded keychain off the floor. She smiled softly as she turned a beaded keychain over in her gloved hands, reading the words aloud, “‘or die.’” 

“What, like ride or die?” Hotch called over the question from the desk in the corner of your room. 

“The term ride or die was originally used as slang among bikers, but in recent years, it has been used in hip-hop culture and music,” Spencer said as he stared at the colorful beaded keychain in Emily’s hand. 

“Since when did you start listening to hip-hop music?” She asked with a laugh. 

Spencer smiled a little and shook his head, “I don’t,” 

“Then where did you hear the phrase ‘ride or die’?” 

“Derek has a ride or die,” 

“Who?” Hotch’s voice joined in curiously as his eyes flicked over towards the bedroom doorway, where Derek was standing, still on the phone with Garcia. 

Nonetheless, he was still listening in on their conversation as he pulled his head away from the phone a little and looked over his shoulder. “Garcia, obviously.” He said simply before bringing the phone back up to his ear. “Nothing, baby girl. We were just talking about you.” 

March 3, 2024

You assumed it was the next day, or at least the day you wanted it to be. Not that you wished for this day, but it being the next day meant you were still alive. Your eyes were slow to open as your fingers twitched, grazing against something suspiciously softer than your duvet. The question was alive where? 

Your eyes were catching glimpses of light, pink light. As you let your eyes focus a little more, you realize the whole room was pink, or the lighting made it seem that way. 

Your body felt… hot, like heat was spreading through your veins, making your head dizzy. You felt good. Then, it plateaued. 

Your body, sluggish as it was, moved slowly. You were trying to sit up but found your upper body strength failing to cooperate. Your elbows failed to provide much support, and you fell back on the soft duvet with a soft ‘oof.’  

Eventually, you managed to scoot your body back till your head hit a headboard… that, from this angle, you could see it was in the shape of a vibrant pink heart. Soon, your back was resting against the headboard. You went to move your leg to help achieve a more comfortable position when a sudden sharp pain cut through the heat in your veins. 

Your eyes traveled down your leg, grateful to see pajama pants covering your skin until you reached your bare foot. Your ankle was a horrible black and blue color. The bones looked swollen and deformed against the skin. You felt sick. 

Your body was moving fast to lean off the side of the bed as you felt your chest squeeze, your mouth opening to vomit off the side of the bed. As your broken ankle lay with you on the bed, your head hung slightly off the edge. You turned your head to see an IV stand next to the bed. When you followed the drip tube, you felt sick once more, seeing how it was professionally attached to the back of your hand. 

A whimper could be heard in the empty pink room as you wiped your lips clean with your non-IV hand and again sat up against the headboard. And you waited. Time seemed to be still in this place, moving at a sluggish pace that made your body twitch and buzz with anxiety.

There was no sunlight, just a hue of pink. A pink dresser, heart decor on the walls, plush heart-shaped pillows by your sides, and chains around your good ankle linked you to the heart-shaped bed, along with some other decor you didn’t care to look at for too long. It looked like a room straight out of a fever dream. You were still trying to determine if it was just that, a fever dream.

You swallowed thick spit roughly as your eyes stayed glued to the heavily locked door. You kept counting the locks, four. Your head tilted to the side as you tried to imagine your kidnapper coming in, how many clicks you would hear, the turning of locks, or the jingle of how many keys. How many keys would it take for you to get out of here? 

Unfortunately, you would know the answer soon as the sound of keys jingling hit your ears. One. You didn’t know if you should start screaming. Would they be angry with you if you started to scream? 

Two. Your breathing was getting faster, coming in short, shaky bursts. Your eyes looked down at your chained ankle and then toward your broken one. Would you even be able to move? The morphine was making it hard anyway. What would it be like to walk or run with the full pain of a broken ankle coursing through you? How would you even get unchained from the bed?

Three. You were trying to remember everything you had read about true crime, but none of it seemed helpful now. Did you beg for your life? Should you tell them about your family? Would they care about any of it? Were they going to kill you or scar you in ways you could never imagine? You knew that there were fates worse than death. At least dying carried some dignity. 

Four. You tried to steady your breathing and convince yourself that you still stood a chance of getting out of here alive. You scooted your body against the headboard as much as possible, trying to get the greatest amount of distance from the door you could, given the circumstances. 

The door was creaking open with a gentle turn of the knob. A flash of white light filled the room before it was ripped away from your line of sight, and the door was shut again. The person –a woman– was holding a small tray in her hands. You were blinking rapidly as you stared at the tray, a pain in your stomach making you realize how hungry you were. 

Slowly, your eyes tore away from the tray and up to her face—a very familiar face, but one you could quite place. Pretty blonde hair, curls framing her face, her full lips drawn into a pleased smile. When your eyes met her pale blue ones, you could see nothing but… empathy. No, it wasn’t that. It seemed to be adoration. She was wearing a pair of scrubs, fun scrubs, little rainbows, and animals sprawling across the material as she walked over to you. 

Maybe she was an accomplice, a wife, a girlfriend, or a sister who got caught up in this. The thought made the muscles straining in your back relax a little as she set the tray down on a nearby side table. Your eyes never left her as she moved gracefully through the room. 

“Oh, sweetie,” Her voice was saccharine, “Did the morphine make you sick?” She asked with a light tilt of her head, turning on her heel toward the dresser to pull out a small towel. “That’s okay, it's a common side effect.”  

You gave a numb nod as you watched her get down to the floor and clean up the vomit without complaint. “I didn’t mean to,” Your voice was hoarse and weak, sounding slightly childish as you spoke out the weak excuse. 

She stood up, walked the towel to the hamper, and tossed the pink rag in with a little laugh: “No one ever means to, baby.” She sounded familiar, too. Your eyes traced over her fit frame, which you could barely make out from under her scrubs. “Let’s get you eating,” She said as she let out a soft hum of relaxation, sitting in a nearby plush chair. 

As she buttered some bread, you eyed the rest of the food on the tray: soup in a plastic bowl, water in a plastic bottle, and a plastic cup for the butter. The silverware was the only thing on the tray that didn’t seem to be plastic. 

You glanced away from the food and back to the familiar woman. “If someone is making you do this, a boyfriend or husband or something, you don’t have to do this. Yo-You and I, we could plan a way to fight back,” you offered, your voice soft and quick. Hope was creeping into you as she listened to you speak, the butterknife scraping gently against the bread in her hands. 

“Well, for starters,” she set down the butterknife and bread, crossing her legs over each other. “My husband doesn’t know a thing about you. As for brothers or boyfriends, I’m afraid you're out of luck there, too. There’s only me, Catherine.” 

You felt the hope draining out of you, and she must’ve seen it in how your shoulders tensed and breathing quickened, “Oh, I knew you were going to have a hard time remembering me, but I didn’t think it would be that hard.” Then it all clicked. 

She grew up well, Heather did. Back in college, she was shy and slightly intense, a shell compared to the woman sitting beside you. She started as a botany major and then suddenly changed universities, her major, and you never saw her again. You could dimly remember seeing her in the dining hall that first month of college, and you were overzealous. Sometimes, to make friends, if you saw someone lost and looking for a table, you’d offer them an empty seat at your table. Heather was one of those cases. Your act of optimistic kindness seemed to haunt you as you stared at her. 

“Heather Alexander,” 

She beamed and clapped her hands together excitedly, “You remembered! I knew you would. I’d expect nothing less from you, my Catherine.” She sighed happily, reaching over for the spoon and bowl of soup. 

“My name isn’t Catherine, you know that.” Your voice had a certain sternness now, hardening as you remembered inviting this monster into your life all those years ago. 

Heather scoffed a little and rolled her eyes, “Duh,” she said as she spooned some of the tomato soup and held it up to your lips, “Open.” 

As you stared at the spoon, you didn’t feel hungry anymore, but your lips moved against your will. You needed your strength. Your lips closed around the spoon gently as she fed you the soup. The steps repeated themselves slowly, your eyes staring her down. 

“I didn’t mean to get so physical with our little game, but I just,” She laughed a sweet sound, the dull pain thumping against your ankle as you heard the sound. “I couldn’t help myself, I guess. I hate playing cat and mouse. I was a little impatient.” She set down the empty bowl and spoon with a smile. “Come on, don’t be angry with me.” 

“You can still let me go. It’s only my ankle. You can take care of me at the hospital. That’s where you work, right? We can tell everyone that you found me in an alleyway or something. I won’t tell anyone.” 

“Catherine, do you think I’m stupid?” she asked with a frown, venom in her voice, as she reached for the bottled water. “I know that the second the police get you in a room alone, without me, you’ll tell them everything.” 

“My name isn’t Catherine,” 

“I mean, come on! I work in pediatrics, for Christ's sake! Do you think trauma will let me stay to take care of you? Use your head, Catherine! No, they won’t.”

“My name is not Catherine,” 

Her eyes quickly met yours, the softness they once had now gone as she swallowed hard, “That must be it, then. You think that I’m that fucking stupid, hm? You think I went to fucking, nursing school just for some librarian to call me stupid?”  

“I didn’t say that, Heather. I’m just saying there’s a way out of this before it gets worse. The worst that can happen is-” 

“The worst that can happen, Catherine, is I lose my license. I get arrested. I never see you again. My shit husband could,” She cut herself off and let out a frustrated sound, throwing the bottle of water at you, the bottle hitting your side harshly. 

“Name’s not Catherine,” You replied once more as your hands grabbed at the water, tucking it behind your back, trying to hide it from Heather as her face buried in her hands. 

“Shut the fuck up about the name thing! You don’t fucking get it do you?” She screamed into her hands before she pulled her head away from them and stood up from her chair. She grabbed the plastic bowl and threw the dirty dish at your head. 

You almost felt like deliriously laughing as the plastic hit your head with a soft ‘thud,’ but you didn’t. Your face managed to stay straight as you looked up at her. “You’re who I say you are. You got my gifts, the novels. You’re my Catherine, my Emma, my Jane. Get that through your,” she picked up the butterknife and threw it toward your chest. “Stupid,” Then the tray was lifted in her hands, and your body braced for the impact, but it never came. 

You squeezed your eyes together as you waited for the tray to hit you. Slowly, you opened one eye to look up at her, staring down at you with the tray still above her head. Her hands slowly dropped down as she held onto the tray. A slow smile came back to her face now: “Catherine, you know I love you.” 

“You have a funny way of showing it, Heather.” 

Her smile twitched a little at that, and she scoffed softly before walking closer to you. Her hands were quick to grab the butterknife in your lap. She jammed the silverware into your sternum, a gasp leaving you as she did so. 

“You’ve got a big mouth on you, Emma.” Her face was inches from yours as she jammed the handle of the butterknife deeper into your chest, your own hands reaching up to try and pull her off. 

She was breathing heavily, your breath hitching as fear flooded your senses as she leaned in closer toward your face. The look in her eyes told you everything you needed to know. If it's up to her, which it currently was, you weren’t getting out. Her lips were close to your quivering ones as her force lightened softly, “Think about this next time you decide to talk back, Emma.” Her lips brushed yours slightly as she spoke, you nodded quickly. 

Then she pulled away and gathered her utensils before she gave you another sweet smile, “See you tomorrow, my love.” She said in an airy tone as she reached over to the morphine drip and upped the intake with a quick flick of her wrist. The sound of keys jingling against each other filled your ears as she did so. The door opened quickly, and she walked out of the room, locks clicking swiftly. 

And just like that, you were alone again. You felt your bottom lip shake softly before tears started to fall from your eyes, your hands reaching behind your back as you cried. When your hands found the water bottle, you drank it slowly, tears falling down your face, and a dull and sharp pain in your chest slowly fading.

TAG LIST: @babyspiderling @cocobean16 @kodzukenie333

[spiritlion]

Touching My Hand in a Darkened Room

A/N: Well not the piece I was originally working on but hey can’t help a little inspiration. I seriously couldn’t get the art of Hot Rod and Unicron out of my head and the psychological damage it had on him. This more so a glimpse at it more so then anything. I know I know it’s angst but it’s soft angst I guess with cuddles and comfort. Hopefully you enjoy it @archie-sunshine ✨ also it can be found on ao3 for my more particular readers

