#its either stay trapped in this stupid house or become trapped in a stupid job. and im probalby never even going to learn to drive

[caruliaa]

girls when the world around them cant decide if it thinks freedom comes from adulthood or childhood but you never had a free childhood and in order to earn your freedom as an adult youre going to have to give up your other freedoms and you are never going to win .

[thedistantdusk]

Arcadia, Chapter 3

Thanks to everyone who followed along! Things are heating up with this chapter! Most of the referenced triggers from chapter 1 apply in this chapter specifically. Here's the link to chapter 2, if you're just seeing this now :)

Thanks again to @secretkeeper13, @accio-broom, @remedialpotions, @jamezbot, @jenoramaca, @not-steve42, @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey... god, I'm forgetting people, and I'm sorry! But you're all amazing <3

___________________________

D A Y + T H R E E

As fate would have it, Ginny wakes before 0-700.

Not that she sleeps.

Nightmares, the likes of which she hasn’t experienced in years, torment her throughout the night. They leave her scared. Miserable. Guilty. Around 3 AM, she finally reaches for her Dreamless Sleep potion with shaking hands. For more reasons than one, she’s pleased that Harry’s slept on the couch.

She knows now just how stupid this entire mission truly was. The longer she analyzes it, the more she accepts that her bloody pride got her here in the first place. A chance for a promotion, however small, gave her false confidence in her ability to disregard a decade of sexual tension, all while trapped in close quarters with the person she wants the most.

She hopes Harry makes himself sparse today, though she knows that sounds cruel. But the longer they spend together, the clearer it becomes they’re on the cusp of something… and not something that would look good on a performance review. He’s been kind and understanding so far, even when she’s fucked things up. She just hopes she can ignore the most human parts of herself until they’ve dealt with this.

So at half-past 8, Ginny — Jenny — emerges from the house in a bright floral sundress and nude pumps. Were it not for the secret weapon clutched in her right fist, she might have fit in quite well... but Jenny has no intention of fitting in. Not anymore. In three confident strides, she marches across the front lawn, bends down, and spears the prongs of a lurid pink flamingo into the grass.

Yes.

She grins and takes in her work. How ghastly against the backdrop of earth tones! How repugnant!

Ginny steals quick glimpses over each shoulder, only to be met with the eerie, blanketed silence that’s defined Arcadia since their arrival. No activity at all. Which means she’ll have no issue with the next bit…

She strides to the mailbox at the end of their driveway and gives it a sharp kick. The post slides out of alignment, leaving it askew. Perfect. She returns to the house with a bounce in her step. Living with the twins taught her a thing or two about how to infuriate complete strangers.

She just hopes it’ll be enough.

___________________________

As luck would have it, it is enough. Her efforts receive reward more quickly than she thought— more quickly than she’s been conditioned to expect.

Scarcely an hour passes before she finds the warning she needs. And to be honest, it could’ve been there sooner; she just figured she’d give it that long before she checked.

Still, it’s not even 10 AM when she opens the door and sees it on their welcome mat: a folded paper with Pee-tri scrolled on the front. She can’t help but admire the sheer cheek as she unfolds it; this is the closest they’ll get to a public call-out for the way Harry insists on correcting everyone’s pronunciation. The message inside doesn’t surprise her, either.

Be like the others before dark. Or else.

Ginny glimpses out at the lawn, just to confirm— and yes. Sure enough. Just as she’d suspected, the flamingo's gone. The mailbox is straight. Everything’s back to normal.

She kicks the door closed with a smirk and wonders if they’re aware of how easily they’ve exposed themselves. How—

“What’ve you got there?” Harry calls from the sofa in the living room. He looks up from his laptop with bleary, dark-rimmed eyes. A wave of guilt washes through her; that sofa clearly didn’t get more comfortable overnight. Not that he would’ve accepted the alternative.

“Erm. A letter.” She waves in front of her and walks into the living room. “I’ve done a great job annoying them!”

He offers a gentle smile. “Any chance you’ll let me know who this ‘them’ is that you’re so worried about?”

Ginny rolls her eyes and settles on the other end of the couch. “You know I can’t—”

“Talk about your work,” Harry finishes, turning back to his computer. “Right.”

“Mm. Not exactly that I can’t… talk about my work,” she ventures, putting her feet up on the white ottoman. “More like I can’t give information until it’s essential knowledge for all parties involved. Based on criteria that I also can’t share.”

“Sounds like a fun job,” Harry deadpans, still looking at the computer. “But anyway, if I were to suggest something like… I don’t know…” He casually tilts the screen in her direction. “The fact that Oliver Skinner definitely has a criminal record, and maybe that’s worth looking into. You couldn’t confirm or deny that?”

Ginny just shrugs. “That’s correct. I can neither confirm nor deny.”

His theory is wrong, of course. Dead wrong.

They wouldn’t have sent an Unspeakable and an Auror into the country if this were a simple Muggle murderer. Harry would be able to suss this out, she reckons, if he had more sleep. Poor bloke.

He groans and cracks his back. “I’m starting to understand why King’s always so frustrated.”

“Probably because he has to deal with you all the time,” Ginny quips, reaching for a magazine on the floor. Ugh. Of course, it’s only the TV guide, Radio Times. They don’t even have a TV, but it came with the Daily Mail on Sunday.

Harry reaches for a glass of water on the coffee table. “Fine,” he relents, in between sips. “I’ll stay in my lane. But if I get bored, I’ll get tetchy.” He gestures to the computer. “And since they’ve given us this laptop, I’ve had time to do a bit of—”

“They’ve given me a laptop,” Ginny corrects, arching a brow. “As you’re well aware, Auror Potter, that is technically the property of the DoM.” She returns to the guide with a shrug. “I just don’t care if you use it, mostly because I don’t expect you’ll be looking up tits all day.”

He chokes on his water; Ginny just laughs and turns the page. Ooh, lovely! Eurovision looks particularly flamboyant this year…

“You’re absolutely right,” Harry says, once he recovers. “I’d never look up tits on government property!” He looks affronted as he hands over the laptop, but she knows he’s not done... not when he’s set that up so perfectly. Annnnd sure enough…

“You of all people should know I'm an arse-man, Ginny.”

Now it’s her turn for an unattractive snort as he winks over his shoulder and marches upstairs.

When he’s gone, Ginny rolls her eyes and opens her laptop. He’s an incredible liar on the arse-man front, but it was a good joke. A simple joke…. one that didn’t deserve looking into.

It’s just unfortunate that can’t stop these stupid fucking butterflies from erupting in her stomach like she’s ten years old again.

___________________________

He launches into the air again, the gardens of his neighbors spanning out in front of him. Each perfectly manicured. Each disturbing in its performative precision. None of this is real; none of this is life.

He pulled out the trampoline after dinner, when Ginny okayed it. He’s not used to that— checking before he does things. This whole exercise has been a great reminder that his teamwork skills are rusty, especially when he’s in a subordinate role. Ron left after their first year to work in the magic shop instead, which only made sense after… yeah. Harry draws a deep breath and jumps again. Ron and Hermione haven’t been problem-solving in his head for ages. There’s been no one to share the burden of choices or—

“OI!” Oliver’s voice thunders across the garden.

Harry smiles and takes another huge leap into the air. Just in time…

He rips open the fence door and stomps over, hands balled into fists. Harry’s never seen anyone look quite so furious while dressed in cashmere. And standing beside a trampoline.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Oliver hisses, eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you trying to make enemies, Henry? Is this entire estate a bloody joke to you?”

“Of course not!” Harry lands on his bum before he jumps up again. “This is very serious!”

“Oliver!” Sharon wails, hurrying over. “Oliver. Please! This really—”

“Keep your nose where it belongs, woman,” Oliver snarls, looking at her like she’s scum on his shoe. “No one wants your opinion!”

