#connection you can be secure inside and certain of is very rare; they were my first real ones

[cheshire-shuntaro]

Cogito, ergo sum 1/?

For the monthly AU (Sci-Fi), where Chishiya after realizing he cannot outrun his sociopathic nature he takes certain measures to protect the ones he cares about from himself. Visitors are rare in the parts he resides, but... they appear. I cannot write short stuff, my apologies.

Niragi couldn't help but lick his lips in excitement, scanning every inch of the sharp-edged shape that their ship moved towards. After a dry spell in the last few months, it was almost like a sign from a higher power. An inactive exploration vessel, full of valuable equipment, so deep in outer space and so far away from the nearest colony. Takatora cursed Niragi the day he decided to risk it all and scout the deep outskirts of Andromeda for ships to pillage.

"There is nothing there, nothing but frozen rocks and active black holes! If we die, it's on you," Takatora shouted to Niragi, slamming shut the door to his cabin.

Well... who is laughing now? Niragi thought, trying to hide his smug smile from Takatora, who was in the middle of securing his suit for a spacewalk. Its original color was pearl white, but now it was almost dirt brown with countless holes and improvised stitches visible on the surface. Niragi was sure he had never seen his co-pilot clean it once, but he never commented on it. Takatora was really sensitive when it came to criticism, which made their job twice as hard.

"So... what are we thinking — xenobiologist mission gone wrong? Running out of fuel in deep space? All of them starving?" Niragi said, glancing at the vessel, which grew bigger with each passing second.

Takatora scoffed, not looking at his co-pilot. Still visibly upset that Niragi was right all along about this plan of his.

"In these parts? There is no life to research. The planets here are either barren wastelands or toxic gas giants," he retorted, putting his helmet on and closing it with a click and a hiss. "Besides..." he added, looking through the cockpit window. "...I don't see any emblems belonging to that fancy board of theirs. Star Rovers or something? This ship is completely unmarked, but this type was commonly used by them about thirty years ago."

"Engaging stealth-drive," Niragi said, pushing a button on the dashboard, ignoring Takatora's jabbing comments.

"Why waste the energy? We are at least 10 light years away from the nearest colony. No one comes here, except for us," Takatora muttered, shaking his head.

"Forewarned is forearmed, and can you... shut the fuck up already? We are close, focus," Niragi hush-yelled. He rarely lost patience these days, but Takatora had been especially annoying lately.

Niragi cocked his head as he analyzed the bleach-white surface of the exploration vessel. There weren't many curves to it. It looked rather practical with razor-sharp shapes plastered on top of each other, giving it a very industrial, old-world look. It looked like it could easily hold about 10 to 15 people, cargo included. The vessel was glistening in the countless stars of the deep outskirts of the Andromeda galaxy, but neither Niragi nor Takatora would ever notice the beauty of such an image. They were simple pirates and scavengers, a rotting limb on the body of society, driven by profit, not greater things in life.

Their ship was positioned towards the vessel's cargo door. The brief creaking of metallic parts and after that hooks jabbing themselves into the other ship told Niragi that the connection between the shuttles was secured. Now came the hard part: getting through the door. When exploration vessels went into energy conservation mode, the security protocols were "a bitch to break through," Takatora's words, not his. The tools they acquired better be worth their price.

The tunnel connecting the two ships was pitch black. Only the lights coming from their helmets illuminated the way. Takatora crouched by the thick metal door and opened up a large briefcase with different, colorful accouterments inside it. From Niragi's perspective, they looked impenetrable, but that is precisely why his co-pilot was the expert, not him.

"Look at this baby," Takatora said, in awe. He presented Niragi with a club-looking tool with a small, sharp wire at the end, which seemed to have a mind of its own. It was wriggling and vibrating, as if with anticipation to be used. "No ordinary wire-cutter. Military-grade, with a precise gyroscope and a thick diamond wire that could sustain temperatures u-..." he was cut off by a loud sigh.

"Yeah, yeah. You will make love to it later, open the damn door," Niragi hastened him, tapping impatiently on the metal floor of the tunnel.

Takatora grumbled something under his breath, twisting the club-like tool. It emanated a low ping sound and then turned green. Niragi’s co-pilot stood up and came to the minuscule gap between the door, and then, the wire-cutter with a mind of its own slithered in between the small crack, looking to do its job.

“Just so you know it’s gonna take a wh-” again, whatever Takatora was about to say was cut off.

A wave of vibrations of enormous proportion coming from the exploration vessel shook the tunnel, its metallic parts cracking and grinding against each other, almost as if they were shouting in agony. Takatora dropped the tool, which slid towards the south wall with a loud clank. Niragi lost balance and fell on his back, bruising his hip on the hard surface. When the vibrations stopped and the pirates gathered their bearings, they regrouped by the door.

“What the fuck was that? Did your precious tool cut the wrong wire?” Niragi huffed angrily in between labored breaths.

“I have no idea, it shouldn’t happen. Maybe we should…” Takatora fell silent but his eyes shot back to the entrance to their ship.

“No! No! Absolutely not!” Niragi shouted, massaging his bruised hip. “We’ve been floating around this dumpster, trying to find something valuable for about 3 months. If we come back empty-handed we’re done for.” He said, coming up to his co-pilot and grabbing him by his collar. “So, you will pick up your fancy dildo from the floor and keep cutting.” He ground the last three words out.

Takatora was not used to Niragi being this aggressive. He knew that whatever Hatter spoke with Niragi about before they left must have left the long-haired man terrified enough to not fear death, because a far worse fate awaited him back home.

“Alright, alright.” Takatora muttered, picking up his tool and getting into position again.

The wire slithered its way in-between the cracks again. Niragi held his breath. No vibrations, all seemed to be working, for now.

* * *

Shuntaro woke up to an unimaginable, searing pain, the kind that lingers long after it stops hurting. So, he screamed and yelled and his entire metallic entity cracked and vibrated with each shout and grunt of pain. Even though he had no limbs, he trashed around like an animal in its last dying moments. Even though he had no mouth, he could feel his throat swelling from the screaming.

Before the haze of a 5-year slumber left his mind, his first coherent thought after the pain subsided was “They are at the cargo door.” Still not fully grasping the situation, he jumped to the cargo door camera to asses the situation. Sure enough, in blueish hue of the door he noticed a thin wire swirling around the crack. He had about 15 minutes before they break through.

He turned on localization module, which barely worked with the spare generators running. Where even was he? Andromeda galaxy… far, far away from where he originally fell into slumber. Far away from his sister. Junko, she crossed his mind… he hoped she was okay. 3 minutes.

Chishiya jumped again, he had limbs now, metallic, pneumatic and wired ones, unlike those made of flesh. But they were there. He stretched to the cacophony of moving parts, a thick carbon fiber cable on his back reminding him that he could not go far. The first steps were that of a baby learning to walk - clumsy, uneasy. He took a step that was too wide and lost balance. The robotic suit crashed against the metal floor before he stood up and made his way towards the cargo door.

He had not had visitors in quite a while and could not help but feel restless and excited at the thought of having companions to play chess with. Sadly, without food and water humans did not last long.

Chishiya hoped they ate a sufficient meal before they entered him

* * *

“What was that?” Takatora said with his hand on the cargo door, about to push them open. He swore he heard something clutter on the other side of the door. It was faint but he heard it.

Niragi fell silent and listened, but he heard nothing worth noting except for the fancy cutting-wire tool whirling, finishing its job.

“The sound of you complaining.” He said sarcastically, passing Takatora by and pushing the door open for him. He was sick of him voicing concerns, he did not understand that they had no choice but to enter — whatever was on the other side.

The cargo door squeaked and hissed, the pressure between two vessels evening. When the clouds of white smoke fell down, they could finally see the inside of the exploration ship. It was… completely empty, except for one very odd-looking robot standing in the middle of the room.

“Huh? That’s it?” Niragi shouted, coming up deeper into the cargo bay. “Fuck this shit! Where is all the equipment?” He said, frantically lighting his helmet lamp around the empty room, completely ignoring the robotic entity in the middle of it.

“Relax, maybe they stored it above.” said Takatora, shining his own helmet light at the robot.

It looked like something out of a military base rather than a lab in an exploration vessel. A multitude of metal plates and pneumatic gears mashed together by military-grade carbon fiber wires. Capable of running, jumping… shooting. At the top of its funnel-like head, there was a single circular eye, probably functioning both as its optical device and as a light. It looked dormant for now.

Takatora came up closer and tapped at the eye two times. He did not hear the pneumatic gears releasing nor had a chance to stop what came next. With a swift precision, robotic arm got him by his throat, putting enough pressure on it to render him unconscious but also just enough to not crush it completely. Where was Niragi? Last time Takatora checked he was walking up the stairs to see the rest of the ship.

He fell to the floor with a thud, observing as the robot pushed a button on the back of his neck, his silhouette flickered in the dim light before becoming completely invisible.

Takatora suddenly felt extremely tired as the blackness took him.

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Sunday

So before my writer’s block cracked open in August, someone I believed was my friend sent me this writing prompt that actually did produce some quality writing in about 20 minutes. She sent it to me right before Mother’s Day, which is historically a hard day for me to deal with because of my relationship with my mom. I posted it on Mother’s Day, and I maybe reblogged it once. And today is Sunday, and the prompt is for Sundays, and I wanted a trusted friend or two who I don’t think saw this before to see it here, and I wanted to add onto it. I know I’m posting a lot here and I’m not sure who if anyone is looking at it, but the words are helping me. So I’m going to keep doing it. Anyway, this was the prompt:

Here’s what I wrote:

Sunday

My mother always prioritized convenience over connection. When I was a little girl, Mom never minded the twenty minute drive to the river to drop me off with my grandparents daily, because they provided free childcare for me when she worked. It was convenient. I set up camp at Gramma and Granda’s; that’s really where home was, even though the address listed on my school and medical records said Not Their House. Once Gramma died, and I was closer to twelve than eleven, and Mom felt confident I could handle myself alone without getting her outwardly accused of being a negligent mother, all of my connections became her inconvenience. Pull her out of the school district she’s grown up in and move her into the closer, more convenient one. Who cares if she doesn’t have any friends? Who cares about her missed connections? Who needs connections when you have convenience? Geographic closeness will always conquer emotional closeness on Mom’s list of what’s important. I started living for Sunday. The same twenty minute drive once a week to visit Granda, one of exactly two people I felt lovingly connected to, and the only one still living, became a chore. My connection didn’t matter, only her perceived inconvenience did, but I still got to have it on Sunday. I still got to go to the little river town church where my favorite aunt and uncle and cousins all went; I still got to watch baseball on cable with Granda in his little retirement home apartment. He sold the house and split the money four ways; twenty-five percent to Mom and Dad. He didn’t want the money and he didn’t want to live there anymore without her; there were too many stacked years of memories; too much connection from which he couldn’t escape the heavy loss. He didn’t want to live anywhere without her, really; he didn’t want to live without her. Period. Granda started regularly asking God to take him so he could be with His Doe and not in this little apartment where he lived only for Sunday and the scraps of connection he used to feast on every day. Mom called him a drag. She echoed his wish that God would just take him as often as he made it, but she didn’t want him to regain his treasured connection, she just wanted to pile up more of her own convenience. She hoarded convenience like a dragon hoards gold, and regardless of how much she felt was stolen from her or who she felt took it away, that was the loss she felt. Mom despised Sunday. Sunday took more than just a stray coin or two from her abundance of convenience; and my connection to Granda; to the river town; to the rest of my family; never adequately compensated her for her deficit. It grew every week; my debt for insisting on the connection grew with interest each Sunday, but I let it grow until Granda died too. He finally got to reconnect. At least I hope that’s what happened with him and Gramma; they’re together now, somewhere, everyday, connected. I’m not sure about it though. I don’t go to any church on Sunday anymore. I don’t even make a twenty minute drive. But I’m home and always connected.

I should have subtitled this post Connection and Convenience.

I’m posting this again here because I’m feeling the same dismissal and disregarding of my connections from the person who sent me this prompt originally that I have always felt from my mom. She’s like oddly echoed my mom on so many levels for me in the past two weeks of sitting in fairly extreme social anxiety. Like an echo, it’s not exactly the same as the original sound, but it’s close enough to be recognizable. I thought we were connected. Because of my past with my mom, I’ve been unfortunately set up to believe that anyone who willingly spends time with me and/or talks to me where I get to say things too must love me. But almost always, they’re using me. And this person definitely was. I was convenient company, not a real connection. As soon as I became inconvenient, I wasn’t connected anymore. I try my best to not ever operate like that. I certainly never intend to treat other people like they are just a convenience to me, and I try to convey that I am willing to deal with a fair amount of inconvenience for a real connection. What I give is always real. It comes from a genuine, sincere place. But sometimes things in my own life come to the surface, like serious anxiety and trauma triggers...like practical impediments like sickness and travel and family emergency...like whatever. And I know those things happen in other people’s lives too, so I try to never be inconvenient whenever I possibly can. I know people have families and other friendships and careers and health conditions and their own trauma that makes it difficult sometimes to connect with me in convenient ways, and I try my best to be alright with that. So when someone else treats me cavalierly...makes it very clear that although I am willing to wade through some inconvenience for them, they aren’t willing to feel a drop of it from me...ever...regardless of what the inconvenience is...it hurts a lot. It hurts because it always takes me back to my mom. It triggers most of my anxiety and trauma and self-esteem damage triggers. So that’s where I’m at this Sunday. There, and I’ve been watching Derry Girls kind of staggered with amazing friends, and Granda Joe really makes me miss my own Granda.

TV show actors ^^^^

Real Life Me with my Gramma and Granda ^^^^^ Whoever reads this? You’re not convenient company for me. I feel like you’re an important connection. I hope you feel that way about me too. <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

scopaesthesia 👁️ chapter 1

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, mentions of death, murder, violence, stalking, paranoia and other warnings to be added

This is dark!Bucky Barnes with a likelihood off dark!Steve Rogers as well and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Someone’s watching you.

Note: This one’s gonna be a bit creepy as it features a serial killer and stalking and all sorts of creepery. It’ll be about two or three parts!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The bleak headline glared across your screen as bleaker weather fogged the glass of your window. 

'Grisly murder suspected to be connected to previous incident'. 

You shivered as the steam rose from your mug and the smell of roasted bean filled your nose. The city was on edge. Death was not unfamiliar but killings so methodical were. There was a pattern that no one could deny, even if the media left out certain bloody details.

You tapped the porcelain and turned to look at the misty cityscape beyond your building. The city had a pulse; the car horns, the puffing manholes, the endless parade of footsteps on the pavement. The immortal metropolitan was unaffected by its mortal occupants.

You closed the window on your phone as you turned back. You couldn’t finish the article. To think that any human could do that to another; that any should suffer at the hands of another… One could never truly be immune to the helpless despair. It was a chance that set one in the hands of a monster, as much chance kept one from the same fate. 

You finished your coffee and ate a bagel before you readied for another day lost in the sea of people below. Another day at your desk answering phones and staring at a screen between greeting many who acknowledge your existence with impatient disdain. 

The same daily ritual in the mirror; another department store blouse, another grey skirt, another pair of low pumps. You grabbed your pea coat and your leather tote and hurried out to catch your train. Twenty minutes with your favourite podcast before you pulled the cord and ran off into the concrete jungle.

Another coffee at your desk; the watery fare from the staff room machine. You sat and began your work. Fake smiles and a sickly sweet voice for every caller and visitor to the small office. Log this, change this, email that. The mindless toil bearable only for the promise of your box-like apartment and its tiny comforts. 

You never stayed in the office for lunch. Not anymore. It made the days suffocating, even on rainy or snowy days. You went to the park to eat, although sometimes you weren’t hungry. You watched the ducks or the shedding trees or the teens playing hooky and puffing none so subtly near the bushes.

When you returned, you felt at least that your break hadn’t been wasted even if it had only been more sitting. Ring, ring, click, click, tap, tap, cough, cough. The hours wore on in monotony. Nothing unexpected, nothing more than tedium. The most exciting part was when the clock bid you to leave.

You were almost so lost in the endless banality that you didn’t notice the man behind you until you boarded the train. Until you sat and took out your phone. You pretended to be enraptured by the screen as you scrolled through unread emails and peeked up at him. He stood by the door. His eyes avoided yours.

When you stood at your stop, he did not move. Not until the door began to close and you were near the turnstiles. His shadow was a fleck at the edge of your vision. He was definitely following you. You thought of the article, and its precursor the week before; the suggestion that the murderer had already amassed half a dozen victims. You shrugged away the paranoia and climbed the old filthy steps to ground level.

As you turned the corner onto your street you stopped and waited. The man nearly passed you as he came around the bend and you cleared your throat. You gripped your keys in your fist, ready to stab the man with the largest one.

“You following me?” You asked as pedestrians bumped into him and passed by. 

He moved out of their path and stood beside you against the wall. He smiled to himself and scoffed. His blue eyes ran you up and down and you felt as if you’d seen him before. As if you knew him from somewhere. You just couldn’t place it.

“I am.” He confessed. “You’re very… observant.”

“You’re not very subtle,” you countered. 

He lifted his head and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. Capitals ran across the top; S.H.I.E.L.D. and below a name and picture; James Buchanan Barnes. You sighed and crossed your arms. Your spine went rigid. What on earth could he want from you?

“So…” You pushed yourself away from the brick wall, “How exactly can I help a government operative?”

He glanced around and tucked away his wallet. “Is there anywhere private we can talk? You live around here?”

“Private? At least tell me what’s going on?” You huffed.

“For both our safety, you need to wait for that answer,” he hook his thumb in his jean pocket. “But if you don’t give a shit, I can leave you be and see what happens.”

You frowned. You were confused and slightly afraid. You couldn’t guess at what could have brought him to you. A man you’d only ever seen on a screen.

“Fine,” you adjusted your bag on your shoulder, “Across the street.”

He followed you to the curb as the blood swelled in your ears. Your cheeks were hot and a chill gripped your neck. You crossed between the flooded New York traffic, aware of his shadow at your shoulder. His boots barely made a noise on the pavement as your short heels clicked noisily.

You led him into your lobby and fumbled with your keys. You shoved them into the slot and the door clicked open. He grabbed it before you could and waved you inside. You remembered him now. You rarely saw him without another. In your mind, the man didn’t exist exclusive to his old pal, Steve Rogers.

You stopped just inside the door and kept yourself from hitting the elevator button.

“Mr., er, Agent Barnes--” You began.

“Bucky is fine.” He corrected

“How do you even know who I am?” You asked suddenly. “I’m… nobody.”

“As I said, I’d prefer somewhere private,” he urged, “It’s protocol for this type of circumstance.”

“And which type is that?” You challenged as he stepped around you and hit the button.

“The type where you should stop worrying so much about me and more about yourself,” he said as the doors slid open, “Come on.” He stepped inside and turned, “What floor.”

“Third.” You answered as you entered the small box, “I’m in danger?”

He was quiet and his left hand balled into a fist then released as he stared at the numbers. You could hear the strain in the leather glove. 

When the doors opened again, he let you off first and kept a step behind you as you led him down the hall to your door. You paused and looked back at him as you picked out the right key. He was impossible to figure out; stone-faced and staunch. You opened your door and welcomed him in with a flutter of fingers.

He shut the door and locked it behind him. You dropped your bag on the shoe rack and kicked your shoes beneath it. Your arches were sore as you backed up and watched him. He looked at his boots and back at you. You shrugged off your jacket and he sighed before he did the same. He reluctantly knelt to unknot the laces of his boots.

“Should I… get you something? Coffee?”

“This isn’t exactly social,” he uttered, “Can we sit? There’s a lot to… explain.”

“Sure,” you led him to the couch and sat. He lowered himself on the other cushion, on the edge as he kept an eye on you.

“Okay, so you’re first question, how do I know who you are?” 

He leaned against the arm and dug out his phone. He unlocked it and flicked through its content. He turned it towards you and you frowned at the picture of yourself. You behind your desk, the phone to your ear, as you scribbled on your notepad. He dragged it over and another appeared; you at the grocery store. A third, you at the front door of your building.

“What--”

“These were found at a crime scene.” He interjected. He flipped his phone and searched through the images, “Do you know this woman?”

He showed you the screen again and you shook your head. Whoever she was, she was a stranger to you, although you couldn’t say she didn’t look familiar.

“Her?” He brought up another photo and got the same answer. Three more times as the hair stood on your arms. You didn’t know any of them but they all looked alike. They all looked like you.

“What’s going on?” You asked in a brittle voice.

“You read the news?”

“Sometimes.”

“You’ve heard about the murders? Of the women?”

You nodded and gulped. Your eyes rounded as you trembled in disbelief and fear. “Why are you here though? Why not the cops?”

“They are doing their part and we’re doing ours. You see, we found more than just the photos. Due to security protocols and to protect both of all, I can’t divulge all the evidence I can only say that it brings it under S.H.I.E.L.D. jurisdiction.” 

His thumb slid across the screen and revealed another picture. One of the women with a welt across her neck and sloppily down make-up on her face. You blanched and he looked down. He cleared his throat and blackened the screen.

“Sorry,” he put his phone back in his pocket. “You shouldn’t… Look, I know it’s a lot to digest but it’s better you know.”

“But why are you here? I don’t understand… why did he have my picture?”

“From what we can tell, who it is has been following you. These killings seem to be steps on his path to you. He didn’t have anything about the other women. No photos, no writings--”

“Writings?” You gasped.

“Take a breath. Be calm.” He said. “I’m here now. To protect you.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Well, I guess that’s the real bad news.” He said. “I’m gonna be your shadow. Now, since we nearly got this guy and have all his stuff, we know he’s scrambling right now. He’s hiding, waiting to come back to you but we know he’s not dumb enough to do it yet. Which is why I am here at this very moment. When he does return, when he’s watching you, I’ll be watching him.”

“You can’t-- You can’t move me?”

“Scaring him away won’t do anything. You’re safer if we can catch this guy. We can’t let him know that anything’s changed.” Bucky said. 

“So… I’m bait?”

“You’re safe.” He insisted. “You’ll have my number, you can call me anytime. And I won’t be far. Not really. And I don’t work alone. You’ll be protected.”

“Why are you telling me then if you’re just going to let him keep following me?”

“Well, we waited until it was crucial to let you know,” he said, “And given his desperate circumstance, we think you should now.”

“Do you know how long--”

“Months, years, we’re still combing through the evidence. We only know he won’t stop.” He shifted on the couch. “And I’m telling you because there’s a few things I need from you.”

“Like what?” You scoffed.

“A key to this place. Just in case. And we’ll need to keep a close eye on you. That means, you’ll have to wear a bug and we’ll be tracking your location.”

“What?” You shook your head. “That’s… a lot.”

“We need to know if anything happens immediately and we need to be able to get to you. If you do this, it will help us get him sooner and hopefully, that means that you won’t have to do it for long.”

“I’ll have to have the key made,” you said quietly.

“I can take care of that,” he stood and you watched him cross the room. 

He went to the coat rack and reached into your jacket pocket. He took your keys and set his phone on the small round table just beside the shoes. He placed one key on his screen and it made a chirping noise, he turned it over before doing the second key. He dropped them back into your pocket and grabbed his phone.

“This,” he stirred around in his own jacket, “Has a mic and tracker.” He held up the golden chain with the small pink rose ornament. “Wear this and that’s it. That’s all we need. If you take it off, hang it somewhere it won’t be obstructed.”

“Okay,” you got up slowly and took the necklace from him, “Um, thank you, I guess.”

“Look, I know it’s all a bit fucked up but it’s to keep you safe.” He said. “And you are safe, okay? I’ve dealt with much worse than this creep.”

👁️

There was rarely a morning when you were eager to be awake but that morning came crashing down on you with a sense of doom. You rolled over and opened your eyes. The golden necklace hung from your bedside lamp, dangling, calling to you, reminding you of the man who had stalked you back to your apartment. And the other man who loomed in the shadows. A stranger who apparently knew you well.

You sat up and clipped the necklace around your neck so you wouldn’t forget. Was it Bucky listening to you? Was he even listening so early? You stood and ambled across the room with a yawn. Today, the rain left a sheet of frost on the window. Was it winter so soon?

You drank your coffee without tasting it and chewed on a piece of buttered toast. Your phone buzzed. Private number was all it said but you knew who it was.

‘What time do you leave?’ Bucky asked. You typed in the number and nothing more. He already knew which train you took.

You dressed as you did every day. You pulled the necklace over the collar of your shirt and sighed. You felt awkward as if you were living in a simulation; a facsimile of your meek existence.

Ready to face the day and the unknown, you set out as you flicked away another message; ‘You have a break? What time?’ You’d answer him after you got to work. You couldn’t be staring at your phone knowing that someone was undoubtedly watching you.

You stood on the train, too antsy to sit. You waited by the door, ready to bolt off at the slightest sign of trouble. You played with the rose charm without thinking. Your phone buzzed and you quickly drew your fingers away.

Another message from your private caller. 'There's disturbance on the mic. Stop touching.' You almost laughed. It was comical. You'd be an awful spy but you weren't anything close. You were prey.

What would have happened if those pictures had not been discovered? You hated to even think of it. So you pushed away the thought and got off the train.

The streets felt darker even as the grey sky paled. Pedestrians were villains, each one sinister and plotting. When you got to work, you were out of breath as you had nearly broken into a sprint.

You sat and clocked in. You took out your phone and responded to the texts but got nothing back. You hung your jacket on the rack in the corner and went about your usual routine but nothing felt usual. The incessant ringing of the phone and the chatter of the office added to the chaos of your mind. You tried to distract yourself with your work but found yourself fidgety and anxious. Every unfamiliar face that walked through the doors was a potential suspect.

When you took your lunch, you stayed in the office. The break room was empty as you sat and your phone vibed in your blazer pocket. You answered the private number and unwrapped your granola bar.