WC: 1.2k

CW: Slight angst, night terrors, a bit hurt-comfort, ptsd (implications of it at least)

~~~~~

Drift awoke in the night in a cold sweat, his breathing heavy as he pushed himself upward in bed. His heartbeat was thrumming in his ears as he tried to collect his thoughts; as his eyes adjusted to the still-dark room a feeling of dread overcame him. He didn’t know what prompted him to wake up so suddenly when he had been sleeping so soundlessly before that.

Running a hand over his face Drift grimaced at the slickness of his own sweat. Pushing a hand through his unruly bedhead, his gaze turned downward to Ratchet who was watching him confused but alert where he lay. 

“What’s wrong?” His words are soft but firm. 

Drift looked down as he clenched his fists sighing deeply. “I don’t know I wasn't dreaming or anything, I just woke up in a state of shock and perhaps unease.” He pondered as his brows pinched together. 

“It’s been a while since you woke up in distress.” His conjunx added.

“The last time this happened Rodimus was having night terrors…” Drift trailed off realization dawning on him as he quickly tried to get out of bed only to trip and fall face-first into the floor. 

“Primus, Drift are you alright?” Drift groaned as he listened to the ruffling of sheets before being turned over on his back. 

Ratchet was staring down at him with concern as he checked over his state. He groaned “I think so my feet got caught in the sheets.” 

Ratchet sighed as he helped untangle his husband from the clutches of their bed. “Why were we in such a hurry anyway?” 

“Rodimus. Night terrors. Me waking up out of the blue like that he must be having another episode tonight.” 

He could see the realization click in Ratchet’s eyes as he sighed again before helping Drift to his feet. This close to Ratchet he could see the worry in his usually stern face which he knew was just a mold from centuries of war and tragedy. Drift hummed as he leaned down kissing his brow feeling it soften at his touch. 

“Megatron and Minimus are away so I’ll slip over and check on him. You can go back to bed if you want.” 

Ratchet fixed the robe he wore shaking his head. “No, I’ll join you. Primus knows I won’t fall back asleep without you at this point. Besides Rodimus’ bed is way better than ours will ever be.”

A snort let his lips as he grabbed for Ratchet’s hand the healer wasn’t wrong Rodimus’s bed was big enough to fit the three of them plus maybe three more. Drift watched as Ratchet blew out the candle he had lit and then walked them towards the door. The old wood squealed on its hinges as it opened, alerting the nearby guards who quickly went back to minding their own business.

He recognized one of them as Riptide but the other person he didn’t know then again Drift hadn’t met all the new members of the castle’s staff either. Walking past them both Drift and Ratchet quickly made their way to the end of the hall where Rodimus’ room was. Opening the door as quietly as possible they slipped inside the dark room. 

Drift didn’t need any light to see he knew the layout of the large room like the back of his hand. He quickly made a beeline for the bed. A quiet whimper hit his sensitive ears as he climbed into the large bed but no one was in it. Looking over his shoulder he could make the outline of Ratchet who titled his head in what he assumed was confusion. “I’ll check on the other side.” Drift continued to watch with curiosity at what his husband was doing. 

He listened as Ratchet shuffled about the room, his steps heavier than his own as the moving outline stopped opposite of where he was now. He observed as Ratchet got down onto the floor and Drift quickly grasped what he was doing and followed suit he lifted the duvet cover and peered inside to see his lover curled in on himself. 

“Roddy? Are you okay?” 

A sniffle came from the young lord as Drift heard Ratchet grumble before he heard shuffling. “Come on kid, let's get you out of there.” 

“Ratchet, what are you doing?” Drift questioned as he got up climbing into the bed to watch. 

“What does it look like? I’m trying to get him out!” He grunted, hauling the young lord into his arms. 

“Could you light a candle?” Getting off the bed Drift shifted through the nightstand and found a pack of matches. Quickly grabbing the candle on the table he lit it illuminating the room in a soft glow. 

Turning back, Drift watched as Ratchet laid Rodimus on the bed and his face was turned away from him. Though from the expression on Ratchet’s face, he knew whatever state Rodimus was in wasn’t great. 

The war was horrifying for everyone in different ways and they each copied differently. Rodimus didn’t talk much about what happened that day when Unicron invaded. Drift knew it was the cause of many of his night terrors in the past. Placing a hand on his shoulder he felt the trembles rolling off of him as he gently turned him onto his back so he could his face. Rodimus’ face was blank looking but his eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion. Brushing back his red hair Drift bit his lip as he shared another worried look with Ratchet. 

A soft sigh left Ratchet as he spoke. “Come on kid talk to us, we can't help you if you don’t tell us what you need.” 

Rodimus’ eyes shifted towards his voice and Ratchet grinned before reaching for his hand squeezing it. Hesitant at first but relaxing under Ratchet’s reassuring gaze Rodimus returned the squeeze. “Stay with me?” The uncertainty in his voice had Drift’s stomach twisting as he glanced down at him. 

“Of course we will starshine.” He promised as Rodimus glanced at him and nodded.  

“Alright, I’m going to move you so I can get into the bed as well okay?” Ratchet chimed in, making Drift meet his gaze again as Rodimus nodded his approval and Ratchet pushed him back until his arm hit Drift’s knees. 

Flopping onto the bed next to them Ratchet let out a sigh before rolling onto his side as he propped his head in his hand and leaned over watching their lord. “Drift, dear, would you gather the blankets and actually join us? Rodimus needs all the comfort he can get right now.” 

Drift didn’t hesitate as he collected the strewn about sheets and comforter and put them back in order. He didn’t bother with all the extra pillows that usually lined the empty spaces in the bed and scooted over to them. 

Settling into the plush mattress Drift snuck in behind Rodimus who was huddled into Ratchet’s chest. “Roddy? Can I touch you?” He whispered hopeful. 

A grunt was the only indication he needed as he carefully laid his arm over his body and brushed his fingers against Ratchet’s hand. The elf peeked his eye open before closing it and entwined their fingers. 

“Blow out the candle will you?” 

Drift groaned at having to get up again but he did anyway pushing the blankets off of himself he leaned over them both and blew out the candle shrouding them back into darkness. “Satisfied?” 

“Always.” A snort from Rodimus had Drift gasping dramatically. “You are influencing him Ratty.” 

“Good, now lay down I’m exhausted.” 

Drift laughed to himself. “Coming my love.”

[wlwaerith]

wheres the essay u coward

@veshialles @margaritalaux-antille since u both asked as well :3c

so, a big part of why the mage origin will always be my favourite is because of how creepy kinloch hold is, and the fact that it’s the only opportunity you get (excluding witch hunt) to explore the lowest recesses of the tower, which is imo the creepiest part of it.

i think a big part of this creepy factor is the way that the tower is kind of deceptive. on the surface level, yeah, it’s bad — there are no windows until you get to the very top, it’s quite cramped, you get this feeling of being packed in like cattle — but that’s not really the worst of it. you have a huge library spanning two floors! you are surrounded by people who seem friendly! (mages. this refers to mages.)

but then you look a little closer and see the piles of dirt in the corner, the squalor the mages live in (because the dorms that the apprentices in particular stay in are disgusting). the way that the harrowed enchanters’ quarters do not afford you any privacy. you have ,, maybe a wall to separate yourself from the open door (iirc some rooms where mages sleep don’t even have doors) and your roommates. it’s this absence of privacy, or perhaps denial is a better word, that makes you start to realise that oh. okay. these people aren’t treated or even seen as people, are they.

then this factors in with the location of the tower. the conditions are bad. you have essentially the magic police leering over you at all times. you aren’t allowed outside unless you have unique privileges and exceptions (fresh air is a privilege. a privilege.) and the only windows are so high up that to attempt to climb or jump from them is suicide. and then there is the fact that you’re on the middle of the lake and the only way back is a boat (which is always on the other side. you are not taught how to swim), and the boat is guarded by a templar — the ones who are always looking for an excuse to put you down like the animals they think you are. and it dawns on you how utterly cut off and isolated you are. and that’s still not the worst of it.

enter the lower levels, specifically the roundabout back way you have to take to get to the repository. there are discarded garments rotting away in cells and i’m pretty sure one cell has a bloodstain on the floor or the wall, if memory serves. there are sectioned-off rooms full of deepstalkers that look alarmingly like makeshift laboratories. which makes you wonder what the hell they’re getting up to down there. this is where your eyes get ripped open if you weren’t already freaked out and you realise that there is something very, very wrong with the tower.

then there’s the matter of the veil, which is so thin that it’s easily ripped open, subjecting the mages within to these horrific transformations. it makes you wonder if it was deliberate, if it was set up this way in the hopes that the veil would be torn so there would be an excuse to kill all the mages. greagoir, for one, seemed all too keen to put them down during the broken circle quest. this is kind of partnered with the way that less skilled mages seem to be manipulated from the sidelines (i.e. jowan) into resorting to blood magic so that they can be removed rather than trained. one less mage, as it were.

on the surface, it seems a little ick at worst, and generally not at all terrible given that irving seems to care about amell/surana at least. but then you take all of this into consideration and you realise it’s very dog-eat-dog, because when you grow accustomed to existing in a space where your so-called “protectors” are also your jailers who are always waiting for an opportunity to get rid of you, what creeping dread you may have felt beforehand begins to morph into horror.

[lizisshortforlizard]

Living Dangerously - Chapter 30

Jurassic Park’s animal handlers: none of them ever mentioned by name in Michael Crichton’s original novel. Who were they? What were their lives like on Isla Nublar? Did any of them survive the disaster?

A year in the life of those responsible for the care of the dinosaurs. Many people would kill to have their jobs.

But would they die for it?

Jurassic Park novel/Jurassic Park film (1993)

Viewpoint: 3rd person female oc

Warnings: some swears, harassment and misogyny in the workplace

Tagging: @heresthefanfiction @ocappreciation @wordspin-shares @howlingmadlady @arrthurpendragon @themaradwrites @starryeyes2000 @kmc1989 (please lmk if you would like informed of my sporadic updates)

Read on Ao3

Chapter 29 | Chapter 31

I Hate Myself for Loving You - Joan Jett & The Blackhearts

It turned out be a different sort of sleepless night to what Lizzy had been hoping for.

The wrong kind. 

She had lain awake for what few hours remained until morning, tossing, turning, occasionally weeping. Any sleep she managed to grasp was fitful, feeling like it only lasted a few seconds at a time.

She kept replaying what had happened in the clearing, each time a little more painful. Wondering how she could have behaved differently. How it could have turned out better than this unbearable limbo in which she didn't know where she stood anymore. Whether she'd just forever destroyed one of the best professional relationships she'd ever had. 

It was all her fault, of course it was.

Why did she keep doing this? It felt eerily similar to the last time she’d engaged without thinking of the consequences. It had nearly ruined someone else’s life back then, as well as her own. History was repeating itself, and she only had herself to blame. 

And now, once again, she had to live with the uncomfortable reality. She’d argue that it clearly wasn’t taking advantage from either side, in fact Lizzy would be bold enough to say they were both very much in agreement. But InGen’s legal department probably wouldn’t see it the same way. 

Admit it, girl. You fucked up. 

Dawn came, and she finally forced herself to get out of bed and pretend to be human. She should be looking forward to going out into the park again and seeing her animals, now that she wasn’t alone and it was relatively safe to do so, but she was dreading it. Unsure what she’d do when she inevitably bumped into Muldoon again.

Pretend it never happened or meet him head on? 

I don’t think I have it in me this time. 

She was in the canteen, laying low, listlessly poking at her scrambled eggs with a fork. Lizzy had cooked them herself, but they were far from her usual standard and didn't taste of anything other than disappointment. 

She heard the familiar Jeep engine outside, and the shower of gravel as it ground to a halt. Lizzy shrunk down in her chair, staring at her plate in dread. 

I’m better at breakfast.

Be the one to wake me up in the morning.

God, why did I do it?

At least the coffee was worth leaving her room for. 

It was the first thing Muldoon noticed as soon as he walked in. She hadn’t brought one over for him, like she usually did. Message received, loud and clear.

The one small act she did for him almost every day, and he hadn’t even appreciated it properly until it had stopped. That was enough to get him to talk first. Armstrong did something when she made coffee. Invoked a higher power. Witchcraft. Somehow she always got it exactly right.

This wouldn’t do at all.

“Good morning.”

“It is?” She replied dully, glancing up with red-rimmed eyes. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“You’re late for work.” He pointed out. “How are you doing?”

“Well, that’s a kick in the teeth.” She muttered. “But, if you’re genuinely asking? Annoyed. No, that’s not right. Vexed? Hm. Frustrated. Mostly at myself.” 

“Armstrong-“ Muldoon awkwardly stood in front of her. “I probably owe you an explanation.”

“No need. I thought you made it pretty clear, actually.” She felt the sting of rejection anew. It was more painful than she’d reckoned to talk about it. “You don’t owe me squat.”

“I could have handled things better.” He pulled out a chair to sit opposite her. “It all happened rather quickly.” 

“You were handling things just fine.” Lizzy gave up on her eggs, pushing her plate away before sitting back and folding her arms. “What changed?”  What exactly had changed? It was hard to explain, but what it came down to was-

“Too fast." 

She blinked, confused. ”Say again?”

Muldoon wished more than anything that Baker was around to keep him on the right track, guide him with what to say. 

”…moving too fast.”

”Well, thanks for the clarification.” Lizzy replied dryly. “And that’s…bad?”

It was, it didn’t feel right, to be suddenly rushing matters in the dark. Outside…fair enough, but in the back of a bloody Jeep?! 

Or maybe on the bonnet of his Jeep-

No, stop that. 

He wasn’t sure quite what had happened, but he’d forgotten his responsibilities. Keep her safe. And risking her career for the sake of one night together did not fall into that bracket. No matter how strongly he felt.  How he felt didn’t matter. Hadn’t mattered for a long time. 

“Don’t want one and done.” He tried to explain, despite the relentless stare from the other side of the table. “Can’t do it.”

Not with her. Everything or nothing at all. Anything else would never be enough. He was trying to voice that sentiment out loud, but he didn’t have the words. He barely had the syllables.

“It’s not right, either. We already knew that.“ Muldoon gave up. She’d have to trust him, he was doing his best. If she could still trust him. ”Does that help, at all?”

“Yes…” Then her face crumpled.

He looked at her closely. ”Are you lying to me?”

”Yes!” It all came pouring out in a high-pitched hurry. “You’ve been mad at me before and I’ve understood why. But, after, and when we were driving back-…I couldn’t read you, at all!”

Lizzy put her head in her hands and mumbled something beyond his range of hearing.

She thought he was angry with her? That’s what she was most upset about?

Muldoon reached out and gently but firmly pulled her hand away from her mouth.

”Again, please.” 

”…really thought I’d lost you.” She whispered. 

“Well, you certainly have a flair for the dramatic, Lizzy.” He kept hold of her hand, she let him.

”Are you implying I’m overreacting?” She choked out. “Because women love that.”

”To be clear, I’m not mad at you. I’ve never once been mad at you.”

”Are you sure?”

“Positive. Annoyed, maybe. Vexed? Once or twice.” Lizzy groaned when she realised what he was doing. “Frustrated…you get the idea.”

”Oh, that’s not fair.” She muttered. 

“But I’d find it very hard to live with, if you were dismissed because of something I did. Or might possibly do, if we were to, er-…” He looked uncomfortable. “-you know.”

"Suppose that’s a good point. Damn you for being so rational. I love my job.” She glanced up. “The people, eh...."

"Indeed, people are awful. Most people, at any rate." He quietly agreed. "This island would be bloody idyllic if we weren't going to be overrun by guests in a few short months.”

“So, where do we go from here?” Lizzy was already dreading the answer.

“I don’t think…we are going anywhere. You and I-" Muldoon looked resigned. "-have to carry on as before.”

“Like nothing ever happened?”

”I’m afraid so. Strictly professional.”

“But that’s not what I want.” May as well say it. 

“Nor me.” Lizzy wondered if him tracing circles on the back of her hand was conscious or otherwise. “But it’s what we have to do.”

Sobriety would be a distant memory if he was responsible for ruining her career.

“Still the funniest story I’ve ever heard.” She muttered after a few moments, breaking the tension.

“Good.” Her laugh. That ridiculous laugh that he couldn’t stop thinking about. “That’ll keep me going for a while.”

Lizzy nodded and managed a wonky smile. She felt like crying again, it seemed horribly like saying a goodbye. "We'll be okay, right?"

"I don't even want to imagine the alternative."

This is the right choice. This is the right choice. This is the right choice.

Doesn't feel right. Feels bloody awful. 

Lizzy tilted her head, pushing her body towards him, her candour returning. “Did you like it, though?” 

”Excuse me?” He had to have misheard, but the mischief in her expression was telling him otherwise.

”You heard. Did you-“

A noise from the doorway startled them both. Muldoon dropped her hand quick as a flash, Lizzy tried not to let her face fall in dismay. 

Kathy Baker was clattering into the canteen, struggling yet again with her bag, which looked even heavier than when she’d left before Christmas. 

“Found you, finally!” Kathy called and waved. "Oh, hey, you came back early! What gives?"

“Nothing.” In a role reversal, Muldoon quickly answered for them both, while Lizzy was the one who baulked.

“O-kay…jeez, answer faster.” Kathy gave up on her bag and abandoned it at the door, clumping over to their table, still in her winter boots. “Girl, before you ask, yes, I got the goods. Here, you’re welcome.”

She passed Lizzy a box of liquorice which was met with a pleased but slightly frantic ‘ooh!’. 

“Have you been crying?” Kathy asked her matter-of-factly. 

“Just allergies.” Lizzy sniffed and wiped her eyes, looking at the floor. 

“Uh-huh...” Kathy darted a quick glance at Muldoon, before drumming her recently manicured nails on the back of a chair, building up. "This is kinda perfect actually. I wanted to tell you two first out of everyone, obviously, but not over the phone. I, uh...I have some news."

The way she was avoiding eye contact with both of them, Lizzy could guess what it was. She quickly forced a smile. "You got the job?"

"Yeah, I got the job..." Kathy tried her best to look dismayed, before the grin burst through and she bounced on her tiptoes. "Guys, I got the job!"

Lizzy scrambled up to congratulate, quelling the geyser of rage, dread and panic that was bubbling up inside, feigning happiness for her friend. “What’d I tell you? You’re incredible!”

”I know, I’m kind of a big deal!” Kathy giggled, squeezing her tight. “First woman to ever hold the post in the history of the Smithsonian! I’m gonna have an office! I don’t have to work weekends anymore! I’m gonna have a life!”

“Alright for some.” Muldoon wasn’t so enthused. 

Kathy broke away from Lizzy, hands on her hips. “Go on then, let me have it.” 

"Well done. Knew you’d get it."

Lizzy shook her head. Damn man was proud as Hell, just doing his stubborn best not to show it. 

“It’s not the end of the world, I’ll be here for a while, until you can find my replacement.” Kathy pointed down at the top of Lizzy’s head and stage whispered pick her. 

“How long have I got?”

”Until August. “I can hang in there until August, right? What could go wrong before then?” Kathy laughed nervously then abruptly stopped at the alarmed look they both gave her. 

“Plenty.” Muldoon huffed.

Lizzy agreed with him. ”Best not to answer that.”

***

Kathy wasn’t the only one who brought Lizzy dessert as a souvenir on their return. 

Rico, the youngest but not least talented member the Carnivore Team was making his way towards her brandishing a Paupério tin that was far too dented and discoloured to be new. This looked promising unless, God forbid, it turned out to contain a sewing kit. Lizzy had been burned before. 

“For you!” He was calling to her as he jogged along.

Her face lit up at the sight. “That looks homemade, boy. Tell me it’s homemade.”

Rico caught up, handing her the tin. “From my mama, for you.”

“You really didn’t have to…” Lizzy tried to remain polite though she was dying to rip the lid off and tuck in. Dinner time was still achingly far away.

“Yes I did. She made me swear I wouldn’t touch any.” 

Have you been making friends, niño?

I have, at least one.

The strange Scottish lady was always nice to him, even if she was scarily forthright at times, and it had taken Rico a couple of weeks to figure out that she used certain rude words not as insults, but as terms of endearment.

“I’ve got good cigarros too if you want one, but don’t tell mama about those.” He tapped the side of his nose.

“Have you done something bad?” Lizzy asked warily. “I’m not being funny, but this is too much-“

“It’s just a thank you. You look out for me.” Rico said simply. “It was rough, at the start, but you wouldn’t let me stay in my room alone. I hated it at first, when you dragged me out all the time, but I know why you did it.”

His shoulders drooped. “When I can’t remember the word for something, you don’t make fun of me. The other guys still do, sometimes.”

Lizzy hadn’t really thought about it before. But he was around the same age as her brothers. And it was true, his English hadn’t been the best at the beginning. She knew all to well what it was like to be the outsider, not being confident to chip in when everyone else spoke a different language to you. She hadn’t wanted the youngest member of the team to feel left out or worthless.  The boy was good. Not long left school and already working for InGen? He was going places.

Rico was somewhat of a phenomenon. He was quiet and thoughtful, introverted, but he had a way with the dinosaurs that Lizzy was envious of. Even the most timid of creatures could be coaxed forward by Rico. He was just good at it. Something about how he spoke to them, how he moved, he had a calming influence. 

People had their favourite animals, and the reverse was equally true. The dinosaurs just liked him, most were comfortable being around him.

It had made other people jealous, some who weren’t as happy to just shut up and deal with it as Lizzy was. She had even considered asking Muldoon if Rico could become a handler for the infant raptor. He would be good for her, she was certain.

“It’s just banter.” She reassured. That was true enough, but one or two of the guys had a bad habit of pushing it into cruel territory. Words needed to be had. “Although Tom really is an arse. Don’t ever listen to him.”

She resisted the urge to ruffle Rico’s hair, like an unbearable aunt. He’s a grown man. He’s taller than you.

But he had such a baby face she couldn’t help but want to look after him. Maybe it was guilt. She missed her brothers by far the most out of all her siblings. It had been so long since she’d seen them.

“What would I do without you, kid?” She glanced down at the tin gratefully. “And your mother’s baking. Seriously, she could sell these.”

“You won’t ever find out.” He sidled closer, looking like he was getting ready to tell her a secret. “Listen, I want to see Africa. The Africa you and the boss talk about. See a wild elephant.”

“All these dinosaurs right here and you want to see an elephant?” She couldn’t help but smile. 

He laughed. “A wild elephant. Just promise you’ll take me along, next time you go, yes?”

”Sure. I might know somebody who could give you the tour.” Unable to resist any longer, Lizzy started breaking open the tin and she nearly teared up at how delicious the contents smelled. “Oh my God. Can you bring your mum too?”

He seemed to seriously consider it before nodding. “I’ll ask her?”

***

“Hey!" Later that day Kathy sneaked up behind her and tapped Lizzy on the shoulder. “Got a bone to pick with you.”