Sharon flinches… and this, more than anything else, gets Harry’s back up. “No need to take it out on her!” he snaps, climbing down from the trampoline. “Talk to me if you’ve got a problem, Ollie. Why not—”

But just as Harry’s feet touch the grass, something very weird happens: A dull buzzing fills his ears. Sharon and Oliver hear it too, but unlike Harry, they aren’t looking around in bewildered confusion. In a flash, the rage on Oliver’s face transforms into something much different: fear. And as the pressure grows, Harry can only watch as Oliver grabs Sharon’s hand, yanking her from the garden, when—

An unmistakable sound replaces the buzzing. A large piece of glass from somewhere in the front of the house shatters on the pavement. And with that, the buzzing stops.

Birds chirp again. Someone laughs in the distance. Harry jabs a finger in his ear, trying to clear it, but it seems Oliver’s returned to his furious state. He lunges towards Harry, a vein ticking in his neck, his hands outstretched as if to push him over— but Harry doesn’t have time for this. He’s already running around him, bolting towards the source of the sound, his hand inching for his pocket…

Because whatever they’ve got going on isn’t related to Oliver, is it? No… definitely not. That buzzing was too creepy to be muggle. Harry hadn’t really been convinced of the Oliver theory in the first place, even if the wanker has a criminal record for drunk driving. He mostly suggested it to Ginny to see if she’d give him any information.

Harry spots the broken glass the second he reaches the pavement. The lamppost right outside their house has shattered, light bulb and all. Bits of glass sparkle on the street, but the lamppost is at least 10 feet high. Harry scans around for signs of a ladder, or some form of a projectile… any method someone might’ve used to— oh! A baseball rolls around in one of the open garages across the street. He’s about to march over and collect it when his conscience stops him.

Because that’s the definition of circumstantial evidence, isn’t it? Harry sighs, rubbing his forehead. Snatching the baseball while working alone is one thing, but it’s not worth risking Ginny’s job. Especially because he reckons these thoroughly unmemorable homes are each equipped with monitoring systems. At absolute best, that would be… awkward to explain to the muggle police, especially without an obvious connection between the ball and the shattered lamppost...

Harry’s just about to turn back inside and write it off a freak occurrence when—

Shit.

His breath freezes in his throat.

What the...

He blinks a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it, but no...

There’s no weird buzzing this time… but something else is happening instead. The grass on the far side of their yard is bulging and curling, right in front of his eyes. The soil creaks as this… this mass — a huge sphere of some sort — passes through; bits of dirt fly into the air before settling back.

Harry’s veins turn to ice, his stomach churning. Work has introduced him to new, vile varieties of ghouls and nasties. He’s been bitten by a leprechaun. Stalked by a vampire. He’s encountered every disturbing otherworldly menace that one could imagine.

But he’s never seen anything like this.

His only solace is that it’s headed towards Mike’s empty house… this massive, rolling boulder that travels beneath the soil. ‘Boulder’ isn’t exactly the right term, though; he’s never seen a boulder move with a slinking, predatory grace. He’s never gotten gooseflesh from a rock, no matter how large.

And try as he might, he can only stand there, wide-eyed, his heart racing. Because now he knows for sure what Ginny only alluded to before: whatever they’re chasing isn’t human.

And it’s aware of them.

___________________________

The door creaks open less than five minutes after the glass shatters, but Ginny’s prepared.

She’s standing in the alcove just off the entryway, wand in one hand, fire poker in the other. It’s probably not the best strategy she’s ever had— but she reckons that if a Muggle were to catch sight of an altercation, it would be an easy memory supplantation. Wands and fire pokers don’t look that dissimilar, and—

“Ginny?” Harry calls. Directly into her ear.

Shit! She jumps into the air, the poker clattering to the ground.

“When did you learn to move like a cat?” she demands, turning to face him. “You nearly—”

“We need to talk,” he says brusquely. It’s only then that she takes in his wide, haunted eyes. His white pallor. The way he hasn’t even commented on the ridiculousness of her fire poker.

Oh.

He’s scared.

Scared in a way she hasn’t seen him in ages. Maybe ever. Which means he heard…? Shit. She’d might as well ask.

“What do you erm…” She toys with her wand handle. “Want to talk about?”

Harry heaves a tired sigh. “I’m only going to ask you this once,” he says flatly, rubbing his hand over his forehead. Then he blinks up at her, his eyes pulsing and stern. “What the fuck was that?”

“The… shattered lamppost?” she hedges. “I’ve no idea. I just—”

Apparently, that was the wrong response.

Harry groans. “You know damn well I don’t mean the bloody lamppost!” he snarls. “I mean that… that thing! First the weird buzzing, then whatever moved through the grass! It was like some creepy worm, or—”

“—not a worm,” she amends, staring at her cuticles.

This, too, was the wrong reply; she’s never seen him go from bewildered to enraged quite so fast.

Harry lets out a furious roar and kicks at an empty box. “This is why Unspeakables are so fucking annoying!” he shouts, tossing his hands in the air. “You never fucking say anything — even if it might help someone!”

Pfft! He can do better than that...

“Not sure what you expected,” she deadpans. “Would it help if I were a Speakable instead?”

Harry rolls his eyes and throws himself on the couch. Ginny just leans against the door… and waits. She can’t say she blames him for being angry. It’s probably made him feel vulnerable in ways he hasn’t in ages.

“The least you can bloody do,” Harry says, cutting into her thoughts, “is to let me know how to kill it.” He glimpses up at her, his chest still heaving. “Because if anything happened to you….” His hand curls around his wand, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “We both know I’d never forgive myself.”

Fuck.

Her heart clenches; as embarrassing as it is, tears sting the backs of her eyes. She wasn’t expecting that… but it makes perfect sense. He’s not angry because he’s vulnerable; he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to protect her.

Because he’s Harry.

Her Harry.

And try as she might, she can’t deny that. He’s hers… even though now he’s broken and angry and scared and alone. Which is probably why she loves the fucking fuck out of him.

No.

She stops herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Mission. Mission. They’re on a mission.

Right. She clears her throat and steps forward, two papers clutched in her hand.

“What’s that?” Harry grumbles as she hands them over. He scans the pages, brow furrowing. “Sugar… engine oil. Red Dye 40. What am I supposed to do with—?”

Ginny smiles and tries to make this easy. “It’s the report from the necklace. The thing that was on Mike’s medallion… it’s rubbish. Not blood, not some ghost slime. It’s just a weird mixture of types of rubbish.”

She should’ve figured he wouldn’t find this significant.

“What a brilliant scientific discovery.” Harry tosses the paper to the side. “Hermione would be thrilled.”

Ginny gnaws at her cheek, choosing her words carefully… but if he’s already seen it, if he’s already heard it, surely there’s no harm...

Harry rises to his feet and takes a step closer until he’s towering over her, all warm and brooding. They aren’t touching… not exactly. He’s just hovering close enough to give her strength, whether he knows it or not. When she finally gets the nerve to look up at him, his green eyes are swirling with more pain than rage. Truth be told, she prefers the rage. “I deserve to know,” he says thickly, like he’s suppressing something in his throat, “what the fuck is going on.”

Ginny breaks their eye contact. Some of this she hasn’t even shared with Attica yet. She’s violating about a million protocols by telling Harry first, but if they’re together on a mission…

“It’s… not what we thought. Not what I thought,” she admits softly, after a moment. “We came out here under the assumption of chasing something from the Thought Chamber. Something that erm… may have escaped. During a routine experiment.”

He’s not impressed, though. “Yeah,” he says, arching a brow. “I gathered all of that from your intro with the camera, thanks. Do you ever plan on telling me anything new?” He jerks his chin towards the window. “Because you’ve sure as hell never mentioned Evil Grass Monster Experiment #6, and that may have been helpful to fucking know before I saw it.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

His attitude is more infuriating than his actual words, but she lacks the patience for dealing with either. The bloody nerve, to act all impatient with information that’s kept secret for a reason...