“You on lunch?” Bucky asked, you confirmed with a mumble. “Are you okay?”

“Am I? What’s going on? Anything?” You stilled the crinkling of the wrapper, suddenly sick to your stomach.

“It’s not going to be that easy or fast. Right now, he’s waiting for us to look away but he could also be in a panic which means he could do something impulsive.” Bucky explained.

“Impulsive? What does that mean?”

“Look, you don’t need to be afraid. I got this. This is nothing compared to what I usually--”

“Nothing?! Well maybe you’re used to this but I’m just a secretary, okay? I don’t know what I’m doing or what to do!” Your voice was shrill as you crushed the granola bar in your hand.

“Take a breath,” he said firmly. “Calm down and proceed as usual. I’m here. I’m watching.”

You sniffed and struggled not to hyperventilate. When you finally got your breathing under control you nodded into the phone and murmured a pathetic ‘okay’.

“Hey, you don’t need to be afraid, okay? Not with me around. So far you’ve been lucky. We figured it out before he got to you and now we’re way ahead of him and he doesn’t even know it.” Bucky coaxed.

“Yeah, I guess,” you deflated and stood from the table; restless. 

You went to the kettle and flicked it on. Shaena was always offering you peppermint tea; you’d take her up on that. Maybe it would help calm you down.

“How about tonight I’ll come buy with a pizza and we can go over protocol?” He offered. “And it’ll be good for you not to be alone.”

“Pizza?” You frowned.

“Well, you know, I’m sitting on surveillance all day, I don’t exactly get to relax,” he explained. “...you can say no but it’d be my treat.”

“I’m sorry I’m panicking. I’m just… scared. I didn’t sleep-- I--” You choked on your voice. “You don’t mind?”

“Do you?” He returned.

You sighed and opened the cupboard to grab a mug. You tapped your fingers on the countertop.

“This must be really boring for you,” you said. “You don’t have to--”

“If I’m being honest with you, it’s supposed to be freezing tonight and I don’t exactly get to hang around in a five star suite. You’d be doing me a favour and have the extra security of some goon with a metal arm.” He chuckled.

“Alright,” you threw your hand up. “But I don’t like pepperoni.”

“Damn…” he uttered, “Well, I guess we all have to make sacrifices.”

👁️

You were slightly less frantic when you left work. Bucky texted you to assure you he was there… somewhere. You took your usual route. He explained it was best not to change your routine. You didn’t want to tip off the creep.

The train ride was slow and jittery. The frigid air of the looming New York winter crept in between the door and you shivered as you got off at your stop. Your heels clicked around you as you gripped your bag and the phone in your pocket. You struggled not to look around and try to search out your stalker.

You unlocked your door and dropped your bag beside the shoe rack. You kicked off your heels and rubbed your legs together to warm up. You hung your jacket and took your phone out as you began to pace your apartment. 

How close was Bucky? How close was the killer?

You kept checking your messages and then slammed your phone on the coffee table. Stop! You were driving yourself crazy. You made yourself sit and flipped on the television. You put on an old sitcom and tried to settle in. You squirmed on the couch and found it difficult to follow the episode.

Your phone lit up suddenly and made you flinch. The sky was already dark through the window as your ringer blared over the television. You reached for your cell; Private Number. You answered clumsily and pressed it to your ear.

“Hello?” You rasped.

Silence. You blinked and repeated your greeting. Still, the line was quiet. You shook your head and hung up. Before you could toss your phone, it shook again and cried out a melody. You answered again.

This time heavy breathing greeted you. It got louder as you listened and a trickle of ice rolled over your spine. You ended the call and stared at your phone. A third call. You slowly hit the green icon and then turned the phone to speaker.

“Don’t you ever hang up on me.” A man snarled in a crackly voice, “Ever.”

“Who… who is this?”

“Shhh, baby girl, I won’t hurt you. I just want to make sure you’re safe.” He said, “That’s all I want.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” You gulped.

Another silence. This one long and exaggerated, pierced only by a metallic whisper. “...You,” he purred darkly, “I want you, baby girl. I want your blood, I want your screams.” You shook as you dropped the phone, his voice muffled but his words clear, “I want that precious little cunt.”

You sobbed and bent to grab the phone again. Your thumb hovered over the red button.

“Baby girl, I told you about hanging up on me. I hope that’s not what you’re thinking of now.”

You said nothing as your eyes burned with frightened tears and you looked down at your necklace. Could Bucky hear? Where was he?

“Soon, I promise, we can be together,” the stranger cooed, “You and me. All alone.” He took a deep breath, “All mine.”

“Please, leave me--”

The line clicked and went dead. You stared at your phone and jumped at the sudden knock on the door. Your fingers curled around your cell and you stood. You crossed to the door. You peeked through the peephole. Bucky stood with a pizza box. You opened the door sharply.

“Where were you?” You snapped.

“What?”

“He just called!” You nearly shouted.

“Keep it down,” he warned as he stepped inside and you retreated. He closed the door and locked it. “He called?”

He went to the kitchen and set the pizza down. “Just now?”

“I thought you were listening? I had him on speaker.”

“I… I’ll have to play it back. I was on my way, I didn’t--”

“You-- you-- The things he said,” you croaked, “You can’t imagine and, and… how did he get my number? You said he would be hiding!”

“Well, these things aren’t exactly cookie cutter--”

“What if he’s watching me right now? Looking in through my window and--” Your voice was shrill as you rung your hands and brushed by Bucky. He followed you to the window as you twisted the blinds shut. “He’s going to kill me like he did all those girls. He’s going to--”

“Come on,” Bucky grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the window, “Just breathe.” He turned you to him and placed his hands on your arms. He rubbed them through your blouse. “In, out…” He began to guide you, “On my count; one, in, two, out…” 

Your eyes rounded and you struggled to calm yourself. You were shaking but managed to measure your breaths in time with his voice. 

“That’s it,” his hands framed your face as he leaned in to look you in the face, “I’m here now and if you need me to, I’ll stay all night.”

You nodded dumbly and grabbed his forearms. His metal thumb stroked your cheek and you slowly pulled his hands away.

“Bucky…” You whispered as he slowly dropped his hands. “Thank you.”

[thecagedsong]

Forgotten Light Chapter 16: Djinni

A/N: Posting this now so I don’t accidentally go back on my word and post the Tess chapter. Seth is up to Shenanagains of the life-threatening sort, just as he ought to be. Baby tries so hard.

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16

Chapter 15: Djinni

           Unfortunately, they could not leave that afternoon to investigate the poisoned pool like was planned, as the Triclops didn’t give them an opportunity. It spent the whole afternoon and evening swinging an uprooted tree back and forth around the confines of their little sanctuary.

           “All right,” Seth said, that night, “Need a new plan.”

           “The plan is to get some sleep and try again in the morning. This island is big, he’ll go somewhere else eventually,” Warren said, rubbing his eyes, “You’re on Fablehaven’s timezone, right? No way you aren’t exhausted.”

           “But the longer we wait to get a good look at the pool, the more likely we lose our clues,” Seth pleaded.

           “Believe us Seth,” Vanessa said, “We know and we don’t like this. If it is still there in the morning, we’ll change the plan so that Warren and I act as decoys, luring the triclops away so your group can investigate. Preserves are too dangerous at night if it can be avoided.”

           “Maybe too dangerous for you,” Seth scoffed.

           “I understand your frustration,” Vanessa said, “I love Kendra too, and at least she knows that you are her brother. I will not face her having lost her brother, the only one she knows even a little bit, to preventable dangers. Sleep. I have potions for you if you need it.”

           Seth looked behind her to Warren, who gave him a warning look that his arguing was at an end. He looked back at Vanessa’s dark eyes and firm set features.

           “Fine,” Seth said. “I’ll take a sleeping potion, but not one that knocks me out completely.”

           “More of a drowsy solution, I promise,” Vanessa said, going to her dufflebag. She mixed some powders and fruit juice, and held it out, “It will not work right away, so you can get back to your room, even if you drink it now.”

           Seth tilted his head, “Hey, if you controlled me in my sleep, could you use my shadowcharmer abilities? Shadewalking, speaking to the undead, that kind of stuff?”

           Vanessa didn’t answer until he drank the potion, then said, “I do not know. I have controlled wizards and felt their magical cores, but without their knowledge of spellcraft, I was unable to use their magic. Magic is not for the use of mortals. The best comparison would have been controlling Kendra, but her mind was protected, and I could not seize her. I would have to re-bite you and attempt, as Bracken broke off our previous connection. I could not attempt to guess, Seth, and I won’t experiment with you. If your abilities are needed, I trust you to use them well, as I hope you trust me to keep you safe during the attempt.”

           “That’s actually really touching, I’m touched Vanessa,” Seth said, holding a hand over his heart, “I must be the most unique thing you aren’t interested in biting.”

           Vanessa rolled her eyes, “I have bitten creatures of the dark, and they all taste nasty. Creature of the shadows, and teenage boy? That is a very easy pass.”

           “You actually taste people when you bite them?” Seth asked, “Who tasted the best? Was it Kendra? I bet it was Kendra. I bit her once when we were kids.”

           “And we’re done with that conversation,” Warren said, stopping Vanessa from answering. “Forever. Off to bed before the drowsy hits, scoot.”

           “What? You don’t want to know if you tasted better or worse than—” Vanessa started teasing, and Seth was quick to back out of that conversation. Fourteen years old, and he did not need to know biting preferences for Vanessa, and how her boyfriend ranked.

           Seth fell asleep, and woke up to the moon hitting his face, almost blinding. He felt refreshed and awake, not a hint of drowsy. It was rare he woke up like this, normally Kendra was awake first. Seth sat up. Or, he tried too, but sleeping in a hammock made sitting up a test of abdominal muscles. He rolled out of his hammock, took note that Tanu was sleeping across from him, Calvin wrapped up in a handkerchief for a blanket on the windowsill, and Seth quietly made his way out of the hut.

           He wandered until he realized that the whispers of the undead were getting louder. Then he walked with a purpose up spiral stairs and across rope bridges he stopped before a door carved into what had to be the biggest tree in existence. It felt like the Blackwell, though a little less desperate. Instead of suffering pleas, there were questions about directions.

           Left here, and again…or was it right?

           A thousand repetitions of this circle should get me out…

           Does wandering endlessly truly break up the monotony of eternal existence?

           “I see…this is what it means to be a shadow charmer,” Savani’s voice broke his listening, and he saw the woman step onto the platform behind him.

           “Yep, walking around in the middle of the night to figure out where the undead are,” Seth said. “And your excuse?”

           Savani held up a bracelet of three large shells and several smaller shells, “We have three caretaker homes at this preserve, each designed to better weather certain seasons. This is the winter quarter, even though I should have welcomed you in the spring mansion. This bracelet alerts me whenever someone or something approaches one of the prisons at any of the homes, and will transport me to interfere. I assume you were not planning on releasing these entities.”

           “No, just wanted to know where they are,” Seth said, looking back at the door, “They sound different than most of the undead. Like they’re…wandering. They think they are going somewhere.”

           “The spirits here are trapped by a maze, just as much as they are by the barrier,” Savani said. “My people learned how to draw unwanted entities into certain designs, tricking them into wandering those corridors rather than through the village. It is a complicated magic, but one that does not require a wizard if you have the right blood and soul.”

           “So like, at least they get puzzle books with their prison sentence, I approve,” Seth said, “They sound a little less miserable than the undead usually do.”

           “Are you familiar with Djinni?” Savani asked.

           “Genies?” Seth said, the name sounding familiar, “A little. My other Grandma tried to make a deal with one, it got to ask her three questions she had to answer truthfully. When she refused to answer one, the Genie turned her into a chicken.”

           “I lost one of my staff to similar circumstances concerning the Djinni that rests just inside this door. A spirit that wandered here from the mainland; they were not so easily trapped by our mazes, but fell remarkably easily to four walls,” she said, thinking, “My sister, Alma, engaged in the question game, three for three, taking turns, and learned that the sunset pearl had been taken off the preserve before Djinni asked how to unweave spirit mazes and she refused to answer.”

           “They only know about stuff inside the preserve right?” Seth asked.

           “Only when asked can she gain access to her sight, which extends to past and a little into the future,” Savani said. “My sister’s remaining questions that she could not ask were about who took the sunset pearl, and the location of the Weki flute that soothes the triclops.”

           “I can go in and ask her,” Seth volunteered.

           Savani laughed, “I could never ask you to go in with so little preparation!”

           “Seems to me everyone fails at the game because they had too much preparation,” Seth said. “You need to let your non-local idiot walk in with absolutely no preparation. I don’t know anything about this preserve or what might free her. Sure I know some secrets, but nothing that would help her get free. And it’s just information. She can’t ask me to do things for her, right?”

           “The young always risk their lives for so little,” Savani said, shaking her with a quiet laugh. “Even if I were willing to lose another ally to that monster after losing my sister, something I’m sure you understand, none of your protectors would let you go over them.”

           “That’s why we do it here and now,” Seth said, “I’ve negotiated with tougher customers than this. I’ve talked down both the Totem Wall and the Singing Sisters. And I convinced a centaur to let me ride on his back. I’m pretty talented at walking away from these things.”

           “That is impressive,” Savani said, “But even with those dangerous consultations in your past, our situation is not so risky. And wandering towards the most secure prison at night alone does not convince me that you have the discipline to converse with this creature. Any word out of your mouth that is not the answer the answer to her question after you enter her chamber is a lie and gives her freedom to leave. You strike me as the sarcastic sort, and that will get you killed.”

           “Yeah, some of my wraith friends didn’t get my jokes either,” Seth said, remembering Whiner. “I suppose knock-knock jokes are out?”

           “Most definitely,” Savani said, “You are refreshing to speak to. Much like Warren, but less burdened. Does the chill of this dungeon not bother you?”

           “Chill?” Seth asked, looking around, “It’s been ridiculously hot since we got here. It finally feels nice.”

           “The unnatural dread make many fail to converse with the Djinni,” Savani said thoughtfully. “After speaking, I am a bit more inclined to let you try with the Djinni, and hold back my assent almost solely on the rifts I do not wish to cause with the rest of our allies. Should the triclops still haunt us when they awake, I will allow you to present this plan as an option to them.”

           “Sounds like permission to me,” Seth said. He spun and grasped the door handle. In that touch, he found himself on the opposite side of door. Apparently just touching the doorknob was enough to get a mortal inside the prison, though he was willing to bet it would take the caretaker to get out. There was a single door to his right, and beyond that a spiral staircase covered with woven mats of crazy designs. He felt the presence of wraiths and the undead just before him, and it took a bit to figure out that they were trapped inside the mats.

           Then a phantom stumbled up the stairs, and he realized not all of them were trapped in mats. Just to his left was a door with another handle and no hinges.

           Expecting it this time, Seth reached out and grasped the handle.

           “Oh? Two visitors so close together after a century of silence,” the Djinni said. “A baby shadow charmer, no less. I assume you are here to play my riddle game like that last one.”

           The Djinni was surprisingly pretty. Usually Kendra got the pretty ones, and he got the cool ones who were half skeleton half putrid guts. The flowing pink dress threw him for a second. But she had white skin, red eyes, and choppy blue hair. Her skin was smooth, except for the bags under her eyes, and her hair looked like it could use a good washing.

           Seth nodded to the Djinni’s question.

Then he breathed in, and a hand came up over his mouth to stop him from gagging. His eyes left the Djinni  to the ground next to her, covered partially by her cloak. For some reason, when Savani said her sister had been killed by the Djinni, he had never imagined what had happened to her sister’s body. This wasn’t like the zombie farm, or even when Coulter died in his arms. The body was weeks decayed. Skin and organs were liquifying and leeking over the floor, bones starting to jut out on the ribcage and he could only be glad he couldn’t see Savanni’s sister’s face.

           “I have a fondness for little adventurers,” the Djinni said with a rosy smile, watching him watch the body. She even threw in a casual caress of her last victim. “I will recite the rules for you if you nod now.”

           Seth nodded, suddenly regretting everything. He made himself focus on the Djinni.

           “Very well, my rules are simple,” she said, standing up but still leaning against the wall of her prison cell, “You may only speak the answers to my questions and questions of your own. You have as much time as you need to answer. Should you speak else, I may extract a price from you for disturbing me, and as you can see, it includes killing you. Should you speak a lie, I am freed from my prison and will enjoy wrecking the meager protections left to this house on my way out. My sight it limited to this preserve, but it extends to everywhere in this preserve and all the way through the past, and twenty-eight days into the future. You may indicate you are unsatisfied with my answer, but may not ask follow-up questions, I can do the same. Upon being satisfied with my final answer, you will be teleported out of my diminutive abode. Nod if you are ready to begin, little adventurer.”

           Simple rules. Follow the rules, and they can’t touch you. He would just have to think through his answers before speaking. Despite what Kendra says, he can think before talking. At least, that’s what Kendra used to say, and probably wouldn’t take long to say again. Seth nodded and made himself remove his hands and accept the smell. The smell wasn’t worse than the zombie farm, even if the body was.

           “Then I, Skamboli, ask this for my first question: what are the ways out of my confinement that you know about?” she asked.

           Seth thought for a minute, going over each way he thought might work.

           “I only know a few,” Seth said slowly, “if I tell a lie, you are free. I assume that if the caretaker released you, you could go free. I don’t know for sure, but I assume if someone busted down your door from the outside, you would probably be freed. Burned the tree prison down, though you might die that way. And…a trained shadow charmer, not me, could probably unlock your door. People have told me that once I learn control over my powers, I can undo locks, but I don’t know how yet.”

           Skamboli waited, but nothing happened. “Very honest, I approve. Though a wiser adventurer would not volunteer information about their weaknesses. You may ask your first question.”

           Better ask Savani’s questions first. “Who took the sunset pearl?”

           Her red eyes flashed white for a second then went back to red. “The dark unicorn goes by many names, but you know him as Ronodin. He stole the pearl on his first visit to this sanctuary.”

           That was bad and good. Bad, because Ronodin likely put it where he was keeping Kendra, on the Phantom Island, but good because it narrowed their goals and they were already working on getting to the Phantom Isle anyway. Maybe he could use the horn to send a message to Bracken to pick up the pearl on his way out with Kendra?

           Seth nodded at the Djinni, hopefully indicating he was satisfied with her answer. Not looking at the body. She never said he could verbally say if he was satisfied, just dis-satisfied, and didn’t want to risk it. He didn’t want to talk more than he had to.

           “Is there any questions I could ask that you would be unwilling to answer?” Skamboli said. This was the question that left grandma laying eggs for months.

           Again, Seth thought carefully.

           “Plenty of things I wouldn’t want to answer,” Seth decided, “Embarrassing moments, secrets about our plans against the dragons in the upcoming dragon war that I promised not to share, too much information about my friends and family. Secrets that would result in my death if I shared them with you due to other promises I have made. Really don’t want to share that one, it wouldn’t benefit you at all and would end up with me dead. That one is about my dealings with the Singing Sisters, and wouldn’t interest you at all, so please don’t ask that one. But I would share any of it, if you asked, because I need to take the answers to my questions back to my friends.”

           Skamboli waited, then nodded at Seth. Seth hesitated for a moment, because the name of the flute Savani mentioned five minutes ago was already lost from his head. He needed a minute to carefully pick his words.

           “Where is the magic flute that can soothe the currently rampaging triclops?” Seth asked at last.

           Again, her eyes flashed a blinding white.

           “The Weki flute is buried amongst the treasure of the Fairy Queen’s shrine on this island,” Skamboli said.

           Uggh, normally they left the fairy shrine stuff to Kendra, though the Fairy King might let him take something from there. Or maybe getting Fairy Struck Tess to ask would be better. Still, much better news than the flute being lost forever. Seth nodded.

           “What would convince you to free me from my prison, little adventurer?” she asked, sounding tired.

           Seth had not expected that question. What would convince him to free a dangerous being? He took longer to think through his answer to this one than any other. The smell and taste of the last life she had taken all around him, so much worse than the zombie farm.

           “A sincere and binding promise to never hurt another sentient being again,” Seth said, at last, and his eyes finally went back to the body. He saw the swollen, distorted face of Savani’s sister, and knew he wouldn’t ever forget it. “But from everything I know, that is against your very nature and an impossible promise to keep.” He looked away and back at her, “Still, if you were able to convince me you’d do that? I’d do my best to help you. I would do my best to convince Savani that you won’t attack her, help find a nice new lair for you somewhere on this preserve. You could have been a lot meaner, a lot stricter and done more to trip me up, but you didn’t, which makes me like you. I have been double crossed a lot in my life though, so I refuse to free you on anything less than a perfect, binding promise.”

           Skamboli waited, then nodded, a small smile on her lips. Now it was time for the real reason he had jumped into this encounter, the information that would make it all worth it. He thought over his question a couple of times, looking for loopholes or ways to get more information out of it, and asked.

           “Where will my sister Kendra be on the preserve in the next twenty-eight days?”

           Again, her eyes flashed white, though this time they softened slowly back to their red. “The future is not certain, but many futures show Kendra at this preserve in 77 hours and making her way to the sacred pool. She will venture into the domain of a wraith, then leave. It grows hazier, but Kendra will also visit the Bridge Cove, then Baga Lao sometime after that. Leaving Baga Lao, she does not return within the time of my sight.”

           Kendra. Here. Seth almost said something, almost said thank you, then stopped himself with a snap of his jaw. He nodded.

           “That concludes my little game. Congrats, you are the first to pass without retribution in a while. You are right, I cannot promise not to harm in exchange for my freedom. Still, this has been quite entertaining, and in Jighandi even. You have goodness in you, little adventurer, try not to die too quickly on this preserve.”

           Seth was transported out. Savani was standing in the little hallway, arms folded, when he appeared. She grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him towards the exit

           Savani forcibly shoved him out of the prison, where Grandma was waiting for him.

           “So, good news, I wisely used my resources and found out vital information on where Kendra is going to be, as well as the sunset pearl and the flute to stop the triclops” Seth said. “Bad news, I’m going to throw up.”

           Seth rushed to the edge of the platform and started heaving, losing the dinner he had eaten.

           “I understand now what Ruth and Stan warned me when letting you out of my sight,” Grandma Larsen said, putting a hand on his back. “Of all the trouble I was watching out for, you purposefully going to chat up a djinni never even crossed my mind.”

           Tears leaked out of his eyes as he threw up some more. It was horrible, he’d thought that after everything, after regularly conversing with the undead for years, after seeing so many people die, he would never loose his stomach over something like a dead body. But the smell…

           …he gagged some more, even though there was nothing left. He was sticky and gross and the humidity made it feel like the vomit was sticking to him more than he knew it was. Eventually a glass of water was offered, and he used it to rinse his mouth. He nodded his thanks at Savani, and accepted the wet towel as well.

           His breathing evened out and he said, “For Kendra. I did it for Kendra.”

           “Seth, you are part of a team now,” Grandma said, “And you aren’t leading things here like you were back at Wyrmroost. We work together, or not at all. Savani told you she didn’t want you to speak to the Djinni, and you disregarded her. This is her home, hers to protect, and you violated that trust. How is what you did any different than Knox going into the dungeons with Tess to check out the barrel?”

           “Savani said the only reason she didn’t want me to talk to the Djinni was that she worried about setting off everyone’s ‘protect Seth’ sensors,” Seth said, not looking her in the eye, “I thought I figured it out, but you’re right, I didn’t know, I wasn’t ready. It’s what I thought I had to do, and I’m sorry.” Savani’s sister’s body flashed in his mind again, the way Skamboli stroked sagging flesh, and he pressed his face into the towel.

He was stronger and braver than this. He was. He had proved it over and over, and he’d seen people die. He’d seen his sister poison herself into a frothing, empty shell. He’d seen battle wounds from the battle of Zzyzx.

This shouldn’t be worse than that, but it was.

           Grandma sighed and rubbed his back. “What happened? Tell me.”

           “It’s nothing,” Seth said, pulling himself to his feet. “Nothing I haven’t seen before. It just…I wasn’t prepared. I promise I won’t act on my own again.”

           “That is not the answer to my question,” Grandma scolded, standing as well, “I don’t care about how Ruth and Stan let you run about and keep secrets, and I don’t care about what you’ve seen before. We are going to confront a demon for training tomorrow, and you have been unsettled and you have been reckless, so we are going to talk until I trust that you can handle what’s going to happen.”

           “It doesn’t matter if I talk about it or not,” Seth said, “We need to get me trained so I can get to the Phantom Isle, and we need to do it fast. I can handle a demon, I won’t lose it like that again.”

           “Seth, Honey,” Grandma said, and she pulled him into a hug he resisted, “Even those of us who have done dangerous missions on magical preserves our entire lives need people to talk to. People to trust. Time to break down. Mortals aren’t meant for the kind of exposure you and your sister have been through. Special abilities or not. Talk to me.”

           “It’s nothing, I mean it,” Seth said, and his eyes found Savani over Grandma’s shoulders, who had been watching patiently the entire time. “It wasn’t worse than seeing Kendra’s stingbulb kill herself, and I got through that, so I’m okay.”

           “Shadow charmers have a reputation,” Savani said quietly, “Of moving and operating in the dark, with demons who seal their secrets sworn in blood. I would recommend  letting things come to light, if you can. If you are trying to spare me, I think I have guessed what unsettled you. I had hoped this Djinni to favor the clean and quick kill, but we knew the consequences.”

           “I’m sorry,” Seth said, hoping she understood the extent of his apology.

           “Ahh,” Grandma said releasing him, “Death. You have dealt far too much with loved ones and friends dying for your age, and you have dealt much with those long dead, the process in between is…unpleasant, unsettling.”

           “It smelled really bad,” Seth admitted, closing his eyes and seeing the body all over again. “Worse than the zombie farm. I don’t know how I breathed, much less talked. It was just…everywhere in that small cell. I won’t try something like that again, not without a lot more preparation and talking it out with everyone.”

