#i must be euthanized at once

[angelbambisworld]

Found a Reddit post from 7 years ago where someone spotted Gene in their hometown.

God, he's never looked more hot than when he's just...existing(I dont know if that makes sense but you get what I mean, right?).

[liminalweirdo]

lmfao canada is just destroying the covid vaccines available for the XBB variant now while we wait UNTIL OCTOBER to get updated vaccines.

i guess it just would've been too hard to destroy them one or two days before the others becomes available huh? /s

they told us to wait until fall and then destroyed all available vaccines we have as fast as they could

[petr1kov]

hey, everyone. unfortunately, i come bearing terrible news. johnny's exams have returned and we have found out that his cancer has already spread to his lungs and his spleen. the fact that his cancer has already metastasized means that it has already hit terminal stage, so he is beyond saving.

given the gravity of this situation, and how quickly his health has deteriorated, the vet has given us only two options: keep him alive for another few weeks at most, or euthanize him so that he won't suffer any longer. and as much as it hurts, we have chosen the latter, for his sake. it has already been done.

unfortunately, along with the pain of losing him, we still have to pay for the procedure and the consultation - the first costing 675 and the second 120 reais. i have managed to borrow some money from my relatives in order to afford half of it - i didn't want to draw it out any longer, since the vet said he was in pain, and my family and i were afraid we would lose the guts to go through with it otherwise.

so once again, i must ask you for final help with johnny, so we can put him to rest. he was a great, lively, loving dog when he was alive. we will miss him dearly

[mostlysignssomeportents]

An open copyright casebook, featuring AI, Warhol and more

I'm coming to DEFCON! On Aug 9, I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On Aug 10, I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

Few debates invite more uninformed commentary than "IP" – a loosely defined grab bag that regulates an ever-expaning sphere of our daily activities, despite the fact that almost no one, including senior executives in the entertainment industry, understands how it works.

Take reading a book. If the book arrives between two covers in the form of ink sprayed on compressed vegetable pulp, you don't need to understand the first thing about copyright to read it. But if that book arrives as a stream of bits in an app, those bits are just the thinnest scrim of scum atop a terminally polluted ocean of legalese.

At the bottom layer: the license "agreement" for your device itself – thousands of words of nonsense that bind you not to replace its software with another vendor's code, to use the company's own service depots, etc etc. This garbage novella of legalese implicates trademark law, copyright, patent, and "paracopyrights" like the anticircumvention rule defined by Section 1201 of the DMCA:

https://www.eff.org/press/releases/eff-lawsuit-takes-dmca-section-1201-research-and-technology-restrictions-violate

Then there's the store that sold you the ebook: it has its own soporific, cod-legalese nonsense that you must parse; this can be longer than the book itself, and it has been exquisitely designed by the world's best-paid, best-trained lawyer to liquefy the brains of anyone who attempts to read it. Nothing will save you once your brains start leaking out of the corners of your eyes, your nostrils and your ears – not even converting the text to a brilliant graphic novel:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/03/03/terms-and-conditions-the-bloviating-cruft-of-the-itunes-eula-combined-with-extraordinary-comic-book-mashups/

Even having Bob Dylan sing these terms will not help you grasp them:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/25/musical-chairs/#subterranean-termsick-blues

The copyright nonsense that accompanies an ebook transcends mere Newtonian physics – it exists in a state of quantum superposition. For you, the buyer, the copyright nonsense appears as a license, which allows the seller to add terms and conditions that would be invalidated if the transaction were a conventional sale. But for the author who wrote that book, the copyright nonsense insists that what has taken place is a sale (which pays a 25% royalty) and not a license (a 50% revenue-share). Truly, only a being capable of surviving after being smeared across the multiverse can hope to embody these two states of being simultaneously:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/21/early-adopters/#heads-i-win

But the challenge isn't over yet. Once you have grasped the permissions and restrictions placed upon you by your device and the app that sold you the ebook, you still must brave the publisher's license terms for the ebook – the final boss that you must overcome with your last hit point and after you've burned all your magical items.

This is by no means unique to reading a book. This bites us on the job, too, at every level. The McDonald's employee who uses a third-party tool to diagnose the problems with the McFlurry machine is using a gadget whose mere existence constitutes a jailable felony:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/20/euthanize-rentier-enablers/#cold-war

Meanwhile, every single biotech researcher is secretly violating the patents that cover the entire suite of basic biotech procedures and techniques. Biotechnicians have a folk-belief in "patent fair use," a thing that doesn't exist, because they can't imagine that patent law would be so obnoxious as to make basic science into a legal minefield.

IP is a perfect storm: it touches everything we do, and no one understands it.

Or rather, almost no one understands it. A small coterie of lawyers have a perfectly fine grasp of IP law, but most of those lawyers are (very well!) paid to figure out how to use IP law to screw you over. But not every skilled IP lawyer is the enemy: a handful of brave freedom fighters, mostly working for nonprofits and universities, constitute a resistance against the creep of IP into every corner of our lives.

Two of my favorite IP freedom fighters are Jennifer Jenkins and James Boyle, who run the Duke Center for the Public Domain. They are a dynamic duo, world leading demystifiers of copyright and other esoterica. They are the creators of a pair of stunningly good, belly-achingly funny, and extremely informative graphic novels on the subject, starting with the 2008 Bound By Law, about fair use and film-making:

https://www.dukeupress.edu/Bound-by-Law/

And then the followup, THEFT! A History of Music:

https://web.law.duke.edu/musiccomic/

Both of which are open access – that is to say, free to download and share (you can also get handsome bound print editions made of real ink sprayed on real vegetable pulp!).

Beyond these books, Jenkins and Boyle publish the annual public domain roundups, cataloging the materials entering the public domain each January 1 (during the long interregnum when nothing entered the public domain, thanks to the Sonny Bono Copyright Extension Act, they published annual roundups of all the material that should be entering the public domain):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/20/em-oh-you-ess-ee/#sexytimes

This year saw Mickey Mouse entering the public domain, and Jenkins used that happy occasion as a springboard for a masterclass in copyright and trademark:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/15/mouse-liberation-front/#free-mickey

But for all that Jenkins and Boyle are law explainers, they are also law professors and as such, they are deeply engaged with minting of new lawyers. This is a hard job: it takes a lot of work to become a lawyer.

It also takes a lot of money to become a lawyer. Not only do law-schools charge nosebleed tuition, but the standard texts set by law-schools are eye-wateringly expensive. Boyle and Jenkins have no say over tuitions, but they have made a serious dent in the cost of those textbooks. A decade ago, the pair launched the first open IP law casebook: a free, superior alternative to the $160 standard text used to train every IP lawyer:

https://web.archive.org/web/20140923104648/https://web.law.duke.edu/cspd/openip/

But IP law is a moving target: it is devouring the world. Accordingly, the pair have produced new editions every couple of years, guaranteeing that their free IP law casebook isn't just the best text on the subject, it's also the most up-to-date. This week, they published the sixth edition:

https://web.law.duke.edu/cspd/openip/

The sixth edition of Intellectual Property: Law & the Information Society – Cases & Materials; An Open Casebook adds sections on the current legal controversies about AI, and analyzes blockbuster (and batshit) recent Supreme Court rulings like Vidal v Elster, Warhol v Goldsmith, and Jack Daniels v VIP Products. I'm also delighted that they chose to incorporate some of my essays on enshittification (did you know that my Pluralistic.net newsletter is licensed CC Attribution, meaning that you can reprint and even sell it without asking me?).

(On the subject of Creative Commons: Boyle helped found Creative Commons!)

Ten years ago, the Boyle/Jenkins open casebook kicked off a revolution in legal education, inspiring many legals scholars to create their own open legal resources. Today, many of the best legal texts are free (as in speech) and free (as in beer). Whether you want to learn about trademark, copyright, patents, information law or more, there's an open casebook for you:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/14/angels-and-demons/#owning-culture

The open access textbook movement is a stark contrast with the world of traditional textbooks, where a cartel of academic publishers are subjecting students to the scammiest gambits imaginable, like "inclusive access," which has raised the price of textbooks by 1,000%:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/07/markets-in-everything/#textbook-abuses

Meanwhile, Jenkins and Boyle keep working on this essential reference. The next time you're tempted to make a definitive statement about what IP permits – or prohibits – do yourself (and the world) a favor, and look it up. It won't cost you a cent, and I promise you you'll learn something.

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/30/open-and-shut-casebook/#stop-confusing-the-issue-with-relevant-facts

Image: Cryteria (modified) Jenkins and Boyle https://web.law.duke.edu/musiccomic/

CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/

[all-pacas]

OKAY. 13 AND CHASE IN AFTER HOURS THO

The fact that when 13 needs help, she calls Chase. Why does she call him? Why doesn't she call someone else? She needs someone to deliver her a portable ultrasound, and okay, you could argue Foreman is a bad call because he's her ex and would pry. That House would just refuse. Taub would have been a good pick tbh, he would drop it off and just go home no questions asked. But no, she calls Chase

(And I love that call. "You doing anything?" "Oh, yeah, I'm just about to go out," Chase lies blatantly, asleep in bed with a book on the crusades on his chest. Like the loser he is. I don't know that it was done well but I love how S7 examines his Dumb Whore tendencies: it isn't really him, it's a rebound. He does it again when he gets stabbed.)

And of course the second he shows up he immediately sees through 13's excuses and pushes his way into the apartment. Because we love Chase's observation skills triumphing over his laziness.

13 tells Chase the prison backstory. Like! It's kind of glossed over. She hasn't told this to anyone else. She doesn't hide it. I killed my brother. It wasn't murder. Chase is just pacing, you just know he's twigged as hell, he's so anxious all at once as she tries to brush past it. The idea that 13 kind of had to tell him to explain Darrien's presence but she's also — House is the only other person who knows.

CHASE: Have you talked to anybody about it? I mean, are you okay?

Like we know this immediately triggered something in Chase, but 13 doesn't, and seeing him so anxious and pacing and ignoring the bleeding dying woman as 13 works, it's just. Incredible. It's good. He cares immediately, he's relating to this immediately.

But I love seeing them work together. Like they just immediately go in sync, Chase offering suggestions and 13 doing the work. They're just. It's nice.

SIDE NOTE: House says he called everyone before he called Cuddy. We see him call 13 and Taub. Chase is off picking up drugs, we don't see House call him, but like. He had to have called Chase first, right? Did Chase not pick up? Did he blow him off because he already was dealing with someone bleeding to death in someone's apartment??

The way they fight oh my god. The way 13 just is trying to fucking murder Chase. She punches him, she claws and shoves him, and then he just clocks her and stares horrified as she falls to the floor. Like it's an actual fight, it's brutal, it's so good. They hurt one another. I can't explain it but I love how brutal it is, that they both walk away with bruises, that it isn't pretty. Incredible. Amazing scene.

CHASE: You were defending your friend beyond all rationality, granting her the right to die in your bedroom. Was it really all because of a promise? 13: That word means something to some people. CHASE: Not that much. […] CHASE: You promised your brother you'd euthanize him and you think you won't feel bad about it as long as you can blame it on the promise. That's why you have this twisted obligation to keep all promises… or your carefully constructed defense mechanism could crumble down. 13: I saved my brother from a lot of pain.

!! Chase keeps bringing it up, he keeps bringing up her brother, not out of I can't believe you did a murder or I can't believe you went to prison but: you must hate yourself. He's calling her out on her coping mechanisms, he's calling her out on her guilt, and it's so fucking clear what he means is I get it but he's not saying that part. 13 killed her brother and now has to believe she did the right thing, no matter what, no matter how she feels. She's taking away her own agency: it was for a promise, it was his decision, she had nothing to do with it, it's fine, it doesn't feel bad. Chase killed Dibala and told himself it was for the greater good, it was morally just, it was the right thing to do, it doesn't feel bad. And it nearly destroyed him. And so he's pushing and pushing at it. He never goes 13 went to prison! he never goes it's so crazy you did that! Whenever he brings it up it's only in the context of how worried he is about her. Has she spoken to someone? Is she coping? Is this healthy? Is she okay? He's so worried. He cares so much.

I adore 13 and Chase running out of ideas with Darrien and calling dad. Most sibling coded of all time. Just. And the fact that House doesn't allude to also being in the hospital, actively bleeding and in pain, just, yes, we gotta help bail you two idiots out. Beautiful moment.

Chase getting 13 ice and coffee and still feeling guilty for punching her out, and 13 not blaming him at all. Like. You know. Don't beat people up. But in this one case I totally approve. Because I love it.

13: Darrien had to shoot that kid. It was the right thing. Completely justified. But it didn't matter. She destroyed her life trying to forget. I'm afraid that's what's gonna happen to me. CHASE: You really should talk to someone. 13: I've talked to a therapist. It didn't help. CHASE: Well, maybe you should talk to someone who isn't a therapist. 13: Do you really think you have any idea what it's like to live with something like this? CHASE: Let's grab a coffee.

Since the second Chase found out, this is what it's been leading towards. I love that he doesn't answer, he doesn't say a thing, but this is what he's been thinking all episode, why he's been pushing, why he's been so worried and caring: talk to me. Tell me you're not okay. Tell me everything isn't fine. And 13 holds it back until the end of the case, until it's over and she has no distractions. It's not at all clear Chase himself has talked to someone about Dibala, btw. He probably hasn't.

And how insane is that. He never told Foreman or House; they figured it out. He told Cameron: she left him. (Imagine being 13, hearing this. Realizing the timeline. She went to their wedding. What did she think happened when Cameron just … left? How quickly does she figure it out now?) House told Chase to talk to someone, Chase tried Confessing, but whenever he's tried to tell anyone it's gone terribly for him. I don't think he has talked to anyone. But he repeats House's advice to 13: talk to someone. (Talk to me.) He's offering her what he never got. And their situations are different, hers is much more sympathetic and easy to accept than his. Chase never goes I never got help or you have nothing to feel bad about or implies he doesn't think it's a big deal: his entire reaction is just empathy. He wants 13 to get what he didn't get, he wants to help.

The song that plays over the end of the episode is Bon Iver's Flume. And as much as you can apply it to House, and Cuddy, and Wilson, and all of that — it's a song about feeling isolated, feeling alone and being afraid of letting go. Of holding on to things that stain and hurt. The lyrics that play while 13 and Chase are having their coffee in the conference room, though:

i wear my garment/so it shows now you know

And I just! I love! Them! The ways 13 and Chase are so alike and so damaged, the way Chase reacts with empathy and care and wants her to have what he didn't, the way they know one another's secrets and worst moments and rely on one another so easily. 13's secrecy is a meme, in and out of universe, but Chase is absolutely no better: he won't even admit he's Catholic when talking to a nun. They're private to faults, they mask by sleeping around and taking risks and pretending not to care, they hide their hurts and then somehow, they punch one another in the face and know everything. I'm just. I'm so obsessed with them. I want them like this always.

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 10: Eclipsing Shadows

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.6K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

64.media.tumblr.com

Please note:

There are mentions of Astarion's trauma in this chapter.

Mr. Blackwell’s green eyes look like murky poison puddles that drip with corrosive contempt. His burgundy garb is wrinkled, creased and stained, clearly unchanged for some time. Whatever remains of his sparse, dingy-grey hair is slick with grease, dishevelled, and unkempt. He’s in a plight of disrepair not often seen in the noble class, eliciting wide-eyed stares and snickers from the crowd in the ballroom.

Guards are warily observing the onset of the altercation with avid attention. Their hands instinctively drift and sit precariously on the hilts of their weapons. You can hear the clinking of metal amour as they inch closer, ready to spring into action. From what you know of Mr. Blackwell, he is well-connected and an influential figure in Waterdeep. If you allow the quarrel to escalate, the guards will likely take heed of his requests and pay little attention to yours. You must tread carefully, a daunting prospect as your palms heat and your temper bubbles under your skin like an overboiling cauldron.

Your eyes scan the mob roving through the ballroom, subtly looking for Astarion. Aldous spoke to his father about the pale Elf with red eyes. You cannot allow Mr. Blackwell to gleam a view of Astarion. Quick and practiced, you take inventory of all possible exits and escapes while you count the guards.

Your neglect to answer him only irritates Mr. Blackwell further, and he crams himself into your line of sight. He is not a small man and towers over you. “Did you hear me, girl?” He squalls, gruff and strident. His hands slam into the wall beside your head with an ear-splitting boom as he barricades you in. “What have you done with my son, you fucking miscreant!”

Girl? Miscreant?! Why did I tell Astarion that murder was off the table?

His fetid breath feathers over your face. An inhuman, snake-like grin splits your lips as your adrenaline spikes. You’ve rivalled devils in the Hells, eradicated a vampire lord, euthanized countless fiends, and rained death down on hordes of shadow-cursed creatures. You will not be intimidated by the likes of this cretin.

“Mr. Blackwell,” you purr unenthusiastically, straightening your back, squaring your shoulders, and bedecking your face with a saintly visage. “Welcome home. It’s good to see you. What’s this about your son? Is Aldous missing?”

“Don’t play stupid, sorceress.” Mr. Blackwell roars. His face reddens further as he descends deeper into his fit of rage. Blue-hued veins pop from his forehead and neck as he snarls in your face with bared teeth. Your palms heat until blisteringly hot, and you resist the urge to shove him. “I know it was you. Where is he? Where is my boy?!”

Dead, and rightfully so.

The guards are getting antsy, shuffling from foot to foot, and the other patrons gape at the dispute before them. A crowd of onlookers is starting to form behind Mr. Blackwell. They stare and laugh with gleeful tittering as the show plays out. Your heart crashes against your sternum, playing your ribs like a drum. Your blood is broiling in your veins, and your fingers twitch with the urge to incinerate the threat.

Where in the Hells is Astarion? He would have heard this as soon as it started. You’re surprised and infinitely relieved that a dagger has not skewered Mr. Blackwell yet, but his absence is starting to make you uneasy. Have the guards already apprehended him? Did Mr. Blackwell recognize and have him arrested? Astarion would not go quietly, and you haven’t heard or seen any evidence of a struggle elsewhere. Astarion is far from stupid. He may know that his presence will only magnify the issue, but it’s unlikely to stop him from stepping in. You grumble under your breath at the thought. No matter what he’s seen you do or how powerful you are, Astarion protects you as if you’re a fragile wildflower, but you are not fragile like a flower; you’re fragile like an unstable explosive.

I protect him with the same ferocity, and I will never stop. Perhaps we are even.

You lean close to Mr. Blackwell, almost nose to nose, and growl under your breath, “You would do well to get out of my face lest I introduce you to the fire of my ancestors.”

Mr. Blackwell gnashes his teeth, narrowing his eyes as his forehead pinches, “You dare to threaten me?!”

Oh, yes. I dare.