The old reliable Baker intuition was yelling loudly in her head, yet again. Niggling in her thoughts for several days. She couldn’t ignore it any longer. Kathy pointed a finger in accusation at her friend and cried triumphantly:

”You got laid!”

“What?!” Lizzy's eyes darted back and forth. "Shhhh!"

"You did!" Kathy gasped. "Oh my God, you did!"

”I did not!” Lizzy made a grab for her friend, trying to clamp a hand over her mouth, something, anything to stop her. “What the Hell, Kathy?”

“You’re, I dunno-“ The Team Leader wriggled free and shrugged, unconvinced. “-different?”

“Yeah, well. You’re wrong. Nothing happened at New Year.” Lizzy insisted. “Ro-uh…Muldoon and I went out for a drive, that was all.”

The at least partly true white lie that both of them had discussed and agreed on together.

“Who said anything about New Year?” Kathy raised an eyebrow.  “You…did?” Lizzy stalled helplessly. 

“I didn’t mention Muldoon, either. That’s where your mind went though, huh?”

”Er-“ Lizzy started to panic. 

”He came back early, to check you were okay, you were all alone here for a whole night and- oh, don’t give me that look! And ‘nothing happened’?” Kathy was still sceptical. “Yeah, right!”

She recalled the moment she had first suspected things may have changed between them. She peeked through the window just before she’d entered the canteen, nearly screamed in exhilaration and then saw how quickly Muldoon dropped Lizzy’s hand when he heard the door opening. Like a hot potato. Her heart had dropped just as quickly, and she caught the noise ready to burst forth from her throat in the nick of time.

Whatever had been going on, she clearly wasn’t meant to see. “Cross my heart.”

”Really? Nothing?” Kathy was still crestfallen. “You finally had the island to yourselves, and nothing at all?”

Lizzy considered how he had made her laugh harder than she had laughed in a long time, maybe even in her whole life. A moment that regardless of whatever happened between them now, she’d likely remember until the end of her days. 

Kathy was looking at her expectantly, while Lizzy’s memory was a mile or so away, in her favourite place in the park, with the stars above and the Rex rumbling away like a purring cat as the fire crackled.

”Well, not exactly nothing at all.” Lizzy’s mouth finally curved into a smile. “But if I told you, you’d probably never believe me.”

***

”Regis, why is my Jeep boxed in?”

”Uh…sorry Muldoon, I’m losing you-crrrhhhsshshhh.” The group of animal handlers all saw Ed discretely switch his radio off with a loud click. 

A couple of weeks into January, New Year a distant memory, but Lizzy’s stomach still flipped whenever she heard the park warden’s voice. Carrying on as normal was working, for the most part. But she couldn’t simply forget and move on. Feelings don’t just go away, you only adapt to get better at dealing with them over time. If you’re lucky.

Fortunately, a welcome distraction was in progress. Preparations were underway for an official event on the island. The front of the visitor centre was positively bustling. 

"Thought they weren't opening the park until the autumn?" Lizzy critically eyed the deliveries that were turning up left, right and centre. The  supply boat that morning had been sitting much lower in the water than usual.

"These are investors, idiot. They aren't guests. They need to see we’ve made good use of their money, so that they give us more!" Tom flicked her ear for emphasis, causing Lizzy to take a swipe at him, which he dodged easily. "Or we’re screwed. So Eddie’s gotta get his nose right in there."

"I don’t think they’ve ordered enough stuff.” When she turned back to look again, Lizzy could have sworn the number of boxes had somehow tripled.

”You’re doing a great job, buddy. Keep it up!” Tom yelled over to Regis, whose neck quickly turned red under his freckles.  “Don’t call me buddy!”

“Would you stop?” Lizzy elbowed him. “One of these days, he will throw something at you.”

”Hope it’s not gonna be valuable, cos it won’t have my good self to cushion the blow. He’ll miss.” His self-assurance was still grating.

”Wanna bet?” Lizzy remembered Trenton Thunder. “Baseball nut over there.”

”So Daddy played catch with him, big whoop.” Tom replied, grinding out his cigarette with his boot heel. 

“Can you guys make yourselves useful and keep an eye out for the ice sculpture arriving?” Regis trotted over to them. “I gotta go do a thing…”

”Yeah, sure. We basically get paid to stand around, anyway.” Kathy replied cheerfully.

“This event-“ Lizzy queried. “-are we invited?"

”Absolutely not.” Regis denied. “In fact, you in particular are barred, Armstrong, for obvious reasons.”

”Aw, Ed!” She feigned upset. “You know that just makes me want to go even more!”

“Ain’t gonna happen, Liz.” Regis carefully pulled a transparent plastic garment bag out of a box full of packing peanuts. It contained a very short, very red cocktail dress. “So quit asking.”

“That’s gonna clash with your hair.” Tom pointed out.

”It’s for María!” Regis snarled back at him.

“That’s not fair! Why does she get to go? You have catering staff flying over.” Lizzy was still on his case. 

Ed gave her a lopsided grin. ”Eye candy.”

”Huh?” Lizzy and Kathy said in unison, shooting each other confused glances.

“Okay, I see what happens.” Tom stepped forward. “Let me paint a picture for you, girls. You’ve got a lot of rich, lonely, powerful men in a room together, far away from their wives and mistresses, trying to prove who’s got the biggest dick. You need a little entertainment. Something pretty to look at. Grease the wheels.”

Regis clicked his fingers. “Bingo.”

“Oh, that’s disgusting. That’s disgusting.” Kathy was horrified. 

“Nobody touch anything.” Off Ed Regis went, garment bag slung over his shoulder. Presumably to find the unwilling future occupant of the dress. 

"Team Meeting, now.” Lizzy announced. 

The eight animal handlers huddled.

”I move that we do something. I want to find out where all their money's going. Because it sure as Hell isn't on the animals. Or us. Y’know, the people who actually do the work.” Lizzy's expression became stormy. "They're going to take advantage of her. And Ed's going to sit back, drink his lite beer, and watch it happen."

"In another win for human evolution, public relations manager achieves upright stance sans spinal column." Kathy muttered dryly.  “That’s cold, Kit.” Tom sounded impressed. “Attagirl, you’ll be as cynical as Liz and I by the time you leave this place.”

“Well, she has a point!” The Team Leader gestured. “We can’t leave María there alone. They’ll eat her alive.”

"So you agree?" Lizzy jumped on her chance. “I’m commandeering the situation?”

"Girl..." Kathy shook her head. "Girl, he's gonna kill you...getting involved…”

"I can handle Ed." Lizzy said confidently. 

"Ed's not the one I was talking about, sweetie.”

“We’re gonna see Liz in a dress? Looking like an actual woman?” Tom smirked at her expression full of disgust. "Hey, you gotta. It’s a formal. You’ll need something that doesn't scream 'I shovel crap for a living'." 

”Oh sure, let me just go pick one of my many ballgowns out of the wardrobe.” Lizzy gestured from her flyaway head to her mud-caked boots. "Are you blind?"

”You and María are about the same height. You wouldn’t look terrible in red, if it’s low lighting-“

”Jeez, Tom! Stop encouraging her!” Kathy moaned. “This is a terrible idea.” “As much as I hate to admit she’s right, better Liz than María.” The Texan stuck to his guns. “And you know it, Kit.” 

“That’s settled then. All in favour?” Lizzy called the vote. 

Six ayes were heard from the men before they looked to the Carnivore Leader for her choice. But she still hesitated. 

Come on, girl.

The seconds ticked by. Tom smirked confidentially at Lizzy before asking loudly:  “Kit, you wanna go grab Ed that cappuccino, or what?”

“Oh, I’m so gonna regret this.” Kathy wearily nodded. “You win.”

***

God, I'm starving. 

Lizzy had poured herself into the tiny cocktail dress meant for Maria, far more petite and less muscular than she was. The Haitian was more than happy to be relieved of her duties for the evening, kissing Lizzy on both cheeks before practically flinging the dress in the ethologist’s direction and gliding away down the corridor to do God-knew-what. Watering the plastic plants, probably.

The cheap fabric was working particularly hard underneath her arms and around the tops of her thighs. As well as doing hair and make-up, Kathy had reluctantly helped pile her into the nightmare dress and zip her up. She felt like an overstuffed sausage, and already had blisters forming from the high heels, rubbing her feet raw as she shuffled around with tiny steps.

But the place Lizzy felt most under-dressed was on her left hand.

She wished she’d had the foresight to put her engagement ring back on, which she still hadn’t found the willpower to shove in an envelope and send back to Simon. At least it would offer some protection for a few hours. Lizzy looked around the room. String quartet, ice sculpture, flowers everywhere…the opulence of it made her feel uneasy. 

She had a flashback to her apartment in the States, something Simon had divulged while complaining about a flamboyantly rich but cantankerous client as they were unpacking groceries together.  Very rich people didn’t show off how much money they had. They didn’t have to. They tended to be quietly generous and classy about it. People who acted like they were still trying to prove something, they might be well-off, but they weren’t rich rich. 

Lizzy herself had fallen for it in the beginning, but as time went on, increasingly often she began to suspect that Hammond was the latter. Everything for show. Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.

She caught sight of the man himself in the corner of her eye, amber-topped cane in hand, and remembered the reason she was enduring such torture in the first place. To secure better care, more money specifically for the dinosaurs. Lizzy tottered over, tugging the hem of her dress down as she approached. 

“John?”

He turned and looked at her blankly. She knew what he was thinking. You weren’t on the guest list. 

”It’s me, Lizzy.” She could forgive him a few moments hesitation, she’d probably never worn this much make-up in her life.

“Lizzy?” 

She began to get annoyed. What happened to ‘my dear old granny was a Lizzy’? Anyway, she’d always considered herself fairly memorable.

This was not a good start. 

“Doctor Armstrong? From Namibia?” She gestured helplessly, at a loss for what else she could say to jog his memory. “The ethologist.”

“It’s Mr Hammond, tonight, dear. If you don’t mind.” 

“Alright-“

“I’m fairly busy, I’m afraid. Why don’t you go and mingle? We’ll catch up later.”

“Wait, no-“ Lizzy knew well enough that there most likely wouldn’t be a later.

“Please, Miss Armstrong. Another time.” And he gently took her arm and guided her away, leaving her all alone, facing the wall as he resumed his conversation. 

Not quite sure how she had lost her hold on the situation, Lizzy vowed to try a different tactic. As she was busy scanning the rest of the venue for anyone who might be worth talking to, she didn’t notice one of the businessmen swanning over to her, until it was too late to get away. 

“Where’s Hammond been hiding this one, then?” American. Mid-West. Sweating profusely. “Forget the ice sculpture, why didn’t they just put you up on the table?”

Lizzy recoiled. “I’m a scientist.”

“Ah, she’s funny too. Not dressed like that, you aren’t.”

Lizzy really wasn’t a fan of being referred to in the third person.

”Really, she’s a PhD.” She flushed in anger. “She studies animal behaviour.”

And you’re behaving like an animal.

”Wait-“ He pointed at her face, closely scrutinising. “-I know you from somewhere-“

Not again.

In yet another event from her past that occasionally came back to haunt her, Lizzy had undertaken a couple of modelling jobs as a first-year student at NYU.

Nothing big. One or two jobs for the campus magazine, then it had kind of snowballed. She didn’t even know what some of the photographs were ultimately used for. But her face, and the rest of her, was definitely in print for something other than behavioural research. It offered a few extra dollars here and there, until Simon had asked her to stop, telling her she didn't have to worry about money now she was with him. She'd obliged, but it had been kind of fun, at the time.

It happened more than once in New York, sometimes a stranger, usually an older man, most likely on the subway would give her a funny look. She’d know exactly why, and she’d huddle closer to Simon and try not to make eye contact before they reached their stop.

New York and a tiny Costa Rican island, it seemed. Just her luck.

”No, you don’t!” She insisted and turned to leave, but he grabbed her wrist and she had no choice but to turn to face him to keep herself from toppling over in her high heels. 

”How much-“

His grip hurt. Lizzy looked around in panic, searching for Ed Regis in the crowd. She didn’t want to make a scene, but if there was no other choice…Ed would help her, right?

Right?!

“Hey, back off, pal. The only one who gets to talk down to her is me.”

From somewhere close behind her came the low Southern drawl she both looked forward to and dreaded equally. The voice she hated being on the wrong side of, the one that meant trouble, had antagonised her time and time again. And she’d never been so glad to hear it defending her. 

Tom’s hulking frame cast a long shadow over both Lizzy and the strange man who was intent on getting to know her better.

“Look, here-“ The investor was bristling at the intrusion.

”Move along, now, buddy.” Tom gave him a firm pat on the shoulder, a little bit harder than was polite or necessary, but not enough to get him into trouble. “Trust me, you don’t wanna find out the price for this one. It’s measured in rounds, and I don’t mean at the bar.”

The stranger grunted unhappily and finally beat it, avoiding looking Lizzy in the eye. 

She relaxed slightly, her hands trembling. The smell of old cigarette smoke and cheap aftershave had never been so reassuring. 

“About damn time.” She tried to act breezy, but the words sounded forced. Lizzy was more shaken than she'd care to admit. She glanced down at her wrist, red finger marks already burned harshly into her skin. Shit.

”Ma’am.” Tom tipped the brim of his stetson towards her without the slightest trace of irony. He had gone all out for the occasion, wearing a bolo tie, white shirt, dress jeans with a big belt buckle and leather boots. A real-life cowboy.

Lizzy cleared her throat, trying to restore her bravado. “Didn’t know there was a fancy dress shop on the island. Where’s your tinfoil sheriff’s badge?”

“You get straight to Hell. This is my good stetson. I’ve not worn this baby since prom night.” He flicked the rim. “You realise how privileged you are, getting to see me in my good stetson, right?”

”You have more than one?” She stifled a giggle. “Didn’t know you moonlighted as a Village Person.” “You like a man in a hat.” He winked at her disarmingly, and her steel nerve buckled. 

”Piss off.” She muttered weakly. 

"There it is." Tom grinned in satisfaction. “On that note, what has your man got to say about you hitting the town, all dressed up?”

“Not my man, what are you on about…”

“Ah, I see. He still doesn’t know, huh?” He shook his head, tutting. “You are in so much shit.”

“I do what I like.” Lizzy scowled. “Although I don’t like this. Quite literally taking one for the team.”

“You scrub up pretty nice.” He gave her a sly look. “Trim your moustache, did ya?” “Ha!”

At the other end of the room, Lizzy spied Regis’ ginger head, still wearing his ever-present baseball cap (seriously, at a black tie?), jerk upright at the noise she’d just made. Lizzy quickly turned it into a cough.

“Insults aside, glad you’re here.” She meant it. "Dickhead.”

She meant that too. 

”Save it.” Tom grumbled. “I just didn’t wanna miss the look on Ed’s face when he sees you of all people gatecrashed his fancy event.”

“Keep telling yourself that, mate.” She didn't mind anymore whether he hated her or cared for her. It was a blurry line at the best of times. But she mattered to him, in some way, that much she knew and was grateful for. If he hadn’t intervened when he did…

One way or another, it would have gotten messy.

“How’s An Audience With Hammond going?” He interrupted her thoughts.

”It’s not.” She told him about how she had failed miserably at her mission. “I am very low priority on his list of people to schmooze tonight.”

Tom was eyeing up a tray of glasses making it’s way past them. “In that case, when in Rome-“

She scoffed. “Beginning to see the real reason you’re here…”

“They don’t got bourbon?” Tom grumbled at the sparse choice of red or white. “I hate wine.”

“The single malt is for much, much later this evening-“ The waiter somehow managed to look down his nose at the taller man. “-sir.”

”You’ll get what you’re given.” Lizzy took a glass of each colour and handed him the white. “It’s free.”

”How about a toast?” Tom sardonically eyed the blue InGen banner hung over the door, company slogan in italics beneath the ever-present logo. “To…Making Our Future.”

”Spare no expense!”

They clinked their glasses. 

“Hell with it. Let’s pound as much of this food as we can before they throw us out.”

”That-“ Lizzy waved over a tray of canapes. “-is the best idea you’ve had in weeks.”

***

“He was talking so fast, I couldn’t keep up, and he said Hammond personally asked him to make it happen!” Rico was hurriedly trying to explain as he stumbled into the control room after the park warden. “To show the investors.”

”That may be true.” Muldoon was barely keeping his anger in check. “But there’s a very good reason we stay away from that animal.”

”Not all of us.” Arnold added loudly as he blew smoke upwards, causing Muldoon to shoot him a venomous look. 

“I sincerely apologise, boss.” Rico continued, visibly trembling in fear. “H-how can I make this right?”

”Just stay out of the bloody way. Something like that, you really should have checked.” He dismissed him with a wave of his hand before shouting “Where’s Baker?!”

“Here, I’m here!” Kathy popped up from behind a console. “Ray called me, we’re watching her now. They weren’t kidding, she’s fast.”

Rico went mute, eyes downcast, he took the opportunity to slip out of the control room like a shadow while everyone else was bustling around. Nobody noticed. 

Muldoon moved around to look at the screen beside his colleagues. “Arnold, can you send out an alarm?”

”Manually.”

”That doesn't sound very efficient?"

“It ain't. As in, I’m going to have to go check the manual.” Arnold looked at him pointedly, cigarette dangling. “Or you can just grab a radio and alarm everyone all by yourself.”

”You’ve got to be joking.” Muldoon ground out. “There’s no system in place?”

“Looks that way.”

Meanwhile, Kathy was wringing her hands. All the procedures she’d gone over in her head. All her studying of emergency exits, muster points and evacuation routes. All her carefully constructed contingency plans and she still wasn’t ready for this.

“What are you going to do?” She hesitantly asked.

“What’s required.” Muldoon was looking for the key to the locker in his office. “Don’t interfere.”

Kathy solemnly nodded. “In that case, what do you need?”

“I need my best shot, for backup.” He grabbed his radio. ”Kennedy, come in.”

No response. 

”If anyone can see Kennedy, pass him a radio, now.”

No answer.

What a mess.  Muldoon conducted a quick head count. Only six animal handlers present. Baker-Esteves-Harris-O’Reilly-Palmer-Yamada-

Another was unaccounted for.  “Baker, where’s Armstrong?”

”Er…”

Oh, balls.

Muldoon impatiently took her by the shoulders. “Is she indoors, yes or no?”

”Yes, definitely.” No way would Lizzy be seen in that dress anywhere outside the function room. “Unless-“

His eyes narrowed. “Baker, it’s important for your lifespan that you tell me exactly where she is.”

Arnold had momentarily stopped typing, holding his breath. 

“She’s with Tom. If he smokes, she usually goes too.” Kathy confessed nervously. “I mean, they could be outside?”

***

”Nah, you’re doing it wrong. No chewing, you’ll be there forever. Down in one, like this-“ Tom was trying to show her how to handle an oyster.

Lizzy stared at the cold shell in her palm, the corners of her mouth downturned. ”Tom, it’s looking at me.”  

She’d eaten far more questionable things in her lifetime. But this was turning out to be her Everest. 

”Ah, forget it. These ones are just okay, need some tabasco.” He took the offending mollusc from her and swiftly dealt with it. “Better barbecued fresh, out on the water.”

“If you say so.” Lizzy wasn’t convinced. Sub-par oysters, she’d rather not take the chance. Yet more cracks were appearing in the InGen foundations. 

A very familiar silhouette caught her eye, making his way through the crowd to their secret corner of the room with purpose. He’d clearly spotted Tom’s stetson from the doorway. 

“Uh-oh, busted.” Lizzy whispered as Muldoon drew level with them both.

“Kennedy. With me, now.”

Lizzy tutted. He was clearly dismissing her as ‘just some girl’ Regis had flown in for the night that Tom had decided to try his luck with. It must have been the heels giving her an extra couple of inches that was throwing him off.

“Tom, I think you’ve pulled.” Lizzy nudged his arm. Muldoon did a double take at the familiar voice, only recognising who she was the second time around.

“Oh Christ, it’s you.” He frowned. “What’s happened to your face?”

“Rude.”

“Don’t like it.” He was looking her up and down in disbelief. ”And I can bloody well see what you had for dinner-“

“Stop staring at me.” Lizzy hissed through gritted teeth. “Surprise, I do in fact have a waist under the tattie cloths they pass off as uniforms.”

“Of course. Your waist is what’s drawing the eye.”

He wasn’t at all a fan of the look, but he still couldn’t drag his gaze away from her with everything…pushed up like that.

”Aw, Jesus.” Tom seemed genuinely upset. “Not cool, boss.”

”Why are you two in here, anyway, without your radios on?” Muldoon recalled the memo Regis had flashed around about keeping a certain animal handler away from the event at all costs. “No, never mind. I don’t actually care.” 

“I would love to know-“ Lizzy remarked sweetly. “-where exactly I would be keeping a radio on my person, in this thing.”

”Talking out your ass, no doubt-” Tom muttered. 

Another of the investors had broken off from the herd and started to sway his way over, bleary eyes fixated on Lizzy, and the parts of her body the dress wasn’t quite managing to cover. She could already see the words say, you look familiar forming in his head as she began to back away in fear. 

But she wasn’t alone this time. Both Kennedy and Muldoon abruptly stopped what they were doing and gave the interloper a hard stare so intimidating that he about-turned and wobbled straight back the way he’d came without uttering a single word to anyone.

Muldoon shook his head, looking like his motor was rapidly winding down. “Christ alive, I need to get out of here. I hate this sort of thing.”

Lizzy cocked her head. He doesn’t do crowds.

“So if you’re both done wasting time-“ He continued.

She quickly sobered, not averse to making a quick getaway herself. “What’s wrong?”

There was a faint rumble of thunder from outside and the overhead lights dipped and came back on with a flicker. The drone of conversation around them lulled, then resumed.

The next thing the park warden said made Lizzy’s ears ring and edges of her vision darken as the adrenaline kicked in. 

“Don’t react, either of you-“ Muldoon dropped his voice low enough that she had to crane her neck to hear him. “-but there’s an animal loose in the park.”

Son of a- Tom was already pushing past Lizzy, making his way to the exit doors, the sea of businessmen parting before him as he cleared a path.  

“Don’t react. I said don’t react.” Muldoon quickly turned to follow him. 

“Hang on-“ Lizzy caught up before he moved out of reach. “Which animal?”

Muldoon gave her a certain look while saying nothing, which told her everything.

Lizzy knew exactly which animal had broken out. 

“Oh-“ She reached for the wall to steady herself as the lights flickered off again and thunder boomed over the island. “Oh, no.”

***

Thanks for reading!

If you worked out what this chapter is leading up to I will personally send you a gift basket or something.

[acacia-may]

Hiya Acacia! For the ask game; may I ask for 4, 7, 31, and 46 please 🥰?

Hi there, Lyra! Thank you for the ask, friend!! 💜 These replies got really long so I've put them under the cut.

4. What is the plot bunny you’ve been carrying for the longest? optional bonus question: do you ever wonder why you haven’t written it yet and experience deep existential dread?

Since I have way too much WIPS, I am going to take a very narrow focus for this question and make myself choose from plot bunnies I have never written anything for (rather than including any existing wips). In which case, I've got to go with my Langris x Finesse Beauty and Beast AU where the Golden Dawn is all turned into the palace furniture (It's based off the Disney movie (loosely) and Alecdora Sandler made an excellent uptight clock, William was a candlestick, and David is particularly hilarious as a wine glass). I wanted to write this one so badly but just never could figure out how to make it into an actual story rather than vignettes of scenes and shenanigans, so it never came to life. 😭

And yes, I feel deep existential dread when I think about all of my wips and the stories I will (probably) never get to write... 🙈

7. Tell us about the plot of the first fanfic you ever wrote

I think I was "writing" fanfiction pretty much my whole life. When I played make-believe as a little kid, it was always continuations of my favorite stories or putting my favorite characters into AUs. I remember writing some short stories about my favorite book and cartoon characters too, but I'm not sure what my very first one was about. I want to say it was Star Wars because my friend and I wrote this whole series when I was about 9 called "The Adventures of Space Cat" (which was my friend's Star Wars OC: a talking cat who was basically adopted by Luke, Han, and Leia and brought on all their adventures after the end of the original trilogy).