           Savani said nothing for a long moment, “You make raising my own son look easy, Seth Sorenson. I believe your sincere desires, though it will take a while for me to trust your restraint. Gloria, remain by Seth’s side for the remainder of his stay here. He does not understand our magic, and while that saved him from knowing anything that could help the Djinni, it also made him dangerous to the integrity of the Woven Prison.”

           “That is acceptable,” Grandma said.

           Savani sighed, and shook her head, “That being said, the information you gathered is invaluable and I am also in your debt for asking. I was listening at the door and recorded everything. We will work on securing the flute, preparing for Ronodin’s return, and locating the Sunset Pearl. We will have much to discuss when the rest of our companions awake.”

Grandma nodded, “I agree, come Seth. There is still three hours until dawn, and we need what rest we can, even if sleep is gone. You will be sleeping in my room from now on.”

           Seth winced, but it was hardly the worst punishment he could have gotten. Probably better than he should have gotten. The women turned to leave.

           Seth went to the room his Grandmother had been using, to laid down in the second bed, while Grandma Larsen curled up in hers. No more hammock after tonight. He thought he had been past his impulse issues. He had been careful at Wyrmroost to not take unnecessary risks, to consult Kendra in most things, and he had felt good. Like he had learned his lesson and finally grown into someone worth trusting with important stuff.

           Now it felt like he was back to square one. Back to being the dumb kid that captured fairies overnight and trusted demons.

           Seth missed his sister.

[writingsbychlo]

Dating Mitch Rapp

PDA

Mitch is surprisingly big on PDA.

But in a more protective kind of way, over a show-off way.

He likes to have your hand in his, or an arm around you, your arm through his.

He just likes to be touching you at any given time to make sure you’re secure.

He’s also a big fan of forehead kisses, cheek kisses and nose kisses.

He likes it when you nuzzle/kiss under his jaw too.

And he definitely makes out with you in public sometimes.

He has zero fucks to give, if he wants to kiss his chick then he will.

Sometimes he makes out with you out of spite.

Like when Stan tells him to hurry up and finish his goodbyes before he goes away.

And so he makes sure to take an extra-long time kissing you.

Sometimes when he gets jealous he’ll make a real show of it too.

Tongues visible and hands a little lower than they should be.

Also when you wear jeans or shorts, he likes to tuck his hand into your back pocket.

HANGING OUT

Is happy to go out or stay in.

Whatever you prefer, really, but he prefers to be inside.

Will pretty much just go wherever you’re going.

He likes to make the most of his time when he’s not away on assignments.

He doesn’t like to interrupt your plans though, so he’s pretty flexible.

He’ll just go along with you to whatever you’re doing.

He also likes it if you sit with him when he gets home and just relaxes.

He’s still pretty tense for the first few days after an assignment.

You hang out with him while he fills out his reports and briefs, keeping him company.

Getting him coffee, making snacks, just playing with his hair, rubbing his shoulders.

He just needs a lot of support, basically.

DATE NIGHT

It’s hard for the two of you to make plans because his work is unpredictable.

All of your date nights are spontaneous, rarely do you have reservations/bookings.

Sometimes if you want to dress up and feel fancy, you’ll cook together. 

Then do your makeup, put on a dress and heels, him in a suit.

He always gets you flowers, if you decide you’re having date nights in six hours or in thirty minutes, he will get you flowers.

He treats you like you’re the most important thing in the world to him.

Because you are.

But whether you’re in our out, he gives you the best treatment. 

Pulls your chair out for you, opens your door, tells you how pretty you look, kisses your hands, all of it.

If it’s a less formal date, you order takeout and go to the store for a bunch of snacks.

You drag the mattress and bedding out into the living room and make a pillow nest.

Which ends up with movies and cuddling and ignoring the film to have mumbled conversations and share kisses.

SEX

Mitch is fucking mindblowing in bed.

Seriously, he’s incredible, because all he wants is to please you.

Pretty much always a top, he just loves being in control.

He knows everything you need at any time, and is up for pretty much anything too.

He’s lowkey very kinky, but didn’t tell you for a long time.

So the two of you were having great, but fairly vanilla sex.

He was just worried you wouldn’t want him if he fessed up, he’d never actually talked about them.

So naturally, you took the initiative and tried to find out what kind of porn he watched.

And suddenly, a whole new world was opened up for you both.

A box of toys under the bed. A big box.

And it’s very frequent too; he really can’t keep his hands to himself.

It’s not always that frantic and needy and desperate sex.

Sometimes he just needs you but he also just needs the connection.

Pressing you into the kitchen counter and fucking you slowly while he gets lost in your mouth as he kisses you deeply. 

AFTERCARE

Aftercare usually involves a hot bath or shower, because you have to clean up.

It’s a very sweaty and messy ordeal, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

It also literally means cleaning up, because in his haste to find a certain toy, he normally just dumps the box out across the floor.

It wasn’t fun when he slipped on a vibrating dildo and twisted his ankle, and you had to explain it to the hospital, as well as Stan and Irene.

You wash up together, and then when you’re feeling refreshed, you usually watch a movie, eat some food, and cuddle. 

He’s clingy, but even more so after sex. He just wants to be with you, all the time.

He likes to be wrapped around you, or have you wrapped around him, at any times. 

He has been known to literally carry you around the house on his back while you get ready to curl up and cuddle.

THINGS YOU BORROW FROM EACH OTHER

You share a laptop, he trusts you not to go in his files because they’re classified.

Phone chargers, laptop charger, all kids of wires, really.

Suitcases, and carry on bags. They often get ruined and they’re constantly changing.

Pillows. He takes your pillow away with him every time and leaves his with you.

PICK-UP LINES HE LIKES TO USE

“Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?”

“I must be in a museum, because you truly are a work of art.”

“Feel my shirt. Know what it’s made of? Husband material.”

“Something’s wrong with my eyes because I can’t take them off you.”

“Did the sun come out or did you just smile at me?”

WHEN HE GOES AWAY ON ASSIGNMENTS

When he’s leaving, it’s normally a pretty quiet morning/evening.

You always make sure to have it off work if you possibly can.

Helping him pack, making sure he’s got everything, and trying to calm him down when he begins to get a little jittery.

Promising him you’re always going to love him, no after what.

Taking him to his pick up point, and kissing him slowly, keeping it sweet.

There’s not a lot of communication when he’s away, obviously, so it gets lonely.

He normally has no idea when he’s coming back either, it’s very sudden.

He never just lets himself into the house if you’re not home, though.

He doesn’t want to startle you, so if you’re home, he knocks before letting himself in.

If you’re not in, he calls/texts to find you, or comes to see you at work.

He usually does some shopping and brings things for a date night, including flowers.

While he’s away you spend time making lists of films & TV shows he’d like that you can watch together.

You also do some tidying, and try to keep yourself busy so you don’t worry.

You don’t like to do the normal things you do with him because it makes you miss him more. 

He is very used to coming home now and finding that the furniture has been rearranged, or one of the rooms have been redecorated, or you’re reorganised all of the drawers and he has to learn where things are again.

[petri808]

We’ll Take Back Heaven a Nalu Yakuza Au

1 | 2

—

The moment Lucy left the room, Natsu simply turned and gave a silent look to his lieutenant Gray who nodded back in acknowledgment and left with one of the men. He sat back in his chair, fingers steepled below his chin in thought. Could it really be one of his own men? Some of the lower level guys didn’t always follow the rules, but it was rare for them to utterly disregard them! Oh! That really pissed him off, because they knew better then to test Natsu’s patience. There’s a damn good reason he was able to create such a lucrative gang in the heart of Tokyo when so many others would kill for it. By the age of 21, his father retired and left the position of Oyabun leader to Natsu. But, Natsu wasn’t satisfied with the old way of doing things. This was the 21st century and times must change.

It was well known that the Yakuza traversed a dangerous underworld full of illegalities. Drugs, prostitution, gambling, shake downs and extortion, theft, or in other words the seedier side of society. So that is where Natsu focused his attention. Some of the very first of the changes were to reign in unauthorized violence or any crimes that utilized it. Such a move sent a utter shockwave through the order and those that refused to let go of the old ways were swiftly eliminated to instill an image of power and fear that Natsu Dragneel was not to be messed with. His logic behind the move was simple. Do not do anything that brings attention to the gang and attacking someone on the street for a few yen is a quick way for the authorities to show up. So, in a way, Natsu was lucky it happened to be one of Lucy’s employees and not a random person, because they would have immediately called the police. Though it also brought up another question. Were there other crimes he just hadn’t heard of yet?

“Well, she’s still as feisty as ever, gihi.” Gajeel broke the silence of the room when he returned. “Could’ve cut the sexual tension with a sword.”

Natsu crossed his arms in feigned annoyance. If it were any other underling, they would have received a harsher response, but Gajeel was one of his oldest and trusted friends. “Pfft. I don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s a rival, that’s it. You know that.”

“Mmhmm.” Gajeel snickered. “So, now what?”

“Gray started working on finding who it was. I want you to call your contacts at police and see if they’ve had any reports of recent robberies in the area, and if there were, any details we can use to figure out who it might be.”

“Can do boss. Anything else?”

“You think it could one of our own?”

Gajeel looked up for a couple of minutes as if he were running their personnel through his mind. Finally, he rubbed his chin. “There’s a couple of newbies, a bit young and dumb that might be stupid enough to break the rules. I’ll call my contacts first before helping Gray press the men for info. Someone’s gotta know something.”

“Good. You do that and let me know as soon as you get a lead. I want this dealt with as quickly as possible.”

“Gotcha.”

Between Natsu’s two lieutenants and their best men, they interviewed all of the most likely suspects. Gajeel’s police informant let him know that there were a couple other robberies that sounded similar a few blocks away from where Lucy’s employee and client had been accosted. He also learned those two victims gave a similar description of the robber. With the new information, along with other snitches, they narrowed it down within a few days to a low-level street guy in the organization. But unlike Gajeel’s initial hunch, it wasn’t one of the newbies. Instead, the male had been with them for a couple of years now and never caused any problems. In fact, the guy fashioned himself as a smooth talking ladies’ man who supposedly disliked violence. So, it was a bit surprising it was one of the ones they’d least expected.

Gajeel and his men found the man named Bora Prominence laying low at his girlfriend’s apartment after he’d heard the gang was looking for him. Not the smartest move. The woman gave him up without a fight, fearing the Yakuza more than her boyfriend. So, once she’d let them inside, they quickly found Bora hiding in the bathroom and dragged him out.

“It wasn’t me!” Bora screamed as the men beat him to the floor. “You got no proof I did shit!”

Gajeel planted his foot into the small of the man’s back and held him down. “Two of the witnesses saw the tattoo on your face. That’s enough evidence for us.” He growled. “You knew the code and what would happen if you broke it, so stop being a bitch.”

But Bora continued to resist the four men, pushing off the floor with his arms unsuccessfully against Gajeel’s massive weight or fending off kicks from the others. They pummeled him with fists and kicks over and over until one clear blow finally knocked him unconscious long enough to be tied up. Despite a heavy beating bad enough to leave him bruised and bloodied, he continued to scream about his innocence. Back at headquarters, they dragged him into Natsu’s office with hands bound behind his back and forced him onto his knees.

The room held Natsu sitting at his desk, along with both lieutenants, four of their men keeping Bora restrained, and lastly Lucy with the victim to Natsu’s right side. He had contacted her as soon as he knew the suspect was being brought in. And thought they were pretty certain of guilt, the woman’s immediate reaction when they’d brought Bora in of cringing back and moving closer to her boss spoke volumes.

“Is that him?” Natsu questioned to gain a verbal confirmation.

“Y-Yeah,” the woman squeaked out. “He’s the one who pushed me down and robbed us.”

Natsu’s eyes stayed narrowed and glaring at Bora as he addressed the women. “Thank you, that’ll be all. Heartfilia you both can leave now I’ll handle things from here.”

“You’re a doll,” Lucy giggled and gave Natsu a quick teasing peck on the cheek before ushering her employee away. They’d done what they needed to do, now it was his job to finish it.

“Tch, so that’s what this is all about.” Bora sneered, spitting out a clot of blood. “Cause that bitch got you all worked up over a measly few bucks?”

“Watch it!” Natsu roared. “It ain’t a good idea to piss me off anymore then I already am!” There was a fire burning behind Natsu’s stare because when he looked at this man Bora, he doesn’t see the crimes themselves, but the disobedient threat he posed to their organization. How dare this selfish ignorant punk threaten everything they’ve worked hard to build! And to accuse him of weakness in doing Lucy’s bidding just sealed the man’s fate.

Bora snapped back defiantly, though the crack in his tone gave away the fear brewing beneath. “What does it matter, I know what awaits me.”

“You’re right.” Natsu relaxed back into his chair once he sensed the man’s inevitable compliance. “You knew the consequences for crossing me. What does it matter if my rival is also benefiting in this way? Because I know there are other victims. Dumbass, how do you think we linked you to all this? Those other victims reported it to the police! Which is exactly why I have the rules I have in place! You put all of us in jeopardy by pulling this kind of stupid low level bullshit!”

“Pfft, you act like we’re saints. If the cops really wanted to, they’d look into the other illegal shit we do regardless.”

“No, it’s you who fails to recognize there is a hierarchy to the kinds of crimes that bring heat on us. Drugs? Prostitution? The cops don’t care as much, but assault? Robbing people, murders, now those are things they will pay attention to, and I will not tolerate it!” Natsu sat forward with a malevolent grin. “Welcome to the modern Yakuza.”

Drugs and prostitution were a part of the gangs dealings, but the bigger scheme was in shaking down the local business owners for protection money. Thing is, Natsu’s gang actually did the protection part causing crimes in that area for customers or businesses to drop down to nearly zero. So, while the business owners weren’t thrilled to cut a portion of their profits, they also appreciated not having to worry about security. That and because of the gangs connections, they had pipelines of cheaper priced products which helped to keep their costs down. This more symbiotic relationship is why they didn’t go to the authorities and why the gang could hold such a control over the area. Making sure the areas streets were protected from violent crime is a testament to the gangs power and would insure that these businesses stayed compliant.

“Tch.” Bora retorted. “You’re just young and dumb. Eventually you’ll realize there’s a reason why things were done a certain way in the old days.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but your days of worrying about it are over.” Natsu motioned to Gajeel. “I’m done. Get him out of my face.”

Gajeel then motioned to his men to haul Bora to his feet and drag him away to an unknown destination never to be seen from again. Cliche as it may sound, even in killing off a problem like Bora, Natsu’s gang didn’t follow tradition. Bora would be held as a prisoner until his wounds healed then his death made to look like just another suicide statistic. In the seven years that Natsu has reigned, not one murder had been laid at their doorstep and he intended to keep it that way.

Now that the Bora business was over, Natsu closed his eyes and fully relaxed into his chair with a sigh. He didn’t exactly enjoy playing the tough guy bit and only did it out of necessity. This was a life his father groomed him for since birth, but he’d love nothing more than to just settle down with a wife and start a family of his own. Not that he couldn’t already do so, but that required finding the right woman to settle down with and no one other than his old flame has ever evoked I’m him more than a passing glance.

He didn’t know how long he’d been relaxing when there was a knock on his office door. “Yeah? Come in.”

“Sorry to disturb you,” the man spoke as he quietly entered the room. Invel Yura was Natsu’s Saiko-kamon, the top advisor and managed the administrative side of the organization. “I wanted to go over your schedule for tomorrow in case I need to make any changes.”

“It’s fine.” Natsu gestured to the chair fronting the desk. Invel had been the advisor to his father for the last few years of his tenure and he fully trusted the man’s diligence.

Invel sat down and opened up a calendar. “Tomorrow morning, we have a new shipment of prescription drugs coming in as well as some ecstasy, so you’ll need to appoint someone to oversee inventory processing.”

“Hmm, who should I have work on this?” Natsu asked for Invel’s opinion.

“Might I suggest Rajeel Ramal? He’s gruff but meticulous and has done a good job so far.”

“Is that so? Then that’s fine, let him continue. What’s next?”

“Okay,” Invel scribbled the orders in his book. “Next, the only other thing you have is a party to attend with one of our high end clients.”

“Which one?”

“The son of Yuuji Katsunuma of Katsunuma industries.”

“Ah yes, the one we supply with cocaine. Such a spoiled brat, but he spends a lot with us.”

Invel chuckled. “That’s the one. It starts at 8pm.”

“Okay. Thank you, Invel. Is that all for now?”

“Yes. If anything, else comes up I will let you know.”

“I’m sure you will. Oh. Have an appropriate suit pressed and ready for me for the occasion.”

“Very well, sir. Is there anything else you need from me?”

“No. You may go.”

Invel nodded and returned to his own office. He made a few typical phone calls such as to Natsu’s house staff regarding an evening outfit and the transporters bringing the morning inventory to make sure everything was on schedule. Aside from the Bora issue, the going’s-on of business continued as normal. The final call he placed before he’d leave for lunch was to Rajeel of a simple a five word instruction. Nothing more needed to be said, knowing that his associate would understand. Invel sat back in his chair with a smile. “It’s almost too easy…”

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

kissed by mist and can dew attitude

pairing: harry styles x reader (farmers market au)

warnings: awkwardness!! shy!baker!harry, mentions of the qu*rantine, drug use, harry's chest hair, giggly, sweet high sex, some dirty talk :) unprotected sex

word count: 3.4k

synopsis: harry is an idiot, and y/n is a bit of a tease

author’s note: you can read this for a little background to this au (but it’s not really necessary; i tend to over explain things anyway, so you can get a pretty good understanding just from this) literally no one asked for this, but market season is coming up again, and i missed writing about these two :( hope you enjoy! xx

masterlist

—

Harry is so tired of being cooped up in this house.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves staying home.

He is normally the introvert that puts all other introverts to shame. He loves staying at home, he loves hiding away after a stressful day at work, he goes out of his way to not talk to anyone while he’s out, and he very rarely ever goes out on the weekends. He loves just being able to stay at home, relax, and not worry about anyone bothering him.

But, at a certain point, it becomes too much; now, he just wants to get out, go for a walk, go to the grocery store, talk to someone other than Y/N, just do something, anything, other than staying at home. Yes, it’s for a good reason, and he doesn’t want to be responsible for the illness spreading, but it’s also straining on his mental, physical, and financial health.

He honestly wants to go back to work.

Since this entire situation started, Harry has only had a couple of shifts at The Sweet Spot, since, apparently, cafes are “essential businesses”, but the nutrition store next door isn’t (the world definitely has their priorities straight). Honestly, it was kind of nice; he didn’t have to schmooze any customers, since he only saw the delivery drivers. There was the occasional ignorant person who would come up to the doors and pull on them, despite the very clear signs saying that they were not open to the public, only to find them locked, and Harry very happily told them to go away.

However, Marty couldn’t afford to have him take up any more shifts, which he completely understands, so he’s been stuck home for weeks.

Needless to say, both he and Y/N have been getting a little stir crazy.

They tried to keep a somewhat healthy lifestyle in the beginning, hiking the nearby trails or walking at the park, but everything started to become too crowded. They even went cycling, but Harry proved to be even more of a klutz on a bike than on his own two feet, resulting in a bump on his head and a scraped elbow, which is still healing beneath a floral printed plaster.

Y/N’s had some failed experiments, leading to several four-hour kitchen clean-ups, and she also started a “Fermentation Station”, with dozens of glass jars filled with fermenting fruits and teas, the smell of yeast strong in the air. She was so proud of herself the first time she made carbonated water from things they already had in the house (“Look, Harry, it’s so convenient”). She ended up adding more and more things to her collection. They argued about it for a couple of days before she finally settled and moved her jars to the back porch after the kitchen started smelling like alcohol.

While Y/N has her experiments, Harry stress-bakes. He can’t even count how many loaves of bread, fruit pastries, cookies, and cakes he has made. He made crepes using sourdough starter. That’s how bored he’s been. He waited five whole days for his starter to mature, just to make four crepes between himself and Y/N.

But, there’s only so many things to do before you’ve completely run out of ideas.

On this particularly boring day, it’s two in the afternoon before they finally get out of bed, no thanks to their terrible sleep schedules, and they move onto the couch, which is officially broken in after how many hours they’ve spent on it. It’s sunny outside, bright and warm, the bright light beaming through the large bay windows in the living room, making staying inside even worse.

Y/N convinces him to paint his fingernails (and not just his toenails), and he happily indulges her. It’s nice feeling pampered for once, and whenever Y/N gets into her let’s-have-a-spa-day moods, she goes all out. While his toenails, painted with a pretty green color called Can Dew Attitude and a shimmery top coat on them, dried, she put some all-natural mud mask on his face, that bubbled and seeped into his skin.

“This is great for your pores,” she says as she puts a lukewarm cloth on his mask. “Not that you have bad skin. It’s better than mine, you ass.”

He just smiles, feeling the clay crack, and leans into her touch. She’s gentle, waiting until most of it is soft and pliable before she wipes it away. As she dries his face, with a towelette that smells like lavender and honey, his freshened skin, flushed and smooth, glows in the afternoon sun, his pretty eyes magnified behind a pair of thick, black framed glasses. Y/N sits across from him, her leg tucked up underneath her with his hand steady on her knee.

“It’s not gonna, like,” he pauses, glancing warily at his nails, “poison you or anything, right?”

“What?” She laughs, putting an oil around his cuticles. He leans forward, watching her carefully. He readjusts the headband, inadvertently pushing it back a little too far, until some curls slip onto his forehead. She hits the bottle of Kissed by Mist against her palm, the pale pink polish making a nice ticking sound. She starts on his nails, but not before making a comment about how cute his little pinkie is, which makes him flustered.

“It’s not gonna poison you when I, ya know, like… when I…”

He motions with his free hand, grouping his ring and middle fingers together and curling them, and he bites on his cheek, brows furrowed, trying to see any changes in her expression. He stops and shakes his head, a frail blush creeping up to his ears.

“By the way you’re reacting, ‘m assuming it’s not a thing,” he sighs.

“No, the polish will not poison me when you finger—“

“Shh,” he hushes her, pressing his hand against her lips. She pushes him away.

“Harry, we are the only ones here,” she says, finishing his right hand.

“Ya know what that mouth does to me,” he mutters.

“Really? You get turned on when I say, ‘finger me’?”

“Ya know I do,” he pouts, grappling for her. His hands twist the thick cotton of her jumper for only a second before she’s scooting away, swatting at him.

“No, H, your nails are still wet,” she says, and he groans, sinking back into the couch cushions.

“So bored.”

“Everyone is,” she says, filing down his left thumb nail.

“Wanna get high?”

He just wants to stop this feeling of absolute boredom. It’s better since Y/N is here with him, but it’s getting to a certain point where he’s willing to do just about anything to feel, well, anything.

One night, they tried her “prison wine”, which was just cranberry cocktail and yeast that fermented for a couple of days; it tasted worse than it sounds. It did, however, get them very drunk, and they woke up the next morning with pounding headaches, upset stomach, and purple stained lips. It was honestly the worst hangover he’s ever had, and he vowed to never try it again.

Getting stoned has then become a regular thing. On those horribly boring nights where they had absolutely nothing to do, where they’ve both been on the couch for hours, not being able to find the willpower to move, and on those nights where they just wanted to feel and simply be elsewhere, they found solace in the warming daze.

She grins.

“Sure, I think we still have some gummies,” she says, moving toward their “special” drawer in the side table.

“Only a half this time, lovie,” he says as she turns back, and she rolls her eyes.

“They were a lot stronger than the other ones,” she says, ripping the poorly stuck tape from the plastic packaging.

“I know,” he smiles, popping the candy in his mouth. She sits back down beside him, her leg thrown over his lap. He moves his hand dangerously close to her inner thigh, his fingers dancing along the length of her thigh until they reach the hem of her panties, tugging at the material until it snaps back. He’s so close to feeling her warmth, if only he moves just a little further, but she yanks his hand back, puts it on her knee, and gives him a smug little smile, continuing her work.

It takes an hour, or two more coats of nail polish, for the edibles to kick in, but when they do, Harry thinks he pissed himself. Forgetting about Y/N’s leg across his lap, he mistakes her warmth as pee, and he jerks up, jolting her. She looks up at him, blinking. There’s a strip of white polish on the side of his thumb.

“You are so good at this,” he says slowly. He honestly couldn’t imagine painting such tiny details if he were sober; he doesn’t know how she’s doing it stoned. She’s swaying and blinking slowly, but she looks focused, her brows furrowed.

“You’re good at this,” she mumbles.

“What?” He laughs.

“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s easy if I can concentrate.” Her eyes flicker up to his, a smirk curled over her lips.

“‘M I distracting you?” He raises a brow.

“I can feel your cock,” she says.

“Please, don’t say cock while you’re touching my cock,” he says, readjusting his growing bulge. She just chuckles and moves her foot along his boxers, where his semi and the top of his thighs connect. His hips twitch.

She barely caps the nail polish before she tosses it to the side and straddles him. He cups her hips, the fact that his nails are still wet long gone from both of their minds. She holds him by the neck, tilting his head back. Before she can capture his lips, he hesitates, his hands tracing along her thighs.

“Are you sure?”

Even though they’re practically living together at this point and have had sex plenty of times, he can’t help but ask her that same question every time. He’s never been one to feel secure in himself, and to have someone who is so open and willing to trust him, it’s overwhelming and intimidating sometimes.

“Of course, H,” she says, nibbling at his bottom lip, and then, he kisses her, fully and profoundly. He could just melt into her, his senses consumed by her warmth and love. He wouldn’t go as far as saying that the sex is better than when they’re sober. It’s great all the time, but there’s something about being high, with his skin buzzing and all of his senses heightened yet dulled at the same time, that makes the experience different. It’s different because he’s not worried about what he’s doing and saying; he’s focusing on the feeling, all of the sensations and simply her.