“I don’t have to tell you shit, actually,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “And in case you’re unaware, I can protect myself.”

Harry pulls back with a laugh, but this one is cruel. Dark. The sort she’s never heard from him before. “Makes sense,” he says with a fake grin. Then he taps her on the nose. “Because when that thing outside inevitably kills someone else, we all know how well you’ll manage the guilt.”

Ouch.

She reels back, stung. He’s got to know that’s a low blow. Younger Ginny would have Bat Bogeyed him into oblivion, but she’s better now. She’s changed.

At least that’s what she tells herself as she glares at him, her hands fisted so tightly they turn white. “Say what you mean,” she manages several moments later, when rage isn’t clawing at her chest. “If you’d like to rehash our breakup, Auror Potter, I’m all ears!” She gives her best impression of an icy smirk. “This isn’t exactly professional… but then again, when have you ever been?”

Harry looks like he’s going to respond, but a loud vibration starts in his back pocket. “Fuck!” Now it’s his turn to leap into the air before he realizes it’s just his wand. And really, she’s tempted to laugh— but the look on his face helps her put the pieces together.

Because if his wand’s vibrating, that means it’s an emergency; only department heads can summon their employees like that. They’re the only ones with access to that sort of technology, not that she’s really interested either way.

“It’s King,” he mutters. She’s about to get on him for stating the obvious, but when he peers at her again, his face is filled with such timid yearning that she can only see the 11-year-old boy on the train platform. “Can I…erm. Use your mobile?”

Fine. Ginny nods towards the bedroom, her head still spinning. She’s still a bit angry with him, but he’s so fucking broken. They both are. And besides, they’ve got bigger problems. What could possibly have King so worried that he’d call Harry from a mission? The man is unflappable.

Harry returns a minute later, his face stony, jaw set. In another life, she might’ve seen the bulge in his pocket and asked if that’s just her mobile, or if he’s happy to see her.

Instead, she tucks her hair behind her ears like the seasoned professional she is. “There’s no reception inside,” she points out. “I’ve had luck calling Attica from up the street, right at the corner. Just watch out for…”

Harry smirks. “Grass monsters?”

Ginny draws a breath to consider her options. She could keep him in the dark forever, but isn’t that the whole point of this assignment? To learn? It’s time for the truth, she reckons...

“It’s erm. It’s called a tulpa, actually.”

His eyes light up at this. “A tulpa?”

Ginny shifts her weight and searches for the right words. “It’s a… it’s sort of like an evil imaginary friend, created by a group of people to do their bidding,” she explains, reaching for the discarded papers. “They come from the material of whatever’s underground. I’ve only heard of creatures made from clay or water, but since this village was built on a rubbish tip”— she flicks the papers with her fingers— “that’s our guy!”

She can almost see the gears spinning in Harry’s head as he studies the far wall. “So…” he says slowly, still peering off, “it’s basically an evil dump monster, made of rubbish, that can murder people.”

A laugh slips past her lips. It sounds a bit dumb when he puts it that way. She clears her throat and continues. “I was wrong because it’s not something that’s escaped, more like something that’s—”

“Formed,” Harry finishes quickly. For the first time all week, he sounds intrigued. Like he’s happy to be here. “So… they’ve made it to keep order, then?”

“It would seem so.” She shrugs. “I… honestly don’t know. But between the weird buzzing and the rubbish, it’s the closest match we’ve got. According to the system database, anyway.”

There’s another pause as Harry mulls this over. “So, how do we get rid of it, then?”

How fucked up is it that her heart warms at the way he says ‘we’?

Ginny brushes that aside. “Considering the mask in Gogolak’s house and the way they’ve made a point to tell us he’s in charge, I’d say he’s the one we need to get rid of.”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest but doesn’t object.

“Or at least… knock him totally unconscious,” she adds, swallowing; Gogolak’s a wanker, but she’d rather not kill him, either. “Beyond just being asleep. Because he sleeps at night, but the tulpa’s still here, which means he needs to be down for the count. Comatose, even.”

Harry’s wand buzzes again. Ah, shit; in all the hubbub, she’d forgotten about that.

Concern floods Harry’s face. “Give me five minutes.” He blinks. “Ok?”

She waves towards the door. “Duty calls.”

He gives her a weak smile and turns away; she begins the trek upstairs to send Attica an email update.

“Ginny?”

She stops to look down at him. Harry’s paused, halfway out the door. “Thank you,” he says softly, meeting her eyes. “And… I’m sorry. For everything. Ok? I’ll always, erm…”

But she can’t right now. She actually fucking can’t.

“Later,” she whispers, nearly begging. “Please. Let’s do this later.”

Because of course she loves him.

She’s always fucking loved him, even though that’s changed forms. It’s shifted. It’s evolved. He feels the same way… she knows he’s bloody feels the same way. She just doesn’t have the resources to deal with whatever this fuck is reigniting, right in front of her eyes, as the tulpa dances in the back of her head.

Luckily, he understands. Harry just swallows again, nods at her, and heads out into the night.

___________________________

As it would turn out, he was wrong about the identity of the summoner.

“Great news!” Hermione announces on the other end of the mobile. “MLE found Yaxley. He was hiding in a cave in Romania, just like you said.”

Harry snorts; he wishes that gave him more pride. “Well, if you’d listened to me months ago, then—”

“The important part is that we have him,” Hermione says, cutting across. “We need you back ASAP to prep for witness questioning. You’ll take the stand, of course. The trial’s set to start next week!”

He can practically hear her bouncing with excitement. Very little brings her more joy than trials of former Death Eaters.

“Erm… about that.” Harry rubs the back of his neck. “We’re actually right on the cusp of something here. I’m gonna need a couple more days to wrap things up.”

“Really?” Hermione sounds surprised. “Kingsley and Robards said you’d be pleased. Said you found this mission as useless as they did.”

Fuck, he was such an arse.

“Well, things… changed,” he offers lamely. “It’s going really well. This mission is so important to her. I’d just hate to leave at the last minute.”

“Ohhh?” Hermione draws out the word in a way that suggests she finds herself quite clever. Even before she asks, he knows what she’s on about. “How’s it going with Ginny, then?”

Harry rolls his eyes. Her coy prodding is obvious, even over the phone.

“As I already said, it’s going well,” he replies flatly. “We’re a great team. Always have been.”

But she can’t let him have that one, can she?

“Well… not always,” Hermione allows. “After Percy—”

Harry groans. For fuck’s sake, what’s her obsession with stating the obvious? “Yeah, well,” he retorts, “I’d like to know who you think did well after that, especially since…”

He trails off with a sigh.

Especially since what, exactly?

He toys with the fraying ends of his hoodie string.

Especially since Ginny was the last to speak with Percy? That she still carries the weight of the guilt for what she said that night? That she’s never admitted it, but that he suspects her choice to become an Unspeakable was influenced by the things she wishes she could un-say?

Harry makes a face. That’s corny as fuck, isn’t it? What a thing to pull from his arse...

Hermione interrupts his thoughts for a bit of bragging. “Well, Ron and I have done just fine.”

He can almost imagine her staring at her engagement ring in dreamy affection. The mental image makes his reply sound more bitter than he intends.

“Well,” Harry snaps, “Ron wasn’t the last person to speak with Percy. So I’m not sure how you could compare the two, really.”

Shit.

The silence on the other end tells him he needs to apologize, even if it’s true. Fortunately, Hermione gives him an easy out. “Anyway.” She clears her throat. “I’ll give you until tomorrow night, but we really need you the following day. If you haven’t settled this, we’re swapping you out. Got it?”

