#eventually found out that the employees called the cops on me cause they thought I was going to kidnap someone??

[kissofthespring]

title: ruin the mob ship: iwaizumi x fem!reader (afab!reader) genre: yakuza x coffee shop au cw: blood, guns, violence, potential assault, face sitting, degradation, daddy kink. cute nicknames for the reader. unprotected sex. (wrap it up folks.) note: this is just part one. There will be a part two eventually. (oops.)

"Hajime..."

The wound won't stop bleeding. You can feel your consciousness slipping. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dummy. Tsubaki?!" He practically yells as he presses his steady hands to the wound. 

"No, no, no." 

How had you gotten here?

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Six months earlier.

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Iwaizumi ran his hand through his spikey locks as he stared at the image on his phone. A pretty girl with her hair pulled up and off her neck. The smile on her face reaches her eyes. She's mid-laugh this shot. "This is Ushijima's sister. She has no idea, though. She's his half-sister. Same father, different last name." Matsukawa says as he reads over the information on the laptop in front of him.

"She's just a girl. What did she do?" Hanamaki spits as he takes apart his gun and starts cleaning it. He's right in a way. You had just turned 29 years old. The smile on your face made Iwaizumi feel old. He had just turned 35, but he couldn't remember the last time he smiled like that. 

"So, are we taking her hostage? Or..."

"Killing her. Little Cutie has a price on her head, it seems." Oikawa interrupted him, kicking his feet up onto the table. "It's a hefty one. Otherwise, I wouldn't have us take the job. Iwaizumi, you're the best, so it's on you."

"Tch. Fine." Iwaizumi had a weird rumble in his chest. What had you seen to get you on their radar? Or who had you spoken to? "She works for a coffee shop, yeah? This should be easy."

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Usually, whenever Iwaizumi Hajime got a job, he'd look over the provided profile and then take out the contract. Something about this one set him off. You probably had no idea you'd seen something. You looked like the type that would go to the cops right away if you'd seen something terrible. So clearly, to you, it was normal. He stepped onto another roof, watching you as you turned down an alleyway stepping toward the red light district. Now, this didn't make sense. This wasn't on his profile of you—a barista working her way through graduate school with no contact with your father. In fact, you didn't seem to have any family contact. He watched as you slipped into the red light coffee shop. Struck with the realization that you were exactly like your profile after all. You were setting the coffee in front of a customer when he walked into the shop. "Welcome. I'll be right there in a moment." 

There's no line, so he moves to stand at the counter. He takes in your appearance over his shoulder. Yep, he can see Ushijima in your eyes. It's the shape and softness of your features that set the two of you apart. Not to mention your body. The curve of your breast visible beneath the black apron. The jeans you'd wiggled your way in were form-fitting. Your shirt was a half-buttoned black dress shirt. Just formal enough that you looked professional, but still, the cleavage made it sexy. Working in the red light district, you seemed to pick up something from the girls that frequented your establishment. You step back around the counter before grinning at the man in front of you. 

“How can I help you today?”

Your voice is chipper as you lean against the countertop. You take in the appearance of the man in front of you. The all-black tech wear was something you were familiar with. There was a silver earring in his ear, and you could see a tattoo peeking up past his coat as you observed him. Fuck. He was your type. Probably covered in tattoos underneath the jacket on his frame. He was built too. Fuck.

But if he was in the red light district, you knew better. He was one of four things, a pimp, a john, a yakuza, or an escort. From the looks of him, you couldn't help but think that he was too pretty to be a pimp, so either he was getting some, or he was just a part of a crew. You rested your hip against the countertop as the man before you stared up at the menu above your head. 

"Large coffee, black, and a small cup of ice water." 

"Sure." 

You turn to get his coffee and find him pulling out cash to pay. "Nope. You're new around here. On the house tonight. If I see you again, then I'll make you pay." You wink as you pass him the coffee, then move down to grab an ice cup. His eyes widen as you clear the total and smile again. "Usually, I hear a thank you for that."

"That's not a way to run a business..." 

You pass the man the water before shrugging. "It's a cup of coffee; I sell more than I give away. Stand in front of me any longer, and I'll make you pay." He picked up the coffee, and the water moving over to the bar area. You could see the scowl on his face, though. Had you surprised him? Hm.

Hajime couldn't help but stare at the coffee cup with anger. Her blood would be on his hands, and she had given him free coffee... Was it foolish of him to think that perhaps whoever put a hit out on you was wrong? Probably. He couldn't help it, though. He watched you as you worked, made fresh coffee, dumped the dregs of the old one. Looked up at the door when the bell rang. Gave a smile to the old man in front of you and smiled that same smile at the gangster that crossed your threshold. You were glancing at the clock before throwing him what you thought was a subtle glance.

Hajime was nursing that same cup of now cold coffee three hours later. You two were alone in the shop; you were about to say something when the bell above the door rang, and your face turned cold. It was instantaneous the shift in the air. 

"Hey, Pet." The man who entered called out with a grin. "Thought over my offer?" He lifts his still-lit cigarette to his lips, a smirk curling upon his lips. "This place really could use the protection, and... You'd make a lot more money."

"Listen, Futakuchi. You're great, and I even let you smoke in here when the sign says no smoking. But I'm not interested in being one of your girls, or protection for the shop. We manage fine, thanks." You turn your back to the man lifting a heavy pot of coffee to dump it out for the night. "I'm closing up for the night. Please leave, Futakuchi."

"What about that guy?"

The brown-haired gangster pointed at Iwaizumi, who offered you a smile as if he was willing to play along if need be. "He's my new employee... Now please leave." You glance over at Iwaizumi, who stands to his full height; he was glad that he had grown from his childhood. Now standing at 6'0, he was taller than the other man by centimeters, but it was enough. He shrugged off his coat, the tattoos along his arms finally visible. The brown-haired man had to know what they meant.

The Seijoh Syndicate was infamous. The traditional Japanese style, mixed with a floral and dragon motif... It worked for him. You admired for a moment before you cleared your throat and tossed Iwaizumi the keys for extra measure, "Lock the door after him, would you?" You noticed the way his muscles rippled as he nodded, "Well. The lady did say to leave." Futakuchi crushed his cigarette under his boot before turning around, "I'll be back, Y/N. Maybe next time, you'll be kinder."

"Doubt it!"

You called as Iwaizumi locked the door, and you clutched the edge of the countertop in front of you. "I... I can't thank you enough for helping me out. I'm sorry for getting you roped into this. Um. Thank you..."

"Iwaizumi Hajime." What a mistake that was for him to tell you and a way to identify him, but he did it.

"Thank you, Iwaizumi. You honestly saved me from having to be really aggressive with him. Ever since I opened this place, he's been trying to get in my pants." You take a heavy pot of coffee off the burner before moving to dump it in the sink.  

"How did you know that you could trust me to play along with you?" Iwaizumi asked gruffly, settling back into the seat at the bar. When you shrugged, "I didn't. But I hoped that you would. If you wait for me to finish up, I'll split the tips with you for your help. I just don't trust that he's gone." Iwaizumi gave you another nod before siping on his cold coffee. Even cold, it tasted good. Weird. Must be the beans she used. He watched as you locked up the safe for the night and then stood up. 

Your head could nestle just under his chin if he so wished it. He didn't, but you could. As you grabbed your bag and handed him his portion of the tips, you grinned. "You know, I understand you might not need the job, but if you wanted a position here..." 

He cut you off before you could finish. "I don't. You shouldn't be so generous. Someone will one day take advantage of that kindness." Damn it... It was him. Iwaizumi realized. He would be the one because he was going to have to kill you eventually. You watched as the man grabbed his coat and left the shop. You turned on the alarm then stepped out into the back alley behind your shop. 

You were walking home, your keys stuck between your fingers when you felt it. The shift in the wind, someone was following you. When they struck, you'd thought you'd be ready, but your head was pushed against the brick, and the hand that you had your keys in was twisted behind your back sharply. "Sh, Pet. I just... I don't think you're safe working with that guy. Nor do I think you're safe on your own." The mouth of the man who had been trying his damndest to get with you found our neck. He was pushing you against the wall with his body weight and one hand. His other was tracing the waist of your jeans. You thought that if anything like this was to ever happen to you, you'd struggle or something, but you froze. 

He pulled your arm a little harder, causing you to yelp. "Let her go." There's a click behind you, and your eyes find the green ones of Iwaizumi. The gun in his hands looks huge; you shrink into yourself when Futakuchi lets you go. "Hey man... Look, I let her go. Whatever, Y/N. If this is who you're with now, I'm out. Fucking bitch." Iwaizumi raises his arm, shooting into the sky, causing you to flinch, and the man who was now cursing your existence to scrambles away.

You had shrunken in on yourself when you felt a hand press against your forehead. "You okay? Let me help you home." You clung to him and directed the man who saved you from another to your home. What a fool you were. You had no idea what he was sent to do. As you pressed your key into the door, you looked up at the man, "Can I repay you somehow?"

"Don't be so kind. You just saw what happens when someone wants to take advantage of that kindness. Next time I won't be there. So... No. Go take a shower and eat something. Good night, Dummy."

You were about to tell him not to call you that, but exhaustion took over, and you just slipped inside your apartment instead. Meanwhile, Iwaizumi was documenting the exits and entrances around your place. God damnit. Taking you out could be easy if you weren't so... Good.

This was a bad hit.

Whoever had it out for you had it for the wrong reasons.

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It went on like this for five weeks. Iwaizumi would show up three hours before closing, hang out in your coffee shop and then walk you home. You had gotten to know bits and pieces of him too, and he had done the same with you. 

One night it's the two of you left in the store, locked up for the night. You weren't paying him any attention when he brushed your hair out of your face a bit gentler than you thought Iwaizumi would be, making you drop the peach scone you were bagging up for the night. "Fuck!"

He's laughing, doubled over, clutching his stomach as you smack his arm. "That's what gets you to swear, Tsubaki? I was gentle. What would you do if I wasn't?" The tension is right there between the two of you. "Shut up, you jerk." You reach for your scone to throw it away when you noticed he hadn't stepped away or gone back to his coffee. "Come driving with me, Tsubaki. It's a nice night." Your eyes met his before you nodded, fiddling with the keys in your hands, "Sure. I'm almost done..."

You finished the closing tasks, turned off the lights around the store, pushed the money through the red door on the safe, and finally set the alarm for the night. Iwaizumi was smoking a cigarette outside the door when you slipped out of the shop. "Okay, I'm ready." He took in your appearance for a moment. You wore a black skirt today, and the thin black top left little to the imagination. God, he liked you. It still lingered in his mind; he was supposed to kill you.

Oikawa had gotten annoyed at him for not completing the job weeks ago, but... Hajime didn't give a fuck. He had spent time with you, and feelings developed from there. You were kind. You cared about everyone who came into your store equally. You'd close shop if a woman came in after being beaten by a John. When a young man came in wounded, you dropped everything to patch him up. You were a safe haven for women and gangsters alike. They knew they could come to you for a place to hide. He found himself unable to kill you. Whoever had put the hit out was wrong. He'd find them first.

You had no idea the thoughts that brewed in the spiky-haired man's head. He held the door open for you to slip in, then slipped inside himself and started driving.

The road turned to gravel as he drove into the hills of the prefecture. Your hand rested against the edge of your skirt, nerves making them shake a little. He turned his wrist up on the gear shift. "If you need to hold my hand or something." Instantly, you latched on to it, bringing it over to your lap, and grinned. The hitman couldn't help himself. He'd gone soft for you... His hand gripped your back. You relaxed, and eventually, your hand slipped out of his, but his hand didn't move from your thigh, gripping it slightly.

Finally, he stopped at a spot overlooking the city. It was secluded and beautiful tonight. His hand moved down your leg to your knee before moving back up gently, "I like you, Tsubaki. You know that, right?"

"I had an inkling. Does this mean I get to call you Hajime now?" You turn toward him full-body, shifting so your back was against the passenger side door, and his hand came up to rest on the back of your seat. "I like you too. I mean, I have for a while, and not just because you saved me before." You fiddled with your fingers, a look of shock coming over your face when Iwaizumi reached for your hand.

He lifted your right hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist, making you breathe out sharply. His green eyes traced your frame and finally found your face. "Can I kiss you?" The question hit your ears, and before your brain could stop you, you leaned forward to capture his lips in a kiss.

The kiss is hungry and rough. Teeth were clashing together as you finally break that tension you had both had between you two. You reached up to tug his hair, and you could feel his growl against your lips. "Fuck."

The windows fogged before you realized it, and he was pushing you against them, his hand wrapping around your neck to pull you closer to him. He was rough, but god did it feel good. His teeth tug at your lip before whispering, "Can I touch you, Tsubaki?" He presses his forehead against yours, his fingers tangled in your hair as you catch your breath.

"Yes. Touch me, Haji. Please." 

The moment the please leaves your lips, he feels feral. His name dies on your lips as he palms a breast with one hand and slips the other one up your skirt resting on your thigh. The kiss was deepening as he swipes his tongue along the seam of your lips. Your gasp was all he needed. His hand moves to your cloth-covered cunt, before pulling back to whisper, "I want to fucking hear you moan."

And moan into his mouth you did. Gasping as he played with your clothed breasts, you wanted more.

The man above you is grinding his hip against your calf as he cages you in against the passenger seat. "Please, don't tease, please." You whisper as the kiss breaks, and he leans back to admire you for a moment. You're his prey here. With his big hands, he could snap your neck and be done with the job. Or he could give you pleasure. His hand lingering on your breast and the other between your legs told him what he wanted to do. He wanted to fuck you. Wanted to ruin you.

The hand between your legs found your hip clutching it slightly. "I want you. But I want it to be special. We shouldn't do this here." You let out a whine that he knew would be his undoing. "Hajime... I want to feel you inside of me. We can go back to my place if you want a bed. I just... Fuck me, tonight."

"Dummy." Iwaizumi whispered against your temple before capturing your lips against his. He slides his hand down to your cunt again. "I know how to satisfy you for now, at least until we get to your place and we make some choices." His large fingers brush against your panties before pushing the fabric to the side. He swallows your moans with kisses as he rubs your clit with his middle finger. He slides that same finger down until he gets to your center and pushes inside of you.

Your hips jolt, and you gasp as his mouth makes its way down your neck, leaving marks as he goes. "More, please. Hajime. Please."

He drives his middle finger into your cunt, grinning at the gasp that chokes from your lips. "Such a greedy little dummy." He adds another finger before he glances down to marvel at the way you suck his fingers in. The dirty and lewd noises were coming from your mouth as he fingers you. "This hand of mine taking you out? Making you dumb? Sweet, sweet little one." He feels your body shake involuntarily, your head rolling backward. 

"That's it, baby. Let it go. Cum for me."

Your thighs are shaking as you cum with a gasp, his hand tightening on your throat to control the blood flow and how you were feeling. It was so good that a second one washed over you quickly.

Your vision finally colors again, and you watch him as he lifts his hand to his mouth, sticking each finger in one by one. "You taste so good, Tsubaki. Like my favorite candy."

You roll your eyes at him before shifting to press your body against the passenger side door. "Just drive to my place, and don't make illusions to me tasting like candy..." Iwaizumi shifted gears before chuckling. "I could say something else, but I thought candy suited you. You're sweet. I liked it. And so did you if the way you came was any indication."

The drive went on like that, him teasing you and you bantering it right back to him. When you arrived at your apartment, you instantly felt shy. Your state radiated off of you in waves as you stared up at the tall building. Iwaizumi's hand reached over to squeeze your thigh. "We don't have to do this tonight... I got you off; that’s what I wanted to do."

You looked up at him shaking your head before reaching for his hand and lacing his fingers with yours. "Come inside; I’ll get you some tea."

His voice reverberated in your brain as you both got out of the car, "I don't want tea, Tsubaki." I want you. Those words are unspoken as you both approach your door from the confined space of the elevator. 

You fumbled with the keys, dropping them than picking them up again. Iwaizumi's hand rests on the small of your back to soothe your thoughts. "Do I make you anxious? It's not my goal, dummy." He's gentle as he brushes your cheek with careful fingers. He's treating you like glass as you both enter the apartment. Shoes fall off feet quickly as soon as the door closes.

You step backward into your apartment, leading him down the short hallway to your bedroom. He follows his hand resting on your shoulder, taking in the ease of your clothes. "God, you're so beautiful." He pushed your shoulder strap down your arm smiling as your tank top fell quickly. Your overshirt was already discarded when you entered your apartment. Your knees hit the bed, and you reach for his long sleeve shirt. "It's not fair if I get naked first, Hajime."

He pulls the shirt over his head with one arm in a swift movement and lets it fall to the floor. He steps closer so that his body can cage yours in against the bed. His knees were nudging your own apart slightly. "We're nowhere near even, Peaches." 

Your fingers trace the patterns of his tattoos, running up his arms and across his chest. Iwaizumi lets you touch him like this, a cool grin curling upon his lips. "You like them?" Your fingers find a dragon wrapped in ivy; the teal creature struggles to the sky on his right arm. Tsubaki flowers bloom across his pec then the more traditional Yakuza tattoos catch your eye. You knew he was a part of a gang, but this was so detailed. You press your mouth to the flowers and nod. "They are beautiful. You are beautiful, Ha-" He cuts you off, catching your mouth with his and kissing you deeply.

The sensuality of the kiss makes your back arch practically into him. When you broke it to breathe, he's smiling down at you brushing your hair back with such careful calloused hands. "No one has ever called me beautiful before, Tsubaki-chan." He nibbles your bottom lip before lifting a hand to your chest. "Can I take all this off you? I want you."

There were moments of softness as your clothes fell away to skin. Iwaizumi’s rough hands roaming gently down your body until he got to your cunt again. You breathed in sharply as he touched you and felt your body react and arch toward him. "Hajime." You moaned as he captured your lips and reached for your hand to place it on his thick considerable cock.

Your delicate fingers wrapping around him caused his breath to catch in his throat. "Fuck, dummy."

You stroked him gently, rubbing your thumb over the slit on his cock as you did so. He caged you in from above as your feather-light touch caused a soft moan to escape his lips.

He hisses through his teeth as your foreheads touch, and you stroke him, your hand tightening a bit as you move it. "Tsubaki..." He whispers against your skin, dropping kisses against your shoulders, "That sweet hand of yours, it probably doesn't feel as good as your cunt. I want to do something for you, though." 

He pulls you with him and rolls onto his back. He pulls your hips to his face roughly, his large hands cupping your ass as he did so. "I'll make you feel good, dummy. Just sit still and enjoy the ride." His teeth nicked your thighs as he pulls you closer to his mouth. "Hajime! Hey, wait. I don't want you to get hurt by me." He looked up at you from between your legs; he’s practically salivating as he says. "Oh, you little dummy. You won't hurt me. I want to make you feel good." He pressed his face to your center, smirking when he felt your thighs clench under his hands. "Sensitive, huh?" You squeal a little bit as he buries his face between your thighs.

You're drenched, and his tongue has you fisting his hair with the first stroke. He speaks against your cunt, something you can't quite hear, but it makes your body vibrate, "Mine." His fingers spread you wide tentative licks against everywhere but where you want him. He's not gentle. He eats you out like a starving man. Getting lost in your taste. You gasp and whine as your body arches against him. His nose brushes against your clit, and your nails dig into his arms. Fingers against the inked limbs.

You're gushing against his mouth as he tugs you against his face more. He hummed against your clit, smirking as your body arches and your full weight finally rests on his face. His tongue flattens against your cunt, as he finally lets his the fingers of his right-hand slip inside of you. "Cum, Tsubaki. Cum for me."

He sucks against your clit, his teeth grazing against it slightly. You gasped, hips bucking slightly. He chuckles as you tug his hair, "Hajime, I..." You came hard thighs locking around his ears as your body falls to his face. You're trying to catch your breath, body folding to the pillow. Hajime slips out from under you, rolling you over and pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. "You okay there, Peaches? You taste so good. I couldn't help myself." He reached for your cheek brushing your hair away from your face gently. "Such a pretty little thing."

Your fingers brush against his inked arms and chest softly. "Did these hurt?" You ask as you catch your breath. He doesn't seem as though he's going to move forward tonight. He's made you cum. It was all he wanted today unless you were up for more. "They hurt like hell. Mat- uh, my tattoo artist has a heavy hand." You trace the dragon as it rolls up his shoulder. "So... Now what?"

Iwaizumi rolls on top of you, nipping your neck, his sharp teeth making you jump. "Now, I'll fuck you. I'll fucking ruin you for anyone else." He looks up at you before taking your chin in his hands. "If you don't want this, let me know. We can stop right now." You leaned forward to catch his mouth, kissing him mid-sentence. "Fuck me, Hajime."

He groans against your mouth, moving to pin you against the bed. A growl slipped from his lips as he pressed you against the bed, he pushed his pants down and his boxers following as well. His cock bounced against his stomach, well-hung; you couldn't help but lick your lips. You noticed more tattoos that traveled down his legs as well. His golden skin is covered in beautiful black ink.

"You're beautiful." You whispered. Iwaizumi reaches for your hand before kissing the inside of your wrist. "You are. Now, lay back for me." You do so, and his body covers yours. He reaches between your legs, grinning down at you, "Such a wet little slut." He made sure to look into your eyes when he degraded you. He was checking to see if this was okay. "Please. Daddy..." His mouth dives into yours, his tongue licking generously into your lips. He lines his cock up to your entrance before pushing inside of you.

A whine escapes your lips. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, dummy. You feel so fucking good." You clutch his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. "Fucking hell." He caught your lips before pushing into your insides more. He bottomed out finally, your walls fluttering around him. Your plush velvet walls fluttered while he lifted his eyes to meet your own. "Are you cumming again? You're so tight." Spots developed in your vision as he ruts into you. His hips grind against your own, the angle of him lifting your hips, but pressing your chest down slightly to the bed made your back arch.

"Harder. Fuck me harder, Hajime."

His hand slips up your chest to your throat, wrapping it around it as he lowered his body to yours, his mouth against your ear. "You got it." He sets a rough pace, his hand squeezing around your neck to control the way your body felt for him. "So fucking tight." He groans as he shifts your hips to change the angle again. You cry out loudly as he continues to rut against you. The head of his cock nudges your cervix entrance, and you arch, a whine escaping your lips. He was stretching you out in the best ways; your entire body arches as you cum unexpectedly, eyes widening as he meets your gaze.

"Came already? Pretty slut. Daddy's turn."

He kisses your mouth before rolling you over, pressing his chest to your back as he presses inside of you again. You’re sensitive from your orgasm and fluttering around him again. He grins against your shoulder before moving his hips roughly against yours; his right hand slides from your hip to your mouth, right hand, and sticking two fingers between your lips, he grins. "Fuck, you're gorgeous like this. All fucked out on my cock. Your mouth open like this. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." He starts pulling his fingers from your lips and finding your clit to make you cum again.

He drives your head into the mattress, and you gasp the angle changes again. "Where do you want me to cum, Dummy?"

"Inside. Please, Daddy."

His green eyes met yours as you spoke, begging him to cum inside. He grabs you by the neck, pulling you up against his chest, and presses his mouth against your ear. "That's it, baby. That's it, so tight." As you cum again, he follows, groaning as he does. "Fuck, what a good girl. Good fucking girl." He presses kisses to your shoulders as your body collapses bonelessly in Hajime's arms. He gently lets your body move to the bed. He brushes a hand through your hair as he pulls out and watches as his cum slips out of your cunt slowly. He pushes it back in with his fingers before looking up at your face. "Let me clean you up and get you some water."

You groan softly before nodding. "Maybe two cups of water. Hajime, I don't think anyone's ever..." He grinned, pressing a kiss to your fingers. "I can tell. I'll be back. Towels?" 

"The linen closet is outside the door. My cups are above the sink. Thank you."

Hajime leaves the room to grab what he needs to clean you up. Meanwhile, you sigh, trying to relax now that your sexual libido's been satiated. It was then you heard his phone go off—the ring tone indicating a text message. You reached for it, surprised when it opens up right away.

shittykawa: Well, is the job done?

Your eyes widen, quickly placing the phone back, unsure as to what he was talking about, but whatever it was, you didn't need to get involved. Hajime came back into the room, moving the damp towel up to your leg while holding a glass toward you in the other. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Hey, I think your phone went off." He continued cleaning you off, reaching for the object with a frown. "Shittykawa, it's not important. Now, do you want me to stay tonight?"

"Yes."

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” He kisses your cheek gently before grabbing his phone and getting up from the bed. You fell into a deep sleep as you waited for him to come back. Meanwhile, Iwaizumi stared out the window in your living room, calling Oikawa quickly. “Pick up, pick up.”

“Iwa-chan, what the fuck are you doing? Why isn’t she dead yet?”

“Listen, Shittykawa. It’s a bad hit. I’m going to kill whoever put it out on here. She’s an asset to the red light society.”

“Are you blinded by pussy? Iwa-chan. She’s Ushijima’s sister. She’s collateral for him. The guy who put the hit out wouldn’t be wrong.”

“Why?”

“Because the amount of money we were paid wasn’t anything to sneeze at. Look, if you don’t kill her, another team might.”

“I don’t care. It’s a bad hit, Tōru. Please.”

“Fuck, you slept with her. Fine… We’ll come up with something… Fuck, Hajime. If she gets you killed, I’ll kill her myself.”

“She won’t. Now, good night…”

“Good night. Enjoy your fucking fuck.”

[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…”

[a-singleboat]

Serious

Word Count: 3.3k

Request: can you do emily prentiss x fem!reader with some angst? Thanks! - anon

Warning(s): Reader gets kidnapped, blood, stabbing, general gore

When you first started dating Emily Prentiss, you knew the risks. It wasn’t easy dating a high-profile government employee, especially when you were roughly six years younger than her. If anything, it made it even harder especially when your lives didn’t seem to line up at all. While she was Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit in the FBI, you were working toward your first pHd out of, hopefully, two. 

So while she was out catching serial killers and the rest of the mortal evil in the world, you were attending classes and conducting research on “The effectiveness of rehabilitation in prisons and the criminal justice system.” It was riveting stuff, really. A pHd in forensic psychology would put you on the path to becoming a criminal researcher like you’d always dream of. 

Well, technically you wanted to be a criminal profiler but you weren’t all too athletic and based on knowing what your girlfriend did, decided on a career change shortly after gaining your bachelors. What Emily did seemed exhausting, quite frankly, and you could make just as much of a change as she did out in the field by sitting in a lab. 

But what made things really hard between the two of you was the fact that due to who you were as a person and what Emily did for a living, you have attracted a very adamant stalker who was twice as likely to turn violent than the rest of them simply because he’d known you earlier on in life.

Unfortunately, your oh-so-loving stalker was a man by the name of James Carlton, who’d felt slighted in the way you’d rejected him several times over the course of your high school career. Yeah, you didn’t really pick up the sentiment of “Treat People with Kindness,” until about midway through your sophomore year of college. Some could say you’d brought this on yourself. 

“I’m okay,” you assured your girlfriend through the phone, crossing your arm over your torso and leaning against the wall. It reeked of cigarette smoke despite the huge sign on the wall stating that smoking was prohibited within fifty feet of the establishment. You peered through the gauze-like curtains, searching the motel parking lot for the tell-tale sign of the FBI’s arrival. “I’m just a bit shaken up. Though, I think he might have my psychology paper. I can just reprint that though.”

“Of course out of everything you’re worried about, it's your goddamn paper. You shouldn’t be worried about your grades when your life is in danger,” Emily advised, the sirens blaring in the background. 

“But my grades are all I have right now, well, except for you.” You risked another glance out the window. “How long until you guys get here?” 

“Five minutes, tops,” Emily assured her. “We’ve already passed the library.” 

A shadow passed in front of the window as you took a step back in shock, the frightening electric blue eyes of the very man you were running from staring straight at you. He pressed a sheet of paper against the window, a sadistic grin spread over his features as he leaned into the musty glass. 

In crude sharpie, the words YOU CAN’T HIDE FOREVER had been scrawled over the careful ink of your psychology paper. You really couldn’t pass that in for a grade now. 

Smoke started to creep into your room through the vents, forcing you into the center of the room as you covered your mouth and did everything you could not to breathe in. You just had to last four more minutes. 

You whimpered as you saw the door handle jiggle, James having disappeared from the window to attempt breaking down the shoddy motel room door. You could barely hear Emily asking what was going on over the thumping of your own heart as your vision blurred. It was either you stopped breathing and passed out or took a breath in and passed out anyways. 

You managed to whisper, “He’s here,” into the receiver before you collapsed, gasping for air. Not even a moment later, you felt a hand at your waist as someone heaved you over their shoulder. Unfortunately for you, it probably wasn’t Emily. 

By the time you came to, you were already thoroughly scared. Your dreams had been anything but pleasant, flashes of torture blinding you even before you were awake. But still, you kept your eyes closed and your breathing even as you tried to figure out where you were.

It felt dark. With nothing covering your eyes, you could tell that it was as well. The air smelled damp, like an old towel that had been left sitting for too long. It was cold as well and as far as you could tell, you were underground. You were willing to bet you were in a cellar of some sort. 

Slowly, you moved your left foot only to realize your ankles had been shackled to the extremely uncomfortable bed. It felt like you were laying on hay, which was completely possible. The prickly sensation at your back was either that or hair, which would have been extremely unfortunate. 

A door opened on the other side of the room, causing you to stiffen. You choked back a sob as you struggled to keep your breathing under control. 

“Oh, Y/n,” James cooed, running a finger down the side of your face. You heard more footsteps before the door slammed shut, causing you to tense up once more. “You’re awake, aren’t you, baby?”

You figured there was no reason to hide anymore, flinching away from him and his use of the pet name. Emily called you baby all the time, something you’d grown to like in your relationship. You never liked the name before her. 

“What?” he asked, pulling down your blindfold. “You don’t like it when I call you baby?”

Instead of focusing on him, you turned your head so you could analyze where you were. You were right, it was dark. There was a dim floor lamp in the far corner, weakly emitting an eerie glow over the room. By the lamp, barely within reach of the light, was another man. He had a gun on his hip and stood protectively in front of the door, as if he were waiting for something.87

James was a lot more prepared for your abduction than you originally thought. This would make it difficult for your rescue but to be honest, you were doubtful that you would make it to the next day. 