She tries to pull his shirt over his head, but it gets caught on the chain around his neck, and she tugs a little too hard, yanking it tightly around his throat.

“Easy, Y/N,” he laughs, holding onto her wrists. “I know you’re eager to get me naked, but I think you forget that I am also precious cargo.” Her lips sink into a pout, and he’s able to get the shirt off, throwing it off to the side, his headband going with it.

“You are precious,” she says, squishing his cheeks together. She cups the back of his neck and pecks his lips, gentle and loving. “Love these little baby hairs,” she says, running her hand over his skin, teasing and tugging on his chest hairs.

“They’re not baby hairs,” he says, pouting. He teases his hands along her hips, nails digging into her fleshy skin. “I am a man.”

“Oh, I know,” she chuckles, feeling his hips jerk up, pressing his swelling bulge into her. He wraps his arms around her waist, fingers tracing along the expanse of her back, and nestles his face into her chest. She shifts further up on his lap, fingers carding through his soft hair. Being far too lazy to take it off, he sucks on her breasts through her worn tee, her nipples hardening in his teeth. She pushes his boxers down and readjusts herself over him, rubbing her clothed pussy along his pulsing cock. She tugs her panties to the side, and he moans at the sudden warmth, her arousal coating him.

“You like that?” She asks breathily, rocking her hips faster. “Like feeling me drip onto your cock?”

“What if I just—” She teases the head of his cock, just barely pushing him inside before she pulls out. He can barely make a sound, his throat tightening when

“You like it when I tease your cock? Can feel you throbbing.” Her eyes roll back at the burning feeling of him just breaking past the barrier of her tightness. “So needy for me, bubba.”

“Such a dirty mouth,” he moans.

“Tell me, babe.” She holds him by the jaw, the pads of her fingers pressing perfectly into his pressure points, and he struggles for breath, making his head even lighter and obscured. He grins. “Tell me how much you love my pussy,” she says as she sinks fully onto him, her walls swallowing him easily.

“Fuck,” he moans, long and drawn out. His head falls onto the couch cushions, eyes closing to savor the feeling of her gripping him, but she pulls him back, forcing him to keep eye contact. “I love it; love you more, though,” he says.

“Say it,” she coos.

He blushes, heat spreading from his chest to the tip of his ears. He has never been vocal when it comes to sex; he always gets flustered and anxious when having a normal conversation, so he couldn’t even imagine how how awkward he would be while trying to talk dirty. It’s even more difficult because of how much she’s teasing him, slow and languid movements up and down his cock, his head just barely inside her before she comes back down, her hips grinding against his. She has this look in her hooded eyes, a lustful and greedy look, that’s telling him to give in to his instincts.

“Love y-your pussy, baby,” he moans.

“Yeah?” She starts riding him faster, her walls milking him. He groans. “Tell me how it feels, H.” She smirks, like an actual full blown, teasing smirk; she knows exactly how good she’s making him feel. She likes seeing him so flustered and babbly and incoherent.

“So fucking good, so warm and wet, perfect for me, lovie,” he says, and she grins, teeth bared. She kisses him, messily and harshly. His arms wrap tightly around her waist, stilling her hips, and a hand travels up the length of her spine, beginning at the curve of her bum, dipping momentarily beneath her large tee, before moving up to the back of her neck, pressing her lips tighter to his. He cradles her head while he moves onto the floor, but it’s not nearly as graceful as he hoped it would be. They crash to the ground.

“Oh, god,” she squeals, and her walls squeeze him painfully tight. Her nails dig into his back.

“Wha’s wrong?” He wipes the sweat from his forehead, fingers raking through his hair.

“No, no,” she stutters, hands moving onto the swell of his ass, keeping him still. “You’re so deep.”

He swears his arms are going to give out at the sound of her sweet little whisper, her voice weak and broken.

“H-how deep?”

He can’t help the break in his voice, and embarrassment floods him. He’s honestly trying his hardest to sound sexy, but he just sounds like an idiot.

“As deep as the ocean,” she mumbles, and she looks so positively fucked, out of it and dazed with hooded eyes; he honestly doesn't even think she realizes what she said because when he starts laughing, she gives him the cutest look, her brows furrowed, lips curled. “What?”

“Congrats,” he says, leaning back and onto his knees, his arms curled under her thighs, knees hooked over his arms. “You almost just made me go soft. Never done that before.”

“Shut up,” she says, grinding her hips into him. His thrusts start slow, deliberate, but the more she reacts to him, the more she bucks and grinds, the faster they become, until he can’t anymore, driving his cock in with fast, precise thrusts.

“You look so good like this,” he says, groping her breasts over her tee, nipples swollen and hard. They move with every thrust of his hips.

“Thanks, it’s the shirt,” she says breathily, a weak smile on her lips. “It covers up all my ugly parts.”

“Tha’s not what I meant,” he says, frowning. He leans over her, hands on either side of her head, and she lets out a weak moan as his cock moves deeper inside her. “Look beautiful all the time.” He genuinely looks sad as he brushes away a bead of sweat from her forehead. “You don’ have to take your shirt off when we have sex, not if you don’ want to. I take it off normally because I thought it would be more comfortable for you, and, le’s be honest, your tits are amazing, and I love seeing your curves and your—”

She suddenly pulls him in for a kiss, ceasing his ramblings. He’s cute when he gets all nervous; despite the fact he’s balls deep inside her, he’s still a worrier. It’s sweet that he’s concerned about how she’s feeling, even though he’s not fully present, with red cheeks and hooded eyes, chest heaving for breath. She raises her hips, grinding up into him, her swollen clit just barely grazing against his abdomen. She clenches around him at the sharp, sudden burst of pleasure.

She raises her feet from the floor, and he presses her knees to her chest. The sound of him fucking himself into her wet cunt fills the air, obscenities and pleasured whimpers joining. Not having the energy to kiss fully, he traces his lips along the curve of her jaw, tender and messy. His thrusts become sharper and deeper, knocking the breath from her lungs with every move of his hips.

“Oh, god, ‘m so fucking wet.” She laughs, feeling through her soaked curls to her throbbing clit. She really is; her arousal drips onto their thighs and into the carpet. Her head spins, burning pleasure building as he grinds into her and spreads her legs further apart.

“Fuckin’ hell—” He whines as she tightens around him, her fingers rubbing her little clit raw.

“‘M gonna come,” she moans, tugging at his hair. “C’mon, baby,” she coos, “want you to—” She swallows thickly, her breathing shallow. Her eyes roll back as she pinches her poor swollen clit, her thighs trembling. She meets his thrusts, eager for her impending orgasm. “Want you to come in me, wanna feel your cum in my—”

She lets out one loud moan, her body trembling and shuddering beneath him as pleasure rushes through her, leaving her limbs tingling and her mind muddled. They bask in the afterglow, their breaths in sync and deep, and he slumps onto her, wrapping his arms around her, tracing his hands over any piece of skin he can. He just wants to savor this feeling, the closeness, the warmth, the tenderness.

Her hand suddenly fishes over to the caramels that Harry made a couple days ago, which have been taunting her in a faux-crystal bowl on the coffee table for the past couple of minutes. The make-shift wax paper wrapper crinkles, and the sound makes him look up, his eyes still hooded, movements languid with exhaustion. He opens his mouth sleepily, and she rips the caramel in half. They both moan at the same time at the taste and fall into a fit of giggles. He moves to his side, his chest pressed to her back, softening cock pressed to the curve of her bum.

“Sorry,” he says, “messed up your art.” He flashes his nails, the pink paint still soft and pliable, littered with nicks and dents and imprints from the couch cushions. She hooks her fingers through his and tugs his hand down to her lips.

“Worth it.”

—

[peanutbutterjelly-pie]

prompt: Undercover

hosts: @bend-me-shape-me, @helianthus21, @pray4jensen

Dean has been undercover for many times in his life.

FBI agent, Homeland Security officer, reporter, janitor, gym teacher, lunch lady, maintenance guy, minister, private detective, and so on and so on. The list is so long that he's actually more familiar with playing a role when interacting with strangers than being himself.

So when they're on yet another case again and Sam calls him from the local library and tells him to dress up Dean doesn't even think about questioning it.

“Your fanciest clothes,” Sam orders, making it pretty clear there should be no discussion about it. “Designer suit, shiny shoes. And a shave because you're starting to look like a hobo.”

Dean barely lifts an eyebrow. “What do you need me to be? A snobby multimillionaire too good for this world.”

“The snobbiest,” Sam agrees. “It needs to look like the stench of money is following you everywhere.”

And so Dean does as he's told.

A while ago he got himself one of those super expensive Armani or whatever outfits for a case (thanks to Charlie's unlimited credit card no problem at all) and has it stashed in the depths of Baby's trunk ever since. It's only been used once so far considering fake FBI agents or journalists are rarely dressed in designer suits. At least not if they don't want to draw too much unwanted attention to them.

Dean isn't exactly sure the damned thing still fits after all that time, but after a quick shower and shave he gives it a try and finds himself pleasantly surprised when the suit still wraps itself over his body like a glove. Only around the hips it got a bit tight, but if he'd refrain from bending over it should be fine.

And it actually makes his ass look extra great, Dean has to admit. He snaps a quick picture of it and sends it to Cas because he can't help himself. Cas answers immediately with a long string of enthusiastic emojis that are both incredibly sweet, involving lots of hearts, as well as highly inappropriate and Dean loves him even more for it.

He makes a mental note to wear that suit the next time they'll be alone to see how fast the angel would be able to rip the clothes off his body and then he heads out to meet with Sam.

Soon enough he finds himself in front of a jewelry store, with his tall mountain of a brother waiting at the entrance. He is dressed in fancy clothes as well and considering he left their motel room a few hours ago just with his usual plaid attire he obviously went shopping in the meantime. The suit doesn't fit a hundred percent in some places, making it obvious this was a rather quick shopping trip with no time for a proper fitting, but it makes him nonetheless look extra posh too.

“We look good,” Dean remarks with a grin as he stops next to Sam. “Like we could buy all of the world in a heartbeat and still have a couple of millions left as pocket money.”

Sam merely huffs with a fond smile. “If you say so.”

“So what is the situation?” Dean asks, pointing at the store.

“I just got a lead that our annoying spirit might have a connection to a wristband that's on display here,” Sam tells him. “It had belonged to her before she died. And I know it's not much, but I wanna check it out anyway.”

That specific spirit had been annoying them for days now because they were unable to figure out what kept her here in the first place. So Dean will take any lead they can get, no matter how small.

“I'm actually not very optimistic,” Sam explains with a sigh. “But our ghost is showing up here in the area, so it's not a total longshot. We just need to get inside and distract the employees a little.”

“Hence the fancy clothes.” Dean nods in understanding. He highly doubts they would've even gotten past the security guard on the door in their usual jeans. Most likely even their regular FBI suits wouldn't have been good enough.

“So we just go inside and one of us pretends to be a customer while the other subtly checks out that wristband?” Dean asks nonetheless.

Sam nods. “Don't worry, I have a plan.”

Dean blinks, but has no time for further questioning since Sam's already shoving him through the gigantic front door. He's instantly greeted with lots of bling and bright lights and the absolute perfect room temperature (like seriously, did they hire a guy just to keep a close eye on that the entire time?) before getting pushed to the main counter where a blonde woman with a way too wide smile happily waits to bury her flawlessly manicured nails into those new  potential buyers.

“Welcome,” she says, her voice as melodic and perfect as the air in the store. “How can I be of assistance?”

“Well, we've got an important purchase to make,” Sam announces, sounding all kinds of pompous. “Because you see, my brother here,” he grabs Dean's shoulders and grins at him with such an intensity Dean can't help feeling wary all of a sudden, “he intends to propose to his boyfriend.”

Dean blinks rapidly.

What?

Okay, Dean certainly didn't expect that.

The woman – Marlene, as her name tag tells them – seems taken aback by that for a moment as well, but she picks herself up much quicker than Dean. Her smile increases a few thousand watt while she turns toward the groom-to-be. “This is wonderful. Congratulations!”

Dean feels a bit like he's been hit right in the face, out of nowhere.

Thankfully he is actually used to unexpected violent attacks and has learned fairly early to deal with them.

“Um … thanks,” he mumbles, feeling his cheeks heating up.

Marlene apparently misinterprets his awkward fumbling for adorable shyness or whatever and looks at him like she's ready to adopt him right here on the spot.

“You have to excuse him, this is still a bit much for him,” Sam leaps back into the conversation. “He's been thinking about this moment for years and I guess it might be a tad surreal that it's finally happening.”

“Really?” Marlene seems truly intrigued hearing that.

“Yeah,” Sam sighs way too dramatically, “Dean's basically been thinking about marrying Cas since the first moment they met.”

Well.

Actually his first meeting with Cas was more like Dean having a sudden realization á la, “Wow, he's hot!” and then stabbing the guy in the chest.

But Dean refrains from pointing that one out.

It might have ended in those people declaring them insane and kicking them out of the store. And though Dean is used to the first, he doesn't need the latter right now.

“Dean just wants everything to be perfect,” Sam points out, sounding exactly like a guy who is used to getting what he wants. “It's a big day.”

“It most certainly is,” Marlene agrees, dollar signs already flashing up in her eyes. “We have a vast collection of engagement rings and I'm sure we will find something to your liking.”

“Money is not the issue,” Sam says those magic words that make Marlene even more excited, so it seems. “The bigger and more extravagant, the better.”

Marlene smiles widens, appearing incredibly sweet and harmless on the surface. But Dean knows a predator focusing on its prey when he sees it.

On instinct he actually wants to take a step back and hide, but instead he gathers enough courage to meet her smile. It's still somewhat wobbly, but she probably blames it on his alleged nervousness about that big change in his life.

“Why don't you tell me a little bit about your Cas?” she prods him. “What is he like?”

Dean shoots a quick glance at his brother, cursing him for having to endure this in the first place, before clearing his throat and responding, “He's … um, awesome.”

Way to go, Winchester.

She is certainly swooning on the spot.

Dean winces inwardly and forces himself to get a little bit more into his role. After all, he is used to the undercover life, so this shouldn't be too hard.

For a minute there he even considers to lie about Cas' personality, wondering whether that would make it easier to talk about him to a total stranger, but as he's just about to come up with some made-up character traits, he hears himself saying, “Well, to be fair, he's an asshole.”

Marlene looks at him in surprise while Sam in the background rolls his eyes.

“Uh … okay?” Marlene answers, clearly not sure how to reply to that.

“Cas is grumpy,” Dean goes on, now a fond smile flickering over his features. “I'm quite certain he is the biggest grump in the history of mankind, to be honest. And he's way too sassy for his own good. Also he has no idea how to clean up after himself and he always hums those annoying jingles he heard on the radio or whatever. All day. I'm actually surprised I haven't gone mad many years ago.”

Or maybe he has.

With his life, who could tell?

“But he's also a badass,” Dean continues, registering the only other employee who's been lacking any customers at the moment sliding closer with clear interest in her eyes. “No one should dare to screw around with him. And the few that actually did regretted it pretty quickly.”

That's, of course, an understatement actually, but he won't go into much detail now. For those poor women's sanity.

“And he cares, so much,” Dean goes on, an affectionate smile settling on his face when his thoughts drift closer to Cas. It's an automatic response at this point and he's pretty sure it'll stay like that for the rest of his life. “Even about that stupid little fly that got lost into our room a couple of weeks ago. It feels like we spent hours catching that thing and releasing it back into the wild. But what could you have done, you know? Cas would've been miserable if that fly would've died inside and that's something nobody wants to see. Believe me. He looks like a kicked puppy when he's sad.”

The salesladies scoots even closer, captivated by Dean gushing over his boyfriend. While Sam subtly starts to step back a little and check out the rest of the display, trying to locate the wristband of their obnoxious ghost.

Dean clears his throat, despite still feeling like he's been thrown into icy water without any warning whatsoever by his traitorous brother more than determined to play this role like their lives depend on it. After all, there here and they might not get a second chance.

So Dean gives it all he's got.

“So yes, Cas, he's great,” he says. “He's been my best friend for such a long time now and I … I guess I want him at my side for the rest of my life. And even beyond that.”

Dean smiles at the image of sharing his Heaven with Cas one day. It might be a hassle to get there at first – after all, Cas' relationship with his brethren is still not the best –, but Dean has no doubt that it'll come true eventually. Cas is way too much of a stubborn son of a bitch to not see this through.

Dean blinks as he suddenly realizes that he is in fact beginning to fantasize about Cas by his side forever as a real possibility.

Huh.

“As mentioned, we have a vast collection of engagement rings to help you start this new chapter of your life,” Marlene says with a happy sigh. “We would be more than happy to help you with your endeavor.”

Dean stares at her for a moment.

Oh right. Rings. The case.

“Yes, right,” he mutters, a slight blush on his face now. “It … it needs to be perfect.”

Marlene and her colleague – Amanda, as her name tag tells him – immediately spur into action and for the next ten minutes Dean sees himself confronted with a huge variety of different rings in all shapes and forms. A few are actually quite simple and elegant – silver bands with a couple of nice highlights – and some are seriously so over-the-top pompous and big Dean has no idea how a normal human being should be able to wear that on their hand.

But he smiles at them all and fakes such exaggerated interest both Marlene and Amanda seem to believe they're in Heaven themselves.

And it seems like a freaking eternity until Sam pops up next to him again.

“I'm so sorry to interrupt, ladies,” he jumps right into their enthusiastic conversation. “My girlfriend just texted me. Her doctor's appointment ended way earlier than expected and I need to pick her up.”

A blatant lie, of course, considering Eileen is back at the bunker with Cas, probably getting her ass beaten in every single board game invented by the best of all strategists Heaven has ever produced.

“But don't worry, Dean will be back shortly,” Sam promises right away as both Marlene and Amanda look rather crestfallen at those news. “After all, Dean can't wait to get married.”

They bid hasty goodbyes and are soon enough back on the streets again.

“So, any luck?” Dean asks when he's starting to remember the real reason why they went into the store in the first place.

“I found the wristband,” Sam admits. “But there's no suspicious energy to it. It's just jewelry.”

“Damn,” Dean sighs. “Well, it was worth a shot, at least.”

“Yeah …”

“And that was one hell of a cover story, Sammy,” Dean can't help pointing out for some reason.

Sam shoots him a quick glance, something intense flickering over his features.

“It wasn't though, right?” he asks in the end. “A cover story, I mean. Not really, at least.”

Dean frowns. On first instinct he wants to deny that, just wants to scoff at his brother's face and get on with his life, but then he thinks about Cas and how nice he would look with a ring on his finger and he finds himself lowering his gaze to cover up the flush on his cheeks.

“Uh … well, maybe it wasn't really a cover story after all,” he admits, his voice low, yet steady.

“So you want to go back?” Sam wonders, a smile on his lips. “ Look at those rings again? When this case is over and everything.”

Dean blinks. A few of those rings actually did look kind of awesome, if he's honest with himself. And sure, they're pretty expensive, but also very durable (an important feature in their line of work), and Dean surely didn't lie when he said that Cas only deserves the best.

So he finds himself muttering, “Yeah, I guess I wouldn't mind going back” and feels rather good about it.

Seems like Dean seriously has an important purchase to make after all.

[ladylynse]

Chapter 12 [FF | AO3] of Whirlwind (SQ fic): Jake should be used to ominous predictions by now. Randy should know better than to blindly follow McFist. Adrien should think twice before sneaking away. And Danny should’ve expected something like this when he got that phone call.

Previous | Timeline post

-|-

7:46 PM

“Don’t come here,” Gabriel hissed. “If you’ve captured Chat Noir, simply take his Miraculous! I want that ring.”

“Bringing him to you while he wears his ring is the same as bringing his ring to you,” was her infuriatingly mild response. “Unless you care to revise the terms of our agreement and specify that you would like only his ring?”

Gabriel ground his teeth. He knew what she was trying to do. “Take his Miraculous,” he repeated. “I have no use for the boy. If you bring him here, his fate is on your head.”

He thought that would give her pause. Instead, she asked, “Are you so afraid of him?”

“I know you don’t like needless death, Dracona,” he snapped. “If you believe bringing him to me will save him, you are sorely mistaken.”

“You don’t want to know who he is?” she asked lightly. “For the next time he foils your plans?”

“There won’t be a next time if you give me his Miraculous this time.”

“How can you be so sure of that when he could face you using a different Miraculous?”

Gabriel stilled. How did she know that? He had never told her of the Miraculous beyond asking her to fetch Chat Noir’s, and he didn’t recall naming the ring as a Miraculous until now.

She must be guessing. She couldn’t know more.

He wasn’t willing to bet on that, though. She’d surprised him by having that blood magic of hers; he wasn’t about to assume she was ignorant of other magics. “We’ll meet on the rooftops, then. The former venue.” He didn’t want to make this concession, but she’d use a refusal against him. It was far better to meet her away from prying eyes than to have her find him where he stood now. Besides, he knew to be careful. She’d only captured Chat Noir; the other heroes he’d seen acting earlier were still out there, as was her son.

He suspected this was her new way of opposing him. She was still trying to bargain with him, trying to find loopholes in their agreement. Still thinking she could get the upper hand. No matter; he’d prove her wrong soon enough.

“No.”

“I beg your pardon?” He spoke slowly, letting his threat soak through the words at her audacity of trying to dictate more terms.

“Go to the roof of your hotel. I’ll find you.”

“I’m afraid—”

“You’re not from here, and this is hardly a residential district. You’re staying at a hotel nearby. Your first choice tells me that much.”

Gabriel let out a growl, and Dracona added, “Or would you prefer I come straight to your room?”

The cane in Gabriel’s grip trembled slightly, and he forced himself to relax. He didn’t want to let her know how much her insubordination irked him. “Very well.” Once he had Chat Noir’s ring, he could recall her akuma and be done with this. She may have inside knowledge of other magical artefacts that might be useful to him, but it was abundantly clear that she wouldn’t part with that knowledge if he didn’t have some leverage. He’d hoped Nooroo’s magic would be enough to keep her on a short leash, but if she could push back this much, he was better off declawing her.

Fortunately, while she wouldn’t remember the incident, he’d know everything she’d told him. That would have to be enough for him when he found his next target.

“Dark wings fall, Nooroo,” he said, letting the magic wash over him.

Nooroo appeared in front of him. “Is this wise, Master?”

“Are you questioning my judgement?”

“No, Master.”

“Then what more can you tell me of her magic? How she could possibly know about the Miraculous?”

Nooroo hesitated.

“Answer me.”

“These things are not meant to be spoken of, Master.”

“Consider this an exception.”

Nooroo swallowed. “Dragons believe themselves to be the protectors of the magical world. While the Order of the Guardians have striven for utmost secrecy themselves, it is likely the dragons are aware of the Miraculous.”

Dragons.

“And you did not think to mention this before?” Nooroo would have known that from the beginning. It was highly unlikely he’d known she possessed blood magic without recognizing its kind, especially after Dracona had unlocked her own power. Gabriel did not appreciate being taken for a fool, yet they all seemed intent to try it—though it did make Dracona’s protection of her family make so much more sense. Her son, especially; as she’d said he’d fought and won his own battles despite still learning, Gabriel had no doubt that her son also considered himself a protector of the magical world.

“You forbade me from speaking, Master.”

A convenient excuse but not likely the real reason. Nooroo’s reluctance to speak of this at all would have been obvious even if he had met Gabriel’s eyes. “Then speak now. What can you tell me about the others? The ghost, the ninja?”

“I do not know specifics,” Nooroo admitted in a whisper. “I believe the Ninja is using magical artefacts to achieve his powers—”

“Then we shall have to see if we can take those away from him.”

Nooroo flinched. “That would not be an easy thing to do, Master. I do not know what the artefacts might be or if they are connected and must be used together. I cannot even guess if they are bound by magic my own cannot unravel. I would have to see them to discern that, as was your plan for any other artefacts we find here.”

“Then we shall see if you can properly evaluate those artefacts once we crush the Ninja. What of this Phantom?”

“Spirits are not uncommon but rarely pose a serious threat to the living realm. They…. The strongest are capable of possession, but—”

“Possession?” That was not a threat that should have gone undisclosed. “Can you counter it?” When Nooroo didn’t answer, Gabriel repeated himself slowly, letting his anger at Nooroo’s delayed response simmer in every word. “Can you counter it?”

“It’s not the same as when my magic is used to overtake another Miraculous Holder. The spirit magic—”

“I don’t want an explanation. I want an answer. Can you counter it or not?”

“I-I don’t know, Master. I can try.”

He couldn’t afford to expose himself if Nooroo wasn’t certain. “You can shield me from other threats,” he said, keeping his voice deliberately mild. “You said it’s not the same as when other Miraculous Holders are overcome by your magic, but unlike Ladybug and Chat Noir, there are no constraints on how much of your power I can safely access. If you used all your power to fight a threat such as this, could you not protect me?”

“I don’t—”

“Could you not protect me?”

“I could,” Nooroo breathed, not meeting his eyes.

“Then I command you to do so. Protect me regardless of the cost to yourself.”

The kwami nodded and had the sense to hide in Gabriel’s breast pocket instead of arguing.

Gabriel reached up to touch his earpiece. “Nathalie, I’ll be delayed further. Relay to the security team that everyone is to stay off the rooftops for their own protection.” Enough people had seen Dracona that such an order wouldn’t be questioned, and with any luck, Dracona’s presence would be enough incentive for the other buildings where he had no influence to follow suit.

“Of course, sir. Would you like me to see if I can have a lockdown instituted?”

Gabriel considered the idea and then dismissed it; if worst came to worst, he’d need to blend into the crowd quickly—and that would require there to be a crowd in the first place. “Not within the building. I want people to be free to move about inside, but talk to security about getting the streets cleared. There’s no benefit in stalling that any longer.”