Harry sighs. He’s exhausted, but this couldn’t possibly take much longer. Ginny’s more or less got the proof she needs now. They just need to confront Gogolak, knock him out, and—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Harry cranes his neck towards the source of the noise. Huh… weird. Far up the street, flashing lights tip him off. That’s definitely Oliver’s Audi, the one parked in the driveway directly beside theirs. It’s in utopia blue with a metallic finish, a detail Oliver probably mentioned at least fifty times the other night. Then, while Sharon and Ginny were out walking the dog, Oliver began a mind-numbing lecture on the car’s exact miles per liter. Harry was a bit drunk, which is probably why he interrupted to ask a much more important maths question: How many blow jobs per week is too many, exactly?

Even from a distance, Harry can tell that Oliver’s nearly the same shade of murderous red now; he storms from the house and turns off the alarm with his key fob. But then he pauses, glancing around like something’s spooked him. He must decide it’s not that significant, though, because he huffs back inside soon enough. Fucking wanker...

“....Harry?”

“Sorry!” Harry shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry, that works. See you then, Hermione.”

“Can’t wait!” she trills. He doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s smug and grinning.

___________________________

Two minutes after Harry leaves, Ginny feels it again: that same sensation she experienced while walking Captain Bone.

She’s sitting at her laptop when it starts… this deeply unsettling shift. It stands the hair up on the back of her neck. She rushes to the window on instinct, but just like before, everything outside looks the same. There’s no “moving grass monster,” as Harry called it. Not yet, at least.

Still, she can’t deny it’s growing louder. Getting stronger. And now that she’s felt it for a bit longer, she can put more words to it. It’s like she’s plummeting through the absence of sound; like all the wind’s been sucked from the air. It’s a building pressure, a mounting unease, and before she knows it, her whole body starts to shake.

Then two things happen in quick succession: that weird feeling stops, and a car alarm begins to blare in the distance.

Weird.

She shudders. This whole thing is so fucking weird. Weird is her job, and this place is still Very Fucking Weird. Seriously, who enjoys living here? She’s reaching for her wand, just in case, when the front door slams open.

In retrospect, it’s a blessing she knows Harry as well as she does… because she can tell that those heavy, clobbering footsteps don’t belong to him. She knows he’s not the one drawing deep, ragged breaths as he marches up the stairs.

She hides around the corner of the bedroom, her heart racing, and goes through a mental list of spells she might use. Shield charms. Enchantments. The buzzing’s stopped, so this probably isn’t the tulpa… but who else would be here? Gogolak? It sounds more human than—

“Jenny?” a deep, soothing voice asks. “Are you in here?”

Her breath freezes in her throat. She’s only heard that voice once before… but it’s so similar to her former life that she identifies it at once.

“Mike?” A wave of relief washes through her. She shoves her wand into her dress as she comes around the corner. Sure enough, there he is, in the flesh. Mike Snodgrass. A man she presumed dead days ago.

“Hi!” Mike pants. He cracks a smile. “I’d offer to shake your hand, but.” He winces, wiping a palm on his ripped khakis. “Been hiding!” Fuck. His whole outfit (yellow Polo, khakis) is the same he wore days ago to unload their boxes, except now it’s filthy. Stained. Like he’s been living beneath cars and inside drains. He’s just missing his Saint Julian medallion, which she’s sent to the Ministry.

Ginny feels sick. She wrote him off as dead so carelessly...

“I’ve been trying to take it down,” he adds earnestly, peering at her. His cheeks are caked in something red and grimy, the same stuff she stuffed into her bra. He’s been tailing the tulpa, she realizes, her stomach plummeting…

Except he’s got no clue what he’s doing.

“I was about to leave the development, to just run away, but that’s when I figured out it was coming for you two!” He shudders, closing his eyes. It feels like he’s been waiting a long, long time to say this. “And I’ve been aimless without Jess in the first place. So what was the point in leaving, really, if I could save…?”

He trails off, clearing his throat; when he looks up at her again, there’s a flash of annoyance in his eyes. “I’ve been leaving clues, though! Why didn’t you listen?”

“Clues?” Ginny sounds like she’s a million miles away.

Mike’s nearly pleading now. “You had to go and kick the mailbox and stick the flamingo in the grass, didn’t you?” He raises his pointer finger. “And even though I left you a note, you had to make it even worse! It only attacks when the sun goes down, see.”

“You… you left the note?” she whispers. She was so certain that it was from Gogolak...

But Mike proceeds in such a rush it’s clear he hasn’t heard her. “It was about to get Henry by the trampoline, so I threw the baseball as a diversion. I broke the lamppost, too— which worked. For a second,” he adds hastily, glancing over his shoulder.

“How did you also set off the car alarm— oh.” Her head’s still spinning. “Buddy system. Right.”

Mike dangles a keyfob. “Covenant rules. Stole the spare off Jane.” He glances into the hall again before whipping back to face her. “It’ll need a sacrifice tonight, though,” he adds grimly. “And every night, until you all have perfect behavior. It was coming for you earlier, see. We aren’t meant to be outdoors after dark without a permit for dog-walking, so.” He shrugs. “If there’s an unapproved disruption like a car alarm, it knows just where to hunt.”

It’s then that the final pieces of this dreadful puzzle slide together in her brain. “Captain Bone,” Ginny breathes; she swears a feather could knock her over. “He was the first since we arrived. Punishment for us sticking out.”

“I couldn’t save him,” Mike laments. “It came up and snatched him. So I threw in my medallion, right after his collar, just to make them think I was already gone.”

“That’s… that was brilliant,” she admits, biting her lip. “Thank you. You didn’t have—”

“Nah,” he says firmly. “I did. For starters, you remind me so much of…” He stops mid-sentence, an odd expression on his face.

For a second, she thinks he’s being sentimental, but then she feels it too.

Shit.

The hairs on her arm stand up. It’s back… that weird way she felt before. Like the air’s sucked from the room. That creeping, clawing silence. This time, though, it only gets louder, louder, louder, until she’s throwing her hands over her ears, all hope of self-defense forgotten.

But Mike knows what he’s doing. He knows exactly what he’s doing. She doesn’t have the chance to object or get her wand before he’s ripping open the closet door and throwing her inside. Ginny opens her mouth in a startled cry, but it’s like she’s screaming underwater, the sound distant and distorted. Mike slams the door closed with her inside and stomps to the center of the room— but now the thundering, roaring wind is causing her physical pain… it’s so loud now that it reverberates in her chest, so loud that her hands shake as she reaches for her wand at long last, but fuck fuck fuck, it’s too late…

It’s too fucking late.

Because Mike’s made a choice. One he can’t take back. He just stands in the middle of the room, puffing out his chest, offering himself as the proud sacrifice, even as the noise grows so loud that Ginny screams her throat raw.

She feels it enter the bedroom, this looming, shifting mass— but by then, she’s certain her ears are bleeding, her eardrums bursting. Her whole body rattles and shakes as she peers through the slats in the closet door, but she’s frozen. Stuck. Miserable. She couldn’t cast a spell if she tried… even as the tulpa oozes into the room, lunges itself back, and swallows Mike with a sickening squelch.

Even though the slats of the door, Ginny’s sprayed with blood. Covered. And she’s dizzy now… so dizzy. A drop of blood trickles into her eye; she reaches up to wipe it from her face, and it’s only then that she hears her own screams again. They reverberate through the small space, anguished and pleading, so loud that she’s certain someone up the street could hear, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t fucking care. She just screams over and over and over, her nails clawing at the walls, until the world slips away into darkness.

___________________________

Blood.

It’s the first thing he smells as he charges up the steps. His chest squeezes, his eyes water, his head pounds over and over again with one word: No.

No. No. No.

Not Ginny. It can’t be.