He grabbed your face, forcing you to look up at him. You tried to sink further into the scratchy mattress but he followed you, a sadistic smile on his face as he just got closer the more you tried to shrink away. “You thought you were safe?” He got closer, chuckling. His rancid breath washed over your face and you held your breath until it subsided. “You’ll never be safe. Not as long as I’m alive. You know why?”

You really didn’t want to know why. 

“Because I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, darling.” He traced a finger down the side of your face. “You’re never getting away from me again. You’re mine.”

“You’re delusional,” you managed through gritted teeth. “I’ll never be yours. I wasn’t in high school and I sure as hell am not now.”

James scoffed. “You popular girls were always the same. Always thinking you’re better than everyone just because you were well liked.” He slapped you, causing your head to whip to the side. The sting from his palm meeting your cheek hurt more than it normally would. You could already tell that it was already reddening even without the help of a mirror. “Though, I have to give you props. Ashlynn didn’t last this long before she was sobbing for her life. You really surprised me.”

“Ashlynn?” This was news to you. In high school, you’d surrounded yourself with like-minded individuals all more self-conscious than the last. Ashlynn was the “head bitch” as others put it. She was like the Regina George of your friend group. “So after me you’ll go for Georgia and Penny, is that it?” 

“You always were the smart one, weren’t you?” James said, backing off. He walked over to a table just out of sight, picking up a knife and running it over a whetstone a few times. You winced at every stroke, watching as he sharpened his weapon with glee. 

“You really should have saved me for last,” you said, choking down any fear. James raised the blade into the air, admiring the sharp edge before strolling back over to you. He pressed the knife against your collarbone, barely applying any pressure. 

“And why’s that?” 

“Because my girlfriend’s going to come for me,” you said, gasping as he forced the blade into your skin. You felt the trickle of blood slide down the side of your neck until it dripped off onto the mattress. “She’s an FBI agent, you know.”

James rolled his eyes. “And Ashlynn’s husband was a cop. She still died.” He pulled the knife back, resting the tip on your arm. “They still haven’t found her body, you know. It really shouldn’t have been too hard to find though. It’s where you and the rest of them used to hang out everyday after school.”

“Why are you telling me this?” You stiffened your arm, pushing into the mattress to escape the knife. There were two outcomes that you could see. Either Emily dramatically bursted into the cellar and managed to save you just in time or you got marked up and eventually bled out. You crossed your fingers and sent out a mental prayer that Emily would get to you in time. 

The tip of the knife dragged over your arm, splitting your skin like the Red Sea. Strangely, it didn’t hurt. The knife was so sharp that you couldn’t feel anything. You didn’t know if that was a good thing or not but at least it saved you from the pain. 

“Why am I telling you this…?” James brought the knife up and cut down the middle of your shirt, leaving you exposed. He traced a few letters over your stomach with his finger before turning the knife over in his hand, pressing the weapon blade-side down. It cut into your skin, the beginnings of an “M” blossoming on the right side of your stomach. “Because you’ll be dead by morning. If you refuse to be mine then there’s no point in keeping you alive. You think your idiot of an FBI agent can save you in time?” He finished carving his word into your stomach, pain blossoming across your entire midsection causing your sight to go blurry. He’d pressed harder that time which meant you actually felt each excruciating cut he made. 

James took a step back, taking the moment to admire his handy work before thrusting the knife hilt-deep into your stomach. 

You felt the pain, a searing white-hot pain right underneath where your belly button was. If you breathed wrong, you could feel the knife move, which was horrifying in many ways. You tried to make your breaths more shallow on purpose, not wanting to disturb the weapon jutting out from your stomach. 

And, just like a movie, the door burst open a moment later. Shouts of “FBI!” and “Hands up!” could be heard. You watched through blurred vision as James put his hands up, laughing maniacally as the blood left your body. Not only could you feel the blood drip down your collarbone and arm, but you could tell that your stomach was doing a good job of acting as a waterfall, watering the mattress below you. 

Unfortunately for you, your stomach’s waterfall performance was not beneficial to the cause of keeping you alive. The last thing you saw before succumbing to the darkness was your girlfriend’s extremely worried face and the muffled sounds of her beautiful voice. Too bad you didn’t stay awake long enough to hear any more. 

Emily was struggling between acting as the Unit Chief her team needed her to be and playing the understandably worried girlfriend to the woman that was bleeding out in front of her not even four hours ago. Thankfully they’d gotten to you in time. You hadn’t been bleeding for too long and the knife hadn’t been taken out which improved your chances of survival by a good amount. Emily wasn’t really paying attention when Reid was prattling off your survivability rate. She was more focused on making sure you actually survived. 

You’d lost a lot of blood. That wasn’t arguable. By the time they reached you, your neck was drenched as well as your arm. The pool of blood in your stomach wasn’t comforting either and the second she saw what had been carved into your skin, Emily had to excuse herself for a moment to go throw up in the bushes. 

And the worst part… the worst part was that you looked dead. You looked exactly like a victim in one of the many photos she’d see in a day. Your hair was wet--from what, she didn’t know, and you looked awful. After years of looking at the photos and consoling grieving families, she never even imagined that she’d be the one to be consoled. 

“The doctors are hopeful, but she lost a lot of blood,” JJ said, resting a hand on her shoulder. Emily didn’t react. She had your scarf clenched in her hands. It was the same scarf you’d given her after it started snowing on your fifth date together and you had to escape into your apartment that was nearby. You’d said that it looked better on her and smiled. God, she’d give anything to see you smile again. 

It was crazy how five years of love could be erased in just a day. Five years of morning phone calls when Emily was away, five years of at-home dinners after a long case, five years of just existence with you… it hurt to think about how quickly it could all just be gone. 

“This is all my fault,” Emily muttered, twisting your scarf through her hands. She let the fabric slip through her fingers, watching as it fell into a heap on her lap. “I should’ve never left her alone.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Reid was standing in front of her on her left side, his arms crossed across his chest. As much as he tried to make it seem like he hadn’t been crying, he didn’t really do a good job with hiding it. His eyes were red and his cheeks blotchy. The fact that he was sniffling didn’t help either. 

Reid and Y/n were best friends for years before Emily came along. The two of you actually met through Reid. You’d brought him lunch one day and it took about five weeks of seeing you around before Emily got the guts to ask if you were single--to which Reid had smiled wide at and answered that yes, you were single. 

“I was the last person to see her,” he said. “If anything, it was my fault.”

Rossi scoffed. He didn’t know you as well as Reid or Emily but after years of having you as Emily’s plus one for dinners at his mansion, he’s gotten to know you better than most. You saw him as a father figure and he saw you as one of his own. “Neither of you should be blaming yourself. Y/n is here and she’s safe, that’s all the matters now. We can’t change the past.”

Says the man who obsessed over an unsolved case from his prime, Emily wanted to say. But she held back. Arguing wouldn’t get them anywhere and as much as she hated it, Rossi was right. You were safe with six government agents plus one technical analyst and one retired government agent sitting outside the room where you were receiving surgery. 

“Y/n’s tough,” Morgan said, resting his own hand on Reid’s shoulder. He’d been there a lot toward the beginning of your relationship, quickly becoming the older brother type that you never get to experience as an only child. “You both know that. She’ll pull through.”

The night passed into its eighth hour when the doctors finally emerged. Emily was the first to stand, slapping Reid’s shoulder until he woke up and stood with her. The rest of the team had either passed out or left. Alvez had gone home, as had Lewis. The only other people that remained were JJ, Morgan, Garcia and Rossi. 

“Most of the injuries she’d sustained were superficial. They should heal within a week or so,” the doctor, Dr. Smith, informed them. “She’ll be in pain for a few good weeks as she heals. The stab wound to her stomach will take longer to heal, the knife having gone deep enough to penetrate her uterus. We expect she’ll make a full recovery.”

Emily frowned. “And the carving?”

“Wasn’t deep enough to scar,” Dr. Smith assured her. “In fact, most of the knife injuries should heal without scarring. Just the stab to her abdomen should scar.” 

Reid nodded, thanking the doctor before turning to Emily. He looked more relieved than worried, which was a good thing. Y/n would be okay. 

“I thought I was going to lose her,” Emily said. Your scarf had become a bracelet of sorts, securly tied around her wrist. It still smelled like you, though it had faded since you’d given it to her. 

“Do you want to go in and see her first?” Reid offered, looking over at the Intensive Care Unit you’d been moved into. They could see you through the glass now. You were asleep, most likely exhausted, and rightfully so. You looked peaceful asleep, a familiar and welcome sight, though she usually saw you like this when she came home late from cases. 

“Shouldn’t we let her sleep?” Emily asked, eyes not moving from your still frame.

Reid looked over his shoulder. “Well, I don’t think anyone’s going to go home until she’s awake. You could go sit with her until she does.” 

Emily nodded but she didn’t move. She was torn between wanting to be by your side and wanting to just leave you be. Reid pushed her toward you, motioning for her to get along with it. 

She crossed the threshold, closing the door behind her. Immediately, the silence was apparent. Compared to the occasional sound of chatter in the hallways, your room was completely silent. It was a welcome change, though Emily would have much rather preferred the space be filled with your laughter. 

Emily pulled a chair from the wall over to where you laid, sinking into the uncomfortable faux leather. She reached for your hand, taking it in hers. Your skin was still as soft as ever thanks to the hand cream you use nearly every chance you get. The dumb little habit had things slipping from your fingers more often than not but Emily was always there to catch the occasional glass. 

You had a few paper cuts from the speed at which you read, and though you were nowhere near Reid’s 20,000 WPM, Emily swore that you consumed material faster than he did. For a brief moment, Emily thought about leaving you. The world was dangerous enough as is without a constant target on your back because of her occupation. Maybe you’d fare better with someone who wasn’t as high profile. 

But then she thought about what you would say--you’d reprimand her for being an absolute dumbass before telling her that dinner was ready with a smile. Emily leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your palm before settling back into the seat. She refused to let go of your hand, bringing the chair as close as possible.

Emily would wait a thousand years if it meant you’d wake up and be in her arms once again. She drifted off to sleep with your hand still firmly intertwined with her own, a reminder that you were safe and that she would never let go of you again. 

TAGLIST

PERMANENT

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[barafishu]

Glorified Jail: Part 1

Here it is, I finally posted something! I’ve had this in my drafts for so long that it feels good to finally put it out there for someone to read. Now, this is going to have parts to it (which I’m still polishing). But I’d like to thank everyone for being so kind and patient with me. So, without further ado, here you go! Enjoy!

◈◈◈ 

Male Reader x Deer Minotaur (Nyx)

I was walking to my job, it just being another of work for me. I walked up some old, metal stairs to where all the workers go. When I walked in, I saw the costume designer with pins in his mouth. "Early as always, Jiàn," He spoke through clenched teeth. "Of course, gotta set an example for the other performers," I replied. "That's my boy!" I turned to see my boss, Catherine Valdez. "It's almost time for everybody else to start showing up, so go get ready." She said as she lovingly patted my shoulder. I hummed and left to go ready in the makeup room. I made a beeline for the clothesline and pulled out my outfit. I grinned in excitement as I began to strip.

After I was "suited" up, the next thing to do was apply makeup. I hardly need any because I have a wonderful complexion, but I do put on some concealer for some blemishes, do my brows, eyes, and put lip gloss on. When I'm ready to go on, Catherine came in to see if I was ready. I turned around to look at her. "You look sexy, as usual," She said and I smiled softly. "Thanks." I stood up and walked to stand in front of her. "Let's get going, hot stuff." She teased and I chuckled as I followed her out into the den. The place was bathed in red, as usual. Patrons were seated in their seats, drinking to their heart's content. Alistair's voice huskily spoke throughout the room through a speaker. 

"Hey everyone, and welcome to Red Horizons! Don't forget, tonight is guys night, so drinks for the men are all half price. And now, our next dancer is ready to come out for you! Someone better call a priest, cause it's gettin' sinful in here with this demon, Incubus!" I heard cheers and whistles from the crowd. "It's showtime Jiàn, give 'em a good show," Catherine said as she gave me a wink before she walked away. A promiscuous smile graced my features as I stepped out from behind the curtain and approached the pole in the middle of the room. The crowd erupted with cheers and whistles when I grabbed the pole, swinging myself skillfully around on it.

I moved with grace on the stage, gripping the pole as I spun myself around it. After a few minutes, I started unbuttoning my billowy, white shirt with my back to the pole. I slipped my shirt off as I moved down the pole to my knees before jumped back up and using my shirt now to swing around on the pole before tossing it aside. More whistling erupted from the crowd, and a handful of bills landed on the stage. I continued to tease the crowd, making sure to really show off my figure. "Let's hear it for Incubus! He'll be back later tonight to put on another show for you guys, so stick around! For now, sit back, grab a cool drink and relax. We'll have another show for you guys starting in just a bit!"

With another spin on the pole, I crouched down to father the bills on the stage. With my back to everyone. Several hands reached out to cop a feel of my butt, and when I wagged it around, those same hands slipped more bills under my strap. After collecting all my money, I disappeared into the back to put it away and touch up my makeup and to drink some water. It's my break now, but I wanted to check in with Louis at the bar. The rest of the night was filled with taking drink orders, dancing, and doing a couple of private shows. Soon it was 1am, ending my shift. After a long night of work, I was excited to be going home.

I changed into my day clothes and closed my locker, not forgetting to put on my combination lock. I got outside into the back alley that leads to the employee parking lot. I sigh, staring up at the sky and seeing that the moon is full. "Hello, excuse me?" A rumbling voice shakes me from my poetic thoughts. I jump, staring straight ahead at a broad figure. I reach into my pocket for my keys, which are adorned with pepper spray and a little keychain that looks like a cat, but can be used for stabbing. "Sorry. I, uh-" he holds his hand up defensively. His eyes looked almost empty, as if only filled with regret. His face is contorted into some form of distress, lips quivering as his eyes dart to and fro.

He puts a hand over each of his pockets, face still looking in fear, until his right hands falls over his breast pocket. He breathes a sigh of relief and looks at me. He starts talking, but not in a language I understand. But eventually he finds a thread I can follow. "I was a fool. I had settled down and yet I squandered my one chance at a proper life. Felt the road would always take me in." My brows knitted together, still being suspicious of this man. He took a hesitant breath as he released his clenched fist. "I ended up throwing away the one place I could call a home. It's been rotting for who knows how long and now I'm old. Always wondered if someone would ever take over and treat it right. Now, you do remind me of myself, but I wasn't a good man. Hopefully you don't have the mean streak I had."

He waits for me to confirm or deny if my character matched his own when he was my age. "Well... I'm far from perfect, but I do try my best," I reply casually. "Is that so? I suppose that's as good as it gets. At least nowadays you can try." He stops suddenly but continues nonetheless. "Back in my day my father treated me like dirt and no one batted an eye. I saw that happen a lot, too — I wasn't the only one. It made beasts out of my siblings and I, having a father like that. But don't you think i"m blaming him. You can only point the finger at your dad for so long, eh? At least eventually I found a way to make a living." The man rambles in the same language from before.

I've realized that it's Italian and perhaps I couldn't recognize it in the beginning was because of his drunken state slaughtered it. Sometimes he'll stop and stare at me, as if expecting a response. A nod or a grunt is enough to get him going again. His voice becomes graver and deeper as the night goes on. It is soothing, in a way, even if at times he'll again allude to having a rough, sorrowful past. Eventually, he stops and his gaze seems to shine with lucidity once more. "I must say I am terribly sorry. I'm afraid I never asked for your name." I immediately tell him that it's Jiàn. I don't mind telling him my actual name, since he's so out of it right now. "I'm glad I got to see you again, Jiàn."

I try to recall if I've met him before, but nothing comes up. Maybe his thoughts are too muddled perhaps due to alcohol that he thinks we've met before. The man's eyes become glazed again and his hand starts shaking. "You seem like an open minded man. Things have changed so much. I think it's the technology, spirits, and the arcane don't mix well with it. Or maybe... it's something in the eyes. The unknown is not as frightful either, so much mystery has been lost. and so the bridge with the fantastical broke down." The old man freezes for a moment, then looks back to me. "Oh, I was rambling again, was I? I'm sorry." I shake my head, offering a kind smile.

"Don't worry about it, that's interesting to hear... The world is a more mysterious place than we like to think. Perhaps fantastical things aren't as common, but they manage to slip by the cracks every once in a while. Or perhaps the supernatural is still out there, speaking in whispers instead of speaking plainly," I share my perspective. "Whispers... You are quite a sensitive young man. There's humility in sensing how much there is out there, yet to be learned. Perhaps... Yes, you seem to have turned out nicely. Special. Hum... perhaps you can do it. Here, I'd like you to have this. I'm sure you'll take better care of it than I did." The man takes an old piece of paper form his breast pocket and extends it to me.

"The deed for the place I told you about. The one I squandered. I'm old, tired. I would like you specifically to have it. I don't quite feel like I have any more time to waste." I stare at the folded piece of paper and he waits a moment before continuing. "Just take it. It's yours. A grandiose place, a palace. Time's taken a toll, but you will love it. Just, please, take care of it, be good. Give him a purpose." I raise an eyebrow at him. Did this old man try to give me a palace just like that? Now who would do that? His wandering gaze betrays his drunken state. At times he seems outright confused, as if he didn't know how he got here in the first place.

I can't take it. It wouldn't be right to take advantage of someone like him. And that's assuming that piece of paper is a deed. It might just be a used napkin with a nice seal. The old man's gaze wanders around. With his hand still extended he squints his eyes at me, then looks down to the paper. He struggles to put his thoughts together... but for a brief moment his expression grows firm and lucid. "You must think I'm crazy. But please understand, this is my last chance to do it right. Just... take the deed." I give in to the old man's pleas. I'm just accepting a piece of paper, after all. It's probably nothing, and if it indeed is something important I can try returning it.

The old piece of parchment looks unimaginably ancient — older than you, that's for sure. But the wax on it seems reasonably new, perhaps even fresh. I break open the seal and examine the paper's contents. It's gibberish, written in an alphabet I've ever seen before. Well, it would seem like this was all for nothing. I stick the paper in my jacket pocket. The corners of his mouth wrinkle, and he shakes ever so slightly. But his joy is short-lived. His gaze wanders once again. When his focus returns to you be furrows his brow, taking in each of my features one at a time. The man mumbles something to himself, takes a sip of his coffee, and smiles. "You are a very kind young man, Jiàn."

He does remember your name, at least. "I'm so sorry... I ran away and after a while, I never looked back at what I ran from. Please, forgive me..." I part my lips in confusion. "What do I have to forgive you for? Who are you?" I see the man hesitate and break into a nervous sweat. He then suddenly stops and seems to once again lose all sense. I say my farewell to the old man and thank him for the wonderful company. He subtly bows to me. "No, Jiàn. It is I who ought to be grateful. It was a pleasure meeting you." I leave him and start taking drink orders. The rest of the evening, all I could think about was that weird interaction I had with that old man. "Why talk to me like that? We're strangers... Ugh, I'm too tired for this." 

I now sat in my apartment on my bed. I check the deed again. I couldn't read it at first — maybe I was too tired. But now the once-gibberish characters make some sense to my brain. It's like reading a language that had branched off from my native tongue a few centuries prior. It is just alien enough to be unrecognizable at first. However, when I squint hard enough I find that the characters remind me of my alphabet. And then the words' meaning pops up in my mind. It's unsettling, in a way. It feels as if my brain is shifting from inside out the more I look into it. But try as I might, it's hard to even acknowledge this discomfort — it melts away at the blink of an eye. 

Maybe the old man really had give me something of value after all, not a worthless scrap of paper. I sigh as I settle in my bed, having already stripped myself of my day clothes. It was around noon and while most people would be working or doing another number of things, all I was going to do was sleep. I release a relaxed sigh, happy to just be home and especially, in a bed. However, I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned and was going from one side of my bed to the other. I huffed as I flopped onto my back and stared at my ceiling. In the corner of my eye, I could see the deed. I felt as if the old parchment was making fun of me.

I muttered a string of curse words as I sat up and harshly grabbed the paper. I narrowed my eyes at it. But as I continued to stare intensely at it, I realized that the words were starting to make sense. It hurt my eyes and I could feel a headache coming on, but I persevered. But I felt as if the paper was sucking in and now I didn't even have the choice to look away. It felt like my surroundings were starting to shift and warp, but I couldn't look to be sure. Suddenly, and to my amazement, the old writing began to glow, illuminating my face. "What the..." I breathed as I ultimately became lost in the scribbles. The last thing that I remember was that I felt extremely dizzy and sleepy... then darkness.

◈◈◈ 

When I wake up, I slowly realize that I'm not being greeted by my bedroom ceiling. Instead, I only see the large leaves of tropical trees. I abruptly sit up and vigorously look around. I'm in a pocket of trees, I think. "What... What the hell is happening?" I breathe as I begin to panic. I stagger as I get up on my feet and continue to look around. It's then that I spot a giant structure to my right and I realize that it's a palace. Breathing hard I look to the infinite horizon behind me. I look back to the palace as I think about all those details. Something catches my eye, however; a porch overlooking the valley beneath the palace. The valley stretches to the cloudless horizon, framed to the right and left by more cliffs.

Looking down to the bottom I can just make out the outline of a flourishing riverbed stretching out. I notice there's a cave opening in the cliff wall, right below the palace. Its exit lined with statues, the details of which I can't make out at this distance. My thoughts are halted as a more pressing matter sneaks up on me: the heat. Regardless of the weirdness around me, there's no escaping the sweltering sun. I walk to the entrance. The doors are unlocked. It's hard to tell for how long this place has been abandoned. The building itself surely is old, the exterior is severely decayed. It wouldn't be surprising if the interior is teeming with wild animals, rotten walls, and fallen pieces of ceiling.

But instead it's just... dusty. Humid and stagnant too — the walls are water damaged and there's a lot of mold. However it's not as bad as one would think. I call out in the hopes someone, anyone, might be there. Maybe some squatters? But just like outside, there's no signs of human life at all in the palace. Up ahead is a tall spiral staircase going both up and down. No matter how many twists and turns I took, the hallway never wrapped back into itself. Backtracking all the way back to the parlor was the only option. The spiral staircase seemed much more inviting than wandering the seemingly endless hallways. The marble handrails were lined with burnt-out lamps.

It was impossible to see much in the darkness down below. The second floor was mostly bedrooms. But here, the outer hallways were lined with sprawling windows showing a courtyard behind the palace, close to the cliff's edge. I took the hallway leading further towards the palace's back, and a single turn to the right brought me to a vast room. Right beside its entrance was a bar and to the left was a medium sized table and two couches. Further left there was a tall window of stained glass, like the ones in a cathedral. And through a glass door beside this window was a garden. Behind the counter, the bottles of fine spirits are still half-filled. They glimmer in exquisite browns, reds, and blues.

I close my eyes, and imagine how this place was decades ago. The whistling wind shifts. It turns into the hum of human life, footsteps and breathing. Chairs being dragged, cutlery and plates clinking. Laughter, whispers, people talking to each other from one side of the room to the other. People dressed so nicely. A barman in front of me, serving the finest drinks I can imagine. He knows my name and how I like it. And eagerly listening to all my rants and complaints. I open my eyes. I'm back in the abandoned palace, majestic and destroyed. One can understand why the old man wished to pass it on to someone who would care for it. It's then that I remember the deed.

I pat all over my body until I feel something in my jacket's breast pocket. I tap my the pocket once more, making sure the crumpled parchment is still there. Even the yellowed, stained paper exudes warmth now. I stand up and walk out. As I do so, I notice a large purple stain on the floor behind the counter, and the glass shards of what used to be a wine bottle. I proceed further into the palace. There's a lot to see still. All the way down the hallway a set of sliding glass doors beckon me. But from afar the difference is clear. The wallpaper is ripped, and one of the doors is cracked. I step on something hard. A revolver bullet. I push the door to the side and am greeted by an even more chaotic sight. It's the palace's lounge.

The tables was overturned, and all the chairs and plates lay broken on the floor. There's a darkened stain in the middle of the room which trails into the kitchen. It leads me past the pantry and to the massive iron door of a cold room, which is locked from the outside and boarded up. All around the kitchen things are strewn about. There's even a pan on the stove with what must be fossilized food, and the sink is filled with dirty dishes. On a nearby counter is a revolver covered in thick dust, and I think back to the bullet in the hallway and the stain on the restaurant floor. The old man wasn't kidding when he said he wasn't a good person. I breathe in, preparing myself for a terrible sight.

The rusted door fights against my will, but stands no chance. Darkness pours out. The stench strikes first. It's the stagnant smell of blood and rot. It clings to my nose and mouth like a bitter oil. Before my eyes can adjust to the darkness a second wave of stench hits. It's like a farm, too — the scent of dusty fury, maybe even hay, but cooped up in a hot, humid room for decades. And, last but not least, stale shit and piss. This place has it all, the stench of a thousand different deaths. The light pouring into the cold room shines on the floor in front of the doorway. Empty cans of soup and glasses of jam are strewn about over the trail of old blood. Whoever was locked in here didn't die quickly.

The cold room extends into absolute darkness, a hallway in and of itself. I proceed, scraping my shoes on the floor so I don't trip over the refuse. The entire floor is covered with discarded glasses and cans. Whatever scraps were left in them has long rotted, dried and crumbled into dust. Both my footsteps and breathing echo. The overbearing humidity drapes across my back, and my breathing becomes agitated. The stench is stronger. My sight finally adapts to the dark. At what must be the cold room's far wall, I notice something. Whatever is it, it's slouched on the floor, motionless. As if it died where it stood after who knows how long locked here. My eyesight is used to the dark now.

The distant pillar of light bleeding from the doorway is enough to avoid tripping on the discarded glass. I crouch in front of the thing. It seems to have the head of a deer, but it's been mixed with other animals that I can quite place. It's covered in fur, aside from the patches of sickly, exposed skin. Instead of paws or hooves, it has taloned toes, along with a sickle claw. Half of its skull is exposed. The bone still has a smattering of blood dust near the remaining flesh. Its left eye socket is empty and I can't help but involuntarily gulp. And while it seems to have long hair that's in a lazy braid, it can't hide how deathly thin this stag was. It died from starvation, not from whatever destroyed its face.

That's enough. I stand up and turn back to leave. As I do so, my rustling clothes and echoing footsteps break the curtain of silence. That's when I heart it. Breathing as faint as a moth's wings flapping. I look back to the corpse. I realize that it's looking at me. Its chest expands and contracts. I take a step forward and it follows my movements. I stand my ground. The thing's eye remain locked on me, squinting slightly when a string of fresh air blows into the cold room. The exit is just five seconds away if I turn back and sprint. If push comes to shove, the gun is still outside. The thing remains on the floor, barely moving. The blinking of its eye is drawn-out and deliberate.

Its head droops down, as if it can barely hold itself awake. Its lips, or whatever remains of them, part. Its breathing becomes easier to hear. "I beg your forgiveness. I'm in such a sorry state." What an understatement. "What are you?" I ask as I continue to study the peculiar creature. I quickly realize that he's completely naked, not that that bothers me at all. "I am the Palace's Keeper and Prisoner of its walls." His voice is raspy, nearly a string of grunts booming through the room in contrast with his disheveled body. "And you're the Master now, which makes me your servant, bound to your will. I cannot disobey your orders." The thing cradles his head between his arms, his voice comes out muffled.

"If you wish to know what thing am I, I am a hybrid monster. About my sorry state, the previous Master did this to me. As your servant, I shall answer the Master's questions." He remains with his face hidden for awhile longer, he does look up, he stares at the exit and not at me. He squints his eye and raises a deathly thin forearm over it. He scuttles an inch to the side, so my shadow covers him. "You are a prisoner, but you are also the Palace's Keeper?" His eye narrows and ear droops. "Yes. I was sentenced by the High Council to spend eternity here. I am an abomination and failed the one task that was given to me. The High Council made this land to house me in my damnation."

I take a step forward, intrigued by this creature. "The Master is meant to be my torturer, and to the end is given control over the land. But there was a past Master, and with at his will I became the Keeper." He closes his eye for a moment, lost in a daydream. "Why were you locked here?" I ask before I looked around the disgusting room once more. What could possess somebody to lock someone up in here? "That is what the last Master saw fit. He shot me then commanded that I stay here, in this room. But as you can see, I am undying. It only hurt, I cannot be killed. He locked the door as well, but his command was enough. I cannot disobey, as I had no way out. I am a prisoner, after all." 

I shifted on my feet, feeling sorry for the broken creature in front of me. "Why did the previous Master do this to you?" The stag recoils, shrinking further into a fetal position. "Being a monster is reason enough for damnation, Master. He chose to return the Prison to its original purpose, I presume." His bony jaw opens and closes, chewing on nothing. "It hardly matters, regardless. I cannot die." His open wounds stand out as he speaks. "How can I help with your injuries?" He exhales sharply at my words. His face sinks again between his legs. "Master need not worry about me. I cannot die, and it stopped hurting a long time ago. A skull feels no pain." I pull the Palace's deed from my breast pocket.

"So it's this that makes me the new Master?" I ask as I hold up the parchment. "Correct. The ownership of Havena was transferred to you. I always know who the current Master is and his name." I've asked all my questions but another comes to mind now. "What's your name?" He hesitates before answering. His burning eye shifts ever so slightly. "The Master holds the right to pick my name. But if it is your wish to know, the one I was given at birth is Nyx." For a split second his remaining eye reflects a strand of light from outside. He realizes then how tired, thirsty, and hungry he is. But it doesn't matter. After all, he cannot die. As a servant his duty takes precedence.

The stag readjusts to a kneeling position. The cracking of his kneecaps bounces off the cold room's walls. He bows his head to me. "The bond between jailer and prisoner is born from the deed, while that between Master and Servant is willfully chosen. Will Master hear my oath of servitude?" I raise an eyebrow at the skeletal stag's gesture. I cannot muster a response. In my silence, the stag glances up to me. He starts shaking, barely able to hold his hands together. His lips tremble in anticipation. "Master, this land was designed to torture me." The stag's voice cracks. For the first time I notice a tail thrashing behind him. 