“I’ll see to it right away, sir.”

He didn’t need to ask how her negotiations were going. She would be doing an exemplary job; he didn’t pay her for anything less. She knew what he wanted and she’d find a way to get it—most likely while making others think they were doing precisely what they wanted.

As Adrien knew better than to leave his room, Gabriel had no need to check the adjoining suite to know that everything was in order.

Much as he hated letting Dracona choose their meeting ground, he wasn’t going to argue with results. With Chat Noir out of the picture, Ladybug would be easy enough to defeat in the future, even without any other magical artefacts.

-|-

7:47 PM

This was not going according to plan. Clearly, there was a reason that Ladybug was the one to come up with their plans. Adrien didn’t even have the room to squirm in Dracona’s talons. The suit protected him from being sliced to bits, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the amount of pressure she was using to keep him in her grip.

The suit also protected him from the cold wind, and he hoped that wind wasn’t going to rip away his words. He needed Dracona to hear this. Even if he could only get her to hesitate, it would give the others time to catch up. “You’re worried about your family, aren’t you?” he asked, thinking that was a fair assumption when they were clearly involved in the magical world and Hawk Moth wanted something from that world enough to put in an appearance. “I’ve met your son. And your daughter. They love you very much.”

Dracona said nothing.

Maybe she couldn’t hear him; he wasn’t whispering, but he couldn’t draw enough breath to shout over the wind.

Or maybe she was just ignoring him.

“I’m someone’s son, too. And if you give my Miraculous to Hawk Moth, you’ll be endangering so many more kids just like your own. You’ll be endangering everyone. He won’t stop until he gets what he wants, and he doesn’t care who gets hurt in the process. It won’t just be your family or mine; it’ll be anyone who’s even remotely in his way.”

Everyone was insisting that Dracona was different because she was part of a family of dragons, but she was still akumatized. Most akumatized people couldn’t be reasoned with, but some of them— Some of them fought back. And from what he’d heard of the dragon earlier—of how no one had been hurt—he was pretty sure that she was one of those people who was fighting back.

She might be like Nathaniel had been as the Evillustrator. From what he’d seen and what he’d heard from Marinette, Nathaniel had tried to resist Hawk Moth more than once. If Susan could keep doing that….

“I heard what happened earlier at the fashion show,” he continued. If he hadn’t begged off shadowing Nathalie, chances were very good he’d have been caught in the middle of it. As it was, everyone seemed to have assumed that he’d never left his room. Perhaps they’d left a message for him and told him to remain there; he hadn’t looked in the brief time he’d been back there, too focused on other things, monitoring Plagg’s cheese consumption included. He could always claim to have been in the washroom when the message came, maybe say he’d needed a shower to wake up.

As it was, too much had happened for Adrien to feel tired. More likely than not, he’d crash once this was over. They had to get this sorted out tonight. Soon. Now. He couldn’t afford to give Hawk Moth more time to find what he was looking for, especially when he had a connection to someone who would know exactly where to procure what he wanted, providing he could convince her to do that.

“I know this night didn’t go like you’d hoped, and I can’t fix that—” Not like Ladybug could have, anyway. “—but that doesn’t mean we can’t begin to make it better now. And better includes keeping your family safe, doesn’t it? You might think that will happen if you give me over to Hawk Moth, but it won’t. Your son and I….” Adrien hesitated, not sure if he could call this a proper partnership, let alone a friendship, when he hadn’t told them his real name. “We’re working together. Sacrificing me—and sacrificing my Miraculous is sacrificing me—won’t make him give up; it’ll make him fight harder.”

“I know.”

Adrien blinked, not expecting to get a response. At least, he hadn’t been expecting that response. An argument, maybe, if not continued silence, but an acknowledgement? It was going to be a lot harder to sway her to his side if she already knew what he was going to say.

“Then why are you doing this?”

“It’s the only choice I have.”

His heart sank at her words, and as she banked towards the site of the gala, he thought it might have skipped a beat entirely. There was a figure on one of the rooftops—and unless he was completely disoriented, it was the rooftop of his hotel. Hawk Moth was staying at this hotel? Surely he wouldn’t have had time to go to a different one. But if it was this one, then if Plagg could get a look at the registry so Adrien could check names once he got back to Paris—

He could discover Hawk Moth’s identity. At the very least, he could narrow it down.

He just needed to get out of this first.

-|-

7:49 PM

“Why are you slowing down?” Randy asked. “They’re there! We can see them! We need to go!”

“Danny’s gotta get Chat Noir out of there before we completely lose the element of surprise,” Jake reminded him. “If he can do that without Hawk Moth realizing, all the better.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

“I like to be optimistic sometimes.”

“Really didn’t seem like that earlier.”

“I said sometimes. Besides, it’s better if I drop you here and we hit them from different angles.” He wheeled towards the same rooftop where he’d talked to Randy earlier that day. “I wanna check on Trixie and Spud, too. Make sure they caught up to Haley. If I tell you the number, can you call them for me?”

Randy snorted. “With what, my broken phone that you left in pieces somewhere? Or did you give them one of those earphone things?”

Oh. Right. Jake had used his cell phone as a dragon before, difficult as that was when it came to precise handling and not, well, accidentally gouging out buttons or scratching the screen or completely smashing it, but if he didn’t specifically try to keep the phone with him when he transformed, it stayed safely with his human clothes.

“Sorry,” Jake mumbled as he landed and crouched so Randy could slide off.

Randy flipped onto the rooftop instead, missing Jake’s transformation but turning back in time to watch him dig his cell phone out of his pocket. “You didn’t talk angles with Danny,” he said as Jake started dialling. “Shouldn’t you have done that if you wanted to hit them from all fronts? And, I mean, not to say I don’t have some pretty bruce moves, but is it wise to pretty much divide and conquer ourselves against someone we know is strong, especially when she’s with the shoob who’s manipulating her?”

“Now you’re questioning me? Really?”

“You decided to stop before fighting. That means I get to criticize, doesn’t it? Since I’m not doing anything else. I mean, I don’t usually get the luxury of a breather in a fight. You seriously do?”

Jake rolled his eyes and was about to retort when Spud picked up his phone. “Hello?”

That wasn’t Spud.

“Trixie? What’s going on? What happened to Spud?”

“He’s fine. We’re both fine. Don’t worry about us.”

Jake frowned and turned away from Randy, who had pulled off his mask in order to make increasingly silly faces at Jake in what was undoubtedly an attempt to get a reaction out of him. “Then you guys found Haley already? Have you dealt with Rotwood? And, um, McFist?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’? Where are you guys?”

“Cool it, Jakey. Spud had an idea. I’m helping.”

“Wh—? I need you here! Haley needs you here!”

“We’re trying to save your butt. And Haley’s. Let us do this.”

“Yo, do you have any idea how crazy you sound right now? Spud doesn’t have time to build another thermos if he can’t find the first one!”

Trixie let out a low whistle. “You would be surprised what ya boy can do under pressure.”

“But—”

“Just trust us. We got this. I think. And Haley can hold her own. Chill.”

Jake just groaned as Trixie hung up on him. He turned back to Randy, about to explain Trixie’s side of the conversation, and then realized that Randy wasn’t there. Jake spun and finally spotted a flash of Randy’s red scarf the next building over. He was steadily making his way towards the building—hotel, Jake realized—where Hawk Moth stood with Susan, who was still in her dragon form and using it to very effectively pin Nino to the rooftop.

Evidently, Randy’s suit had repaired itself just fine.

Jake hoped that wasn’t the only bit of luck they’d have tonight.

-|-

7:48 PM

“Magic exists,” Haley said. The words were a bitter betrayal. It didn’t matter that Rotwood already knew about the magical world or that McFist had to be aware of it if he fought the Ninja; the point was that she was never supposed to confirm that knowledge, and now she was.

“Of course magic exists,” sniffed Rotwood. “You are a dragon. I know you are a dragon. Therefore, magic exists.”

Haley glanced at McFist, who shrugged. “I work with a sorcerer. It’s not news to me.”

“Still,” she whispered, “that’s not the same. This magic isn’t like that.”

“We do not have time for games,” Rotwood said. “If you think we do, perhaps I should just phone one of the news channels?”

Ordinarily, Haley would think Rotwood had cried wolf too many times for that threat to hold any water, but after tonight?

She wasn’t willing to make that bet after tonight.

“You have to swear that you won’t tell anyone if I explain this,” she said. Jake and Rotwood had called truces in the past, so he might keep his word, but she had no idea about McFist. Frankly, she didn’t trust either of them as far as Fu could throw them. But, hopefully, if she made this sound important—and told them a little bit of what was important—they might not realize what she left out.

Or how much.

McFist frowned at her. “Any of this going to blow up in our faces?”

“Not if I tell you,” she said carefully, “so you’re warned.”

“Good enough for me.” McFist hesitated. “Except I don’t want to lie to my wife. I don’t lie to her. I’ll have to be able to tell her enough so she knows she can’t push me on this. You good with that?”

Haley blinked.

“And Viceroy sometimes just knows things. Man’s not a mind reader, but he’s good at tricking you into saying things. Not sure I can make any promises with him, either, and expect to keep them. But if you’re worried about this whole magic thing, he knows it’s real, too. Helps me help the Sorcerer. And I can’t keep anything from the Sorcerer. I think he really is a mind reader. Maybe. Hard to say. He hasn’t caught the Ninja yet, either. But he knows things. The existence of magic included, obviously. So you okay with me promising not to tell anyone but with the caveat that those people might find out?”

“You have our word,” Rotwood said. “He won’t intentionally tell anyone, and I won’t tell anyone who doesn’t already know—unless you try to trick us.”

She wasn’t going to get a better deal than that, and it was as much as she’d expected anyway. Rotwood has given himself the out he wanted—he could claim trickery and tell the media—and given McFist the out he’d wanted, and she was left with little more than she’d started with.

“Okay.” What was the best way for her to put this? “The dragon you saw earlier was created with magic.”

“How?” McFist demanded. “Can it be replicated?”

“Not by any of us. It’s not a magic I understand. The person doing this…. They’re not from here. And that dragon? She’s not much more than a distraction.” That wasn’t exactly true, but they wouldn’t know that. Besides, it wasn’t entirely a lie, either. Things would be simpler if it were. “If you—if anyone—kicks up a fuss over the dragon, you’ll be playing right into their hands.”

Rotwood frowned. “This other person, what game are they playing?”

Haley shrugged. “We figured it was better if we could cut them off before they could set any more rules.”

“So you, what, saw me talking to him and figured you had to get us out of there before we messed with your big plan?” McFist crossed his arms. “Gotta be more to it than that.”

“It’s my job to protect people from the magical world, including those who go poking their noses into trouble,” Haley shot back. Rotwood sniffed, maybe because he knew that was supposed to be more on Jake and Gramps and Sun than her at the moment, but she ignored him. “The Ninja’s heard of you,” she said, looking at McFist, “and what’s happening in Norrisville. He gave me some weaponry to help me, um, convince you to leave. If I can figure out how to use it to distract more than just you, all the better.”

“Wait, are you asking us to help you?”

She wasn’t, but Haley nodded anyway. If McFist was going to offer, she wasn’t going to turn him down. She didn’t have a plan—not anymore, anyway—and she doubted Jake had come up with anything yet.

“And what are we supposed to get in return? Are you willing to take me back to the Magus Bazaar?”

“The what?”

“Magical market,” Rotwood said to McFist. “Filled with magical creatures and magical things.”

“Could I get something to take down the Ninja there?”

“I can promise to ask if someone will take you,” Haley said, “and I can promise that you’ll remember this when it’s over.”

“Why wouldn’t we remember this once it’s over?” McFist asked.

Haley cocked her head. “Why do you think so many people don’t believe in magic anymore?”

“If you could do that, Jake would have already done this to me. To Brock. You are stretching the truth, little girl.”

“Ordinary humans aren’t supposed to know about the magical world,” Haley said. “You might know it exists and keep looking for solid proof to share with others, but that doesn’t mean you remember every encounter you’ve had with it. Even Jake knows how suspicious it would be if you suddenly stopped poking around until you saw something that made you suspect the truth again.”

“But…but your brother’s friends—!”

“I don’t know,” admitted Haley. “I think Jake defied direct orders and Gramps smoothed it over. You’ve met my family, Rotwood. If it were perfectly fine for humans to know about the magical world, don’t you think our lives would be easier?”

Rotwood opened his mouth but paused as her words sunk in. McFist raised his eyebrows at him, and Rotwood’s expression sunk into a glower. “It’s Professor Rotwood. But very well. I see your point. However, if you are not able to get me entrance to the Magus Bazaar again, you must do something else for me in the future. I am not going to give up on an opportunity like this without good reason. There is footage of a dragon out there now. Proof. Which means redemption for me as all those who have mocked me realize they were the ones who were wrong. You must think me a fool if you believe I would give this up for nothing.”

She did think him a fool, but she shook her head anyway. “I can’t make an open promise like that.”

“Then I will add the caveat that, whatever I decide, it will not directly endanger the magical world or your family. Or directly expose them. Is that satisfactory, Miss Long?”

Haley bit her lip. She knew this wasn’t what anyone had intended when they’d asked her to distract Rotwood and McFist. It might very well be the opposite of what had been intended. Still, they needed help. And Jake had struck deals with Rotwood before. She wasn’t sure about Randy and McFist, but….

“Okay. Yes. I agree. Help me protect the magical world now and don’t ever tell anyone the truth about what’s going on, and I’ll do something for you later if I can’t get you into the Magus Bazaar.” She looked at McFist, waiting to see what he’d ask for; he didn’t strike her as someone who would let Rotwood take a better deal than him.

“You don’t have anything that’ll grant me the superpower of my choice, do you?”

She shook her head. “There are some potions that grant temporary effects for something specific, but—”

“Like what?”

Haley swallowed. “Invisibility. Flight. Shapeshifting. There are a lot of—”

“Could you get me a bottle of something?”

She wanted to say no. Giving magic to a human, especially one with questionable intentions, was just asking for another situation like they one they were already facing. And if McFist intended to misuse magic and she gave him the opportunity to do so, chances were good Randy would pay the price for her decision later. Still, if she warned Randy and gave him something to allow him to counter whatever she gave McFist, then maybe—?

“No, wait— Have you got anything that will stop magic from affecting me?”

“You’re worried about that sorcerer you mentioned?” she guessed. “I might—”

“No, he’s going to give me a superpower when I destroy the Ninja for him,” McFist said, “and if you can’t give me one, too, then I want something that’ll stop swamp magic in case Booray gets any ideas.”

“Swamp magic?”

“It’s, y’know, swamp magic,” McFist said, waving his hands in vague motions as if that made his point any clearer. “Little pouches of mind-controlly stuff. Freaky. Don’t want it anywhere near me.”

A protection spell, then, or something that would cancel out this other magic. Gramps and Fu would have an idea of what would be best, but she was sure there was something. “All right.”

“And you have to tell me about the NYC Ninja.”

Haley agreed to that condition immediately. If McFist had just said the Ninja, she would’ve had more trouble justifying that grey area, but as he’d specified, she felt no qualms about agreeing at all. It was hardly her fault that he wanted to know about a Ninja that didn’t exist—at least, not to her knowledge.

She wasn’t going to tell him that until he asked, though.

McFist grinned and stuck out his hand. She shook it, then shook Rotwood’s. “You want us to find a way to convince everyone that things are not as they seem, yes?” he asked. “That this new dragon is a hoax? As everyone has always believed of my proof?”

McFist grunted. “People were already muttering about it being some kind of publicity stunt. Better to lean into that. I can even sponsor something if I need to.” He glanced at the bulging pocket of her hoodie again and said, “Let’s have a look at what the Ninja gave you first and see what we can come up with.”

(next | see more fics)

[zrtranscripts]

Season 9, Mission 14: Fort Knox

Tour group

~

JANINE DE LUCA: All right Runner Five, Mr. Yao. There is only audio surveillance in this room and I have muffled the microphones. We can talk freely.

SAM YAO: I really don't like this, Janine. I mean, okay, they did let us into Van Ark's mystery base, but then they stuck us in this tiny room, insisted we take medical exams. Peter and Maryam still aren't back from the med bay. I can't believe we let them just inject us with tracking devices.

JANINE DE LUCA: We had no choice, Mr. Yao. It was take the subcutaneous trackers or leave Red Scorpion Base. General Bakari claimed he would meet us on arrival, but so far we have only been escorted by soldiers. The security here is intense. Barbed wire fencing, perimeter guard towers, patrols in unmarked uniforms. If our operation goes wrong, escape will not be... [door creaks open] Someone's approaching. [loudly] Which is why they'd better pay well for this job! Don't you agree, Sven?

SAM YAO: Uh... yeah. Yes. Mercenaries, us. Money, ooh, we want it.

GENERAL BAKARI: You can relax. I've relieved the guards in this section, shut down the cameras.

JANINE DE LUCA: General Bakari, there are others in our team -

GENERAL BAKARI: - still in the medical bay. We can't wait. The trackers you've received are a new security provision powered by bioelectric energy. They didn't tell you this, but it takes about 40 minutes for a tracker to stabilize in its new host. We've got that long before your every movement is monitored. That's just enough time. [drops bag on the floor] There are maintenance uniforms in the duffel bag. Put them on.

JANINE DE LUCA: General -

GENERAL BAKARI: I trust you weren't counting on a sentimental reunion, De Luca? There's a mission at hand. Red Scorpion Base has a secret you're going to help me liberate. All of you, out into the corridor. No time to dawdle.

~

SAM YAO: This place is just a maze of metal hallways, isn't it? Shh. Hey, do you guys hear that?

[distant metallic footsteps]

GENERAL BAKARI: A patrol coming from the intersection ahead. Duck into that store room, quick. [cloth rustles, footsteps pass] They've passed. Those maintenance uniforms will help at a distance, but the patrols here know all the authorized faces. Come on, this way. Speaking of faces, it's Runner Five, isn't it? You gave me this gammy leg. My own stupid mistake, I admit, chasing you on that motorcycle.

JANINE DE LUCA: Perhaps if you had not sided with Prime Minister Hakkinen, General, you might have avoided injury.

GENERAL BAKARI: Is that reproach I hear, De Luca? You were always so quick to judge. Sigrid was a monster, but with impressive ambition. It seemed folly to oppose her, so i toed the party line loudly when she was listening. Soldiers served their country, after all. I hear there's a thief in charge these days. Not sure your vote turned out much more righteous than mine.

SAM YAO: Hey!

JANINE DE LUCA: Don't let him needle you, Mr. Yao. The base, General. It is in excellent condition, especially given we have seen evidence it predates Z-Day.

GENERAL BAKARI: Very good, De Luca. Yes, Red Scorpion Base has been here for many years. Once we get to the next intersection, you'll see where it came from. Where's Tom, Janine? I was sure he'd be with your team.

JANINE DE LUCA: Tom... Tom was killed in action some time ago.

GENERAL BAKARI: Unfortunate. He had a weak heart, that boy. I saw it every day I sheltered you two after your parents passed. Thought I taught you to watch out for each other!

I'm not authorized for this part of the base. I've stolen passes, but if we're caught here, we will be shot. Do you see the turrets bracketing the door ahead? Machine gun emplacements, automated. Look at the symbol on the turret mountings below each gun barrel.

SAM YAO: Those are stars and stripes. Flags, American flags.

[door rattles open]

GENERAL BAKARI: And past the door, a flag painted on the wall. They're not allowed to fly one outside. Red Scorpion Base was established by the American military 20 years before Z-Day. Black ops research, top secret, and they're still very much running it today. Quickly, all of you, there are a lot more patrols in the next section. Follow the corridor branch left, on the double.

~

SAM YAO: Look, Five, by the water cooler. That's the portrait of the last US president. God, this is crazy. There's still a US military and they're hanging around a base in Tunisia!

JANINE DE LUCA: A base somehow connected to Ernest Van Ark and V-type fungus.

GENERAL BAKARI: You already know about the local fungus, eh? The US military heard rumors of it decades before Z-Day, whispers unearthed by archaeologists in North Africa. They thought it had martial potential, set up a base here to dig for it. They hit on caves of the stuff underground. There's an archive room on our way. I'll show you what they found.

SAM YAO: Wow! Janine, look! Down the corridor to the right, that looks like the war room from, well, every movie with a war room ever. Ah, there must be a hundred screens in there.

JANINE DE LUCA: All cycling through images of landmarks. The Brandenburg Gate, Times Square full of zombies, a toppled Eiffel Tower. General, are these images current? What reach does this army have?

GENERAL BAKARI: Honestly, the US isn't what it was, but the man in charge of Red Scorpion Base likes to keep eyes everywhere. [drones whir] Come on, there are surveillance drones in these corridors. I hear some coming. Forward.

SAM YAO: [whispers] Likes to keep his eyes everywhere? Yeah, yeah, that sounds like Van Ark, doesn't it, Five? If the Americans are running Red Scorpion Base, is he backed by their army? The others are getting ahead. We'd best speed up.

~

[door rattles open]

GENERAL BAKARI: We're in the main research annex deep underground. This is an archive room, oldest on Red Scorpion Base. If you want to know about the fungus, this is the place.

SAM YAO: But it's just a room full of dusty filing cabinets. Oh, and Polaroid pictures of scientists stuck up on the wall. Scientists in a cavern full of black ash.

GENERAL BAKARI: Certain branches under the Department of Defense saw huge promise in the fungus. They dreamed of perfecting a symbiosis to make humans faster, better, stronger. The early experiments went poorly. People died. The decision was made to destroy the fungus after it nearly escaped containment, every trace burned away.

JANINE DE LUCA: General, the glass tank in that corner, the blackened lump inside...

GENERAL BAKARI: A relic. This room is a memorial. The old research data is all locked away. The lump is a museum piece, scorched rock from a once red cave, long dead now.

JANINE DE LUCA: Then... the fungus is not why you summoned us?

GENERAL BAKARI: Not at all, De Luca, though not a bad guess. What I have for you is much more important. Come along through the far door. Incidentally, you see the old photo on the left, the one showing a team in bulky armor scouring rocks with flamethrowers? They still call Red Scorpion’s emergency response the fire team. These days, they wear powered exoskeletons, flamethrowers integrated. They're what comes for us if we make a mistake. We're short on time. Go.

~

SAM YAO: Loads of fancy computers in here, Five. Must be in a sciency bit.

GENERAL BAKARI: Ancillary data storage. From here, we can access files from the Red Scorpion's latter day experiments. Listen carefully, De Luca. The base contracted your team on my recommendation. Since Z-Day, Red Scorpion's been short-handed. They sometimes recruit outside personnel. Three months ago, one of my aides went MIA. Any deserter is viewed as an unacceptable security risk.

SAM YAO: Did you kill him?

GENERAL BAKARI: Fellow took a bad fall. I disposed of the body, arranged evidence of his flight to the mountains, suggested we needed help to locate him. Obviously, no one's ever going to find him outside, and our security head is getting desperate. Once she briefs you, she'll send you into the mountains to hunt down the deserter. There, you'll divert to designated coordinates. You'll find buried parts of a vehicle I've had hidden. Assemble it and escape.

JANINE DE LUCA: You are not coming with us, General?

GENERAL BAKARI: I'm rarely allowed off the base, and I don't intend to return to the UK to stand trial. I know you're thinking it, De Luca.

JANINE DE LUCA: You betrayed your nation. It would be my duty.

GENERAL BAKARI: And you always loved duty. As a child, you used to turn your night light out on principle. [computer beeps] Give me a minute with the computer. I'll get what you're here for.

SAM YAO: Um, which is what, exactly?

GENERAL BAKARI: Research from Red Scorpion Base, something that can change the future. The file I'm giving you is encrypted, I can't open it. Did you bring a computer expert?

SAM YAO: Sort of. We, um, lost our equipment, though.

GENERAL BAKARI: The file is too big to transmit without powerful equipment. If you were able to decrypt it, you might have been able to send key details out. As it is, you'll need to get this thumb drive to the UK intact. If anyone suspects you're smuggling data off the base, you're dead, understand?

JANINE DE LUCA: General, if we leave you here -

GENERAL BAKARI: I'll be fine, so long as the operation succeeds. Humanity, kin, and hope, De Luca. That's what this is for. Do not let me down. The head of security just pinged me. The rest of your team is done in the medical center. She wants to brief you all, stat. We need to get back. There's one more thing I need to give you. Through the door on the right. The doctors should be on their break. This way, run!

~

JANINE DE LUCA: General, is this a hospital ward?

GENERAL BAKARI: It's an emergency care area. Ah, here it is. Five, give me your arm. My research indicates you'll be the best subject for this.

SAM YAO: Wait, what-what are you doing? You can't just inject strange substances into people!

GENERAL BAKARI: The bio data in the injection is a crucial component of the information in the files. The only way to transport it is inside a living host.

JANINE DE LUCA: It's long past time you explained exactly what this information is, General.

GENERAL BAKARI: It's a cure, Janine.

SAM YAO: For what?

GENERAL BAKARI: For everything. Every ailment that plagues humanity, every virus, every infection. A panacea.

JANINE DE LUCA: That's impossible.

GENERAL BAKARI: No. It may take years, even generations to formulate a usable vaccine, but the germ of it is here. The zombie plague has brought such pain to humanity. I accept I played my part in it. But this data, the antibodies in Five's blood, and the files on that drive, they may be the one worthwhile thing to come out of all that death.

JANINE DE LUCA: Then I leave the decision to you, Five. Very well. Proceed, General.

SAM YAO: I'm just gonna, um, not be here watching that. Injections always make me feel queasy.

GENERAL BAKARI: Your trust will be repaid, Janine, I promise you.

JANINE DE LUCA: I hope so.