Your temper is getting away with you. A hand clasps Mr. Blackwell’s shoulder, and you almost lurch forward, preparing for the fight that is sure to ensue, until you see Gale, wearing an elegant and regal mauve suit with one arm behind his back. You’ve never been so damn relieved not to see Astarion.

Gale’s face is composed with a cordial smile, and he laughs kindly as if nothing is amiss. You see the pink current of the Weave wash over Mr. Blackwell and recognize Charm Person as Gale casts imperceptibly with naught but a murmur.

“Of course not, Mr. Blackwell,” Gale assures in a charitable tenor. “Such a thing would be crass. Isn’t that right, my friend?” Gale prompts you. Gale is skilled, but his charisma is not nearly as honed as yours, and you recognize the petition for assistance charming the man.

Cloaking your voice in an alluring baritone, you put your silver tongue to work, “Quite right, Gale. I would never dare utter such ill-portent to our very good friend here.”

Mr. Blackwell’s eyes glass over as the spell and your charm ensnare him, dousing his rage like water to flame. Mr. Blackwell leans back, tottering on his legs, and mumbles through numb lips, “Of course not. I must have been mistaken. Please, forgive the outburst.”

“All is forgiven,” you shrug while revelling in the influence you have over feeble minds and continue your coercion. “Mr. Blackwell was just telling me he was on his way home. He is ever so weary from his travels. We should not retain him, Gale.”

“Yes.” Mr. Blackwell stammers, blinking hard as your suggestion plants and grows roots. “Yes, I was just about to retire for the night.”

Gale nods curtly to Mr. Blackwell while offering you his arm, “Get some rest. We should be going as well. It’s getting quite late. Dawn is almost upon us, after all.”

Taking Gale’s offered arm, he leads you away from the onlookers ogling you. The guards have relaxed as tensions decrease, but they still watch you with a keen eye. Gale’s warning starts to sink in.

Dawn? Fuck! Where is Astarion? He must get home.

Your grip slips from Gale, but he catches it and pats your arm, “Keep calm. Your panic will only further alarm the guards, and I fear they will not be as easily swayed as Mr. Blackwell. We are quite a team, but we cannot charm them all without someone taking notice. Astarion is waiting for us outside, just beyond the grounds.”

“Astarion is outside?” You query with an arched brow.

Gale nods, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with people who take notice of him. Once he’s managed to excuse himself from the tedious small talk, he leans close. “I sought him out as soon as I arrived. He is ever so antagonistic and easily provoked when it comes to you. The man would brave the sun if he thought you were in danger. It was considerably difficult to convince him it was best to leave it to me. I apologize I did not come to your aid first. I know you have more sense than he and would a keep cool-head. When I found him, the idiot had already drawn his damn weapons. Always violence first with him, isn’t it?”

You swallow hard and keep your mouth firmly shut. Gale knows you, but perhaps not as well as he thinks. You would have incinerated that man as soon as he stuck his face in yours, guards and onlookers be damned. You do not take life unnecessarily, but you take it without guilt when there is a threat to your friends. Mr. Blackwell is a danger to Astarion, and you can be impetuous when it comes to him.

“Thank you, Gale.” You breathe a long sigh as relief sates your nerves. “How did you know?”

“Mr. Blackwell came to the manor looking for you. I tried to appease him, but I am neither as intimidating nor convincing as you are, and he stormed off before I could get more than a word or two in. I knew he would go scouring the parties for Aldous and more than likely come across you.” Gale chuckles, “I’ve been through several of these celebrations tonight. I should have known to go to the most extravagant one first.”

“Mr. Blackwell will be back.” You point out, mouth twisting into a grimace as your mind tries to piece together some semblance of a plan. “We have not heard the last of this.”

“No,” Gale murmurs. “We most definitely have not. It is my hope that he doesn’t realize I charmed him tonight. If he does, it will only compound his fervour. We will have to tread these waters carefully. If this reaches the Masked Lords of Waterdeep…” Gale trails off with a sullen shake of his head, “May the dice roll in our favour.”

Your eyes bulge. You don’t know much about the government of Waterdeep, but everyone has heard of the masked lords. A ruling council whose identities were well hidden and carefully guarded.

“Could he really do that? Take it to that height?” You wheeze breathlessly as an invisible hand grips your lungs and clenches, “The Lords of Waterdeep surely wouldn’t concern themselves with such a trivial matter of a missing boy. Would they?”

Gale shrugs, “I wish I could say. Mr. Blackwell is exceptionally renowned. It’s plausible that he will go to great lengths, and I’m unsure how far his reach extends. I will do what I can to protect you and Astarion, but even my influence has limits.”

The brisk air bristles against your skin, giving you goosebumps or perhaps that’s due to Gale’s mention of the lords, as you and Gale continue your hastened retreat. Gale takes long strides, making you trot beside him to keep pace since you are considerably shorter than he. What is with men and walking as fast as they can? You would ask Gale to slow down, but you’re in a hurry to get away. The rapid click, click, click of your heels on the stone makes you uneasy, as it sounds like a clock counting down your final moments.

There’s an eerie reticence in the courtyard this evening, as silent as the sheeted dead, as if the city beyond these stone walls has ceased to exist. A ghostly wind causes your modest steel-silver dress to flutter around your knees. The scent of incoming rain hangs thick in the air while drab clouds swarm the sky as a storm coming off the ocean makes landfall, and the weather fronts interact.

Magic glows in your eyes and fingertips as you practice the various spells in your repertoire. Your fingers are a spectacular florid ballet, the Weave tiptoeing over the pads as you rehearse the movements for Sunbeam, Chain Lightning, Cloudkill, and Blight and recite the incantations in your mind like a sermon without ultimately casting as you drill yourself. Weaving the intricate web of the Weave is ingrained in your soul, and this is not an exercise you need to practice, but the recent events and Gale’s mention of the Masked Lords have caused anxiety to breed in your muscles. You need to make sure you’re ready for war. You’re an incredibly gifted sorceress with the ferocity of your draconic ancestors dwelling in your blood. You can be death incarnate, and you will be if it comes to it. You will raze this damn city to the ground if it means to harm Astarion. No one will hurt him again if your lungs still draw breath.

You’re glowing so brightly, the Weave shimmering around you like an aurora, that you don’t notice that day has fallen victim to night when Astarion breezes into the courtyard. He looks at you, brandishes his dagger with a finesse that never fails to impress and descends into a defensive stance. He observes the surroundings with an acute eye and gives you a questioning look after he’s assessed there’s no danger.

With a quick step you learned from him, you pivot and toss a very weak Fire Bolt straight toward him. Astarion whirls, his propensity for dexterity evident in his movement, avoiding the spell.

“Impressive agility. I’m glad I taught you something at least, but what in the Hells was that for?” He smirks with a tsk and clicks his tongue. “At least, I ask before I bite. I am civil - unlike you.”

“Just making sure you’re not getting sloppy,” you giggle with a virtuous shrug.

“If that would have hit me, I would have deserved it,” he chuckles and glowers at you with an amused grin. “That was far too slow and weak. I did not even feel the heat from it. You can do infinitely better than that. Even I can cast that cantrip. Come on, darling. If you’re going to spar with me, you could at least give me the decency of a challenge.”

“A challenge, hm?” You smirk wickedly. Sparring with him isn’t a new activity. When you lived with him, you two would often spar long into the night until you were both sweating and tired. He craves thrill and danger as much as you, and you keep each other on your toes. “As you wish.”

Astarion’s rapscallion smile and the way he bends lightly at the knees indicate that he welcomes this exchange. The Weave brightens around you, and you cast Fire Bolt repeatedly in quick succession with a little more power and speed behind it with lithe steps. Astarion swings his body, nimbly ducking, dodging and avoiding everything you throw at him as he advances toward your position until he’s in front of you and takes you into his arms while he laughs.

“You caught me once. It tickled.” He glances toward a small burn mark on his shirt, “If anyone has gotten sloppy, it’s you.”

“What you call sloppy, I call careful casting,” you giggle.

“Sloppy,” he corrects, narrowing those scarlet eyes glinting vibrantly with excitement and adrenaline. “You’re already a veritable sovereign when it comes to magic. How about we work on expanding your skillset?” He twirls a dagger at his side without so much as looking at it, catches the blade between his fingers, and settles the hilt in your hand with a devious grin. Astarion takes a few steps backward and motions you forward, “Come on. Attack me.”

You stare at the dagger, your fingers sliding over the metal hilt, “You want me to come at you with a knife? Have you gone completely mad? There are training dummies right there.”

“Oh yes, those will surely help you.” Astarion rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue with audible disapproval of your reluctance. “I am positive your attacker will stand stationary for you so you can stab them - if you ask nicely enough. You will learn nothing from those.”

It’s unlikely that you’ll hurt him. Hells, if you did somehow manage to so much as nick him, Astarion would probably be proud of you, but you stare at the shiny steel with trepidation, “What if I cut you?”

Astarion’s head tilts back, and he laughs loudly, “Oh, you are adorable. Thank you for your concern, but I assure you, I will be fine. You’re more likely to hurt yourself, and if you somehow do cut me, what does it matter? It’s not like you can kill me further.” He giggles, “Now, remember your footwork and keep the sharp pointy end directed toward me and not yourself, love.”

Well, multiclassing never hurts.

Slipping off your sandals, you recall everything he’s ever taught you or tried to, at least. Bending your knees and rolling your weight into your heels for balance, you lunge toward him. You and he spar while he deflects your attacks with an ease that vexes you, and he barks various instructions - straighten your back, keep your weight centred, don’t lean forward, and use your momentum until your heart beats hard, a prisoner in a cage constructed of bone. Exhausted, you sit on the ground, gulping down ragged breaths.

Astarion crosses his arms with a chuckle, “Done, are you? Well, I’ve certainly seen worse - from a babe. Do not go getting into any knife fights without me. You will surely get yourself run through.”

“Astarion,” you throw your head backward exaggeratedly with the back of your hand against your forehead, “you wound me. I think I could rival you with one or two more lessons.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “One or two centuries of lessons, perhaps. You stick to magic. I will happily do any required stabbing.”

The man doesn’t need to breathe, and you know it, but he’s not even sweating. You frown at him while wiping your brow, “Could you please pretend to be winded at least?”

“Apologies. Where are my manners?” Astarion drops to his knees and gives you a gentle shove, sending you sprawling to your back. Crawling over you, he mimics your heavy breathing with a smug smirk, “Better?”

Rolling your eyes, you stick your tongue out at him frivolously, “Kiss me, you fool.”

“Blood running a little hot, sweetheart?” He purrs sensuously, pressing his body into you, grabbing your thigh and guiding it around his waist, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Astarion’s lips mould to yours, cool silk against your heated pout and as delightful to the senses as plunging into cool water on an arid day. His tongue traces your lower lip, enticing your mouth to part. His taste is rich and hypnotic, a firewater of desire and good Gods, it’s intoxicating. His fingers trail up the delicate skin of your upper thigh with firm pressure, leaving blazing trails of icy fire, coalescing between your legs and making you throb. Bolts of electricity amble up your spine in a slow progression, making your body shiver awkwardly as bumps rise over your skin.

Astarion wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you to your feet, tugging your dress back into place, and you give him a quizzical look.

“Gale has returned,” Astarion says, smoothing your hair down. “That man has the worst timing. Also, a bath. You smell.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you groan at his candidness. With a gentle shove, you grumble under your breath and stalk away from him to your room.

There’s a chill in the air that sinks its teeth into even his already frosty skin. Winter is drawing near. The trees have shed their leaves, preparing for dormancy, and the ground is stiff beneath his boots. He’s tired and filthy, spending much of his days lately in caves or held up in shabby barns or abandoned shacks during the day as he continues to run from the only love he has ever known. He has been lucky so far. He can often make it to the next godforsaken hovel to find shelter if he travels fast enough through the night, but as he progresses, the little towns are growing further apart. One of these days, he may not be able to find shelter before dawn, and the sun will consume him - a rather painful demise for a vampire.

Before Astarion enters the ramshackle tavern in this puny rural town in the middle of nowhere, he casts his eyes skyward and looks at the silvery moon as he does every night. If nothing else, he can take comfort in the fact that she is somewhere, under the same stars, and maybe, just maybe, she is looking at the moon, too.

The tavern is as destitute as the rest of this town, with low ceilings and lit by only a few oil lamps, giving it a gloomy atmosphere. It’s quiet. No minstrel or bard plays music here, and the only sounds that can be heard are the dragging of flagons across the rough tabletops and the grotesque gulps and burps of the few downtrodden labourers and drunks. It smells of mildew, fetid spirits and vomit. He crinkles his nose. He usually mimics breathing out of habit in public, but for this place, he will make an exception.

The floor is absurdly tacky, and even he can’t help the sound his boots make as they peel off it. He orders a pint and sits in a rickety chair that wobbles underneath him. Calling the ale rotten would be an understatement. He’s never tasted anything quite so vile in all his two centuries, and his diet once consisted of dead, putrid rats. It’s hard to say which is worse.

A pair of ne’er-do-wells attempted to extort some coin out of him by betting they could juggle more daggers than he. Fools. Even if blind drunk, his dexterity would be vastly superior to theirs. They could scarcely juggle two - child’s play for him. They left quickly with superficial lacerations to their fingers and hands. He wishes she had been here to witness this. They would have had a good laugh. She always loved watching him.

Even though the ale is terrible, the little table is starting to fill with emptied flagons. Tonight, every iota of him aches loudly in the silence of her absence. He does not need to trance, not since the tadpole no longer wriggles in his skull, but he will, if only so he can fall into a memory where they are sure to meet.

His vision is blurred, and his mind thinks of nothing but her. What would she be doing right now? Reading by the fire and sipping wine? Trying to mend her clothes and doing a terrible job now that he is no longer there to do it for her? Sleeping in their bed? Would she be alone, or would Halsin or Gale have come to console her? With him out of the picture, perhaps she could find happiness with one of them. The thought makes his very bones throb, and his fingers wrack through his hair, unsettled by the notion of any but him with her in their bed.

Astarion empties the next flagon and frowns while he grinds it across the table, clinking it against its fallen brethren.

Gale would be the most likely. Gale was a powerful wizard, but he had always been fascinated by her innate authority over the Weave. Where Gale had to read books, scrolls, practice and study spells, she could simply cast them reflexively with little effort. Early in their adventure, Gale had tried to beguile her, boasting his control of the Weave with a demonstration. Astarion watched with curiosity to see if she would reciprocate the obvious flirtation. She kept a straight face, smiling politely and copying as instructed until the foray was completed. She walked away with her arms crossed and a hard roll of her eyes in exasperation while Gale watched her all dew-eyed. It made him snicker at the time.

Despite his prowess, wealth and renown, Gale would probably bore her into an early grave. She craved excitement, risk, Hells, even danger. She needed someone not afraid to get into a little, or a lot, of trouble. She would not be satisfied sitting idle in a library for the rest of her days. She loves fiercely and deserves to be loved fiercely in return with untamed, unbridled passion.

Hot baths. Animals. Fresh fruit. Red roses. Long walks through moonlight forests at night. All the things she loves flit through his mind.

Her face appears in his blurry vision, laughing as she runs through the forest with him hot on her heels. Her modest pastel green dress waves in the wind. She casts Misty Step and disappears from his view. She is not quiet in the forest and knows it, but she pops out from behind the large trunk of a tree and yells, “Boo!” He pretends to be startled, but she doesn’t believe his facade and dissolves into adorable giggles.

She strolls up to him, smiling brightly, still laughing, and the stars themselves descend from the heavens and twinkle in her eyes. Her voice, majestic like a siren’s song, fills his ears as she says, “You’re an adorable idiot. I love you, Astarion.”

He smiles, blinks, and the memory dissipates. He tries to hold onto it, but it withdraws despite his efforts to keep her with him.

A woman’s voice catches his attention, “Stop, please. I said no.”

In Astarion’s drunken daze, he almost hears her voice, but it’s a hint too breathy and modulated. He narrows his eyes and tries to peer past the film of inebriation, mucking up his vision and making him see double. A young woman sits at the bar, and a man much older and ragged-looking pets her hair with clumsy fingers, muttering slurred, vulgar innuendos. She tries to push him away from her, but it’s futile. The man stumbles and chortles, taking another noisy sip of his ale, missing his mouth and washing his beard with it.

He cringes with a roll of his eyes. This is not his business. He does not fancy himself a hero, and he is not foolish enough to get caught up in such a quandary. He peers into his empty flagon. A deep, dark well of sorrow gazes back at him from the bottom. He should leave and return to the inn, where he can slip into his trance and be with her until the sun dips below the horizon.

“I said stop!” The woman’s voice rings out higher, making his ears twitch and grating on his nerves. It’s so close to hers that he has trouble reminding himself it’s not. It can’t possibly be because he... he left her.

He looks around the tavern, hoping someone else will step in, but no one even lifts their sagged heads to assess the situation. He leans back in his unsteady chair, and his fingers rap against the table with hard, rhythmic thumps portraying his increasing frustration.

He is no hero.

“No! I said no!” 

Is no one going to do anything? Really? He growls, clenching his jaw and grating his teeth. The woman’s voice is just too close to hers. It’s making his fingers twitch over the hilt of his dagger, and his muscles tense.

“No! Please, stop. Help!”

The woman’s shoes drag across the floor, and he’s already out of his chair, stalking toward the commotion with a haunting scowl. He ignores the itch to draw his blade. If she taught him anything, it’s that talking is often all that is necessary, but if all else fails, he has no issue with killing.

He is a little peckish.

He stands beside the woman with his practiced liar’s smile, “My friend, how lovely to see you again. Funny we should meet here of all places.”

The man glowers at him through droopy, glassy eyes, releasing the woman’s arm. The woman simply stares at him, her cheeks tear-streaked and ruddy, unsure of what to do.

Gods, these people are dull. All she must do is play along. He attempts to make his intentions plain, “Allow me to walk you home. We can catch up on the way.”

“That lady is coming home with me.” The man snarls, poking his shoulder with a finger that he can’t even keep straight.

This man would be easy pickings indeed if it came to it.

“No.” Astarion stands tall, squaring his shoulders and layering on his most intimidating intonation, “I will be taking her home. If you try to stop me, I know a thousand ways to gut you before you can so much as blink. Do not tempt me.”

“Ah Hells,” the man snickers after sizing him up and stumbles back, “She’s not worth the trouble. She’s all yours.”

He hoped the man would force his hand, but this is probably for the best. He is looking forward to resting indoors today. It has been many days since he was able to wait out the day in a room with a bed that did not smell like some form of livestock.

The woman turns to him with big, round eyes full of adoration and grabs his arm, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Astarion doesn’t quite know how to react, and he does not like the way she is eyeing him. He pulls his arm out of her grasp, “I’ll walk you home. Let’s go.”