"The oath of servitude is what keeps it at bay. Please, Master, allow me to recite it and take me into your service." I can only nod in response. With my authorization he is able to proceed, after a minute to bring himself together again. "Prisoner Nyx pledges loyalty and servitude to the Prison's Master. The Prisoner is made Keeper of the Palace above the valley, and is bequeathed the power to realize the Master's will. The Master in turn binds Havena, forbidding it's malicious entities from leaving said valley. The realm was engineered to torture the Prisoner, and indeed its mission shall be accomplished. The Prisoner will carry the burden of servitude, but shall not suffer Havena's wrath within the Palace's territory. The Prisoner, shielded by his Master's will, is made safe as long as his duty is fulfilled."

Nyx dares not look up to me. Once he finishes his oath, his silence is broken only by the drops of sweat dripping from his trembling face. "This is a lot to take in, if I'm being honest. And this oath you were talking about, what does it mean?" I ask as I take in all of his injuries, counting them one by one. "It's what protects me, my lord. There are creatures in the valley, they cannot harm me inside the Palace as long as I am under the Master's service. The previous oath remained for as long as the Palace remained without a Master. With your arrival I am made vulnerable again." He pauses, his breathing becoming even more shaky. "Please, allow me into your service..." I bite my lips slightly, feeling a weight settle on me.

"Very well. Assuming you are speaking the truth... yes, I accept you as my servant." My words bounce off the walls and slither their way out of the cold room. The light dripping from the door behind me falters. My shadow, draped over the deer minotaur, flickers and shifts slightly. The world itself shudders under my words and responds by shifting into a new shape around me. Nyx still looks down, his frame now slouched further forwards and no longer shaking. "My gratefulness knows no bounds. I shall not disappoint. I may be in a sorry state now, but I'll be quick to recuperate. If Master so allows, I will take my leave. I need only take a trip to the infirmary to patch myself up."

He raises his head ever so slightly, glancing at the doorway. "...I am still unable to leave the room, until you command me otherwise." Undying as he may be, the stag's body is atrophied. He won't go far on his own. I kneel down to his level. Despite the darkness, I can make out his scapulae and sagging skin. "Can you walk on your own?" Nyx averts his eye by looking down to his legs. "Master ought not worry about me. I can make it to the infirmary on my own. I've been through worse." He won't look up to me. There's just a hint of pride in his voice. "Very well. You have my permission to leave the room." Without uttering a word the stag bows to me, then puts his hands on the ground to try and rise up.

He struggles, first in snapping his knees from this new position and then in finding his balance. He succeeds after holding on to one of the shelves. One step at a time he ambles towards the door, taking breaks to rest against a wall and adjust his eyesight to the light. It takes a long time, but he leaves the cold room and makes his way to the infirmary. I follow him closely, making sure he doesn't trip and get hurt. His back is covered in bed sores. Against all odds, Nyx can indeed make it on his own. The infirmary has layers upon layers of dust and rust. Squinting his eye, Nyx walks up to the drawers. He examines each on, silent, until one of them reveals shards of green glass and a purple, dried out stain.

The stag slouches forward and sighs. He scrapes a finger on the drawer, trying to gather some of the purple dust, but it's no use. He continues looking around and I do the same. All I find are dusty bandages, long rotted medications. I put it back when I notice Nyx's intense gaze on me. "What are we looking for exactly?" He takes a hesitant breath before cautiously answering my question. "The only thing that can heal me is... the Master's blood." My posture straightened at this and I repeated his words. The stag nods meekly, "The Master's blood heals me." This is a turn of events, which is a complete understatement if you ask me. "Uh, how much blood do you need?"

I'm certainly not out here giving out a whole blood donations worth of blood. "The severity of my wounds determines the amount needed. I estimate that it'd only take.... about a tablespoon. But it is your decision of how much to give me." I can't help but sigh in relief, saying that that's something I can sacrifice. "Past masters chose to make a small cut along the fleshy part of your thumb." I nod and look around for something sharp, preferably a clean scalpel. I soon found one and made sure it was clean before positioning it against the soft flesh at the base of my thumb. I suck in a deep breath and release it simultaneously when I cut. In the corner of my eye, I see Nyx flinch. 

A red line that's about a centimeter long begins to show. "Is that alright?" I ask as I look up at Nyx. "Yes... that's perfect." He looks longingly at my hand, as if he's been waiting for this this whole time. I hold out my hand to him and he licks his dry lips but I can still tell he doesn't trust me. He nears towards my hand similar to a wild animal. I wait patiently and soon, I feel him begin to lick up my blood. He breathes in deeply through his nose before he begins to hungrily suck on my hand. He grabs my hand and pulls it towards him, seemingly impatient at the pace he has been going. It's only been a few minutes, but I can already notice some of his wounds healing. The stag notices me watching.

He pulls back and his lips, or what remains of them, curl into a proud half-smile. "Yes. I can heal quite quickly, provided I have master's blood for it." With one hand, Nyx squeezes out more blood onto his fingers and reaches a hand to his back. His fingers seem to barely graze one of the bed sores. "Let me help you with that. You can't see it." He droops his ear in defeat, knowing full well I'm right. However, he turns his back to me with a speed betraying his eagerness. His tail flicks to and fro behind him. I take the scalpel into my hand once more and deepen the cut. I dab a piece of old gauze on the flowing blood and get to work. The stag's wounds have a black tinge to them.

A dark oil seems to have accumulated on them, oozing down his back in clearly defined rivers. He flinches when the fabric touches his damaged skin, but pushes back against me at the same time. His wounds close quickly — in an almost unsettling speed. ten minutes later my blood has clotted, but it was enough to rid Nyx of his most egregious bed sores. He lays a hand on his skull. "I'll need a lot more blood for this." I ask if I need to cut my other hand. Nyx has a shy curve on his lips when he looks up to me from the bed. His tail flicks to the left, to the right. He swings his taloned feet over the floor. When he speaks his voice is grave, however, rumbles with sobriety.

"You've been too kind already, Master. It would be terribly unfitting of a Keeper to impose a task upon his Master, let alone as many as you've aided me with so far." His one remaining eye is half-closed. "Please, worry not about me." He speaks then with a twinge of relief. "Unless Master has a task for me, I shall take some rest here and then wash myself. I am most unfitting now, for a Keeper of the Palace. Master need not worry." I frown at that. "Shouldn't you have some food first? What if you pass out in the bathroom?" I ask as I subconsciously count every one of his ribs.

"That shall not be an issue. I can obtain sustenance now that you've accepted me into your service. The Master commands Havena, and through the oath you have bequeathed me some of your power. I shall not go hungry again. There is much I can gladly teach you about the land, Master. It shall tend to  your needs, if you know how to lead it. Observe." For half a second it's as if the entire world blinks out around me, and my mind goes blank alongside it. Now Nyx had in his hands an overflowing bunch of grapes. "Do you like grapes? I hope these are to your liking." I hesitate before accepting food from him. Shouldn't he the one eating first?

"The Master eats first, only then may the Keeper feed. Regardless, Master has been kind to me, and I would be happy to share with thee." The stag seems eager to have me taste the grapes. They are impossibly sweet but I only take a few so he may start eating. He flicks his ears and tail at my enjoyments, then starts wolfing down the grapes. He barely looks up to me now. As soon as he's run out of grapes a new bunch appears in his hands, then a cup of water and more fruits still. When he does finally look up to me, he slows down and tried to clean his muzzle of all the juicy bits. His eyes betrays a tinge of self-consciousness.

"I am sorry. I am more a beast than I am man. Sometimes it gets the better of me. I should not be so brutish around Master. Although, in my defense, my table manners are excellent when I have the benefit of not being starved." He cracks a half smile. Even naked, with a disfigured muzzle covered with grape juice, Nyx looks up to me with a noble-like posture: his back is straight and his shoulders shift slightly to a broader stance. There's a tinge of pride in his barely noticeable smile — the small joy of having kept his dignity even in impossibly harsh circumstances. Perhaps this would be a good moment to let the stag have some privacy. But before I speak, I notice the change in his eyes as he stares at me.

He sucks in a quiet gasp as his eye almost pops out of his head. I'm startled by this and quickly ask what's wrong. "You... You have her eyes..." A bitter smile falls on my lips. "Her eyes, huh? Guess I still have girly eyes." Now it was Nyx's turn to be confused. I notice this and say, "Ah, I was born a girl but realized that I'm actually a guy. I started hormone treatment and had surgery to remove my breasts. Now I'm legally Jiàn Talisko." I can see so many questions swirling in his eyes. He opens his mouth but closes it immediately. "I'll let you have your rest. I'll come back to check up on you later." Nyx bows to me — dignified, despite the juices running down his mouth and chest.

"I shall be presentable after washing up, Master. Worry not about me." I smile and give him a nod. "Very well. If you do need help just... Yell, alright? I don't want you getting hurt. Even if you can't die, as you say." Nyx takes a good look at me. His dark eye glimmers softly under the infirmary's light. There's almost a wetness to them. He breaths so slowly as he gazes at me, tail flickering to and fro. He takes in every feature of my face, one at a time. "Thank you for releasing me, Master." His eye betrays his drowsiness. He bows to me and, in doing so, nearly falls asleep. I tell him to go get his rest. "I will." I let him have his privacy. Once Jiàn's gone, Nyx breathes in a shaky breath.

"It can't be... yet he has the same eyes as her and the same last name. It has to be her... but now she's a he. Maybe that would be a problem for others, but he's still has to be the same person I've grown to admire. He has to be..." Nyx thought before he succumbed to sleep. I'm back in the ruined hallway. It stretches into the eating hall and further into the Palace. Up ahead something catches my eye: a leather-bound volume. A cursory look reveals most of its pages have been torn out, but the covers back side contains something written in the same script from the deed. The glyphs shift and twist under my gaze, marching into place the harder I stare.

After a few minutes however it turns uncomfortable, as if my mind was being drilled by the paper. I take a seat at the bar, just a foot away from the green glass shards scattered about over the purple stain. I lose myself in deciphering this script. 

Nyx's Sentence

Hereby the High Council of Mer'elleth sentence the Prisoner Nyx to eternal damnation for his meekness and cowardice in disobeying his task. With this sentence his prison is created, the Land known as Havena, born out of the High Council's will. Havena shall serve as a kingdom to lost souls. Among the mortals of Earth, a Jailer will be picked to command and rewrite the realm. The Jailer and the Havena's mission is to secure the Prisoner's eternal torture. The Jailer shall enjoy power and freedom to rewrite Havena as to better enact his vision. Nyx of Khaen with every drop of his blasphemous blood is hereby sentenced to Havena. 

By this decree the High Council's will is done.

I'm pulled from my trance by the bang of a door closing down the hallway. The light around me has shifted. I look back to the garden and the sun is already setting. Time passed in a flash, and now the barely registered steps on marble floor reaches my ears. The stag enters the lounge, sees me, and bows. "Hello, Nyx. Did you sleep well?" I greet him. "I did, Master. I must thank you for allowing me rest." I smile and slid off my chair. "That's good to hear. I take it you have no issue with your bath?" I ask warmly, happy to not smell the decades of filth on his fur. "I did not." Nyx stand up and looks at me directly.

"I should ask for your forgiveness. I left you waiting without providing a tour of the Palace. That was awfully unfitting of my position as the Palace's Keeper. I am at your disposal now, however. There are a few questions eating away at me, if you don't mind. But we can leave them for later if you aren't feeling well," I say. "I am well enough to fulfill my duty. What is it Master wishes to know?" I give into his stubbornness, knowing that I've basically been ignoring his role. "Well, to start off... I'll admit I'm a little worried about you. How are you feeling? Was the shower enjoyable?" The stag shifts his gaze, trying to read my expression and tone. Looking for a tinge of irony, or perhaps malice.

"I — I am well. It was quite peculiar showering after all those years. I had forgotten what water felt like. It is fortunate that my — my wounds were closed. It could have been a painful affair otherwise. For quite a while I just stood there, under the water. Thinking and feeling. All of that is to say... Yes, I am doing well. It is kind of you to ask. Is that all you wished to know?" After being reassured that he's alright, I move onto my most wanted answered question. "How did I get here? I kinda just woke up nearby." Nyx averts his eyes before forcing himself to meet my gaze once more. "Well, the powers in the Deed had brought you to this plain of existence."

I tilt my head, silently asking him to elaborate. "You are still on Earth, just in a different dimension. This dimension was created by the High Council, and they are the ones who have granted you the power to bend the laws of this reality." I say that I understand, but this leads me to another question. "This place... it isn't normal. In other words... what kind of place is this?" The stag's gaze goes to the floor. His feet scrape against it. "This realm was created to imprison me, the jailer's mission is to keep watch. And for that purpose the High Council saw it fit that matter could be spontaneously created... So the jailer's job would not be interrupted by 'petty things' such as material limitations,"

He pauses to look up at me and I nod for him to continue. "It is, as well, the Master's compensation. Being able to create whatever your heart desires of thin air... that is quite a reward, wouldn't you say?" I chuckle and agree with him. "That's right. This is no small power, with some creativity anyone could make a fortune off this place." I say, knowing that I'm barely scraping the surface of attaining such wealth, not that that was a goal for me. I'm content with what I have right now, however; no one wants to say no to owning a few nice things.. "Well, there are a few limitations... The realm refuses to make gold and silver in large quantities. As keeper it is my duty to instruct you on this matter."

"I'd appreciate that a lot, but we can leave that for later if it's complicated," I say, to which he nods in understanding. "Does Master have more questions?" He asks. I quickly nod and ask, "Who is the High Council? You've mentioned them before and they're the ones who did all of this." Nyx nods and swallows thickly before answering, "The High Council can be described as Gods. They are a group of beings that have been here since the creation of the universe. All races have come from them and were allowed to choose where to live. Humans chose Earth." I absorb what he's telling me. "So there are others like you?" Nyx's shoulders sag, his eyes filled to the brim with loneliness.

"...No. I am the only one of my kind. I shouldn't even exist; an abomination is what I am." I frown at that and get up from my seat. "Why do you say that about yourself?" Nyx sighs, as if it's supposed to be obvious. "I am the product of a Council member and a lowly creature. My existence is a sick joke, Master..." I release a sigh, not knowing how to comfort him. "Why should it matter that you were an accident? You're still here. I myself wasn't planned to be born. But I guess our situations are polar opposites, so I shouldn't try to compare. I just don't like seeing you hurt like this..." Nyx stares at me with wide eyes, clearly surprised by my response. 

"Thanks for giving me some insight. Don't go overexerting yourself, I suppose this isn't a priority right now. Getting you patched up is more important. " "I think that's all I had in mind for now. This is a lot to take in. That gods and you exist, for starters, and that this place can just create matter out of thin air. Thanks for telling me all that. I'll just need some time to process it all," I say with a soft smile, unknowingly making the stag's heart beat faster. "It is a pleasure to serve. Could I provide Master with a drink? Would that please you?" He looks behind me, to the wall covered by dozens of bottles of liquor. "Well, I don't think those are safe. I checked a few of them, they weren't smelling right."

The corner of my lips upturned in humor. "That will not be an issue. I can muster more for Master," He insists. "Very well, go on." The stag walks behind the counter. The world blinks around me, and when I look again he holds a bottle of whisky. He walks with a spring in his step, but stops once he sees the purple stain on the floor. Whatever smidgeon of chirpiness was on his face is gone. He lowers himself to the floor and runs a hand over the dried-out wine. He tired scraping the dust off the ground, then rubbing his hand on it, to no avail. "What's on your mind?" I softly ask. The stag speaks without looking up to me. 

"He went all the way, the previous Master. Locking me away wasn't enough, he had to go as far as breaking everything." He pauses as he frowns, as if scolding himself. The stag rises and supports himself on the counter. He summons a rag and goes through the motions of dusting. "No matter. Now, what is Master's want? I should tell you upfront, the Palace's liquor is quite impressive." Nyx may be up and walking, but he's still far from being well. He can use the help. The spiral staircase remains as welcoming as before. "Here. This floor is dedicated to the Master and those he allows in. The Palace bends to the Master's will. My power is similar to yours, albeit much weaker. In due time, the Palace shall conform from the ground up to your vision."

We reach my room and Nyx opens the doors for me. The living room ahead of me seems to have resisted the damage of time better than the rest of the Palace. It is dusty, and some chunks of the wall show the beginnings of mold, but that is nothing compared to the devastation I saw in the kitchen. Nyx says nothing at first. His gaze seems to be lost in the distance as he walks around inspecting the room. There are lines of wooden carvings on shelves. During the stag's silence, I take the chance to explore it myself. The living room is a sprawling lounge made to receive guests, both in great number and for an intimate get-togethers.

Under the sunset's light the wooden floor colors the room with a soft, warm hue. There's a master bedroom with a vast closet still filled with clothes. It's a wardrobe pulled straight from a cosplay convention, robes and more robes organized with a tireless devotion. There's also a large office, the kind you'd expect from an important executive. Sitting on the desk is a selection of finely-decorated fountain pens and a stash of documents, for the most part written in delicate calligraphy. Most of the documents are signed by a "Master Bastien", Although a handful bear an illegible scribble for a signature. There's a finely furnished bathroom off in a tight hallway to the side of the living room.

At the end of the corridor, after a sharp turn, there's a cramped, windowless chamber. It has a handful of remnants of the living room's warmth, albeit muted. The wood's color is faded, the ceiling is a meter lower, there is a little to no furniture. There is, however, an austere bed that looks larger than your typical single. Beside it is a tiny chest of drawers, with a handful of dusty poetry books piled on top alongside more wooden carvings. This room affords privacy, but little else. Nyx is going over it when I arrive. He cradles every wooden carving in the room, examining them one-by-one. Many of the carvings depict great deer. He opens one of the books, and a page marker falls from it.

He looks down at it but doesn't bother picking it up. The stag opens a small closet off to the side, and takes out what seems to be a long piece of fabric. He smells it, or perhaps hugs it to his chest. His bony snout leaves a stain of blood dust on it. He sighs and shudders. The stag looks back to me, acknowledging my presence for the first time since arriving here. "I am frightfully sorry, I was lost in thought. This floor is the Master's quarters. It contains your bedroom, office, living room and any other installations you wish to add. This room we are in, this... was my bedroom. I serve the Palace, but above all else I serve the Master." He lays the fabric gently down on his bed.

"It is often considered convenient to have me around, as I can cook and help the Master however he sees fit. There were Masters who had children, for instance. I would assist in tending to them, providing entertainment and play while the Master rested. Master Bastien was a man of culture. He enjoyed having me play my lyre for him at night." The stag's gaze wander away again, his hands starting to caress a wooden carving. It's at this point that I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, to which he tells me where it is. While in there, I have to take a breather. Everything that's been happening shouldn't be happening at all. I sigh and finish up my business, later washing my hands out.

When I walk out, the setting sun's orange tones color the entire apartment. It turns the suspends dust in the air into thousands of sparkling diamonds. The previous Master's carvings stare at me, wide-eyed and beckoning me further into the Quarters. The smell of old dust seems so small compared to how sweetly the room welcomes me. If a place could ever be alive, and if it could ever be naked, this is it. The Palace itself embraces me, its intimacy laid bare. Nothing moves and Nyx is nowhere to be seen. Silence reigns, save for a faint hum of life. I leave the wine bottle on the living room table. I delve deeper into my quarters, and the hum grows louder and sharper.

It's like breathing, ragged and pained. The dust visible under the sunlight shudders. The sound is coming from the office. Nyx is standing over the desk, his back to me, sobbing. My footsteps are not enough to make him aware of my presence. The stag sobs again and again, each one coming from deeper inside of him. They begin meek, hardly more than a snort. But he lays his hands on the desk and curls forward. His vertebrae jut sharply from his deathly thin skin, made more obvious by how he hunches over. He spits out a sob from the depths of his lungs. The dam bursts, he breaks into wave after wave of grunts and half-muffled screams.

He presses his face against the desk and claws at it, leaving his marks in the pristine wood until he falls to the ground, curled up like a child. He sees me then with his tear-drenched eye and ignores my presence. Master or not, I am too small. He curls further into himself, mouth covered by his hands as he lets out another muffled yell. The stag's voice breaks midway through and he goes silent, even if his mouth is still locked in agony. But Nyx looks up to me, aware of my presence, and makes no effort to hide or cower. In fact, he tried to speak, but I can't understand his slurred words, only that his voice has a tone of welcoming. I cross the gap separating the two of us on step at a time.

Nyx's eye does not avert from me. I sit by his side, back to the desk, and only then his gaze drops down to the floor into further sobbing. I drape an arm over his shoulder and pull him to me. The stag doubles down his crying, now muffled by my shirt. His fingers dig into me — his claws digging into my skin and draw a slight amount of blood from his pressure, but I don't mind. I rub the back of his head and let the stag go at his own pace. As the sun sets further, darkening the room, his crying grows quieter and more discreet as well. When all is dark except for the stars shining beyond the window, Nyx's hands relax and he slouches fully onto my chest.

He almost seems to be asleep, but I catch his eye looking up at me. Nyx is pacified, but I give him a few more minutes to make sure. His fingers dig into me one last time right as he sighs. "I beg your forgiveness, Master. I let my emotions control my strength and have punctured your skin with my claws." I shake my head as I caress his head. "Not to steal your line, but I've been through worse, Nyx. I will survive. I'm just happy to be here for you." He breathes in shakily, to which I wrap my arms around him in a hug. I give him a quick squeeze and pat him on the back before I help him up. He says nothing about what just happened, but accepts my hand.

And when I leave the office, he stays close by my side. Back in the living room, I guide Nyx to the sofa. He sits without questioning, but accompanies me with his gaze as I take a seat facing him. Nyx leans back on the sofa, a weak smile painted on his face. "Thank you for being so kind to me, Master." I wave my hand, giving him a kind smile. "Don't mention it, it was nothing." This seems to set the stag on a new train of thought. "Is that so? Master, if it is not impertinent of me, would you answer a few questions?" I give him a big smile, happy that he's finally willing to look past his role. "Sure, I don't see how that could be a problem," I reply as I sit across from him.

"I wish to know about the War. How did it end?" I tilt my head slightly. "War? Which war?" I ask. "The Cold War. The conflict between the Americans and communists. How did it end? Did communism take over the world?" I stop myself from laughing at such an idea, but I know that he had no way of finding out until now. "Yes, the world is doing fine, the Americans won the war. A lot of stuff happened since then." I briefly tell him the world's history after the Cold War, especially the aftermath of the war. "Oh, I'm so relieved to hear that. I've spent all those years locked away thinking about it. Master Bastien talked so many times about America..." His eyes glaze over in recollection.

"The fields of sunflowers, the fragrances, the fields. He found his way to the Palace, a shell-shocked young man fresh off the battlefield. He inherited the deed from the previous Master, and his rule over the Palace was a sight to behold. He was very kind, had a preference for bring in victims of war. It wasn't easy caring for so many amputees and shell-shocked men, but it was worth it. He loved it here, but I suppose he loved America the most. I couldn't dissuade him from returning home, to help in the protests for civil rights. He died in 1962. I felt it right when it happened. Felt the bullet going through my head in the middle of the night. In 1969, the next Master arrived, Master Cassius." 

At the mention of Cassius' name, Nyx's gaze harshened and he became tense. "Cassius wasn't bad at first. He was very eager to please, to be of use to the guests. But there was something in him... A greed, I suppose. To merely be liked wasn't enough, you see. He and Master Bastien differed greatly. Bastien had a vision, to bring comfort to those affected by war. Cassius, on the other hand, didn't want to be liked, but worshipped." I bitter look washes over his features. "He had his eyes on a guest, a woman who held his mind in the palm of her hand. I can only believe it went badly. And so, he... well, you saw what he did to me. The guests are gone, and the Palace has been left to rot... I had glimpsed the beginnings of madness in his eyes. I am no fool. It was clear he was no sane man but I hoped he'd be harmless."

I immediately have the sense that I know said person personally. "I believe I met this Cassius you speak of. He gave me the Palace's deed. Talked a bit about himself, said he squandered his one chance at something good. He's a drunk now. Can barely talk right. He apparently was looking for me but I've never met him before." Thinking back to it, I relay what my past thoughts were. "When I checked the deed it all seemed like gibberish, too. I could only believe he wasn't thinking right and gave me some used napkin. He said he had done bad stuff during his life, but I never imagined it was bad as what I saw here." Nyx's brow is furrowed and his eyes wander.

He twiddles his thumbs while I speak. "He's still alive, then." He closes his eyes, wrinkling his visage in anger. Nyx looks up to the ceiling. His voice is relaxed now, almost soothing, but it carries a spike of sobriety. "Master, if you would once again permit it, may I speak freely? I may overstep my boundaries of being an outsider that has been looking into your life." I give him a curious look but slowly nod. He takes a deep breath before he begins. "If I'm not mistaken, your father left you when you were young, correct?" I narrow my eyes, wondering how he knew that. Even under my stare, Nyx wills himself to continue. "Did you ever learn the name of your father?" I have to hold myself back from scoffing.

"Of course, Mama had told me his name is Cass-" I choke on my words, realization slamming into me like a train. "N-no... no way," I say in shock as my posture dips forward slightly. "Cassius Talisko was my last Master. I remember him talking of his only child, a daughter named Ari..." Nyx gets up and retrieves something from the bookshelf. He looks at it for a moment before he returns to his seat. He slowly hands me the photo and I feel myself having to hold in a sob. It was a picture of me at one of my most memorable dance recitals. I was twelve in the picture. "Cassius had told me a lot about you, Master Jiàn..." I softly run my finger along the picture. "This is why you acted weird before...you had recognized me."

Nyx nods in affirmation. I sit back in my chair with a deep inhalation of air. Nyx silently watches me. "Master, if once again you would accept it, may I ask a question? This one however may be out of place for me as Keeper." I give him permission to tell me. "Havena was created to torture me as punishment for my crime. But over the years, the human Masters chose to impose a different will onto this realm. Each Master had a vision for it. We had a good run, a few good centuries ever since we started. Until, as you saw, Cassius came along. I wish to know your intentions. That is awfully out of place for me, as Prisoner. You are my captor, and I shall obey whatever your will may be." 

Even at his words, he seems to not care anymore. "Nonetheless, I wish to have my impertinent question answered, if it isn't much. I should let you know, before you answer, that I am used to suffering. I've been through a lot worse than what you saw today." He took a shaky breath before continuing, "If your will is to torture me, like Master Cassius did, then you need not pretend. However, you accepted my oath and took me into your service, and now you've treated me with kindness. I would believe, then that you are not like him. Be honest, if you will. My servitude to you remains regardless of your choice, as I have none myself." I feel for the stag sitting in front of me. Such despair and sorrow in his voice... 

I looked away from him, not being able to believe how cruel my father really was. Mama had told me that he wasn't a good man, that's why when she found out she ran away with me to protect me from him. "I didn't know what I was getting into when I accepted this deed. A lot has happened in a single day. Finding out I had met my dad at my work of all places, somehow being transported here, finding this place and meeting you, who knows more about me than most just from a picture. I couldn't have imagined any of this from his ramblings. But... yes. I intend to be a good Master, to the Palace and to you. I know you're feeling me out, trying to see if I am the same as my father. But I'm not trying to trick you. By what you've told me, I'd have no reason to. Maybe it's hard for you to believe me right now, but I mean it."

Nyx does not answer at first. Only his deep breathing cuts the room's silence. "It's been so long. I don't know for how many years I was locked away. I must admit, the mere thought of asking gives me chills. Master, can you... imagine? For centuries, I've been tending to this Palace. It was my mercy, what saved me from torture and gave me purpose. It was hard work, and not all Masters have been kind over the centuries. But it was wonderful nonetheless, I enjoyed every moment of it. And then... Master Bastien died. I could have done more to try and stop him. I should have. The he came, Cassius. I am used to pain, but I had grown accustomed to having a purpose." 

He looks up at me, into my eyes. "Today you freed me, took me into your service, and now you call tell me you wish to be a good Master. Allow me to speak frankly. I am afraid of you. Terribly so. You are my jailer." He lets out a sigh, as if confessing that had taken some weight off of him. "Over the centuries I grew comfortable with enjoying my Masters, but after Cassius it's all come back to me. I am so afraid of what you can do to me. There's no choice but to obey your every command. I am so sorry for saying this. It is profoundly out of place for the Keeper to address the Master in such a way. I suppose that, even if I'm afraid of you I've lost my fear of pain and overstepping boundaries. All of that said... Despite my fear, I find myself... wanting to believe you." Nyx gets up from the sofa and walked up to me.

He's clearly tipsy, stumbling about as he approaches. The stag kneels before me. "I wish dearly for your words to be true. I am not afforded choice on whether or not I shall obey you. I am a Prisoner. But if indeed your words are true, if your heart is truly set on being a good Master... Then I shall follow you. Not out of duty, but out of want — and were I ever allowed true freedom I would remain by your side. I swore to serve you, and now I swear to follow you — for as long as your word holds true." He looks up to me. The room is dark, lit only by moonlight coming through the window, but I can see a glimmer in the stag's eye. I pull him from his kneeling position into a hug.

He is light, barely heavier than a child. In my arms he is stiff and cold, but just as my hands stroke his back he returns the gesture and rests his muzzle on my shoulder. He sniffles once, twice, and presses his face into my neck. "Thank you, Master." He breathes in deeply, as if learning my scent. Night quickly settles. The Palace has no electricity, but I can do with candle. My shadow and Nyx's slither onto the walls, trembling alongside the flickering flames. The Master's quarters are filled with the velvety sounds of life — breathing, footsteps, furniture creaking under me. From outside, a passerby would see this ruined Palace with a single candle-lit window.

If he perchance tried exploring it, he'd only find unending hallways of black and white marble. He could seek out the comfort of this candle-lit room but would never find it, locked away as it is behind a doorless wall. Silence drips back over the two of us. More often than not Nyx is turned towards me, following with his gaze. Just when I realize how hungry I am, he summons a humble feast for me — fruit, cheese, water, even a regular bottle of wine. He turns his back to you to set the table. He stumbles a bit, and a few apples roll off to the ground. I catch him giving me a sideways glance. His nostrils flare under his nervous breathing. Nyx seizes.

His back broadens as he breathes in, and then his shoulders slouch forward with his exhale. He gazes back at me, as if trying to say something, and after a few seconds he returns to setting the table. His tail flicks behind him, perhaps even with some chirpiness. When dinner is ready, he presents it to me with a half-smile on his lips. My candle-lit dinner is simple and uneventful. Any offer to have Nyx eat alongside me is brushed off with a shake of his head. It's a long, deliberate movement. I then ask him if there's any way to restore the Palace's electricity. "There is, yes. We must perform the revival ritual, and for that we must use a special object. It is an obsidian dagger, and it will bring the entire Palace back to life." Shortly after, with nothing else to do for the night, the both of us find rest in our respective rooms.