SAM YAO: Oh my God. Janine, Five, over here! There's a door with a little porthole. On the other side, it's-it's Van Ark! He's unconscious, hooked up to, well, it's like a giant dialysis machine. Looks like it's draining him.

GENERAL BAKARI: I was saving him until last. Good bait to get you here, but if I explained too soon, you'd only get distracted.

JANINE DE LUCA: Is Van Ark running the research department? What are the Americans giving him through those tubes?

GENERAL BAKARI: Van Ark running the place? [laughs] Not at all. The fellow at the top, no one ever sees. Nasty piece of work by all accounts. But Van Ark here, he isn't in charge of anything. Van Ark is one of the experiments.

~

[lunaseongs]

it’s so loud inside my head with words that i should have said

tw: graphic death descriptions, death mentions, abuse mentions

timeline: friday, december 25th, 2020

The kettle is whistling, it’s screaming, it won’t stop and Luna thinks she can hear someone screaming for help and she thinks vaguely she should help them, but then she realizes she’s the one screaming.

“Luna?”

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, realizing she hasn’t been listening to her therapist during this week’s session. “What were you saying?”

Even if she hadn’t known Cyrus, Luna knows she would have had a reaction to his death. She doesn’t think she’s unique for having a personal connection to death. Death is part of this world the way a tree’s roots burrow under the ground, they can’t exist without each other. Since the assembly where the news was shared with the student body, it’s felt a bit like there’s a roaring in her ears, like the world is going too fast and she can’t keep up.

So Luna almost misses what her therapist says again, and even though she does hear it, it’s hard to process what she’s saying.

“We’ve determined it’s safe for you to see your mother again. Any threat toward you and your family has been eliminated.”

-------------------------------------------

“What are you reading this week my little moon?” her father asks as he enters the kitchen after work, ten year old Luna’s homework forgotten on the kitchen table as she thumbs her way through one of the many books she received for her birthday instead.

“The Graveyard Book, I just started it,” she answers without looking up, though she does lean into the kiss her father places on the top of her head, expecting the gesture. It’s just as routine as brushing her teeth before bed. “The plot sounds a little weird but I like the writing so far.”

“Would you like tea to accompany your reading then? It’s a story that I think requires a cozy drink.”

“I always want tea, Dad.”

He chuckles, already halfway through filling the kettle with water for the both of them, the sound of the gas stove burners clicking to life making both of them sigh with contentment in unison. 

“Tell me what about the plot sounds weird,” he tells Luna as he leans against the kitchen counter, loosening his tie and tossing it onto the counter, where he’ll inevitably forget it, and her mother will find it later when she gets home from the grocery store.

“I don’t know,” Luna answers, finally looking up from her page to look at him. “I just think the idea of being raised by ghosts sounds kind of weird, like it’s going to be corny, you know? But I liked Coraline a lot so I think I’ll like this too.”

“Oh, there’s my daughter’s face! I’ve barely seen it emerge from a book since her birthday,” he teases lightly, and Luna scowls at him, immediately looking back down at her page in retaliation, but her smile immediately gives her away, and her father bursts into laughter.

“You’re hilarious, Dad.”

She doesn’t know it’s the last thing she’ll ever say to him, of course, and it’s so mundane and meaningless, and she’ll try not to think about it too much as the years go by, but at night she’ll lie in bed and think of all the things she wishes she’d said, how she still hasn’t finished The Graveyard Book.

They exist in silence a lot, two people who prefer to read words as opposed to speaking them, and this moment is no different, her father decompressing from a day at work while he waits for the water to boil, Luna deep into her book as the plot grabs her more and more.

And the only thing that breaks the silence is the sound of her father falling to the ground, and falling down hard.

“Dad?” Luna questions, the moment so sudden that she isn’t even panicking yet, setting her book down. She thinks maybe he’s tripped, but there’s nothing to trip over on the smooth tile of their kitchen floor, and so panic enters her voice now. “Dad?!” 

She’s up in a flash, book discarded, not knowing or caring what page she was on as she rushes to his side. He’s bleeding from hitting the ground, and it’s much darker than she thought blood was when it’s in quantities this big, and it’s on her jeans and it’s on her hands as she nudges him desperately.

“Dad!”

She can’t bear to leave him, can’t bear to just leave him bleeding on the ground, but she has to, almost tripping as she stumbles to the kitchen phone, fingers shaking as she dials 911. Luna isn’t even sure what she says to the operator, she just tells them her address and begs for help, because she’s only ten, and how is she supposed to know what to do? A million options run through her mind, like sprinting to Frank’s to beg him for help, like he’ll be able to solve all her problems like he solves the riddles she gives him in their secret languages.

But she can’t leave her dad.

Luna is back at his side with a towel from the kitchen counter, pressing it to where she thinks the blood is coming from, not sure how to do this.

The kettle is whistling, it’s screaming, it won’t stop and Luna thinks she can hear someone screaming for help and she thinks vaguely she should help them, but then she realizes she’s the one screaming.

The second she realizes she’s the one making noise, she makes herself stop, wanting nothing more than to sob, and her voice quivers with the effort of holding back tears, vision swimming. “Dad, can you hear me?!”

The landline is hanging off the hook, the 911 operator shouting to her, there’s sirens in the distance, and they have to come faster because the center of her universe is bleeding on the ground and she doesn’t know how to put him back together.

Luna will have nightmares of the moment the paramedics arrive and pull her off him, screaming for them to let her go, because that’s her father, and they have no right. She’ll have nightmares of her mother pulling into the driveway and sprinting into the house in a panic, finding her daughter and husband covered in blood, screaming questions. She’d never seen her mother like that before this moment, always so composed, so regal and warm, and that’s when Luna realizes how bad it is if her mother is losing her composure.

Luna won’t notice it as a child but years later she’ll reflect on how slow the paramedics were moving because he’d been dead within seconds of hitting the ground.

Frank will hold her hand at the funeral, and feral, animalistic sobs will tumble out of her body as she watches her father be lowered into the ground, screaming for him to come back, and it’s the last time Luna will ever allow her composure to be broken like that.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m sorry?” Luna asks, wildly certain her therapist is playing a cruel joke on her, that instead her mother is dead too, and they’re just here so the blow can be delivered in a place that’s safe for her to lose it, as she surely will.

But her therapist is smiling, so widely it has to hurt her cheeks, and Luna only allows herself to believe it when she repeats herself.

“You can see your mother, Luna.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“What is this, Luna?” her mother asks softly, hands reaching up to cradle her sixteen year old daughter’s face lightly, the black eye dark like a storm. Her mother wasn’t supposed to be home this early, but her third job hadn’t needed her today, and she has a rare night off. 

“It’s nothing, Mom,” she insists firmly, but she’s fairly certain she’s reached a breaking point today. He’s never hit her like this before, never left a mark so prominent and obvious, a gesture full of hatred when he’s supposed to love her.

“It is not nothing,” her mother says back, just as firmly, taking Luna’s face in both hands now, firm but gentle, forcing Luna to look away from the ground and into her mother’s eyes, and while she hasn’t cried in years, the sight of tears there almost does it. She hates seeing her mother like this, hates doing anything to make her sad.

“How do I get out?” Luna whispers, and her mother’s face collapses as she starts crying, pulling her daughter into her lap on their secondhand couch like she’s ten years old again, burying her tears into Luna’s hair.

“We’ll get you out, baby, I promise.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s with numbness that Luna accepts she’ll have to fake her own death from the agent standing in front of her after the court case falls through on a technicality, and the very people she’s just testified against are sent out onto the streets as a free man.

Luna will die a thousand times over, walk herself to death if she has to, if it means her mother lives, Frank lives, anyone she’s ever loved lives.

And that’s all she’ll be thinking about when she runs away the same day her mother attends her daughter’s faked funeral. She’ll keep running as long as she has to.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

There are a lot of logistics to go through, and Luna is only half listening as her therapist explains them. The earliest she can see her mother is Christmas Day, she’s being flown to Roseville, she’ll have a house here, she’ll live here.

“How is she doing? Financially, I mean,” Luna asks, interrupting a little, because she needs to know, she needs to know everything she did was worth it.

“Very well. She’s comfortable, has a salaried position. She’s already been informed you’re alive, and we’re working on helping her secure a rental here.”

Luna thinks if she ever magically becomes rich, she’ll just give all of her money to Gallagher.

“And I can just… she can just be my mom again?” Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, because it seems too good to be true. Like she can just snap back into not her old life, but a better life, a life without someone who shows his love with his fists, a life without having to steal to eat, a life off the streets. There’s no way this moment can exist in the same week someone else has died.

“Of course, Luna. She never stopped being your mom.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s the longest week of her life, but Luna is finally in the car, leg bouncing with nerves as the car pulls away from Gallagher and toward Roseville. She wildly considers for a moment that maybe this is just a prank, that maybe someone at school has hated her for the last three years and organized some elaborate ruse to offer her happiness again and take it away in a moment.

But the car stops in front of the very house she has a picture of on her phone and she dares to believe it properly, dares to tell herself her mother is on the other side of the door. She can barely get the car door open when the front door is opening and Luna sees her.

“Luna!”

She can barely get a look at her mother, can barely take in the added grey hair, the way she looks healthy and well fed, before her mother is colliding with her, pulling her into a hug that sucks the air out of her.

“Hi Mom,” she breathes out, before the dam breaks and she bursts into tears properly, real tears, chest and earth shaking sobs that she’s held back for years. Her mother still smells the same, still feels the same, and it’s like no time has passed and a century has gone by all at once. “I’m so sorry,” Luna chokes out, not sure she can ever say it enough, can ever properly apologize for taking a daughter away from a widow, but her mother shushes her.

“My baby, my beautiful girl, don’t you ever apologize to me,” her mother insists through her own tears, letting go so she can take Luna’s face into her hands, brushing each tear away as it falls. “Look at you, you are my whole world.”

Luna just cries harder, trying her best to take in her mother through her tears. The years have aged her beautifully, worry and smile lines equal, and she has glasses now, and Luna could stand here and stare at her for hours, just take her in, as if she’ll disappear if Luna looks away.

“I missed you so much,” Luna says, and she hates that she’s the one begging for comfort like this when her mother had to mourn her death, but she can’t help it, and her mother only pulls her into another hug, this one less tight, but longer and warmer.

“I missed you too, little moon.”

She hasn’t heard that in years, nobody besides her parents ever truly called her that, and it’s like the roaring in her ears finally stops.

“Merry Christmas, Mom.”

-------------------------------------------------------

“How long will you be gone?” seven year old Luna whines to her father as he zips his suitcase shut before one of his rare business trips.

“It’ll be like you blink and I come back,” he insists to her, stooping so he’s on her eye level, hand reaching up to brush his thumb over her cheek. “You won’t even miss me.”

“I always miss you,” Luna pouts, lower lip quivering a little, embarrassed that she wants to cry just because her dad is leaving for a couple of days, and he immediately pulls her into a hug.

“And I will always miss you back, little moon,” he says into her hair as he presses a kiss to the top of her head, before standing. He doesn’t want to leave her, never does. Every decision he makes has Luna in mind, and he never wants to miss out on any part of her life, even the mundane parts of it. “I’ll be thinking of you the whole time I’m gone, okay?” 

Luna nods, proud of herself for not crying though she still wants to, and she lets go of his hand so he can pick up his suitcase without too much protest, though she’s tempted to ask him not to go when he reaches the door.

“I love you, Dad,” she says, arms tightening around her small frame, already missing the warmth from his hug.

“I love you too, Luna.”

--------------------------------------------------------

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Luna.”

[whitewolfandthefox]

Call of the Wild Part 5

Summary: Geralt tells you more of the actual reason he was in the forest near your home. You receive an unexpected visitor who bears some unnerving news.

Words: 5.2k

Series Masterlist (updated Saturdays)

Add yourself to my tag list!

A/N. Here’s the next part, hope you enjoy! Like always, comments and love are appreciated, helps me stay motivated to keep writing. Likes and reblogs are always welcome, especially reblogs! Thank you to the darling @riviawitch3r who has been essential in the process. Enjoy babes!

The Catalyst

He has been trapping and murdering shapeshifters.

You felt your world stop at those words, the calmness that had manifested in you from the day shattering as fear took hold once more. You had known this revelation would make your life difficult, but you hadn’t imagined the level of danger that that one sentence identified.

You stayed where you sat, staring at Geralt as he looked back at the floor. A shiver ran through your body before you whined, slinking over to where he sat. Absently, he reached down and hooked his hand underneath your middle, lifting you to sit on the seat next to him. He left his hand in your fur, encouraging you to nuzzle against him, trying to draw comfort from the contact.

Geralt suddenly broke the silence. “Shapeshifters are a rare breed; not much is known about our kind. People, especially mages, have tried to study us and learn more but we guard our secrets fiercely. Most outsiders trying to learn about us don’t have good intentions. We have been finding murdered shapeshifters, and it looks like they’ve been used for experimentation and study.”

You felt sick, ears pulling back to tuck against your skull. “That’s why I was here in the first place; I had tracked the deaths to another village on the edge of this forest. We think it's a small group of people led by a sorcerer. We’re not sure why they are studying us, just that they have been taking shapeshifters at an alarming rate. My pack and I are investigating this; that’s who the letter is from. Yennefer, a mage in my pack, discovered new deaths yesterday and needs me to look into it. She thinks she's found where this group has been doing their experimentation.”

You whined lowly in the back of your throat, causing Geralt to look down at you. He stroked your head softly, before asking. “Can you change back?”

Closing your eyes as you focused, you drew the power up from below, allowing it to wash over you. When you opened your eyes again, you were sitting on the couch as Geralt observed you. You swayed as exhaustion surged through you, before righting yourself and looking up at Geralt expectantly. His lips quirked at the corners. “You are getting better at this.”

You shook your head to rid yourself of the phantom feeling of a muzzle. “It still feels weird, although I am not as drained.” You turned to face the man next to you. “Are you sure you have to go?”

He paused, searching for something in your face. Seeming to find it, he nodded, saying “I do. If I don’t look into this, no one else will and our kind will continue to be murdered.”

He lifted a hand to brush a strand of your hair out of your face. You caught his hand, bringing it to your mouth to press a kiss against his palm, causing him to start. “I just worry. If so many have died, what's to say they won’t hurt you too?”

His eyes flashed, “Are you worried about me, little fox?”

You hesitated, as the feelings you had been ignoring bubbled back up. You had no idea where they were coming from, you hadn’t even known this man for a week and yet there was an undeniable connection between the two of you. Looking down, you whispered, “I am. I don’t know why, but there is some feeling telling me something is going to go wrong.” You glanced up at him with fear in your eyes. “I have been having dreams.”

“Dreams?” he asked sharply, “of what?”

“They have just been flashes,” you shook your head. ”Different animals, a dark castle. Blood, pain, a feeling like I’m running from something. Geralt, it scares me.”

He laced his fingers with yours. “You don’t have to be scared, little fox. Our community is very protective of each other. Any shapeshifter you find will help you, if that’s what you’re worried about. That being said, a shapeshifters instincts are one of their best weapons. Listen to them; if you are worried about something, be wary of your surroundings.” 

Unable to find the words to describe your feelings of fear, you just nodded your head and gave his hand a light squeeze.

Hesitantly, he glanced away before looking back over at you, “You could come with me.” You turned your head sharply, shocked at his offer. “Join my pack, run with me. We could keep you safe.”

You were silent, turning your gaze to look out the window. “It’s not safe for lone shapeshifters; too often we are discovered, turned on by friends and family, betrayed by those we thought we could trust. They don’t understand what we are.”

“Not here. My people won’t abandon me. My home, my life, is here in this village, Geralt. I grew up here, have watched the children grow up here. I was there when some of them were born. I can’t just up and leave. People need me.” You were certain of this, not meeting his gaze as you looked off into the distance, towards the little village you had made your home for most of your life. “As much as I would love to join you, I can’t leave this behind.”

“I don’t need an answer now, little fox.” A hand reached under your chin, lifting your face so you met his golden eyes. “It is a dangerous world for our kind, and I only think of your safety when I ask. Somehow, secrets get out and people turn against us. I have seen it time and time again. Friends turn against you and drive you out, betraying you though you help them.” 

His eyes were haunted as he spoke, memories flickering across the surface. He refocused on you. “I would also like for you to be near me,” he rumbled, “to have you close, be able to hold you at night. Think about it, my little fox, and answer me when I return. You can meet the rest of my pack, and maybe that will help you with your decision.” 

Turning away from you, he stood and searched through his saddlebags before coming up with the dagger that you had stolen from him earlier. He handed it to you without a word, closing your fingers around it when you tried to refuse it. “Please, for me.” Looking into his eyes, seeing the fear for you in them, you finally relented, grasping the dagger in its sheath and letting your arm drop to your side. You followed him as he gathered his belongings and headed out the door, slinging them over his mount, stopping in the doorway to watch him.

Geralt tugged on the straps of his saddle, making sure everything was secure before he returned to where you stood, arms wrapped around your middle, posture defeated. He gently swept a piece of hair back from your face, gazing softly into your eyes. “Don’t fear for me little fox, I have lived a long time and faced more dangerous people than this.” 

As you gazed into his golden eyes, you felt slightly more assured that the man you had come to care for would be safe. The emotions you had been suppressing came back full force, astounding you at the strength of feelings you had for him. Seeming to sense this, Geralt leaned down, hesitating just slightly before he brushed his lips against your forehead, pulling back to lean your foreheads together briefly before lifting his head once more. 

With that, he turned and mounted Roach, glancing back at you standing in your doorway as he passed through the gates. “I shall only be a few days; my pack is not far from here. I will be back in no time. Think of my offer, Y/N, don’t just brush it aside.” You lifted your hand in farewell, watching him until he disappeared between the trees, before going into your house and dropping into a chair, your mind whirling at his last request.

Go with him? How could I, my village needs me. I am the only healer, people would suffer without me. They would never cast me out, my people know me.

He said he wanted me near him.

Pushing the dangerous thoughts from your head, you headed back inside. Entering your workroom, you began cleaning the materials left over from Geralt’s treatment. As you gathered the bandages you had cut off of him, you caught a whiff of his scent, musky and earthy, and your eyes filled with tears. He had just left, and already you were missing your presence. Shaking yourself, you dumped the used bandages and materials into your disposal bin before heading to your kitchen. You puttered there for a while, making yourself dinner and then cleaning up, ignoring the feelings that bubbled up in your chest at seeing the extra set of dishes you had unthinkingly pulled out.

Thoughts and doubts whirled through your head. You wanted to go with Geralt, but your life was here. How could you just up and leave? Your parents were buried here, your friends lived in town.

You stood abruptly and paced towards your gate, heading to the forest. You needed to go for a walk, that always helped clear your head. Wandering through the forest, you allowed the scents and sounds to soothe you, stripping away your anxiety and your stress. You walked faster, and faster, until you were running, enjoying the feeling of freedom that came with it, trees flying past you as you sprinted.

When you felt the power swell within you, you didn’t deny it. Instead, you allowed your magic to surge through you, your body dropping forwards as you continued running, only now on four legs instead of two. Your vision became sharper, the smells stronger. You could hear the heartbeat of some small rodent in the trees. Veering off the path, you raced towards the sound, relishing in the exhilaration that accompanied your chase. You pounced, missing when the animal darted into a small hole in the base of a tree. Slowing, you snuffled around the edge.

You froze at the sound of something large stepping on a branch, lifting your head and searching for where it came from. Your tail bushed, fur standing on end as you listened for footsteps, a heartbeat, anything that would identify the large predator that your senses were trying to warn you of. You dropped low to the ground, crawling into the ferns, feeling like there were eyes burning into your skin.

You stayed there for what felt like hours, listening for any movement that might give their position away. Slowly relaxing, you shook yourself. Silly, you scolded, just because Geralt said there was a sorcerer out there doesn’t mean you are always in immediate danger.

Taking off again, you wandered through the forest, watching the birds fly high above you. The urge to snap and pounce at them crept up on you, forcing you up the base of a tree into its branches.

You explored for what felt like hours, climbing trees, crawling through the underbrush, chasing rodents. The sun was below the horizon and the moon just peaking over the treeline when you finally trotted back to your house. You shifted back before locking your door and heading to your bathroom, stripping down to wash yourself.

You flopped into bed, exhausted from everything that had happened that day. You were still unsure, but your mind was quieter now, letting you succumb to sleep quickly.

**~*~*~*~**

A shadowy figure looked furtively over its shoulder as it slipped into a dark alleyway. A glowing circle appeared in the air, before another form stepped out. “She’s one of them.”

A small bag changed hands, a clinking sound ringing through the air as the second figure stepped back through the portal, the first turning and heading back down the alleyway, glancing into the street before slipping away in the shadows.

**~*~*~*~**

The clearing was calm when Geralt rode in, stopping and dismounting from Roach before tying her to a tree. He could see Yennefer’s tent set up on the far side, with the remains of a campfire in the middle surrounded by logs. It was there that he found Jaskier, sitting and quietly strumming his lute while singing softly to a mostly grown lion cub who was dozing on the ground next to him. Jaskier nodded to him as he passed, continuing to play the instrument in his hands. The lion lifted its head, blinking blearily at the man and yawning, revealing its sharp teeth. Geralt dropped a hand on its head and continued on his way, the lion putting its head back down and peering at Jaskier.

Approaching the tent, he ducked underneath the flap as he entered. He spotted Yennefer across the larger than normal space, striding towards her to join her at the table. She glanced up at him and greeted him with a tight, closed-lip smile before looking back down at the map in front of her. Geralt looked down, seeing the small ‘x’s laid out across the nation. He glared at the new batch closest to where they were staying.

“He got another three?” he rumbled, glancing over at the woman next to him. She nodded sharply. “We know he is still in the area though, they disappeared less than a fortnight ago.”

Geralt hummed, shifting his feet. “We need to find him; there have been too many deaths. Too many shapeshifters gone. It’s not safe for our people.”

Yennefer shot him a sharp glance, “You’ve never much cared to get involved before, Geralt, what changed your mind? Speaking of which, where have you been? You said you would be back yesterday.” 

He glared at her. “I was detained by an unexpected occurrence.”

“And what would that be? You don’t typically get laid up for that long.” At his silence, she sniffed the air, her eyes widening at the smell. “Were you injured, Geralt? I can smell herbs and insectoid oil.”

Geralt caught her hands as she went to look him over for injuries, “I was injured, Yenn, but not anymore. I met another shapeshifter, a healer. She treated me, I’m fine now.” She pulled her hands back, satisfied with that answer.

“Where is she?”

“Excuse me?”

“Where is she?” Yennefer repeated, “It’s not like you to leave lone shapeshifters by themselves. You normally take them back to our community.”

Geralt stared hard at her, “Who said anything about a lone shapeshifter?

“You said her, not them. Normally you say the pack took you in. So again I ask, where is she? Especially with this sorcerer running around, it  is dangerous for our kind to be out on their own.” Yennefer ran her fingers over the map absently as she continued to look at Geralt, waiting for an answer.

Tense, Geralt turned away from her, looking back at the map on the table. “she wasn’t sure if she wanted to leave or not. I’m going to return in a few days to get her answer.

Sensing that this mystery woman was a touchy subject for the witcher, Yennefer changed the subject as she shared what new information she had discovered. “All of his kills have radiated out from this spot,” she tapped a spot near where they were camped. “I think that this is where he must be basing his research. Tomorrow we should pack up and head that way, see if we can find anything there.”

Geralt hummed his agreement before turning and stalking out of the tent, heading back to where Roach was to unsaddle her and get settled for the night.

**~*~*~*~**

A dark castle, terror, running through the forest. You had to get away, he was going to kill you. Geralt! Help me! A wolf’s golden eyes staring at you before turning and walking away, followed by a lion. A raven, swooping through the air.  Torches, pitchforks, an angry crowd yelling as you desperately scrambled away. You couldn’t breathe. Please, someone! Help!

Pain

Burning

Fear

You woke with a violent start, shooting up to a sitting position, gasping for air. The dreams were back again, you had had them two nights in a row now, ever since Geralt had left. You sat there, trying to control your breathing. As it slowed, you glanced outside. The sun was high in the sky now; you had slept late, past noon.

Shaking yourself, you emerged from your cocoon of blankets, dressing yourself and heading for the kitchen to eat a late lunch. As you finished and were cleaning the dishes, you became aware of footsteps approaching your door. Drying your hands, you set your cloth to the side and headed to the door, hearing your visitor knock on your way there.

Opening the door, you were greeted with the sight of your friend Kiala. You grinned at her before your face fell at her expression. “Is everything ok? Am I needed in the village?”

Her eyes quickly searched the yard before she turned to you, face pinched, mouth set in a hard line. “Y/N, can I come in?”

“Of course,” you stepped back from the entranceway to let her into your house, sweeping the trees around your house for anything out of the ordinary before closing the door. You led her to the couch where you both sat.

“What is it, Kiala? What has happened?” She burst into tears. Startled, you reached for her hands, drawing them into your lap. “What is it? What is wrong? Is someone hurt? Kiala, please, speak to me.”

“They are coming to kill you,” she sobbed. You froze at her words, “Vissen saw you in the forest. He said you were a witch, that you had magical powers and have enslaved the town. That you could turn into a great beast, he saw you kill animals in the forest. They are coming to drive you out or kill you, I didn’t wait to hear what they decided.”

Betrayal. 

Fear.

Kiala continued babbling, unaware of your reaction. “You’re not a witch, are you? You’ve been in this town since you were a little girl! You were there when I gave birth, how could they think this? Tell me it's not true, tell me they’ve lost their minds.”

Your thoughts whirled, Geralt's words coming to mind. Somehow, secrets get out and people turn against us. I have seen it time and time again. Friends turn against you and drive you out, betraying you though you help them. His face had been sad when he spoke, as if he knew this would happen.