When I was in middle school, I wrote what was essentially Ben 10 Alien Force fanfiction for an epic poetry school project and just changed all of the names and some of the more specific details. This absolute gem (I say with total sarcasm) is unfortunately lost to time but my sister swears she vividly remembers this one particular line that was basically, "Character A paused during the battle because of his trauma and confidence issues" (which I think probably says a lot about me & the kinds of characters that compel me even back then...).

I don't think I got serious about writing fanfiction until high school though when I wrote my big, long Secret Garden epic which was 46 chapters and 176,134 words long (and was going to be a duology so was technically never finished even though book 1 has a complete first draft...) The plot was pretty basic. It was a sequel to my favorite book of all time, The Secret Garden, and (believe it or not) a period romance that took place when all the characters were adults mostly during World War 1. It was split perspective and had OCs as major characters too, so it was, honestly, a really ambitious project.

I made so many changes to it after I had a complete draft so I'm honestly very relieved I never posted it anywhere and just shared it with my friends and family irl. They seemed to like it well enough but...it's a bit of an embarrassment for me tbh as I feel my writing has gotten so much better since then. A friend I met in college wanted to read it but I had made so many changes to the draft & had never finished the 2nd draft so it was basically unreadable (i.e. the beginning no longer matched the ending, random plotlines were taken out and added ect.) so I wrote Secrets and Sugar Mice for her as a little taste of my overall ideas and also to introduce her to one of my OCs (and I actually did post that to AO3 (linked here) if you are at all curious).

Writing that story helped me grow so much as a writer, character creator, and storyteller and I'm so grateful for the experience, but I'm not sure I will ever actually resurrect this project, especially since I'm not sure this particular 100+ year old book has much of a fandom.😅

31. Tell us about one of your characters who’s an absolute joy to write

I've answered this here (about one of my OCs) and here (about Black Clover canon characters I enjoy writing), but since we're doing blast from the past here a little, I will give a shout out to very first real OC, Julia, who taught me so much about how to create a character and fit them into an existing world (and as an eventual love interest for an existing character). Some of the most fun I have ever had as a writer was writing her and Colin's quick-witted rivals to friends to lovers plotline. They're both highly intelligent people, strong-willed, and stubborn as heck, and their plotline took place in a hospital (mostly during the war) where he's a doctor and she's a nurse and they are just butting heads about how best to run things at every possible turn. They end up playing up their rivalry because neither wants to admit defeat or that they actually have a lot of respect & admiration for each other and want to be friends. (Secrets and Sugar Mice is about that specifically if you're at all interested).

Here is a short excerpt if I can be completely self-indulgent (just a short little exchange between her and her dad (who technically is a canon character but we know next to nothing about him so he's basically an OC too lol):

Julia stopped abruptly, staring at the medical supply cabinet. It was exactly as she had left it with supplies organized for practical use—bandages next to gauze as they would often be taken together and so on. It only made sense after all—at least to Julia anyway. Some people were of the opinion that it would be better if the supplies were arranged alphabetically.

“Dr. Craven didn’t rearrange the cabinet today,” said a voice from behind her. She turned and found her father, Dr. Louis Cartwright, dressed in his white coat with files in hand. He smiled slightly at her.

 “So I see.”

“He was very busy,” her father explained. “It’s alright if you’re a bit disappointed.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she frowned. “Why would I be disappointed?”

Her father sighed and smiled knowingly at her. “I think you enjoy your little squabble over it.”

Julia could feel a deep blush rising in her cheeks, but she huffed indignantly. She most certainly did not enjoy arguing over the cabinet. It was bad enough that Dr. Colin Craven had somehow convinced her father to move them across the country to work in his hospital, but to then refuse to organize said hospital in a practical manner was even worse. Well, perhaps the rest of the hospital was alright, but this blasted cabinet simply wasn’t practical. She had reorganized it almost immediately, and he had rearranged it right back stubbornly insisting he couldn’t find anything unless the supplies were organized in alphabetical order. She insisted that putting frequently grouped items together saved time and rearranged it again. Then he reorganized it alphabetically again. And so on and so on. This had gone on for months now. It was a matter of pride not something she enjoyed—or at least not something she’d ever admit to enjoying no matter what her father said.

“It’s a matter of principle only, and if this is a sign that Dr. Craven has finally conceded, I would be glad of it.”

Her father laughed—his dark eyes sparkling. “I think it’s more of a sign that he was busy and had lots of patients today. I suppose, we’ll see tomorrow. Unless of course you want to ask him. He hasn’t left yet.”

Julia blinked. As much as she relished the idea of him admitting she was right about the cabinet, she was fairly certain that, as her father had said, this spoke more to Dr. Craven’s workload than to him conceding to her.

“I think I’ll just wait to see. Plus, I think this is a new record for my organization system.”

Her father chuckled quietly to himself but shook his head. “Don’t you think this cabinet squabble has gone on long enough?”

“We haven’t reached a resolution yet.”

“I don’t think you’ll ever reach a resolution this way.” Her father sighed. “I don’t understand why you won’t just admit you want to be friends and find something else to talk about.”

Julia’s cheeks grew hot, but she huffed and shook her head. “I don’t want to be friends.”

Her father raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly at her. Julia fidgeted. He could always tell when she was lying. The truth was she wouldn’t mind being friends. In fact, maybe a part of her did want to be friends—but at the same time she barely knew the man, and the little she did know of him was not particularly flattering. Still, she couldn’t help but concede that he was at least intriguing—this heir to a grand estate who spent his time as a doctor in a country hospital—or at least he would be if he was actually sociable from time to time and wasn’t so stubborn.

Julia huffed again. “It’s beside the point. Even if I did want to be friends, he clearly has no interest in making friends with me.” She sighed. “And besides, even if we did try to make friends, I doubt we would even get on—we so often disagree.”

“I think you’d get on extremely well if you got to know each other a little better. You have lots of common interests.”

“Which he never talks about,” Julia protested.

“He’s just shy and…”—Her father paused as if thinking of the right word—“awkward.”

“He’s very opinionated for someone who’s shy,” she countered her brow furrowing. 

Julia’s father laughed, but he smiled kindly. “He is a bit of an odd duck, but he’s a kind person at heart and very generous.”

“Why don’t you make friends with him then?” Julia teased with a chuckle.

Her father laughed. “I already am friends with him, and it’s quite pleasant.”

Julia wrinkled her nose, but her mouth turned up in the corners in spite of herself. She sighed. “I know that you’re very fond of him, Papá, and I can tell that he admires and looks up to you, but he has been nothing but cold and standoffish to me. Arguing about that cabinet and occasionally discussing work related issues is the full extent of our interaction. It’s not nearly enough to build a friendship.”

“I haven’t seen you try to talk to him about anything else, either,” her father countered pointedly before his face softened. “I know he wants to be friends, but I don’t think he knows how to strike up a conversation with you especially since you’re so set on disliking him.”

Julia sighed. “I’m not set on disliking him, but it is difficult to like someone who is so often disagreeable.”

46. what time are you the most productive when it comes to writing?

First thing in the morning or the middle of the night. But I think it changes based on my health and how busy I am. I am a very slow writer in general so it takes me a lot of time in the drafting/outlining stages before I actually sit down to start writing.

[thearchmanofgreenfield]

The Last Words Of Saint Caleb - TWHUTH Lore

"It is in a dire state that I write this now. On the day that this quill engraves upon this paper the words of man who may not live to see the next dawn, the ones who shall rise from this coming fray shall know my words. For it is in this tome that I have painted my life, the lives of my family, m people and my closest comrades. Whether or not I shall live to see the results of Montgomery’s last stand for our future, I will still stand by his and by the side of my own sister. However, before I shall step onto that dreaded soil soon to be watered with blood I shall write here my final words.

I am a profound believer in the spirit of man. For when our kind first stepped on the grounds of this strange place, we were a people who came from nothing, nowhere. With us we brought only the will that we had inherited from our ancestors, who according to legend rose from the stones and dirt to embrace the glow of freedom. We their descendants were met with trials and tribulations since the first day that we stepped onto this great land. It seems has though the very trees wished us death. And in that, moment I think it would be fair to assume that in the minds of our forefathers there existed the thought of our destruction. Yet here we still are. At the edge of the horizon overlooking a new dawn. Our enemies driven to their last stand on the ground they once ruled. The flame of man’s will burns brighter today than it did before. And it is with that flame do we light the way to the future. Our spirit brought us here. And it is that very spirit that will guide us to prosperity.

Yet this day would not have come if not for our foes. The woodland folk who so dearly wished us gone now lie at the end of their rope. Yet if it were not for them, my dear friend Montgomery would not be here. I doubt that I would be here. Indeed, I feel as though I owe them something. Many think of the woodland folk as the enemy, that the mere of them means death. We were taught to fear and hate yet I believe that that is a mistake. I have known mercy; I have known compassion from the enemy as much as I have known their subjugation. I have to come to respect them instead of fear them. And while I may not forgive them for the blood for kin split by their blades, I still feel as though I owe them my life. For it is from a life lived in this chaos that I say, we are no better than the foe we fight. Such words would ender me a traitor, but if I am to die today, I must not die silent.

I have lived through much in my life. And I have come to adore the sight of this land. I have come to admire the world amidst the fray. I have known love and loss, strife and joy I met men from all sides of this conflict and I have come to respect all of them. Therefore, in this page, the last page of my great work, I write to my sister Amia, who showed me light at the end of the road. I write to my friend George, who showed me loyalty and write to little Annalise, who showed me more than I can describe. May the prospects of the future shine brightly upon us all and may we all see each other again one day..."

-St Caleb Bargandowan of Canterberg, The last page of The War In Ink (Compiled by St Amia Baragandowan)

HEY, YOU! Yeah, you. You like fantasy? You like fantasy with guns and fancy suits? Do you like free original stories RIGHT HERE ON TUMBLR? Well, if so why not try this one riiiight here! You won't regret it! Wanna know about the saint specifically? Find out about them in THIS lore post!

[galvanizedfriend]

Klaroline Fic: The Wolf III [05/21]

Summary: Months after their return to New Orleans, Klaus and Caroline try to settle into a semblance of normalcy, while Elijah struggles to forgive his brother's sins. But a mysterious prophecy that foretells the downfall of the Mikaelson family brings them all together in a war that will reopen ancient wounds and see each of the siblings doomed: one by friend, one by foe and one by family.

[It's The Originals Season 3, but Caroline had Klaus' baby, now she's a vampire and they are back in New Orleans after a stint in Mystic Falls. It's mostly about Klaroline, obviously.]

----- S03E05 Beautiful Mistake

"Roses are red. Lavender is blue. Come find me, before I find you," he reads, comprehension dawning in him with a cold shudder. "I suppose we should've been expecting her," he says drily. "She's never far behind wherever Tristan is."

"I remember her being a better poet," his brother grumbles with scorn.

"Well, I wouldn't say this is lacking in poetry." Neither Freya nor Caroline are home, which indicates the compound was being watched for an opportunity away from their attention, probably Elijah's as well. This was meant for Niklaus and Niklaus only. How fitting.

"She wants us to go find her. So let's," Klaus decides, dropping the letter where he found it and starting for the door.

"You're so eager, Niklaus."

He halts, turns back. "What are you implying?"

"Last time you even said her name was a thousand years ago, when you told me never to speak it again in your presence."

"So I'm to wait for her to leave more of her little calling cards all over my home?"

"I'm merely wondering... If there isn't something - someone - you should speak to first."

Klaus presses his lips to a fine line. "Leave Caroline out of this."

"She's already a part of this. This is her home," he says, motioning towards the lovely artistic composition in their courtyard. "This is a significant part of your past coming back to haunt you, much more so than Lucien, leaving dreadfully romantic calling cards all over the home you share with her. You can't keep her in the dark."

"There is no need to make fanfare out of this because Aurora will be gone from this city so fast there won't be enough time for introductions. Just as I wish Lucien and Tristan to stay away from my family, the same is true for her. I don't want any of them near Caroline, so she shall remain out of these entanglements."

Elijah sighs. "If you say so."

"Yes, I say so," he declares with finality. "But since you're so concerned, get rid of all this before she comes home, why don't you? Dreadful romanticism aside, I doubt she'll appreciate the mess. Flaunting dead bodies in front of Eve gets her in a right mood." Read the full chapter on AO3

---

I am so sorry for the unplanned long delay! Hope this giant-ass update (two episodes from the show combined) can make up for the long wait. ✨ As this is Aurora's long-awaited introduction to the story, I really hope you guys enjoy it. 😬 Took me forever writing and rewriting this chapter.

This writer is NERVOUS. So please, be kind! 🙏

As always, big thank you to @definedareasofuncertainty who had to put up with me freaking out about this and kindly went over both parts at the speed of light. ❤️

Your comments, reblogs, kudos and messages mean the world to me and also feed my volatile muse. ✨

[just-a-tiny-goldfish]

Night Shift Vents

Part one Part two Part three

Why did you move to Japan?  

Well, you used to wake up every morning and dread going to work.  

5:00 am on the dot. You hated waking up early. 

Still do. 

 And ever since you had gotten behind the wheel, you had obtained and grown and nurtured an urge to ‘go’. Eventually it would outgrow you. You never really had a destination in mind, just that obnoxious feeling hanging over you, that you had to keep driving, keep going.  

Go. 

Go. 

Go. 

You just wanted to be away-from what exactly? You didn’t have a particularly troubled childhood. Your family loved you. It wasn’t peaches and cream, but you also don’t think anyone has a picture-perfect life. 

But some people do come damn close. 

Your neighbor does. It’s a little messed up. A little fucked up. But sometimes you will accompany her on your days off, a fly on the metaphorical wall of her mind. You know so much about her-sometimes you think you might know more about her than she knows about herself. The closest thing you have to a friend. 

You have never spoken with her. 

She wakes up early (not 5:00 am early, but still). She loves getting up early, you’ve noticed, even on her days off she gets up at the ass crack of dawn. She does yoga, sometimes running. 

 You envy her. 

You also hate her, just a little. She’s similar to you in a few ways, you think this makes her easier to hate. She moved here by herself-spur of the moment. She didn’t tell anyone until she was here; dead-set on making something of herself before she showed her world-her family, her friends, loved ones, her new self. Her improved self.  

Well, lucky her, the stars aligned. She had originally gotten this apartment because her funds were low when she first moved. But she had worked hard, way before you arrived, had two part time jobs while still attending college, a go-getter. She struggled; but she had dreams and by some miracle-no hard work, you don’t believe in miracles- graduated college, majored in graphic design, something your parents would have never approved of, and against all odds got herself a fancy schmancy job at one of those hero teams. God, you envy her.  

Why are you focusing so much on her? Oh yeah, because she's moving soon. These tiny apartments are too small for her future now.  

They still feel so big to you. 

You had a bit of an episode this morning. Or afternoon-you woke up at 3pm after passing out after your shift- She's leaving, and you're not shy or embarrassed to say you were using her life as a bit of a crutch, a what could have been, in your tired lonely world. You like to think if you had tried harder, and made the right decisions, you could have been her instead of just pretending in her body.  

You didn’t finish college; you also didn’t study what you wanted. When you arrived here, the only Japanese under your belt were those four years of high school and then a crash course a few months before making the big move-you didn’t tell anyone-spur of the moment. You don’t like feeling sad for yourself; you are self-sufficient. That’s all that matters to you. You don’t ask your parents for money-in fact, you save a few extra 13,189 yen for your family in the states- should you? No. God knows you could use that money, that you need that money. But you have pride; you don’t want anyone to know you’re struggling. You don’t need to ask anyone for help.  

You don’t want to ask anyone for help. 

You felt trapped back in your childhood home. You felt caged-you wanted to break out. Maybe moving to a completely different country was not the move though. 

You don’t know what you were thinking? Were you thinking? Or were you acting on instinct. A scared little animal just knowing they had to run. The further away the better, the safer.  

WELL, whatever the reason getting to Japan was more than culture shock. You were an alien here. You felt alienated. You always felt like you didn’t fit in, but now? You really, really didn’t fit in.  

Weirdly enough, that did help a little. At least here, you had a reason you didn’t fit in.  

Back in your hometown, back with your own family, you always felt a bit cut off. You don’t know why; maybe it's because you didn’t know your mother tongue as well as you should have, maybe it's because you had a slight accent, no matter the language you used, you always stood out in appearance mannerisms. Here, at least, it made sense.  

You were a foreigner. Alien. All these things were expected of you. 

Your neighbor was a foreigner too. She was not an alien though; she was able to navigate the Japanese streets with confidence only someone born here should be allowed to possess; she was not alienated. You envy her.  

Your green-haired companion didn’t show up last night. He doesn't show up every night; maybe his schedule isn't as set in stone as yours? How do gym hours work? You don’t know. You used to go to the gym when you were younger, back home. You should go again; you want to go again, but you don’t have the extra funds for a membership; you also would feel silly going by yourself. You’ve always gone with a friend.  

Maybe he didn’t show up simply because he didn’t want to see you. That’s always a possibility. 

You don’t like thinking about that.  

You haven't really connected with another person since moving here those three years back. You thought of your neighbor; you wanted to be friends with her. You guys do have plenty in common.  

But every time you thought of talking to her, you felt your head buzz. You were too jealous. a swarm of angry bees. 

You guess you were friends with your coworkers? Well, more like acquaintances. The last time you had actually spoken with your coworkers, you had yet to really grasp the language. You had struggled to carry on any sort of conversation with them; you felt so helpless, a baby learning to talk. If you tried now, you could more than carry half of the conversation, but nowadays you barley spoke with them, barley saw them-or anyone for that matter. The night shift was lonely. Full of strangers. 

Izuku was supposed to be another stranger.   

Maybe that’s what led to your spiral this hot afternoon. You hate to admit it, but having Izuku around reminded you of what it was like before the lonely set in. Usually only being in your neighbor's passenger seat mind does that.  

But Izuku didn’t show up last night; and now your neighbor is packing up the last of her bags. You briefly consider zoning into her mind for a bit-a last farewell- you decide against it.  

That’s creepy. 

Instead, you clean. Your mother always told you if you have nothing to do ‘ponte a limpiar’ . You set to cleaning your apartment top to bottom, dust everything off, fold your laundry, do the dishes, sweep, mop. There's no dust. No laundry. No dishes, or dirty floors.  

Your cleaning spree barley last an hour. You clean when you have nothing to do; your apartment hardly gets dirty. The only thing you can do is water the ungodly number of plants- they make you feel less lonely, something that depends on you- when you can't clean you ‘visit’ your neighbor-but you can't do that anymore-won't be able to do that anymore. When did you become this codependent.  

You wonder if Izuku will visit tonight. If he does work at a gym, would he mind you tagging along? You could visit him, like he visits you. You could do that when you can't clean.  

[vargassdottir]

CHICAGO MED | Two Halves Make A Whole

✮ Part Three ✮

[Chapter List] [Part Two] [Part Four]

Chicago Med: Connor Rhodes x Original Female Character

Warnings: Swearing, adult themes, usual hospital/emergency department blood and gore. Inaccurate medical terminology and depictions of treatment.

Despite anyone else telling her that she was crazy, absolutely mental even, Mia loved early mornings. She didn’t like alarms, of course, very few do. But mornings, the earlier the better, were something of a guilty pleasure.

When Connor had asked her about it, way back in the early days of them dating, she’d laughed, her cheeks reddening in a delicate blush that he adored, and sat back in the couch they’d been cozied up in when the topic has arisen.

“So, what was this I overheard about a ‘dawn run’ with you and Eliza?” Connor had asked at the time, resting his chin on an open palm, which in turn caused him to rest his elbow on the back of the couch.

“Ah!” Mia had laughed, shaking her head a little. “Okay, so call me crazy but.. I like the morning. Early mornings.” She had then quickly held up her hands in mock surrender, as she noticed Connor’s bewildered expression. “Hear me out!” there was a nod before she continued: “There’s something.. Peaceful, about them. We spend all our days, and evening, rushing around trying to save lives, clean up after the worst of humanity even, but when you wake up before sunrise.. It’s as if none of that matters. There’s silence. A.. tranquility, to the world. It helps me focus on what’s really important.”

At the time Connor had just thought she was a little odd, sweet mind you, but odd all the same. But over time he couldn’t help but realise what she meant. Oh he still hated the crack of dawn alarm and hearing her bustle around the apartment before 4am, but on the rare occasions he’d join her for her morning run and coffee pit stop to watch the sun come up, he got a glimmer of understanding about what went on underneath those lazy blonde curls.

It’s why he also didn’t complain anymore when she did wake up so early. And why he didn’t think anything of it when he woke up alone that day.

Across town, Mia had gone to meet with her sister, Evelyn. Since moving to Chicago, a short drive from Evie’s own home, she had been bombarded with messages, emails, phone calls and damn smoke signals to meet and catch up. They had gone for a couple of short lunches and such, but today she’d agreed to take the day and see a movie, go for dinner with her and Connor after his shift was over. She actually wasn’t dreading it, which surprised her more than it should have.