The deer minotaur dreams. 

After another taxing day of being used and abused, Nyx sought comfort in his Master's quarters. Master Cassius was in the dining hall, holding a party that Nyx would rather not attend. Not that he was wanted, anyway. He planned on just going to his room, but something had caught his eye. He turned towards it and saw that it was the photograph of Ari, Cassius' daughter. He gingerly plucks it from the shelf and scans the image. He remembers what Cassius had said about her. How she was so smart and ambitious. That she was born to dance. Cassius had joked that she was dancing before she started to walk. While Cassius was never part of her life, he had made sure to keep tabs on her.

She's so full of life. Wherever she goes, happiness and kindness follow right behind her. Hearing more and more about the girl, he found himself wanting to know her personally. But what started as wanting to be her friend, slowly turned into a pining for her. He so desperately wanted to love her, give her every part of himself. He closes his eyes and hums but when he opens them, he finds himself in a field of white flowers that seemed to stretch forever.. Everything was glowing, especially a certain person. It's then that he realizes that it's Ari. But as he continues to stare, she morphs into a man. A man he knows is Jiàn... his new master. Jiàn was humming a sweet tune as he braided flowers together.

Jiàn smiled and looked up to meet his eyes. He suddenly jumped up and started laughing as he ran away, looking back at Nyx, beckoning him to chase after him. A playful smile found his lips as he started walking in the direction of where Jiàn was going. Jiàn glanced back, before laughing again and speeding up. The two ran through the field, the summer breeze playing with the Jiàn's hair. However, their little game ended when Nyx reached out and grabbed Jiàn, bringing him into his chest as they fell to the ground. Nyx now laid on his back, staring down at the heap of a man on top of him. Panting softly, Jiàn looked up at Nyx . He hummed softly as he pushed himself up, his face now level with Nyx's.

No words were spoken as the two got lost in each other's eyes. Jiàn smirked before a look of yearning filled his gaze as he leaned forward and captured Nyx's lips. Nyx hummed into the kiss, feeling that all too familiar warm feeling build up in his chest. As they parted, a string of saliva kept them connected before ultimately breaking. "Where are you today? On a distant planet? Or perhaps you're deep in the jungle." Jiàn laughs and pulls back to look into Nyx's eyes. He brings a hand up and lovingly strokes the deer's cheek. "It's such a shame that dreams don't last long, especially the good ones." With a final kiss, the serene field starts to crumble and so does Jiàn.

He jumps from dream to reflection. Master Bastien and Cassius. The cold room. The new Master. Freedom from the darkness. Food — and wine. Nyx grasps the dusty sheets. It's been decades since he slept on a bed. He feels no bedsores on his back. Instead of the cold room's stench there is only the slightly mold smell of his old room. His lips — half deer, half skeletal — threaten to curl into a smile. But doubt eats away at him, churns in his stomach. The stag unceremoniously rises from his bed. No matter what comes next he must work, work and then work some more. While he shuffles through the he mumbles an old poem from memory.

"You came. And you did well to come. I longed for you and you brought fire. To my heart, which burns high for you." A mirror makes it clear how much of a disgrace he is. The gaping, fleshless hole in his skull makes his ichor bubble and threaten to burst from his mouth. But... he's less of a disgrace than he was the day before. And for the last fifty years. There is some mercy in that. He forces a half-smile and goes out. As soon as he steps out, however, his ear flicks. He catches a distant tune — chirpy, once could say even joyous. It is faint but unmistakable.The smile disappears from his face and is replaced with a ghostly grim canvas.

[scintfms]

           hi  kids  !  wow  ,  we’re  already  at  opening  and  that’s  so  crazy  !  i’m  kofi  ,  your  co - admin  ,  and  i’m  so  excited  that  you  guys  are  here  !  i’m  23  ,  from  the  est  tz  ,  prefer  she / they  pronouns  and  i  graduate  from  college  in  a  little  more  than  seven  months  ...  yikes  .  that  being  said  ,  i’m  ready  to  introduce  you  guys  to  my  latest  muse  ,  who  may  have  huge  development  changes  as  we  go  on  because  of  him  being  brand  new  ,  mr  .  saint  moon  !  he’s  um  ...  something  of  a  mess  and  idk  if  i  love  or  hate  him  yet  ,  but  i’m  happy  to  plot  with  ya’ll  on  my  d.iscord  @  𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲.#4090  !

            (  lee  juyeon ,  22  ,  cis  male  ,  he / him  )  *  fun  fact  about  me  ?  okay  ,  let’s  see  .  .  .   an  injury  stopped  my  promising  olympic  career  .  crazy  ,  right  ?  i’m  saint  moon  ,  i  live  in  the  contemporary  new  build  with  a  three  thousand  square  foot  outdoor  patio  on  ocean  lane  in  key  biscayne  , &  not  to  brag  ,  but  my  family’s  worth  around  $740  million  .  pretty  decent  for  real  estate  and  construction  developers  ,  huh  ?  we’ve  been  around  for  some  time  ,  but  in  town  ,  everyone’s  always  associated  me  with  the  gatsbys  ;  but  it’s  not  like  that’s  my  whole  identity  ,  or  anything  .  while  filming  for  key  biscayne  ,  it  was  surprising  when  i’d  get  dragged  on  twitter  for  being  “  errant  ,  impetuous  ,  &  rancorous  ,   ”  but  the  cameras  don’t  see  everything  ,  &  my  real  fans  know  that  i’m  nothing  but  coolheaded  ,  venturesome  ,  &  enamoring  .  i’m  not  too  bothered  by  it  though  ,  because  since  the  series  ended  ,  i’ve  opened  a  highly  successful  café  in  south  korea  and  planning  to  expand  to  the  states  .  follow  me  on  instagram  @SNT.MN  to  keep  up  . 

name  :  saint  moon  .

nickname(s)  :  none  .

age  +  date  of  birth  :  22  +  july  19th  ,  1998  .

astrological  sign  :  cancer  .

myers - briggs  personality  type  :  infj  .

enneagram  type  :  the  individualist  .

moral  alignment  :  chaotic  neutral  .

gender  +  pronouns  :  cis  man  +  he / him / his  .

place  of  birth  :  gangnam  ,  south  korea  .

place  of  residence  :  key  biscayne  ,  florida  .

sexual  orientation  :  bisexual  .

romantic  orientation  :  biromantic  .

occupation  :  former  reality  star  /�� instagram  influencer  /  café  owner  .

nationality  :  korean  .

ethnicity  :  korean  .

language(s)  spoken  :  korean  ,  english  ,  japanese  ,  and  learning  mandarin  .

social  media  handle  :  @SNT.MN

THE  BACKSTORY  .

            saint’s  story  starts  when  his  parents  ,  moon  ji - ho  and  park  soo - ah  went  on  their  first  date  .  in  truth  ,  it  had  been  a  rare  instance  of  love  at  first  sight  when  they  bumped  into  each  other  at  ji - ho’s  office  in  seoul  ,  and  the  date  was  only  used  to  solidify  their  feelings  .  you  see  ,  ji - ho  and  soo - ah  were  fairly  well  known  with  ji - ho  being  the  second  heir  to  moon  industries  alongside  his  sister  ,  moon  eun -  ha  .  moon  industries  was  founded  in  the  1940s  ,  and  is  known  primarily  for  their  real  estate  and  construction  business  .  the  company  was  founded  in  seoul  ,  and  originally  started  out  by  purchasing  and  renovating  beautiful  homes  and  condominiums  within  the  city  .  after  thirty  years  in  the  business  ,  ji - ho  and  eun - ha’s  father  was  one  of  the  first  in  south  korea  to  reach  the  status  of  billionaire  .

            ji - ho  and  soo -ah  were  looking  to  forge  their  own  path  ,  though  .  although  they  were  lucky  enough  to  have  wealthy  parents  ,  both  of  them  have  always  liked  the  idea  of  working  for  themselves  and  getting  their  hands  dirty  .  so  ,  they  refused  ji - ho’s  father’s  investment  and  decided  to  start  their  own  real  estate  firm  .  they  went  through  the  process  of  obtaining  their  real  estate  license  in  both  south  korea  and  the  united  states  ,  specifically in  florida  .  after  studying  hard  ,  they  were  able  to  open  moon  real  estate  ,  and  it  was  a  hassle  for  them  .  they  initially  ‘ struggled ’  seeing  as  though  they  were  their  only  employees  ,  and  soon  ,  soo - ah  discovered  that  she  was  pregnant  with  their  son  .

            for  four  years  ,  they  worked  hard  with  their  bumbling  baby  boy  ,  saint  ,  crawling  at  their  feet  and  curiously  looking  at  home  or  building  buyers  .  for  a  long  time  ,  they  considered  saint  to  be  their  closer  as  he  was  the  selling  point  and  allowed  people  to  hold  him  while  looking  at  the  home  .  usually  ,  soo - ah  would  use  saint  as  a  marketing  ploy  whenever  they  were  trying  to  sell  to  young  couples  ,  and  it  always  worked  .  the  moons  became  known  for  saint  syndrome  ,  where  those  same  young  couples  would  typically  call  to  say  that  they  were  expecting  within  a  year  of  buying  their  home  .  it  only  took  a  few  years  ,  but  the  moons  were  soon  raking  in  their  own  money  without  the  help  of  ji - ho’s  father  .  

            when  saint  was  six  ,  his  family  relocated  to  key  biscayne  ,  florida  .  life  was  easy  living  on  the  water  ,  and  his  parents  continued  to  sell  gorgeous  homes  both  in  seoul  and  in  the  wealthy  neighborhoods  of  florida  .  with  such  a  lifestyle  ,  it  wasn’t  unheard  of  for  saint  to  excel  at  his  private  school  ,  where  he  was  known  for  his  academic  prowess  as  well  as  his  ability  to  play  both  the  piano  and  the  cello  .  saint  was  a  fairly  popular  student  while  growing  up  ,  and  it  showed  when  the  moons  would  host  their  annual  christmas  party  .

            he  was  fourteen  when  he  finally  started  to  understand  the  rivalry  between  thoroughbreds  and  gatsbys  .  originally  ,  he  put  off  like  he  didn’t  care  ,  but  in  reality  he  was  trying  to  figure  it  out  .  the  moons  were  a  special  case  ,  considering  that  ji - ho  was  clearly  an  heir  to  a  billion  dollar  fortune  ,  but  also  had  become  wealthy  in  his  own  right  thanks  to  his  business  with  his  wife  .  saint  never  understood  that  jabs  and  jeers  that  he  would  receive  from  thoroughbreds  ,  because  to  him  ,  they  were  all  rich  so  what  the  hell  did  it  matter  ?  he  eventually  began  to  side  more  with  the  gatsbys  ,  never  understanding  why  the  thoroughbreds  felt  as  though  they  needed  to  stick  their  noses  up  in  the  air  at  them  .

            within  two  years  ,  though  ,  saint  seems  to  have  changed  for  the  worse  .  while  his  grades  may  be  good  ,  he  begins  to  spend  more  time  with  new  friends  in  miami  .  while  there  ,  he  surrounds  himself  with  fast  cars  and  short  nights  ,  but  he  thinks  it’s  his  parents’  fault  for  buying  him  a  488  spider  for  his  sixteenth  birthday  .  saint  began  to  get  into  trouble  ,  often  pulled  over  for  speeding  and  reckless  driving  to  impress  his  friends  .  like  always  ,  a  star  is  meant  to  fall  ,  and  it  all  came  crashing  down  for  saint  when  he  thought  that  drag  racing  on  u.s.  route  1  was  a  good  idea  .  he  assumed  that  he  could  lose  the  cops  ,  but  he  was  stupid  for  ever  thinking  so  --  he  totaled  the  $1.3m  dollar  car  ,  and  after  being  treated  for  minor  injuries  ,  he  was  booked  in  the  county  jail  .

            having  rich  parents  seems  to  be  all  fun  and  games  considering  they  were  barely  able  to  get  him  out  with  a  slap  on  the  wrist  ,  but  that  very  same  night  they  sent  him  away  on  a  business  plane  to  live  with  his  no - nonsense  grandparents  .  for  the  first  year  ,  saint  pouted  and  argued  ,  screamed  and  kicked  over  being  trapped  in  seoul  .  he  tried  to  escape  the  fortress  of  a  house  in  pyeongchang  ,  attempted  to  ditch  his  security  guards  when  he  went  out  in  public  ,  but  he  eventually  realized  that  there  was  no  getting  out  of  this  .  so  ,  he  made  the  most  out  of  it  :  he  finished  school  ,  and  during  his  senior  year  with  the  help  of  his  grandparents  ,  saint  opened  goodnight  moon  ,  a  late  night  café  that  appealed  to  college  students  and  late  workers  in  need  of  a  coffee  and  pastry  pick  me  up  .  the  café  went  viral  ,  and  so  did  the  handsome  owner  .

            he  returned  home  when  he  was  twenty  ,  and  discovered  that  key  biscayne  was  filming  .  as  the  resident  who  suddenly  disappeared  ,  saint  was  sought  after  by  the  producers  and  was  introduced  mid - way  through  the  second  season  .  

THE  SHOW  .

saint  and  his  family  were  not  introduced  on  key  biscayne  until  midway  through  season  two  .  he  was  introduced  as  most  table  shakers  would  be  ,  with  a  flurry  of  local  headlines  ranging  from  KEY  BISCAYNE  TEEN  ARRESTED  FOR  DRAG  RACING  and  HOW  MONEY  GETS  YOU  OUT  OF  A  JAIL  SENTENCE  .  his  parents  didn’t  like  the  idea  of  being  on  a  reality  series  ,  so  they  weren’t  featured  although  there  were  a  few  scenes  with  them  .

he  was  the  reality  show  villain  and  you  can’t  tell  me  otherwise  !  showed  up  with  an  air  of  what  the  fUCk  ever  and  despite  the  air  around  him  since  he  was  arrested  and  shipped  back  to  south  korea  ,  he  never  let  that  stop  him  ?  like  ofc  he’s  a  rich  boy  who  got  away  with  something  bc  he’s  rich  ,  but  it’s  not  that  he  doesn’t  acknowledge  it  ,  he  just  chooses  not  to  talk  about  it  .

was  definitely  the  subject  of  show  cliffhangers  ,  probably  nearly  got  kicked  off  the  show  because  of  his  short  temperament  and  despite  all  that  would  still  be  invited  to  the  reunions  because  he  would  always  start  some  shit  .  he  was  very  vocal  about  who  he  didn’t  like  on  the  show  ,  and  probably  had  good  chemistry  with  a  cast  mate  and  fans  of  the  show  always  pushed  for  them  to  become  a  thing  (  a  wc  ...  mayhaps  👀 )  but  they  were  never  anything  more  than  friends  .

by  the  end  of  the  show  ,  saint  was  that  cast  member  that  fans  love  to  hate  .  he  was  employee  of  the  month  ,  and  that’s  on  period  !  gave  what  he  was  supposed  to  gave  and  was  highkey  problematic  (  not  in  a  bad  way  ,  but  in  a  way  where  he  was  always  the  one  in  the  middle  of  some  shit  )  and  when  people  would  question  him  about  it  ofc  he  didn’t  care  KFNDSJBFS  .

THE  PERSONALITY  .

a  little  shit  .  that’s  it  .  that’s  all  you  need  to  know  .  although  he’s  standoffish  ,  still  has  his  insecurities  because  he’s  not  the  ‘  perfect  ’  son  that  his  parents  pushed  for  him  to  be  .  very  much  so  the  black  sheep  of  the  family  ,  and  is  deemed  as  a  lost  cause  by  his  thespian  of  a  mother  ,  so  he  figures  that  he  might  as  well  live  up  to  that  name  .  comes  across  as  someone  who  genuinely  doesn’t  care  ,  and  he  doesn’t  KFDBJSFSD  .  sometimes  only  looks  out  for  himself  which  adds  more  sand  into  the  asshole  bin  ,  and  he  hates  being  asked  ‘  dumb  ’  questions  .  it’s  a  pet  peeve  that  his  mom  thinks  he  picked  up  from  his  father  .

THE  HEADCANONS  .

he  does  not  want  to  be  your  friend  KFNDSFUS  .  he  can  be  very  standoffish  just  to  get  that  point  across  ,  and  he  doesn’t  interact  with  people  outside  of  a  chosen  few  .  

can  be  wildly  off  putting  and  while  someone  else  may  be  afraid  of  confrontation  ,  he  isn’t  !  might  be  the  subject  of  bar  brawls  and  minor  scraps  because  he  genuinely  does  not  know  how  to  shut  the  hell  up  .

hates  walnuts  ;  idk  why  that’s  important  but  it  is  .  serve  him  something  with  walnuts  in  it  and  he’ll  never  talk  to  you  again  .

romantically  and  emotionally  stunted  ,  therefore  he  bides  his  time  with  casual  sex  and  noncommittal  acts  of  romance  .  can  be  found  slipping  out  of  beds  in  the  middle  of  the  night  ,  never  returns  texts  ,  and  at  times  will  pretend  that  he  doesn’t  know  who  the  other  person  is  (  ew  !  )  .

a  chaotic  boy  with  a  heart  of  gold  ,  he  just  doesn’t  show  it  and  has  mastered  the  art  of  being  fake  .  

despite  his  repulsion  of  romance  and  relationships  ,  he’ll  flirt  with  anyone  that  has  a  pair  of  legs  ,  and  he  quite  honestly  might  call  someone  daddy  just  for  the  hell  of  it  KNFDH  . 

probably  posts  those  outfit  thirst  traps  on  instagram  reels  or  tik  tok  bc  he’s  annoying  .

THE  CONNECTIONS  .

an  angsty  ex  boyf  👀 if  i  have  to  BEG  for  it  i  will  !  and  i  promise  to  make  you  cry  xD

a  best  friend  pls  !  someone  who  has  been  friends  with  him  since  before  he  was  shipped  back  to  korea  for  a  few  years  so  when  he  came  back  and  was  on  the  show  ,  they  were  THE  dynamic  duo  .

i’ve  been  really  into  his  plot  but  someone  he  works  out  with  ?  maybe  they  don’t  work  out  together  per  say  ,  but  they’re  somehow  always  at  the  community  gym  at  the  same  time  .

something  soft  ?  something  so  sweet  that  it  would  make  my  teeth  rot  ?  could  either  be  a  boyfriend  or  girlfriend  thing  or  tbh  i  don’t  know  but  i’m  literally  looking  for  something  that’s  all  fluff  and  all  marshmallows  and  if  i  don’t  get  it  then  i’ll  cry  .

a  plot  where  they  full  on  hate  each  other  .  none  of  that  cute  shit  KNFDNFHSD  .  no  lingering  feelings  ,  no  moments  of  hate lapse  --  they  hate  each  other  and  it’s  a  spicy  hate  ship  that  literally  gets  your  blood  pumping  .  

SKINNY  LOVE  ARE  YOU  THERE  ?

his  hoodrat  friends  NFDJNHFBD  i’m  kidding  but  i’m  thinking  like ...  a  billionaire  boys  club  type  of  thing  ?  perhaps  the  five  of  them  get  together  and  ppl  try  to  penetrate  the  group  or  they  have  these  instances   where  ppl  straight  up  hate  them  for  no  reason  ?  they  were  probably  the  TALK  of  the  show  bc  thought  they  were  assholes  KNFDJBFBD  idk  either  way  ,  my  hand  is  out  .  (  1  of  4  spots  filled  )

a  one  night  stand  with  some  substance  ?  like  yeah  ,  they  fuck  around  and  they  have  their  fun  together  but  they  don’t  pretend  to  not  know  each  other  in  public  (  unless  this  person  is  a  thoroughbred  and  i  oop  ,  chile  )  so  they  probs  tend  to  be  a  little  like  confidants  at  times  but  also  have  a  tendency  of  shutting  each  other  up  with  sex  .

[bastillewolf]

The Grand Tranquility Hotel (VII)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: An eccentric hotel owner and an inquisitive writer find solace in each other when they both seemed to be at the edge of rock bottom.

Notes: Two chapters in one day because I had a lot of inspiration. Make sure you didn’t miss chapter six!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

Chapter VII - Batphone

It was an early morning for her, and perhaps it was because of the renewed feeling of tranquility she’d gotten after speaking with mister Turner. She felt as if she’d taken big steps forwards with him, especially when it came to gaining his delicate trust, and though she didn’t want to admit it, she was looking forward to spending more time with him soon.

She’d thrown on a floral dress for no particular occasion, and her brown shoes tapped down the stairs in search of the way to the dining hall. However, when she heard the distinct sound of voices coming from the lobby, she took a detour.

She was greeted with the sight of the hotel owner himself, joined not only by his staff, but by Miles as well. A smaller suitcase stood next to him on the floor and he was wearing a dark trench coat with its collar lifted. His eyes, covered by his aviator shades, finally noticed her figure in the doorway and he motioned for her to come closer. Miles gave her a quick kiss on the cheek to greet her before Alex stepped her aside. “I’m afraid your novel research is going to be delayed for a bit,” he explained, “Miles and I have some unforeseen business to attend to. However, I’ll ask Matthew to keep you entertained with a few of his notorious tales about the hotel. I won’t be gone for longer than a day.”

“Oh, alright,” she replied stumblingly, “Why are you so suddenly keen on helping me write this novel? It appears as if you’re really going out of your way to provide me with all the details. Don’t bother Matthew with it though, I’m sure he’ll have enough to do as it is while you’re gone, mister Turner.” She saw a glint of something she couldn’t place flash across his eyes. “Who’s seeing ulterior motives behind everything now, writer?” he asked in amusement. She narrowed his eyes at him, to which he only gave a smirk.

“Matthew, I’m leaving you in charge,” Alex proclaimed, handing him the main set of keys. “Don’t set anything on fire, please.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Matt replied innocently. Alex snorted and Matt smiled, but as the hotel owner turned his back to him she noticed him tucked the keys in his pocket with a shaking hand. What was going on? His eyes were darting to the doors and as they walked to the car to wave the two men off, he kept his gaze searching across the yard.

As soon as they were inside, she turned to the man at hand. “Matthew, you’re acting strange and I can tell it’s not because of mister Turner’s absence. What’s happening?”

“It’s nothing, miss,” Matt replied, trying, but very much failing, at sounding casual. “I was just checking if the gardener had already finished his job.” She hummed, “Sure you have.” He raised his brow at her. “There’s no need for concern, miss, truly. And after all, you already have mister Turner to worry about. No need to add fuel to the fire.” Her mouth dropped open as a pink colour dusted her cheeks. He’d ran out the front entrance before she was able to smack him.

“Is there anything I can help you with today, Nick? I get awfully bored these days,” she mused. Nick gave her a meek smile. “Glad we’re such good entertainment for you, miss. Do you have any experience with accountancy?” “Loads,” she replied, “Used to do the taxes for my mother, too.” “Great. It’s the box in the back office, the newer files need to be taken care of and sorted, if you have the patience for it.” “Only for you, Nicholas.”

Taking her seat at the desk behind the television screens, she was reminded of the incessant static noise filling the room. She decided to try to refrain from ripping the plugs out of their sockets and focused on the heaping box in front of her. It was a disorganized mess, but having experienced the way her mother used to sort things, she knew she’d do fine.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it was only when reading the last file that needed to be sorted, did she notice something strange. It led her to reach for older transcriptions that she’d previously sorted, and the non-matching data only confused her more.

When Nick finally showed up again, looking like a dishevelled mess, he asked her if she could go and help Matt outside for a moment, instead.

“Uh, sure,” she replied half-heartedly, her eyes still glued to the papers, “By the way, I was just going through your accounts and I found a returning bank account you’ve been transferring money to for a while. It’s cashed under ‘taxes’, I think?” She said, handing him one of the invoices. “Oh, that’s just what we pay Miles as additional taxes to the rent,” Nick explained. “Yeah, I thought that was the case, but when I checked the credit numbers they didn’t match with the ones you’ve been sending the actual rent to. Just thought you might want to look into it, just in case.”

Nick furrowed his brow in worry. “Uh, I’ll take a look at it. You better go and help Matt and Jamie, though. I think they’re right outside.” “Sure.” As she stepped out, she heard Nick hurriedly dial a number on the office’s phone.

She eventually managed to find them at the stables, and only then did she realize what had caused Matt to look so stressed and Jamie so upset. “What the fuck happened?” she sputtered.

The door was open, and Mardy’s box was empty.

“I couldn’t tell Alex, miss,” Matt explained sadly, “You’ve gotten him in such a good mood since yesterday, I didn’t want to see him pissed again.” She raised his eyebrows in silent inquiry to elaborate. “I-I think I remember locking the door…” She groaned, “Matthew.” “Alex put me in charge not knowing I lost his fucking horse, I know.” He rubbed his hands over his face tiredly, “I’ve been up all morning and I’ve searched the entire terrain, but I couldn’t find her.”

“Give me your car keys.”

“What?”

“I said, give me your car keys. I’m going to look for her myself. Go call the cops and inform them of a missing horse.”

It took her a while to convince Matt to stay, though he insisted Jamie tagging along, to which she begrudgingly agreed. However, when Jamie was about to step into the driver’s seat, she told him she’d throw him out of the car while they were driving if he didn’t hand her the keys. Jamie didn’t question her again after that and silently let her be behind the wheel.

The black Cadillac wasn’t exactly meant to cross over the countryside, but she surely wasn’t going to start looking in the city for a horse. Stopping when she came across cyclers, playing children and farmers ploughing their fields, she asked each and every single one of them if they’d seen their stallion, but to no avail.

Her last hope turned out to be her saviour, because the old man at the train station told her of travellers who’d mentioned a beautiful brown beast close to the tracks.

It was where she found Mardy, stuck in a barbwire fence.

“It’s good to come back to find my hotel not having been burnt down,” Alex breathed, setting down his suitcase, “I presume everything was fine?”

“Uh, of course,” Nick grumbled, his eyes turning back to the nonsense he’d been scribbling down to appear busy.

“Alright. I think I’ll clock out for the night then-“ The ringing of the phone interrupted his sentence. Nick’s hand shot out across the desk, but it was already too late.

“The Grand Tranquility Hotel, this is Alex Turner speaking. How may I direct your call?”

…

“Is that so?”

…

“I’m not sure, I’ll ask him. Please hold.”

Alex glanced up at Nick with raised brows and said in an overly interested voice, “Officer James Ford wants to know if our horse has been found. What should I tell him, Nicholas?” But it was the look in his eyes that made the employee aware of how much trouble he was really in.

 She’d managed to scrub off all the grime Mardy had transferred onto her while cleaning her cuts. They weren’t deep, and it relieved her and Matt incredibly that they didn’t have to call the vet in the end. She had shifted back into her comfortable nightwear, and had only just opened up the page of the book she’d left off in when a knock came from her door.

“How was business?” she asked, being greeted with a familiar set of intense brown orbs. He didn’t answer her, instead opting to just invite himself into her room, to which she threw her arms up at. He took a moment to glance out of the window onto the dark yard, before he took a seat at the edge of her bed. He flipped through the pages of the worn book.

“I’ve been gone for a day,” he said, “And my staff has managed to lose my horse. And my guest took the task upon herself to go and find it.” He glanced up at her. She shrugged, taking a seat next to him and folding her legs underneath her. “I couldn’t just leave her out there, all by herself.”

His intense gaze didn’t wander away from her for a moment. “And not only did she save my horse, she made me aware of the fact that an anonymous party has been stealing money from me.”

Her brows raised in surprise. “So, it wasn’t going to Miles?” He shook his head. “Nick called me immediately after you went out to help Matthew and Jamie. When I confronted Miles about it, he said he’d never added any extra taxes to our rent. We’ve informed the authorities about it.” “I’m glad,” she replied, “You’ll have one less financial thing to worry about.”

He nodded, fumbling with something in his pocket, before revealing the item to her. It was some sort of business card, but it felt more personal than that. He placed it in her hand and wrapped his around hers.

“It’s come to my closer attention that I can trust you more than my own staff,” he murmured, “Which is why I want you to have this number. I’m asking you to hold it to yourself, as it’s the only number you can reach me directly through, at all times.”

She looked down at the text on the card. “The Batphone?” she laughed, “You’ve named your personal number ‘The Batphone?” He smirked. “If you ever need me, in whatever situation you find yourself to be in, you can dial this number, and I’ll be there.”

She blinked at him, feeling at a loss for words. “I- I don’t know what to say, mister Turner. Thank you.”

He hummed, the corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly, but his eyes holding something undoubtedly more serious. He shifted and leaned over to her, until his hand held her cheek and his warm lips were pressed softly against the other. Her breath hitched in her throat as he moved back. “I’m the only one who has to say thank you. I owe you my deepest gratitude, miss.”

The tingling sensation on her face didn’t stop for long after he’d left.

[bartenderhell]

First post from the way back machine...

I spent some time this morning looking through old, nay ancient, blog posts and found an old blog I’d even forgotten I’d created. The following is an edited/redacted version of a post written in early February of 2005. Those were the days...