The night feels too silent and still around him as he walks the dim streets. The woman follows on his heels, blabbering and stuttering her praises and gratitude. He doesn’t speak another word to her as he fights his mind. Emotions are stirring in his head. He's unsettled, angry even, and he doesn’t understand why. At least the walk isn’t long in a small place like this.

As soon as the woman opens her door, he turns to walk away.

“Won’t you come in?” Her eyes slink over him, and he feels revulsion. No one but her should be looking at him like that, and it only increases his discomfort further, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t give it,” he snaps back gruffly.

He keeps walking until he feels the woman’s hand clutch the back of his shirt, her fingernails grazing over his scars. Those old emotions flood him - fear, loathing, disgust, and he whirls with a fanged snarl.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Oh! I-I’m sorry, Astarion.” Her hand recoils from his back, and she jumps away, pressing herself to the headboard with eyes rounded in confusion. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Do you want me to go?”

Shit.

He let his mind wander off with him, and the memory bled into reality. Blinking hard, he reorients himself. He’s safe in Gale’s manor. He is with her. It was her touching his back - at his request, of course.

He jumps off the bed, flexing his hands as he paces the room. He needs time to get his head straight, but the raw anguish in her eyes is gnawing at him. This is why he left in the first place. He keeps hurting her when the storm sweeps him away in a flash flood, and he’s lost in it.

“I’ll go and give you some time.” She slips into her housecoat, cinching it at her waist and opens the door. Before she closes it, she turns to him, “I’m so sorry, Astarion. If you need space for the night, I understand. I will rest in my room tonight.”

He can’t get his godsdamned mouth to move or his tongue to form words. He stands idly as she closes the door behind her. He listens to her bare feet pad down the hallway at a quick trot and then the click of her door closing. His hands wrack through his hair, fingers curling into it. He knows better than to let his mind drift aimlessly, although the fact that it did roam is an interesting development. He’s used to being able to think of nothing but withstanding the sensation of her hands on his back. He’s improving, albeit slowly.

He laces his hands behind his head, arches his back and stretches his tight chest, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. Astarion closes his eyes and shakes out his arms.  He feels panicked and tense. His skin squirms as if snakes are writhing below the surface. Patrolling his bedroom, he tries to mollify his unease, taking deep breaths of air he doesn’t need. The memory has agitated him for some reason that he can’t quite put his finger on.

His ears twitch as they catch suppressed weeping from her room. Fuck, he’s upset her. This was not her fault. It’s been a while since he went and fucked things up like he always does. He leans on the wall and closes his eyes. Did he make a mistake returning? For months, his singular goal was to find her, but now he wonders if this was selfish. He could not stand living without her, but she may have been better without him.

Astarion is sliding down an icy hill made of doubt, and he can’t stop his descent. Has he doomed her to a life sharing his pain? What does he have to offer her other than his unconditional love? The shadows have claimed him once more.

No.

He can’t let himself fall back into old patterns. She can handle his darkness.

The silence of this room without her heartbeat is dark and heavy. She should be here with him. A chill like an electric bolt runs down his spine at the sight of the empty room when he opens his eyes. It reminds him of when he left, a year as nightmarish as the one he spent in that tome, alone and hungry. He aches to hold her.

He takes long strides and taps on her door lightly.

“Are you okay, Astarion?” She sniffles, trying hard to confine the tears, making her eyes shine.

“I’m fine. Come here.” He wraps his arms around her, kissing her forehead and pressing his cheek against her. She hugs him awkwardly, more awkwardly than he hugged her the first time they did this. She keeps her hands off him, arms stiff at her sides. “It’s okay. You can touch me.”

She hesitates before placing her hands on his waist. He kisses her temple, gently grabs her arms and guides them around him, “A proper hug, yes? You can touch my back, love. It’s alright.”

He can feel the warmth of her hands hovering over his back, unsure, but slowly press into him, and she hugs him tightly. He’s surprised to find that it soothes the agitation. The spring coiled around his chest, constricting it, dissipates in her arms. He takes a deep breath to test how good the looseness feels.

“Come back to our room, hm? I will explain what happened.”

“You don’t have to explain,” she murmurs against him.

“I know,” he rubs her back, “but I want to - if you’re willing to hear it, of course.”

“Always.”

They sit on the bed as he describes the memory in as much detail as possible. She stays quiet as she always did, waiting patiently when he must take a moment to collect himself, offering him her hand. When something he recalls upsets him further, she squeezes his fingers, grounding him and encouraging him to take a break - when and if he needs to.

“I don’t know why it agitated me so much. It made me afraid,” he rasps faintly with a shaky breath as his brows pinch together, perplexed. It’s still troubling him. “Her touching my back was not the only reason, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

She nods with a contemplative gaze. Her beautiful doe-eyes blink as she ponders, and the candlelight scintillates in them. She grabs a blanket and pats her lap, “Do you want to put your head in my lap?”

He smiles. She always knows exactly what he needs. Astarion rests his head on her legs, and she covers him with the blanket, making sure his back and scars are entirely cloaked. Tucking it around him, like he tucks her in at night to ensure it doesn’t slip.

Rubbing his arm, she keeps her voice to a solacing whisper, “Do you want to know what I think, or would you rather I just listen?”

She has always been keenly observant and deeply perceptive. Often able to gleam the tiniest subtleties in inflection, tone or body language. It is what makes her a master at persuasion and intimidation. Her insight is as boundless as the cosmos. If anyone can help him shed light on this, it’s her. If he is to heal, he needs to know what provokes these feelings.

“I have gone over it in my mind time and time again,” he sighs. “I cannot figure it out myself. Tell me what you think.”

“Stop me at any point if you no longer wish to hear it,” she urges. “May I hug you closer?”

With the blanket covering his back and scars, he feels protected and secure. He nods, “Yes.”

She curls around him. Her warmth seeps into him, forcing back the gloom. “You said you did not like the way she looked at you. You mentioned it twice. What look did she give you, and what did it remind you of?”

Flashes of the woman’s greedy eyes play out in his mind. She stared at him as if she wanted to devour and lose herself in him. She stared at him like he was her saviour. She stared at him like they used to stare at him before he brought them to Cazador.

Hells.

Will he ever stop being astounded with how clever she is? She’s not telling him what she thinks. She’s bringing his attention to details he skimmed over so he can work it out himself.

“It… it reminded me of the way my victims used to look at me,” his voice quivers and cracks, tears spring to his eyes, rivulets rolling out the corners. Good Gods, his body is trembling as he fights to keep his emotions from giving way. “The bloody dingy tavern, the way she simply trusted me to walk her home, the quiet, dark streets and the ardent lust in her eyes… It all felt like I was back to doing his bidding as if I was the fucking rake again.”

She rescinds her pressure on him slightly. He used to hate being touched when he felt like this, but not anymore, as long as it’s her touching him. He pulls her back around him. His body shakes more violently now as he continues to fight the overwhelming emotions.

“You don’t have to fight, Astarion. Don’t be afraid to break. We all fall.” She soothes him with an almost ethereal voice like an angel whispering, “I’ve got you. For as long as you need. I’ve always got you.”

Sobs wrack his body, tears streaming down his face, and he falls to pieces in her arms. She’s not close enough like this. His body is painfully bare without her skin on his. She is the light that drives the shadows back. She is sunshine. She is his. He shrugs off the blanket with haste. She gasps at his quick movement, and his fingers find the hem of her nightdress.

She stops him with a confused look, “Astarion, what-”

“I don’t need it,” he chokes out, hoarse and urgent. “Not with you. Not anymore. I want to feel you. Will you let me?”

She removes her nightdress and opens her arms with a smile, tears streaming down her face. She wraps her arms around him, limbs cocooning his body, and pulls him securely to her, his bare back against her warm chest, choking away the fear.

With her, he is seen. He is understood. He is safe.

“I love you, Kamena. Ai armiel telere maenen hir.” He speaks to her through sobs in Elven, their mother tongue, meaning “You hold my heart forever.”

“I love you too, Astarion. Ai armiel telere maenen hir,” she chimes with a featherlight kiss to his shoulder.

Safe in her arms, he shatters and breaks.  

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I've loved writing since I was a child but have never been confident enough to post anything for others to read. The encouragement I've received has been positively incredible, and it's been helping me through some hard times in my life - sincerely thank you so much! :)

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

We did name Tav in this chapter. I apologize if it's not well received but I think it will make senes going forward. I did try to do it in a natural-ish way.

[ceasarslegion]

Yeah man when people started slamming that Thai zoo it kinda set off alarm bells for me regarding the zoo around the place I grew up in the gulf. The zoo I used to go too would rehouse exotic animals seized from people because there was a huge exotic pet problem in the area, and the place was trained in rehabilitating, training, and housing them, and had tightly supervised animal interactions where you could buy treats from little stands and toss them into the enclosures to watch zebras gobble up grass or what have you. They also have restaurants where you can interact with the apex predators, where one half of the table was behind the glass so they could hop up and watch you eat if they wanted, and the tiger enclosure had these little nooks in the glass where you could sit with them without them being able to get to you.

They also had this grizzly bear, who was 40 years old. Now, grizzlies live for about 20 years, so he was an old boy. He was slow and a bit lethargic and they built him his own separate enclosure with enrichment toys that were easier on his old joints so the other bears wouldn't play so rough with him. He loved to sit like a person and watch the people who came to see him, he reportedly loved people watching and was content to do it all day, so they made the platform more visible for him to see everyone and put up a sign saying that he loves to "talk," so say hi! And when you'd wave and shout "hi!" he'd happily call back to you.

On a school field trip once the keepers told us that they crush up bear painkillers in his food and mash it up a bit so it's easier for him to tear up and chew, and his old joints don't ache. They also told us that he must be very happy and well taken care of to live for so long, and we could all tell how much love they had for him and how much special attention they paid to him.

And then an american tourist took a photo of him and spread it around, claiming he was an abused animal who should be euthanized. And everybody just believed them because the zoo was in the middle east, saying that his enclosure was "too small" (it wasn't, it was specially built for a bear with limited mobility), that he was being forced to interact with people (he wasn't, the zoo responded to the social behavior he willingly participated in), and their proof was the photo of him sitting and looking up at them. And I suddenly had to see a bunch of westerners who would probably call the entire gulf a dangerous war zone calling for him to be put down for his own good, acting like this bear was so hard done by and knew nothing but suffering and likened him to a circus animal being forced to perform for human amusement. And acted like anyone who visited could full on pet adult tigers with no supervision because of the animal interaction aspect

This is a photo of the bear watching his visitors when he was alive (he was put down a few years ago, not in response to the whole Thing, but because his painkillers stopped working and he was in pain and distressed):

And this is the one that was spread around claiming he was abused (the shaved patches were from vet treatments and the grate he's looking through is his food slot. He's asking for snacks, not "forlornly looking through his jail bars"):

Anyway, that's what this whole Moo Deng shit reminds me of.

[bundoesnotcompete]

Part 3 of my Stellaron Hunter reader.

Cw: Implied Child Death and reader being an overall not good person. See end for extra author's notes.

"In many legends about the Aeons of Origin and Creation, it is said they created three eminators each. Though some legends say two and others one, some scholars believe that the two eminators were meant to represent one half of a whole. One half represented good and the other evil. Combined they would make one whole eminator. Of course, with the amount of legends from across the universe, it is impossible to tell if any legend is true. Even the bones of the ancient wish leviathans who were said to be alive at the beginning of creation do not hold any answers."

Creation and Known Rules of the Universe - Vol 1 -

The ball had been rather successful all things considered. You had found information on how to acquire of private tour of the Temple of Pevol. As it stood right now, you had all the puzzle pieces ready to put together. Now you just needed the glue to hold it all together once they aligned. You were first going to use your fake identity to your advantage. The ill were kept at the temple, which was a stupid idea if the people of Zeven knew what they were doing. The stone was likely causing Honkai Sickness in the city due to the, quite frankly, ridiculous amount of Honkai energy raidiating off it. While it want the same type of illness in Honkai Impact 3rd, you couldn't deny that it was a crueler version of the illness.

Even though you were not Master Xevus, you could still provide some relief to the suffering people. In fact, you were using that same relief to gain the trust of the people so that you may get your hands on the stone. The next step was to distract the ruler with a crisis. Maybe you would even place the blame on the IPC agent for the fun of it. Once a crisis was in place, you would set up a battle near the temple and sneak your way in. If guards were too busy fighting, then no one would stop you from getting the stone. Though you didn't have a plan for getting out yet, you could come up with that later. First, you had to win the trust of the people so they did not suspect you.

Days blended together as you worked on curing those with honkai sickness. Those who were too late in the stages were deemed unsaveable and promptly euthanized. While you could absorb some energy, the sheer amount of unstable honkai energy in the late stages made it difficult to absorb with. Since you were not it's original host, large amounts fought against you when you absorbed it. Things seemed to be going well, until after the recent worship at the temple. The Empress had come to you distraught. Her daughter had recently caught the Violet Plague and needed your help. Well, you had thought, I can't waste this opportunity.

Of course, the daughter had the more severe variant of the illness and you couldn't do much for her. Not that you told the Empress that. Instead, you merely told her that you would do your best to save her only child.

"Even if she does not make it, there must be a way i can repay your services with more than just money. Please if there is anything you need, just tell me. I will try my best to get the council to approve it. It can be even more if you please save my daughter. " She begged you. Xevus was getting paid?! You should've known they weren't doing it out of goodwill. Of course, you did the rational thing and asked for a tour if the Temple of Pevol on your next day off. The Empress agreed and you left you to tend to her daughter. You could only get so much out of this deal, so you decided that you needed to end this quick.

Entering back into the princess's room and walking over to her bed, you say in the chair next to her. Even though you considered yourself an expert at blocking out emotions entering your halo, you could still feel the girl's pain echoing off it. You debated doing the humane thing and just killing her, but you needed just a but more out of them empress. The past you would've thrown up at the thought of being so careless with a life, especially a child's, but you had changed. Often you wondered if it was really for the better like you had thought. Sure, you were having fun, but you knew that people were not toys and yet you treated them like it more often then not. Brushing those thoughts aside, you grabbed the nearby white board and woke the sleeping princess. She stirred and blearily looked to you.

"Master Xevus, did you tell her?" She croaked in your direction. You did not give a soft smile like you usually would in an attempt to comfort someone. Instead you kept a neutral face and began writing.

"No, I did not." You wrote. The princess seemed puzzled.

"Why? She needs to know I won't make it. I don't want her to suffer more." She sounded close to tears. To tell her or to not tell her the truth. You opted for the more truthful option, unable to come up with a quick reason as to why you didn't tell her mother. "Master Xevus? Why didn't you tell her?" Ah, time had ran out, there was no use hiding it now. You could always say the plague was making her delusional, it did tend to do that to the more slow dying victims.

"Because, i need to get my full use out of you. "Shock was quick to fill her face before it turned into a dawning horror. Oh dear, now she was petrified. "Don't worry, I will have you put down before the real painful parts hit." Your writing never faltered as you wrote. You erased everything on the board and stood up, ignoring the scared and angry girl next to you.

"You can't do that," She managed to get out, "I'll tell my mother that you-" She broke out into a coughing fit before she could finish her sentence. You finally gave a soft smile and looked down at her. As she stopped coughing, she gave a look of hatred as she began wailing at you. "I bet your not even the real Xevus are you? I bet your just a big fat liar!" What the hell, how was this girl a good guesser? It must be video game logic or something, you thought, because there was no way a normal would've gotten that. You nodded at her and the look she gave you was a cross between fear and righteous anger. She wailed louder and began hitting the bed but was unable to do much more than that, The plague having taken away much of her ability to slither around. You watched the girl throw a tantrum that most teenages girls didn't do. You merely turn for the door and began to talk out. She was screaming at this point, and you decided you should play doctor a little more and get her mother.

When you closed the door behind you, you were quick to grab you pen and pad to write an excuse for her actions. Hysteria caused by delusions? Not unreasonable. Though a bit odd with this severe of a case, it was not unheard of. Nodding to yourself, you began to head for the Empress's office.

The Empress bought your excuse easily and attempted to comfort her daughter as she screamed at you. Deciding that you needed a break, she had a priest take you to the Temple of Pavol the next day to tour. As you walked up the steps,you noted that the temple was massive. The center room alone was a large cylinder with a strange flooring. Of course, the room was a soft sandy color like most of the buildings in the city were, but what caught your attention was the oddly shaped hole in the center room. When you asked the priest about it, she merely said it was for a ritual only preformed every few hundred years. It seemed to involve a shaped object since it looked to be a circle shaped hole. Well, somewhat circle. When you finally entered the room with the stone, it was close to evening meal.

"This will be the last room we visit. You will be able to return in a few days time." The priest began, quietly leading you to the Stone of Origin. "As you can see this stone is of…." You tuned her out staring at the stone as you called to you. It whispered with want and longing. The colored stone sat on a soft pillow and was covered by glass. You wanted to smash the glass and take it in that moment but refrained from doing so. A hand is on your shoulder.

"Master Xevus? Are you alright? Ive been calling to you and you won't reply?" You turned to the large snake woman and stared. "I must return you to the palace." You looked away and nodded, allowing her to guide you back to the doors. Giving one last look to the stone, you made the decision that you would get that stone next time you returned, no matter the cost.

------

As you walked down the halls of the palace to the dining room, you could hear the booming voice of the Empress. When you turned the corner to the hallway with the door to the dining hall, you saw her yelling at quivering councilmen. She was furious.

"Your telling me that those planets are gone?! You worthless worms did nothing as the planet was ruined, are you serious?! I will have your heads for those civilians! Thats not even mentioning the stones! Guards, arrest these men, Now!" She was nearly ready to explode with fury as she yelled. She turned her head to look down the hallway at you as the guards drug the councilmen away. Her face neutralized though upon seeing your shocked face as you stood in the hallway. "I apologize for you seeing me like that Master Xevus. Come into the dining hall and I will share the news with everyone." She motioned for you to come and you quickly made you way to her.

Entering into the hall, you took the nearest seat which was next to the Xianzhou Alliance's representitive. The air in the room was tense as the food was brought out. The Empress took a deep breathe as she prepared to speak.

"As you all know, I have gotten some bad news. The two neighboring planets to this one have been ruined. It may take thousands of years for them to recover, if they ever do. Along with that, there have been sacred objects taken from the temples there." The air in room could almost be cut with a knife it was so thick. Several eyes seemed to glance at you at the mention of planets being destroyed. You could only interally grumble and roll your eyes. You ruin and destroy and planet or two and suddenly every planet that is destroyed is you fault. While you remained neutral on the outside, you grumbled internally.

"Please do not take that as though we no longer need your help. We still need assitance with our previous issues." The Empress continued, attempting to reassure everyone. Focus on the food Saturday, you thought to yourself. The food in front of you smelt heavenly.