It wasn’t that she and Evie didn’t get along particularly, just in that they were very different people. Mia liked to travel, she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty in whatever situation she found herself in (literally and metaphorically) and she couldn’t stand to sit still for longer than a few hours, else she was convinced she’d go mad. Evie on the other hand was her polar opposite. Evie had never left the United States for a single day of her life, calling airplanes “horrific contraptions of fart plunging us to our deaths”, Evie despised getting any sort of grime on her to the point of cleaning her nails obsessively four times a day, and above all else, Evie could somehow sit like a statue for hours on end behind some boring office job staring at computer screens all day.

But despite their differences, they were only a few hours apart now, for the first time in almost ten years, and that was no small thing to either of them. With Evelyn making the drive down from Grand Rapids, she could hardly pass that up unless she wanted to come off as a total ass.

So that’s where Mia found herself that morning, waiting for Evie to arrive, outside the same café they’d been to the last two visits her sister had made. Evie shared her love of early mornings, and had insisted on driving down the previous day and stayed at a nearby hotel so they could spend a full day together, so as Mia sat sipping her latte and flicking through cinema times on her phone, Evie rolled up.

Despite being almost four years apart in age, Evie being the elder of the two, they looked almost identical. Both with blonde hair, blue eyes and lightly tanned skin, roughly around the same height of 170-172cm, and the same kind smile that didn’t quite reach up to their eyes. But that’s where the similarities stopped. Whilst Mia’s hair reached to just past her shoulders and was naturally wavy, in a lazy and beach blown kind of way, Evie’s was short, barely past her chin, and straightened into a militaristic sort of bob. Mia preferred a more casual style, jeans, t-shirts and comfortable sweaters, easy to move around in, whilst Evie insisted on expensive blouses, skirts or tight leggings and low heels at least.

Naturally, as they left the café that morning, arms linked and laughing about some terrible joke their parents had made during their last weekly phone call, they discussed the Christmas ahead and what corny movie they could trash this year that would inevitably work in some Mariah Carrey monstrosity.

It had barely hit afternoon when Connor received a text midway through his lunch break. Chuckling, he received a raised eyebrow from April Sexton who was just receiving her order from the food truck Doctor Rhodes had called in for the day. Noticing the confused look he waved her over, flipping the phone in her direction.

The screen displayed a very recent picture of Mia and Evie were standing side by side, arms around each other and pulling ridiculous faces that would scare any young child. Cheekily posing in front of a local cinema where the sign read about Christmas classic reruns.

“Her sister’s in town, trying to spot how many cinemas are playing ‘Home Alone’ for a Christmas special.” Connor explained with another quiet laugh.

“Aw, well I’m sure she’s glad to have her sister nearby for the holidays. She mentioned they hadn’t seen each other much.” April said, having grown to be quite good friends with Mia in the months since she’d arrived, grinning at the picture, before moving to the side a little to allow others to order. “You met her?” she asked as she nodded back to his phone.

“Yeah, about.. One and a half? Two years back? Just before we went out to Riyadh together. Mia’d been up in Baltimore to finish her surgery part of residency and I’d gone up to San Antonio to meet her. Evelyn was in town for work, had a few drinks.. She’s something alright.” He uttered with a shake of his head, his tone amused, clearly hinting towards some tale or another about sisterly drinking acts. But before April could ask, the beeping of pagers set them, and everyone else around them, on alert. Before they could even register it, Maggie came rushing out the front calling the words no doctor or nurse likes to hear.

“Shooting in a movie theatre! Mass casualties. It’s about to get crazy. EMT four minutes out!” Maggie called out urgently, earning worried looks between the lunch crowd and the putting down of their bright coloured truck orders.

The loud, blaring tones of an ambulance screeching past them all however turned the mood to urgency very quickly, and hearing a yell of: “Check that, they’re here.” from Will Halstead just a few meters away, Connor and the rest of the hospital staff ran inside, a mental prayer ringing in his head, hoping it hadn’t been the very same Mia had been at today.

Connor had just pulled away from performing chest compressions on a woman, Mrs Simms, he recalls something of the name, with Will arriving to set up a tube into the lungs, when he finally caught the thought in his head.

Had he heard back from Mia?

He’d sent her a quick text, when he’d tossed his coat inside earlier, asking if she was alright and about the cinema shooting. But with everything going on of course he hadn’t had time to check yet. Sparing a moment before the inevitable next victim, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, the lock screen blaring back at him with a picture of the two of them, but no message alerts.

Fuck.

Panic began to build in his chest, a gnawing and sinking feeling sticking in his gut like a nasty bug. Maybe she had just put her phone on silent for a movie? Maybe she was at lunch with Evie by now? Maybe..?

The trail of thoughts and devolution into the stress of where his beautiful blonde could be, and whether or not she was okay, was cut off by the alarm of the next arrival.

Panic later. Work now.

A mantra in his mind, to focus, but not for a second would he not be hoping that Mia and Evie were alright.

Not even half an hour later however did his heart truly plummet right into the floor.

He’d just finished cracking the chest on the ‘shooter’, Peter, a barely out of teens prankster, and was about to lead the gurney up to the OR where Doctor Zanetti was waiting, when he saw a flash of blonde hair being rolled in… And Mia’s green jacket draped over the legs.

The next few minutes he couldn’t really remember, Peter’s gurney leaving without him, Connor’s feet pushing him in the direction of his target, his breath quickening till it felt like his lungs might collapse at the sheer amount of air forcing its way through.

Not her. Not her. Please not her.

“Connor!”

Mia’s voice rang out like a jolt of electricity being shocked right through him, winding him almost entirely when he turned and saw her. Her hair was half out of it’s relaxed ponytail, hanging around her face and behind her ears haphazardly, mascara running down her cheeks somewhat and jeans torn at the knees. Her face littered with small cuts and gripping her left wrist with her right, pulled tightly into her chest.

“Oh thank god.” was all Connor could say, pulling Mia into a tight embrace. At a light whimper coming from his beloved, he pulled away quickly, noting the dark bruises around her left forearm and hand, and the panicked darting of her eyes.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I couldn’t reply but I—”

“Hey no, don’t you dare apologise. Let’s get you seen to okay?”

“Evie, she—” Mia choked up briefly, coughing a little as she did.

Mia then nodded towards the treatment room beside them, the blonde on the gurney Connor had mistaken as her, instead baring Evelyn. The green jacket tossed aside, he could see Mia’s sister’s leg was twisted at a painful angle, definitely broken at the knee if he had to guess, and the woman’s face and hands also littered with small cuts and bruises, but at least she was conscious. Quite so, considering she was telling the doctor and nurses not to rip her top else she would throw.. Something.. At them.

“She’s okay, she pushed me of the way when the stampede started. I stabilised the leg as best I could but—Aeh. Shit.” her own groan of pain cutting off her intended explanation to both Connor and the nearby doctor treating her sister, who had listened in a little once he heard about the first aid administered, when she’d waved her hands in explanation and in doing so moved her injured arm.

“Woah, okay, let’s get you seen to, alright? Let’s get you up to x-ray, see what we’re dealing with.” Connor said quickly as he looped his arm around Mia’s shoulders, earning a nod in agreement from both her and the other doctor as he led her towards the elevator.

“A broken wrist, it could’ve been worse. Oui maman, j'appellerai bientôt. Evie envoie son amour. Je t’aime, au revoir.”

Mia took a deep breath as she hung up the phone, having spent the last half an hour explaining to her parents that yes, she and Evie were hurt but relatively alright, no they weren’t going to need to stay at hospital and yes Connor was looking after them.

Leaning back against the pillar separating the treatment rooms on either side of her, she slowly inhaled, counted to four, breathed out, and returned to her sisters room.

Both the sisters had been bandaged up now, with Mia having a cast placed around her left wrist and hand, and Evie in turn had something similar over her right knee and lower leg, they made a right pair she thought.

Connor had barely left her side since she came in, insisting he’d run all the tests on her himself, and since Mia wasn’t in dire straits there was no need for Goodwin or Maggie to reprimand him for his closeness to this particular patient. This time. Holding her hand comfortingly through waiting times, which he knew she abhorred, and analysing the scans from x-ray and CT when she went through, just to be sure she was 110% alright (besides the wrist of course). He’d even persuaded the docs in both departments to let her sit in on Evie’s scans too, much to Goodwin’s impending aneurysm on the matter.

But, a couple of hours later, with both the Lambert sisters out of danger and ready for discharge, Mia had finally talked Connor into taking a look back in on his patients. She couldn’t very well leave mid-crisis anyway, and once she’d signed her paperwork she volunteered herself to Doctor Charles immediately, since he seemed a little short handed on psychiatrists right now. It seemed like the least she could if she couldn’t get hands on right now anyway, and neither he nor Goodwin could really come up with a rebuttal on the subject. Her sister however..

“Amélie Yves Lambert, do not tell me you are going back to work right now?! Êtes-vous fou? Nous avons failli être tués!”

Sighing, Mia rubbed her forehead with her right forefinger and thumb. Full names were reserved for guilt trips and speaking to her grandmother. No surprise which instance this fitted into.

“Oui, but people still need my help ‘Evelyn Jeanne’—” Mia struck back. “We weren’t nearly killed, we were barely bumped by the tail end of a stampede. Very different. Right now, there are people suffering and they need someone to listen to what is wrong, not all injuries are physical, vous connaissez? So please, let me do my job.” She huffed, turning from the room and moving to the hub.

“Hey, how’re you doing?” Nat immediately asked as she looked up from her chart and at Mia, who’s deepest cuts seemed to have been stitched and was sporting a dark blue cast by now to match her stormy expression.

“Had worse when I crashed my bike at fourteen.” Mia replied a little coldly, then offered an apologetic smile to her friend. “Who’s up next?” she asked with a nod towards the waiting room doors.

“Almost everyone’s been seen to, except.. Two sprained ankles and a concussion. All the physicals have been done, they just need clearing for their discharge papers. You want to handle that?” Doctor Manning responded with a flick through her iPad to check on the incoming patients. Nodding, Mia moved off to the locker room to change and returned almost exactly twenty minutes later in full scrubs, sans lab coat because getting that over her cast was just not going to happen, and picked up an iPad before moving off to see patients.

Later on, as Mia was finishing processing the last of the discharges, a headache beginning to build between her eyes that she attributed to stress of the days events, she found herself pouring through the computer of the days DOA’s. Why, she honestly had no idea.. There was no rational reason for it frankly. She didn’t know anyone there besides her sister, she hadn’t even seen these people at a store or passed them on the street.. But something compelled her to flick through the dozens of faces, pale fingers twitching on the keyboard every time she pressed the arrow to move onto the next.

That’s where Will Halstead found her about half a minute later after her realisation about what she was doing.

“It’s called survivors guilt.”

“Pardon?”

There was a moment of silence between them, the redheaded doctor sighing as he seated himself in the desk chair beside her. Rubbing his hands together with a thoughtful expression, he went on to explain. “When we endure a traumatic experience, we tend to feel guilty about—”

“—Surviving the event when others didn’t. I know. Psychiatry and all that.” Mia finished for him, scratching just above her eyebrows with her uninjured hand.

“Ah, didn’t know that actually.” Will replied with an apologetic smile. A tiny chuckle of surprise escaping his otherwise grimacing lips. Unsurprising that was his more dominant expression today, considering the patients he’d had fall in his lap.

“It’s alright, I switch between both quite a bit here anyway. But here is.. Often busier.” Mia said with a lazy wave to the hub and treatment rooms just past their glass bubble of doctor-patient divide. “Though I suppose I’ll be spending a bit more time up in psychiatry for a while.” She murmured with a five-yard stare at her cast. The ring finger there sporting an outline of where her engagement ring usually sat, but had been taken off earlier when her wrist was being treated. Her beloved ring now safely hung around her neck as it usually did when she was on duty, and her fingers reached for it in idle comfort.

“So.. You and Connor?”

“Mhm? What of it?”

“Nothing..” Will trailed off, emitting a brief sigh before he started up again. “Just, two doctors in a relationship. How’s that work for you guys? Not judging! Just curious..”

But before Mia could reply, Doctor Choi suddenly was seen running past the windows, a code blue beeping off the cream walls of the ED like the ringtone of death it was. With both of them rising to their feet, they quickly darted out into the larger hall to try and find out who’s life was hanging in the balance next.

[To Be Continued in Part Four!]

[mrssnivellussnape]

Not my GIF, creds to original owner

Take Care of Me

Requested by Anon: ‘Hi! Could you write something about Y/N getting sick or having a small accident and Severus takes care of her? I imagine it being all fluffly and a bit angsty. I love your posts! Thank you for rewarding :)’

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Words: 4.8k

You groaned for the second time this morning since waking up. Your body felt tired and your limbs were heavy as you tried waking yourself up. Although it wasn’t there just yet, you felt the impending headache approaching you and you dreaded the moment it reached you.

You brushed your hand over the other side of the bed, wanting to feel Severus, but you sighed when he wasn’t there. Of course, he had a morning class and had probably been up since the crack of dawn. He always woke up much earlier than you and he knew how much you hated being woken up, so he’d usually leave you alone. You disliked days when you didn’t wake up next to him, but you accepted it because what else could you do.

You weren’t as unhappy about it today like usual, grateful he hadn’t seen you like this. You knew how protective he could get when you weren’t feeling well and you didn’t want him hovering over you. Not this early at least.

“Merlin, help me.” You cried into your pillow. You wanted to teach today, you always did, but with the way you were feeling right now, you were starting to debate on asking someone to take over for you. “Just get up, Y/n.” You told yourself.

You’d listened and pushed your body, legs feeling almost like jelly as you stood. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror by your bed and grimaced at your reflection. Ignoring that and going to the bathroom, you’d started getting dressed for the day.

You’d gotten ready as slowly as possible but you were ready nonetheless. Or so you thought. If you’d taken the time to really look at your appearance, you’d see that your hair was still a mess, better than it had been before you woke up, but still a mess. Your eyes were sunken in and your face was lighter than it normally was. You looked dreadful and felt just the same. Coughing slightly, you walked out of the bathroom, put your robes on, and headed towards the dining hall, needing something to eat.

When you got to the large room, already full of students and teachers eating, you squinted your eyes from the bright candle light. It was far too much. Everyone’s voices sounded like they were directly in your ears and you had to take a few deep breaths before you could walk up to the large table to sit and eat. You sat in your usual seat between Severus and Minerva.

Before your husband could greet you, Minerva was already speaking, “Good morning, Y/n—” the older woman stopped at seeing your appearance, “Oh, you don’t appear to be feeling well.” She placed the back of her warm hand on your forehead and felt how hot you were. “You’re scorching, dear. Why are you out of bed?”

You sighed, “I couldn’t miss my class on such short notice.” Your hoarse voice responded before you went into a coughing fit. You turned your body so you didn’t get your germs over the table or on anyone. Severus’ hand gently touched your back and you saw his look of concern. “I’m fine, Sev.” You reassured him.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed, Y/n.” He finally said, more than ready to take you back to your chambers.

You looked to him now, “I said I was fine.”

“Clearly you’re not.” He argued, seeing you get ready to fight back until you started to cough again. “And you shouldn’t be around the children in your condition.”

“In my condition?” You demanded. “I’m sick, Severus. You act as though I have a disease.” Rolling your eyes you continued, “And it’s not like you give a damn about the children anyway.” You knew that wasn’t true, no matter how rudely he acted towards them, but he was starting to annoy you.

“If you had wore you winter robes, you wouldn’t be ill right now.” Now he was trying to provoke you.

You scoffed because you’d already spoken to him about this. “I told you that I’d already forgotten them, clearly I didn’t choose to become sick, nor did I want this burning headache that you’re making worse!” Your voice had raised higher than you liked and you felt your face get hot when a few of the students looked towards you.

“Maybe if your vacuous mind was working that day, you wouldn’t be in this current state, looking awfully horrible.” He bit out at you, immediately going back to his food.

You were taken back at his rude words. You and Severus rarely ever exchanged uncivil encounters like you had just now and it had admittedly stung. He could be so insensitive sometimes and you hated when he got like that, especially when it was directed towards you. Not only did it make you feel worse, but it also angered you at how quickly he could go back to just eating after speaking harshly towards you.

You stood up abruptly, ignoring his gaze, and sending an apologetic smile to Minerva. You disregarded everyone’s stares while making your way out of the room and storming away through the doors.

Minerva turned to Severus now, “Splendid job on making your wife feel better, Severus.” She shook her head at the ignorant man. “Clearly, she wasn’t feeling well, and unlike what you’re supposed to do, you made her feel even worse. I mean the poor woman was barely able to finish her food, let alone enjoy it.” She felt she had chastised him enough when she saw his now sheepish look.

By the time you reached your class, the headache that had been burning was now excruciatingly painful. It wasn’t unbearable but you could hear your pulse throbbing and it was one of the most annoying feelings you’d felt. You ignored it, and went over you lesson plan for the day, laying out everything the students would need.

Once you were finished, the students had come in not a second later. “Good morning, Professor Y/n.” Your students happily greeted you. Your throat hurt as you tried to respond, but they still heard some form of salutation.

Jumping straight in, you got to the lesson for today, “Now that we are all familiar with and have faced whatever our deepest fears are, we can begin exploring the world and looking at the variety of creatures that inhabit it.” You cleared your throat to stop from coughing. “Where possible, we will also be looking at aspects of how Muggles view these creatures since their folklore often times coincides with our reality. To find our second creature of the year, we must travel to Japan, where—” this time you’d started to cough, waving off your students when they asked if you were alright. “The creature we know as the kappa originates.”

After the introduction, you made sure that your students were well informed of Kappas. You let them know that their primary form of defense against a Kappa was politeness, taught them the second form of defense was prevention, and that if they lived near a lake or river, they might want to protect their house against the potential of an unexpected kappa attack; that brought you into how exactly they should be able to do it.

“Your assignments today will involve a quiz about kappas and an essay that applies what you have learned about defending against them.” The class nodded respectively, resisting the urge to groan and roll their eyes, and kept the room quiet for your sake. You appreciated your students and how polite they could be.

You felt a wave of dizziness hit you and you forced yourself to get off of your feet. Sitting down in your seat didn’t make you feel any better. You wanted to close your eyes and let sleep overtake you but that wouldn’t be seen as responsible in your position. Your head was pounding, though, and you couldn’t take it. So, you laid your head back and briefly closed your eyes.

Apparently, you rested your eyes for far too long because you’d heard the loud, shrilling sound of the lunch bell. You opened your eyes and saw your students looking worriedly at you but they didn’t ask any questions, they could obviously see - and knew - you weren’t feeling well. As they went to your desk to hand you their parchments before heading to their next class, a few of them sent you well wishes and offered their help if you needed anything. You thanked them and leaned forward onto your desk, your head was touching the cool wood.

You heard the door open, and despite how badly you wanted to look up and see who it was, your head didn’t want to cooperate with you. You didn’t have to guess long before you felt the presence behind you, immediately relaxing when you saw it was your husband.

“Come on, love.” Severus gently picked your head up for you and grabbed your hand, helping you to stand correctly.

You looked up at him, eyes straining against the pain, “Where are we going?”

He noticed your body sway and he hooked his arm around your waist to keep you steady, “You’re going back to bed and resting. You’re far too sick to be teaching.”

“I’m fine, Severus.” And as if your body hated you, you’d started to cough again, sneezing right after. You ignored your husband’s stare because you knew exactly what it would look like.

————

It hadn’t taken you long to reach the door to your room and for that you were grateful. Severus opened the door and hurried you to the bed, noticing how your eyes were struggling to stay open.

He laid you down on the comfy sheets, taking off your many layers, and pulled the heavy duvet up and over your body. You heard the faint sound of his footsteps going somewhere and, before you could blink, he was already back. “Open.” He told you. You obeyed and felt a cold liquid going down your throat, swallowing it all and feeling a warmth course through your body. “It’s a Pepperup Potion, and don’t worry about the side effects, I’ve already adjusted it to fit you perfectly.”

You gave him a soft smile and thanked him, “Could you please come get me before my next class? I want to make sure I have my course ready before the students arrive.”

“Have I not made myself clear enough? Y/n, you’re not teaching your second class.” He was adamant in this.

You frowned, regardless of how you felt, you were going to at least attend the final class of the day. “Sev, I have to. There’s no one who can fill in for me and I’m more than capable to do so.”

He doubted that. Your disheveled appearance further proved his point, and no matter how repetitive he had been, you weren’t leaving this bed until you felt better. “Minerva doesn’t have any classes this afternoon, I’ll ask her if she’s available. If she isn’t, I’ll take over.”

You wanted to laugh but couldn’t, “I’m sure my students would just love that.” You teased him, looking up weakly at his eye roll.

“They’d better learn to because they don’t have a choice.” He shrugged before casting a cooling charm on the blankets and sheets. “Now, rest, I’ll be back later today.” You nodded at his words and watched as he reached the doorway of the room, “And if you leave this bed, there will be consequences.”

You shook your head at his warning, “What are you going to do, spank me?”

“No,” his smirk was evident in his voice. “Much worse if you don’t heed my warning.” He offered you a quick goodbye and left without giving you a chance to respond.