Kiala had fallen silent, noticing your distraction. She squeezed your hands gently, staring at your face. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

You couldn’t meet her gaze. “Not in the way that he has been describing it.” You felt her pull her hands away, the motion striking at your heart. You could smell something bitter in the air, slowly growing stronger the longer the two of you sat.

You lifted your head, eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t know, I swear.” Standing abruptly, you took two steps away from the couch, arms wrapped around your middle, shoulders hunched as if to ward off an incoming blow. You glanced at her, the tears starting to spill over.

Seeing your pain, Kiala reached a hand towards you, catching herself at the last second. “You didn’t know what?”

Turning slowly, you stared at a spot over Kiala’s head, refusing to meet her eyes. “I have the ability to heal, not just with potions. I only found out two days ago, when I came across an injured man in the forest. I didn’t know! I can’t use spells, cast curses, I can only heal! And I don’t even know how to use that power!” You didn’t mention your shapeshifting abilities, too afraid of what your friend would think.

Kiala stood from the couch, cautiously approaching you. When you didn’t move, she wrapped her arms around you, bringing your head to rest on her shoulder. You burst into tears, gripping her shift in your hands, your whole body shuddering as you sobbed at the feeling of heartbreak and betrayal. She shushed you, swaying back and forth to soothe you as if you were a child.

As your breathing calmed, she pulled back to regard you. “What else is there?”

You stared at her, your expression shuttering so as not to reveal your emotions. She smiled gently, “Y/N, you are one of my oldest friends. That’s not everything. Vissen mentioned you turned into a beast as well. Now, I don’t know that I believe that, but it’s not just healing that you can do.”

Your grip on her clothes tightened as you put your head back on her shoulder, breath shuddering out of you as you tried to suppress another sob. “It's a fox.” You felt her shift beneath you but she didn’t say anything at your words. “I have the ability to shapeshift, but I change into a fox, not a beast! And I wouldn’t hurt anyone, I haven’t killed anything! I would never, I’m a healer! I help preserve life, not take it!”

Again, you burst into tears. Kiala’s hand came up to rest in your hair as she walked the two of you backwards to sit back down on your couch. She held you as you cried, comforting you, providing silent support.

Cried out, you slowly released yourself from her embrace, looking up to meet her eyes with a sad smile. “They won’t believe me, will they?”

Kiala hesitated, before shaking her head. “I don’t know, love. Vissen has whipped them all into a frenzy. They are coming tonight; to do what, I don’t know.”

“Then I have to leave.” You looked around the room in sadness. You loved your little home, it was all you needed in life. You had grown up in this home, helped your first patient here. Your parents had built this house when they first arrived at the village. You could feel your heart shattering at the prospect of leaving it behind.

“Where will you go?” Kiala’s voice broke through your reverie. A moment of panic rushed through you at the thought of having nowhere to go. You could come with me, Geralt’s voice spoke in your head.

“You remember how I told you about healing a man and that’s how I discovered my magic?” At her nod, you continued. “He is one of my kind as well, another shapeshifter. He offered for me to run with him. I think I will go find him.”

“But how will you know where he is?” As she voiced this thought, you faltered. How would you find him?

“He said he would come back for me in a few days. I will hide in the forest until he gets here.” As you spoke, a sense of sureness filled you, comforting you that the decision you were making was the right one. You glanced out the window; the sun was setting. You needed to get going quickly if they were coming to your house tonight.

Kiala seemed to sense your unease, offering you a sad smile as she stood, pulling you up and into a hug. “Be careful,” she whispered in your ear, “I will try and delay them as long as I can.

You drew back, grabbing your friend’s upper arms in panic. “No! You mustn’t do that, they will only think you are in league with me. I will be fine. But go now, before anyone sees you visiting me.” You drew her back in for another embrace, both of you crying into each other’s shoulders at the prospect of separating. Finally, you drew back and ushered her out your door, wishing her a safe journey home.

After locking your door you stood in the middle of the room, feeling waves of emotions wash over you. Betrayal, panic, heartbreak were just some of the feelings whirling through you. You collapsed to your knees, letting out a scream before breaking down into sobs.

**~*~*~*~**

“There’s a beast in our village! It has been living amongst us, feeding off of us. How are we to know it hasn’t already enslaved us, forced us to do its bidding?”

Vissen paced in front of the crowd of villagers, a torch grasped in his hand. The villagers in front of him murmured, shifting amongst themselves, some gripping various makeshift weapons.

“It's probably replaced our children with it’s own demonic offspring! A beast like that knows nothing other than slaughtering and fighting. I saw it with my own two eyes! It was running through the forest, killing animals left and right! How long until it comes for our livestock? Our homes? We have to drive it out now, before it can do any more damage! Before it can get to our children!”

At this, the villagers started yelling, catcalling, “Kill the beast!” “It can’t stay here!” “We need to protect our children!”

Vissen jumped up onto a nearby cart, lifting his torch high. “To the forest! We'll kill it tonight!” he roared, turning and leading the way up the road to your house.

**~*~*~*~**

You had been packing the last of your things when you heard shouting outside of your house, coming up the path to your gate. You steeled yourself, preparing to try to reason with the people one last time. These were your friends, your family, you couldn’t believe that they had turned on you so quickly. 

Opening the door gently, you stepped outside before blanching at the crowd - no, mob - that stood outside your gate. Upon seeing you, they all froze in place. You stared at them, at the weapons in their hands, and felt your heart break a little more. Kiala is right, they have turned on me. 

There was a commotion in the crowd before Vissen pushed himself to the front. He spat on the ground by your yard, “Well, bitch? What have you to say for yourself?”

Shocked at his words, you recoiled into yourself. “What have I ever done, Vissen? Any of you, why are you doing this? What do you believe that you come with your torches and your swords?”

 The crowd shuffled, falling silent before a shout came from the back.

“You’re a witch! You’ve enslaved our children!”

A chorus of agreement followed those words.

“You’re a beast, you’ll kill us all in our sleep!”

You frantically looked around, searching for a friendly face, for someone that you knew who might be able to help you. You found none, only seeing the smirk on Vissen’s face that slowly grew as the crowd got louder.

You never saw who threw the first rock, but you instinctively ducked out of the way, hearing the window next to you smash. The crowd surged forward as you turned to run, darting for the back of your house to try to escape into the forest.

You didn’t make it three steps before you felt a rock strike you between your shoulder blades, forcing a cry from your throat as you stumbled and fell to the ground. Immediately the mob was on you, hands pulling your hair, striking your arms, shouting curses at you.

Heart beating fast, you curled into a ball as you tucked your arms above your head to try to protect yourself. Tears streaming down your face, you again cried out as you felt a foot connect with your ribs.

The pain forced you deep within yourself, reaching blindly for that warm well of power, it calling and reaching back to you. You dove into it, coating yourself in a feeling of comfort as a wave of warmth surged over you.

When you opened your eyes, the villagers had drawn back from you, the moment of silence broken when Vissen stepped forward.

“See? I told you, she turns into a beast!” he howled, bending down to pick up another rock, slinging at you as he straightened. You whimpered, dancing to the side to avoid the projectile before turning and racing for the woods as you heard the mob come to life behind you.

You could hear the villagers calling for someone to grab you, to hurt you, to kill you. You could feel your heart breaking in your chest, betrayal washing over you, but you forced yourself to continue running, ignoring the pain from where you had been struck.

You dashed through the underbrush, finding a tree with lower branches, digging your claws into the bark, racing up the trunk and onto a branch. Hearing the mob searching through the forest, you lowered yourself to your belly, creeping along the branch to where it passed another one, leading to a taller tree. You crawled over to the junction of a branch and the trunk, just big enough to hold your body.

You collapsed into the space, curling your tail tight around yourself with your ears pressed against your head, shaking as you could hear the villagers running through the trees and shouting to each other.

Finally safe, you allowed yourself to break, the feeling of heartbreak and betrayal washing over you. Geralt was right, they never would have accepted me as I am. They turned so fast, didn’t listen to a word I had to say. Me, who birthed their children, cared for them when they were sick. Me, someone who did all I could to help them and heal them when they were in pain.

The exhaustion finally beat the fear, pulling your mind beneath its blanket of darkness as you fell unconscious, finally succumbing to the pain of your various injuries.

**~*~*~*~**

You lay there until the stars were high in the night sky. Heaving yourself into a sitting position, you forced yourself to take stock of your situation. You needed to return to your house to gather what you could. You crept closer to the trunk, slowly descending as you listened for any sign that the mob was still near before taking off towards your home, staying low in the underbrush to avoid detection.

Reaching your house, you shifted back to your human form, staggering at the change, still not used to the difference between forms. Going into your room, you changed out of your dress into a pair of trousers and a tunic that you normally wore for travelling. 

Gathering your most essential belongings you dropped them on your couch before going in search of a bag. As you packed, you glanced at the dagger that Geralt had given to you before strapping it to your waist. You froze at the sound of a door creaking, slowly dragging the dagger from the sheathy you had just placed at your side.

You felt a cloth cover your mouth as a strong arm went around your waist, a bitter smell overcoming your sense. You struggled, kicking at the body behind you as you tried to bite the hand covering your mouth. You reached down into yourself, racing towards that well of power, almost reaching it before you felt your body falling as the world went dark.

**~*~*~*~**

Add yourself to my taglist here

If you are bolded and struckthrough, I couldn’t tag you!

Witcher Tag List: @riviawitch3r @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @ayamenimthiriel @uncoolcloudyhead @secretsthathauntus @vintage-mind-young-body @creamysacrilege @hina-chans-stuff @bastardfruitsandbasil @shewritesinthethirdperson @widowvinter @ronnieissupermegafoxyawesomehot

Call of the Wild Tag List: @raspberrydreamclouds @queenxxxsupreme @achievementhunting-archangel @alwayshave-faith @afterthenightprevails @a-door-into-my-mind @msjjekyll @ilovetaquitosmmmm @bloo-moon-freak @theblurplegirl  @mathle0matle @agniavateira  @thedevotedwitness @fandoms-and-sunshine @sofiebstar @emiwrites3reads

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

Provide more food for the seagull. For the soulmate AU, number 16 with doppio, but ah could you centre the time frame around the doppio vs risotto fight, you know I’m a slut for pain and I want it all.

Alright here's the food, enjoy you masochistic seagull!

Whiplash

(yandere Doppio X female reader)

You always seemed to get unexplainable injuries, even more then most. These kinds of injuries could range from simple bruises to deep severe cuts with no reason as to why. It hadn't a big problem until maybe mid middle to early highschool when this became more common.

Of course most would say you weren't paying attention but your grandmother believed otherwise. You remember one cold winter's day when she had you over. She spoilt you with toys and warm food; the memories alone were enough to drift you away and transfer you into the warm place you once knew.

You remember just before she tucked you into bed she told you a story, about an Australian soldier in Gallipoli and a woman in Germany during world war one. The two had never met however every wound the male received she felt and every scar they both shared, even thou they were so far away from each other.

One faithfully the two met each other by chance and they knew that it was true love at first sight, they were soulmates. They lived in Germany and had two kids. They were a happy family living despite living among the rubble that Germany had become for several years until world war Two. During the Nazi raids they had managed to get their children out of the country in time but not themselves... They were sent to two different concentration camps. On the night in which the Australian man had be executed the woman was found dead, foaming from the mouth.

She admitted that the story was a bit graphic for a child like you but that was the only example that she could give for your possible circumstances.

"It is a very rare chance that these can happen, not everyone has a soulmate and even if you do it doesn't mean that you'll ever meet each other and there are many different ways that soul mates can be connected. Some people have been color blind for all their life only to then be able to see it when they meet their soulmates, others have matching or incomplete markings, others senses are connected but they say that being able to feel each other's pain is the deepest form of connection" she explained

"Those bruises and scrapes must be from your soulmate" She said.

At times you were sceptical but there wasn't any other explanation. Until your Capo Bucciallati had encountered the boss.

You felt something tug at your heart as you had approached the veincian church, your breath was shallow and laboured but you were drawn so badly towards it.

"Bucciallati, I think I should take Trish in" you said through harsh breaths.

"No (y/n), I know you want to comfort her but I should bring her since I'm the Capo. Besides you need to rest, you look like your about to pass out" he argued before stepping of the boat.

Everyone thought you were coming down with a fever or something but you knew this wasn't a fever, you knew that it was something beyond you. After a while you froze as an image of Bruno being blown through the torso flashed into your mind. You screamed in the top of your lungs as you grabbed Fugo and cried out as tears flowed down your eyes.

"Bruno's in danger! Please we have to do something! He's going to die!" You screamed as you shook him.

"(Y/n) your just hallucinating, calm down" Fugo explained as he grabbed you.

"As if, Bruno's just bringing Trish to the boss, we kicked those assassin's asses so I don't think there is anyone else that's coming after us. Besides even if there was another enemy stand I think Bruno is capable enough to sort em out" Narancia said Before Giorno looked up from the laptop and placed one foot on the dock before Abbaccio tried to stop him and you passed out.

When you woke up Bruno was standing in front of the group. You couldn't quite understand most of what he said due to the horrible ringing in your ear. He mentioned how he was no longer apart of Passioné and that he was going to persue the boss after attempting to murder his own daughter.

Like most of the others you hopped back on the boat. Leaving Fugo and Narancia to their lives.

"Oi Bruno, (Y/n) was acting really strange earlier... She saying that you were in danger and that you were going to die, even now she still looks as sick as a dog" Mista stated as he pointed to you. Bruno put his hand on his chin, obviously thinking about something.

"I don't think she was sick at all, I've heard that soulmates are naturally drawn to each other by fate... What (Y/n) could have been experiencing may have been her body reacting to her soulmates presence" he explained. Your heart skipped a beat as he said that, you had a really bad feeling about what he was implying.

"But the only other person it the building was the boss, wouldn't that mean-" you were about to say before he cut you off.

"Yes I'm afraid so, you must be the bosses soulmate..." He gave a light sigh.

"Fate is a cruel woman to match me with a man willing to kill his own daughter... But I will not fall for such a twisted man, I will still work along side you..." You said.

"I always felt a certain way towards Trish that I couldn't understand... She may not be my daughter but I will protect her like one, I'd rather die a cold and lonely death then be with such a man" you said before everyone's attention shifted to the water where Narancia was swimming, desperately trying to catch up with you.

✂️✂️✂️

The trip to Sardinia had been a rather bumpy one, if bumpy meant having to steal an aeroplane only to crash it in the middle of the ocean that is. To you it was a relief to be on solid ground again, you almost wanted to kiss it.

Right now you sat inside the tortoise along with Trish awaiting for the all clear. She seemed awfully quiet, even more then she normally was.

"Trish, I'm proud of what you did back there" you said which snapped her out of her thoughts and she let out a small hum, she probably didn't here you.

"Stands can be hard to get your head around but you used your today like you had been using it for your whole life, eve after a few years I still have a hassle of using mine" you explained to her with a kind smile on your face.

"You have a stand?" She asked.

"Yes, every member of Passioné does... Mines called Temple of the king and it's actually similar to this one" you said as you pointed to the roof of the room.

"I tried to use it to protect us from prosciutto's greatful dead but it had effected me enough to not be able to use it" you explained and the pink haired female leaned in with curiosity in her eyes.

"To put my ability simply, I can create a copy of the area I'm in, like a spiritual clone of where I am... From there no one can see me or any one I drag in with me and no stand can effect anyone in the area... It's not a very offensive but it's definitely good in terms of set up, however if I do get hurt badly I'll lose my focus and the copy will disappear" you explained.

"It sounds interesting" she replied.

"Every stand reflects it's user... I can interpret yours might be formed from your retaliation against you father, you've become more then just poor girl he wished to kill... You have become your own person and taken charge of your fate and are fighting back" you explained and she shook her head in agreement.

"But how do you feel about killing my father, your his soulmate after all?" She asked which left you stunned.

"How do you know that?!"

"I head you and Bruno talking about it earlier" she said as she twirled her hair.

"I'm willing to go to that extent... If he's my soulmate then I'd rather say that I never had one" you explained.

"But as his soulmate I only see one role as such and that is to protect his daughter... Whether he likes it or not... You don't have to look up to me as a motherly figure or anything like that... I just want you to know that I'll take care of you, I know how it feels to lose a loved and to be betrayed by another" you explained as you held onto her hand. You wanted to give her the comfort and security that you wished you had instead of isolating yourself from it all.

Tears began to build up in your eyes as you felt her hug you but you refused to make yourself look like a crybaby after your promise to protect her.

"God why does everyone treat me like a kid?" She asked in a joking tone.

"Coz your the youngest but don't worry, I'm six years older then Bruno and he still treats me like a kid" you explained as you hugged her back before you heard Bruno call your name.

"I gotta go now" you said as you pulled away before returning to the real world.

"Yes Bucciallati?" You asked.

"I want you to stay with Abbaccio while he's using Moody Blues while we watch out for anything suspicious" he explained.

"Of course, I'll use Temple of the king right now" you said as you summoned your fox like stand to quickly create the spiritual clone as the others left. You felt and aching sensation on your nose before wiping your wrist over your nostrils only to see a dark red liquid on it but you just simply shook it off as a simple nosebleed and nothing more.

It seemed like minutes that you and Abbaccio sat in silence as you waited for Moody Blues' replay when all of a sudden you felt your face being cut apart causing you to fall back in pain and your stand to disburse.

"(Y/n) what's going on?!" Abbaccio yelled as he picked you up. You were stunned and unable to talk.

"Is it an enemy stand?" He asked with concern in his voice.

"No... I think the boss is in a confrontation-" you said before you yelped out in pain as you felt  painful pricks in your skin, you could practically taste the blood on your lips.

"What on earth makes you think that?" He asked.

"An old tale no grandmother told me... That some soulmates can feel each overs pain... It must be a stand user he's up against if... And a deadly efficient one at that..." You said through you gasps for air as you kneeled over and coughed up blood before letting out yet another pain filled scream as you felt something embedded under the skin of your neck, you desperately clawed at your skin as you tried to get whatever it was until your neck tore open, you just hoped to God that it hadn't torn any vital points. Whatever the ability was it was savage enough to tear up someone from the inside. This attack wasn't just a simple attempt to kill, it was full of malice and rage... The stand user was obviously a person with no remorse for the boss.

You began to feel light headed and the world began to spin as you felt your body go limp. You were losing to much blood. You could quite possibly die but if the the boss was going to die then you didn't mind being dragged into hell with him.

"(Y/n) I need to get you to the others?!" He yelled as he tried to pick you up.

"No you stay right here, you have to find the bosses identity!" You yelled in response.

"I swear to god... if you even stop Moody Blues... I'll kick your ass..." You muttered before you passed out.

✂️✂️✂️

You woke up again to see you were still in the same place however you felt a strong pair of arms holding you close. You looked up to see Abbaccio and you gave him a hazy glance followed with a worn out smile.

"(Y/n) you had me worried, you could of died" he said in a harsh tone that hid all of his worry.

"I'm... Fine" you said as you looked over to see Moody Blues had almost rewound completely.

You pushed yourself off of him before slumping onto the ground and leaning against the rock he sat on.

You still felt horrible after being unconscious for who knows how long. Your clothes were covered in blood and you felt the dirt cling to your bloody skin. You then that horrible feeling you felt back in Venice returned. Dread filled you as you felt it only getting worse.

"Abbaccio... The boss is on the island, I can feel his presence" you muttered in a ghostly tone full of fear. you tried to summon your stand but you couldn't do anything.

Your feeling of dread only grew more and more as you could feel him getting closer and closer until it became unbearable and made you want to passout again. The only thing that seemed to catch your attention was a stray soccer ball that got stuck in a tall shrub beside Abbaccio. A young male approached you two and Abbaccio flicked the ball off and the boy chased it.

Your vision doubled as you felt such an unbearable pain. A certain male in the small crowd that followed the boy caught your attention. You knew that he was the boss.

"Abbaccio look out!" You tried screamed but it was too late, he had already been impaled by his stands fist. As his body fell you caught it in your weak arms. The world seemed to go by as if nothing happened. Nobody came to aid you, nobody battered an eye.

You swayed back and forward as you drifted in and out of consciousness as you saw the pink haired boy from before approach you and kneel down to eye level with you. He held a shoe to his ear as one hazel eyes watched you while a emerald green eye darted all over the place.

"What about her boss?" He asked with a voice of pity.

"You would let me? Your too kind boss" he remarked.

"Oh you want me to wait here for the other traitors?" he asked before you grabbed the males collar and yanked him forward.

"Listen to me you bastard, the other are going to kick your ass into a grave for what you've done... And tell your boss he's a fucking coward... And that he's going straight to the ninth circle of hell for all of the sins he has committed" you hissed through deep breaths. The male flashed you a wicked grin as the hazel eyes turned the same shade of green as the other.

"There is a difference between being cowardly and being smart... I know you won't be conscious long enough to say your good byes to your dear team mates, I'll tell them that you had your complete trust in them..." he said in a completely different voice.

✂️✂️✂️

You woke up, wishing that you had passed away and gone to heaven but instead you were bound to a chair in a dimly lit room full of white sheets covering objects under them.

You inspected the room further to realise that it was a ballroom.

You wanted to gag as the smell of resin wafted through the room. This was one of Passionè's soirèes which gave you a terrifying thought as to what might lie under the sheets.

You flinched as you heard a pair of footsteps approach you from behind. You summoned Temple of the king and quickly hid yourself.

"(Y/n) you can't trick me, I know what your stand does" the soft voice of the boy from Sardinia echoed through the large room.

"You don't need to hide, I promise I won't hurt you" his sickeningly sweet voice rang as he stood in front of you. You  sighed as the second area disbursed.

"Your such a sneaky little fox" he mused as he rubbed your cheek. Tears flooded your eyes as he held you in such an endearing way.

"What happened to Trish?" You asked him, his eye turned into that eerie green.

"The girl was tough, she definitely got some of my traits but in the end she couldn't match me, eventually I just ended up strangling the life out of her" he explained your froze in horror as you heard this monster tell you how he mercilessly murdered his own daughter. You just wished you could have kept your promise to protect her.

"Why, why didn't you just let me die" you sobbed and the males eyes returned to their original hazel

"Now why would you want to die?" He asked as he hugged your form.

"You killed the people closest to me! You killed your own child!" You screamed.

"What on earth are you talking about? I never killed anyone and I don't have a child, besides why care about them, they're long gone so why don't you just love me... We're soulmates after all" he said with a sweet smile on his lips.

"Do you really just want to see your friends... I will show you them if you really want me to" he said in a creepily monotone voice. You stared down at you lap as you heard the boy's footsteps echo and then the in your peripheral vision the white sheets fall to the ground one by one, five in total.

You looked up, deep in your gut you knew what to expect but you still screamed in terror as you saw the mangled and disfigured bodies of each of your team mates cast in a thin layer of resin. Abbaccio had the same hole through his chest that you had seen inflicted earlier, half of Bruno's head was smashed to the point where it was bearly recognisable, Narancia's head hung limply to the side and his legs were bent in an unnatural manner. Giorno had a pole of sorts jammed into his chest that quite possibly went straight through his heart and the supposed luckiest of the group, Mista was riddled with bullet holes, he would usually just get back up and treat it like it was nothing but you knew there was no way he would have survived this time.

"The boss wanted each of their bodies to be preserved to show everyone the consequences of betraying him" he explained.

"So am I next?" You asked.

"Of course not, the boss told me to keep you and I'm happy he did" he said with such childish happiness but you were slowly figuring out this situation. The boss must have split personality disorder. It would explain a lot, how he was able to keep himself completely anonymous yet still know every thing that happened, why his eyes kept changing and why how the hazel eyes him seem totally oblivious to some of his actions and you realised that the boss was only keeping you alive as killing you would more then likely become suicide.

"(Y/n) I know we bearly know anything about each other but I'm sure after a while you learn to love me" the boy smile before pecking your cheek.

"We're fate bound lovers" he continued.

"No...no...no" was the only thing you could mutter which looped over and over like miserable chant.

You just couldn't stop crying, everyone you knew was gone and you were left to the overly affectionate alternate persona of the boss. More then likely you would be under lock and key for the rest of your Life...

[circe-poetica]

Rethinking Venus/Saturn in Synastry

This blog post is republished by permission of the author and originally appeared at The Inner Wheel. August 17, 2010 by Dawn Bodrogi 

Most people approach Saturn in synastry as a necessary but bitter pill that must be swallowed in order for there to be some kind of longevity in the relationship. Even if we don’t look at him with dread, we furrow our brows when we notice where he falls. Saturn in synastry gets blamed for all kinds of things – shattered illusions, betrayals, power struggles, abandonment – that don’t belong on his square shoulders at all. His glamorous outer planet brothers seem to get away with murder, and never take on that kind of flak. It always amazes me how often students dump on Saturn placements, when most often it’s Uranus, Neptune or Pluto who deserve the blame. But honestly, given the choice of an aspect between charts, I’d take, say, Moon opposite Saturn way before I’d take Uranus, Neptune or Pluto there. Saturn can be reasoned with. Not like the killer trio. Saturn needs some new PR.

One of the reasons we abhor Saturn is that he doesn’t let us get away with anything. In this, he is definitely the strict parent who knows us inside and out, especially when we tell him we’re going to the library when we really have plans to stay out way past our bed time. Saturn is the one who pushes us to work harder when we feel like being lazy. Saturn is the one who nags us about the right things at the right times. Saturn can behave this way in relationships, too, and it takes a very mature individual to appreciate it, especially if Saturn is acting out of genuine regard and not just projecting his own issues onto us.

Saturn is diligent. If we ignore what he tells us and what he expects of us, he will wait and bring us the same lessons later, only this time it will be harder, because our behaviour has become more entrenched with time. Time. Now there is a good Saturn word. Saturn knows that we only have this one life (as far as we know for sure) and the clock is ticking. There are things we need to accomplish, things we need to learn. Tick tock. Tick tock.