Fights in or outside of a bar are inherently odd, I think. They can at the same time be completely predictable, and spontaneous at the same time. I'm pretty sure that every bar as its usual crew or collection of 'bad apples', as the saying it goes. My town is no different, except that in some cases, we've been dealing with the same bushel of apples for years. You gets these guys who have to prove they're cool or bad asses by picking fights or just being ass holes in general. I should know, I've been throwing out some of the same guys for eight and a half years. Some fights are predictable, and you can see them coming from the very moment someone walks in to a bar. It's either because the guy is a dickhead, or his woman  carries herself in a similar manner which will eventually lead to him getting pissed off at her, but taking out on whichever poor dumb schmuck she has pulled on to the dance floor with the sole intention of making her man jealous. Which brings me to my second point on bar fights. Now, this may sound like an entirely sexist statement, but roughly 90% of all fights in a bar are because of women. now, i'm not saying women are always going around starting fights or anything like that. But be it directly or indirectly, a woman is usually the basis for any kind of a fight. These are the different ways: A. "You slept with my girlfriend/wife/boyfriend/husband 2 years ago before I ever knew them!" B. "You slept with my girlfriend/wife/boyfriend/husband 2 weeks ago before I ever knew them!" C. "You used to date my sister/brother, you cocksucker/whore!" D. "You're fucking my baby's mother/father!" E. "Hey, that's my girlfriend/wife/husband/boyfriend you're trying to finger bang/dry fuck on the dance floor, ass hole/bitch." Of course there's the ever popular and sure to please: "If that bitch/ass hole doesn't stop staring at me/looks over here one more time I'm gonna kick their ass." It's that last statement that usually predicates a spontaneous fight. The spontaneous fights, obviously are the worst. With the ones that you can see coming, you can usually pick out the primary players and move in and stop it before it even starts. Spontaneous ones are exactly that: Spontaneous. Everyone is drinking, dancing, having a great time, and then BAM!! Two guys are throwing punches, shoving each other, knocking customers, chairs, tables and drinks over until they collapse to the ground in a flurry of tangled arms and legs with half the guys in the bar thinking they're doing the staff a favor by trying to break it up, when in most cases they're the dumb asses' friends and they really just want to get a lick in. Most of these start in some way near the dance floor, but inevitably end up in the seating area where the most collateral damage can be caused. The majority of injuries I've received from bar fights over the last few years haven't come from fists or heads or people at all. It's been from banging my shins on the legs of overturned chairs as I'm trying to haul ass to get to the actual fight. My knees suck, man, let me tell you. One of the best examples I can give for a spontaneous fight was this: On a hot summer night, with the bar hot and stuffy as hell and people dancing up a storm, a girl's body over heated while she was on the dance floor and shut down. She essentially went into something like a gran mal epileptic seizure in the middle of the dance floor. In the process of clearing people out of the way and trying to clear off the entire dance floor, a few guys got shoved as the crowd moved back. These guys didn't like getting shoved and hilarity ensued. There were a few fights inside of the bar, and a whole shit load outside the bar. By the way, when the fights started outside, I was the only employee outside and got to deal with them all myself. That was a situation when a 'painful' decision is made: you have to contain the one guy who started most of the bullshit and keep him restrained while also trying to keep him from getting his ass kicked. In trying to restrain this guy, I suddenly looked like a guy out of a rodeo trying to wrestle down a calf by the neck, while also trying to fend off the guys who were trying pummel him. I got so much blood on my face it looked like someone had beat the shit out of me, which fortunately was not the case. That situation sucks, because--wrong as it may be--it's kind of nice to see the one guy who caused all of the trouble getting his ass kicked. There's a poetic justice to it. Unfortunately, it's not entirely ethical. Then again, aren't ethics generally a pretty gray area when you're in a bar? Ending fights can go any number of different ways. The most well known end is where two guys finally get pulled apart after beating on each other (like this past weekend) or trying to beat on each other, and you finally get their respective groups to get them loaded into a vehicle and leave. Sometimes, it's not necessarily the end of the fight because the groups decide to go to an undisclosed location to, "Finish this once and for all" as the saying goes. Sometimes, you even have to call the cops or the cops just happen to pass through the parking lot at the right time and take care of it so you can take care of more important measures, like making sure there's nothing happening INSIDE of the bar that the cops can nail you for. One of my favorite ways of ending a conflict takes a certain kind of finesse and timing, it's something I've been trying to perfect over the years after watching my current boss, the infamous Dave Flanagan. It's a concept of diffusing a situation I had never thought of: using comedy in some size, shape, or form. The first example I ever saw of him using this method was a kid out in the parking lot, ready to kill some guy, took his shirt off to show that he was ripped or what not. Dave said something to the effect of, "Oh yeah, well take this on first buddy!" and took off his own shirt to reveal his pot belly and sagging pecs. The kid couldn't help but start laughing his ass off, and everyone else followed suit. That kind of abrupt changing of gears totally neutralized everything. We all had a good laugh, tempers simmered, and the night carried on peacefully. I have to admit that I'm kind of cocky about what I know about the business and often feel like I know the best or only ways to handle a situation, but Dave has a way of showing me I don't. This is a guy who was a former golden glove boxer, a rodeo clown, state arm wrestling champ, bull rider, what have you. Most times, he can whup any young or old upstart that comes calling, but he knows that the best way to handle a fight is to end it before it starts. It's the anti-climactic ending, the one that never made it to the final edit of Roadhouse, but it's always, ALWAYS, the best. but believe it or not, breaking up a fight is a blast sometimes, it really is.

[saiilorstars]

Dare To Forget Me

Ch. 2: Novak, Witness. //Story Masterlist //

Pairings: Rafael Barba x Original female character

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

Summary: Montserrat speaks to SVU about what she saw on the night of the attack.

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

"Right this way," Olivia helped Montserrat into Rafael's office. Rafael reached the desk first and pulled out a chair for Montserrat.

"Thank you," she said to both of them. It was a struggle to sit without having to basically drop herself down, but almost nine months into a pregnancy made every daily activity a challenge. Her dark brown eyes flickered between the ADA and the Sergeant while an awkward silence fell over the room.

The two had obviously been expecting a fierce detective willing to literally run away from them out in the hallway. Instead, they had a pregnant detective who would eventually need help getting up from her chair.

Montserrat Novak was an average height woman with fair skin. She had dark ginger hair that was wavy with straight bangs covering her forehead. "Casey mentioned your name," Montserrat said to Olivia. "She said I would have to talk to you…"

"Yes, um…" Olivia briefly glanced at Rafael, both lost on how to even begin with the woman. "I have to be honest, we are a little perplexed about this situation..."

"Because...I'm pregnant? Or because I fled from a crime scene?" Montserrat's humor relieved some of the awkwardness in the room.

Rafael smiled as he took his own seat across her. "Both."

She smiled back. "I don't run from crime scenes. I'm a Detective, but...this time it's different."

"Right, we can understand that," Olivia pulled up the chair next to Montserrat. "We've been looking for you, Montserrat."

"I'm sorry," Montserrat tucked some hair behind her ear. "I...I panicked. You understand that I'm not at my best state right now. I do more waddle than walk or... anything else at this point."

"Why did you leave?" Rafael asked the hard question she knew she'd have to face sooner or later. "We have paramedics claiming you were slashed with with a knife..."

Montserrat raised the hand that was indeed bandaged. "I took care of myself. And I just wasn't supposed to be on the street at that time. I'm..."

Both Olivia and Rafael gave her a minute for her to continue, but it seemed like Montserrat was having trouble.

"Miss Novak, we really need you to talk," Rafael's voice seemed to startle her out of her thoughts.

"I'm-I'm a...surrogate mother," she swallowed hard and looked at the two who were surprised (yet again). "We made a contract - the couple and me - and one of the rules was I needed to be home by nine."

"The attack happened at ten," Olivia recalled, slowly beginning to understand where Montserrat was getting at. "You broke one of the rules of the contract."

"It's for the baby's protection," Montserrat shrugged in her seat. "The couple are two of my friends and they just want to make sure I'm safe and...me being on the street at that time was unsafe."

"You being at that street helped that woman stay alive," Olivia thought that would ease Montserrat's guilt.

"How is she?" Montserrat hadn't been able to sleep last night thinking about the poor victim she'd left to the paramedics.

"She made it. She'll heal."

"Physically, but emotionally?"

Olivia made a sway of her head. That was always a tough question. "Listen, Montserrat, we need you to give your statement for this case. You're the only witness in the scene. Do you think you can do that?"

Montserrat nodded her head. "Of course. I'm a Detective, I know how things go."

"Really?" it was clear Rafael was referencing her fleeing the crime scene.

Montserrat accepted the jab with all her faults. She earned it after her unprofessional act. "I'm not going anywhere now. I am sorry."

"The important thing is you came back," Olivia got up from her chair. "Why don't we go to my office back at SVU and you can tell us what happened? Is that okay?"

Montserrat nodded her head. "Yes, um, yes…"

"You're going to be fine," Olivia promised her. She could see Montserrat's bandaged hand from the attack but other than that the woman herself seemed to be just fine.

"And please don't flee anymore. It would make our job just a tiny bit easier," Rafael's sarcastic request made Olivia silently scold him but Montserrat chuckled.

"These days I don't do a lot of running. Last night was just adrenaline and inattentive cops. I try to run now, you'd catch me in three steps."

"Two."

Montserrat opened her mouth but ended up laughing again. "I'm not that slow, though."

Olivia still shook her head at the ADA but thanked God Montserrat had a sense of humor.

~0~

Montserrat thought it was her walk of shame when Olivia brought her into SVU's bullpen. Employees looked up from their work and others stopped their conversations just for a moment to get a look at her. Olivia led her down the room but, to Montserrat's misfortune, she stopped by a couple desks.

"Hey, you found her," Fin was still laughing inside from the idea of what Casey Novak had to have faced for this woman to be here now.

All Montserrat could offer was a smile. The group of detectives were first and foremost taken aback by Montserrat's pregnancy. It was a detail no one disclosed about after all.

"This is Detective Montserrat Novak," Olivia introduced the woman despite it being unnecessary. They all knew who she was. "These are Detectives Tutuola, Munch, Rollins, Amaro and Carisi."

"I heard you were looking for me. I'm sorry for the trouble I caused," Montserrat sighed. She felt like a broken record apologizing to everyone but they did deserve one.

"We're just glad you're here," Amanda honestly said. "If you need anything…"

"A chair, actually," Montserrat sheepishly looked at Olivia. She had a hand on her back and was gently rubbing circles to sooth the back pain.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Olivia, in an embarrassed state, led Montserrat towards the interview room where she figured Montserrat would be more comfortable on the couch. Montserrat bid goodbye to the detectives as she followed Olivia. "I'm sorry about that," Olivia honestly apologized.

"Don't worry about it," Montserrat took a seat - fell towards the end - on the couch. "I'm a nuisance for everyone in this state."

Olivia smiled. "Not here. Can I get you anything before we start?"

"No thank you, I'm fine."

"Okay," Olivia gathered a legal pad and a pen to jot down whatever Montserrat was going to say. She just hoped it would be useful to nail the perp completely.

"Before I start, I want you to know that the reason I retracted my transfer application was because of me," Montserrat surprised Olivia with the sudden topic. "I really wanted to be here but, um...this happened…" she gestured to her pregnant stomach, making Olivia momentarily question the manner in which Montserrat had said it. It almost sounded as if Montserrat was regretful or...resentful.

"That's fine, it really is, but if anything you would have just been on desk duty," Olivia slowly said, still studying Montserrat's demeanor of the moment.

"Mhm," Montserrat stared at her hands over her stomach. There was something not right about this but Olivia decided to focus on the current case before she dug into anything else.

"So, um, is it alright if we start?"

"Yes, of course. Um, let's see," Montserrat took in a breath while she gathered memory of the previous night. "I was coming home from, um...somewhere, and it was pretty late - well, it ten o' clock. Maybe it's not that late in reality but my contract said I have to be home before dark so…" Montserrat shook her head, "Sorry. Um, I was walking down the street when I heard noises. It was a woman - she was screaming. There was a man pushing her against a wall. It was clear he was trying to attack her. He smacked her head, there was something shiny pointed at her face. She cried for him to stop but he was so aggressive…"

"Do you remember what the woman was wearing?" Olivia asked after finishing up a note. "We need to make sure we're talking about the same victim."

"I know," Montserrat nodded, not needing to remind Olivia the process wasn't new for her. "It was dark so I couldn't see a lot but she was wearing a shiny dress. It sparkled a lot. The man, he was wearing a jacket um...a beanie. He looked young, to be honest. He was lanky too."

"You got a good look at him," Olivia briefly looked at Montserrat's bandaged hand.

"Yeah, when he attacked me," Montserrat confirmed. "I wasn't carrying my gun so I was at a disadvantage apart from the pregnancy. But I couldn't walk away. The woman was screaming for him to get off her, to stop it, but the bastard didn't listen. I…" she suddenly chuckled a bitter chuckle, "It was ridiculous but...I threw rocks at him that I found over a car's hood. It was all I could do."

"It's not ridiculous," Olivia reassured her. "You probably saved her with that."

"Yeah because he turned on me with a knife afterwards," Montserrat sighed. "I got scared when he started coming for me. He said just because I had a big stomach it didn't mean he couldn't do the same to me. If there was ever a time I wish I was on the job, it was then. He came at me and I tried fighting him off - which is how I got this-" she raised her injured hand, "-and then I managed to punch him. He dropped the knife and...I guess he got scared when he heard sirens so...he ran."

"One of the neighbors made the call to police," Olivia informed her. "We haven't been able to get any pictures from him since our victim hasn't woken up yet. Do you think you would you recognize him if you saw him again?"

"Oh yeah. I could talk to a sketch artist if you want."

"That would be really helpful," Olivia smiled softly at her. "Is there anything else you remember? Anything you want to add to your statement?"

Montserrat thought about the horrendous night for another minute. "Actually, yes. I believe the man called the victim by a name."

"Her name?"

"It sounded more like a nickname. He said 'c'mon, Hales, you know you like me' while he attacked her," Montserrat was sure of it and it showed. "He had to be someone that girl knew and probably rejected at some point."

Olivia agreed. They at least now had another alternative to search for their suspect. "Thank you Montserrat. Now, I have to ask, are you willing to testify if this goes to trial? Which it most likely will."

"Yes, of course I would," Montserrat nodded. "You just give me a time and date."

Olivia lightly smiled at the woman. "Thank you."

Montserrat attempted to get up on her own but the couch seemed to suck her back in. Olivia tried her hardest not to laugh, even quietly, but Montserrat side glanced her. "It's funny, I know. Everyone laughs. Look at Montse, she can't even stand up or sit down anymore."

Olivia put down her note and pen to help her get up. "Would that be Casey by any chance?"

"Mm, I don't think I should speak ill about an ADA who happens to be my cousin."

Olivia laughed. "Alright."

"Again, I'm really sorry for not staying last night. From now on, anything you need for this case I'll be here."

"And we thank you for it," Olivia said as she walked Montserrat out of the room. "I know our victim will too."

"Where can I leave my contact information? I moved so whatever you had on file isn't up to date anymore."

"Uh, you can leave that with one of my Detectives," Olivia said as her phone buzzed in her pocket. She picked it out of her pocket and saw the text left for her. "Actually, yes, leave that with one of them while I head to the hospital." She looked up to see everyone staring at her. "Hayley Connors woke up. Nick, care to join?" Nick gave a nod and got up from his chair with his jacket in hand. "We'll be in touch," Olivia told Montserrat before heading out with Nick.

"You can leave your information here," Amanda motioned Montserrat to her desk. She had a sticky note and pen waiting for Montserrat.

"Thanks," Montserrat walked over and picked up the sticky pad.

"Now when we do get the perp we'll need you to do the formal ID…" Amanda explained but Munch cut in.

"I think she knows the procedure," Munch reminded her, giving Montserrat a small smile. "Isn't that right, Detective?"

"Yes," Montserrat smiled back and handed Amanda the sticky pad and pen. "Olivia also said I could talk you about a sketch artist."

"You think you got a good view of the perp?" Finn asked, exchanging glanced with Sonny. It would be a real step up from what they had so far.

"Yes," Montserrat recognized that look of relief all too well. It was so frustrating to have next to nothing on cases. "And like I told your Sergeant, I'll do anything I can to help."

"You sure you're Casey's cousin?" Munch's question made her chuckle. "Not that Casey never helped, but..."

"My cousin has a fantastically hard attitude," Montserrat finished for him. "I tell her that and she still gets pissed off. "Maybe she gets that from her mom. We're related on the paternal side. Our fathers were brothers."

"Were?" Sonny looked at the others in case they knew about it.

"Casey's father died in the military," Montserrat figured Casey would have at least mentioned that but then again she didn't really know ADA Casey - she knew her cousin Casey. "She never mentioned me?"

"Uuh..." she heard Fin go before shrugging. "Lots of work around here, little time to talk."

"Right," she playfully rolled her eyes. "Anyways, can we do that sketch of the perp please? I have to go, so..."

"I can take you," Sonny stood from his desk, all too cheerful to do the task. "You're going to help us a lot with this."

"That's what I'm aiming for," Montserrat chuckled and followed him.

~0~

When Montserrat returned to her apartment, which was inhabited by the couple awaiting the child she carried, she was forced to tell them the truth about things. They were good people, they were her friends, and ultimately they would find out on their own.

Leah Saunders moved around the kitchen table serving lasagna to her husband, Michael, and Montserrat. "I just don't think getting yourself into that situation is the best thing right now," Leah was voicing her opinion in the kindest, civilized manner she could muster. "You're about to pop - literally - and you already got blood pressure to worry about. Is testifying and all that really necessary right now?"

"Considering this woman was raped and beaten, yes I think it is necessary," Montserrat picked up her fork to start eating. She was about to dig in when a scent caught her nose. "Is that brownies I smell?"

Leah playfully rolled her eyes. Michael chuckled in his seat. For the entire pregnancy, Montserrat experienced a series of cravings but the one that stuck throughout it all were the brownies. Leah took to making brownies daily just for her.

"Eat first," Leah pointed Montserrat to her plate. "Brownies come afterwards."

"You spoil me," Montserrat dug her fork into the lasagna.

"It's the least we can do after what you went through," Leah blurted as she took her seat. Montserrat froze just as she was about to take her first bite of lasagna. Leah's eyes widened when she realized her words and immediately set to amend for them. "Montse, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to bring that up. I'm-"

Montserrat warmly smiled at her friend. "It's okay. Don't worry about it."

"Don't say that. It is something to worry about," Leah felt terribly guilty for her careless slip.

Michael reached for his wife's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, then glanced at Montserrat. "Montse, you know that you seeing a therapist isn't grounds for breaking the contract, right? If you need a ride, Leah or I can take you."

"I should have said something, I'm sorry," Montserrat licked her lips nervously. "I just wanted to keep it away from people...I don't know. I'm sorry."

"It's difficult, I know. But please, next time just tell us."

Montserrat nodded. "I will. Thank you."

"And as for this whole case thing, we know you're not stopping-"

"-I am not."

"And we get that. It is part of your job, but take it easy, alright? We'll be there for you, anytime you need us."

Montserrat sighed with relief. "That means a lot, believe me." Her friends both smiled at her, their promise to stay with her was the leverage she needed at the moment to continue with this until she could get back on her feet on her own... literally.

[minotaurman-ayjay]

ACAB - Leaving Wonderland

This will be a post on how I used to support the police, and how I’ve changed.

I will also write on this later. This will be detailing…

How increased coverage on Police Brutality changed my mind

Recollections on institutionalized racism, racism in police culture, and racism among civilian employees that I worked with as well as the police themselves.

How the very police department that I worked for mishandled my report, put me in danger, and how they treated me as a mentally ill civilian.

How police departments become corrupt, and how chain of command becomes compromised.

And lastly, how I was treated by my coworkers and supervisors after filing my report, and how they handled my mental and personal crisis, forcing me to quit and forever changed my outlook towards police.

I used to work for the police department in a civilian division. I was really good at my job, and loved the job that I did because I felt like I was helping people. I never really knew the outcome of those that I helped, and have helped many people out of volatile domestically centered situations. I helped spoke to fellow mentally ill citizens, especially those that were suicidal. I never really knew the outcome of my clients, because we weren’t really supposed to know unless it’s for official reasons. It’s a very thankless job, but it feels good to just be there for someone.

However, that slowly got tainted as 1) department wide corruption reared it’s ugly head and 2) how the division I worked for became toxic.

We had a black police chief for quite some time. Things were handled differently, and as painfully awkward he was on the PR front, he was really good at caring for people. And I feel like he legitimately did. He made a lot of changes in the department, and had different classes and training specifically for dealing with people who are mentally ill. Classes for “LGBT and Racial sensitivity”, and “Emergency De-escalation for Mentally Ill Civilians”  that basically amounted to “Treat everybody like a human being. Yes. Everybody. Not just WASPs. “ and “Don’t just shoot that guy because he’s having a violent psychological breakdown” and was always de-escalation before violence for *everybody*.

And then he was fired, and the reason for it was very vague and flimsy. Something that we were spoonfed and expected to accept. Hindsight tells me that it was most likely was for racial reasons and hiding those reasons behind “He embarrassed us at Washington DC and he used police resources for personal gain”. Like if such crime was committed, where are the receipts for it? Seriously, where is the evidence??? We weren’t allowed to know that much.

I asked way too many questions on this matter, and I’m pretty sure this is what got the higher ups pissed at me just enough that they opportunistically struck on me and force me to quit.

 --- more on that later, I’m trying to keep this as linear as possible ---.

A new police chief was soon appointed and to my (not) surprise, he is a Godfearing white guy who would suck Trump’s orange stump once he is within eyeshot of the guy.

Then the “LGBT and Racial Sensitivity” classes and classes how to handle the mentally ill disappeared for “budget cuts”. I’m certainly hoping that their crisis intervention that is de-escalation based and social worker run continues to be a thing and won’t be done away with because of this new leadership.

Now that the very top is corrupt and obviously not for the People, it enabled racist assholes with a god complex to come out of the goddamn woodwork. He started appointing people with his same views, etc.

Let’s get into Police Culture real quick. Police Culture is known for it’s Good Ol’ Boy mentality. Something that has supposed to have changed. It’s always been dominated by white men, and obviously, the white men within it are going to make sure that it stays that way. Again, hindsight has taught me, that police culture will never change because even though there are people on the inside who want to change it, white centric corruption will always be there to whisk it away.

I had been looking for another job to get out of the Department as my support for the police and for the Department itself began to wain. During this time, I would find an employer who sounded like they would move mountains to hire me... and then suddenly I would hear nothing. 

Then, there was some massive leadership reshuffling in my Division, and these were people who should not have been there at all. Remember when I asked too many questions about why the recent police chief was fired? These people were against that chief and are very pro-this chief. Shocking, right? So of course, me who did not like this chief (but was not outward it) or at very least had the AUDACITY to question something that was so obviously bullshit instead of accepting what I was spoonfed like everybody else.

... this is another point on how police culture works. The nail that stands out the most gets hammered. The loosest screw gets screwed..

---This is how I get screwed---

 then something happened to me that required me needing the police to help me.

TL;DR AND CW: PET DEATH, ANIMAL CRUELTY

I found my dog stabbed to death, most likely by my exroommates who still had a key... It happened while I was getting knew locks for my house. I called the police, and they took a report. But they did not collect any evidence that was obviously tied to what happened. The reporting officer pushed it through as an Information Only report because HE had concluded that my dog was mauled. He wasn’t even a detective. He was a REPORTING OFFICER who came to a conclusion and used that conclusion to dictate how my report went through --- 

*This was how we USED to (or so I thought) treat people who were mentally ill and constantly, frequently, calling with bizarre cases* It was active discrimination against the mentally ill that puts them in danger. I was “mentally apped” a long time ago, (where they take you to a hospital against your will. This is on your personal record forever and can fuck with getting driver’s license, and other things) and concluding something just because it doesn’t add up for “information only” was an old practice that I thought had been done away with.

but did anybody care about this? No, of course not. We were on different management. Months pass despite me blowing up the phones of Sergeants and the Detective that was assigned to my case.

I was talking to peer support to help me go through this, I told them what was going on with my life and what I was doing. They told me not to call these Sergeants and Detectives again and to wait for them to contact me.

I was then put under investigation for “Using police resources for personal gain”, and my supervisor had told me that I was harassing detectives and sergeants. Harassing them to do their job and pick up evidence? Sure.

Since I was under investigation, I was given an alternative assignment. I was put on a different shift--- Something that should have never happened because the shift that I was working was for medical reasons. I was on a rough antipsychotic medical schedule to keep my bipolar disorder and psychosis in check. My shift changed, which caused my medication to not work like it used to. 

I was also put in a room with a shitty chair that fucked with my osteoarthritis in my hip... another ADA accommodation that had been violated. They refused to give me a new chair and doctors notes were mysteriously never received. My ADA accommodations had suddenly disappeared, because we had changed to a 3rd party to handle ADA accommodations. We were told that resubmitting accommodations was not necessary as they are still active for the year--- That was a lie.

I eventually spiraled and had to go back to the mental hospital. I was under investigation for 3 months. I was stressed out of my mind and my medication was not working.

My therapist at the mental hospital had many one-on-ones with me, because she was concerned. She said that what I was going through was workplace abuse. This piled on top of the grief of losing my PTSD companion dog in a terrible, vicious, violent, senseless way, was not good for my already fragile mental health.

Before I went to the mental hospital, I had found out that Peer Support had told the administration what I was doing, and what I was going through. This was what triggered the investigation. 

TW.... SUI IDEATION AND PLAN....

Because of this, I was probably a day or so away from running away to the creek and overdosing in a place where my girlfriend couldn’t find me. My life had been turned upside down, and nobody was helping me. My workplace didn’t care. Their treatment of me became abusive when I needed them the most.

I quit after getting out of the mental hospital. Ever since then, I’ve had an issue with becoming employed elsewhere.

There are no good cops. Good cops do not last long. If a good cop ends up becoming police chief, he ends up being overthrown by the white male majority, because of white-centric police culture. This caused a lot of changes that fucked a lot of civilians and civilian employees over. There was one police involved slaying shortly after these changes were made, and it’s the same ol’ song and dance that’s going on across america.

I will never support the police again. Not only because of my personal experience, but because I understand and have witnessed the culture, and how institutionally racist it is. 

I am sorry that I ever supported the police. I am sorry that I worked for an entity that actively suppresses minorities and actively suppresses Freedom of Speech for the interest of corporations. I realize that I couldn’t be both a Black Lives Matter supporter and a police supporter. I chose Black Lives Matter as I saw the police brutality that I now realize that has always been there. I chose black lives matter as I watched a white police chief do away everything that was progressive. I chose Black Lives Matter as I increasingly worry about my friends of color as hate continues to spread and increase.

I was in the division that I chose because I felt that I was helping people. I thought working with the police was what was going to enable me to help people. That became apparent that wasn’t true the moment we switched police chiefs. We’ve become just like any other police department in the country.

I’m sorry.

[scarletanpan]

I wrote a really long post about BLM and everything that’s going on right now just because I figure it’d make me feel better. Don’t have to read, but thoughts down below!

I haven’t been very active with tumblr lately. Mostly because I’m in and out a lot anyways, but it’s hard to know how to approach what’s happening right now. When I found out about George Floyd, I was horrified but not surprised. The only thing that really took me was how malicious it was—kneeling on his neck for eight minutes and forty-six seconds. That’s nothing short of evil.

I knew protests would come next. And I’m in full support of them. But it feels kind of conflicting because I was immediately concerned about such large gatherings, what with a pandemic happening. I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do because the last thing I wanted to imagine was many people getting sick and possibly dying from it. But I knew they would happen anyway, and I support the peaceful calls to action happening all over the country right now. To the people who go out and attend them I wish nothing but safety.

But of course that doesn’t always happen. I know on the side of protests come riots; they’ll start out peaceful and get more and more hectic. It can go both ways—people instigating the riot control, or the cops subduing innocent people. When I heard about the rubber bullets and tear gas it just made my heart sink. None of this is new, but the idea of people being attacked like that for wanting to stand up for what is right hurts to think about.

Not everyone there is in the right though. Like I said, I’m not okay with people who riot. I get the anger and frustration and desire to just vent and attack, I get so fed up I think about that sort of stuff too. But the people who attack the riot control put themselves and everyone else in danger. And especially the people who loot stores and destroy property. None of that is okay, even if it’s some big corporation. Yeah big business does suck, but the people in those stores are employees that are probably just as fed up as you are and are trying to get by doing their job. Destroying the stores and stealing from them does nothing but put more stress on the people there. Big or small, no business deserves to be attacked. Causing destruction is not the way to say Black Lives Matter. And instigating police isn’t the way either, they have gear and weapons that can hurt you and others and lead to more people getting arrested.

And the thing is some people use the chaos that’s happening to loot and riot on purpose. They piggy back off the opportunity to steal themselves stuff they want and don’t give a shit about the cause. I don’t respect those type of people at all. It only makes things worse for everyone—and if when people think about Black Lives Matter they’re reminded of all the destruction and rioting that happened, it looks bad on the entire cause.

Of course that’s not to say it’s nothing but destruction. There’s plenty of peaceful protests, but it’s the most violent ones that typically get put on the news because they attract people’s attention and get the most views. And even if some people are causing problems, Black Lives Matter isn’t something I think anyone should disagree with if they believe in equal rights for everyone. It doesn’t matter if some people go off the deep end and do things they shouldn’t, but people will use those few examples as reasons to not support it. It creates a weakness in the strength and unity that the movement is supposed to have, and can easily be used as a way to denounce it. Either way it shouldn’t be denounced but it makes it all the more easier for the people who want to.

Another thing that I feel like creates weakness is the way everything’s being handled online. I’m lucky to not have seen it now nearly as much on Tumblr as I did back in 2016, but the guilt-tripping and fear mongering was insane. So many posts acted like if you didn’t look at them and reblog them you were an awful person who didn’t care about black lives. And a lot of them used the snowball effect—talking about how something vaguely politically related would lead to extreme racism. Not to say politics aren’t important and don’t play a role, but it frames things in an end-all be-all sort of way. As if the world was ending.

And that’s anxiety-inducing. So anxiety-inducing. Being flooded with that sort of negative information constantly really gets to you eventually. It can be bad for your mindset, make you extremely paranoid or just straight-up depressed because the world seems like such an awful place and you feel so powerless to fix it. Like you can donate and sign a petition sure, but it never felt like enough. Especially if you couldn’t attend protests.

And with the guilt-tripping, every post accused anyone who didn’t reblog it of being a bad person. I understand the mentality, everything that was happening back then is just like how. It’s incredibly important information and it needs to be shared with as many people as can see it, especially if it has resources to help and the like. People needed to know what was going on. But everyone is different, and situations like this impact them differently. Some people cope by going on the internet and spreading as much information as possible. But other people shut down from the internet when stuff like this happens.

It gets overwhelming and constantly having to see stuff about it starts to damage the psyche. This doesn’t mean they’re ignoring it, or don’t care about it or don’t care about black lives. I’d say if they have to take a break from the internet it means they’re well aware of what’s going on. I’ve heard the argument that people should just deal with it anyway because people are subjected to much worse but that doesn’t hold for everyone. It can get legitimately depressing and put people in danger physically and mentally. Not everyone handles it the same way, and expecting everyone to become extremely active on social media and accuse them of being a bad person otherwise is the wrong thing to do.