————

It had been hours before you woke up and the room was now slightly dimmer thanks to the unlit candles as you opened your eyes. You felt better already, not fully but better nonetheless.

You rolled over and stretched out your sleepy form. It helped to wake you up and you sighed before pulling the covers off. Hissing at the cold that now contrasted your previous warmth, you got up and drank a glass of water before putting on your teaching robes once again - a different, fresh set.

You were now ready to teach your last class. You knew that Minerva liked her tea time, so you were more than willing to take your students back from her.

Walking down to your room, feeling happy to teach again, you felt the small smile that made its way onto your face. You all but skipped down the hall, despite your body not matching up with your new vigor.

Once you’d finally reached the door and pushed it open, you frowned. Instead of Minerva sitting at your desk, it was Severus. “Why are you here?” You broke through the silence of the room. You ignored your students hopeful stares, knowing that they were praying you took over again and saved them.

Severus looked up at you and sent you a glare, “I should be asking your be same thing. I thought I told you to stay in bed?”

“You did,” you confirmed though you knew he wasn’t seriously asking. “But by the time I woke up, I felt immensely better, and when I saw that I still had time left to get down here, I came.”

He shook his head at your now somewhat chipper mood, “You should still be in bed, fully resting, and healing properly.”

“But I feel better now, see!” You twirled around and kicked your feet, making your class - and secretly Severus - laugh at the funny sight.

Severus stood up now, “Your silly dance proves nothing, Y/n. Just because you may appear fine doesn’t mean that you are.” He saw your look of protest and interrupted you, “Go back to the room and get comfortable. I’ll be there as soon as this class and mine are over.”

You sighed, seeing that he obviously wasn’t going to relent and let you educate your class right now, “Fine, but if you make me wait too long, I’m leaving.”

“And where, exactly, would you be going?”

“Like I’d tell you.” You raised your chin and left the classroom. You giggled at the children’s groans of protest, leaving them with their least favorite Professor.

You were going to go back to your room, you intended on it, but as you walked down the halls, you couldn’t help but let your feet guide you towards Minerva’s room. Now that Severus was teaching your class, you knew she was for sure in her chambers, having tea, and you wanted to join her. You knew she wouldn’t mind, you’d had a permanent invitation and were always welcome, so you journeyed your way there.

Knocking on her door, you opened it upon hearing her tell you to come in. “Good afternoon, Minerva.” You smiled at her welcoming aura, sitting down by the lit fire she was seated at.

She smiled back at you, “I see you’re feeling much better, Y/n. That’s good.” She got up and walked over to the little kitchen, bringing back a tray of biscuits for you to try.

“Yes, Sev brewed a healing potion for me, and with the correct amount of sleep, I now feel like I could bounce off the walls.” You took an offered biscuit from her, “Thank you.”

“Of course, dear.” She now sat back down and drank a sip of her tea. “Not that I mind, but what brings you by?”

“Severus insisted on teaching my class so that I could sleep my cold away, but I’m tired of resting, so I came to visit you.” You bit happily into your snack, moaning at how good it tasted.

The older woman laughed at your current mood, “You surely seem to be doing well.” She agreed. “Though, I have been wondering on what caused you to fall ill.” She listened as you rambled on about the story.

————

A few days ago, you had taken your students outside for your class. It wasn’t for a lesson whatsoever rather than just for fun, but your students obviously hadn’t minded and the joy that was on their face brought a smile to yours.

Since it was a little after the beginning of winter, and the snow had finally fallen over Hogwarts, you wanted to let them enjoy it. So, you decided to have a good, old fashioned snowball fight. It was amazing. Your students came up with the idea to put the girls against the boys, and you were the referee.

The game had been going great so far, the girls were winning... by a lot. You offered to join the boys’ team, but they were heavily against it, claiming that they didn’t want pity and that their team was strictly for boys. You left them alone and continued to watch them lose.

By the time you ended the game, the girls were basking in their glory and the boys were sulking in their loss. You found it quite amusing and when one Gryffindor boy decided that he wasn’t particularly happy about being defeated, he opted on pelting the closest girl near him with a couple of snowballs. This, in turn, made said girl angry and she chose to start viciously throwing snow back at the boy. You were going to break it up - that being the sensible adult thing to do - but you were intrigued at the war that had erupted between the two children, and it’d only gotten better when everyone else joined in. You backed away so you weren’t hit.

While you were watching, a quick breeze flew through the air and hit you right in the chest. You’d forgotten your outer robes and winter coat which now left you freezing in the crisp air. Your nose and ears, despite you wearing a hat, were left nearly frozen now but you didn’t care enough to pay attention to it.

As the children rivaled on, and the match picked up, luck would ultimately leave their side, and like all good things, the fight would come to an end. Their lovely Professor Snape decided that he was going to make an appearance and at the worse time imaginable.

One of the boys rolled a large, and rather hard, snowball, aiming it at his least favorite girl, and fired it straight at her. His precision was amazing but his timing was no doubt horrible. The girl ducked just in time to avoid being smacked right in the face and as she sighed, everyone else paled, frozen in place.

The snowball hit Severus violently on his chest and if his noticeably sharp intake of breath wasn’t enough, his now reddening face was a big indicator of his boiling anger. “100... points... from... Gryffindor.” His voice sounded dangerous as he slowly spoke. “Get to my class!” Although you could only see his back, you could feel his anger.

You cringed at seeing your once happy students have a look of terror as they hurried to get out of the scary professor’s way. “Seriously, Severus!” You crossed your arms while you glared at the man.

He turned around towards you with an equal glare, “Don’t try reprimanding me, Y/n, he hit a teacher.”

“Oh you are so dramatic, it was a snowball!” You threw your hands up. “And it was by accident, you dunderhead.”

He raised his eyebrows at your choice of words, “I’m the dunderhead,” you nodded. “Yet you’re the one without your outer robes, gloves, or even a scarf...”

You blushed because it was true. You didn’t think you’d be outside that long really. You were going to give the children a little bit of time to play outside, let them get competitive, maybe even join in, then you’d all get warm again before their next class. But obviously, that hadn’t happened. Which now brought you back to your dilemma.

“I’ll be quite alright, if I say so myself.” You shrugged.

Severus nodded, “Well, when you get sick, don’t come to me to help make you feel better.”

“Please,” you rolled your eyes. “Being outside for a while won’t hurt me, nor will it make me sick. I’ll be fine.” You turned to walk away from him and back to your classroom.

You heard the snow crunch underneath you as you took a few steps away from the man. You hadn’t gotten nearly anywhere before you felt the cold, wet feeling of something hitting your backside and hearing it as it made contact with your skirt. You jerked your body towards Severus and glared at him as he looked up and around, acting as if he was just as confused as you. You bawled your fists and squinted your eyes before you again walked away from him, this time actually being able to leave.

————

“I can’t believe he hit you with a snowball after pouting about being hit with one himself!” Minerva was now laughing at the story.

You laughed with her, equally as hard, “That’s what I said! The man can be a big baby sometimes.”

Before she was able to respond, the door to her room flew open, “Minerva, I’m sorry to disturb you, but could I borrow a few of your oils?” Severus politely asked her.

The way her chairs were set up, they were large and hid your body from his line of sight. Because he was standing behind you, and you were turned from him, you ducked further down.

Minerva’s eyes quickly darted to yours and you shook your head, silently thanking her when her eyes quickly returned back to Severus’. “Of course, Severus, come with me and I’ll let you have as many as you want.” She urged him to follow her, getting him away from you.

You sighed out at the chance to escape and when the two of them were no longer in view, you darted up and out of the chair, hurriedly leaving the room. You quickly ran back to your room and bust through the doors, taking off your clothes and getting under the covers.

You’d done everything just in time to avoid being caught because as soon as your body hit the bed, Severus came striding into the room. “Hello, love.” You smiled at him, hoping he’d ignore how out of breath you sounded.

He sent you a soft smile back, “Hello, how are you feeling? You sound winded.” He touched your forehead and cheeks, noticing how warm they were.

“Just fine,” you yawned. “Much better thanks to you, though.”

He hummed in acknowledgement and nodded. You watched as he walked into the bathroom and listened to him turning on the faucet, drawing a bath for you. It took him a few minutes before he walked back out and rolled his sleeves further up. “How about you go take a soak, relax, and when you get out, I’ll have dinner ready for you?” He saw you nod and helped you out of the bed.

You followed behind him, holding his hand as he pulled you to the bathroom and by the tub. He helped you strip out of your undergarments and guided you into the tub, watching as you visibly relaxed. He ignored your moan of appreciation and smirked at how your eyes closed straight away, feeling calmed by the hot water.

There was something so loving about a gentle Severus. You loved how he was so attentive to not only you, but your body and what you liked as well. How he could easily get you so calm and relaxed when you were either angry or stressed, make you more than happy on your saddest days. You couldn’t begin to fathom how he could make you feel so loved when you least expected it, but you’d always welcomed it without a second thought.

You didn’t know how long you had been in the bath, but judging by the wrinkles on your fingers, you assumed it had been a while. You could smell the delicious aroma of whatever Severus was cooking and you rushed to wash yourself so you could eat.

Seeing Severus’ back to you while he was cooking, you walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, “Dinner smells amazing.” You complimented him.

“Thank you, darling.” He turned in your arms and looked down at you, kissing your forehead and sighing at the sweet smell of your cleansed skin. “How was your bath?”

You sighed into his arms, feeling his body heat against yours, “Sensational. I especially loved the lavender oil you added, it helped me a lot.”

He nodded, “I remember you telling me how it’s often used to promote relaxation and balance, which allows for more restful sleep, and relives pain and headaches.”

“There’s nothing better than a man who listens.” You almost purred when his hand smoothed down your hair.

“Go sit at the table and I’ll bring your food to you.” You listened and sat in one of the dining chairs, watching as he moved about in the kitchen. He walked back to you a moment later, plates in hand with two glasses floating behind him. “Spaghetti Bolognaise is still your favorite, yes?”

You smiled and nodded eagerly, “Absolutely!” You instantly started to eat, more than ready to taste the delicious food. You moaned and shivered when the food touched your palate. Besides your parent(s), Severus was the only other person who could make the dish exactly how you liked; so simple but just as good.

“Must you make those noises?” He raised his eyebrows at your current state.

You looked up at him through your lashes, “Are they... tempting you?” You rested your chin on the back of your hand.

“Yes,” he sighed out. “More than you know.”

You laughed at his honesty and shook your head, “You’re so easy.” He laughed with you now. “How was your day?”

“Tiresome. I don’t know why or how, but yet again, a student found a way to knock something over, which scared another student, and made them spill their damned mixture everywhere.” He shook his head while speaking, those children always found a way to bother him. “To make matters worse, as if we haven’t gone over this lesson twice already, no one, and I mean no one, finished their potion correctly.”

You watched in amusement at how his face went from one expression to the other when talking about his day. It was funny watching him vent sometimes, especially when it was something so trivial as a spilled potion. In his defense, you knew how annoying it was to have to clean up a messy spill, but it took no time when you used a wand.

“You’re not listening.” Severus broke through your thoughts, face having gone blank when he realized you spaced out.

You blushed at being called out, “Sorry, you’re just so cute when you ramble.”

“I am not cute. I’m a grown man, expressing my disdain for my students.” He argued.

“You’re still cute to me.” You shrugged and smirked at how he tried hiding his obvious blush. You stood up and walked to stand behind his chair, massaging his shoulders and kissing the top of his head, “Care to come to bed?” You whispered in his ear.

He tilted his head back, looking up lovingly into your eyes, “I thought you weren’t feeling well?”

“Not like that!” You slapped his shoulder now. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Sev. I just meant I want to lie down and I’d like you to join me.” You took his hand dragged him behind you.

“You could’ve said that.”

“Were you going to take advantage of my hazed state? Severus Snape, you dog.” You giggled when he pinched your side and pushed you.

You both fell onto the bed, snuggling closer into each other. Severus wrapped his arms around your waist and nuzzled his head into where your shoulder and neck met each other, his breath tickled your skin and his kiss caused goosebumps to erupt. You felt safe and content in his arms, like you always had, and felt yourself drifting to sleep; you already felt better thanks to him, and you looked forward to the eventful day you were no doubt going to have tomorrow.

Before you succumbed to your slumber, you brushed your thumb over his naked wrist, “I love you.”

It was silent for a moment before he pushed you even closer to his chest, caressing your abdomen in return and murmuring in your ear, “I love you too.”

You fell asleep, smile etched onto your face, with Severus warmly behind you.

————

Tags: @once-upon-an-imagine @snapefiction

[starbornsinger]

Nepenthe

Azriel x Gwyn one-shot (light angst, fluff)

Warning: ⚠️ ACOSF spoilers, mentions of abuse ⚠️

The day was not turning out as Azriel had originally anticipated. That much, at least, he had gathered. Now today wasn't like other unanticipated, unwelcome distractions. Those were the kinds he dreaded— days where he would return to the townhouse soaked in blood he wasn't sure belonged to him.

Those days haunted him on ones like this.

Yes, today was a different kind of unexpected. Rhysand had decidedly summoned him for lunch in his office, to discuss politics and prisoners and what color he and Feyre would paint the baby's room. It went in and out of Azriel's mind. Most things did, these days. The time after the war, after spending months trying to get those goddamn Illyrians back in line, it was taking its toll on him. His shadows, which curled behind his ears like tufts of dark hair, now seemed to swallow Azriel’s face whole, clenching around his body with an armored ferocity Rhysand was accustomed to.

Maybe, Azriel told himself, that was why he called him here. To see what he was up to. How he was doing. It annoyed him, when Rhys fluttered around him like a concerned mother hen, desperate to understand his feelings and thoughts.

He doubted he deserved to be cared for like that.

And maybe, he thought with a wry snort, it was why he had sent him on such a meaningless errand. A distraction, one he merely welcomed with indifference.

"There's a book," Rhys had drawled, leaning back in the chair pushed out from his onyx desk. Behind him, the portrait of his Mate seemed to glimmer with curiosity. "In the library beneath the House of Wind. A history book, about the royal bloodline. Feyre is making a family tree, and wishes to learn more about my ancestors. If you don't mind, I'd like you to retrieve it for me."

As though Azriel had nothing better to do. Truthfully, he didn't. But still he had replied slowly, his voice tight, "Can't you get it yourself? Or send Cass?" Rhysand only barked a laugh. When it came to his brother, Azriel knew he would do anything he asked. For his brother, he would have jumped into the Sidra if he had asked. It was beyond the duty to the High Lord with which Azriel regarded Rhysand; but that didn't mean he wouldn't give him grief for such a stupid task.

"No, shadowsinger," he had purred in reply, mouth stretching into a taunting grin. "I cannot. I'm far too busy looking at paint samples with my Mate. And besides, the priestesses like you best, don't they?" Rhys barked a laugh. Azriel opened his mouth to retort, to defend the way his shadows flinched, but he set his jaw tightly. The shadowsinger gave a subtle nod, then rose from his seat. A soft brushing of knuckles against his stony mental shields had him pausing in the doorway.

You can hide it, Rhys had said. You can hide many things from us. But you can't hide from me. You need this today.

Hide it, indeed.

Azriel huffed as he flew, wings beating against the cool summer breeze that rippled across his dark head. He needed to stretch his wings, to clear his head and focus on the warmth beating down on his back. The sun, hanging lazily in the afternoon sky, illuminated the blues and reds of his wings and cast his shadow over Velaris as he made his way to the library. He told himself he had only wanted to get it over with, and that was why he was moving so quickly, darting across the sky. That he wanted to go back to the townhouse and sulk. But Mother damn him, he couldn't stop that swell in his chest as he came nearer and nearer. That swell was akin to dying a joyous and euphoric death— there was no other way Azriel could accurately describe it. His heart pounded in anticipation at what he knew lay beyond those ancient doors.

Her.

Azriel had become accustomed to Gwyneth Berdara’s strange beauty and equally strange humour during their training; had grown to like her friendly nature and competitive, passionate spirit. If anything, he admired her. He might have even feared her. That cheerful female with copper hair that shined in the light of the sun and moon, both of which seemed to love her. They had spent months, moving side-by-side, grinning at each other across the ring while trying to slash the other with a sword.

Their encounters outside of training were brief, and conversations short. He supposed he wasn't one for talking, and allowed her to lead them in a dialogue. But as time went on, Azriel found the little smiles on her rosy lips now reflected on his, and the bright laughter that filled his ears now echoed softly in his own throat. With her, he felt his emotions bob to the surface, and for once, he didn't stop them.

From the moment he'd met Gwyn, she'd held Azriel's attention with a preternatural ability, and had caught him off guard more times than he'd like to admit. The shadowsinger, spymaster, king of shadows— taken by surprise by a young priestess.

His lips turned upward at the thought of her.

᯽

Azriel landed on the balcony of the House of Wind, his wings snapping behind him as he eased into a walk. His descent down the swirling staircase to the library was a silent one. Azriel had been to this athenaeum hundreds of times, far more than he could count, but it had never gotten easier.

The pain and sorrow he felt in the priestesses' sanctuary was suffocating, at times. Not because he had felt the same anguish himself, but because he had rescued many of them from it. Because the shadowsinger had seen the horrors they'd escaped from, and faltered, unknowing of what to say or do to offer comfort.

He remembered rescuing Gwyn. Azriel was the first of the Inner Circle to arrive. He remembered dragging his blade across the throat of the Hybern general who thought he had a claim to Gwyn, who thought he was worthy of even gracing her presence. His scarred hands shook even now with fury, fury and rage towards the soldiers who had defiled her home and her body.

Azriel knew though, it was nothing compared to the pain she must have felt. He couldn't bring himself to think of it. Every inch of him now trembled with that dark rage, the joy now vanished without a trace, and he clenched his fists— the fists of a killer, he thought bitterly. Distraction was a fruitless effort. They had hurt her, and he had made them pay with their lives.

He only wished that killing them might have eased her mind, as he hoped to. It didn't. Even now, he found himself staring at the wall late at night, wondering if those mental scars were healing.

Or if they were just as ugly and unavoidable as the ones he bore on his skin.

Melancholy filled him as he walked further into the forlorn depths of the ancient library. He seemed to disappear into it, willing the shadows nearby to whisk him away into oblivion.

᯽

The hymn sung during today’s dawn service had yet to leave Gwyn's mind. It was a soft, gentle song, full of joy and sorrow and hope— the beacon she needed today. When she had woken this morning, the heaviness of her heart had weighed on her with a particular viciousness. It had been difficult to rise, to dress in her familiar blue robes and run a brush through her tangles of copper hair.

But she had done it. A small victory. And she had dragged herself to morning service, as she did every day. It had taken her many months to work up the courage to attend after arriving initially. She couldn't bring herself to fill her heart with music, with love. Not when it was so ravaged by hate. Gwyn didn't know if she deserved to feel joy like that. But when she was through with feeling sorry for herself, through with feeling such overwhelming shame, she dragged herself to that first service and never looked back.

Now, she led the songs with a fervor she hadn't felt in the 2 years since Sangravah. Now, she was bursting with life. With passion. Although the shame had never quite left her, she was happier. Lighter. Gwyn was healing, and happy to do so.

Gwyn had suggested the priestesses sing an older selection of music today, one that cried love in the rawest of forms. It was in a language long forgotten, and the words that had been lost were replaced by lyrics in the common tongue. The song carried on long after the service had ended, caressing the dark confines of her mind and coaxing her out of her stupor.

Perhaps, she thought to herself with a small smile, it was magic. To her, music was magic.

And so Gwyn carried on with her day, pushing the cart that only seemed to get heavier and heavier as the hours flew by. She nodded to priestesses that passed by, and offered small smiles to those she recognized the scents of. The library was a quiet existence, save for the occasional conversation; so she filled the silence, humming and singing and tapping her fingers as she worked.

᯽

It was that soft singing that caught Azriel's attention as he stood before Clotho, his hands resting on the desk politely. Perhaps a reminder to those watching that he too, was damaged. A silent request to be accepted into their sacred space. He had asked politely about the book Rhysand had requested, and a silent prodding about the possibility of him seeking it out. With a shallow nod, Clotho permitted it, and waved a gnarled hand of dismission. She too, seemed to perk up at that singing, but merely shrugged when Az raised a brow. He studied her for a moment, before nodding and turning away. Clotho returned to her work without another word, but a secret smile ghosted her lips.

A few priestesses had indeed watched from afar, but quickly returned to their work as he approached the endless rows of books. Level Four, Section 3A, he repeated over and over. Level Four, Section 3A. Curiously, Azriel glanced over at the group of priestesses who now spoke quietly, and offered a rare, gentle smile to the group before descending down the spiral ramp to the next level.

Still that singing seemed to follow him, echoing off the stone walls.

It was, in simplest terms, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. His shadows harmonized with the gorgeous melody, a reverence of the Mother like no other. The song called to Azriel with an intensity that made his blood tremble, and pulled him until his feet seemed to move on their own, down and down and down into those depths of darkness and light and beauty. He picked up speed, his heartbeat erratic as his mind echoed with that damn music.

When he reached the fourth level, he turned in the direction Section 3A, looking up at a nearby sign. But when he took the first step, his shadows nipped at him, grabbing him by the sleeve and tugging him in the opposite direction. Come, they whispered. Find her.