But almost as soon as he smells the blood, he hears her screaming, and yes! His heart soars. Screaming is good; screaming means she’s alive and breathing and—

Fuck.

His dinner rises in his throat as he steps into the bedroom. He smelled the blood from the steps, he hadn’t expected… this much. It always takes him aback, exactly how much blood is in one human body, and he’s certainly never seen it sprayed, all over the floor… covering the walls. Covering the closet, even, where Ginny’s still screaming.

He flings open the door, thinking he’s prepared for what he might see. Somehow, though, none of that measures up. Because he’s dealt with tears in his line of work… but he’s never, ever seen her so broken. His chest clenches when he takes her in. Her perfect suburban dress — the yellow floral one, the one he liked so much— is now red and grimy, caked in blood, as Ginny rocks back and forth on the floor, sobs wracking her body.

Blood’s covering her face, too, and her arms. Dried trails of it have crusted around her eyes, like she’s fallen asleep wiping them away… or perhaps lost consciousness. The thought is too terrible to bear. He kicks the door open completely and brings her into his arms in one fell swoop.

She melts against him, her voice raw and broken. “H-Harry!” she manages. “P-please! I need-I need!” She begins to shake, pressing her face to his chest.

“A shower,” he says firmly, stepping into the en-suite. “You… you just need a shower. Ok? And maybe some calming draught, I’ve got some in my luggage, and—”

“No!” she cries, shaking her head. Her eyes are wide and filled with horror. “Don’t… don’t leave. Don’t leave me, Harry, please!”

“I… ok,” he allows, carrying her to his luggage to retrieve the bottle. She clings to his neck as he reaches for it, but she weighs next to nothing. Fuck, she’s so thin… he’d just been too busy eyeing her up to realize exactly how thin. What a complete wanker.

It’s not difficult to unzip the suitcase with one hand and pass her the bottle. “Take this,” he urges, thrusting it into her hands. “Please, Ginny. You’ll feel—”

She’s already downed it before he gets to the end of the sentence. She tips her head back, drawing air into her lungs. “Thanks.” Her voice is still hoarse. Ragged.

“Shower, then,” he murmurs, walking her into the bathroom. He feels her start to relax against him, her body growing looser, as he opens the curtain and turns on the tap.

“Thanks,” she whispers again, her head tucked beneath his chin. His fingers itch with restraint; he’d do anything, he thinks, to hold her against him. To press a kiss to her temple. To tell her he loves her and that she’s beautiful and perfect and he’s sorry, so sorry, that any of this happened and—

She peers up at him, her eyes more focused now, less wide-eyed and horror-struck. “Would you stay here?” she asks, biting her lip. “While I shower? Just so I’m not—”

“‘Course.” Harry swallows, putting her on her feet. She lands with unintentional grace, one foot after the next.

“And can you… erm.” She turns her back to him, lifting her hair above her zipper. His hands shake as he reaches for the clasp. He knows the exact shape of her back as he slides it down, over the middle bump of her white bra strap. He nearly unstraps that for her, too, before he catches himself. It reeks of intimacy, doesn’t it? All of this…

His eyes linger on the soft swell of her bum before he turns around, self-disgust hammering in his throat.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he adds feebly. He balls his hands into fists as her dress hits the floor… followed by her bra. And her knickers.

“Not your fault,” she croaks, stepping into the shower. He smiles, his glasses fogging up as he moves to sit on the closed toilet seat. Even covered in blood and traumatized, she can't bring herself to blame him.

She finishes several minutes later.

“Erm… towel?” She shuts the water off. “Could you?”

“Sure,” he soothes, thrusting one through the curtain. “D’you want me to leave, or…?”

Ginny manages a weak snort. “Nah. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He chuckles at the door as he turns around again. She’s right, of course; he knows every bloody inch of her… but it’s not quite the same now.

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whips around to face her. Admittedly, she looks… better. The blood’s gone. Her eyes are still red-rimmed from sobbing, but she’s looking a bit less like a woman who witnessed a death. Which reminds him…

“Erm. Give me a second to get it all cleaned up?”

Ginny shudders and settles on the toilet seat; he immediately kicks himself for asking. “Yeah,” she says a moment later. “Just… come get me, ok? When you’re done?”

He nods.

___________________________

It can’t be later than 10 PM when he finally carries her to the bed, still wrapped in a towel.

He’s exhausted from the nights on the sofa, but he knows she’s worse off. He’s cleaned the bedroom fairly well, he thinks, considering. There’s a rust-colored stain above the closet that he reckons won’t go anywhere anytime soon. He just hopes she doesn’t see it.

He rests her on the duvet surface, fully prepared to head downstairs for the night— but the pleading look on her face informs him he’s got other plans, instead. So without sharing a single word, he spreads his palms, lies beside her, and waits.

It comes eventually, as he knew it would. One person can’t deal with all that, see all that, without eventually cracking. And as a fellow fucked-up individual, he would know.

It starts as simple tears, ones that he wipes away. It progresses into sobs… full-body sobs. The sort he heard coming up the stairs. He’s surprised she’s got any left, but Ginny’s always been the sort to keep him on his toes. And just as her water-dark hair starts to dry and sprout red tendrils, he faces the thing he expected least of all: a kiss.

She starts softly. Slowly. Her lips so tender and soft that he forgets everything. She moans against his mouth, her whole body leaning into it; he’s instantly reminded of how much he’s fucking missed her. How lonely he’s been. How could he have forgotten the tiny mewl she makes in the back of her throat as her tongue parts his lips? He must’ve blocked it out, he realizes, as she begins to slide her body against him, panting, as she tips her head back. His lips trail down her neck, nibbling and biting, as she grips his arms and hair and bum. Because if he’d remembered all of these little details, he’d have gone mad long ago.

He’s throbbing hard by the time he gets to the tail end of her towel, which brushes the tip of her thighs. He tries to adjust himself, to—

“You can take it out, you know.”

Oh. He blinks up at her, his breath freezing in his throat. She’s peering down at him, her lips red and swollen.

“I know you’re hard,” she adds, her voice still raw. “So if it’s uncomfortable… take it out.”

He arches a brow from his position at her thigh. He’s about to retort with something snappy. Something that might keep them bantering for ages. But Ginny has no patience.

“Please.” It’s nearly a command. She blinks down with glassy eyes, her lips swollen. “I want you, Harry.”

Fuck. He groans, rubbing his cock against his palm to relieve some of the pressure. It doesn’t help for long, not that it matters; he’d rather focus on her, anyway. So with a slip of his fingers, the towel opens. She releases a breathy moan, tipping her head back.

Naked.

She’s finally naked. In front of him. His breathing grows ragged, his eyes scanning the territory somehow both totally familiar and completely new. She is thinner; he was right. Her hip bones jut out now, her stomach more sunken. But most of her is the same. The smattering of freckles on her chest. The way her breasts have puckered and darkened, the way her chest is rising and falling so fast. The thatch of dark red hair at the apex of her thighs.

“Well,” she quips. He blinks up at her as she reclines on her elbow. “Are you going to fuck me, Harry, or just stare all day?”

With that, he removes his glasses and gives her a smirk— her only real warning— before he kisses her one more time, just as his fingers spread her thighs.

She opens beneath him with a breathy sigh. Fuck, she’s so wet… he groans into her mouth as he dips his fingers further and further down. She’s dripping by the time he finds her clit… by the time he begins to swirl in tight circles. Clockwise. The pattern that screams of such intimate familiarity that it’s as if the years never passed.

He’s scarcely done anything, but she’s already writhing against his fingers, arching her back. “Please,” she slurs after a minute, “put them in.”

He’s never been one to deny her, has he?