And for those who do post on social media, I feel like there’s so many rules. I’ve seen people complain about seeing others not post enough or if someone’s a little misinformed getting very aggressive with them when they’re also in support of Black Lives Matter and are just trying to help. It’s important to recognize that everyone has completely different experiences when it comes to race relations and some people don’t know how to talk about it because they’ve never been taught and some people just don’t have all that much experience because they weren’t raised around that and that’s something that they can’t help. Is it good to become informed? Yeah, but getting angry at them and not trying to inform them or at least point them in the right direction isn’t fair to that person.

There’s also a problem of people supporting the movement with the intention of gaining more popularity rather than caring about the movement itself. This is wrong, and an awful way to use legitimate problems and struggle that so many people have to go through in order to subtlety promote yourself. But that definitely doesn’t stand true for everyone, and it’s unfortunate because I’ve seen people accused of that when they really and truly meant well. Of course people make mistakes and stuff but the mentality people approach them with when that happens is so negative, and is more about just shutting them down rather than letting them know why what they did wasn’t the best when sometimes a person can just truly be a little misguided.

But on to another topic... I don’t like ACAB. I was confused when I first heard it and then a little disheartened when I found out what it stood for. All Cops Are Bad is not the message we need to be supporting right now. I understand entirely that it doesn’t mean cops are bad on an individual level—it’s talking about the entire institution of law enforcement and how easy it is to become a cop and abuse the power given to you. And that’s entirely true, I think the institution definitely has its corruption and was historically built on the oppression of POC. This is why this continues even into today; although we as a society support equal rights, I feel like racism is still rampant especially in law enforcement because of some reasons.

One being general access to power. The process of becoming a cop I believe is something that shouldn’t be as easy as it is. There are rules in place that are supposed to keep cops from pulling over people for no reason, use excessive force for no reason, or otherwise using their status as a cop to manipulate and use others. But I’ve seen countless cases of this happening and in many of them some sort of excuse is conjured up; the person was committing a petty crime, or their behavior was suspicious. But it never warrants the actions, be it assault or even murder. And in so many of them we still see the cop get a slap on the wrist as a punishment or even go completely free with no consequence, and allowed to continue their job without a problem. Anyone can be a victim of this situation regardless of race, but there is an increase in when it comes to POC. Perpetuated stereotypes make POC out to be dangerous and suspicious and violent when they’re not. And I think this affects how people view each other and how some cops view innocent civilians.

It might not be an actively racist thought, but a subconscious distrust is just as powerful and leads to people being mistreated, abused, and even killed by the people who are sworn to protect them. And it’s sickening. It’s awful and it’s going to take a lot of reform to fix the corruption that I think runs rampant in our police forces but it’s not impossible. And coming back to my main point, all cops aren’t bad. I don’t stand for ACAB because while I completely agree with the message, the phrase itself leads people who don’t understand it to think that everyone who supports BLM hates all cops. And that’s not true at all. It’s a message that just pits BLM even more against people who want to denounce it and call it a hate group.

But yeah, that’s most of my feelings on the matter. There are a lot of different sides to everything that’s going on right now and this goes beyond George Floyd. I feel like it’s a culmination of every time we’ve seen this happen since we had the cameras to record it. I’m just glad that this time the killer in question was justly charged with second-degree murder, and the rest of the officers charged for being accomplices in it by standing there and letting it happen. I’m so glad we got justice this time. This doesn’t mean it’s all over though, what matters is that everyone keeps supporting and protesting in what ways they can and amplifying the voices of people wronged. If we can do this peacefully I think we can make real change in this country.

[fuck-customers]

TL;DR: Millionaires digusted by humble family-style luau, refuse to walk in sand/sit at tables/eat off paper plates/respect the dancers and other guests, cause ruckus for everyone involved.

TW: mentions of blood/bloody injuries

I've posted here before (anonymous and not), but y'all in for a serious doozy with this one, so here goes nothing

I work at a luau (polynesian dances, polynesian/haole mixed buffet line, gaudy gift shop trinkets, the whole shebang) and we get a lot of cruise ships that come out to our luau. Usually the cruise ship people are old, are slow walkers/have canes/wheelchairs/what have you, used to being catered to hand and foot, and definitely don't like the sand in their slippers (flip-flops). A luau on the beach, who knew there'd be sand? Anyways, usually them having to get their own alcohol drinks and go through a buffet line themselves pisses people off. We offer to make plates for the ones that really look like they need help (again, walkers, canes, wheelchairs etc) but we don't offer everyone.

But tonight (2/17) took all the fucking cakes.

We had a cruise ship that we later found out catered to millionaires from out of country. They mostly don't speak English, and we didn't have anyone who spoke even one of the languages on the list of what was known some guests spoke, so that probably didn't help.

Bit of background, we offer different packages. Each packages adds more perks to go along with the money added to the price. Cruise ships start at the lowest package as a default cuz they crank the prices up a lot so they also make a profit.

The cruise comes out along with the non-cruise guests and we're doing our best to communicate that they have reserved tables with signs that have the cruise name on it. Right from the start we have people who refuse to get off the bus because "sand dirty! No! Dirty dirty!" Then we have the people who did make it into the dining area and refuse to sit down because "No! table dirty!" We wipe the tables down before we open the gates, the picnic-style tables have freshly cleaned table clothes. We don't know they're millionaires at this point so we're baffled as to why they're so upset about our tables. Then we have people (what we assume are) complaining about the drink tickets because they thought they'd get more than one complimentary drink. Again, rough assumption from hand motions and words we hope sound close to the English word cuz none of us speak any language besides English, though a few know ASL. Before the last cruise ship bus even offloads, we had 6 people demanding to be taken back to the cruise.

On top of the complaining going on, we had the king of complainers. (We'll call him loafers cuz he had the snazziest purple loafers we've ever seen) Loafers complained to anyone in uniform he got his hands on, from the sand in his loafers to the cold breeze to the dancers not looking "sexy" enough. Eventually it got so busy for us hosts that he couldn't find someone to complain to, so removed the ropes from the stairs leading to the stage with a sign that clearly says DO NOT ENTER, walked onto the stage, and started yelling at our band about his woes. The stage manager came out and escorted him off, but as one of our dancers started a small pre-show dance to try and appease the sour faces, he goes on the stage AGAIN. He walks in front of her, then stops and starts watching her while STILL ON THE STAGE, until security finally got him off. He doesn't calm down until MoD threatens to call the cops. He didn't understand anything being said to him before, but he definitely understood that.

Dinner starts and everything seems fine, at least to me. My position tonight was to cater to the middle-tier package guests, which usually just means seating them and giving them a small tour when the arrive, and serving any handicappables their plates if they accepted this service earlier. I had a guest with a handicappable who got a scrape on the table trying to get off the bench so I had to run to first aid to get the necessary stuff cuz it was bleeding pretty bad, and looked more like a gash than a scrape. Only reason why I bring this up is because Loafers decided a host running around like a chicken without a head for anyone but him wasn't acceptable, and used one of our hose nozzles to get his pants wet and complain that "Pants wet from *other language words that don't sound friendly* dirty water!" The only reason we know he did it and it wasn't from something wet because security saw him trying to turn it on, told him "No, workers only" and he still turned it on. Bitch what'd you expect? Flowers?

Not even a second after he fucks off back to his table, one of the bus escorts pulls me aside and says "We have a problem." Loafers' whole table decided they weren't "animal" enough to eat off of the paper plates we provide for the buffet service. At this point we found out most of them are millionaires cuz one of them made a comment about eating off gold plates at home or some bullshit. But they're refusing to leave, bitching that they still expect food, so what do we do? Break out some plastic, nice-ish looking plates that we keep for when we have potlucks for employee birthdays or something in the employee section. Still goes in the trash, but they seemed willing to use them.

Then the main show starts.

Remember the packages with the perks? Well the top package gets the whole front row to themselves. Even if there aren't enough people to fill all the tables, we don't allow anyone else on those tables because it's literally in the advertisement that "Only [redacted] package gets the premium front row seating!" And guess how many cruise snobs we were kicking off of those seats? We were literally shouting "NO!" at one point because they weren't listening. Then some smart-asses decided they'd stand right on the side of the stage because they couldn't sit at the front tables, completely blocking the view of the guests decent enough to stay in their seats. Then when we'd tell them they also couldn't stand there, they'd SIT BACK AT THE PREMIUM TABLES. NO! SIT AT YOUR OWN GODDAMN TABLE YOU ENTITLED PRICKS.

I was blessed with a position that could leave at 7:30. I left as soon as I fucking could.

Fuck entitled rich tourists.

[writingguide003-blog]

10 Years Later, Here's How The Writers Strike Indelibly Changed TV

New Post has been published on https://writingguideto.com/must-see/10-years-later-heres-how-the-writers-strike-indelibly-changed-tv/

10 Years Later, Here's How The Writers Strike Indelibly Changed TV

In late 2007, “How I Met Your Mother” co-creator Craig Thomas faced an unusual situation. After penning the script for Episode 11 of the CBS comedy’s third season alongside fellow creator Carter Bays, he found himself handing off the pages they’d written. The scenes were to be filmed without his presence on set — or any of his writing staff, for that matter.

“We tried to get the script as tight and manageable as possible with the knowledge that there would be no writers on set to punch up any of the jokes or fix any of the words,” he explained. “At a certain time of the night, we just had to hit send and the script went to our producer and director and we said, ‘Have a great shoot week. We’ll be picketing outside of the lot.’”

Thomas and Bays were two of roughly 12,000 TV and film and television writers who were striking on behalf of the East and West unions of the Writers Guild of America, a walkout caused by stalled negotiations with the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers that all but ground scripted television like “HIMYM” to a halt in late 2007 and 2008. (Members of HuffPost’s union are represented by WGA East.)

The organizations were in the midst of negotiating a new three-year contract. But after the AMPTP, the trade association affiliated with corporations like CBS and NBCUniversal, failed to meet the demands of the guilds, writers embarked on a 100-day stalemate.

During that time, guild writers no longer took work. In terms of television, that meant there were no new scripted episodes available for the networks to air besides those commissioned before the strike. More than 60 TV shows shut down as a result, and ratings and ad sales plummeted. By December 2007, most scripted series were off the air and not set to return for months. The CW’s “Gossip Girl” and “One Tree Hill” faced shortened seasons; NBC’s “Heroes” only completed 11 episodes of the 24 expected for Season 2, and was off the air for nine months; the third season of Fox’s “Bones” was cut short as the show went on a four-month hiatus. Late-night programming all but disappeared (until hosts like Conan O’Brien, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert fought to return without writers citing the financial struggles of their non-writing staff), and award shows like the Golden Globes were canceled.

In total, the strike cost the state of California over $2 billion and 37,700 jobs, according to nonprofit economic think tank the Milken Institute.

For a show like “HIMYM,” the prospect of a lengthy pause was daunting.

“Everyone had to stop [working] and that was scary, as the show was just gaining some momentum,” Thomas said.

CBS Photo Archive via Getty Images

Neil Patrick Harris playing Barney Stinson on a 2008 episode of “How I Met Your Mother.”

But there were larger interests at stake.

Audiences used to watching movies in theaters and TV at designated times in their homes were getting acquainted with a new kind of viewing experience: streaming video. Industry experts at the time predicted that so-called “new media” content ― shows and movies distributed online or viewed on computers, cell phones and other devices ― would eventually supplant DVDs in terms of profits. (Spoiler alert: They did.)

Initially, the big studios ― MGM, Sony, Warner Bros. and Disney, among others ― took home most, if not all, of the profits of this “new media” content; the WGA had no formal agreement with the companies on how to compensate writers for this kind of online or on-demand distribution. So when it came time to renegotiate a contract in November 2007, this issue was key.

According to the WGA, the AMPTP began negotiations by offering paltry residuals for new media and expressed a desire to deny the guilds future jurisdiction over scripts written for the internet. And the group felt as though it had no choice but to strike.

“It was one of the most important strikes of the new century to date,” Lowell Peterson, executive director of the WGA East, told HuffPost. Although Peterson was not a part of the WGA East until after the strike ended, he was interviewing for the role of director during the walkout and was in communication with leadership throughout the entire process. He witnessed the picketing firsthand and considers the strike to be “the first major labor action of the digital age.”

“This was a bunch of employees confronting the impact of information technology and digital technology on their way of living, and that was something that resonated very deeply across the labor force and the labor movement,” he said.

The strike officially ended on Feb. 12, 2008. The guilds won a piece of digital revenues and established a percentage payment on the distributor’s gross, and shows like “HIMYM” resumed with their writing staff in tact.

“Our perception was that it was very successful,” Peterson explained. “That as a result of the strike, the guilds were able to win jurisdiction and residual payment terms that otherwise simply wouldn’t exist. It looked like a great victory.”

But, it wasn’t an easy road. Not only had writers been out of work, they’d returned to an industry indelibly changed by their fight.

Jeff Vespa via Getty Images

Entertainment news anchors Lara Spencer, Brooke Anderson, Jim Moret, Giuliana Rancic, Dayna Devon and Mary Hart at The 65th Annual Golden Globe Awards Announcement at the Beverly Hilton on Jan. 13, 2008, in Beverly Hills, California.

The Rising Tide Of Reality TV

While scripted television series were forced to take a hiatus during the strike, this was not the case for reality TV shows.

Once pre-strike commissioned episodes ran out and fictional series were on lockdown, broadcast and cable networks clamored for any original content they could find to fill their schedules. As a result, some industry watchdogs connect the writers strike with the boom of reality television, considering more than 100 unscripted shows ― from competition shows to dating shows to life improvement series ― either debuted or returned during that 2007-2008 season.

However, Eli Holzman, the current CEO of The Intellectual Property Corporation and the creator/developer behind series like “Project Greenlight,” “Undercover Boss” and “Project Runway,” has a slightly different take on the strike’s impact on reality TV. He believes the explosion of unscripted television in 2008 was a long time in the making.

“Nonscripted TV was on the march really from the early 2000s, with the advent of ‘Survivor,’ ‘Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?’ and ‘Big Brother,’” Holzman explained. “The genre came into its own and it mirrored the trajectory and growth of cable, and commissioning increased each year. Yes, the strike was one important factor in that. But to me, slightly less important than the growth of cable and the audience’s embrace of the genre.”

As Holzman described it, scripted television was in the doldrums beginning in the mid-aughts. Viewers, he said, were bored with the slog of too-similar sitcoms, cop dramas and medical shows. From 2005 to 2007, for example, “American Idol” reigned supreme while the high-rated “Grey’s Anatomy,” “CSI: Crime Scene Investigation” and “House” eventually slipped below “Dancing with the Stars.” According to Holzman, audiences craved a fresh start. Cue the rise in reality television projects, which hit their stride in the 2000s. They peaked in 2015, when 750 nonfiction programs (350 of them brand new) aired on cable.

“Suddenly, this genre — Oh my god, all these people are going to get left on an island with nothing and they have to vote each other off, and someone is going to win a million dollars? ― was new and different and we wanted new and different versus a copy of a copy of a copy,” Holzman said. “The strike is an easy moment to look at when suddenly we all became aware of a change that was going on that maybe we hadn’t noticed before. But that change was happening on its own.”

WGA East’s Peterson agrees with him.

“I would not say that reality TV was created by the writers strike. I would say that more people watched it because there was nothing else on,” he added, noting that reality TV was simply “the only alternative, other than reruns,” for networks to air in lieu of their regularly scheduled programming.

Still, Holzman admits the strike did help to advance certain reality programs. “Project Runway,” for instance, aired its fourth season from November 2007 to March 2008 and earned pretty solid ratings for Bravo. The finale roped in 6.1 million viewers in the 18-49 demo when Christian Siriano won. Later in 2008, Lifetime took over the series and ratings increased by nearly 30 percent. Episodes of NBC’s “Biggest Loser” moved from a one-hour slot to two in order to fill primetime space. CBS aired its first, and last, “Big Brother” winter season. “Keeping Up with the Kardashians” began its reign on E! “American Idol” capped off a historic season in May 2008 with 31.7 million finale viewers, helping Fox become America’s most-watched network for the first time ever.

“As the strike wore on, the [reality] business was robust,” Holzman reiterated. “As a typical Hollywood producer, I thought I was just really talented [Laughs]. I didn’t realize I was potentially riding a wave. I thought, ‘I’m so good at this! This is so easy!’ That was genuinely my impression, and I didn’t realize we were in the midst of what was going to be a boom.”o

Indeed, when guild writers returned to work, reality TV was no longer just a cloying trend. Thomas admitted that, as a scripted TV showrunner, it wasn’t easy to watch reality programs top the ratings week after week from there on out.

“I remember being really stressed out in the first couple of years of ‘How I Met Your Mother’ because we were losing to a reality show all the sudden,” Thomas recalled. “That show ‘Deal or No Deal’ was this huge sensation and we were like, ‘Oh man, we’re losing to suitcases of money being opened up!’”

Brian To via Getty Images

Eli Holzman.

The ‘Death’ Of The Baby Writer

There were other long-term effects of the strike, though, not just for veteran writers, but aspiring ones, too.

About 20 years ago ― a decade before the writers strike ― a handful of these promising writers’ assistants, or “baby writers” as they were sometimes called, were working with Holzman at Miramax Television on a Kevin Williamson project called “Wasteland.” The show, about a group of post-college pals, aired only three episodes in 1999 before ABC canceled it. But out of that particular wasteland came a crucial opportunity. Since the studio heads were still required to fulfill the 13-episode order for foreign buyers but no longer felt pressure to deliver top-level content, aspiring young writers were given the chance to pen the remaining scripts for the series.

“We were in a blowout game where you take the kids off the bench and you put them in because it doesn’t matter,” Holzman told HuffPost. “One of those writers’ assistants was Damon Lindelof, who would go on to create ‘Lost’ and has obviously had an extraordinary career. Here’s a voice that, because of that flourishing ecosystem, was able to be identified, nurtured and grown, and his writing was then brought to all of us: the audience.”

Unfortunately, the months of foot-dragging from AMPTP negotiators in 2007-2008 messed with that flourishing ecosystem, Holzman says, dismantling a once healthy community that fostered creators of all ranks.

“As the strike and the decline in commissioning wore on, the people who maybe had previously been a rung or two up the ladder were willing to take a job and come back at a lower level, a lower rate. If you’re running a show and have to staff it, you have the ability to hire a kid who’s promising but never done it before or someone who’s really competent and is going to take a pay cut to work at that level. You’re almost crazy not to hire that more seasoned person. So, that baby writer pathway into the business went away,” he said, “and that was tragic.”

Then-“baby writer” Nick Bernardone, however, was one of the lucky ones. “I got my first job as an office production assistant on ’30 Rock’ [in 2008] by literally walking into the office at the exact right time and asking if they needed someone. It was one in a million timing,” he told HuffPost. “The answer was something like, ‘Usually, this would be insane … but can you start tomorrow?’”

After working alongside the likes of Tina Fey, Bernardone went on to become a member of the writers’ room on her Netflix series, “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt.” He insists he wouldn’t have gotten the gig had he not worked similar jobs on shows like AMC’s “The Walking Dead” and Netflix’s “Bloodline” in the interim.  

Thomas and Bays also entered the business relatively easily. They were hired as writers for David Letterman just a few months after graduating from Wesleyan University in 1997, well before the strike. And they opted to pay it forward.

“Through the run of ‘How I Met Your Mother,’ we promoted several of our writers’ assistants, mostly post-strike,” he said. “One of them was Matt Kuhn, who ended up being a writer on the show for the entire rest of the run after a couple of seasons as a writers’ assistant. We did the same thing with Craig Gerard and our personal assistant, Matt Zinman ― we promoted them to be full writers on the show for many years. And in the last couple seasons we promoted George Sloan.”

These days, Bernardone, who’s been nominated for four Emmy awards, believes breaking into the business is all about who’s willing to give you a slice of the pie.

“If someone likes an aspiring writer’s stuff, they’ll do their best to get them hired,” he said.

As unreliable as it might be, it’s a practice Holzman believes is necessary.

“It’s really important to nurture a new crop, a new generation of storytellers every year, because it takes a long time to get there and it takes a long time to learn your craft,” he said. “It’s like a bad year for grapes — in 10 years, we won’t have that vintage.”

Brent N. Clarke via Getty Images

Creators of ‘How I Met Your Mother’ Carter Bays (L) and Craig Thomas attend the 12th Annual New York Television Festival held at Helen Mills Theater on October 24, 2016 in New York City.

The Streaming Pathway To Prestige TV

Beyond the birth of the reality television boom and the increase in obstacles for up-and-coming writers, the strike ushered in an era that the guilds and industry insiders always expected: the era of streaming TV.

In 2007, Netflix was on an upswing. The company had launched in 1998 as a mail-order competitor to the then-popular but ultimately terminal Blockbuster, which rented out VHS tapes, DVDs and video games to the masses largely via brick-and-mortar stores. By 2005, 35,000 different films were available through Netflix’s subscription service; they reportedly shipped out 1 million DVDs every day. But soon enough, Netflix went the way of the internet, allowing its subscribers to browse through and watch films and shows by streaming them straight to their devices. By 2008, it had already identified its video-on-demand platform as the future. By 2013, Netflix had 27.1 streaming customers in the U.S.

Today, the company has more than 100 million subscribers.

In Thomas’ eyes, the writers strike was a pivotal turning point for the digital revolution helmed by Netflix, Hulu and other platforms. When the WGA refused to negotiate a contract without new media residuals, it signaled to the AMPTP and the entertainment industry at large exactly how powerful streaming services could be.  

“We had front-row seats to this huge change, and I credit ’How I Met Your Mother’s success a lot to the influence of Netflix,” Thomas said. “The popularity of Netflix started to get so much bigger and in those next couple of seasons, ‘How I Met Your Mother’ got onto Netflix and was very, very popular on there. [It] enabled all these new fans to binge the first few seasons and catch up and we saw ratings on live TV, on CBS, bump up because of this streaming service.

“That was part of what the strike was about: making sure writers were fairly compensated for work that wasn’t created for Netflix but got on Netflix,” Thomas continued. “Right away, we saw how important that side of things would become ― even with helping shows do better on network TV.”

And as platforms like Netflix grew and enhanced, so did original content, leading to, as Thomas put it, the rise of prestige TV. Sure, standout shows like “The Sopranos” and “The Wire” predated the walkout, but he believes writers had “firmer ground” to work on following the strike and were able to experiment with a plethora of innovative scripted series in ways they weren’t able to before ― knowing that they have the option of pitching their shows to multiple networks, premium channels and streaming sites.

“It’s certainly true that for a while people were more worried that what we did was hand the industry over to reality TV, and that definitely has not happened,” Peterson added. “What we’ve seen since the strike is an enormous explosion of high-budget scripted television. Reality definitely supplanted scripted for a while but in the 10 years since the strike, scripted has just expanded beyond anyone’s dreams.”

Were writers brainstorming the next decade of prestige TV while on the picket line years ago? Although Holzman doesn’t know how many successful TV scripts were created during on-strike downtime, he believes there were ideas brewing.

“It’s not likely they were stockpiling scripts for things that weren’t commissioned, but were they writing for themselves and creating things? I’m sure. Just because Picasso goes out of fashion, I don’t think he stops painting. Similarly, if there isn’t a market for writers work, I don’t think that means that they cease to write. I wouldn’t be surprised if some great stuff originated during that time period.”

Thomas can vouch for that.

“Everyone had in the back of their head, ‘What if this goes on a really long time? What if our show goes away after this?’ You never relax. You have to prove yourself and fight for it, so you take nothing for granted,” Thomas said. “So I think everybody had a little panicked thought about what to do next. ‘Should I be thinking about possible alternative shows or features for after the strike?’ It was definitely a moment.”

Today, the effects of on-demand viewing are still a major concern for the WGA East and West.

“On-demand viewing seems to be supplanting virtually everything else, and that has changed the way our members do their work,” Peterson said. “It’s changed the nature of the shows. No one is constrained to, ‘It’s 8 o’clock on Wednesday, I’m going to watch CBS now.’ People watch what they want, when they want, and that’s given our members enormous opportunities.”

Handout via Getty Images

Bruce Miller accepts the award for Best Television Series, Drama for Hulu’s “The Handmaid’s Tale” in January.

In the spring of 2017, WGA and AMPTP negotiations once again hit a snag over issues of compensation related to new media.

According to Peterson, there were a few things that drove it, including the fact that average TV earnings were increasing, due in part to things like decreased costs as the average television season became shorter. Tens of billions of profits were not being shared with writers.

“We had this enormous ‘yes’ vote authorizing the committee to call a strike,” Person said of the 2017 negotiations. “I think it was 96.3 percent yes, which is really an affirmation that members were ready to take action.”

After threatening a walkout, the AMPTP agreed to some of the guilds’ demands, likely with knowledge of what another writers strike would do to its industry. The guilds made gains across the board, added funding to their health plan and increases in subscription TV residuals, high-budget SVOD residuals, and, for the first time ever, residuals for comedy-variety writers in Pay TV. Now, writers for late-night and shows like “SNL” could see payment for content that’s re-aired on subscription sites or the internet. The unions also pushed to restructure compensation terms for writers of shorter seasons, making sure creators saw a piece of the studios’ profits.

“The Writers Guilds East and West are committed to the possibility of striking if that’s what it takes to win gains for our members, and we make sure that’s clear to the AMPTP when we sit down with them,” Peterson said. “The studios and networks know that we mean it and will do it if necessary, and that’s a lesson from the 2007-2008 strike.”

Holzman, for one, is glad another strike didn’t happen.

“The macro feeling across the industry was a strike will be bad because if we’re looking at leisure activity and how people are spending their leisure time. Television has competitors in a way it never had before in the form of the internet and mobile,” Holzman said.

“We’ve seen, and continue to see, an enormous migration of advertising dollars out of proper television — cable, broadcast and otherwise — and onto the web,” he added. “There was a sense that a prolonged strike may result in the audience declining, which it has been anyway. Maybe if there wasn’t great TV being produced, maybe the audience wouldn’t come back. I think that was a collective fear shared by both the producers and the writers, which encouraged them to find common ground to avoid another strike.”

“It could’ve been quite bad,” he added.

Or good, if you consider the past.

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[supervalor]

All The Stars - Chapter Three

Title: All The Stars

Pairings: Karamel, eventual AgentReign, Guardiancorp.

Chapter: 3/?

Previous: 1, 2

Next: 4

Chapter under the cut.

Chapter Three

After the entire thing with Psi, it was a relief that things stayed relatively quiet in National City.

Weeks passed without Supergirl needing to fight any major, super powered villains and Kara was able to relax slightly. Well as much as she could considering that she was pregnant and still throwing up all the time. Now she could add hormonal episodes and random cravings to the list after a strange outing with Maggie and Alex, who since the DEO, had shown no further sign of anything being wrong but Kara still kept a close eye on her.

“What the hell are you eating?” Maggie questioned as they sat in a small, hipster styled café at one of the bright purple circular tables. “That cannot be legal in any state”.

Both the cop and Alex were gaping at Kara who had made her order while Alex was in the bathroom and Maggie had taken a phone call. She munched happily on the bacon, Oreo and peanut butter baguette, completely oblivious to all the looks she was being given for the strange food choice. She also had a banana milkshake to wash it down with. After Maggie made her comment, Kara paused as she finally noticed that she was being stared at. “What?”

“How can you possibly eat that? That’s disgusting”, Alex grimaced.

Kara ripped off a part of her sandwich and offered it to her sister. “It’s delicious, you should try it!”

“No! Are you trying to kill me?!”

At Alex’s words, tears immediately began to well up in the blonde’s eyes much to the others surprise and dismay. “You think I would deliberately hurt you?”

“No, it was a joke!”

“The thought of you dying is NOT funny!” Kara burst out into sobs as she discarded her horrible choice of sandwich.

“Oh shit”, Maggie stared.

Alex glared at her fiancé “Not helpful”.

“I’m going to lose everyone that matters to me. What’s the point?!” the younger Danvers wailed causing people at the nearby tables to glance over at them.

“Now people are staring”.

“I can see that, Maggie”, Alex hissed. “Help me!”

“No way. You started it, Danvers”, the cop smirked.

“There are people out there KILLING PUPPIES! AND KITTENS! What sort of people would do that?!” Kara exclaimed as tears gushed down her cheeks.  “I can’t save them all. I want to save them all, Alex but I can’t be everywhere at once. I need to protect those precious little animals!”

Alex watched the mess in front of her that was her sister and took a deep breath. She could do this, she could calm down a raging hormonal Supergirl. “Kara, there are lots of baby animals out there that are being rescued right now by good people who want to keep them safe like you do. I’m sorry I made that joke about you killing me, you are right, it’s not funny. Please calm down honey, I don’t like seeing you like this and you need to finish your sandwich”.

“My sandwich?” It was as though a switch had been hit and her tears began to subside as she remembered her disgusting food choice. “I am starving still. Maybe I should order another?”

Maggie groaned.

That had been three weeks ago now and Kara was officially three months along. It had been quite the shock when she woke up one morning to discover that her abs of steel were gone and her belly had rounded out. “Is it normal to start showing this much this early?” Kara questioned her sister after reaching for her cell and calling her up.

“It depends on the person I guess” Alex answered. “Plus we don’t know how Kryptonian pregnancies work and how they differ from a humans. Mon-El isn’t human either so that doesn’t help”.

“From what I remember in my history lessons on Krypton, when Kryptonian women used to reproduce like this the pregnancies would last about twelve months. On Daxam, I think that they lasted about ten”.

“You poor thing”.

“I don’t know if it will be different considering the baby’s going to be a hybrid, as horrible as that word is”, Kara pulled her face and swore never to use it again in connection to her child. “And then there’s the fact that Kryptonian women hadn’t reproduced naturally in centuries, Clark was the first one born that way in a long time and it was frowned upon by the council. For all I know our biology has evolved and the pregnancy will be the same length as a humans”.

“Then there’s the fact that we don’t know how many babies are in there”, Alex added causing Kara to almost drop her phone in surprise.

“What?!”

“You are Super girl. You have super powers from the sun. For all I know, that’s also given you super fertility. You did get pregnant without even trying”.

Kara swore.