"Perhaps the IPC could help you rebuild the ruined planets." The IPC agent in front of you called to the Empress. "We've helped planets recover from such things before. Of course, we would have to negotiate on such things but the IPC could have the planet recovered in years." You wanted to shove your fork into his eye. Every planet you have been to that was occupied or "helped" by the IPC was often forced into indentured servitude even if the contract had been made centuries ago. Those greedy fuckers, you thought to yourself, your lucky i cannot talk Mr.NPC. There was more to the story then that, but thinking about it often ruined your mood.

"On the other side of that, the Xianzhou Alliance will still help purge the Abundance here. Even if it is on the other planets, we will do what we can to help." The large man next to you spoke, gently tearing apart the mystery meat in front of him.

"The Astral Express will be here for a long as you have issues with the Stellaron." Himeko spoke from farther down the table. The IPC agent from across you gave a small smirk as he turned to you.

"And what about you Mr.Xevus, are you going to stay?" He knew what he was doing and you kept your composure. You gave a smile and nodded, even if you were keyboard smashing on the inside. Anything involving the IPC tended to make you irrationally angry. Even if it didn't quite make sense you couldn't help it. You tore into the meat with a little more force then necessary and the man next to you merely raised an eyebrow in question.

"Ah, good, good. Enough talk, let us enjoy the meal in front of us." The Empress's mood was improved and it showed in her tone of voice. As you continued you eat, you let your mind wander to other things. How had those planets been ruined so suddenly? It had to have been something massive is it caused planet-wide destruction. "Master Xevus, I hope it is not rude to ask, but would you check on my daughter tonight before you retire. She calmed enough to see guests today, so I hope she will take to your presence well." The Empress voice wafted down the table and you nodded, never looking away from your food. After the meal was done you began to head for the door. A hand yanked you wrist harshly back before you made it out the door. You whipped around to the the IPC agent glaring at you with hatred.

"I don't know what your plans are Saturday, but don't you dare think about hurting the princess or taking that stone. I am not stupid, i know the others took the stones. Your lucky the Empress puts to much faith in you, you devil." The man hissed at you, gripping your wrist tightly. The Empress was quick to spot the hostile interaction of you two though. The agent quickly let go of your hand and turned towards the Empress as she approached. The smile on his face was as fake as it seemed.

"Nothing your highness. Just talking to Master Xevus about their plans. Isn't that right?" The Empress gazed over to you as if not believing the agent. You pulled out one of your pathetic looks and shook your head, ear wings drooping slightly. She turned back to the agent.

"Now we both know that ks not what happened. Master Xevus, please go check on my daughter." You nodded and opened the door. As you began to to leave, you turned back to see the Empress scolding agent. When the agent looked over to you, you gave him the smuggest look you could muster and left. You could feel the holes he was glaring into back as you left.

Making you way into the princess's room, you could hear her raspy breathing. You walked beside her bed and turned to her, the heels of your boots clicking against the wood as you did so. The princess's gaze turned to you when you stopped to stare down at her.

"You won't get away with it." She wheezed out. You sat and tilted you head as if saying go on. "I told my friends in the Express what you are going to do." She took in a wet breath and smile and smiled at you. "I heard you went to tour the temple today. I bet you want that stone. I heard my mama's yelling about the other stones." Hatred filled her eyes as she coughed. You were unsure if you should give her credit for her smartness or not. She guessed lucky last time, did she guess lucky again? You let a sly smile appear on your lips. "We will haunt you for what you've done you monster." You stood up from the chair and made for the door, ignoring the princess's wet breathing and hateful commentary as you left. You saw the Empress slithering down the hall towards you.

"How is she?" The Empress began, worriedly looking down to you. Time for the show. Putting on your serious face you gently took her hands. You gave her a grim look and shook your head. You lowered your ear wings as you did so. Disbelief filled her face as your news hit her. "I-I see. I-" She took a deep breath as devastation trickled into her features. "Thank you. For everything." She let go of your hands and went closer to her daughter's room, breathing heavily. "I am going to see her now. Please leave us. Don't worry about her anymore." She turned away from you and went into her daughter's room. You fled down the halfway before you could hear her sob, ignoring the heavy ball of guilt in you chest as you did so.

------

"I saw what you did back there kid." Kafka's voice startled you as you left the shower. You were glad that you got dressed in the bethroom when you whipped around in the direction of her voice. She played with familiar stones in your window as she gazed at you. "Sheep pajamas? Intresting fashion choice but I'm not here to judge you." She stepped down from the windowsill and tossed a couple of stones in your direction before leaning against the wall by the window. "Elio wanted me to give those to you, said that you would know what to do. Its all the stones you need, well except the one in the main temple." There was a question in your mind as you looked at the stones in your hand.

"Were those planets your work?" You signed to her.

"Course it was. Well, not all of them. All us Stellaron Hunters got them stones for you and that ended up setting the planets ablaze. At least it did with the one I got." She looked at the clock on the wall and sighed. She got off the wall she was on and headed for the window. "I gotta go, Bladie is waiting for me. I might've stayed a little longer otherwise." She began as she entered the windowsill, "Good luck Little Angel." She waved as she dissappeared, leaving you alone in the dark room. You glanced at a stones in your hand. They all fit together nicely and seemed to make a familiar shape in your hand. Wait, wasn't the shape you saw in the temple floor?

You sat on your bed and listened to the soff humming of the stones. They seemed to hum happily in your mind. Their longing and happiness echoing off your halo even as you attempted to block it out. Laying down, you set the stones down next to you. You were curious what would happen if you put them in hole in the floor of the temple. The stones next to you seemed to become happier at the mention of being put into the hole. You needed to prepare your ship first before you did something of that scale. Letting out a soft breath and shuffling the stones under you pillow, you attempted to sleep. The humming of the stones easing your mind and helping you drift off to sleep.

-------

Awaking to a dark space was never a good sign in your opinion. Even more so when a masive four legged being was right beside you, claws tapping impatiently on the water's surface. It was rather ugly with its lion-like mane and scaley body. It look down at you with great interest.

"Ah, your aware now dear creator mine. It took me quite some time to reach out to you through the stones." The massive being's voice was feminine in nature as it appeared to take in your appearence. "Do not be alarmed. I am unsure of how much of your memory remains intact so I will introduce myself. I am Eshnaa, the first of your original brood." The being gazed down on your small form as you stood up. Curiosity was burning in its eyes. The large chimera-like beast waited for you to speak.

"What is-" Shock colored your face as you spoke, "How am I talking?" The large beat seemed disappointed in your reaction and adjusted its stance to lay closer to your standing figure. It hummed and odd tune, its mane moving in contrast to its dark scales as it did so.

"Oh Creator Mine, you really have lost so much. This is your mind, of course you can talk. Once you unite the stones, you're voice may return to you. They are a fragment of your power even if it comes from my body." Wait hold on what did it mean by first of your brood? Deciding to ignore the body comment you asked your question.

"Wait, if your the first, who are the others?"

"My brother, Eepsu, is the second of your brood. Of course, we were once one before you shattered us. But that is no longer important. Your return is more important than anything right now. The reason why i have contacted you is to bargain with you."

"What do you mean?" Confusion was obvious in your voice. There was so much happening right now. You had so many questions and what felt like little time to ask them. The sheer amount of lore in this one interaction was going to fry your brain if you didn't stop thinking about it. The large beast took one claw and drew patterns in the rippling water.

"You see, I am here to beg for my life. The one named Elio sent you here to consume me so that you can gain powers. But, I wish to live and see my troublesome brother again. I don't particularly mind that one of his path followers sent you to kill me, but i do mind dying. So here is my proposal: I get to live and give you a large part of my power, and you regain your ability to speak with more benefits down the line. Of course the power may have to be given back in stages, but it is all i have to give you. So what do you say?" Now that was a deal of you've ever seen one, but there had to be a catch.

"What's the catch?"

"I need to be resummoned again. It will require me to siphon from your power and it will also need a little bit of time. It may not pay off largely in the present, but the far run will be well worth it, especially with the information i can give you." You took to deep breath and thought about the deal. Information would be useful considering the lore bomb that was this being. Not only that, but being able to talk again would be wonderful.

"Fine, but know that if you do not keep your word it will not end well for you." An ugly smile crept onto the chimera's face at your agreement.

"This version of you is much nicer, Oh Creator Mine. Let us begin this friendship anew with this plan. Here is what you must do…."

----------

Himeko worried about many things. She wouldn't lie to herself and say that this wasn't one of the most stressfull missions the crew has ever had. It was far too high up in the list to lie to herself. At first, she hadn't worried more then usual, even with the stellaron hunter being involved. Then the Princess had told them something alarming, Saturday had planned to kill her. Soon after that, news of the neighboring planets having been razed into ruin and ash reached them. Even more alarming were tbe fact that sacred stones had been looted from the temples. A targetted attack prehaps? After Saturday's visit to the temple, Himeko had a feeling as to what the hunter's plan was.

Jing Yuan had informed them that the Alliance would be arriving within the next day or so and that had eased Himeko's worried mind. The IPC agent named Aragonite was purposing a plan to the crew currently.

"We must do something about Saturday. He is far too dangerous to be left near the Empress. The stone is far too important to be abandoned now that we know what may happen if it is taken. We cannot risk this planet being razed like the others were." The man was pacing in the room. "Here's the plan. Two of you will go contain the Stellaron and the rest will go confront Saturday."

"But we don't even know when they are gonna do anything. Are we supposed to just camp out at the temple until something happens?" March blurted out, unsure about the rather vague plan.

"Yes, that's a wonderful idea." The man quickly turned to March, excitement in his voice. "Then we can finally get rid of that pest." March gave a look to Stelle who quietly shuffled closer to her. Leaning close to March's ear, Stelle quietly whispered,

"I think he is missing a few screws." Stelle and March locked eyes before agreeing and nodding at eachother. The plan continued to be fleshed out as the night went on before the plan was finally solidified near midnight. Welt, March, and Dan Heng would contain the stellaron while the others watched the temple. If the stellaron was contained before Saturday made their move, they would unite with the group. It was a rusty plan, but both areas needed to be watched and there wasn't enough people. The Empress was too blinded by the Halovian's supposed name and actions to take anything said against them seriously.

--------

Excerpt from InterPlanetary News

STELLARON HUNTERS NAMED AS PRIME SUSPECTS IN THE DESTRUCTION OF PLANETS IN ZAKRYN SYSTEM.

"In what was originally supposed to be routine charity work in the system of Zakryn turned deadly as several planets burned and were destroyed. No cause bas been relased as to why these planets were destroyed, but the IPC has evidence that the suspects behind this tragedy are the notorious Stellaron Hunters….."

-----

END MISSION 2: Hello! My Devil In Sheep's Skin

START MISSION 3: The Sleeping Terror Beneath Pevol

------

End notes:

This reached nearly 4500 words. I'm expecting the next chapter to be even longer since it has a massive boss battle planned.

[bluestar22x]

Mr. Henley

The Rockford Files - Mr. Henley

Summary: A rich man is murdered and you and Tim must figure out which of his family members poisoned him.

Pairing: Tim Rockford x F!Reader (both in their mid/late 40s)

Rating: 18+ Series

Word Count: 13,800 (ish)

Warnings: Smut (w/no protection), violence, a very angry ghost, inaccurate detective work, medical examiner gore, fictionally speedy DNA results, and a mention of euthanizing a pet (cat).

Author's Note: This part was a long time coming - I almost didn't finish it in October. Ack! But it was worth it. I think I'm happy with the results. This has some inspiration from the Merge Mansion ads. I'm not sorry. Also, it seems 2nd parts are for smut in my little writing world. I have a pattern. ha

xxx

October 10, 1996 (Thursday)

You felt like you were being driven straight into a horror movie setting. An early morning fog encroaching on the long, deserted winding road that led to a Victorian styled gate with golden decals. Tim stopped his car at the front and you noted the number twenty-six that was painted onto one of the stone walls the gate was attached to. You were at the right address. You just weren't sure that you wanted to be.

Tim slid out of the driver's side, leaving his door open as he approached the gate with the key he'd been handed earlier by Chief Bronson, opening it up and letting the gate swing widely inward on its own.

When he climbed back into the car you began tapping your fingers on your knees, unsure of what you’d soon be walking into.

It didn't take long for the sparsely colorful forest surrounding the driveway to clear into a neatly maintained lawn lined with pink rosebushes, spread out before a massive white mansion that looked as old as the gate, although they likely hadn't been built earlier than a half a century ago.

Rich people, you thought to yourself, rolling your eyes at the obvious choice the owners had made to flaunt their money. Nobody in American history who had owned such a home had ever actually needed over thirty rooms to themselves. Most people who'd had twenty plus children couldn't afford a mansion.

"We have an hour before we have to be back at the department to question the family," Tim reminded you after parking the car, as if you needed to be.

You just nodded at him. A year ago you would've rolled your eyes, thinking he was being impatient, trying to rush you, but you'd learned with time he just worried about being late. He was a reliable person. If he could help it, he was always on time. You couldn't say the same, and you'd butted heads with him more than once over it, but eventually you'd both decided it wasn't worth it.

He fixed the position of the dark rimmed glasses that rested over the bridge of his nose (a recent addition to his attire, much to his dismay) and followed you as you strolled up the marble steps leading to the heavy looking white front door. After he used another key to unlock it you shoved the door open and stepped inside.

You didn't know enough about mansions and fancy furniture, but you knew enough to know that everything inside was mind boggling expensive. The trims were definitely made from real gold. The living room was the size of your whole apartment.

And everything was spotless - except for the dining room you headed straight for like a woman on a mission. Even though it was just you and Tim in the house, at the moment, you didn't want to give the mansion's owner the satisfaction of you having gawked at the place.

The only sign something had gone wrong in the dining room was the yellow tape and the bowl of cereal that was still, disgustingly, out on the glass table, half full of soaked flakes and rotting milk. The stench made you block your nose.

At least the body had already been picked up by Joe while the rest of the Forensics team had scoured the mansion. And the man had been found fairly quickly after his death, so the room didn't also smell like rotting flesh. You always tried to look at the bright side of things.

"I see Elliot Henley was a Frosted Flakes kind of guy," you observed humorously. "It's kind of comforting that corn flakes could potentially unite the rich and poor."

Tim snorted quietly at that, amusement sparking in his normally serious eyes. You beamed back at him. You'd taken a liking to trying to make him laugh with you rather than at your expense, like it had been at first. You were getting better at it.

"You getting any vibes, Psy?"

Where once that nickname had been at your expense, it had long since turned friendly, and in turn, you'd grown fond of it. Only from him though.

"Nothing yet," you replied with a sigh, "I'm not even creeped out by the knowledge that a dead man was sitting at this table at eight o'clock last night, face planted right on the table alongside this very bowl."

Tim arched his eyebrows, surprised. "That once bothered you?"

"It still bothers me often enough," you admitted. "I got this job because of my gift, not because of my tolerance for being around dead bodies. You?"

He shrugged. "It got better with time. It's rare a case really shakes me up."

You know exactly what kind of case shakes him up after Annie. Anything with kids. For most people in your field of work, that was the line, but it was especially true for him.

You hadn't asked Tim about his sister. You didn't need to. Helen had given you more than enough information and it wasn't your business. He was your partner, a friend, you might even dare say, but your relationship was very professional and that meant you didn't get to be nosy.

"I'm going to take a walk through the whole place, alone," you decided, "Just in case he's shy. But it's quite possible Elliot's already moved on. Even if our suspicions turn out right, that he didn't just die of a stroke or heart attack, that doesn't mean he'd linger. You know how it goes."

Tim gave you a quick nod. After working over two dozen cases with you he did know enough of how things worked, or at least how you believed things worked, since you'd yet to convince him your mind wasn't conjuring up these spirits.

Stubborn man.

He left to stand by the main entrance while you wandered room to room, trying to keep your mind focused solely on your surroundings, without paying too much attention to how absurdly "classy" everything was.

You walked the east wing first, finding Elliot's mother's room at the far end. Everything was so white it was near blinding. It felt too clean. Unlived in, except for the hairbrush with silver hair intertwined in the bristles that lay on the desk in the corner of the room next to a big bay window.

You wondered if the room had always been this way or if it had only become so sterile after her husband had died.

You concluded that it probably had always been that way when you searched the west wing and found Elliot's room to be in a similar shape, and the same for his older brother's.

Like many rich kids who hadn't worked a day of their youth away because of their parents' wealth, Elliot and Richard Henley had stuck around after they graduated high school, even into their late thirties.

It was interesting to you that Hazel, their mother, had them stay in a separate wing. For privacy or because she couldn't stand them? Either option was likely. Maybe it was for both reasons.

It took you a half hour to thoroughly check each room and give time for any presence to make themselves known, but none did, and with a long sigh you headed down the hall to return to Tim's side.

He was leaning against the door, arms folded, clearly trying to be patient, but still appearing annoyed. When he spotted you moving towards him he grunted. "Took you long enough."

"There's a lot of rooms," you said defensively.

He dropped his arms to his sides. "Please tell me you at least got something."

You shook your head apologetically and he groaned. "Great. So, this was a bust."

"Mostly, yeah," you agreed. "But I did find out that Hazel sleeps as far away from her sons' rooms as possible."

"They probably partied late into the night," Tim guessed.

It was as good of a guess as yours, but for some reason your intuition was screaming at you that there was something more to it, and in your experience it was wise not to ignore it. You'd definitely have some questions to ask the family when you got back to the police department.

Tim gestured to the door and you both stepped outside together, back onto the porch. As he locked the door again, a gust of wind ripped through the sheltered area and you shivered. It could have been just from the cold weather, but normal wind didn't usually make your skin crawl.

You glanced around warily and Tim noticed. His eyes filled with concern at your discomfort. "You sense something now?"

"That gust didn't feel right," you informed him, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth and a sense of security. "Too cold for the season." You snuggled your nose into the wool jacket you were wearing.

His eyebrows furrowed at that. "What does that mean to you?"

"If Elliot's spirit caused that sudden gust of wind," you hesitated, not wanting it to be so, "Which I'm almost certain of, he's furious at something. Probably someone. Not necessarily who killed him. I've had several cases where the spirit was upset about something that happened right before they were murdered, since sometimes they aren't aware enough to remember what happened to them." You bit your lip. "Angry spirits aren't discriminatory. They want to lash out, get revenge, and it doesn't matter who's on the other end of their fury, as long as they are affected. Not everyone is, but sensitives like me are."

"You've been hurt by spirits before?" The lines between Tim's brows deepened. You wondered how much of it was from disbelief and how much was from genuine concern, but the fact there was concern at all was nice.

"No, I haven't had a spirit hurt me physically," you answered. "But they're great at causing nightmares and I had one purposely spook me into stumbling backwards. I was at the top of a flight of stairs."