It’s like muscle memory how quickly he finds his face between her thighs instead. He spares a moment of self-indulgence as he closes his eyes, breathing her in. She smells like home. She always has. It’s comfort… but more than that, it’s proof. Proof she wants him as much as he wants her. It’s why he stuffed his face in her knickers whenever he got a spare moment on the Horcrux hunt: one hand on that black lace, the other pulling at his cock. It’s bloody erotic, seeing proof of how much she wants him… but it’s more than that.

It’s love.

And despite all the things he’s forgotten tonight, he’d never forget this. He presses two fingers inside her, his hands shaking, and lets his body do the rest. Fuck, he’s missed this. She cries out above him, her hands grasping at his hair, tugging him closer. He’s never forgotten this… the way she tastes. The way she smells. The right way to run his tongue against her clit. Exactly how many fingers she needs, pressed against her just there… crooked in a certain position… just as she begins to thrust herself up and down on them, her cries growing louder, more insistent… and yesssss, there it is, she’s right there, right fucking there—

“Harry!” Her hair rubs against the pillow with abandon. “I’m… I’m so close,” she pants, her body starting to shake.

“Come for me,” he commands, his cock fit to burst, his face slippery. “Come for me, Ginny.”

He returns to her clit for a split-second before she says the words that change everything.

Her whole body tenses, a blush spreading up her chest. “I love you!” she cries, her voice strangled… and with that, she’s coming, clenching around him, her body shaking as he rides her through it.

What he doesn’t tell her is that he comes, too. The second those words wash over him. Those fucking words that prove he’s fucked up, fucked up, fucked up… but he can’t exactly help that, can he?

He just shoves his face into the duvet, thrusting his hips once, twice, and with a grunt, he’s off. His cock tightens and bursts, filling his boxers. Soaking through his jeans. He pulls back, dizzy, when the clenching finally stops.

Luckily, she seems too distracted to notice. Ginny’s half-asleep as he rises from between her thighs, pulling the blanket over her. He presses a kiss to her temple and makes quick work of removing his soggy clothes. Fairly embarrassing, this. Like he’s 16 again and rutting on the lawn.

He mutters a quick cleaning charm and changes into basketball shorts before settling down beside her in bed… making sure he’s on top of the duvet.

But as he drifts off, there’s something far less sentimental that hammers through his chest: They need to get their shit sorted.

Before he ever, ever lets that happen again.

[missdawnandherdusk]

Cliche Mini-Series: Patronus

Draco X Reader

Requested: @shadowsingeraxolotl​ Okay, so they're all in 8th year or something and everyone are practicing their patronusus and they match and everyone is in awe because they are the most powerful ones they've ever seen? Like an alternate soulmark but better because they realize that Draco is so soft

A/N: Y’all sure do have a lot of cliches you want to see, so here’s the first one that sparked my interest. It will not be the last I promise, but please enjoy these two kids falling in love and healing after the war. 

Okay so it’s 8th year

Everyone is a little tense, and the castle looks new but everything just feels wrong

McGonagall created an entire new wing for the 8th years so that they could get away from the haunting that the war left in the old castle

And the House Cup was done away with and first years were allowed to pick houses and others were allow to declare house-less or switched as they saw fit fight me on this I dare you

Which meant that the few 8th years who decided to come back all declared to be house-less because f*ck destiny and who they were supposed to be. They just wanted to be kids goddamnit

That doesn’t mean that you’re not a little surprised when Draco declares house-less. You thought he’d want to stay Slytherin

You catch his eyes and there’s no light in them and your heart just hurts

War was hell, and being trapped on the wrong side had to be the depths of Tartarus

McGonagall keeps a dozen Mind Healers on staff this year, for obvious reasons

Which is where you run into Draco often. You’re craving a therapy session and he has to—court mandated.

You wave and he gives you a curt nod. He’s in most of your classes now that you were both house-less so you’re peers, maybe acquaintances

True to Harry’s nature, he’s suspicious of Malfoy at all times, and well maybe you pick up a few habits of looking after Draco as well—but in a different manor

You make sure he eats, and gets to class, and stays awake in class for that matter, then you make sure he gets to bed. All by gentle questions or offering to go with him to meals or class etc (“hey, I haven’t eaten dinner, wanna come with?” “You have Flitwick with me... wanna walk together?” “It’s late, I’m sure the book will be there in the morning,” “I made too much tea, do you want some?”)

He notes your kindness but only mentions it to his Mind Healer. He’s confused as to why you’re being kind and doesn’t know if he likes it or not (he’s also a bit better with his emotions since he’s in therapy) y’all get therapy it’s amazing

“Well, you could ask her about it,” the Healer suggests. Except he didn’t understand how much Draco could not do that because he wasn’t confrontational anymore

Instead he decides to extend the same kindness to you. As an olive branch. You spill ink all over your paper in shock when he asks you to dinner. He quickly vanishes the ink with a flick of his hand

Now you two sort of get dinner together. Like all the time. It’s just something that normal and routine. You talk about your days, your classes, and Draco feels... normal. Like you’re not gawking at him, not afriad of him, you don’t hate him, and he’s pretty sure this isn’t some sort of ploy

fuck canon. Remus Lupin isn’t dead and neither is Sirius. I am the queen of this blog and my word is law.

Remus teaches DADA because he loves teaching and now that the job isn’t jinxed and McGonagall knows he needs a break from 24/7 Sirius to maintain his sanity, he teaches

And of course he adores his 8th years

He teaches a wide range of defense spells, but to pass his class with full marks all you have to do is summon a patronus. Corporeal or not.

Draco, though still quite flawless in about everything else, struggles with casting a patronus. A lot of 8th years do as well, so he’s not singled out, even if he is a bit frustrated

Remus understands that after a war this is hard for his kids, so he allows them to take a day and go to the lake instead of class for fun in the sun and to make new and safer memories

“Aren’t you coming?” You ask Draco who’s sitting alone in the common room sulking. “No,” he mutters. “Why not? Lupin is taking attendance, you have to come,”

“No, I don’t.” He snaps.

He really doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to swim. He doesn’t want to take his shirt off or wear short sleeves. He doesn’t want to be gawked at because of his Mark or his numerous scars. He’d rather save himself the panic attack.

“Come with me?” You try weakly. “You don’t have to swim. I’m not going to, but maybe just sit out there? We can read? Or talk? Or something?” You know it’s a lost cause. You sigh. “We’ll miss you Draco—I’ll miss you,” you offer a small smile and head down to the lake downcast.

And maybe Draco misses you with each step that you walk away from him. Maybe it’s so unbearable that he curses himself and you before stalking down the the lakeside beach.

Meanwhile you’re perched under a tree reading a book. “Couldn’t get him to come down huh?” Lupin asks. “Sorry Professor,” you give a weak smile. “Don’t worry about it. I know it’s gonna take Draco a bit longer to get on his feet again. In fact I’d be surprised if—” Lupin stops mid sentence.

“Professor?” You ask. “Well I’ll be a mandrakes uncle,” Lupin grins, nodding to someone in the distance. You turn and see a familiar head of white blond hair heading towards you.

Ignoring Lupin completely you jump up and run over to Draco, pulling him into a hug, before remembering yourself as you take a step away awkwardly.

“I’m glad you came,” you stammer. “Me too,” his cheeks are flushed slightly pink as you two sit under the tree together.

True to your word, you two do read. He reads some sort of wizard classic literature and you read a muggle classic: Pride and Prejudice because you need a break from magic and spells

Draco asks you about your book and you explain a bit of it to him, saying that he would probably enjoy it, despite its muggle origins. He eyes the book and you skeptically but asks if he can borrow it when you’re finished with it

You two are mostly left alone for the afternoon, except always under the watchful eye of Harry who is still convinced that Malfoy is up to something

Your patronus charm is now incorporeal. You jump excitedly and the charm falls. Draco, who’s next to you, is quite surprised by the hug he gets tackled with by a very elated you.