“Don’t worry, if anyone can handle octuplets it’s you”, her sister snickered and Kara now began to get the impression that she was messing with her.

“Don’t even joke about that!”

Then there was her work at Catco. Kara had managed to adjust to having Lena as a boss and they were finding a good balance between their friendship and their employer and employee relationship. James still wasn’t that sure about having Lena around that often but he seemed to be coming around little by little. Kara had managed to break one major story about an alien trafficking ring that Maggie had busted with surprisingly no help from Supergirl which made the front page of Catco. She had been on a high for a while after that.

She’d also spent time with Lena’s friend and the new boss at L-Corp, Sam, who was actually really nice and she’d hit it off with almost instantly. The three of them had formed a sort of girls only club that Kara had never experienced before since she’d spent most of her life as an outsider or with only Winn as her best friend – not that there was anything wrong with Winn of course but he was a guy. Sam was a good woman who constantly talked about her daughter Ruby and it was clear to everyone how much she adored her girl.

Seven weeks after the events with Psi, J’onn surprised everyone by announcing he was going back to Mars. Meghan had reached out and apparently his father was alive.

“I’d normally suggest Kara should go with you but I don’t think that’s wise for her right now while she’s pregnant”, Alex sighed, worrying that the man that had become like a father to her was going to get himself killed without someone there to help him.

“Yeah I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to go alone but I probably shouldn’t go”, Kara agreed, surprising everyone. She refused to give up being Supergirl until she absolutely had to and then J’onn would take over and shapeshift as the girl as steel so nobody in National City would get suspicious about her absence. “That doesn’t mean that there’s absolutely no one that could accompany him. I’ll ring Clark”.

J’onn opened his mouth to protest but Kara ignored him, walking away with her cell phone already pressed against her ear as she dialled Superman.

“Hey Kara, what’s up?”

“Clark, I have a favour to ask. Normally I wouldn’t but this is for J’onn and well, I don’t want him to be alone without any back up”.

“What is it?”

Kara filled her cousin in on what J’onn was doing and despite the fact that she was asking him to leave Metropolis to go on a potentially dangerous trip to Mars, Clark didn’t hesitate to accept, agreeing that there was no way Kara should leave Earth while she was pregnant.

“Clark has agreed to go with you. Don’t argue, it’s done”, she informed the Martian before changing into her civilian clothes that were getting slightly tight and an uncomfortable reminder that she needed to go clothes shopping soon, before whizzing off to Catco. Kara wanted to get most of her work out of the way before Alex’s bridal shower.

The bridal shower ended in disaster after Maggie’s father showed up and couldn’t bring himself to approve of his daughter’s sexuality.  Alex went after her leaving Kara to keep the guests entertained despite the awkwardness that had fallen from the drama that had just gone down. By the time Alex and Maggie returned, Kara saw the same look in her eyes that she’d seen after their conversation at the DEO weeks ago. There was something really wrong with her sister and she was going to find out what it was, one way or another.

“Okay. What’s wrong?”

Alex looked up startled when Kara suddenly confronted her after everyone else had left including Maggie who’d gone back to the apartment she shared with her sister. “Nothing’s wrong, Kara”.

“Don’t lie. You had the same broken look in your eyes that I saw after our conversation at the DEO when I said you’d make a great mom. You forget that I know you better than anyone else”.

Her sister immediately deflated, biting her bottom lip. “It’s honestly nothing you need to worry about, Kara. It’s just my own issue that I need to get over. Don’t worry about it”.

“Alex, you know saying that will only make me worry more”.

“Please Kara just drop it, okay?”

Seeing the pleading look on her face, Kara reluctantly agreed but she wouldn’t if this became a regular thing.

The next day, Kara found out that J’onn had returned with his father in tow. Myr’nn was as kind as his son but a lot less hardened despite his time imprisoned by white Martians.  Like his son, he had also taken the form of a black human. “It’s really good to meet you. I’m so glad that you’re here”, she’d greeted him enthusiastically.

“It is good to be here”, he had smiled. “This planet has many marvellous things. My son just introduced me to the substance known as chocolate. It is delicious”.

After that, Kara found herself with a sudden craving for a chocolate cake and after welcoming Myr’nn to the planet, she ended up at a small desert shop that she had previously visited with Mon-El. In fact he had been the one to discover the small treasure and had taken her there. As Kara sat alone at a table with a large piece of chocolate Oreo cake on her plate, she found it hard not to think about the memory of Mon-El holding her hand from across the table as they stuffed themselves with cake.

“We’ll have to come here together when you get here”, she whispered to her baby, wondering if at this stage the child could hear her voice. Kara spoke to the baby often, despite feeling a little weird about it, in the hopes that it would recognise her voice when he or she was born. It hurt her to think that Mon-El wouldn’t be there, holding her hand as she welcomed their son or daughter into the world.

Lately she’d been having more dreams about the field with her mother and Mon-El. In her latest dream, he had even put his hand against her belly as though this dream Mon-El knew she was carrying his child. He’d bent down and kissed her tummy and when she woke up, she’d realised that she had been crying in her sleep. Kara was getting better at accepting that he was gone but she didn’t think that she would ever fully move on from him. He was ‘it’ for her, the love of her life and all that.

Of course the peace and quiet that National City was experiencing had to come to an end eventually. It ended when a meta-human with the ability to cause others to hallucinate showed up and began stealing from art galleries and museums. When Kara found out what was happening, she immediately flashed back to Psi. Why couldn’t they just have a nice normal alien for a change? She was getting a little tired of mind whammies by this point.

“Kara, maybe you ought to sit this one out?” J’onn suggested when she had shown up at the DEO in response to the alert they had sent out, and after seeing the news story that had been playing at Catco. The blonde glowered at the Martian for the suggestion. She wasn’t waddling yet, she was fine enough to take out one meta-human. “You just went through close enough this same thing with Psi. Perhaps I should deal with this one as I am better equipped to protect my mind”.

“J’onn’s got a point”, Alex, the traitor, backed up her boss. “Besides we still don’t even know who this thief is. They wear a mask and are pretty well covered in all of the footage Winn could gather”.

“Firstly, I’m not fragile Alex”, Kara snapped. “Secondly, if anyone can find out who this masked fiend is then it’s me. I know all about living a double life. And finally, what’s to say that J’onn’s not more vulnerable than me because of his abilities? Psi was capable of knocking him out of her head easily”.

J’onn and Alex looked at each other in resignation. It was probably better not to argue with her unless it seemed like she was putting herself in real danger. “If it looks like it’s too much then I’m calling in back-up. And if you get hurt because you refuse to listen to our concerns then I’m pulling you off active duty until further notice”, he warned her sternly.

“Fine”, she agreed more easily than anyone thought she would.

Since they currently didn’t have anything on their villain of the week, Kara changed into her skirt and sheer pink and white polka dot blouse to head back to work at Catco. She wasn’t all that surprised to find Lena and James having another serious conversation in his office as she made her way down to the newsroom.

After confirming her story assignment with Snapper – she was writing a piece about the art and museum thief so she would have an excuse to go around asking questions without arousing suspicion – she began to head out, just to almost run into Lena outside the elevator. “Oh Kara! I didn’t see you there. Would you like to grab a coffee later? It feels like I hardly ever see you”.

Kara flushed guiltily. It had been hard to make time for her friend with being Supergirl, a reporter and trying to prepare for her baby…which Lena didn’t even know about. She had to tell her. Coffee was probably the perfect time to do that – except she wouldn’t be drinking coffee. “Sure, Lena. How about 1.00?”

“That works for me. I’ll meet you at that cute little coffee shop across the street”.

After her run in with Lena, Kara headed to the museum to interview the director and head of security who answered her questions as best as they could and allowed her to watch footage of the CCTV. She observed as every security guard suddenly began to either flip out, sigh dreamily, cry, yell or break into some other emotional reaction at something invisible that no one could see. Among all the chaos was a shadowy figure dressed from head to toe in black with almost their entire face covered. The jumpsuit they were wearing was bulky and hid their figure well so it was hard to say if it was a man or a woman.

“Whoever it was managed to get in and out without a single guard realising anyone was there until they were gone and they snapped out of it, completely confused and with no memory of seeing anyone come in. The only proof is this footage and the missing relics from the Egyptian department”. Those relics were thousands of years old and worth millions, Kara could only wince at how those guards must have felt upon realising they were gone from right under their nose.

By the time she’d finished up at the museum, it was almost one and she quickly tucked her notepad and recording device away into her bag before heading to ‘daisy’s coffee and cake shop’, a niche little coffee place that had only recently opened up across from Catco. Lena was already waiting by the time Kara got there and had saved them a seat by the window. She had also ordered for them both judging from the two cups that were on the table.

“I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of getting your regular order”.

Kara cringed at the smell of the coffee, something that would normally make her melt with pleasure. She felt bad that she hadn’t bothered to drop her news on Lena beforehand but it had completely slipped her mind. “Thanks, Lena, you didn’t have to do that”.

“It’s my pleasure. Anything for my favourite reporter”, Lena grinned as she took a sip of her own drink.

“Hey Lena. There’s something that I really need to tell you. I know I should have told you earlier but I was still coming to terms with it myself and with everything that’s been going on recently…my head’s just been elsewhere…”

Her friend looked over at her with concern, her perfectly shaped brows furrowing as she frowned. “Kara, is everything alright? What is it?”

Well here goes, Kara thought and took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant”.

There was silence as Lena’s green eyes widened in shock. Obviously this hadn’t been something that she had been expecting to hear and who could blame her? “Mon-El?”

“Yes”, she confirmed at the unfinished question. She knew what the dark haired woman meant by that. “I only found out over a month after he’d been gone. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner”.

“It explains so much”, her friend sighed. “The weird moods, the way you kept coming and going” – Kara wasn’t going to correct her that the coming and going was actually due to Supergirl – “The weight gain, the-“

“Wait, hold on a second, the what?!” Blue eyes flashed indignantly as a heat crept up the back of her neck.

“Oh Kara, I’m sorry, I just meant that you…that your clothes were a big tighter especially around the chest” Lena looked mortified that she had accidentally let that thought slip out. “And I shouldn’t have ordered you coffee. I’ll get you something else”.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to-“

“Please I want to. Especially after I just blurted that out”, Lena laughed self-depreciatively as she waved down a waitress. “Could we have a lemonade over here?”

“Sure, I’ll bring it right over”.

After the waitress vanished behind the counter, Kara shot Lena an understanding smile. “Lena, it’s alright. I know I’ve gained weight. It’s kind of unavoidable, I know that even if I don’t like it”.

“You still look gorgeous though! I hope if I ever have a child I look as radiant as you”.

Lena was probably one of the most stunning women she knew so Kara thought it was inevitable that she’d look good regardless. “Thanks. So how are things with James?”

The waitress brought over her drink and the two women spent the entire lunch catching up with each other including Lena’s somewhat strange relationship with James and what names Kara was thinking about for the baby. In all honestly, she had no idea. If it was a girl she would probably follow her house’s naming tradition for women with names all ending in ‘ra’.

After a while, Lena had to apologise and dash off to an important meeting with L-Corp shareholders and Kara wanted to hunt down any possible leads on the museum culprit. As she headed over to her work building, her cell began to go off. “What’s going on?” She answered after checking the number and realising that it was her sister.

“The culprit’s been located at one of the new luxury penthouses on 34th Avenue. From what we know its home to one of the richest art collectors in National City”.

“I’m on it”.

“Be careful!”

Kara hung up and changed into her uniform before speeding over to the penthouse on one of the fancy new buildings that had been developed in the past year. She landed on the balcony and saw a middle age woman sobbing in the middle of a plush fur carpet. Flinging open the doors, she strode inside and looked around for any sign of the meta-human.

“Forgive me, Davy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I love you, please”.

The broken woman on the floor caught her eye and she felt herself fill with pity for the woman. Obviously having the luxurious lifestyle that wealth offered didn’t make up for everything in life. She was about to approach her to try and snap her out of it when a movement in the corner of the room got her attention. She spun around and saw the masked figure about to head onto the balcony.

“Stop right there”, Supergirl demanded with all the authority that she could muster. The meta-human stopped and then began to snicker.

“Do you really think that you can stop me, Supergirl? Even you are not immune to my powers”.

Kara went to move forwards to fight them and suddenly was hit by a wave of power but her surroundings remained the same…except that the room was empty. “Okay I know you’re still here! You can’t teleport as far as I know”. She narrowed her blue eyes and glared at the spot that they had been a moment ago before a wail caught her attention.

“What the-“

She spun on the spot and her heart dropped to the floor when she saw Mon-El in front of her, holding a baby. He was glaring at her accusingly.  “You had my child and never told me about them. You kept me from my only surviving family after you killed my mother. I’m alone and it’s all your fault, Kara. You deserve to be alone too”.

She watched as Mon-El and her baby began to disappear. Unable to control herself, Kara let out of a heart breaking screech as she fell to the floor in denial.

“Why do you always get everything I want?” A snide voice came from behind her now and Kara turned to see Alex standing over her with a sneer on her lips. “You stole my parents love and attention, you have powers, you work at the place that I was hired at long before you came along and now you’re having a baby that you don’t really want and I deserve more than you. I’d make a much better mother than you ever would, Kara. You even think so yourself”.

Tears leaked down her cheeks, hot and fast. Kara pleaded with the fake Alex to stop. “You’re not Alex. You are not my sister”.

“I’m your sister. I’m everything she thinks but won’t say out loud, too scared to hurt your fragile little feelings especially since your still whining over Mon-El like a silly little girl”.

Suddenly the Alex in front of her vanished and was replaced by Mon-El again. This time it was the Mon-El she remembered with kindness and love on his face. “Kara”.

“Mon-El?” she reached for him as though he would be able to take her hand.

“I love you. I’m here”.

Suddenly a new person appeared beside Mon-El. It was a little girl with brown hair and blue eyes.

“Mommy”, she grinned toothily, a small gap in her front teeth on display and dimples creasing her cheeks.

Kara watched longingly as Mon-El scooped the small girl into his arms and pressed a kiss on her cheek. It was everything that she could have ever wanted.

“Mon-El…”

Suddenly the pair in front of her vanished and she felt herself suddenly snap back to reality to hear her sister yelling her name. “KARA!”

Blue eyes glanced up and saw the real Alex standing over her with a panicked look on her face. “Oh thank god. You wouldn’t respond to any of us for ages”.

“A-A-Alex?” Kara’s lips trembled as she fought off a fresh batch of tears.

“I’m here”, her sister immediately took her into her arms and rocked her gently as her body shook with sobs.

Eventually Kara calmed down and came back to herself. “What happened to the meta-human?” Judging from the look on Alex’s face, she just knew that they had escaped again. This time it was on her. “I should have known that her powers would affect me. I guess I was just desperate to prove that I could still do my duties as Supergirl”.

“No one needs you to prove yourself. We all know you can handle mostly anything that is thrown your way. We’re just a little more cautious while you’re in a more vulnerable condition right now. And none of us could have a handled a hit from that meta-human but the good news is that the use of their powers leaves a sort of psychic finger print. Winn discovered it when he was here earlier with his scanner”.

“Everyone saw me?” Kara looked around the room and realised that the victim was gone and there was a police tape next to the front door. “When did they go?”

“They left as soon as Winn collected the scans. No one is going to look at you any differently. You’re still Supergirl to them”, the DEO Agent pointed out softly. “Now let’s get the hell out of here and get you home.  What do you say to us having a Danvers’ sister’s night in and ordering take out?”

Kara sniffed and smiled appreciatively at her older sis. “That sounds perfect”.

The two of them returned to Kara’s apartment where the latter changed into a pair of comfy fluffy pyjamas that Mon-El had bought for her. They were stretchy so they still fit pretty well without any discomfort. While Kara changed, Alex rung for pizza and also took the liberty of ordering some warm cookie dough with ice-cream for dessert. As they waited for the food to arrive, the two of them debated what DVD to put on and in the end selected Charlie’s Angels.

About fifteen minutes into the film, the food arrived and the two of them sat at the sofa with two pizza boxes open (Kara needed an extra-large one to herself due to her metabolism), and the cookie dough waiting for them on the coffee table. Alex had poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle that Kara couldn’t currently touch (they had no idea how alcohol would affect the baby, Kryptonian or not) while Kara had a large glass of water.

“Thanks for doing this, Alex. Are you sure Maggie is okay with you being here with me right now?”

The red head shrugged. “I told her you needed me and she said she understood”.

“I’m glad you’re here with me right now”, Kara confessed after munching on a huge bite of pizza.

Alex glanced over at her with concern as she closed her now empty pizza box. “Kara, what did…what did the metahuman make you see? I saw the footage of the other victims, I know that whatever they see can go between being nightmarish to a dream come to life”.

As she chewed on the last piece of her pizza, the blonde froze mid-bite. “I saw…I saw you and Mon-El mostly”.

“And what did we do?” she continued to press. “It had to have been something to make you shake like that. I never want to see you like that ever again”.

Kara never thought how she must have looked to her sister and she felt bad for scaring her. “You and Mon-El were sort of twisted versions of yourself. He said it was my fault he was all alone with no family and that I kept him from his child. Then you appeared and said you were sick of me getting everything you wanted and that you would make a much better mother than me. You called me a silly girl for crying over Mon-El. Then that evil version of you disappeared and the Mon-El I remembered appeared. He looked at me like the real one did and told me that he loved me and he was here. Then a little girl appeared and called me mommy. Mon-El picked her up and kissed her. It was like I was seeing the family that we should have been…that I wanted”.

Tears glazed her eyes and caused her vision to blur. Immediately Alex threw her arms around her. “You know that I would never in a million years say anything like that or even think it. I don’t. I love you and I think you’ll be a wonderful mother. And you’re not silly for grieving. Never ever think that about yourself. You also know that Mon-El would never blame you for what happened. You had no way of knowing that you had conceived his baby the same week that he had to leave Earth indefinitely. None of that is on you”.

“I know. I think the worst part was seeing the Mon-El I remembered so close but not real. It was just a reminder of what I’ll never get to have”.

A growl erupted from Alex. “When I find this metahuman, I’m going to kick their ass for mind fucking you like that”.

“Thanks, Alex”, Kara chuckled watery. “Can we have that cookie dough now? I think I need it”.

The next day, Kara turned up at the DEO to the news that Winn had managed to uncover their mysterious meta-human just off the psychic imprint he was able to pick up from the penthouse. “Lucky for us everyone’s psychic imprints match their fingerprints and are unique in the same way. True that most people can’t actually leave a psychic imprint unless they have some sort of telepathic ability but the point remains. I was able to freeze their ‘imprint’ so to speak and pull it into the DEO’s database”.

“What did you find?” Alex asked, looking as impressed as Kara felt by their friend’s work.

He grinned and whirled around in his seat, tapping something on his tablet and pulling it up on the screen. “Turns out that our mystery guy has a criminal record and their imprints are in the police database. Meet Alicia Coleman, thirty three and newly divorced. She was previously arrested for attempting to kill her now ex-husband after his string of affairs. The divorce left her pretty broke and she lost her job as head of scientific research at Mercury Labs over in Central City”.

“How did she get her powers?” J’onn questioned, frowning at the picture of the attractive but scowling blonde on the screen.

“A report was filed by a colleague at Mercury Labs after a series of top secret chemicals were stolen around the same time she was fired but no one was able to prove it was her”, Winn explained. “I’m assuming that she mixed a cocktail of those fancy chemicals and wham! Instant meta-human”.

“Do we know where she is now?” Kara glared at the woman on the screen.

“As it happens I was able to use her psychic imprint to track down her last known locations. Everywhere she goes, whenever she uses her abilities, she’ll leave the same mark. Sort of like following foot prints in the snow or something. According to my research, Brainwave – that is what I’m calling her by the way because it’s cool - was last at L-Corp…five minutes ago”.

“I’m on it”.

“No, wait”, Alex pulled her back by the crook of her arm. “You need something to protect yourself from her or it’ll all be pointless”.

“You should reuse the psychic dampener from Psi. It should work the same way”, Winn recommended.

“I’ll get them sent up”, J’onn nodded and walked over to an Agent standing nearby.

“I’m coming with you”, the older Danvers declared, no leaving any room for argument in her tone. Kara wanted to object but she knew that it would be better if her sister was there just in case the dampeners didn’t work.

Once they had the dampeners, Kara flew off to L-Corp with Alex and the other DEO Agents following in their SUVS. She scanned the building with her x-ray vision until she spotted Alicia’s dark clad figure in one of the labs. Kara flew up to the main office to give Sam and Lena a head’s up about the intruder and both women glanced up in surprise when she appeared.

“Sorry to interrupt your meeting ladies but there’s a dangerous metahuman lurking about in one of the labs. I’m going to take care of her. Just wanted to give you a heads up”.

“Thank you, Supergirl”, Lena smiled and Kara sped off down to the lab. As soon as she arrived she saw Alicia slipping bits of extremely expensive tech into one of her bags.

She quickly switched on the dampener before alerting the woman to her presence. “Stop right there, Alicia. I know who you are and the police know too. It’s over”.

“Aw, Supergirl, back for another round? I thought you had enough last night when I left you shaking on the floor like a baby”.

“I think you’ll find you won’t have the same effect on me this time”.

“We’ll see about that”, Alicia smirked behind her mask and moved forwards. Immediately she sent a psychic blast at Kara and to Kara’s surprise and dismay, the dampener exploded.

Not good, she thought as Alicia prepared to blast her again. Just as she held out her hands to do it, the lab door burst open and Alex stormed in with several agents.

“Don’t even think about it, bitch”.

She didn’t even hesitate before shooting her with a sedative. “Fuck”, Alicia groaned as she quickly lost consciousness.

“You better put the meta cuffs on her. The dampener did nothing but explode”.

Alex nodded over at Supergirl before bending down and snapping the blonde’s wrists into the heavy metal cuffs. “We’ll take care of this, Supergirl”.

Kara nodded before flying out of the lab and L-Corp and back to her apartment. She had a story to write and get to print before the next issue of Catco went out.

[mordigen]

I have been gone a very long time...

I don't even know if there is anyone still out there listening to my ramblings. But that is ok. The point is, I am rambling. And that is fine.

For anyone who is still listening, on whatever platform you have found me - If you haven't already seen the pattern, I disappear frequently. Perhaps you're familiar with it, perhaps you already know, but if you've missed the signs - I struggle with depression, and how it manifests for me is to just disappear. This is the longest I have ever disappeared. This has been a rough one.

No. I am not in danger. I'm not even sad. Depression, for me, has never been that. It is simply a Nothing. Inspiration leaves me. Want and will evaporate. I just want to be left alone, and be. I am tired, and have nothing to say, and want nothing to do. But, of course, there are things I *have* to do. Things I MUST do, and like the good warrior I am, of course - I do. But that takes so much energy, that once what I must do is done, there is even less of me left than where I began.

So I sit. And I sleep. And I watch the same million episodes of the same three shows that I've seen a million times before, because it is soothing. Because, somehow, they are still entertaining, and they are comforting and relaxing and I tell myself I'm just recouping - tomorrow I'll do something. But of course, tomorrow has a whole new list of *musts* and *have tos*. And the cycle continues.

The last post I made here, was not actually on this blog - but the Sister blog. The one I created solely for the dark and depressed rantings to be able to get it out and expell it from my being. It was my one and only post. And then I went dark. For four years. I was in a very bad place. It was hard for me to articulate, because I was still engulfed in it. I hadn't escaped yet.

About 5 years ago, I was in a car accident. A lady on her phone, speeding, not paying attention, ran a red light and hit me dead-on. She was going abput 60 in a 35. I was extremely lucky.

I was banged up pretty bad, I have chronic hip problems now because of it - but it could have been so much worse. I didn't even break a bone. I was extremely lucky. The car was unbelievable. My son could have been in the car, but I had -thankfully- just dropped him off at school. It would have hit directly where he would have been sitting. But, that didn't happen. I was extremely lucky - but it left me with some serious PTSD. I was terrified of the road. I was terrified of other drivers. It doesn't matter how safe you try to be when it's someone elses recklessness that takes you out. And there's not a damn thing you can do about that. I struggled real hard with that one - I still do.

I'm the one you're honking at for taking too long at the greenlight. I'm the one you're frustrated with for never seeming to know it's my turn at the 4-way. It's me. Because I no longer care about inconvenience- if 10 extra seconds means I know the other person is not blowing through the intersection, then I'll take it. You all can go before me at the stop sign, I'll wait. I don't mind. If it means I'm safe, then I'm fine with my commute taking an extra 10-15 min.

I had several months of physical therapy, and a year out of the workforce. But eventually, all things move on. Wounds heal. Bruises fade. Money runs out, and you have to get back to life, and the real world. And even though I thoroughly enjoyed my reprieve from the bump and grind - I was ready to get back. Or so I thought.

I'll be honest, I never even considered how PTSD would affect so many aspects of my life. I did not get help for it. After all, if I'm just hyper aware of my surrpundings, that's a good thing, isn't it? Of course it is!

Being aware of your surroundings is a good thing. But I was completely ignoring everything else that came with it. Hyper sensitivity. Paranoia. Trust issues. Control issues. Vulnerability. Fragility. Panic attacks. Let me tell you, starting a brand new job in the midst of this will certainly make you hyper aware of much more than just your surroundings.

I was not ready. Not only was I not ready, but I had no idea what I was walking into. And it crushed me, utterly and completely.

I was in a horrible, horrible abusive relationship, and it destroyed every ounce of my spirit. Extinguished it completely, not only did it trigger the worst depressive episode I have ever experienced, but my PTSD crippled me from recognizing it sooner, and then once I had, made it near impossible to actually act on.

I spent hours, upon hours crying. Not just simple little tears - sobbing. Heaving. Mental breaking point hysterics. It was toxic. It was manipulative. It was undermining. It was suffocating, and I could not get out. I stopped sleeping. I stopped eating. Then I ate everything all at once. My blood pressure skyrocketed, even had my DRs threaten to withhold certain medications that I needed - and wanted to put me on a ton more that I was adamantly against. They didn't understand - this wasn't an issue with my body. My body was reacting in exactly the way it was supposed to. It was the stress, it was the circumstance. I don't need to be on toxic, liver killing, kidney killing medications - I just needed to get out, then it would all be OK.

My phone would go off ....at dinner, at the grocery store, driving home - wherever, and I would have a panic attack. And it would go off all. The. Time. I would get upset in public, I couldn't control it.

Complete strangers would come up to me and try to help - offer to call the cops for me. Take me to a shelter. Give me a safe place to stay. They wouldn't want to leave me - gave my husband the most evil glares I've seen in real life. I had battered woman syndrome all over me. Only it wasn't him.

It was my job. My job was my abusive relationship. It. Was. Abuse. It was trauma. I was strongarmed into a position I didn't interview for, I wasn't hired for, and didn't want - but it just. Happened. And once I was in, there was too much going on to have the time to protest. And then I was stuck. I was given impossible tasks. Literally impossible. I should have recognized the red flag in the interview when he asked about getting things done - he had said he had problems with past hires because they would tell him "It can't be done" and he took issue with that because "nothing is impossible". And some more choice phrases in that conversation that I can't remember completely, but in that moment I couldn't comprehend that anything was impossible - as far as work goes. I had never been presented with a task that couldn't be resolved, in one way or another - even if it meant with help, or going a different route. So I had no qualms. In the clearview of hindsight, it should have been a warning. But these were, impossible. There is no other word for it - what they wanted, what they were asking for, could. Not. Be. Done. Short of kidnapping people off the street, holding them against their will, and forcing them at gunpoint, it could not be done.

And I was blamed for it. I was just incompetent, like the so many others that came before me. It wasn't their psychotic demands - it was me. And I quickly learned he was a legitimate, bonefide sociopath. I was berated. I was threatened, verbally and physically. I had bottles thrown at me. An office chair thrown at me. My "short comings" were broadcast across the entire office. Things I had absolutely no control over were my failings. Things I wasn't even *involved in*, were my failings. Things THEY DID, were my failings. I was actively, legitimately, sabotaged, and then mocked when I could not complete the task - and then again, broadcast across the entire office. People thought I was crazy. Thought I was weak. Thought I was incompetent to the point they actually believed the only reason I was ever hired was because I had fucked my way to get it - because I was, obviously, so unqualified. Nevermind the fact that there had been at least 7 others before me, with the exact. Same. Story.

You interviewed us. You vetted us. You hired us. Are we, coincidentally, ALL that incompetent? Or could it possibly be you? What's the common denominator here? But no - it was us. My entire life revolved around this job - from the time I woke up in the morning, the phone wouldn't stop. When I got to the office, I had a backlog of voicemails and emails that I could never get through in the day, which would just start again tomorrow - so I had an ever growing backlog that would never. Ever. Stop. When I left the office - HOURS after I had already supposed to have been gone - the phone would start immediately. And I would get reprimanded if I did not answer and respond immediately, even when I was driving - still not recovered from the car accident caused by a person ON THE PHONE in their car. Which they knew of - I laid all my cards on the table. They KNEW about my issues with driving, and what I was struggling with. They didn't care. They even started putting me on recruiting gigs where I'd have to drive hours a day, alone, in areas I was completely unfamiliar with. They scheduled me on days that went against my availability - without telling me - and then was reprimanded when clients would show up to a locked office after hours, and they'd call me wondering why I wasn't there. I can't work on Saturdays - But you're on the schedule - well who was going to tell me that? - well can you hurry up and get there - No. I can't work on Saturdays, you knew that.

I would go in to "unlock the doors" for other, lower level employees - under the premise that they were working instead - and then get trapped. My son left home alone for hours without knowing when I'd get back. There were days when I didn't get out of work in time to pick him up. They even threatened the cops and CPS for "abandonment". And they would make snide remarks about me "cutting out early" or being "lazy" to leave on time to pick him up - even though I was well past my hours. I was salary, mostly all of us were, so we did not have standard clocked hours daily to track - but I clocked them once, just to prove a point.

119. One Hundred Nineteen hours. IN ONE WEEK.

ONE. Week.

ONE.

And then when they discovered I was looking for another job - they fired me. Not only that, but gave me a horrendous, completely false, separation letter. A letter that prevented me from getting other jobs, for a good minute.

I was completely broken. My spirit was utterly gone. I spent days and days sobbing. Screaming. I have never felt so much rage and anger and helplessness in my entire life.