You could've sworn a flicker of fear flashed in his eyes in reaction to what you'd disclosed, but it was gone in the blink of an eye. "Let's get you out of here then."

You didn't need to be told twice.

x

The first stop you and Rockford made after returning to the department was the Forensics Division to check for updates. You sought out Joe, finding him in the basement examining Elliot's body.

It was your first time seeing Mr. Henley outside the few family photos that had been scattered about in the mansion, and it was unsettling. It wasn't the first time you'd walked in on an autopsy, but it was the first time you'd seen a brain outside a body, in the gloved hands of the medical examiner. Your stomach did a little flip at the sight, and you tried to keep your eyes from directly looking at it and Elliot's open skull after.

"Got anything for us, Joe?" Tim inquired.

The rail thin man continued his study of Elliot's brain while he spoke. "I've got enough. Elliot here had a cardiac event. Some of his heart valves are damaged. But it wasn't natural. And my conclusion has nothing to do with him being thirty-five. Look at this."

Joe placed Elliot's brain back into his head and pointed out some dark pigmentation scattered on his skin and under his nails. "Hyperpigmentation." He pulled out a kidney that was sliced in half. Even for one that belonged to a deceased person it didn't look too healthy. "Renal damage. Any guesses as to what happened to him?"

You frowned as you pondered over it. A lot of things could cause these symptoms. But there were few that would make Joe behave this way. "Poison," you said in unison with Tim. You both glanced at each other. "Jinx," you declared, chuckling. He grunted.

"Arsenic to be exact," Joe told you, theatrically gesturing to his desktop computer in the corner of the room. "The blood results were positive for it. The hair samples are still being studied to figure out when the poisoning began, but by the evidence it seems it has been a long while."

"Arsenic is natural though," Tim pointed out. "He could have ingested too much of it by mistake through drinking water or food."

"Ah." Joe nodded. "Yes. But a very high dose was in the milk sample we took from his bowl this morning. That's not typical of pasteurized, grade A milk. Guessing he wasn't dying fast enough for whoever was adding it to his diet so they threw caution to the wind. Funny enough though, the high dose wasn't in him long enough to be the reason his heart failed. That was from the previous attempts stacking up."

"Please tell me someone's on their way to pick up that bowl before someone else gets dosed by accident," you said, though you were certain no one would dare eat from that disgusting bowl.

"Katie's on her way to rectify our mistake of leaving it behind," Joe assured you.

"Do you know if he sought out any medical attention?" Tim asked.

"I called the local hospital," Joe stated, "His primary care doctor works there, but hasn't seen him in two years and he hasn't shown up in the Emergency Room ever. I have no doubt he was suffering for weeks from this, but for whatever reason he never went to the hospital. Maybe he had nosocomephobia?" He shrugged.

"What's that?" you questioned, squinting at him in confusion.

"It's an intense fear of going to the hospital," Tim informed you. "My great tia Lucia had that phobia. She broke a hip one time, fully separated it. Despite the pain, she insisted it couldn't be broken even as she tried and failed to stand over and over. My grandmother was with her at the time."

"That's awful," you remarked, mouth agape. You'd never broken anything before, but you knew hip fractures were one of the worst breaks a person could have. She should have been seized up with pain.

"Fear is pain's greatest competitor," Joe told you solemnly.

Tim tilted his head in his direction.

"So, who do we think did it?" you quizzed. "It must be someone in the family, right?"

"Usually is," Tim replied. "Hazel would be most likely."

"Isn't their mother like eighty?"

"Seventy-eight," Tim corrected you. "And it doesn't take a body builder to kill someone by poison. You should know murderers come in all shapes and sizes and ages."

"Of course." And it wouldn't be the first time you'd helped investigate a murder where the mother killed their child.

"Anything else?" Tim asked Joe.

Joe shook his head. "I'll let you know if there's anything else useful to you as the results come in."

"Time for the interrogations then," you figured.

Tim was already halfway out the door.

x

Upon your arrival at the Homicide Division, Pete Woodward, a young, eager homicide detective-in-training approached you and Tim. Practically flew at you, really. "We've got Hazel and Richard Henley in separate interrogation rooms, ready to talk with you, Rockford. Victim's sisters will be in at noon."

Having lived in the same home, being family, Hazel and Richard were the priority to talk to. They'd been brought in as soon as the investigation had begun, though not officially arrested since there wasn't any solid proof either one of them had motive to kill Elliot yet.

You followed Tim into the first room finding Richard standing inside in a corner, looking bored out of your mind. You wouldn't have expected that from a man that had just lost his brother. Maybe suspect number two was actually the murderer?

"You want to take a seat Mr. Henley?" Tim inquired, gesturing at the gray chair across from yours and his as you both sat down.

"Call me Dick," Richard told him, plopping down on it.

"Really?" You couldn't help the slipped comment. You just didn't understand why anyone would be willing to take on that nickname, especially as a rich person. Did he not notice the possible implications of using it?

Richard either didn't hear you or didn't care; either way he paid you no attention. Tim's eyes however did dart to you for a second before he cleared his throat. "This conversation is going to be recorded, Dick. Is that alright?"

"Whatever you must do, detective. I've got nothing to hide."

Tim pressed record on the voice recorder to his left. "What can you tell us about your brother?"

Richard snorted. "Besides him being a hopeless lazy leech?"

"Aren't you also living with your mother?" you countered.

"I work," Richard informed you defensively, "I only moved back in because I recently got divorced and my new home hasn't been finished yet."

"Uh huh." You'd barely started talking with him and you were already starting to lean more towards him as Elliot's killer than their mother. He had clearly held disdain for his younger brother. That was a pretty good motive.

"Did your brother have any enemies?" Tim questioned.

Richard shrugged. "None that I know of, except his own damn self. He was a loner, mostly. Spent a lot of time online playing games."

"Do we dare ask you how he was with your family, with you?" you inquired.

He chuckled and leaned back. "He was Dad's favorite when he was alive, for some damn reason. Mom loves him out of duty. Our sisters and him get along fine but they don't hang out."

"And you and him?"

"I don't like him not putting in any effort to make his own life," Richard told you, eyes narrowing, "But I wasn't upset enough over it to kill him, if that's what you're wondering."

"We have to consider every possibility," Tim explained to him. "Murders often are committed by those closest to the victim."

"So it is murder?" Richard asked, pursing his lips. "You sound certain."

"We've got evidence that suggests Elliot was slowly poisoned with Arsenic," Tim replied, "Found some in his bowl of cereal."

Richard's eyes widened. "Shit."

"Who normally fed him his meals?" you prompted.

He frowned. "He usually made his own cereal whenever he chose to eat later at night."

"Was he the only one in the house who drank two percent milk?"

His jaw slacked a little. "Yes. Mom and I drink whole milk. You think maybe whoever did this poisoned the whole bottle?"

"I only just considered it now," you admitted. Your eyes flicked to Tim. "Looks like Katie's going to have to bring the jug in now too."

"I'll call her," he said, standing up as he dialed Katie's number and leaning against the wall as he explained to her that she needed to go back to the mansion a third time in less than half a day.

Poor Katie, you thought.

"Who besides you and your mother have access to the fridge on a regular basis?" you pressed.

"The cook, maid, the gardener, the whole family," Richard listed. "None of them have motive to do it."

"That's for us to decide," you told him as Tim sat back down.

Richard turned to him. "Anything else you want to know?"

"Plenty," he said, lifting his eyes to meet Richard's. "Where were you this morning?"

x

It was nearly a half hour later when Tim finished with Richard, letting him go with a warning to not skip town. You were ready to feel that twist in your stomach, your gut instinct, to tell you letting him go was a mistake, but you didn't get it. As much as you'd thought Richard's attitude towards his brother was bordering hate you didn't get murder vibes from him. His nickname suited him well, but being a dick didn't automatically make someone a killer.

The interrogation with Hazel, their frail appearing seventy-eight-year-old mother who looked every bit like the grandmother to four she was, went similarly to the one with Richard. Although Hazel did not share the anger Richard had towards Elliot, she wasn't shedding any tears either. It was so odd to you. You'd had a shaky relationship with your mother before she passed, but you still had felt the loss after she died. You'd still sobbed when she was laid to rest in the cemetery of your hometown. You'd heard of people being numb at first to loss, like they were in some kind of daze, but you doubted that was it.

You started to truly understand for the first time what kind of people tended to find themselves leading successful businesses. You didn't like what you saw.

"Mrs. Henley, did you hate your son?" you inquired boldly.

Her eyes grew wide. "Of course not. I wouldn't have let him stay home if I did. To most he was lazy, but he helped me around the property. Spent time in the garden with me every afternoon. Adopting him was the best decision I ever made."

For the first time in the last fifteen minutes you and Tim had been talking with her there was sadness in her eyes.

Maybe she isn't a psychopath after all, you mused.

"You adopted Elliot?" Tim prompted.

Hazel nodded. "We knew his biological mother. When she died, we decided to take him in, treat him as our own. It's what friends do."

"So kind of you," you said, trying to sound sincere. You couldn't help but think that there was something more; that there was no way this lady had adopted a child out of the goodness of her heart. Adopting him had probably come with tax breaks or something like that.

Elliot and Richard's older sisters, Heidi and Jeanine, who were both in their forties, blonde, and mothers to two children each, all in their teens, weren't much better than Hazel and Richard, clearly not much more than spoiled trophy wives to their rich husbands.

"Maybe Elliot poisoned himself," Heidi suggested, "He didn’t have a lot going for him, you know? I loved him, but he was always the mess up of the family. It had to have eaten at him."

"My brother was kind, but didn't make anything of himself," Jeanine said later during the interview with her. "I'd think him committing suicide makes more sense than murder. None of my family are capable of that."

The linear ceiling light above started blinking furiously above the three of you and you felt the air get thick with tension that was cutting knife worthy. Anger. Your breathing picked up to compensate for the lack of oxygen getting to your lungs. You shivered as a draft hit the back of your neck. Out of habit your eyes darted to and fro, looking for danger but finding nothing visible.

You knew he was there though, watching, and he was trying to tell you his sisters' theories were way off. He definitely had not killed himself.

Tim and Jeanine clearly hadn't felt anything in the air change, surprised by the intense reaction you'd had to the lights flickering, but they had at least seen the lights go off. Once again Tim was studying you, expression trained. "You alright?"

"I'm okay," you answered, "Nothing new for me."

It was true it wasn't new, but it had still shaken you. Kind Elliot Henley seemed to have a lot of hate in his soul in the afterlife. You honestly couldn't blame him though. None of his family, even his sisters who were supposed to like him, had shed any tears in front of you and you were pretty sure shock couldn't account for any of it.

After the interviews were over, you and Tim headed to the office you shared.

"What a piece of work that family is," you muttered as he closed the door behind you. You turned on your heels to face him.

Tim nodded. "Sure is."

"I’m almost certain there's no way either Jeanine or Heidi murdered him though."

"Their alibis are too solid," he agreed. "And they sounded more like they pitied him than were angry at him."

"Exactly."

"We're still going to do a solid background check on them."

"Of course."

He sat down at his desk and you at the computer one, and you both got to work.

x

After thorough searching you and Tim uncovered that the Henley family were generally law-abiding citizens - except for a few speeding tickets (Richard) and a couple court cases for tax evasion by Hazel and her belated husband Roderick, one that had been proven and had ended with him being in prison for a few months. Not with the general population, of course. You'd bet his prison room had been private and clean. Safe.

Though the day had mostly been a bore, you still found yourself exhausted by the end of your twelve hour shift, not hesitating to turn down an invitation to eat out with the floor secretaries from Helen. All you wanted to do was make a sandwich, eat it, and go to bed, as much as you liked Helen.

And that's exactly what you did, not even taking time to read before bed like you typically did.

You startled awake just after midnight to a loud cracking sound. It sounded like one of your potted plants in the living room had been knocked down from one of the wall shelves and had broken when it hit the hardwood floor.

Back in your early thirties you'd taken in a smokey gray cat with stunning light green eyes named Blue that had been owned by a woman who had been murdered in a burglary gone wrong. He'd been a serial houseplant tipper. It had been almost guaranteed one of your houseplant pots would fall victim to him during the course of a week until you learned to tape the underneath of each one to the shelf beneath them.

In your sleep haze you figured he'd finally managed to knock one down, but after a few moments your mind caught up and you remembered that you'd had to give Blue’s vet permission to euthanize him over six years ago, his kidneys having failed at the ripe age of twenty.

Dread seized you, tightened your throat. Had someone broken in? Had you forgotten to lock the door? You were usually very careful about it, but you had been pretty tired.

You reached blindly under your bed for the handgun you kept there, locked away in a black box in the off chance you'd ever need it, and without switching on any lights loaded the chamber with a couple bullets before heading down the short hall with it, into the living room.

You turned the corner carefully, gun at the ready, finger curled right next to the trigger, but the room was clear, except for the spider plant and its pot that had shattered on the floor, spilling most of its dark gardening soil all over the surrounding floorboards.

You sucked in a deep breath and moved into the kitchen but no one was there either. There had to have been someone though. Unless there had been an earthquake, but one of that magnitude would've jostled you awake before the pot had fallen.

You felt it then. Him then. That eerie feeling of being watched by someone no longer quite human creeping under your skin, making you quake, as it often did.

Saying that you were alarmed would be an understatement. Bullets didn't harm spirits.

You slowly twisted around to find him there, looming smack in the middle of the start of your hallway, half hidden by the shadow of your fridge, barely seven feet from you. He was standing with a hunch in his back and an arm curled around his belly, a stance of someone with some kind of severe abdominal pain. His eyes did not hold any of that pain though. All you could see in them was rage.

It was the kind of expression that would make any sane person flee, especially since he wasn't a little guy, so that's what you did, bolting for your car keys on the table and then the front door.

Before you could make it out, as you were slipping through the doorway, you felt searing pain as something sharp dragged down your back, and you concluded in terror that he'd scratched you, all the while racing for your 1991 Taurus.

It wasn't until you'd already driven a mile out from your house that you were able to breath properly again. It was at that exact time the tears spilled from your eyes and everything that had happened during the previous ten minutes settled into your memory.

Elliot was severely pissed, feral. The worst kind of lost spirit. And it had taken him less than a day to get that way. It seemed that the kind man his family had described had hidden an inner darkness. Maybe he'd been successful in life at beating it down, but in death all bets were definitely off. You'd never known a spirit to lose control so fast, even those who had managed to attach themselves to their murderers.

And he'd clearly latched onto you, followed you home. It wasn't the first time a spirit had, but it was the first they could actually harm you to any degree by touch. You swallowed hard. You'd only temporarily escaped. He'd find you again. It would be instant if you returned home any time soon, so you drove around the city aimlessly for a couple hours, after hiding your gun in the glove compartment. You didn't have a concealed weapon permit, but you didn't think leaving it on the passenger seat was wise either if a patrol cop happened to pull you over.

It was past two when you found yourself rolling up into Tim's driveway, not sure where else to go. You knew where Helen lived too, but you did not want to chance dragging her into the mess you found yourself in. She was just a secretary. At least Tim had some training dealing with violent situations, not that it would help much in the face of a being he could not see, let alone hurt.

That was your reasoning at least as you studied the plain looking two-story house in front of you. It was encased in white painted wood where yours was in brick, but with the addition of that second floor it was bigger. Probably not much more expensive though. The house was old, aged by at least three decades where yours had been built less than a decade ago. The paint was also chipping, the outdoor upkeep of it clearly not a priority for him.

Despite the house looking prime for a haunting it called out to you, beckoning you inside, because the man who called it home was your most trusted friend and you knew his presence could at the bare minimum comfort you after the trauma you'd just been through.

You approached with the energy of a woman half your age, sprinting up the front porch steps and pounding on the oak door more demandingly than you had intended.

Tim swung it open a full minute later, in nothing but dark gray sweatpants, his heavy eyes peering out at you, his hair tussled from what had probably been a deep, satisfying sleep.

You'd have felt guilty for waking him if your heart hadn't nearly stopped at the sight of his bare, broad shoulders, defined upper arm muscles, and soft belly.

You'd admittingly dreamed of him more than once in the last year you'd known him, your subconscious mind not caring one bit that he was your partner, but your brain hadn't quite done him justice. You wondered in what other...areas your dreams failed him, but you refused to let your gaze drop below the beginnings of the happy trail on his lower stomach.

"Psy, what are you doing here?" he asked, eyes widening as soon as his brain registered who was standing in front of him.

"Can I please stay here tonight?" you pleaded hurriedly, afraid if you didn't get what you wanted to say out fast that you'd chicken out.

"What's going on?" he questioned, pursing his lips. There was worry in his eyes again. He stepped aside before you could answer, gesturing for you to enter his cozy home.

You did so gratefully and folded your arms self-consciously over your chest. It had just occurred to you that since you were in nothing but thin cotton long sleeved forest green pajamas that your breasts were well defined underneath, especially after standing outside in the chill of an autumn night for some time.

"Elliot's spirit followed me home," you informed him, rubbing your upper arms with your hands, attempting to warm them up. "He attacked me."

"Attacked you?" Tim sounded startled. You met his eyes and saw his concern deepen. He hadn't thought to say that it was impossible because it was all in your head. You wondered if he was finally starting to come around to the idea that spirits existed.

If he wasn't, he surely would after what you'd do next.

"He scratched me," you continued, voice shaky as you turned your back to him and curled the tips of your fingers around the hem of the back of your shirt. "How bad is it?"

You rolled it up as high as you thought the scratch went and heard Tim inhale sharply as you revealed it to him. You felt his rough yet gentle hands glide over yours as he lifted your shirt up just a little higher to take in the full damage.

"Elliot did this?" he growled, sounding outraged, a fierce anger in his tone that you had not been prepared for, typically a man who was subtle with all his emotions.

"How bad is it?" you repeated, wanting desperately to know.

"There's three long marks diagonally along the center of your back," he stated stiffly, attempting to rein in his upset. "They are about four inches in length, start to finish. Luckily they don't look too deep, but judging from the blood on your shirt, they did bleed for some amount of time."

You stepped away from him and dropped your shirt back into place before facing him again. "I wouldn't do that to myself."

"I know," he said firmly. You could tell from his tense expression alone that he believed you. "There's no way you could've reached back there to scratch yourself up like that. No normal human's nails could mark you that badly anyway.”

There was great relief from him finally accepting that spirits were real, especially that night. You desperately had needed him to believe it after having been shaken up so significantly. Your sight was blinded by tears again.

Tim reached out to squeeze your left shoulder supportively. "Does it hurt? Do you want to go to the hospital? I can drive you."

You shook your head, unable to prevent the smile that briefly adorned your face, remembering how'd he been with you when you first met. Oh how the times do change. "No, I just need a place to crash. Can I take your couch?"