When Saturn is working well, he works hand in hand with the Moon. This is the natural cardinal pairing of Cancer/Capricorn, which is as natural a partnership as Aries/Libra. Cardinal signs initiate, and one of the things they initiate is partnership. Moon/Saturn also represents the ‘other’ angle, the MC/IC, which is the spine of the chart and crucial in partnership. (See my series on the MC/IC, and Beyond Mom and Dad, Saturn as a Relationship Planet.) Moon/Saturn is how we fashion our consciousness, our raw psychic material, into concrete accomplishment. Moon/Saturn hard contacts within a natal chart are so painful because we sense that what we have, what we were born with, is not adequate enough for us to create what we want. We feel we are hobbled before we begin the race. It takes a lot of inner work, and a lot of interaction with the outside world, before the two can work together.

I consider all of the rulers of the cardinal signs relationship planets. Not that the other planets don’t affect partnerships – they do, intensely. But the ‘prime movers’ of relationship are Venus, Mars, Moon, and Saturn. (This is very clearly seen via progression.) The Sun is a relationship planet as well, particularly paired with the Moon, but the Sun operates in a dimension beyond day to day reality, and is, quite frankly, hard for us to get hold of. We feel it (if we’re lucky), we identify with it, but we can’t really manipulate its energy or work with it the way we can with the inner planets. (For more on the Sun, see my five part series, “The Mystery of Solar Fire.”) We’re infused with the Sun, but we have no power over it. It has plans for us we’re not allowed to discover until the time is right. There’s that word again. Time. That’s Saturn’s realm.

We all identify with each one of these planets, but they will also play a role in giving us an idea of the opposite sex. If we toss them around, and pair a masculine planet with a feminine one, we get some very interesting combinations. Two of the most intense are two that are rarely discussed. One is Moon/Mars, which I’ve talked about before, both on my blog and in a two part article for Sasstrology.com – steamier, more intense, more intimate and yes, a little scarier, than Venus/Mars. But the real black sheep of the bunch is Venus/Saturn. If you’re not aware of Venus/Saturn as a relationship magnet, it can hit you blindside.

In the words of Liz Greene, from her book Saturn, A New Look at an Old Devil – one of the greatest books on Saturn – when Saturn sees something it wants, it can act like “the most inflamed Mars.” No one thinks of Saturn that way. And yet, in practice, over the years, I’ve seen him do just that, over and over and over again. Why? The secret of Saturn, and the Saturn/Moon combination, is that Saturn needs. He knows what he has to do, and the clock is ticking. If you have what he needs, he will court you like a lovesick swain. His love is genuine, desperate. Tick tock.

What Saturn wants is Venus. All that grace, all that gentility, all that beauty, is a balm to his harsh existence. When Venus touches Saturn, he is no longer the builder, the taskmaster, the responsible one. In Venus’s presence he can become the master craftsman, the artist. His work has a purpose beyond the mundane. He can take the raw materials of Venus, her beauty, her desire, and use them to achieve his purpose in an elevated and more gentle manner. Venus encourages him to share his skills and experience. Venus wants to be desired, and she senses his need. Remember that Saturn is exalted in Libra.

But Saturn/Venus doesn’t pounce, as Mars/Venus might and Mars/Moon often does. (Mars/Moon is a contact between two primal forces, where Saturn/Venus is much more sophisticated.) Saturn will court. Saturn will spend time. Saturn will feed your cat when you’re away and mend your loose wiring and fill your refrigerator on top of it. When you return, Saturn will hold your hand and talk to you through the night and stoically suppress sighs of longing – until one day when you trust him utterly and he’s certain he won’t be rejected, he will pounce. Saturn can wait forever where Venus is concerned. Saturn is desperate for appreciation, and appreciation is what Venus does best. This is always a very sensual tie, no matter what sign it falls in. The earthy, Taurean side of Venus is a natural match for the equally earthy Saturn. And they will want the best of everything for and from one another, and they are both very security-minded planets. With the hard aspects there will be more striving, and more tussling for rewards (internal and external), but the same underlying desire will be there.

As with all aspects, nothing can be taken out of context. Problems come when either of the planets is debilitated in the natal chart. If the person with the Saturn has a Saturn placement that causes it to be full of fear and defensiveness, if it constantly feels inadequate and suppressed, it will take it out on Venus, who will feel hurt and betrayed, and surmise that Saturn’s desire was a lie. If the Venus person’s self-confidence is on the brink, or if the person’s Venus is dominated by Uranus, Neptune or Pluto, Saturn may never obtain the security it desires, and may be shocked when the outer planet steamroller rides into town and his once accommodating partner shows herself to be elusive or manipulative. Sometimes, though rarely, the planets only want a specific thing from one another, to learn a specific lesson, and once that lesson is learned, the attraction cools. That can happen with any planetary inter-aspect, but the fallout here can be devastating, because of the trust involved, and the whispered promises of forever, which can be very loud when these two connect.

The most common thing I hear when I see a Venus/Saturn inter-aspect is, “We didn’t do anything the first night we spent together. We just held one another.” That’s what Venus/Saturn is doing. Holding on in the dark of the night, remaining in the here and now, taking joy from the warmth and the comfort.

[illshowyourhurricanes]

Flash: Zoom (Part one)

Sometimes, there’s this thing that happens and a request grows a mind of it’s own, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. This is what happened here, and the culprit is @something-tofightfor, who snatched up this image prompt and made a request before anyone else had the chance:

This one is something a little differently than I’ve done before, and with that being said, it’s quite the ride, but a fun one! Here, we see Billy as a Marine, and over a decade later, as a TBI patient. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy-- there’s a lot more to come in this one!

Image prompt 7: Billy Russo x reader

Rating: R for language; possible trigger warning in mentions of crime and mental health

Word count: 3530

Tag list: @obscurilicious @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor @logan-deloss @lexxierave @madamrogers @yannii04 @gollyderek @carlaangel86 @maydayfigment @vetseras @thisisparadisemylove @malionnes @thesandbeneathmytoes @crushed-pink-petals-writes​ @delos-destinations @luminex3 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @tenhargreeves @witchygagirl @fific7

As always, if you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list, just shoot me an ask or DM!

Billy smiled like he’d never seen the atrocities of war. He grinned, and he showcased perfectly straight, unnaturally white teeth. His expression always reached his eyes, dark eyelashes framing his lids and accentuating the slight upturning of the corner of each, the left and the right. His jaw, strong and angular, could cut glass. Billy Russo was so organically gorgeous, so naturally photogenic, it was frustrating. 

“People spend all of their money and years of their lives to maybe get photographed for a damn JC Penney catalog, yet here you are putting zero effort forth and looking like this.” You stopped fanning the instant Polaroid, took one more look, and rolled your eyes, offering the photograph to Billy. “Take a look, George Clooney.”

Billy smirked and plucked the photo from your fingers, giving it a quick glance before handing it back. “Imagine how much better they’d come out if you let me buy you a real camera. What’s your brand, Y/N? Nikon? Canon?” Billy turned toward you, his palms skimming down the length of your arms. “You want somethin’ digital?” 

You cocked your head at Billy. His hands had dropped to your hips. “Polaroid. Classic. I’m all about instant gratification, Russo.”

Billy laughed in a deep timbre, pulling you closer and into a lingering hug. “One day,” he spoke into your hair. “When you grow into having patience… patience waiting for me until that next time I come home… I’m buying you that camera.” His New York accent was coming through strong, and that tended to happen when Billy really believed in something. You tightened your arms that were circled around his middle and pressed your cheek to Billy’s chest, listening for his heartbeat. 

As you listened to that rhythm, your face fell and your posture deflated with your exhale. You slumped your shoulders and your arms dropped from Billy’s midsection, but you continued to linger in his arms. He always made sure to speak as if coming back was a guarantee; as if fighting on the front lines in Kandahar was just a normal trip overseas. You swallowed past a lump that had formed in your throat. You wouldn’t succumb to it in front of Billy. Not yet. 

He was attuned to your posture, however small the shift in the way you carried yourself may be. Billy was attentive— he knew things about you, little nuances, unconscious mannerisms or habits, why you hated steak fries but loved waffle fries. There was a file in his brain, one specifically dedicated to you. He cared about you, your well-being and your happiness… your life. And he was a part of it, an essential part, whether he knew it or not. When he was gone, across oceans and continents and hemispheres, he took that essential part of your life with him. 

It wasn’t lost on you that you were long past the falling head-over-heels, missing meals because your thoughts were all- consuming, dreamy-eyed and irrevocably smitten phase of what you had with Billy. You cared about him a lot, maybe more than he cared about you. The two of you had never exchanged “I love you”s; it was very rare and circumstantial the handful of times you or Billy talked about the future. And he’d made nods toward that precarious, never guaranteed place twice in just the last 10 minutes. 

Lifting your head, you looked up at him, that woozy feeling of being drunk with one look into his darkened eyes very akin to that intoxicating feeling that came with love. “I’m holding you to that, Lieutenant.” 

                                                     *****     *****

You’d snagged a job with a popular psychiatric publication, and you chalked it all up to luck. Between your blog, business cards, spending all of your free time (and money) advertising, and networking with anyone who’d pay the smallest bit of attention, your name had been mentioned to a person with serious media connections. A random, brief phone call during a leisurely shoot one afternoon in the park resulted in a request for a viewing of your portfolio. Deemed “supremely impressive”, you were hired for a very specific field job.

That was how you ended up at Sacred Saints Hospital, deep in the heart of New York City.

New York was home, yet you’d been away for a good amount of time, traveling to build up your portfolio. The health facility you were to feature in the job you’d be hired for was a well-known facility. Sacred Saints was expansive, offering physical health services—surgery and recovery, intensive care, extensive stay— as well as mental health services and rehabilitation. Your goal for the piece was to photograph a host of mental health-centered techniques and options while still presenting patients as “normal” human beings, human beings that were not untouchable and should not be stigmatized. 

The challenge was going to be finding a balance between clear, clinical photos and those of therapy at work versus the personal aspect of mental health care. Whatever got written wasn’t up to you, but one of your niches was getting shots of moments that captured emotion: someone throwing their head back in laughter, a person staring blankly, eyes full with tears of grief. You could only hope those shots would provoke receptive emotions in their viewers. Photography was deeply personal work when allowed to be. It was also a matter of legality in many situations, and this was one of them. 

You needed clearance. The publication had kicked things off by securing permissions from the hospital-- you’d been issued a temporary badge for security issues, identification and such, and being cleared to enter the wards. The rest of what was required was consent from patients being photographed. The latter was much trickier given certain mental disabilities and the quick unpredictability that came with some personality disorders and brain injuries, but it was necessary, no exception. Day 1 was mostly dedicated to obtaining patient consent. 

You treaded lightly. These people were still mothers, sons, sisters, uncles, still human… still people. They had the right of integrity, and you weren’t there to take that from them; you were there to bring awareness to the public, to remind everyone on the outside that the people inside of this facility were no different than those that read the magazine… that humanity is something every person deserves and should be given. 

You were satisfied with your work for the afternoon, which had been surprisingly productive. A small stack of patient consent forms had been signed, and if you could get one to two more, you could start with your favorite part of the job-- the actual photography-- the next day. 

Not merely content but happy, you walked along the tile floor of the main corridor with your camera hanging around your neck. The glint of artificial light reflecting off something shiny grabbed your attention; it was a badge on a policeman’s uniform, just above his left chest pocket. You felt a sudden surge of adrenaline. Another deputy appeared from the threshold of what appeared to be the same room and your footsteps quickened, your shoulders and head held higher as you approached them. As far as you’d seen, there were no other rooms guarded by any sort of law enforcement official on the ward. Your mouth was dry in anticipation; you knew you had to get into that room, to do all you could to coerce the patient to be photographed. It was blatantly obvious they had something no one else at Sacred Saints did, and that something needed to be captured on film. With a professional nod and a smile, you greeted the policemen, showing them your temporary badge of secured access and offering a short summary of what your goal was. 

“I did notice you’re the only two officials on the ward,” you added, coming toward the end of your hopefully successful allowed entry of the room to your right. You’d only gotten one quick glance through the square-paned window set in the patient’s door and the only thing you could make out was dark hair, cropped close to the skull. 

One of the deputies, a short and stocky male with a no-nonsense expression, eyed you with one raised brow. “We ain’t here for fun, lady. He’s convicted of multiple felonies, including several counts of murder for starters. This ain’t the circus… though the asshole looks like a sideshow freak.” He elbowed his partner in a jovial manner, the two of them snickering.

You narrowed your eyes at both officials, a total lack of any sort of amusement apparent on your face. You were seriously doubting this level of holding guard was necessary, as if these two clowns were serving a purpose standing outside of this person’s room dehumanizing him to a stranger. 

“I understand he’s a felon, officer, but the two of you seem like competent individuals.” Taking a long stride to peek more closely into the patient’s room, the taller of the guards stepped in front of you. Holding up your hand, you continued to speak. “It seems he’s restrained to the bed, his arms and legs are strapped like he’s in a straight-jacket. What harm can he possibly do in such a position?” 

The steeled look you’d been given by the cop attempting to block you from entering softened marginally as you stated the obvious. The patient couldn’t move from the bed, convicted felon or not. He was utterly powerless.

“You ain’t gonna get nothin’, lady,” the first man you’d encountered piped up. “He claims he got no clue why he’s in here, don’t remember, nothin’.” This policeman’s thick Brooklyn accent gave you some sort of uneasy deja vu, but you couldn’t put together the pieces, what it was a reminder of. 

“I just want to ask if I can take his picture. No coercion, a simple yes or no question. It won’t take longer than five minutes, if that long, and you can see the entire interaction if you open those blinds.” There were windows the length of the room on either side, though the view was obstructed by cheap, plastic blinds, drawn so no outside view was available.

Both officers looked extremely bored, ready for you to get out of their hair and scamper away in defeat. You weren’t giving in, and you stood even with them, brows raised just a fraction in anticipation. The cops shared an exasperated glance, and the one standing in your way moved to the side. “We can see all we need through the door, ma’am.” 

Of course you can, you thought to yourself bitterly. This man doesn’t have the freedom to move anything more than his head.

“You’re wastin’ your time even askin’.” You turned your head to look blankly to the cop from Brooklyn, his increasingly stupid, know-it-all commentary really starting to irk you. 

“It’s my time to waste, officer.” You managed to plaster a forced smile on your face, taking another step toward the door. “I’ll take it from here, thank you.” You spoke to the less obnoxious deputy only. Your hand already on the doorknob, you stepped inside the room within half a second, closing the door with a soft click behind you.

                                                   *****       *****

He hated being strapped to this goddamn bed. He hated that his goddamn face hurt. He hated that he couldn’t fucking sleep because of those fucking dreams, and he hated every goddamn thing about this fucking place. The cops guarding his room twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week; the nurses who tiptoed around his room, terrified; that stupid bitch of a doctor who wanted him to finger-paint like he was in kindergarten; that woman who was always at the foot of his bed, just standing there and staring with a self-righteous smirk of contempt and satisfaction. All of it was a living hell, but he hated nothing more than to be strapped to this goddamn bed.

He could hear voices outside his room; the useless cops, no doubt, and also the voice of a female. Everything was muted, words muffled; he couldn't hear actual words, but he could hear sound and tone. Who was the woman this time? Was it Dr. Dumont? The mystery woman who watched him sleep? A nurse, perhaps? Whoever it was, Billy didn’t want to be bothered or provoked… but maybe whoever it was would unstrap him. He could ask Dr. Dumont, or scare a nurse into asking for him. God, he wanted to walk, he wanted to go to the fucking gym, he wanted to look outside. Anything but these same four, drab walls, the smells and sights and sounds of Sacred Saints hospital.

With a click of his door opening, in walked a woman he’d not seen before. Who is this? Billy was in thought immediately, but the question he’d asked himself  didn’t unnerve him that much anymore. People were always in and out; some repeat offenders, some he’d never seen before and would probably never see again, if he had any luck in his new joke of a life. But the one person that should have been there, that was never there, was Frank-- his best friend, his brother, the only family he’d ever had. Where is Frank? 

Nobody ever answered him. He just continued to wonder, to ask, to hope. Desperately, he attempted to push the question from his mind, peering at the woman who had just entered his room. At least she ain’t a repeat offender. 

He’d never seen her before, and through his suspicion and wariness, he didn’t fail to notice that that she was extremely attractive. In another life, he’d stride over to her, get her number, and her legs would be wrapped around him that same night. She’d be writing beneath him, screaming his name. In another life, Billy, he thought bitterly. In another life.

                                                   *****        *****

There was already a small pit of sympathy that had settled deep down in your chest. This man had obviously done some terrible things, but who knew what had been haunting his mind then, what was haunting it now. There were no excuses that needed to be made for him, but to be talked about and ridiculed by men of the law that stood just outside his door… that would be dehumanizing for anyone. 

As you opened the door cautiously, stepping inside in the same fashion, you kept a shadow of a smile on your face and somehow kept it from faltering. Not because he was confined, strapped to his bed— you'd seen that through that small excuse of a window paned with plastic in his door— but because there wasn’t a man looking at you as you’d expected; it was a phantom.

A stark white, generic plastic mask was pulled down over his face, and all you could see that reminded you that this was indeed a human being were his short spikes of black hair. And as you got closer, you felt your heart quicken at the stark contrast of inky black and blinding white between eyes and mask. 

You kept your wits about you, but couldn’t help but think how badly you wanted those cops to be wrong, how badly you wanted and needed a photo of this man— how this was what you felt deep in your soul that you were trying to convey. This opportunity was fated; nothing this perfect happened by chance.

Just as you spoke a hello, a loud rapping at the door interrupted your pending introduction and in walked an older woman, wearing scrubs, clogs on her feet that squeaked over the flooring with each step. She held a small paper medicine cup in one hand, a drink of water in the other. She set both down on a bedside table. 

“Time to get you out of this.” She reached out and roughly tugged at the restraints, a deafening sound of the pulling back of more Velcro than you’d ever seen in your lifetime. The man in the bed pushed himself up, still not saying a word as he was given medication. “The Tylenol you requested.” With a turning of his head, the man lifted his mask just enough for a quick swallowing of the pills, still revealing nothing. As he turned back to face you, he rolled his neck to the right, then the left. You briefly wondered what the mask meant to the patient as the nurse took his trash. Nodding at you briskly, she quickly left the room, leaving the two of you alone. 

The stranger in front of you was tall, the length of the bed he lay in, and rail thin— skeletal, even. There was nothing imposing about him, no danger or peril in the air. From the little you’d seen, you couldn’t imagine this man as being dangerous at all, much less a felon, a murderer. But he was quiet— so quiet. Not one utterance, one word, one sound since you’d entered the room. You wondered if this was a tactic, a technique, or a result of his TBI. 

Greeting him again, you got down to business by introducing yourself, explaining why you were there. “I’m Y/N, and I’m a photographer. I was assigned to take photographs for a periodical, and wanted to ask if you’d mind if I took a few pictures.” You spoke in a professional manner, kept your voice amicable, and spoke at a volume just shy of what you considered “normal”. You felt the need to keep the patient placated, at ease, and you wanted the cops to hear nothing you said.

“I have a release form, I’d just need your name and signature, and if you choose, your photo won’t have to be captioned and your name never mentioned. I only need the information for your release. Nothing more.” You gestured to the clipboard you held, the thin stack of release forms secured there, and tried not to look as hopeful as you felt. 

This could be it— the photo, the one that would give you more exposure, and more importantly, the one that would evoke emotion and draw readers in. The humanity and recognition for these patients that you were initially working to capture could very well be debunked by this one photo of a man who was desperately trying to shroud his humanness. Then again, the obvious contrast could be striking. That, however, was ultimately left up to the writer.

Your attention was captured as the man in the bed slowly tilted his head to the side, regarding you through the cut-out eye holes of the plastic mask. The color of his eyes were jarring, almost black, and they bored into you with a type of intensity you’d never encountered before. Your pulse quickened and you could feel the pounding of your heart against your chest. He’s convicted of multiple felonies, including several murders for starters. You remembered the policeman with the Brooklyn accent, his warning, and just as you felt a cold, creeping fear crawling up your spine, you remembered the rest of what had been said: This ain’t the circus, even though the asshole looks like a circus freak.  Your fear twisted into determination, and you didn’t shy away from his stare; in fact, your posture shifted as you stood up straighter, never looking away from this masked man. 

“You got a pen?” The voice was muffled by the barrier of his mask, the tone was deep and rough from disuse. He also had somewhat of a Brooklyn accent and his voice sounded vaguely familiar… you rationalized that you didn’t know this person, and perhaps the voice just reminded you of that arrogant prick of a cop you’d had the pleasure of meeting just outside. In response to his question, however, your triumph skyrocketed. You knew your emphatic nod was eager. 

“Yes, right here.” You calmly took the few steps to his bedside, keeping in mind to not ambush a TBI patient with sudden movement. Holding out the clipboard, you referenced points of the release to be filled in with the pen he’d asked for. “All I need is your name, printed here, today’s date, and your signature here. This second box can be checked, stating you do not want to be identified as the subject of this photo at any time.” 

He took the pen and clipboard and you began to toy with your camera, adjusting the focus, the drive mode, and the aperture. Your fingers were quick, working deftly, and you peeked once through the viewfinder for verification. In the silence of the room, you heard the faint sound of pen scratching over paper, and then, the clipboard was raised, pen laid on top. Holding back a beaming smile was difficult, but you managed as you were given back the clipboard, this time with a signed release. 

“Thank you, Mr—“ You glanced down at the information he’d given you, and your heart seized in your chest. William Russo. It was there in clear print, block letters you recognized from your past, a signature so familiar you’d know it  anywhere... the certain curving of the R and perfect circle of the O. Your stomach lurched and a wave of nausea washed over you, and then, your voice was stolen and replaced with his own as he finished for you. 

“Russo.”

[antiracistkaren]

On Meltdowns and My Trauma

Y’all,

I am no expert on autism in general, but I am an expert on me. Yesterday was a very difficult day, and I must write about it so that I can see the warning signs for later and take better care of myself.

Yesterday I set a goal: to try and secure a clinical diagnosis for my autism. I have a diagnosis from my general psychiatrist, but for certain things (like government assistance and educational funding), I need documentation to prove that I am autistic.

This is very difficult as a 36 year old woman. The first question I am asked is “Why?” Why would I even want this? Why would I want confirmation that I am disabled and in need of support? These questions trigger me, and take me back emotionally to the time in my life where I was completely out of control of my decisions: college and under the thumb of my very first long-term boyfriend.

The helplessness I felt for those three years, the confusion, the feeling of screaming inside of my head and not being able to escape it was upon me yesterday. I couldn’t escape it or run from it. I reached out to a family member for support, and felt that instead of empathy, I received judgement.

As the night wore on, and my children were being their wonderful joyful and stubborn selves, the thought “I can’t do this,” just kept repeating over and over again. A phrase said to me on the phone just echoed inside of my head loudly over and over again “You can’t handle it.”

I tried my best to not hold on to that thought, but it wouldn’t let me go. I couldn’t think anything else, and I found myself in the bottom of a pit with no way to talk about it. I wanted to write, but I couldn’t think anything other than “You can’t handle it.” The only thing I could do was cry. Like, uncontrollably cry. I cried so much for so long that I was shocked I had water left in my body. My eyes got swollen and I felt completely exhausted, unable to move. The desire to help myself was strong, but it wasn’t as strong as the desire to completely just give up and stop trying to advocate for myself anymore.

The connection of helplessness throughout my life isn’t a rare one in autistic folks. We are often at the mercy of our doctors, especially if the perception around us is that we are “strong” and “together.” Today I called the person I talked to yesterday and told them everything. They didn’t even know the depth of the abuse I had endured in college, and they’re an immediate family member.

You see, I think it’s my fault that I’m helpless, that I should somehow be able to make things happen in this world all on my own. In influence my social circle constantly, so why am I having such a hard time communicating how much pain I am in to my doctors?

It’s a terrible place to exist, and I’m lucky in that I have a support system in my husband, my community of friends, my mentors. I can’t help but think about what would have happened if I had been alone yesterday and in that place. It’s terrifying. Because what if I get worse? What if I can’t handle it? What if one of my meltdowns takes my life?

My big meltdowns are debilitating, especially when they are coming up out of a dark place of despair. Being unable to communicate my pain feels like more pain, like being trapped in the prison of my body and my mind and I cannot run from it because it is within me. And it hurts.

I am trying to take better care of myself today, but I am still in a very restless and confused state. I must own these feelings and talk about them, feel them, and figure out how come this thing that happened to me in college still haunts me. Why this man who claimed to love me, and controlled, starved and abused me still hangs out in my head. I’m hurt, and when I’m hurt I start to self-harm in the form of thoughts. I cut myself inside, emotionally, with awful thoughts. And when I start to believe those thoughts, I can spiral down very far and ruminate on how alone I am in my pain, even if I am surrounded by people who love me.

That is what my worst meltdowns look like. They’re isolating and toxic to me... because these thoughts have been given to me. I didn’t come up with them myself, but because I’ve been forced to make my own way in this world, these little rules and restrictions that the world has put on me are hurting me. Deeply. I have such a strong desire to help others, but I can’t seem to help myself.

This is just one flavor of my meltdowns, and it doesn’t even touch the aggression side of my meltdowns. Those, those feel different, like an explosion from inside of my chest that spreads out until I am screaming and crying at the same time. Those are scary too, but they don’t leave me wanting to die. Those feel protective and productive at times, because they help me escape from potentially dangerous situations.

But this one? The sad meltdowns are dangerous for me. And I am living in fear of the next time it will happen, and how I will handle it.

And that’s on my meltdowns.