Which leads to more awkward blushing and apologies.

“So you and Malfoy?” Harry asks one night while you’re alone. “I... I don’t like it.” “Oh come on Harry, don’t you think if he was going to do something he would have? He’s just trying to move on like the rest of us,” your voice is venemous and cold as you glare the golden boy down.

Draco sees you and Harry talking alone at night and gets the wrong idea before rushing away not understanding why that hurt so badly. He feels betrayed. You were the one person he thought was on his side and now you were skirting around with Potter.

You notice immediately that Draco has closed himself off to you and you worry. “Is everything okay?” “Ask Potter,” Draco snaps. “You seemed pretty cozy with him the other night.”

Then it hits you. “We’re you spying on me?” The thought is quickly dismissed. “Draco, Harry came up to me bitching about you. And I told him to drop it and leave you alone because you deserve your place here like the rest of us,”

Well you hadn’t said exactly that, there was a bit more swearing involved but the sentiment was there

“You... you defended me,” he’s in disbelief. “Yes,” you groan. “Now will you stop sulking and come and get dinner with me?”

“I’ve already eaten,” he mutters. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Draco,” you press. “Please,”

“I’ll never understand how you can tell when I’m lying,” he grumbles, standing. “You don’t look me in the eye,” you laugh, walking towards the great hall.

The trips to the lake become a Friday thing for 8th years and Remus. To give the kids a break and to let them blow off a little steam.

You know Draco isn’t comfortable going again and you don’t want to either so, you talk to Lupin and work out a deal.

“Are you coming?” You ask him, dressed in your old quidditch robes. “You’re going to the lake in that?” He asks skeptically. “And no I’m not going,”

“I’m not going to the lake,” you smile, perching on the back of a couch. “So, are you coming?”

“Where are you going?” He asks. “Oh come on you’re a smart bloke, put two and two together.” You laugh and take off down the hall towards the quidditch pitch.

You’ve done a few laps when Draco joins you in the air. “This is stupid,” he declares. “Yeah,” you smile. “But it’s fun!”

Draco sighs and his resolve fades and soon he’s smiling and chasing after you in a one on one game of catch-the-snitch

And honestly it is fun. Draco’s laughing and flying with you and he almost forgets that he’s supposed to be Seeking.

And when you fly closer to him, staring into his eyes, beaming, he does everything he can to remember to keep flying. You’re inches from him. You reach out and his heart is stammering.

Then you grab something next to his head and laugh victoriously showing him the snitch.

“Oh come on that was cheating!” He whines, chasing after you towards the field floor.

“It’s not my fault you were staring at me like I was Potter!” You call back. “Although I hope you don’t hate me,” you land softly on the grass and Draco is caught off guard by your words and why would he ever hate you and he crashes into you

“Draco!” You scold, and he thinks he’s hurt you and that you’re crying but no you’re laughing hysterically beside him

“I—are you okay?” He stammers, gaping at you. “I’m fine,” you laugh sitting up. Until you put pressure on your wrist and well maybe then you’re not fine

Draco feels awful and takes you to the infirmary, letting Pomfrey heal your broken wrist. All the while the roles are reversed and you have to convince him to calm down and that you’ll be okay man that boy is a mess

“B-but I hurt you!” He exclaims. “It was an accident Draco!” You fold your arms. “I’m not mad, please don’t be mad at yourself,” your voice softens as you take his hands. “Please?”

His eyes catch yours and he nods and you smile at him.

Since this is an every week thing, you and Draco have a rivalry going on of who’s won more matches. (The smack talk and banter is real, but all in good fun. It leaves you both laughing and smiling and onlookers completely confused because “uh, he just called you slower than a spider in roller skates” “Yeah, and he knows that it’s still faster than his blond arse” “My arse has nothing to do with it” “Oh I beg to differ,”)

Winter turns to Spring and now showers are 100% necessary for you Friday afternoons after you matches with Draco. 

You pause in the locker rooms after one match and notice that Draco has shed his robes and is now shirtless before you, his back turned. Your breath catches in your throat as you see the scars that paint a gruesome image on his skin.

You don’t think he knows you’re there but his tired voice barely speaks: “I know you’re staring. It-It’s okay. I’ve... I’ve come to terms with it myself. And I think I’ve come to terms with you knowing as well.” 

He turns to face you, a mask of calm on his face, his eyes holding yours. 

“Harry did this?” You breathe out, taking a step toward him, your hand coming up and hesitantly tracing a scar that bends around his shoulder. 

“Harry, my father, my aunt... you stop keeping track after a while,” His eyes are downcast letting you know that he knows exactly what scar is from whom. 

Your hand trails down and brushes over his Dark Mark. He flinches, but his eyes don’t leave yours. 

“Thank you,” You whisper. “For showing me... for trusting me enough.”

Draco’s patronus is now incorporeal. 

You cheer and he wraps you into a hug this time and you’re shocked for a moment before hugging him back

You’re currently tied on your catch-the-snitch matches and today marks the tie breaker and the winner it’s just too hot to keep doing it during class time in the afternoon.

“D-Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me, tomorrow?” Draco stammers one Friday afternoon. “Sure,” You smile, “A bunch of our friends are going, were you planning on not going?” 

Draco purses his lips because of course you’re going to make this hard for him. 

“I meant with me. Just me. As a... date?” He’s flushed bright pink and it has nothing to do with the heat. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” You grin and zoom off after the snitch and he’s left chasing you wondering and asking what the hell you meant by that.

He ends up catching the snitch and is completely distracted from his victory because what did you mean you thought he’d never ask????

“Draco, stars above you’re so dense,” you dismay and grab the front of his robes and pull him over and press your lips to his

It causes him to let the snitch go and pull you closer. And maybe the two of you spend the afternoon kissing thousands of feet above the ground.

You two enter the Common Room, hand in hand and a cheer is let up as well as bet money being exchanged. Draco is flushed pink, and so are you, but you just smile and roll your eyes back Hogwarts is starting to feel like home again

And oh he absolutely spoils you at Hogsmeade the next day. And you have to admit, as much as you like gifts, it’s so much more to see him happy about buying them for you.

Harry is sulking about the entire thing, and now has been jeering at you and Draco and most times Draco stops you from punching the golden boy in the face. 

“I did it to him for years,” Draco murmurs. “Doesn’t make it right,” You hiss back, glaring at Harry. 

A few others take the same idea as Harry and start to taunt Draco about his long sleeves in the warm weather. Draco never rises to the bait but you can see that it wears at him. You just hold his hand a little tighter and maybe send a few wandless, nonverbal hexes their way,

It draws the line one day when Harry with a few other 8th years stop you and Draco in the halls. Draco, you can tell is close to having a panic attack because it’s not the first one of his that you’ve witnessed and you just go off

“What is wrong with you!?” You scream at Harry. “At least he’s trying to get better! At least he’s changed! You might have saved the world but you’re nothing but a bully!” There are tears in your eyes as Draco places his hands at your waist, steadying you and himself. “And maybe he would wear a t-shirt if you hadn’t tried to kill him a few years ago with Dark Magic that left its mark all over him! Did you ever think of that!?” 

Harry is gaping at you, shocked. Draco pulls you down the hall and it’s not far before he’s breaking down into a panic attack in your arms. You stroke his hair as you let him cry out all his tears, then you walk him through breathing exercises and five-things-five-senses (Grounding)

After this Harry backs the fluff off (and eventually apologizes and goes to Mind Healing himself because you were right, he needed to get better too.) 