"Better yet, you can take my spare bed," he replied, dropping his hand back to his side. "Follow me up. I'll show you to the room and get a fresh shirt and dressing for you. Going to need to clean those marks to make sure they don't get infected."

You nodded and trailed him as he climbed the stairs to the second floor without another word, flipping on lights as he went.

He entered the first room on the left and made his way in the dark to the nightstand to turn on the white lamp centered on its surface. The light emitted from it was dim, but good enough to use while cleaning your wound. Without a word Tim gestured for you to sit on the edge of the bed and strolled out of the room to collect the items he'd need to treat the scratches on your back.

He returned a few minutes later with scissors, gauze, medical tape, disinfectant, and an old plain black t-shirt in hand. He offered the shirt to you as soon as he was within your reach. You noted the charcoal gray t-shirt he'd slipped on while he was gone.

"I didn't think you owned anything besides black and white suits," you teased, trying to lighten the mood as you accepted it, folding the black shirt up on your lap until you could switch it out with your bloodied pajama one.

"We've never been around each other on our off days," he pointed out, a hint of a teasing tone in his voice. "I like to be comfortable just like anyone else."

For some reason it had been hard for you to imagine him in anything else but his work apparel. It was strange seeing him in casual clothes. Strange because it felt almost intimate. Like it was a part of his life you shouldn't have seen as his professional partner.

"Gonna sit behind you," he informed you quietly, gruffly. "Can you hold up the back of your shirt while I clean your wounds?"

You nodded, finding yourself tongue-tied, and couldn't help but note how much the mattress sank as he settled on it just outside of your peripheral vision. You could feel the front of one of his knees lightly brushing against your back after he was seated. You tried not to think about it as you lifted your shirt so he had easy access to the scratches.

"This is going to sting," he warned.

Nodding again, you tensed as he pressed a wet gauze to your upper back, hissing at the sting of the disinfectant he was using. It was the only painful thing about Tim tending to your wounds. His calloused hands occasionally brushed your sensitive, slightly inflamed skin, but they were as gentle as they could be. You found yourself trembling under his touch, and it wasn't because of the pain. With every feather light glance of his fingertips the desire you'd consistently tried to stomp out for months flared with newfound strength.

"Sorry," he apologized in the softest tone you'd ever heard him speak in. "Almost done."

You clutched at the mattress beneath you as he taped gauze to your upper back, trying to focus on that rather than his presence, grateful that your reactions were only coming off as ones of pain to him. He wasn't completely wrong.

“All done,” he finally announced, and you expected to be relieved when his hands pulled away from you, but instead you felt your hunger for him surge within you. You couldn’t keep still. You needed his hands back on you.

You twisted in place, dropping the shirt that had been on your lap, and crashed your lips into his desperately, hands splaying out on his chest as you prayed silently that he would respond, and respond he did, tugging you closer, curling a hand around the base of your neck, licking into the heat of your mouth, and you realized in that moment that he had desired you just as much.

When you both took a breath, he pulled his head back far enough to study your face, searching for anything in your expression that could tell him what more you wanted from him. He would only give as much as you asked for.

You answered his silent question with another searing kiss, your hands traveling to his back and up into his hair, ruffling it as you sought purchase. You pressed yourself closer to him and he embraced you, arms wrapping around your lower back, careful to avoid your bandaged wound.

It wasn’t long before you guided his hands to the edge of your shirt and he got your message instantly, easing your sleep shirt up off of you and chucking it to the floor.

The chill in the room had your bare nipples immediately hard, and he didn’t miss it, his thumbs tracing your stiff buds, blown dark eyes flickering between your breasts and face. “Okay?”

“Yes,” you whined. You lolled your head back and one of his hands left your chest to support your neck again as he leaned towards you to lave at your exposed neck. Your fingers slipped into his short, slightly wavy hair again as you hummed under his attentiveness. "So good."

You reached for the chord of his sweatpants to untie it, the back of your hand brushing against the hardening bulge behind it, and he groaned as he jerked away from you, as if it was painful to do so. “We don’t have to do anything else if you don’t want to.”

“Where’d you get the idea I didn’t?” you chuckled. You definitely did not want to stop.

“I don’t have any condoms on hand,” he admitted after a few moments. “The last box I had expired.”

“Well, lucky for the both of us I’ve already gone through menopause,” you told him, kissing the corner of his mouth fondly, his moustache scrapping pleasantly against your lips. “And I’ve been just as focused on work as you have been the last few years or so.”

He caught onto your underlying meaning and tilted his head to catch your full mouth again as you loosened his pants, tugging them down as far as you could while still on the bed, revealing his black and white checkered boxers.

In a brief, humorous thought, you made a mental note to get him items of clothing that weren’t black, white, tan, or gray for his next birthday. The man needed more color in his life.

He didn’t notice the amusement on your face as he stood and kicked the pants the rest of the way off him, and when you laid back so he could remove your pants, it was gone. Nothing but want to invade your mind and your face.

Slowly but surely the last articles of clothing remaining on you both were added to the pile on the floor as your mouths and hands explored each other greedily. Once you were free, you knelt on the edge of the bed in front of him and reached out to hold the heft of him in your hands, stroking him confidently, spreading the precum leaking from his head up his entire length. Your firm, yet caressing touch had his knees buckling, and he groaned into your mouth as he braced himself against the bed with an arm, the other molded around your hips. You glanced up at his face briefly as you continued to pump him with your hands and the edges of your mouth lifted, taking delight in watching him watch you work him up with hooded eyes.

Once he was firm you shuffled back on the bed to make room for him to join you, mirroring your kneeling position. He reached down between your legs and you gasped as his fingers made contact with your clit, circling and tracing it until you were thrusting against his hand and him sliding two thick fingers inside you was enough to make you come, a warmth flooding your core as you lurched forward, panting against his chest, giving yourself time to enjoy the waves of ecstasy that followed. It had been quite some time since someone had made you feel that way.

When it was over you firmly pushed him back onto his palms and heels, a soft smile on your face. He raised his eyebrows slightly at you, wondering what you had in mind, but did not resist, curiosity winning out over any yearning he might have to be in control.

You had an idea of what you were doing, but most of it was instinct, wanting to be face to face with him without either of you being on your backs. You clung to his shoulders with your arms, lifting yourself up high enough to hover over him as you climbed onto his lap and folded your legs around his waist, lining your entrance up with his head before you let yourself slowly drop down on top of him.

He was thick, and it was a tight fit, but the foreplay had done its job, making you slick enough to take him deep. The drag of his cock inside you had him gritting his teeth the whole time you slid  him into you. He wound his strong arms around your lower back to brace you as you began to roll your hips against him and he joined in your rhythm, gliding in and out of you at a steady pace. Your faces stayed close, cheek to cheek, his beard prickling yours. You whimpered when he hit you particularly deep and he turned his head to nuzzle his nose against yours. “Okay?” he rasped between soft grunts.

You nodded vigorously, eyes snapped shut, breaths heavy. There were no other words spoken between you as you rocked together, letting your bodies and the sounds that slipped out of your mouths do the communicating.

It took you a little longer than it would’ve when you were younger, but when he found that special spot inside you his insistent press into it had you squeezing him and moaning loudly, invoking praise from his lips in the form of your name. He stilled in you soon after, cock spasming, spurting hot inside you as he emitted a low satisfied hmph, kissing along your lower jaw through both of your aftershocks.

When it was over, he let himself fall back onto one of the bed pillows and you followed him, still on top of him, allowing him to linger inside you as he softened, as your racing hearts returned to their normal rhythms, as you caught back your breaths. You were silent the whole time, not saying a word, just enjoying the intimate closeness with him. Trying not to let any of the fears and doubts knocking at your door in as your mind cleared from your lustful haze.

Eventually you rolled off him and he made a move to stand, only having managed to sit up when you pressed a palm against his broad chest in attempt to stop him from moving anymore.

“Stay with me, please?”

His eyes turned up to the doorway then back to your face, his expression saying what he wouldn't. He was uncertain if he should stay, though you could tell he wanted to. A brief kiss to his shoulder was all it took to convince him. "Alright. I'll stay."

You both took time to clean yourselves up in the bathroom across the hall, dressed back into your sleep clothes (you wearing his black t-shirt), and unmade the bed together, curling up under the thick blankets immediately after. You flipped onto your side, a hand folded under your pillow, and you smiled as he molded his burly body against your back, careful not to put any pressure on your wounds. His right arm draped over your stomach and you reached down to clasp his hand in yours, grateful for his affection. You felt safe in his arms, in a way you hadn't felt in a very long time, not when violent deaths and literal ghosts were a consistent part of your work. The warmth radiating off his body relaxed you as well, lulling you to sleep.

The last thing you felt as you drifted off was him burying his face into your neck.

x

You woke in the early morning to the beginnings of daylight spilling into the bedroom from the small window inside it. You were still warm, but when you registered that Tim's body was no longer pressed against yours, dread filled you. Had he decided to go back to his own bed after all?

You forced yourself to stand, quietly moving down the hall to peer into the next room over, the only other one with a bed in the house. The bed had been clearly used the night before, but it was empty, and when you dared to walk over to touch the sheets, they were freezing cold. You couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped your lips at that before you tip toed back out the room. It had to be a good sign that he'd stayed the whole night with you, right?

You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you headed for the bathroom and locked the door behind you so you could pee in privacy, still trying to push away your anxiety over how this morning would go. How Tim would be with you, what he would say. Where would you stand? You couldn't imagine the previous night being the one and only time you ever spent with him intimately, but you knew if he didn't want a real relationship you'd turn down any halfway offers. You weren't built for sex without emotion tied to it. It was in part why you hadn't had any for years, besides the forementioned workaholic issue.

You tried to ignore the ache that was forming in your chest as you washed your hands then brushed your teeth, splashing water in your face after, in an attempt to look put together when you were anything but after all that had occurred with Elliot and then Tim.

You strolled into the kitchen, finding Tim at the counter, pouring steaming hot coffee into two mugs. "Just in time," he said, his back still turned to you. You mused that he must have better hearing than you if he'd heard you padding into the room in your socks. None of the floorboards had squeaked. Maybe it was the job that had made him hyper aware.

"You want some coffee?" he asked, like everything between you was the same as it had been twenty-four hours before. You felt a tinge of annoyance that he could act so normal, but you hid it from him.

"Sure, if you have sugar and milk."

"Of course." He nodded at you and reached inside the fridge so he could grab the whole milk inside and mix a teaspoon of it into the coffee mug on his right, followed by a teaspoon of sugar from the canister on the countertop. He left his free of additives, preferring his black, something that still had you twitching your nose even after having seen him drink it nearly every day for the past year. You couldn't imagine drinking coffee as is, even if it was made with high quality whole beans.

Tim passed you your mug as you sat down at the small kitchen table in the far corner of the room. Instead of joining you he leaned back against the counter, eyes focused on his mug when he wasn't sipping from it.

"Are we going to talk about last night?" you inquired after a few minutes, the silence bothering you more than the fear of the conversation you were about to push.

Tim lifted his head to meet your eyes, appearing a bit ashamed. "I shouldn't have. Should've backed off. You were afraid. Seeking comfort. I feel like I took advantage of you."

You huffed. "I didn't sleep with you because I was afraid. I slept with you because your hands felt good on my skin. Because I trust you. Because I have feelings for you. Have for a long time. Do you know how good you look in suspenders?"

He snorted quietly, eyes falling back to the mug in his hands. "I've felt something for you for a while too. I've just been denying it to myself."

"Because of my abilities?" you guessed, trying not to be bothered by what was in the past.

He shook his head, looking back up at you. "I've been in denial about that too. Last night was not when you finally convinced me the spirits you see exist. It was slow, it snuck up on me, my belief, increasing with every case we took on that had an active one interacting with you. The way you consistently knew things you shouldn't have. The occasional unexplained eerie feeling I got sometimes right before you'd react to one showing itself to you. That's what eventually sold me. I just never imagined one would hurt you."

You recalled his reaction when he saw your scratches for the first time. "You were afraid for me. Last night."

"Of course," he confirmed with a growl. "Still am. He hurt you, he could hurt you again, and because Elliot's already dead I can't do shit about it."

There was a hint of defeat, of helplessness in his voice that made you feel like your heart was in a vice grip. You wanted nothing more than to run up to him and hug him, to reassure him it would be fine, but you denied yourself of that moment to further the conversation.

"The only way Elliot leaves me alone is if we solve the case," you told him. "And we've got a little over a couple hours before we can get back to that task. In the meantime, we need to figure out where we stand."

"Like if we pretend this never happened or we report to HR?"

"Something like that."

He peered back down at the coffee in his mug. "What do you want?"

"What do you think?" You curled your fingertips tighter around your mug. "I want whatever you want, unless that boils down to meaningless sex. I can't do that. What do you want?"

He sighed heavily. "A part of me wishes I could take last night back, and another part has no regrets." You swallowed hard, but said nothing as he continued, "This will complicate things at work. No matter what route we take. There's a reason HR frowns on people in the same unit having any kind of intimate relationship with each other."

"Because they're stupid," you muttered, sipping at your coffee, eyes shifting to peer up at him, waiting expectantly.

He couldn't help but chuckle even as he shook his head disapprovingly at you.

"I asked what you wanted, not HR," you reminded him, as you abandoned your mug at the table to join him by the counter.

When you got just within arm's reach he cupped your face with one palm gently, stroking his thumb over your cheek. "I want to see where this goes," he admitted.

"Then let's do that," you said as a weight lifted off your chest. "Screw HR."

Tim grunted. "We'll have to tell them eventually."

"Well, eventually is not going to be today."

He nodded his agreement as he guided your face closer to his, pressing a kiss to your lips more sweetly than you could've imagined him capable of.

When he pulled away you touched your forehead to his shoulder. "I need to get my work clothes at my house."

Elliot was not likely waiting there for you, and he could turn up anytime, anywhere, he even could've popped up right then and there in Tim's kitchen, but you still were not looking forward to it.

"I'll go with you," he offered immediately. "Let me put on my glasses and a pair of jeans and I'll drive you, go inside with you. You can grab whatever you need to get dressed for work and bring it back here. If that would make you feel safer."

He knew as well as you that it didn't matter to Elliot where you went, but he also knew going back to your home so soon after the attack would be difficult for you and that him being there would make a difference to you mentally.

"Thanks," you murmured. "I'll take you up on that."

"You can also stay here until the case is solved," he added, "No strings attached. I'm not expecting last night to happen again any time soon. I'm not trying to rush things. I just don't like the idea of you being alone while Elliot's still around, even though I know logically I wouldn't be able to stop him from hurting you again."

You beamed at him and wriggled your eyebrows. "Who says I don't want to repeat that any time soon?"

He cursed under his breath as you pulled away from him with a playful smirk and headed for the door. "I'll wait in the car."

"That's not fair, Psy," he called after you.

You didn't look back, but you were smiling warmly as you exited the house.

x

Luckily your fears of returning home were unwarranted, your quest to gather a few sets of clothes and beauty products uneventful. Maybe it had something to do with Tim standing formidably in the doorway to your bedroom as you packed your suitcase. Did the dead ever get intimidated by the living?

In any case you were grateful to get out of there without another confrontation with Elliot.

As soon as you and Tim arrived back at his house you both showered, him in the master bathroom and you in the hallway bathroom. He was dressed in a half hour and you in an hour, barely finishing up in time to not be late for work.

You and Tim took your own vehicles (well, he took his detective car), not wanting to spike the curiosity of any prying eyes and nosey noses in the department. Helen, bless her soul, would've been the first asking twenty questions and it was the last thing either of you wanted with your newfound relationship literally only hours old.

When you entered the Homicide Division you spotted Tim towards the back of the room having a conversation with Katie. You strolled up to them, a polite smile on your face.

"Anything new, Katie?" you asked lightly as you came to a stop between them, making sure you were no more closer or farther from Tim than you usually positioned yourself.

"Nothing with me personally," she told you, "But the Henley case, oh boy. Dex, the poison expert on our team tested a mystery substance in a gas can found half buried in the woods behind their mansion."

"And there were traces of arsenic."

"Of course," she said, "But that's just the beginning. There was blood on the canister. Just a speck. Looks like the killer cut themselves on the hard plastic trying to open the lid. I swabbed it and compared it to the oral samples we took from each of the Henley’s. Compared it to a blood sample from Elliot for good measure..."

You waited but after several seconds of silence you huffed. You hated when people stretched out tension, like a reality show going to commercial break right before the winner is revealed. "What'd you find kid?"

You could've sworn Katie's eyes were glowing with excitement. Whatever information she had was juicy.

"First off, you remember how Elliot is adopted, right?"

You raised your eyebrows. "Yeah..."

"Well, turns out he is actually related to Richard and his sisters," Katie informed you, "But not Hazel."

"Roderick cheated on her," you concluded, eyes broadening. "And she let him adopt his son when his mistress died?"

"She might have not known," Katie offered, "Not until now at least."

"Are you suggesting she's our prime suspect?" Tim quizzed.

"I would be," she replied, "...if it wasn't Richard's blood on the canister."

"He described Elliot as a leech," you recalled. "A lazy one at that. It wouldn't be a big stretch to think that after finding out Elliot is their father's bastard son that he might consider him unworthy of living in their mansion. Worse than an interloper; living, breathing evidence that their father was not faithful to their mother."

"We've got enough for you to get an arrest warrant," you stated.

"Let's get going then," Tim said, buttoning up his trench coat. "The sooner we have that warrant the better."

He didn't mention that it was because Elliot had become a threat.

x

By mid afternoon Richard was back in the same interrogation room he had been in the previous day, dressed in a suit and tie, having been caught on the front porch of the mansion right after returning home from a business meeting.

At first he wouldn't stop rambling, mostly about how he was going to sue the whole department for every penny for falsely accusing him, but he'd been quiet since Tim had revealed that Forensics had DNA proof that he'd opened the canister of arsenic, the gravity of his situation having finally sunk in.

"I know you said you're not going to talk anymore until your lawyer gets in," Tim started as he sat down in front of him, "But indulge me. Let me tell you how I think everything went down."

Richard stared at him, maintaining a neutral expression.

"I think somehow you found out Elliot was actually your half brother," Tim continued, "And I think you decided your good-for-nothing half brother had to go. You couldn't risk it getting out that your father, the head of your family, had once had a mistress. You had to keep your family's reputation clean of that kind of scandal for the sake of your business' success. Am I right?"

Richard had been well trained in the art of, well, training his face, but you had trained yourself well in the art of observation and you'd had several more years than him to practice. When Tim had called Elliot his half brother Richard's eyes had widened just a bit.

"You didn't know he was your biological brother," you realized. "You didn't murder Elliot." You took a step towards him, away from the wall your back had been pressed against. "Who had you open the gas canister, Dick?"

He refused to speak.

"Was it Jeanine? Heidi? No..." You paused, "It was Hazel after all, wasn't it?"