Azriel hesitated for a breath, glancing back at the sign, then obliged. He was walking blind, betraying every battle instinct that had drilled into him. Ignoring them, he let his shadows guide him with a racing heart, until he found the source.

Mere feet away, there she stood, her straight copper hair tied back by a simple blue ribbon, the same sapphire shade as his siphons. A few stray wisps of red were tucked behind her delicately pointed ears. His shadows wanted to curl around those pretty ears, to run their dark fingers through the silky strands of her perfect hair, but he quickly tugged on their leash before they could slip away from him. Gwyn's lips moved gently, her voice vibrating with a clarity he wasn't quite sure was possible for Fae— but she wasn't entirely Fae, was she?

This damned female would surely be the end of him.

He felt his knees wobble, as her voice waltzed towards him on a star-studded breeze. Azriel had heard beautiful singing before— had been to the theatre several times with Rhysand and the Inner Circle, had tapped his foot to the sound of street performers on the cobblestone pathways of Velaris. But this was nothing like them. She was casual, examining the spines of books and then tucking them into spots on the shelves, rearranging them until she was satisfied. Her musical prowess was a stark contrast to the sight of her; Mother, just seeing her standing there was a perfect melody that made his blood sang. The words that left her lips though, were something wholly magical.

Gwyn was confident in her singing, confident enough to do so in a near silent library where all listened and admired her talent. When Gwyneth Berdara sang, the troubles of the priestesses weren't simply forgotten. Instead, they became tangible, and beautiful, and raw. They became a song, a flawless execution of emotion, a dance of mourning and a waltz of life , all at once. It was a release; a rebirth. It was an almost laughably common occurrence for females to cry tears of relief during her performances, but one that gave Gwyn a swelling sense of pride.

In her songs, there was an honesty that only Mor had ever shown; it was all swirling together like she herself was Cauldron-blessed and the Mother was pouring Gwyn's soul into the world. Time had frozen for— well, Azriel wasn't sure for how long. The faelights flickered around them, two beings lost in the eternity of the library, one seemingly unaware of the other.

If Azriel hadn't known better, he might have admitted how much his heart had calmed. How his chest had warmed, and the heavy weight he had been feeling on his shoulders had slowly but surely vanished. But he dare not say a word, and instead, savored the moment in contented silence.

His shadows, on the other hand, were perfectly content to dance and harmonize alongside her. They hugged the shadow cast at her feet, their misty forms swaying between them. Azriel clenched his fist, and swallowed. Stop it, he tried to command them. And of course, they ignored him wholly. Gwyn's song came to a close, and she hummed the tune to herself as she pushed the cart a bit further down the aisle. The shadows followed, and Azriel took a silent step forward, beckoning them. You're supposed to listen me, you know. They laughed at him in reply.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to eavesdrop, shadowsinger?"

Azriel's heart stopped.

᯽

Gwyn had known Azriel was near the moment he had stepped foot into the library. She wasn't sure how or why, but something in her seemed to suddenly resonate— a feeling ringing inside her that she couldn't quite explain, and only seemed to grow louder and more intense.

Until it was behind her, and she swore she felt the most tender of brushes against her ear, tucking her hair back. A bit of darkness flickered in and out of the corner of her eye, and a smile formed on her lips. Gwyn welcomed his shadows, let them settle at her feet and dance to her song. She had always liked them, anyway. She had been humming throughout the day, but when she had felt that warmth in her blood, it was as though the voice of the Mother had whispered into the curve of her ear: Sing.

So she did.

Gwyn had heard Azriel's soft footsteps as they approached the rows of shelves on Level Four. It wasn't particularly hard to identify them; no other males outside of the Inner Circle were permitted to visit, and no other was as subtle about his movements as the shadowsinger was. Months of training and sparring had accustomed her to his preternatural stillness. Yes, Gwyn assured herself, she had become very familiar with him. Had deduced that it must be him. Nothing more than that.

She dare not admit that she would have felt him and his shadows even if she were blind and deaf.

So finally, Gwyn spoke. Her lips curled into a teasing smile, and she turned to face Azriel fully. And of course, there he was, standing at the end of the aisle as she had expected. What she hadn't expected however, was that his eyes would be as wide and mouth hanging open as it was. Gwyn blinked, the only indicator of surprise, before she soothed her expression into one of cool teasing. The High Lord's spymaster straightened up as well, setting his jaw tightly. He cast his gaze to the floor.

"Gwyn," was all he said in greeting.

"Azriel." Her teal eyes sparkled, and her freckles seemed to glow like stars in the faelight. "What brings you here? Surely not my singing." A soft laugh.

What he wanted to say was, Yes. It was you. You and that damn gorgeous voice. I couldn't hear anything but you. Couldn't think about anything else. Hell, I forget walking down here.

But instead, he simply answered, "Book."

A pause. Azriel's cheeks flared, and his shadows made to quickly hide his embarrassment. He coughed. "A book. For Rhysand. A— a history book. Clotho directed me to this level."

"Ah," replied Gwyn. There was no hint of judgement in her tone. At least she didn't think he was a moron. His shadows flicked towards her curiously. "I see. And what sort of history book could interest our mighty High Lord?"

Gwyn's grin was unrelenting, but Azriel was far too stiff to even look up at her. He had been caught. The shadowsinger, the fucking spymaster for the Night Court, had been caught red-handed by a young female. Cassian would have guffawed at the sight of him blushing like an idiot.

Gwyn picked up a particularly heavy book, standing on her toes to reach a higher shelf. She strained, but was determined to reach what was too high above her head. Without thinking, Azriel moved. His strides were smooth, powerful even, and he stood beside her. A comfortable distance away, he took hold of the book, and gently pried it from her hand. A silent request. She obliged, releasing her hold as his scarred fingers grazed hers. A tingling sensation crept up her body from that contact, while Az pushed the book into its slot effortlessly. Gwyn still remained on her toes, looking up at him as he seemingly towered over her. Yet, she was not afraid of him. It was impossible to be, not when he was so gentle, and so strong, and had saved her life—

"Family history," he clarified. His voice was a low caress. "For Feyre." Azriel's hand lingered on the shelf high above her for a moment, a finger trailing slowly down the cracked spine of the book. Gwyn's eyes darted from his face to the book, then back to his face. A moment seemed to stretch into a thousand tiny moments that burned into his mind like etchings on a cave: face, so smooth and gentle, yet lively; plush, pink lips that curved upwards, that seemed to have a magnetic pull to his. If he leaned down far enough, his mouth might have met hers. Gods, she was divine. As expected of a priestess, he supposed.

He took in the rest of her face: a strong, stubborn chin, with equally opposing gentle eyes, that flared with surprise once more. He sensed a gradual change in her scent, one he didn't recognize. Gwyn's freckled face flushed pink, and Az worried that he might have overstepped her boundaries.

So he retracted his arm, and took a step back. The heels of Gwyn’s silk-slippered feet lowered to the floor. The male ran a scarred hand through his dark hair, and Gwyn tracked the movement, her eyes catching on every strand and wave of his silken locks. Her face seemed a bit rosier than it had before. He swore silently, worried he had upset her.

"Thank you," Gwyn said rather suddenly, as though snapping out of a daze. The faint blush did not leave her cheeks, though. Her hand drifted to her necklace, fiddling with it and zipping the small flower pendant along the chain. He only stole a glance at her, not wanting to stare too long and make her uncomfortable. But seeing her in that necklace, touching it so affectionately... Az felt his mind ease into a calm. With Gwyn, he felt absolved. Even for just a moment.

"Would you mind helping me? Find the book, I mean." Azriel asked, jerking his chin towards the section. Thinking for a moment, he quickly added, "That is, if you're not too busy."

Gwyn halted, and chewed on her lip. She glanced up at the other floors, as though looking at something in quiet consideration. then returned her gaze to him. There was no way she could say no— not when he made the sorrow in her mind settle. Not when he made her feel so... happy.

"I would love to."

Something about that smile… It was so disarming. He had no defenses, no stealth, no plans for her. Even his shadows, usually astute guard dogs, had rolled over to bear their bellies to her.

They liked her.

He liked her.

A secret, happy possibility was tucked away in the back of his mind.

Gwyn’s heart skipped a beat, as though she was wondering the same thing.

What they could be.

“Lead the way, Berdara.” He made a lazy motion with his hand, and the corners of his lips tugged upwards. He sketched a bow, like a true courtly gentleman.

She returned the smile, her teal eyes sparkling with a new feeling, and took his arm. "Gladly."

The touch sent his heart soaring.

nepenthe (noun)— something that makes you forget grief or suffering.

[thanekrios]

A desert of his own

Summary: Shepard dreams of a dead planet. Irikah tells Kolyat a myth of creation. And Thane sees a desert.

Note: I wrote this many years ago. Posted it here when I was galifreyas, so the original post is lost. This is still up @ my much abandoned AO3.

Let us start with a planet that has been dead for centuries. Let us tell some fictions and some realities about it. It is up to you to believe which ones are true.

What about a woman who dreams of the deserts of Rakhana? Deserts carpeted with purple weeds that are inhabited by silvery lizards she has named the afa’el. In her dreams, the afa’el sing – no, that’s not what they do, the old melodies once sung by burning stars echo in them. Sometimes it sounds like they are humming and others, they appear to be reproducing three songs at once. She watches the ira, cactus-like succulents, glowing in announcement of the dawn of a new season as the cavernous voices of an ancient creature or a sinking sun make their way across the planet, from afa’el to afa’el and finally they reach her. She hears and understands their wordless mellow stories.

They tell her of the Endu, the biggest flower to ever exist in any world, which according to legend had bloomed in an unforgiving desert and was encountered by a group of nomads who sought it as a symbol of Arashu and built the biggest civilization around it.

She learns of how Rakhana came to be. How it was once a frozen egg, drifting away in the Sea of Stars, and how a maiden made of gold nourished it back to life.

The woman, whose name is Shepard, visits the great desert of Alasere religiously. She enjoys standing there, sinking her feet in a golden ocean, listening to the afa’el murmur words in Rakhani long forgotten.

She learns of fihanda, which roughly translates to the guilt a child feels when they recognize dishonesty in their parents or in an older authority figure. There is amuefto, the gift of finding beauty in a person and seeing it reflected in their faces, regardless of their looks. Taverena, an expression of gratitude only used when someone has made a true impact one’s life, making it out of the ordinary. And then, tah-sehe.

“I will miss you, Shepard. Tah-sehe,” had been the last thing she heard from Thane’s lips before he left the Normandy. For a while, she whispered tah-sehe to herself while embracing the mundane. It would fill the room in the form of a silly melody muttered while she watched the rain pour; or as a gurgling sound while she took a shower. It was imprinted on her mind. It isn’t until the afa’el sing morosely about the last chapter in their planet’s history, that she discovers tah-sehe is not a word to be said lightly.

She comes to understand why Thane, who turns the simplest of sentences into splendid verses, had felt it necessary to utter that word – because I will miss you was but a fragment of what he wished to convey. Tah-sehe meant more than to miss someone; it was a profound emotional state of infinite yearning, of not being able to experience life to the fullest, of having lost the most significant part of oneself. The concept originated during the great exodus of the 1980s, as the first generations of drell settled in Kahje carried the name of the tah’sehen, the ones who dwell in what’s lost.

It didn’t matter whether those were dreams weaved by longing. Tah’sehe migrated from her head to her heart.

During the days, as the Vancouver rain attempts to wash away her dreams, she convinces herself that if she can capture at least a fraction of the beauty of the deserts she wanders in and if she can translate it into a form, any form, the dormant planet of Rakhana will be awaken.

For a while, Shepard considers writing about every beast, plant and insect she has come across in her journeys but she has never been one to confuse her desires with her abilities. Writing, just like dancing, does not come naturally to her. And while she is a gifted saxophone player, she was never much of a composer. Yet, she tries.

Thane had caught her once practicing one of her unpolished pieces, one she referred to as “if calluses were a song, this would be it.” He had asked her to play it for him. She knew he’d listen, he’d truly listen, and not just that…he’d remember.

“Ugliness is abundant in this galaxy. Let’s not add up to it.” She said, putting down her sax.

“When you play, I hear a reminder of beauty and laughter and life. What you do is extraordinary, siha. To transform the dreadful slices of the universe, its eruptions and its vast darkness into a stream of ecstatic sounds, a blast of playful rhythms. You create things when there is but destruction around you. There is value in that. I hope you see it someday.”

Encouraged by his words, she composes a few songs that don’t come to even faintly remind her of the fierce and dry winds scattered across the planet. She can’t feel its vibrant colors in her slow and melancholic tunes, as they are permeated by the city she sees through her window and a sky that won’t stop weeping.

That is when she starts making terrariums resembling the deserts she visits. She thinks, if she is ever lucky enough to see Thane again, she’ll hand him a desert of his own. She can still hear him:

“I would much like to see a desert.”

* * *

After Kolyat leaves Huerta Memorial, so does Thane. He sees him walk away in a pristine white hallway and at the same time, a young Kolyat attempts to step on his father’s footprints. He can smell salt and iron and antiseptics and detergent, and hear machines beeping and waves crashing. Kolyat is saying something, he wants to be heard, but what might have been the most important words ever spoken are drowned by the roaring of the sea. He just stares at him and waits for his father to react and after a pause, disappointment is written all over his face. Thane asks him to hurry up and a young Kolyat walks reluctantly towards him, this time ignoring the trail of footprints left by his father.

He wishes his recollections were malleable, he often hears of humans enriching their past with fictions; or of conflicts among them springing from a poor recollection of events. But a drell’s memories are unforgiving –they can, on occasion, overlap with reality–but never be rewritten.

His mind takes him to that same evening, after Kolyat asked him to dance with him but he refused, as he was getting ready to go to work. He doesn’t see blighted hope but despondency in his child. Kolyat still wishes him a pleasant journey, as he always does, and runs to his room. He should have kissed his forehead. He should have made him feel like he was the brightest sun in the Zahel Sea cluster, the most vital spring of energy in his life.

As he is lacing up his shoes, he hears Irikah’s voice. Whenever she puts Kolyat to bed, her voice is soft and gentle. Like most nights, she is telling him a story. Irikah was always the better storyteller. Irikah was always the better everything.

“Now as everybody knows, the Land of Whistling Dunes was the child of a maiden made of gold, whose heart’s one desire was to drink from the Sea of Stars” says Irikah.

“The Milky Way” Kolyat mouths the words as his mother speaks them.

Irikah nods gently before continuing her story:

“The maiden, who shoned in silence in the skies, knew her womb was barren for a blazing flame lived inside of her. She watched the ages pass and her younger sisters descend to the Sea and drink from its starry tides; and one by one, they all bore and gave birth to the Sea’s children. And as eons passed, the children danced around their mothers; and the mothers swayed gently in the Sea.

The maiden, lonely and scorching, continued to long for the Sea’s kiss, until the day all eyes turned to the death of her older sister, whose cries of pain were carried by the waves, scattering them across the galaxy. And with her passing, her children came to perish too. It was then the maiden dove into the Sea of Stars and gulped its darkness greedily, for she desired children of her own.

The waves whipped her mercilessly as punishment for her insolence, tearing her flesh open. But the maiden didn’t yield; she drank until no more fire dripped from her mouth, she drank until the tides had dragged her sisters and nieces and she had swallowed them whole, she drank until the radiant sea was almost pitch-black.”

Irikah pauses. Something is happening.

Thane hears a gasp that doesn’t fit in their house, it doesn’t belong in the past. A horrified gasp. He recognizes the padding of shoe soles brushing against the floor and the sharp rhythmic piercing sounds of heels. There are many of them. Nurses, patients, visitors, doctors. They’re gathering near him. A man raises his voice, demanding everyone to be quiet. Another voice protests, only to be followed by Doctor Michel shushing the crowd and asking someone to turn down their hand terminal’s sound, so everyone can listen to the same thing.

Then, Irikah’s narration comes to him in long, heavy echoes.

He wants to be home as much as he wants to discover what is happening around his body. He can feel reality piercing its way through, the white pristine light of Huerta Memorial filtering through a crack in the wall he always meant to fix. Another voice slides in, distant and resonant, and he can’t make out what it says. He ignores it. He needs to hear the end of Irikah’s tale. That memory must remain unspoiled, uninterrupted. It’s the last story he ever hears her tell.

He hangs onto it; everything else must wait just a little longer.

“The Sea, heartbroken after witnessing the death of so many of his kin, felt conflicted as he desired retribution but didn’t wish to feel emptiness any further. He then presented the maiden with a choice: he would spare her life if she looked after an egg that had lost its guardian centuries ago; and if she was able to give life to a daughter who existed suspended in a shell of ice and yearned to see the light, her crimes would be forgiven. As the maiden accepted his offer, the pale egg rose up out of the sea. She held it tight, keeping it warm until the day it hatched and came to love it. And so, a winged silvery lizard was born. Her name was Rakhana.”

“Reports are coming in from the cities of London, Seoul and Vancouv—“

She is almost done. Let her finish.

“It’s said that Rakhana’s mother could not stand her daughter flying far away from her, for she was terrified that her only companion would abandon her. So Rakhana, who very much loved her mother and wished to make her proud, danced near her despite the sultriness she felt around her. Eventually, her entire body blushed with red desert flowers and her skin blistered and turned hot and dry. The lizard curled up and fell into a deep slumber as her skin turned to soil; and her breath became wind; and from her backbone a mountain range was born; and while she gave life to many, she failed to save them from the maiden’s fire. And so, Rakhana’s body continued dancing around her mother and her mother swayed gen...”

He sees a large group of people gathered a few feet away from where he is sitting. It takes him a moment to put together the pieces of the situation, of what it is being broadcasted through every terminal, of why Doctor Michel is shaking while she buries her face in her hands.

A myth of creation is replaced by news of destruction.

* * *

Thane always enjoyed looking at her fish. Once more, he sees them travel with glee from one side of the tank to the other. He used to feed them whenever she forgot, which was more often than she would care to admit. Half a lifetime ago.

He presses one of his fingertips against the fish tank’s glass and draws small invisible circles. A Thessian Sunfish follows his finger, even when he begins to trace unpredictable shapes. Shepard can’t see his face but she likes to think he’s grinning, greeting his old friends.

From all the stories and words that spun inside her head, tah-sehe is the only one she has felt pounding violently inside her. She wonders, even if she doesn’t know its true meaning, if perhaps there’s a word that encases an opposite feeling, the sensation of her chest being cluttered with emotions; and the impulse she is struggling to oppress, of talking about everything at once, the things she has seen and done and felt. And on the same time, she doesn’t want to talk at all, she wants to reach out and touch and caress and experience.

So, she asks.

“Is there a word in Rakhani for…this? Say…what you feel when you are reunited with someone? Like you with the fish right now.”

Thane turns around slowly; his hands are behind his back. The hint of a smile turns the corners of his mouth.

“I believe the closest word is sehifa. Even though I wouldn’t use it to describe my reunion with the fish. Is there a similar word in human language?”

“I don’t know if there’s a word for it in one of the human languages, but there isn’t one in English. At least the translator didn’t find an equivalent.”

“Ah. I see. Sehifa is a hard concept to condense into a single word. Perhaps it can be defined as the dusk of missing someone. Although it means more than that. It also refers to what you feel and what you do when you are reunited. The emotional closeness that is rekindled. Perhaps even physical intimacy. The warmth you feel in your chest. And what is exchanged. A memento or a present perhaps. Even the stories that your loved one wished to tell you for a long time, when they are finally said out loud and heard by the person who was meant to hear them. How each action or touch is meaningful.”

The dusk of missing someone. That’s it. That’s what it is.

Her cheeks feel warm and her heart full. She smiles the brightest of smiles and starts to laugh. It is a deep, explosive burst of laughter. The sort that seems to pour out like liquid gold to illuminate an entire room.

When Shepard runs out of laughter, she holds his gaze:

“I have something for you. A memento or a present or something of sorts.” She disappears for a couple of seconds and emerges from the bathroom holding something round made of crystal, around the same size as a fishbowl. “Remember what you told me? About creating? It’s funny. All this time I believed all I could ever make were bad songs. But in truth, there were worlds I could create. I can’t really share them with you, not with words at least, so I made a thing. It’s not really finished and it’s not as pretty as what it looked in my dreams but reality rarely pairs up with your expectations, right? I wanted to work on it for a while longer but, after what you just said, I just can’t wait anymore. Here.”

She shakes her head and hands it to him.

Thane holds it up.

It’s a terrarium.

She had created a harmonic ecosystem, filled with lively-colored succulents and cacti, each of them she handpicked herself to resemble the desert of Alasere. She knows that Rakhana will remain arid and dormant; and the worlds that live inside of her aren’t supposed to be more than just dreams. Yet, somehow, Thane is holding a slice of one of them between his hands. One of the things he wished he could see with his own eyes has come to him. In a way, a dream they dreamt of together became real.

He puts the terrarium down with care, next to her terminal, and he reaches over and cups her cheeks with both hands. He calls her by her first name, as he rarely does. He leans down and presses his forehead against hers. He smiles a very rare smile. He is somehow doing it with his entire face. His eyes are deep pools of bliss and warmth and tenderness.

“A desert” he says. She can even hear the smile in his voice.

She nods calmly. He knows Shepard is good at locking her nostalgia away behind more curtains than just her eyelids, but right then, her voice breaks.

“I really wanted you to see that desert, Thane.”

He utters a word in Rakhani used to convey a specific form of gratitude. And while taverena escapes from his lips, Shepard hears him say:

“Thank you for giving me the extraordinary.”

[alouispo]

part two :D

“Is that a flying island?” Techno questions aloud, slowing down to a walking pace as he made his way towards the earth in the sky.

“I think it’s pretty obvious that it is Tech,” Phil deadpanned, straightening his hat and following his friend over the hill. 