I, in all seriousness, actually contemplated homicide. Arson.

I think I could have won a temporary insanity plea.

Nothing I will ever write or say or tell will ever express accurately just how pure evil this company was, and how toxic and abusive and illegal and immoral everything about this place was.

So needless to say, I now had even more PTSD to deal with. I still wake up in cold sweats from nightmares about this place. I still have trauma, I still have not gotten closure - but I'm working on it. It sent me on such a mental breakdown, that crept out over years. Once the initial pain and anger subsided, I was left just numb and empty. I didn't write. I didn't draw. I didn't want to feel. I didn't want to be exhausted. I didn't want to be angry. I didn't want to cry. And so the depression took hold, and held on to me. And I let it, because being in this numb place where I could at least get by from day to day was far better than where I was before, and I took comfort in that. And then slowly contentment set it. And so I was happy - not ideally. But at least I could enjoy my time again. At least I could relax, and laugh, and spend time with my family and just -be- and that was OK.

But, finally, I started to confront these things. I started to work on them. I started talking to people for help - help heal up what others had done to me. And now, finally, after years of numbness - that itch has returned. The musings are stirring. The ~want~ is returning. I *want* to write something.... I *want* to draw something....

The picking up of olde projects is still too much right now. And starting new ones hasn't quite happened yet - new inspirations haven't quite jumped to mind or lept to life - but the stirring is there, which I haven't felt in a very long time.

So this is my first baby step. To at least tell my story of what happened, if I can't yet invent a new fantastical one.

Lets hope it doesn't take another four years for the next step.

[winchestersandsuperheroes]

Just My Luck (Leonard Snart x Reader): Chapter Two

Pairing: (Eventual) Leonard Snart x Reader

Words: 2254

Summary: Chapter two of Just My Luck. Chapter One left off with the reader trying to call Joe, only to be followed. This picks up there.

A/N: I do not own the gif. I found it on google, so credit to whomever made it. Thanks for reading!

“Well this isn’t the gift shop,” I heard a voice behind me. I froze, stuffing my phone in my pocket before turning to see who was behind me. I really shouldn’t have been surprised; this was just how my luck worked.

I turned to meet a pair piercing blue eyes. Snart. I tried not to look phased; I could tell he was the kind of person that was constantly calculating everything around him. I would not let him see me startled.

“Can I help you?” I said in a sweet voice, playing the innocent thing up. “Well that depends,” He drawled. “Excuse me?” I was legitimately confused. “You’re good, I probably wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been paying close enough attention to you,” he somewhat explained.

“I’m sorry? I’m not sure what you’re implying.” I was using what I referred to as my retail voice, you know the one; the one retail employees use with their customers to sound nicer than they actually are. “You’re a cop,” He said outright.

“I am not a cop,” I assured him, dropping the retail voice. “What are you then, reporter? Private investigator?” I thought I was concealing my facial impressions well, but he must’ve seen something. “Private investigator, yep. That must work well for you. No one suspects the pretty young thing at the end of the bar of being the one his wife hired to take dirty pictures of him and his mistress,” he sneered. This is the point in which I should have continued to deny being a PI, but I have a little bit of a temper, and he was kind of insulting my line of work.

So instead of denying it further I said, “I don’t just take dirty pictures.” I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. I should have kept my mouth shut, I knew it, he knew it. “So why is a little PI like yourself tailing a hardened criminal like myself?” he asked getting closer than I was comfortable with.

“I have no idea who you are. Yes I am a PI, but I was just enjoying the new museum exhibit like everyone else. Everyone has their hobbies right?” I smiled, trying to find my escape route. I looked around. Then I looked up and saw the museum guy talking to Joe on the second floor, thank god. “You’re a pretty good liar, I’ll give you that,” he said and then he looked up. Shit. He saw Joe. I tried to dart away from him, but he grabbed my wrist. “Son of a bitch,” I mumbled under my breathe.

  Joe

“Hey, isn’t that the nice private eye you sent?” The museum curator told Joe. Joe looked down to spot Y/N, talking to Snart. How did she always seem to find herself in these situations? Joe didn’t have too long to think about it though, because Snart spotted him and grabbed Y/N before pulling out a strange looking gun and smiling.

  Back to Y/N

 “Sorry Sweetheart can’t let you go. I need some bait, and you’ll do just fine.” He dragged me out of the museum and down the street. A cop car started toward us. Snart shot at it with is weird looking gun. A layer of ice appeared on the road as the car slid over it and crashed. My eyes were wide. Barry better show up soon.

Snart dragged me into a theater. And that’s when Barry decided to show up. Snart shot Barry and he fell. I took this as my chance to get out. I used some of the self-defense moves Oliver taught me to break free from Snart and land a punch on his jaw. He looked taken aback and then smirked. “Kitty’s got claws,” he said. I looked over to Barry who was still on the ground. I couldn’t really call out to him to make sure he was okay, considering the whole secret identity thing.

“Y/N!” Barry shouted, warning me of the blow to face I was about to receive if I didn’t duck. I ducked, landing a blow to the blue eyed man’s stomach in the process. “Y/N, cute name,” he smirked. Damn you Barry, I mean I was thankful for the warning, but I did not need Snart knowing my name. “Let’s skip the chit chat,” I spoke while trying to figure a way out, Snart had me cornered, and some back help would have been very much appreciated. Barry was recovering from getting hit by Snart’s gun, so I guess I was on my own at this point. “Straight to the point, I like it,” Snart winked at me. I rolled my eyes going for another punch. He caught my wrist before I could, twisting it around so my back was to him. He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

He pushed me away from him and Barry grabbed me and took me to where he had moved Joe behind one of the large pillars. “How’s it going, Detective?” I smiled. “What happened to ‘no dangerous situations’?” Joe quoted me. “You know me, I just can’t seem to stay out of trouble,” I said catching my breath.  

  Star Labs

“It’s still numb,” Barry said looking at the large black spot on his abdomen. “It’s presenting itself like third degree frost bite,” Caitlyn explained. “I thought he had hyper-healing?” Felicity questioned. “It’s been slowed. If your cells weren’t regenerating at the rate they are your blood vessels would have frozen solid and the nerve damage would have been permanent. You’re lucky to be alive.” Caitlyn finished. I was torn between shocked and relieved, I mean that gun that Snart had could do some serious damage to Barry. This was not good, but at least Barry was okay.

“Snart wasn’t another meta-human. He had some kind of gun, it froze things” Barry explained. “Yeah I saw him freeze the street to stop a cop car,” I added. Felicity gave a worried look in my direction, clearly still worried about my getting myself taken hostage, even though I had assured her that I was fine over the phone the whole way back to Star Labs. “It slowed me down,” Barry continued, “Enough that I wasn’t in time to save someone.”

“According to his records, Snart didn’t even bother to finish high school, so how did he build a handheld high tech snow machine?” Felicity asked the group. “Star Labs built the cold gun,” Dr. Wells spoke up. “Dr. Wells and Caitlyn had nothing to do with this,” Cisco paused. “I built the cold gun,” I stood there in shock. How could Cisco have made something that caused so much destruction? “You did? Why?” Barry asks. “Because speed and cold are opposites. Temperature is measured by how quickly the atoms of something are oscillating, the faster they are the hotter it is. And when things are cold, they are slower on the atomic level. When there’s no movement at all it’s called-” Barry cut him off “Absolute zero.”

“Yeah. I designed a compact crio-engine to achieve absolute zero. I built it to stop you. I-I-I didn’t know who you were then, Barry, I mean what if you turned out to be some psycho? Like Martin or Nymbus?” “But, I didn’t, did I?!” Barry was clearly angry. My heart broke for both Cisco and Barry. “We built the entire structure you’re standing in to do good, and it blew up. In the wake of that, you can understand why Cisco would want to be prepared for the worst,” Caitlyn stepped in.

“I can understand that, but what I can’t understand is why you didn’t tell me what you did. I mean, after all we’ve been through, I thought you trusted me. I thought we were friends,” Barry looked betrayed. “We are Barry,” Cisco stepped towards him. “I mean if you had just told me, I could’ve been prepared,” Barry backed up further “But instead someone died tonight.”

“And I have to live with that,” Cisco said. “Cisco,” I said in a sad voice. “No, Cisco, we all do,” Barry said before walking away. I walked towards Cisco, not entirely certain of what I was going to say, but he was my friend and I wanted to comfort him.

  The Apartment

With the whole fiasco of a day I had, it was late by the time I made it home. Claire was already settled in. She was sitting in the kitchen with a bottle of wine. “So how did your day go?” she asked me. I looked at her with suspicion. “Pretty boring, you know, the usual surveillance stuff. Did you get settled in okay?” I ask trying to steer the conversation away from my day.

“Hmm… the usual surveillance stuff, huh? Nothing interesting happened?” She was using what I refer to as her mom voice, uh oh, I was in trouble. “Nope, super boring,” I said going for the bottle of moscato sitting next to her. She snatched it before I could get it.

I eyed her. “So I turned on the TV earlier and the news was on,” she paused, I was pretty sure I knew where this was going. “They played a very interesting video clip,” she continued. “Well it is Central City, it’s a very interesting place,” I still wasn’t letting up.

 “Well it was certainly interesting, because I could swear I watched a video of my best friend being pulled through the street by a psychopath,” I had definitely been caught. “Ah, that video clip,” I tried to act casual; there was no use in denying it further.

“Yeah, that- Why are you acting so casual? Are you in shock?” She had concern written on her face. “No, it’s just that it’s kind of a normal day at the office for me,” I replied. “Being taken hostage by a mad man with some sort of freeze ray gun is a normal day at the office for you?” She looked at me like I was insane.

“Like I said, Central City is a very interesting place,” I repeated.

“That’s a bit of an understatement,”

“I may have left some stuff out when telling you about my time here,” I admitted.

“You don’t say? How about we start with this apartment. How do you afford this place?” She questioned looking around. It was a fair question, these were definitely nicer digs than a normal PI could afford. “I have a rich client that foots the bill,” I answered. I mean it wasn’t a complete lie. I was technically working for Oliver, by helping Barry.  

 Before she had time to say anything in response my phone started to ring. I looked at it, it was Cisco. “What’s up?” I answered it. “We found a way to track Captain Cold,” Cisco said before I’d even finished my greeting. “Captain Cold? You mean Snart. Dude you need to cool it with the nicknames. Haha, cool it, you get it? Sorry, continue.”

“We found a way to track him, and Barry went after him alone and turned his comms off,” Cisco continued. “He did what now?!” How could Barry be so reckless? “We are going after him, we’re gonna swing by your place on the way, so be ready. We’re only a couple minutes out.” He explained. “I’ll be right down,” I said in return hanging up the phone.

“Duty calls,” I told Claire. She shook her head, “Try to stay out of any hostage situations this time will ya,” she joked. “I make no promises,” I retorted with a laugh before running out the door. I knew I’d eventually have to tell her the reason I got into all these dangerous situations, but I was glad that I didn’t have to worry about it at the moment. Besides, I had bigger fish to fry at the moment.

  I walked up to the train crash with Cisco, Caitlyn and Felicity. “Thank you,” I heard Snart’s voice. “For what?” I heard Barry ask. “You forced me to up my game, not only with this gun, but with how I think about the job. It’s been educational,” now we could see them. Barry was on the ground, and Snart had his gun pointed at him.

“Drop it,” Cisco commanded him, while starting up his fake cold gun. Snart turned his head to look. “This is a prototype cold gun, four times the size, four times the power,” Cisco bluffed. “I was wondering who you were talking to,” Snart said to Barry. He then noticed me there. “Y/N, how lovely to see you again.” He winked. “Hey. Unless you want a taste of your own medicine I’d back the hell up,” Cisco warned.

“Your hands are shaking, you’ve never killed anyone,” Snart said gun still pointed at Barry. “There’s a first time for everything, Captain Cold,” Snart smirk at the nickname. “I will shoot you,” Cisco repeated.

“You win kid. I’ll see you around,” Snart started to back away. “Hey, leave the diamond,” Cisco spoke up. “Don’t push your luck,” Snart continued to walk away. Once he was far enough away, Cisco turned off his ‘cold gun’.

“Couldn’t shoot him if I wanted to, this is actually the Star Labs vacuum cleaner,” he laughed before adding, “With a lot of LEDs,” I smiled and shook my head.

The team headed back to Star Labs, but I had them drop me back at my apartment. I was completely exhausted.

[charmedtheselfproclaimedking]

Charmed Again (Charmed Fanfic)

Episode 8 - Stripped: Part One

Warnings: I don’t own the rights to any of the characters from the hit TV show “Charmed” or the storylines related to the show those rights belong to original creator Constance M Burge.

15+ Moderate/Graphic Displays of Violence, Sexual Innuendos, Witchcraft and Potentially Triggering Scenes.

“So, what’s the next step from here?” Drake as Eric Morgan as the two of them remained sat on the couch within Eric’s office at the San Francisco Police Department.

“There’s something I should probably show you.” Eric told Drake as he pulled out his phone from his jean pocket and played a video of Drake blinking into Jake’s prison cell.

“Further proof of why I was never cut out to be a detective because I didn’t even think once about the bloody cameras.” Drake said with a frustrated sigh. “What are you going to do with this video?”

“Consider it erase.” Eric replied to him as he deleted the video and placed it back into his jean pocket.

“I don’t understand why you would do that?” Drake asked him.

“There’s a select few of us here at the SFPD that are fully aware of the Halliwell family is and what they do. They’ve saved the world so many times so when we can we try to save them from exposure and such.”

“Is Jake the only one in your family who doesn’t know about magic?” Drake wondered.

“The only thing I didn’t know until recently was that you were a Halliwell too.” Eric explained to the Halliwell hybrid. “Of course, I’m not thrilled my son has been in jail for a crime he didn’t commit but I know your family are good people that you’re a good person and I’m not going to put you in jail. Although I will be working on clearing my son’s name from here on out.”

“I have no idea what I’m even supposed to say right now.” Drake said in complete shock.

“Is my son okay?” Eric asked him.

“I helped him start a new life for himself he’s somewhere in Italy or at least that’s where I dropped him off.” Drake revealed to Lacey and Jake’s father. “Why are you being so kind to me over all this?”

“Because you are a good person Drake and you need to stop blaming yourself for whatever went down all those years ago.” Eric admitted to him.

Several Weeks Later

Pan found herself flying through mid-air within the attic of her family home after being thrown by a demon raising her arms quickly to explode the demon before crashing into a nearby cabinet, her body destroying it in the process before harshly hitting the floor as Paul ran into the attic realizing he got there too late to be of any help to his sister.

“I guess you already got the demon.” Paul said to his sister as he helped her back on to two feet.

“Way to go Sherlock.” Pan mocked him.

“I guess the demon’s been dealt with then.” Quinn guessed after orbing into the attic only to make Paul laugh much to Pan’s annoyance.

“I’m booking myself in for a full body massage I’ll leave you boys to clean up this mess.” Pan told them before before making her way out of the attic.

“I don’t suppose you can heal cabinets?” Paul asked his white lighter.

“Well I can’t say I’ve ever tried but I’m fairly certain even if I could the elders wouldn’t allow it.” Quinn replied.

“Speaking of white lighter duties how is Drake doing?” Paul wondered, having not seen his son since revealing to him he was his father.

“He seems to be doing just fine not that he makes it easy to check up on him.” Quinn answered. “Maybe it’s time you try and make contact with him again.”

“Quinn, he’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want anything to do with me and I’ve got to learn to respect his wishes.” Paul responded.

“I’m sure he will come around eventually,” Quinn said while not believing a word he was saying. “The charmed ones can’t stay apart forever and deep down he knows that… I hope.”

Cindy sat at a private table amongst the audience in her strip club lounge named Devilish Delights with her glass of champagne in hand releasing a delighted smirk on her face as Drake Black appeared on her stage in a sexy policeman’s uniform as the song Birthday Cake by artist Rihanna began playing on the speakers throughout her club as Drake began dancing to the number performing a strip tease for his audience who were captivated by his performance especially the store owner Cindy as Drake lapped up the applause.

Drake continued to demand attention from his audience with his strip performance until he had finished the song with nothing left on but a tight-fitting thong.

“I must admit when you came back pleading for your job, I was worried being a cop would’ve made you too dull for the stage but as always you’re my top earner.” Cindy told Drake after he put clothes back on following his performance and walked over to sit at her table.

“I aim to please Cindy you of all people should know that.” Drake replied to her with a flirtatious smile before standing up from his chair and walking towards the back of the stage as Cindy wasted no time following him.

The two continued to walk through the back of the club before stopping outside of Cindy’s office door.

“The same as usual?” She asked her favorite employee.

“No feelings, no cuddles, no talking and it never happened.” Drake answered her before leaning in to kiss his boss on the lips.

Drake and Cindy wasted no time in getting more passionate with each other as their bodies began clashing against each other while they threw themselves against the office door forcing it open as they began tearing at each other’s clothes.

Pan finished washing herself in the shower of the upstairs bathroom as she switched off the water only to be left shocked to see her towel not on the towel rail where she left it adding to her already bad day as she grunted before making her way to the bathroom door opening it quickly and looking up into the upstairs hallway to make sure there was no sign of anyone as she prepared to make a daring dash towards her bedroom.

As she began to run for her bedroom which was straight across from the bathroom, she felt something pulling at her foot causing her to crash through her bedroom door and landing on the floor once again.

“I swear to god this day is just going from bad to worse.” She moaned to herself before hearing a sinister and supernatural like cackle causing her to quickly jump back onto her feet before looking around confused for a moment only to see nothing. “If we have another poltergeist Paul can do the exorcism and I’m going for that massage somewhere sunny and expensive.”

Paul sat on the edge of his bed in his bedroom holding a photo of himself but younger holding a baby that was Drake when he was first born as he looked at the picture with tears in his eyes before he suddenly received a premonition.

In his premonition he saw Drake walking through a parking lot by himself before turning around to face someone that Paul couldn’t see in his premonition before Drake suddenly burst into flames, screaming in agony as the premonition came to its end.

“Quinn!” Paul shouted instantly after having his premonition as Quinn orbed into the room only to fall to the ground having something unseen trip him.

“I think something just tripped me.” Quinn told Paul as he got back on his feet, looking around to see nothing as both him and Paul hear the same sinister and supernatural cackle Pan heard earlier.

“Oh, great looks like there’s another haunting in the Halliwell Manor,” Paul moaned. “Well the ghosts are going to have to wait because right now I need you to take me to Drake.”

“Well I’m thrilled to hear your wanting to reach out to him but maybe you should wait until he’s finished his work shift.” Quinn suggested.

“I had a premonition of him being killed Quinn.” Paul revealed to his white lighter. “Besides I thought Drake quit his job?”

“Well he did yeah but he’s got a new one now well more like an old one.” Quinn said reluctantly. “Okay he’s back working at this strip club called Devilish Delights but he’s actually really good at it or at least I’d imagine he would be not that I imagine him stripping or anything.”

“Did I seriously just hear someone mention a strip club?” Pan asked as she opened Paul’s bedroom door and walked into the bedroom. “I’m down for vanquishing demons at a strip club as long as it’s not classed as cheating.”

“It’s not lady strippers apparently it’s Drake style strippers.” Paul told his younger sister.

“I think it’s best if I sit out that awkward family reunion and start hunting down this unwanted house guest of ours.” Pan replied, eager to get out of seeing her nephew in a strip club.

“Nice try sister but if I’m visiting my son in a strip club, you’re coming with me.” Paul made himself clear.

“If it makes you guys feel any less awkward Devilish Delights do the most amazing chicken wings.” Quinn told them before realizing his latest slip up. “I mean I’ve heard they do the most amazing chicken wings.”

Paul, Pan and Quinn walked into Devilish Delights to find Drake on stage mid-performance and half naked performing a strip routine to the song pony by Ginuwine much to Paul and Pan’s horror as the three of them quickly made their way to the club’s bar in an attempt to turn their back on Drake’s performance.

“Quinn it’s nice to see you again your becoming quite the regular around here.” Cindy greeted Quinn as Paul and Pan gave Quinn a judging look.

“And you’ve brought some friends with you this time.” Cindy said before turning to face Paul and Pan. “My name is Cindy and I own Devilish Delights and the man performer tonight is my number one performer Divine Blaster he tends to bring in all types of audience members.”

“His name is Drake Black and he’s my son.” Paul snapped at her.

“I’m sorry but Drake’s parents died a long time ago.” Cindy replied to him in disbelief.

“They were his adoptive parents I’m his biological father.” Paul explained to Cindy.

“Oh, I see,” Cindy responded before turning her attention back to Quinn. “Don’t tell me that you’re some kind of creepy uncle because you were fast becoming a favorite customer and creepy uncles pay extra.”

“What?” Quinn asked nervously while Pan and Paul look at Cindy clearly unimpressed. “I’m just a friend.”

“I was kidding.” Cindy laughs. “Guess I need to read the room better.”

“Can you please just ask Drake to meet us outside when he eventually finds his clothing?” Pan asked the club owner not wanting to spend any more time in there.

“This is the same parking lot as the one I saw in my premonition.” Paul revealed to Pan and Quinn as they stood outside in Devilish Delights parking lot.

“Don’t tell me that we’re actually going to steak out your son’s strip club because watching him perform was more than enough to disturb me for one day thanks.” Pan replied before turning to Quinn. “Since when did you become a regular anywhere isn’t stripping against white lighter rules or something?”

“I’ve just been keeping an eye on Drake which is within my job description.” Quinn answered nervously.

“I can’t believe my actions has led to my son stripping for rent money assuming he’s even found somewhere to rent after his building went up in flames.” Paul said in shock.

“I mean I don’t want to back in there ever again but at least he found work after quitting at the San Francisco Police Department and by the sounds of the owner he’s good at what he does.” Pan told her older brother before they noticed Lacey walking out of the club entrance holding a bucket of chicken wings in one hand while eating some chicken with the other much to Pan’s surprise.

“Hey guys,” Lacey greeted them after walking over and placing her chicken wing back in the bucket. “This is definitely a strange meeting.”

“What are you doing walking out of a strip club during the day especially one where the strippers are all male?” Pan asked her girlfriend.

“Their chicken wings are out of this world.” Lacey admitted.

“They really are the best in the city, right?” Quinn said to the female detective.

“Great so my white lighter and my girlfriend are regulars at the same strip club my nephew works at.” Pan moaned.

“Is he talking to you yet?” Paul asked Lacey.

“Yeah he is although his forgiveness is on the condition that I don’t speak about you guys so I’m guessing he may take some time yet but I’m sure he’ll eventually come around.” Lacey revealed to her girlfriend’s brother.

“I suppose chicken wings and your best friend is good enough reason to be found here.” Pan gave into Lacey before kissing her on the lips. “You should probably get back to work while we get back to our destiny.”

“Okay honey I see you tonight for dinner just try not to stay out too late vanquishing demons.” Lacey replied before walking off towards her car.

“I’m not going to lie all this talk about their chicken wings have got me really craving them.” Pan said to Quinn and Paul after watching Lacey drive away in her car. “I wonder if it’s too soon to ask Drake for a family discount on food.”

“Actually, if you get so many buckets you get a coupon for a free one.” Quinn revealed as he pulled a coupon out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Pan.

“I knew there was a reason I loved you.” Pan responded with a smile as she took the coupon and put it in her jean pocket.

“Have you moved into this place?” Paul asked Quinn before the three of them noticed Drake walk out of the club entrance.

“I can’t believe you actually have the nerve to show up at my work.” Drake snapped at them after walking over to confront Paul, Pan and Quinn.

“Well Quinn’s here all the bloody time so it’s only fair his invite is extended to friends and family.” Pan replied to Paul.

“My anger towards him isn’t anywhere near how pissed I am at you both besides him and Lacey are keeping the chef in work.” Drake revealed looking at both Pan and Paul making his displeasure well known.

“You hate us?” Paul asked with a gutted look on his face.

“Well I don’t hate you,” Drake admitted to his biological aunt Pan before turning his attention back to his long-lost father Paul. “I’ve never needed nor wanted you in my life and I never will.”

“I know your mad at me and have every right to be, but we are here to protect you from a demon attack.” Paul told his son. “I had a premonition where you were killed so I’m afraid we’re not leaving here until we know your safe and whatever is after you is vanquished.”

“Demons don’t attack people anymore I saw to that personally so I wasn’t guilt tripped into reforming the power of three so you can leave now.” Drake replied to a confused Paul, Pan and Quinn.

“What do you mean you saw to it personally?” Quinn asked his half witch half demon charge.

“That makes no sense Drake we’ve been nonstop demon hunting since we last saw you if anything the demons are doing overtime in the killing department.” Pan admitted to her nephew.

“You’re in contact with your mother, aren’t you?” Paul realized. “She’s the source of all evil.”

“Eve also happens to be the only new addition in my life that hasn’t lied to me as of yet.” Drake admitted to them. “I know it might be hard for you to get your head around but not every demon is a monster and not all witches are good people.”

“Eve is a calculating murderer who will never change trust me we were fooled by her once too.” Paul warned his son.

“Paul’s right Eve can’t be trusted she may care about you, but she’ll never love you more than she loves the power of being the queen of the Underworld.” Pan said backing up her older brother’s stance on the source of all evil.

“Don’t you think it’s a little rich making her out to be power hungry when it’s the two of you who only bothered to make contact with me when the charmed ones needed restored.” Drake snapped at Pan and Paul.

“Drake you’re being lied to but this time it’s not us lying it’s her.” Quinn told Drake.

“My break is almost over.” Drake said, making clear he was done talking to them.

“Please just come home with us until we know your safe.” Paul pleaded with his estranged son.

“In case it wasn’t obviously you can consider yourself barred from the premises.” Drake replied to his father before turning around and beginning to walk back inside.

“Okay well that went better than I thought it would so that’s something.” Quinn said, trying to break the ice.

“I’m going to get the car and cancel my dinner plans something tells me this is going to be a long night.” Pan said while rolling her eyes at Paul and Quinn making her disapproval well known.

“I’m all for living your best stripper life darling but you need to talk to your boss about the quality level of these costumes.” Eve said to Drake as he walked into his changing room at Devilish Delights to see her stood there waiting for him.

“What’s the point of wasting money on something that’s just going to be torn right off.” Drake laughed before going on to say. “There’s something I need to ask you and I want you to be honest with me…are demons still attacking innocents?”

“Well yes there are still some out that don’t follow my every command but the ones that don’t are being painfully punished I promise you.” Eve replied to her son.

“I’m sorry but that’s not good enough,” Drake snapped. “All demons must stop killing that’s the condition of us having a relationship.”

“Humans are mere mortals annoying and frustrating and in every way they’re inferior to us if this world was run by us it would truly be glorious.” Eve told him. “I know you may feel like a mortal because of your upbringing but you’re not.”

“If you want to keep yourself in my life then your view on humans has got to change because I can’t be around someone that hurts innocents and I won’t.” Drake made himself clear.

“Okay my son I hear you loud and clear I will sort this all out I promise.” Eve said to her son.

“We should probably wake her up at some point.” Paul said to Quinn as the two of them sat in the front seats of Paul’s car with Paul in the driving seat while Pan was sprawled out over the backseats fast asleep.

“Yeah but considering we already ruined date night for her I’m not ruining her sleep.” Quinn replied to him.

“Good point I’ll give her another ten minutes.” Paul agreed with his white lighter.

“I think Drake’s coming around slowly in a typical Drake type of way.” Quinn told Paul, attempting to make him feel better.

“I don’t think so he’s literally choosing time with the queen of hell rather than be anywhere near me.” Paul answered him.

“Drake loved his adoptive parents and his eyes they will always be his real parents but he’ll come round to you too at the moment he’s fooled by Eve’s lies but once he learns from that he’ll soon kick her to the curb.” Quinn explained to his charge.

“That’s the thing though I lied to him too what if he has kicked me to the curb too?” Paul asked Quinn.

“Give him time and I know he’ll come around until then you just have to work hard on convincing him he can trust you.” Quinn suggested.

“In the meantime, we just have to stop his mother from turning him into the prince of hell.” Paul replied.

Suddenly Paul and Quinn’s seat belts began moving by themselves as if they had magically come to life before the belts wrapped themselves around the two guys necks and began violently choking them.

Quinn grabbed a hold of Paul and orbed the two just outside of the car before once again being tripped by something unseen, this time their heads slammed against the car knocking them both out before hitting the cold hard ground while Pan remained asleep in the backseat of Paul’s car.

“How come I never knew you were adopted?” Cindy asked Drake as she stood next to him behind the bar of the now empty strip club as Drake poured them two glasses of whisky.

“Well you’ve never been one for the small talk.” Drake admitted to her before handing her a glass of whisky.

“Small talk often leads people into the illusion I give a damn and I hate it when people are foolish enough to think about that.” Cindy revealed as she took a mouthful of her drink.

“And that’s what I’ve always like about you.” Drake replied to his boss.

“Just make sure your dad and aunt don’t become regulars around here like Lacey and Quinn because your dad sure doesn’t fit our clientele and I may wind up tempted to seduce your aunt.” Cindy told him honestly.

“Trust me if I have him my way, I’ll never be seeing Paul again.” Drake promised.

“Hey if they’re not cool with your stripper life then they’re not worth it anyway except for that perky little squirrel Quinn he’s clearly cool with anything you do which is so beyond adorable it’s annoying.”

“I’m just not a big fan of what their concept of family is the stripper thing isn’t a big deal.” Drake explained to her.

“You know Quinn has it really bad for you if you want to give things a shot with him we can stop fooling around I mean there’s always more toys for me to play with and Quinn seems like he’s got real potential unlike us no offense but I’m just using you for sex well that and the money you bring in to my place.” Cindy admitted. “I think you like him too but you’re just playing the part of a scared little bitch.”

“Maybe I’m just not the committed kind of guy.” Drake said to her.

“The first time you wound up working for me you were dealing with your heartbreak over the junkie who set fire to your family home who you were committed to almost all of your childhood and let’s not talk about that sexless marriage thing you’ve got going with your ex’s sister who’s now dating your aunt.” Cindy replied a little too honestly, as was her specialty.

“I’m heading out,” Drake told her, attempting to change the subject. “Your place or mine.”

“I have another toy to play with tonight maybe you should hit up squirrel boy.” Cindy suggested.

“Fine,” Drake laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”