"Dick, without your statement, without the truth, we will have to go ahead with prosecuting you," Tim declared. "All the evidence points to you. Unless you can say otherwise or tell us of other evidence that would contradict what we've gathered."

"Guess I'm going to prison then," he snarled.

"Well, no one can argue you're not a good son," you said with a shrug, trying to act casual. "Guess there's nothing left for us to say here."

You headed for the door and Tim followed you out. "You have an idea."

"Actually, I don't," you admitted. "I was hoping you did. Since my little ghost problem won't go away until we put his real killer behind bars."

Tim worked his jaw. "We let Richard sit in prison for a few days, then let Hazel visit him and talk with her again after. Maybe she loves him enough to confess."

"A few days?" You arched your brows and he narrowed his eyes at you, his expression warning you not to say anything else.

"I don't have any ulterior motives behind the time frame," he told you. "We have the weekend off and Richard needs time to stew. To realize how awful prison truly is. Either he breaks or Hazel does."

You couldn't help the crooked smile that formed on your face. "Cold..."

“Apt.”

"True."

x

You spent the rest of the day digging up information on the Henley family history at the public library seven minutes away from the department and going over some photos that had been confiscated from the mansion.

One in particular got your attention. A wedding photo of Hazel and Roderick. “They look so happy,” you observed from over Tim’s shoulder as he studied it in one hand, his glasses grasped in the other. Something occurred to you. “Do you think she killed him too, for cheating?”

Tim shook his head. “I checked into his death. It was from lung cancer. He was a heavy smoker.”

"Of course.”

Tim checked his watch. "Time to clock out. Do you want to head out to a bar?"

It was a fairly common for him to ask you if you wanted to hang out at Liquid Alchemy on a Friday night, or after a case was closed, but it was the first time he had suggested a bar and not Liquid Alchemy by name. You cocked an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"

"There's this upscale full bar in the Lazy Queen restaurant on the other side of the city," Tim informed you. "I've never been, but I've heard good things. Though it's a little pricey for everyone here. For one night it wouldn't hurt to indulge though. I'll pay."

You got the message. The bar's location and prices would keep anyone you knew from work away and would allow you both to enjoy the rest of the night without prying eyes.

You glanced at the doorway of your shared office, making sure no one on the floor outside of it was within earshot. "Sounds like a date."

"If you'd like it to be."

"I would."

Tim dropped the photo in his hand on the desk and put his glasses back on before pushing himself up onto his feet with a small grunt, his left hand briefly clutching at his stiff lower back. You held back a comment about him needing to get a new office chair. You'd already mentioned it to him several times before, but he was stubborn.

"I'll head out right now," he told you as he shrugged on his trench coat, which had been draped over the chair in front of his desk. "Give me five before you follow me. We'll meet up at my house and you can jump in with me, okay?"

You grinned. "Sounds like a plan."

He dared a quick kiss to your temple as he passed you on the way out of the room and your lips pulled back even more.

Dating Tim was going to get dangerous. You could get used to him being affectionate with you.

x

The Lazy Queen's restaurant had the best Margaritas you could ever recall, and they hit hard too. After only a couple your usually not-so-lightweight self had become a chatty twenty questions kind of gal. It was so out of character for you Tim was amused by your behavior, lips quirking up on several occasions as you continued through your list of questions which he all answered patiently.

"Horror or action films?"

"Action."

"Have you ever seen snow in person?"

"Of course. It snows in Portland. Just not every year. Heard rumors we might this December, but it's not something to bet on."

"What's the story behind this?" you quizzed, stretching forward to clasp his left hand in yours, displaying the small target tattoo in between his thumb and index finger.

"I got it when I first started basic training," he answered. "It was to remind myself to hit bullseye every time. Literally and figuratively. To never lose sight of my goals."

"And have you not?" you inquired.

"Not what?"

"Lost sight of your goals."

He shrugged, taking a sip of the fancy drink in his right hand, and you realize you've forgotten the name of it. You pushed your current Margarita, your third, away from you. "I've had to take a few failures like everyone else. We can't solve every case."

There was something in his dark eyes, a hint of grief and guilt, that sobered you up a bit because you knew then that he was thinking about his lost sister.

"Think you're sober enough to drive us home?" you asked him with a sigh.

His eyebrows shot up. "You moving in permanently?" He was smiling lightly, teasing.

"Not yet," you huffed. "You know what I meant. Your home."

"Yeah," he said, an index finger circling the edge of his glass. "I'm sober enough. I don't even have a buzz. I've been nursing this lone drink all night. You didn't notice?"

"Shut up."

x

You were running barefoot through the forest at night at full speed, in a flowing white dress that reached your knees, eyes darting over your shoulders on occasion to make sure whatever you were trying to escape wasn't gaining on you. It was too dark out to see that far behind you though.

Fallen leaves crunched under your bare feet, damp moss made you slip twice, and you had to leap a few tree roots that stuck out of the ground but you didn't slow your pace for even a moment.

You heard a river roaring in the distance and for some reason you were convinced that crossing that would save you, so you aimed for the sound, stretching your legs out as far as you could in hopes of covering ground even faster. You stopped looking back, certain if you kept moving that you'd get to safety.

You pushed through a thicket of trees and had to skid to a stop, narrowly preventing yourself from falling off the cliff on the other side of it, one of your feet halfway over the edge. You were right next to a waterfall. You gasped at the close call.

Remembering that you had been running from something you twisted around and your eyes grew into saucers when you spotted it. A black human shaped mass easily flowing through the trees, into the same open space you were in.

"You can run, but you can't hide forever," said a furious masculine voice. It was coming from the black mass, though you could not see a mouth, let alone see it move.

"Why are you chasing me?" you demanded fearfully.

"Because you are fleeing," the voice growled, like it was the simplest thing. Maybe it was to him. Nothing but a predator chasing prey.

You swallowed hard as he took a step forward. "I spent so much time living fictional lives, I forgot how entertaining the living could be to mess with."

Your eyes grew bigger. "Elliot," you whispered. "You don't belong here."

"In your dreams, or in the world?" he hissed as his form reshaped into the man you'd seen lying dead on a cold table less than forty-eight hours ago.

"Both," you replied. "Spirits who stick around can become troubled fairly quickly."

"You think I'm one of your troubled ghosts?" He chuckled, a gleam in his already eerie gray eyes. "All I've done is discover the benefits of being dead."

"This isn't the man who sat with his mother in the garden," you noted.

"No," he agreed. "That man was murdered by her. Apparently."

At your surprised reaction he beamed. "I was there when you interviewed my brother for the second time. I just made sure you couldn't tell. I'm getting better at stuff like that."

You shivered. "This isn't you, Elliot." You knew it to be true in your gut. Everyone had the capacity to commit evil, some more than others, but what mattered was how you had behaved, and while Elliot had maybe been lazy, nothing you'd heard or read about him had hinted at him behaving badly in any kind of way. The in between had twisted him beyond recognition.

"Who says anyone has to stay the same?" He strolled towards you and you took another step back, finding yourself teetering, dangerously close to falling over the cliff. He grinned. "It's fun messing with you."

He shoved you, catching you off guard for a second, sending you flying over. You heard your skull crack against a stone before you collapsed into the frigid water at the bottom.

x

Your eyes snapped open and you pulled ragged breaths from your lungs as you shot up into a sit in Tim's guest room bed. For a few seconds you didn't move other than to press your right hand to your chest and close your eyes as you focused on recovery.

It had felt so real, but it had all been a dream. You could hardly remember the last time you'd been so relieved. It was short lived though, as you realized that Elliot might've been the crafter of your nightmare. After all, though it was rare, it had happened before with other spirits. It would explain why you were still shaking. He was nearby, close enough to affect you, for you to sense him on some subconscious level.

On the way back to Tim's house you'd both decided that sleeping in separate bedrooms would be best for your relationship for a bit, not wanting to rush into it any more than you'd already had.

You regretted that as you rolled over and ran your hand over the cold spot next to you on the mattress in an attempt to seek comfort. You'd taken pride in yourself all your life for being independent, for not needing anyone else when you left the office, but there were occasions, nights like these, when the solace of another body besides yours would've been much more preferable.

For the first time in your life when a spirit had taken the reins of your subconscious, you had the option to change your situation. To seek that comfort you wanted so profoundly. You slid out of bed and walked into the doorway of the room next door, quietly knocking on the solid oak, trying to wake Tim without startling him.

He still flinched a little when he woke up, glancing around sleepily as he rolled from his side and onto his back. When he noticed you wordlessly standing in his doorway he blinked at you, confused. "What's wrong?"

You were suddenly shy, feeling stupid. Like you going to see him was childish, even though your nightmare hadn't been just a nightmare and you had every right to be afraid. "Elliot's nearby."

Tim sat up in bed quickly, the blankets that had covered him up to his shoulders slipping down to his waist. He had kept on the plain red shirt that he'd worn that night to bed with a fresh new pair of light gray sweatpants. "Where?"

"I don't know," you replied. "But he was in my dreams. He said he overheard that it was his adoptive mother who killed him and then he pushed me over a waterfall and I woke up."

"I'm sorry, Psy," he said, standing so he could rub your arms comfortingly. "Maybe waiting for Hazel to confess was a mistake."

You shook your head. "It's the only good plan we have. Any other could've screwed up the case. It's not your fault. And at least he didn't show up here in the house."

You still weren't exactly sure why.

"Do you want to stay with me?" Tim questioned. "Share the bed? Would that help?"

You shrugged. "Maybe. He doesn't seem to like interacting with me when you're around for some reason."

"He is shorter than me," he stated as if it made total sense.

You snorted at his joke but some part of you wondered if Elliot really was intimated by him. Sometimes spirits still acted like they were living and breathing. That could include fearful behavior.

In any case, you weren't about to turn down the offer you'd been hoping to get. "I'll take the right side, if that's alright. I sleep better there."

"You're in luck," Tim told you. "I actually sleep on the left most nights."

He returned to his bed, lifting the blankets high enough so you could easily follow, tucking yourself into his side. "Is this okay?" you asked him.

"Perfect."

Saturday and Sunday night were also spent cuddled up with each other in the same way. Tim didn't complain, and since you didn't have sex, you figured you were still complying pretty well with the promise you'd made to each other to slow things down while you began to learn each other on a much more personal level than you had before.

You were really reconsidering it though.

x

Monday morning you and Tim returned to work refreshed, coming back from a mostly relaxing weekend filled with old movies, takeout, and the background noise of rain.

You were so ready to get back to the case on that crisp, sunny day that it startled you when you spotted Hazel waiting for you both outside of the department's main entrance, extending her wrists out towards Tim in a gesture telling him to arrest her.

You and Tim both nearly dropped the coffee shop cups in your hands.

"I've come to confess," she declared, as if she needed to. "I killed Elliot."

Tim slapped the pair of cuffs he always kept on him while on duty onto her wrists and made sure they were secure. "Hazel Henley, you have the right to remain silent..."

x

Within ten minutes you, Tim, and Hazel were settled into one of the interrogation rooms, and Tim was holding up a voice recorder in front of her, flicking it on to record. "Start from the beginning. State your name and explain why you are here."

"My name is Hazel Henley, and I am here to confess that I killed Elliot Henley."

There was a slight tremble in her voice, but you were almost certain it was from having to admit to a crime and not because she regretted that he was dead.

"Mrs. Henley, why did you kill your son?" you prompted, trying to ignore a thickness that started to fill the air, making it a little harder to breath, putting something deep inside you on edge. Elliot was in the room, and he wasn't trying to hide it.

"Because he wasn't mine," she huffed. "Not really. Not at all in my eyes."

You frowned. "You didn't care about him; not even when you intially adopted him?"

"No," she answered bitterly. "How could I? Knowing he was my husband's bastard son?"

Tim lifted a brow. "You knew?"

"Of course I did," she said with annoyance. "I'm not stupid. Roderick was the one who came up to me suggesting we adopt him, nearly begged me. It was obvious. He would've never begged for a kid that wasn't of his own blood. Son of a friend or not."

"You knew Elliot's mother?"

"She was a neighbor of ours," Hazel explained. "Born into her money. Loved doing charity work as a job. The only sweet thing about her. She lived alone but had a way with people. Knew how to intertwine herself into everyone else's lives, make them worship her, or at least invite her to parties. She probably got pregnant on purpose in attempt to make Roderick leave me for her. I got the last laugh. Or so I thought, until the bitch died in a car accident."

"Why'd you agree to adopt Elliot?" you inquired, genuinely curious.

"Because Roderick always got his way," Hazel told you. "I wasn't always a strong-minded woman. I was worried saying no would be the last straw in our already broken marriage. I was trying to mend it."

"Then Roderick died..." Tim trailed.

"Then Roderick died," Hazel repeated. "And I was free to get rid of him before I got too old, before he could get a cent more of our money."

"Why did the canister of arsenic have Richard's blood on it?"

Hazel raised both of her hands in the air, palms down. They were tremoring slightly. "I can't get a good grip on most things nowadays. I needed someone to twist the lid open and pour some into a few smaller jars."

"He had no idea what you were doing?" you asked.

"He didn't even question what was inside," she replied. "He just poured it and left. My ever loyal son. I'm only confessing because he doesn't deserve to be in prison because of me. He has so much life left ahead of him."

You felt a flash of anger lick at your insides. Even though Elliot's spirit had attacked you twice, he'd only done that because of what Hazel had done to him. "Elliot had so much life ahead of him too."

She scoffed. "Playing video games? He was just like his mother. Living off his father's money. No ambition."

"You'd be surprised the money people can make playing games while others watch," you told her. "Some make millions."

"He wasn't," she assured you, eyes narrowing. She turned them back to Tim. "Anything else you need to know?"

"Plenty more," Tim said, "Starting with where you got concentrated arsenic."

She nearly smiled at him. "That's an interesting story, but a long one."

He gestured at her to go for it. "We have all day if necessary."

So she jumped into a story about how she found herself buying from black market dealers.

It was afternoon by the time you and Tim were done with her, by the time a prison guard was pulling her away from you both at the door where prisoners were dropped off.

On your way back to Tim's car you spotted Richard walking free, out of the chain link lined yard, a duffle bag over his shoulder. And Elliot was right there behind him, leaning against the fence, watching.

He must have felt you peering over at him because Elliot glanced up in your direction, and what you saw in his eyes surprised you. Getting justice must have calmed him because his expression was nothing like the one he'd worn either of the times he'd attacked you. It was like the madness had finally been lifted.

Strange how that sometimes worked.

You hesitantly gave him a curt nod and he gave you one back, disappearing immediately after, to God-only-knows where. Or maybe gods-only-know where.

You just knew that a subtle, insistent tension you hadn't really noticed was there before snapped and it seemed like the sunny day had become even brighter.

Elliot was gone.

x

That night Tim followed you back to your house, wanting to be there as you unpacked and settled back in, even though you'd assured him that Elliot had most definitely moved on.

That had eventually led you to asking him to stay for popcorn and a movie, to which he agreed to readily. It was almost ten o'clock when he got off the couch to leave.

"I'd better go," he said decidedly. "Getting late for a work night."

"I've been thinking," you told him.

"Oh?"

"About our agreement," you continued, standing up to give him a swift kiss on the mouth. "And I was thinking we should amend it."

Tim arched an eyebrow. "What were you thinking?"

"That we just do whatever feels right in the moment," you answered. "Within reason of course. We still have to be professional at work, of course. Even after we tell HR what's going on with us."

"So...no more slowing things down?"

"Technically we've already been in a relationship for thirteen months," you told him. "Just not a romantic kind. And we had our first date. Already have done plenty of cuddling..."

A subtle smile played on Tim's lips. "What are you suggesting, Psy?"

"You could stay here tonight," you replied, placing your hands on his suited chest. "You could show me what you'd have done that night if I hadn't taken lead. If you want."

He dived in to kiss you until you were both panting, until you were burning up inside. "I want," he confirmed, barely a whisper away from your mouth.

You grinned. "Then lead the way."

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

xxx

[miramilocamimira]

Zeus, You Have A Problem

Another fic for @z-eusie also betad by them so that was awesome, thank you again!

Hera glares at her husband. Zeus is wearing a slip-on black hoodie. He doesn't own hoodies.

Coffees with Cream

-

Hera laughs as Zeus holds open the door for her. A local coffee shop provided a great spot for a date. He's dramatic as she walks by him, offering his arm once she's through the door.

They end up walking by an alleyway when a stifled sound rings out. She sees her husband pause and glance towards it. She sighs and releases his arm.

“Go check it out.” Hera allows and he looks grateful. She waits as he goes in. A couple minutes go by and he comes back with his suit jacket off and wrapped around something. There are some scratches on his hands as the fabric shifts and squirms. “What is it, love?”

“A cat. Hera,” He answers. “Is it- where's the nearest vet?” She supposes that the stray’s situation must be dire if he is acting so seriously after such a short amount of time. The animal meows quietly, not having strength for anything louder.

They get there rather quickly and the mortals flock to them. The jacket wiggles as Zeus lets the cat be taken from him. She noticed some blood had seeped through his coat and onto his hands.

Her husband paces the waiting room until the vets bring the cat back. The animal had gotten bathed and was now supporting a lovely white coat.

The cat survives but her litter doesn't. Zeus looks disheartened. The veterinarian, as mortals say, tells them that the stray has been spayed and will be brought to the pound after this.

She asks what that would entail.

“It changes depending on which one but… most older cats like her don't get adopted out. Many end up euthanized, actually.”

“There's a chance I would have saved her just for her to die?” Zeus asks, voice quiet and even. The vet nods. The cat rumbles as the god pets her. He turns to Hera and asks, “What if I were to bring her home with me?”

She blinks. “If that's what you would want, Zeus.” The vet may have wanted to say more but with a flick of her wrist, the mist takes effect. Her husband picks up the cat and they return home.

The cat, now healthy, purring as Zeus scratches its ears and thanks Hera for letting him keep it.

She smiles as they head up, knowing Zeus will go hunting for cat supplies as soon as they get her home. She’s glad they decided on walking back to Olympus. Watching the man she loves cooing at the white furred stray, Hera feels like she's falling all over again.

“So? What's her name?”

Zeus tilts his head, the cat rubbing against his hand.

“Cream.” He decides and she blinks. When she asks him why, she sees red against the blond hair of his beard. Was he blushing? “That's uh… that's how you take your coffee.”

Yup. Best decision ever. She thinks as her own face reddens. Gods, he makes her feel so childish sometimes. It reminds her of his attempts to woo her. His shyest moment always being his most sincere.

-

An anniversary with Ichor

-

Months go by and Hera will admit that it's not her finest moment. She was a bit preoccupied, what with the Titans and all. She supposed it was funny, at least.

The goddess of marriage forgot her own anniversary.