They both pushed through the leaves and trees, soon enough ending in a much less dense part of a flower forest. Blue eyes scanned the area, shocked at how nice this place looked. Phil remembered seeing something that looked like a flower forest back towards the main area of the SMP, but it didn’t appear as vibrant as it was here. Bits and pieces of that forest were destroyed or wilted away, some parts of it not even having flowers anymore due to them being picked or trampled on. 

Was the SMP so much nicer when you got out this far? 

“Well, Phil, I think anyone would be skeptical of there being a random piece of land in the sky without any warning,” the piglin retorted, pausing to let Phil catch up, who was currently too encaptivated by the landscape to actually pay attention to where he was going. 

Rolling his eyes, Techno grabbed his friend’s sleeve and marched towards the spawn coordinates on his compass, ignoring the protests the older male made at being dragged along. 

Soon enough, the two of them reached the top of the hill. IF Phil was being completely honest, it was not what he was expecting at all. He looked around with shock; there was a bunch of people living here! There were so many different buildings -that were all finished, he noted- and there was a huge lake right in the center of all of them. 

“Hey Tech, can we go down there?” Phil questioned, trying his best not to freak out. This place looked nearly a million times better than the Dream SMP, and it only fueled his excitement. It reminded him of his hardcore world, which was only more welcoming to the bird hybrid. 

“We have to anyways, it seems like spawn coords are right near the center of the lake,” watching as Phil immediately jumped down, chuckling to himself before following right after. 

“Techno this place is great! Look at all the flowers!” the hybrid exclaimed, kneeling down to touch the wildlife that appeared so unnaturally for him. “Have you ever seen flowers like this grow near the SMP? They look like they are practically glowing!” 

“Nope. We also live in the arctic so it wouldn’t make any sense for them to grow there,” Techno replied nonchalantly, stepping over the flowers in order to not step on them. “Now stop gushing over plants Phil, we have to find who runs this place so we can see what’s going on.”

“Oh you’re one to talk Tech-” he was cut off by the sound of wings beating loudly above them, making them both pull out their weapons and look around. 

“Hello!” the pair turned towards the lake, watching as a blur of feathers floated outwards and a man stood before the flowers. 

“Heh?” Techno questioned, staring at the newcomer as Phil dropped his sword. 

“Welcome to the Origins SMP! I am the Crow Father, protector of these lands, and ambassador of The Circle. What are your-” the Crow Father paused, staring right back at Phil as their eyes met. 

The newcomer looked exactly like Phil. Same eyes, same hair, same hat. The only difference was that this man had not been fated to war, one who still had his wings intact. They appeared much brighter in color compared to Phil’s, who had resembled the color of oil but still had all the colors in at the same time. He also adorned a white gown under a familiar-looking robe.

“Phil?” the man in question stared a while longer, grabbing the sword and putting it into his inventory as he stood back near Techno. 

“Are you alright Phil?” the anarchist tried again, placing his hand on his shoulder. 

He nodded,” I’m alright, don’t worry about it.” 

“Well then,” the Crow Father said, brushing himself off as he smiled warily. “I don’t think you are supposed to be here? Am I right?” he asked, a crow of similar color as his wings landed on his hat, tilting its head to the side in at the pair. 

“No, if that wasn’t obvious enough by there being two of you,” Techno remarked, putting a hand on his hip in slight annoyance. 

“Uh, right. So, uh, mind telling me how you got here, mate?” the Croaw father questioned, putting his hands behind his back politely. 

Phil frowned, examining the other. Did he really look like that? It seemed odd to see another version of himself standing right in front of him, behaving almost exactly as he would. He made eye contact with the Crow Father, as he called himself, realizing that he was doing the same thing. 

“Well, we got transported here by the God of our SMP cause we broke one of the rules, and now we are here and have to try and get back before we die or something,” the piglin hybrid stated as if it was just another day of the week. He paused. Actually, it was another day of the week, what was he talking about.

“Oh, well that’s fine mate!” and he smiled, which made him feel strange. Phil hadn’t remembered how to smile like that for such a long time, it looked off on his own face. Which technically, wasn’t even his face at all. 

“I’ll help you in the best way that I can since after all, it is my job.”

“You sure about that? You don’t seem like the type that would be able to help us with what we need,” Phil turned and punched Techno straight in the arm, glaring at the much taller male in playful annoyance. 

“I was just being honest!” the piglin retorted, appearing unfazed by the action. 

“Honesty is what is going to make me kill you one day, you whiny bastard. You’re worse than my Cshat,” he replied, narrowing his eyes and turning back to Crow Father, who was watching with great interest. 

“Well, it still is my job of course, so I can at least try to help you. That’s what the boss appointed me to at least,” the other Phil said, looking up thoughtfully as he tapped his cheek. 

“The boss?” Phil questioned, catching both of their attention. 

“Oh yeah, the boss of this place,” the Crow Father said, sweatdropping as the bird on top of his hat started beating his wings aggressively. 

“Do you think we could speak to him?” Techno asked, looking at Phil and then back at the protector, who appeared to be forcing a smile on his face as the bird pecked at his hat.

The Crow Father paused, jumping slightly when the crow started squawking incoherent words very loudly before flying away. “You little shit!” he shouted at the runaway bird, plucking the stray feathers out of his hair and dropping them to the ground. 

“Sorry about that,” he started, brushing off his gown. “The natural wildlife don’t really like the admin. Not exactly sure why but hey, really nothing we can do about that,” he shrugged. 

“Yeah, uh anyways, can you take us to the admin of this place?” Phil questioned, tapping his foot albeit so impatiently. He didn’t really like the Crow Father, as much as it was another version of himself. 

He was not jealous of his wings, that was not it. Shut. 

“Are you really sure about that?” The Crow Father asks adamantly, looking to his right and back at the pair anxiously. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?” Techno asked, adjusting the chains keeping his cape on his shoulders. “It’s the best choice we have anyways unless you know a way to go back to a server where you most likely wouldn’t exist?” he added, crossing his arms and glaring. 

“No, no, you’re right,” the other Phil said, resigned. “Come now, follow me, I’ll take you to the pube.” 

“The what?” 

It was not in fact, a pube, it was a pub. Very interesting pronunciation there. 

After climbing up the unnecessarily tall ladder, Phil noticed that on top of the flying island was what the Crow Father had described as the pube. He had said that he was the one that built the place, although he didn’t necessarily own it. Another thing that the Angel thought was strange. 

“Here is the pube, place where the admin resides,” the Crow Father said as he walked inside rather loudly, startling what looked like a full enderman. Phil and Tecno followed behind, eyeing the newcomer warily. 

“Ranboo!” the other Phil called, making the pair look between the two in shock. This was Ranboo? 

“Oh, hey Crow Father! What brings you here…” he trailed off, noticing that there were double of Phil and a really different-looking Technoblade both behind the hero. “Uhh..” 

“These two are from a different server, which is why there are two of me and Techno looks really different,” the Crow Father explained nonchalantly. 

“Oh, that makes sense. Anyways, what brings them here to the pube?” the other Ranboo said, standing up making Phil do a double-take. This version of Ranboo was even taller than their Ranboo, although it may be because this one didn’t have a massive slouch. 

  “They’re here to talk to admin to try and get back to their own server,” he replied, scratching his chin nervously. 

“Oh.” 

The four of them stood in silence as Ranboo looked up towards the ceiling, scratching the top of his head and contemplating something. 

“The boss isn’t busy is he?” the Crow Father asked, his wings twitching subtly. 

“I don’t think he is. Nothing has really been happening with the locals so he’s most likely doing some paperwork,” Ranboo replied cheerily. “I’ll take you guys to him!” he added, going up towards the ladder to the second. 

“Only the regulars are here today, so there won’t be too much problem with you guys talking to the boss today,” he added once they had gotten to the top. 

“Thanks, Ranboo!” the Crow Father said, going to knock on the door. 

“Wait a minute,” Techno said, staring at the sign on top of the door in horror. 

“No way,” Phil added, taking a step back as he paled. 

The sign on the top of the door read the words ‘Innit Incorporated’, carved hastily into the wood in messy handwriting. Techno and Phil looked at each other, dread pooling in the bottom of their stomachs as realization dawned upon them. 

“Sorry bout that, sometimes he’s talking with people so he doesn’t hear much,” the Crow Father said apologetically. 

“Coming, I’m coming!” a very recognizable voice shouted from the inside of the room, making Techno groan as his fears came true. 

In a burst of his above-average glory, a very similar-looking but not quite Tommy opened the door, looking irritated as he overlooked the people in the room. He had a bunch of feathers neatly placed in his hair and much brighter eyes than the Tommy they knew. 

“What?” he asked, annoyance obvious in his tone of voice. 

[shyflameweasel]

The Circus is in Town

This takes from both this and this. Read with caution as there is blood in this.

It’s been few weeks since...the Thing in the alleyway. Maybe a month if you had to guess? You still have no clue what it even was. Curiosity lays at the edges of your mind, poking and prodding to look deeper into the mystery. Shaking your head to dislodge the stray thoughts, you don’t give them a chance to take root. Since that night you haven’t gone out at much as you used to, either by day or by night. Dark places and hideaways were avoided like the plague. (Sometimes you dreamed of floating hands shooting from the darkness to drag you back towards that nightmare.)

You had security system installed. Along with carrying both a knife and taser. A firearm seemed like too much. You’d briefly considered pepper spray but you’re not sure if it would even work without-

Shuddering, that thought’s pushed away (with all the others). You so wanted to believe that it was just your imagination. But with that photo- that damnable photo that you got so close to deleting but couldn’t go through with. Bringing certainty and dread that that night was real. 

So so often you wanted to throw that phone against the wall. Or just factory reset it to stop it from feeling like a brand whenever you held it. Often why you absentmindedly grab the phone for something, you’ll see or feel the crack and everything come rushing back.

Somewhere in your mind, a little voice in your head thinks that you were blowing things out of proportion. Another told it to shut it; isn’t it better to be safe than sorry?

But today...some friends had managed to convince you to get out of your sudden self-isolation. No one knew the reason why, no one would believe you even with proof. (You struggled to believe yourself.) When they said that you’d all be going out of town for a carnival was relaxing. Distance would mean less of a chance of a second encounter and have the benefit of soothing your fraying nerves.

Everything was nice...for awhile.

You don’t fully remember how, but your group had ended up lost. The roads unfamiliar and tensions were rising. Which soon gave way to arguments.

Which lead to a crash. Then darkness.

Fortunately, by some miracle everyone made it out fine with just some scrapes and bruising when you regained consciousness. Unfortunately, the car was in no condition to drive and no one had any idea where you were. The GPS seemed unable to lock onto the location.

Something felt...off. Like it was only the slightest thing off but you didn’t know what so it gnawed at-

Someone spotted a large circus tent in the distance. A tent meant people, people meant help. The group’s spirit rose, all except yours. That feeling was still rolling in your gut. They started towards it, joking around that at least they have some entertainment while waiting for a tow. You hesitated in following, that not-quite-right feeling thick in the back of your throat. It dawned on you why you felt this way.

It was the same feeling as the alley.

You didn’t want to go but what other choice was there? A wrecked car, no other soul for seemingly miles. As much as you hated it, there really wasn’t a choice in the matter.

Checking once twice thrice for your knife taser phone you followed. As you caught up with the rest, you placed your phone where the camera could see everything and hit record.

(Your information was already saved into the phone. On the chance that it was found, someone would know what happened to you.)

That feeling grew as you got closer to the ‘circus’, if you could even call it that. From far away it seemed decent enough but once you got closer details were starting to register. For one, there was only a tent. Nothing of the bright lights or rides that would be at a carnival, even the more shoddy ones had something to bring in a crowd.

Another red flag: dead silence. Not a single person or animal in sight. Not even the sound of insects broke the blanket of noiselessness. You held some slight hope that it was due to being in the middle of a performance in the tent. But if that was the case, wouldn’t there still be cheering form the crowd? Or music playing?

The others seemed to catch on to just how wrong everything felt. Like at the drop of a pin this stalemate would shatter into hell. Hands in pockets, grasping onto your only means of defense. False security blankets against the unknown. Apprehension settled alongside that feeling. Waiting.

Once close enough to the tent you could see that it was falling apart. The material was holey, like someone gave up half-way through with trying to repair it. In its sorry state it was so dirty and faded that it was hard to make out any of the original colors. Worryingly enough there were large dark spots on the fabric. Distance was making it hard to tell what they were but their color means that it wasn’t part of the original pattern.

Someone tried to make a joke about it being too early for Halloween. No one laughed. Another suggested that everyone walked back to the car and call for help instead (where it was safer.) It was shot down by a third saying that the GPS wasn’t working and that there was no reception. That paused the argument.

No reception? As if everyone had the same idea, phones were brought out. How...how didn’t you notice that? Were you so out of it back at the car that you never checked? (One of the voices piped in that it worked before.)

Hesitantly, the option of staying in the car waiting for someone to pass. No one said anything, they didn’t have to. After the crash the car had been flipped upside down away from the road. In addition it was already late afternoon. Whatever the hell was going on here, no one wanted to be in the area after dark.

So with all other options tried and debunked, the only one remaining was going towards the tent and praying for a miracle. What felt like forever but was only a few minutes you get within a few yards of the entrance. The curtain was open. (It wasn’t before.)

(Those splotches you tried to ignore before? Its blood. A lot of blood. One the tent and the ground. Out of the corner of your eye you could see a handprint. Instead of four fingers, there were three. Leading towards the entrance, six thin gorges, almost as if- one of the voices hissed at the other to shut up.)

Don’t think about it. It’ll only make is worse. Glancing at the others told you that while they hadn’t come to the same conclusion they still didn’t trust this place in the slightest. You couldn’t see into the darkness of the tent.

“WELCOME! COME IN COME IN THE SHOW’S ABOUT TO START!” rang from the flap. You flinched as it broke through the dead silence. No one moved. Whatever microphone they were using glitched and echoed their voice. It sounded much worse the second time when it sounded far less happy and far more angry.

‘CLOWN SAID COME IN.” Someone started crying and honestly you would be lying if you didn’t feel like that too. Something told you that you wouldn’t be getting another warning. Looking over, the others seemed to realize it too.

There was no escaping whoever was in the tent. One of the others puffed up their chest in false bravado and took the first step then the second and the third into the darkness. And one by one, everyone followed.

It smelled...stale.

Like despite the amount of holes in the place the air remained stagnant. If you weren’t so worried about the voice, you’d worried about getting sick. But underneath that stagnation there was this horrible smell. You almost retched as your foot collided with something squishy that released more of that foulness. If you make it out alive you’re going straight to a doctor. (You did your best not to think about what you stepped in.)

“STOP” the voice range out. Everyone froze. “CLOWN WELCOMES NEWEST PERFORMERS FOR COMING. IT’LL BE A BLAST FOR GRUNTS OF ALL SHAPES AND SIZES.” Performers? Grunts? What does that-

A light suddenly came on. Someone screamed about eyes. But to you the world went to static. Because standing right there. Was the Thing from the alley. Or at least, it was similar. (Something in you screeched to run and unlike last time, you couldn’t.)

Standing on a raised platform, standing under the beam of spotlight was a Thing. Only this one was wearing a metal mask. (Was the red shooting up from Its head hair or was it a wig? Your shuddering mind deliriously thought.) Stumbling towards the back of the group you belatedly realize what that eyes comment was about. Dozens if not hundreds stared back at you from the darkness.

The mask’s eyes seemed to move into crescent smiles. You felt your mind trying to break itself but you just barely held yourself together. Dots flash before your eyes as breathing becomes difficult.

In a blink (was it a blink or is your mind having trouble). It’s near one of your friends. “FREAKY.” Grabbing their arm with Its hands It looks closer. When they try to jerk away It just grips tighter and they yelp in pain. The others try to push It off them but It just bats them away as easily as swatting a misbehaving pet. “HAD SOME FREAKSHOWS BUT NEVER ONE LIKE THIS.”

(There was no microphone. This violently shaking monster spoke with distortion and echo in its voice.) 

Someone asks what It is. It looks at (towards?) them still holding the arm of your now shaking friend. “CLOWN IS TRICKY!” Finally letting go of your friend (they’re brought to the center of the group, arm starting to bruise.) It-Tricky-clown flourishes its hands (floating floating floating) “WELCOME TO THE CIRCUS~” in a sing song voice.

Before anyone could say anything, could do anything. It had a gun in Its hands. (There were no pockets just dark grey gunmetal green aND WHERE DID IT COME FROM) Pointed the gun towards the group. Fired. Half threw themselves to the ground. Myself and the rest were frozen in shock. There was no bullet...just a little sign with a bang pattern.

It roared with laughter. Like it had just seen the funniest joke in the world. That next moment the room exploded into deafening laughter. The shear volume brought you back to your senses enough to clutch at your ears. Trying to block it all out.

“BRING IN THE HELLCLOWNS!” It side steps a car that half your size, you knew without a fact that it wasn’t before. Skidding around your group before coming to a stop next to the Thing.

The door ope-DEARR GOD THOSE AREN’T CLOWNS!

A scream rips itself from your throat at the sigh. From the car emerges a dozen small flaming...demon Things. They seemed to honk when they moved. One grabs your wrist and does it burn. All but one of your friends are restrained. The remaining fiery devils seem to set something up.

The Thing in charge grabs the unrestrained, dragging towards a wheel the smaller ones made. It’s hard to focus with the pain burning through your wrist. The world blurs.

Thunk thunk thunk squelch

An ear piercing scream breaks through the haze.

Your eyes refocus on the wheel. It was slowly turning. Attached to it was your friend. And to your friend was a knife to their shoulder. The clown was holding knives. (Like the wheel was a dartboard and your friend was the bullseye.)

There must have been some kind of mechanism as whenever the wheel stopped, it would suddenly spin at breakneck speed. It felt like an eternity. Every time the clown hit them, the crowd would cheer.

Luck must have been on your friend’s side. 3 more cycle and a knife caught them through the eye. They were dead. (Someone was crying out of eyesight.)

The next to go went slower. That-that monster had Its minions crush your friend into a small box in some sick parody of a contortionist. Bones cracked and the screaming turned wet. It seemed confused with arms and legs. At least until It torn them off. They bleed out in a broken mess. (More crying, the sounds of retching follows.)

The third was quick but painful. A pie. It threw a pie at their face. Their face melted off and their neck burst open. (The minions pulled the bodies into the darkness. You have an idea of what you stepped in earlier.)

Throughout this your mind is brought back from its haze of pain with each wail of agony. Slowly unraveling you grasp the edges of your mind with scrambling finger tips.

Fourth was quickest. Forced and shot out of a cannon. The minions had set up a net that glints of metal and fire in the stage light. It goes off, force launching them through the net. Confetti and viscera rain from the sky.

(Someone screams why, why are you doing this! It’s reply bleeds through the growing fog. “BORED. A LITTLE VACATION FROM MY JOB. JUST GET TO UNWIND AWAY FROM NEVDA AND HAVE SOME FUN!” What...what was going on in Nevada?)

Fifth is shot with a balloon gun before being mauled to death by balloon animals.

Your mind is slipping through your hands like water. The crowd cheers louder ever louder. (They’re all flaming clowns)

Sixth...you don’t know what happened. It was one of those strong man gigs. Swing a hammer, hit a bell. Only...they didn’t. They swung and hit the monster square in the face. Mask landing with a thud in the deathly silent tent.

You took your chance.

Wrenching your arm out of the slackened hold (a wave of agony and the smell of burnt flesh violently turns your stomach) you shoulder check the other one to grab your last remaining companion. (If the inhuman scream followed by meaty whacks is to go by)

And run.

You keep running before your fraying mind catches up to you. Nothing looks the same as when you went in. (There. Was. No. Sky. Only red, not like a sunset bu- don’t think don’t think don’tthinkdon-)

Seventh is unknown. As you run in the direction that you’re so sure that the car has to be in, you’re jerk back. You were repeating not again over and over (you never know you were mumbling). A fight breaks out, you’re on the ground with their hands around your throat. Screaming that it’s all your fault. Your mind flashes to balloons bursting like guns, flying pies and bloody confetti.

(The voices argue, one crying and pleading for this to stop. The other hissing and snarls at the attack. The edges of the world go dark.)

You hear the horns growing louder.

As quick as you can, you pull the knife from your pocket.

And stab the seventh.

Seventh falls over clutching their gut wound. You run.

You get farther this time before something tackles you to the ground. It’s back and It is enraged.

Now that the mask is off you can see Its head. Similar to the other one in most ways. The head a sickly green. An exposed brain. Sweet smelling rot that’s too much. Half Its face is ripped, exposing teeth and muscles. (It does have hair)

It was dead. But it was still moving.

You didn’t hesitate, you grabbed your taser and slammed it down onto the gray matter as hard you could. (The smell, the sound it makes will haunt you. But you can just add it to the list.)

It stopped moving and you weren’t going to miss this chance. Wooziness took control as you stood up. Only a few steps were taken before consciousness left.

You woke up.

Apparently a car had come down the road and found the wreck. Took you to the closes hospital. Of a group of 8...only 1 was found.

Honestly everything felt like a dream with the painkillers coursing through your veins. Questions were asked that couldn’t be answered. All you could tell them was that the rest were at the circus with a clown named Tricky.

And when you were finally alone...you laughed. Laughed until you cried. Laughed until you hurled. Laughed until you could barely breathe. Until you sobbed. Sobbed for your friends. Sobbed for what you all went through. Sobbed as you had your answer after a month.

As you lay there in laughter filled waves of agony, with your bandaged arm (a handprint) and the hours of video of your friends being tortured and killed you found your answer.

Whatever they were, they brought suffering and madness. Some fractured part of your mind knew that this wouldn’t be your last time seeing them.