Zeus reminds her of the day of, having made her breakfast. Sometimes she forgets that he can cook- and cook well. He tells her he’ll be busy until this afternoon but the rest of the day is put aside for her.

Hera feels horrible. Here, Zeus had put in so much work and effort and she didn't even remember. She's got to figure something out.

She kisses him and sends him off before she lets go of her calm demeanor. What does she even do?

Does she tell him the truth? Does she find some random gift? Does she conjure something quickly and pretend it's planned? Should she get help?

Hera has never forgotten before. What do people even do in this situation? Her hands mess up her own hair further when a meow catches her attention.

Zeus’ cat is sitting on the table again.

“No Cream. You can't be up there.” She says as she grabs the cat. She purrs in her arms and rubs their cheeks together when Hera cradles her.

She has an idea.

—

Hera greets Zeus with a quick kiss when he returns, ushering him into their living room as quickly as possible.

“Hera, I know it's an exciting day but I haven't even told you where our reservations are at?”

“My gift just needs to be given early, is all.” She replies. He rolls his eyes at her and she huffs.

Hera makes him close his eyes and wait. Once she's certain he’s listened, she brings out the red tabby she’d bought him. She places him onto Zeus' lap and his eyes pop open.

Immediately, she watches her husband melt and become bewitched. The tabby jumps off of Zeus and starts running around as Cream climbs up and lays on the now-free lap.

Zeus is ecstatic and names him Ichor. Later, he takes her to her favorite restaurant and they dance in the air, the sunset behind them fading into night.

“You do realize this means he shares his adoption day with our anniversary, right?”

“Zeus, I swear, if you celebrate the cat on it, I will end you.”

-

Protective with Pepper

-

The next cat he comes home with is the meanest little monster she's ever had the displeasure of meeting. It's another stray like Cream, long black fur with patches of grey, and a missing tooth.

Zeus names him Pepper. Sometimes calls the thing an “old grump.” It's mean and vicious and only likes her husband and the other two cats.

He brings the little demon everywhere.

“Pepper doesn't like when I leave without him!” He’d protested when she asked him to leave the cat at home. That ‘Pepper’ didn't need to be in his office.

So it surprised her when Zeus called her asking if she'd bring Pepper home.

When she got there, it didn't take long to piece together what happened. Poseidon sat outside the office, scratches covering his arms and face.

“You raised your voice at Zeus?”

“It happens that often?” He says instead. Hera sighs and walks in. Pepper’s fur is raised as he stands on Zeus’ desk. Her husband is behind him, looking miserable.

“Poseidon refuses to come back in until Pepper is gone.” Yeah, wonder why.

“You were laughing when Mnemosyne said the same thing.” He doesn't respond. Instead, he grabs the beast and coos at it. Pepper looks like it's relaxed some when her husband hands it over to her.

The mist must be capable of miracles if Poseidon ever thinks Zeus doesn't care after this. Pepper hisses at her and tries to escape the entire way home. Their brother might not be allowed to visit until the little cretin passes.

-

Shopping with Gucci

-

Hera, I've met the greatest guy ever.

It's not a text she has expected to receive from Zeus but it certainly was a text. Hera asks what he means and receives a picture of a Canadian sphynx cat with a Gucci brand heart necklace around it as it walks through the store.

Who’s cat is that? She types, thinking he'd have asked around already. He types ‘Well’ and she can already guess what he's going to say.

His name is Gucci and he's mine now.

You can't just steal the cat.

It turns out, there was a local ad put up that was selling kittens. Zeus had seen that, found his way over and took the first cat that caught his eye from the litter.

Zeus brings home a new purse for her at least. And Gucci doesn't want to devour the souls of innocent gods like the other one… it should be fine.

(It’s absolutely not because Gucci immediately slaps Pepper and knocks him off her chair, regranting her access to it. No, not at all.)

-

A Little Bit of June

-

Hera glares at her husband. Zeus is wearing a slip-on black hoodie. He doesn't own hoodies. His eyes won't meet hers, arms protectively holding the pocket. Knowing he has a suit underneath it, makes her want to laugh.

She can't though. He’d just gotten home and she needs to deal with it before he gets too attached.

“Beloved, have I mentioned-?”

“No, Zeus. No.” She starts, crossing her arms. “We do not need more cats.” Hera has already allowed him to convert half their home and his office into cat-safe areas. Cream, Pepper, Gucci, and Ichor are more than enough.

Anyone could see that.

Except for Zeus.

“But-”

“No.” She cuts him off again, wondering how no one else sees how soft he is. His face drops. Her heart aches but he can't keep bringing stray cats home like a kid would.

He puts his hand inside the pocket. Her eyes narrow.

“Hera,” He, honest to gods, whines at her. He pulls out the kitten. “She’ll die on her own!” It's a calico kitten, hardly even half the size of his hand. “June’s a runt, love, her mother won't keep her with the rest of the litter.”

It blinks sleepily, mewing as she wakes from the movement. Wait… no. No. He’s already named the…

He moves closer to her, taking advantage of the moment, and holds June up. The kitten crawls closer, front paws pressing into his fingertips, and she looks into Hera’s own eyes.

She gulps.

Hera knows Zeus sees her wavering. She knows because he pulls the puppy eyes trick alongside June- frick she's already calling her by the name as well now- and she sighs.

He cheers, bringing the kitten back to himself, gently scratching her ear.

“She's the last one, though, you hear me?” Hera says even as a smile appears on her own face. Her beloved looked adorable doting on June.

Hopefully, he doesn't bring home anymore. She doesn't think she'll be able to win if this is how it's gonna be.

“She's gonna be a little heartbreaker, won't you, sweetie?”

“Zeus?” Hera almost doesn't want to know. However, that phrase was worrying.

“Well, since she's a kitten, she hasn't been spayed. In a year or so, she can start having kittens of her own, isn't that great Hera?” She knows Pepper and Ichor got neutered but… Gucci.

Oh dear gods, what has she done?

[fluorescentbrains]

your post about late term abortions really got me thinking! i agree with it absolutely in theory, but i dont know what the right call would be in a case where the baby is developed enough that it would survive? would you propose they... euthanise it for lack of a better term or put it up for adoption? i still 100% think the pregnant person in question should still have the right to choose i'm just curious as to what would be the better decision in that situation.

so i’ve heard some reasonably convincing arguments that it’s morally wrong to euthanize a premature infant because once it’s outside the womb it expresses a “will to life;” i.e it instinctually attempts to continue living. ending the life of any creature against its will to continue living (including, say, livestock animals) is always at least somewhat morally questionable. so with that in mind i think if the abortion essentially amounts to a premature birth, then that’s what it should be treated as.

i also think it has to be acknowledged that we live in a culture that views infant death a certain way; a way that hasn’t been true in every culture across all time, but nevertheless is very deeply felt and ingrained. i don’t think euthanization of premature infants as part of an abortion procedure will ever be something more than a tiny minority of people feel OK about, so in that respect it’s kind of moot to even debate it

the issue is the pregnant person’s bodily autonomy MUST take priority, so if it’s impossible to preserve the viability of the fetus as a premature infant under the circumstances, then it simply is what it is. but the thing about abortion policy is that the slightest loophole or room for nuance will have antichoicers stretching it until it becomes an obstacle. so someone better versed in law and policy than i would have to decide how to thread that particular needle.

on a personal level i feel that if the fetus is totally nonviable outside the womb, it’s not a distinct entity from the pregnant person and should be treated as, like, another internal organ. this just makes sense to me on like, an animal level

[sideprince]

I feel like people underestimate the guts it took for Snape to take on killing Dumbledore. Besides the personal toll on his conscience, I mean. Because it's not as simple as Dumbledore made it sound, that he would be saving an old man from pain and humiliation. Dumbledore was basically asking to be euthanized and you can't walk away from that without feeling conflicted, but I digress.

Once Dumbledore died, Snape was on his own. He no longer had a protector. He also had a target on his back, not just from The Order, but from Voldemort. Snape may have gained his trust that he was on Voldemort's side, but not necessarily trust in his loyalty. Snape had now done what Voldemort had failed to. If a mob boss tells his right hand man to kill his rival and the mission is successful, the mob boss doesn't just go, "oh great! this guy is definitely trustworthy now." They worry about whether that right hand man will have become emboldened and when he's coming for them (the boss) next.

Tyrants fear being overthrown. They fear any threat to their power. Voldemort's sense of victory would have been short lived before he began to worry whether his followers venerated Snape more for killing Voldemort's greatest enemy, for being chosen to do what Voldemort himself couldn't, and thus being marked by Voldemort as a successor of sorts. The Death Eaters were the same people who had a faction, per canon, who thought that when Voldemort first fell they would rally around Harry who must have been a more powerful dark wizard if he conquered the Dark Lord.

Voldemort would have kept an even closer eye on Snape after Dumbledore's death, and I think Dumbledore was (by far) clever enough to know that Snape would have a target on his back from all sides.

[omegothic]

hogwarts legacy is kinda boring ngl... it's like marvel's spiderman to me, i've seen it all before and the plot is not exactly the most interesting thing in the world.

why does everyone make a 15 year old go to the forbidden forest, kill goblins and trolls, rob people, etc? i am not geralt from rivia omfg.

why is it so hard to put me into a third or at least fourth year at hogwarts? why must it be fifth year? am i gonna explode if i am 15 and a third year? goddamn i am a fifth year student and i don't know how to cast lumos.

also what is wrong with all classes? why are we learning basic stuff? these kids are fifth years.

why did they give me the teapot from genshin btw. it makes no sense. i am supposed to go around kidnapping animals and y'all call it "rescuing". the animals are really ugly too. this is not an owlbear cub i am sorry. these poor souls need to be euthanized because i can see that they cannot breathe properly. that's what inbreeding does to animals.

the outfits are ugly too. the most beautiful my character's ever looked was when they gave her a basic uniform. and now i have to wear the most hideous looking stuff available because it has better stats.

the only character i care about in this game is sebastian. dunno what they did right with him because everyone else is a decoration to me. i treat the quests in this game like quests in genshin (not reading or listening anymore because it doesn't matter in the end). maybe they gave sebastian a personality i can tolerate and a somewhat compelling story. don't know for sure though.

exploration seemed fun at first but do you really expect me to do the same shit five hundred times in a row?? hell no, it's not a gacha game for me to justify doing all that.

also there's a major gothic 3 vibe for me. gothic 3 was worse though because it was much longer and i literally had multiple nightmares about playing it.

overall, the magic is not exactly there. at first you feel some sort of magic present, but once you figure out how it works, it's all lost. i am gonna finish the game but i don't really enjoy it at this point. it gave me a few hours of enjoyment so it's something.

[bllsbailey]

Government Overreach Run Amok: NY State Kills Peanut the Squirrel

I admit it; I’ve grown especially fond of squirrels. They’re devious little brats, as they should be because they’re just trying to survive in a Charles Darwin world of survival. 

I have a bunch of them in my yard, and they are absolutely ingenious at stealing the bird food that I’ve set up for my feathered friends—they eventually figure out almost any device or measure I put out to stop them. (I finally found one that works: a reverse cone set up on the bird feeder that prevents them from jumping up on it. Thank me later.)

But don't tell that to the odious bureaucrats in Gov. Kathy Hochul's New York. They felt the need to take out Peanut:

Squirrels have earned my hard-earned respect, and when I open my office door in the morning as I get to work, and they're outside in the yard giving me that little cute-eyed stare, I'm man enough to admit that I’m kinda touched.

It is understood that, for some, squirrels are pests and must be eliminated. I get it—I had family members back in the day who lived in Wyoming, and although the myriad gophers, or "picket pins" as we used to call them, were cute, they were negatively contributing to the situation and had to be taken out.

So we did what needed to be done, and we took care of that. Sometimes reality is hard.

But was there any need for NY State to step in and kill this guy’s pet? You be the judge:

Peanut the Squirrel, of internet fame, has been euthanized after the pet was seized by New York state earlier this week, according to the Department of Environmental Conservation. The seven-year-old gray rescue squirrel, commonly referred to as “P’Nut” on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok, was put to death, along with Fred the raccoon, so that the animals could be tested for the presence of rabies, according to a statement from the agency obtained by WETM.  

Literally – why?!

After all, he was here legally, unlike so many other interlopers under the Harris-Biden regime:

Was this necessary? No.

“RIP MY BEST FRIEND. Thank you for the best 7 years of my life. Thank you for bringing so much joy to us and the world. I’m sorry I failed you but thank you for everything,” Longo wrote in a caption to the post announcing Peanut’s death.

Listen, I’m no snowflake, and I get that we are carnivores (or omnivores if you so choose), and I love my pork, my steak, and my chicken. And I’ve worked on a ranch—I have no illusions about how meat gets to our table. I once was tasked on a farm with getting the chickens ready for eating, and I admit, it was a sobering process. Taking a live chicken and making it ready for your fried hot wings does wake you up to some harsh realities. But there is a little thing called evolution that made us this way, and you can’t chuck it away based on a slogan. The reality is we are the ultimate predator, and we were made to eat flesh as at least part of our diet.

But somehow, that same evolutionary force bred kindness into our hearts, and many of us pray for the sacrifices of the animals that provide us our meals. We do not wantonly torture animals or hurt them for no reason, and in fact, we take millions of them into our homes and consider them family.

Was Peanut a threat to you, me, or anybody else? It certainly doesn’t seem like it.

What it does seem like it is a gross big government overkill that seems right out of Orwell’s "1984." I love my little squirrel family that dominates my backyard, and if anybody comes to try to say otherwise, be advised that I will take full advantage of my Second Amendment Rights.

[virtie333]

One Year Ago

I almost didn't post this. I wrote it for catharsis, but a friend said I should post it as it may help others. I can count on one hand the number of people who know about this. I don't know, maybe I'll delete it....

One year ago today, while cleaning Chester’s paddock, I made plans.

A few days earlier, I had received an email from my brother-in-law that involved some very hurtful and offensive accusations. My sister responded a few days after that, but not with an apology. She defended him, and added her own opinions.

When someone you have loved and trusted your whole life essentially says you are worthless, then it must be true.

So, the next day, I made plans.

I would have to complete my will, first. I would have to make sure Chester went to a local rescue. He wasn’t ridable and though I know a friend might take him as a ‘pasture pet,’ if push comes to shove and they ran short on money, he would be the first to go. The rescue would care for him, and I would make sure that if ever they could no longer do so, they would euthanize him.

My brother would get the other animals and all my belongings. He could sell my truck, trailer, etc. and use the funds to care for my dog Jackson, my cat Rodney, and Stache, the barn cat I had just brought home from work a month earlier. He would take care and love them.

It would have to look like an accident so my life insurance would pay out. God forbid my sister would have to pay for my funeral! I am an avid hiker, and there are trails very close that follow the canyon rim, with a 60 to 100 foot drop straight down. I usually hike with Jackson, but I could say I was leaving him home because he was sore. It would be very easy to slip while checking out the view. It’s happened before up there.

Could I actually do it? Was I brave enough? It was the only way. And I needed to do it soon.

That was my plan.

But wait. I can’t do it right away. Moon Knight just started, and I waited so long for this show and it’s even better than I had hoped and only two episodes have aired so far. I really want to see the rest. It takes my mind off the pain. I’ll wait.

Then I started posting a new story I had written. I didn’t think it would be very popular, as it was very different from my last, popular one, but I have loyal readers. I can’t just leave it unfinished, and have them wondering what happened to me. And I can’t post it all at once, because that will give away the fact that it was planned. So, I’ll wait.

An acquaintance that hated Moon Knight complained and criticized it over and over and I finally broke. I said things. I don’t regret them, because they were the truth, but I immediately became the villain to the rest of the group. Once more, I was reminded that I was unimportant, that my thoughts and feelings were inconsequential. How could I tell them? How could I explain this show literally kept me alive?

So, I waited.

A spark of hope. My brother and I worked toward a future we could both live with. I prayed, and found that I began to believe again for the first time in a long time. The story I was posting, the one I thought would not do well, became my greatest hit. Not only did its success thrill me, but once again, I had something to thank for keeping me alive.

Though low on funds, I made a trip west, to California, to meet up with my best friends in the world. They were the only people I told about my plans. They made sure to let me know how grateful they were I hadn’t followed through. I loved every minute of Galaxy’s Edge and I continued to hope for a better future. And I waited.

The hope was realized just before Christmas. My future wasn’t as dark and scary as it had been. Unfortunately, the loss of Rodney just before New Years kept me down. I was still depressed and full of non-stop anxiety, and on the anniversary of my mother’s death, I once more started falling into that darkness. I left a group I cared a great deal about because I realized a lot of my anxiety was coming from there; it’s hard caring more about people than they do about you. I bawled my eyes out while I clicked that ‘leave’ button, but I don’t regret it. It’s been over two months and only two people have even noticed I left. That says something right there.

Now, for the first time since Tariq got very sick in November 2020, I actually have the desire to do things. I’m not working and writing just to keep sane. I’m reading again. I’m playing with Chester. I’m taking Jackson on walks. I’m going back to mass, not because I have to but because I want to. I still resent my brother-in-law, and I’m still waiting for an apology from my sister, but I’m not holding my breath. I’m still alone. I’m still uncertain of my worth. But I have my animals, including two new cats, and my home. I have plans. New plans. Better plans.

One year ago today, while cleaning Chester’s paddock, I made plans.

But today I’m alive. And I’m happy. All because I waited.

Don’t give up. Things WILL get better.

[fatherbearfreddy]

Hey fellas! Your favorite janitor in training, who you hopefully don’t know the name of! So uh, yo the displeasure of the Utah justice system, my other job had a contract up for me, someone with the initials M. A. Wanted me to go uh. Well let’s just say I’m a pest exterminator of sorts. He had me clearing out this old fazbear’s pizza location, full of “critters”, big mean ones. And you know once I cleaned myself off I found something.

It, maybe she? He? I don’t know, was a semi-functional (yet horribly mangled) fox animatronic. It tried to communicate with me. Kinda creepy. It was crying out for “help”. Or that’s what I could make out. It was stuck under some junk. It seems non violent, sentient, and afraid. should I bring it back? Whoever M.A. is he wants me to mettle with the wiring so the place goes up in flames and destroys what’s left of the abandoned building. I don’t think I should leave that thing there to burn. It may not be dangerous to the denizens of Utah but I think it’ll “die” if I just release it into the wild with no repairs. If I can’t bring it back to the plex I might as well ex-.. euthanize it. What do you suggest, senior employees? Oh and make sure Freddy doesn't see this, he’s such a sweet guy it might upset him.

Author>> not sure if I want Mike in this story but that's a cool idea>>

Claire:: oh my God, you have to bring that back that must be Toy Foxy! I've always wanted to see a Foxy up close. Bring them back and I'll help fix em up myself, he'll I'd pay for that chance.