You and Draco become more comfortable around another and in public. Which leads to cuddling in the common room or kissing in the halls And no one can deny that you and Draco are just sweet and perfect together

Out of the blue but not really because Harry had a hand in it Lupin talks privately to Draco about his scars and they sort of have a therapy session themselves. Sirius talks to you and gives you advice about how to help Draco through overcoming his fears and self doubt about his scars and now you two have sort of been adopted by these two dads)

It’s the last day of DADA and Lupin makes all of his 8th years cast a patronus and you and Draco do it together and everyone stares in complete and utter awe at the two dragons coiling around each other filling up almost the entire room

You and Draco are in shock too, but soon, smug smiles fall on both of your faces because, yeah... those are two souls sworn and bound to protect another. Two fighters. Two dragons.

You also tease Draco about his name and the dragon for the rest of his life which always ends with him growing frustrated and kissing you to shut you up and then the both of you get a little carried away... but it’s fine. The castle is enormous and there are plenty of empty classrooms

.

Tags: @coffee-addicti @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18 @whygz @crazywritingbug @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @memalfoy-spidey @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise  @dietkiwi @katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen @hxneybgb @justsomerandomgur @belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms @howdycharlie @xtrashmouthxtozierx @cocochanelthepupper @ninacotte @braelynn-j @jiggllyy @honeymarvel @darcypotter-blog @atomicpunkrock @thiccheerioss @lottie289 @boredashaeck @beautiful-pegasus @tceedlmao @deadlynyghtshayde @iconjuresnapeingrandmaclothes @anonymous034 @bi-andready-tocry @lunna-does-real-doodle @dragonsandbread  @okaydraco @the-queen-of-hell-things @cmxreader @alienmotel @oh-itsnothing @sunflowerxsadnessw @fattycooter @angelotakunerd08 @thisisahugemistake @fanficsigottaread @gweaslvy @strawberriesonsummer @gaysludge @cleopatera @ray-of-sunrise @artist-bby @shadowsingeraxolotl @peters-legos @quillsareforwriting @ghostlytoadalmondhairdo​ @wollymalfoy​ @lilpieceoftoast​  @paper-cats​ @floweryjh​ @sdicapriox​ @slothgirl22​ @peachesandpinks​ ​ @hufflautia​ @livize75​ @annie-mcl​ @riathearora​ @live-like-luna​ @justathoughtfulangel​ @coconutdawn​ @skteaiy​ @wannabeskinny-thinspo​ @naughtygranger​ @queenofmankind​ @dragonsandbread​ @abundantxadorations​ @moony-artnstuff​ @myforeveryoungblog​ @and-then-a-girl-with-luv​ @1-800-luvsick​ @pandas-rice-field​ @strawberriesonsummer​ @jjustsomerandomgirl​ @mrvlfangirl3190​ @in-slytherin-we-trust​ @emmaa-t​ @introvertedrae​ @infinity1o1​ @stoleurmomsvan​ @echpr​ @sunkissed-hufflepuff​ @dekulover​ @marshmallowtraver​ @cereuselle​ @lonely-skywalker​ @xlosttdreamss​ @sleepysnapesnake​ @hoeforthefictional​ @coldlilheart​ @helen-paris​ @romance-geek​ @rosie-starlit-sky​ @californiaa-babyy​ @vulture-withafile​ @hogstupefy​

[justletmeplayminecraft]

xisuma doesn’t smooth over a server glitch fast enough. the others have to save him from the consequences.

in this fic, i play loosely with minecraft mechanics to create angst. very loosely. don’t think too much about ‘em. you can also date how long i’ve spent on this by the projects they’re working on. 

featuring: being an admin gives you a connection to the server, xisuma has a less than stellar day, angst/comfort, zed is an ender hybrid, false & tango are minor admins, getting stuck in blocks is not a fun experience, the hermits care a lot about each other.

warnings: sensory deprivation, starvation, suffocation, its a death loop babyyy, a fair amount of panic, fighting code, glitches, helplessness, it’s pretty whumpy before the comfort. let me know if something’s missing here.

also on ao3. link in replies.

Xisuma sighs as the sun beats down on him. It's barely let up, even on the outskirts of the jungle. He enjoys the brief stints in the shadow of the giant quartz walls. Even then, waves of heat come off them. All of the structures in his base are a heat trap. Clearing out several layers of dirt and stone is a necessity he should've left for another day. With a click, he tugs his helmet off his head. The humidity outside is worse than his filtered air. He tucks the helmet under his arm, pushing sweat slicked hair from his face.

He's made good progress levelling this arena space. He leaves his helmet on his bed and heads to the temporary storage chests. They're filling up quickly, he notices, as he starts emptying his inventory into them. Except, something's broken. The stacks of blocks aren't all moving. He tries a few times before sighing, ruffling his hair. When he turns to the area he's been mining, it's still empty. It's been a long time since they've had desync this bad. He's not even sure when it started.

Stepping gently across the stone, he can feel the heat rising from them. He'll rollback the world and then he'll relax by Keralis's river. The farm is delightfully cool. Anything will be better than this oppressive heat.

He's almost reached his bed when something takes hold in his chest and pulls.

He stumbles forward with a gasp. Of course, the server decides to fix itself this time. He forces his feet forward, trying to reach his helmet so he can smooth things over. He only makes it two steps until his eyes are forced shut as the server reloads. For a split second, all he feels is the chill of the void as chunks reload around him.

He opens his eyes to darkness. It feels like he's suspended in space, unable to move. There's a suffocating pressure around him. Though it's with shallow breaths, he can still breathe. Did something go wrong? He blinks hard. All of his limbs are accounted for, he's certainly present. Even when he's working in the void there are still particles around him. His attempt to raise his arm fails, finding it impossible to open his back up admin panel. His helmet is- where even is his helmet?

His breath hitches, a feeling of panic escaping his controlled calm. He feels like he can't breathe. He can't move. He's trapped in his own body.

What's happening?

-

[MumboJumbo] anybody else just experience some major desync?

[Keralis1] Oh, is that what that was?

[Zedaph] I had nearly finished my redstone! All of that work, gone!

[FalseSymmetry] didn't you notice you weren't actually... losing anything from your inventory?

[Tango] he was probably too caught up in his supposed mastery

[FalseSymmetry] everybody okay though?

[Grian] all good here!

[Zedaph] Only my pride's wounded.

-

False looks down at the bedrock layer at her base. Like half an hour spent placing glass, all gone to waste. She groans, closing her chat as it pings away. Sure, she can rib Zedaph, but that doesn't change the fact she just did the exact same thing. She kicks off the sidewalk, gliding to the bedrock layer. She can feel the cold of the void float up with specks of grey.

"Good going, False," she murmurs. Some patches of glass survived. It's almost worse, that's going to be so much less satisfying to fill in. She takes her goggles off, tugging her hair loose to tie it in a low ponytail. Usually Xisuma gives them a warning before the server resets like that. It always messes up her hair, leaves it floaty and static.

She adjusts her goggles on her head, opening the player menu. Xisuma's currently online. She checks chat. He hasn't said anything. She considers it strange, but it's not unusual. Maybe he's been at a farm and isn't AFKing. She types out a private message, sending it across to him.

[FalseSymmetry to Xisuma] hey x, server blipped, might need to check it when you get back.

She'll see if he returns her message. She's got glass to place.

-

Iskall looks through his in-progress sorting system with a frown. It's broken somewhere. The stupid server reload has glitched it out and he can't find how. He's checked the redstone, he's checked the hoppers and he's checked the chests! Which means it's glitched. Either Xisuma reloads the chunk for him, or he's going to have to tear it down.

Actually, he'll probably have to tear it down anyway. Reloading the chunk will only roll it back.

At least he's not the only person who's redstone has been ruined. The thought brings some comfort. If he has to be miserable, somebody else should be too. He opens his communicator, checking who's around at the moment. That might take his mind off it.

He notices that Xisuma's online. Their admin has been quiet in chat since the reload. Maybe there's something going on behind the scenes he's having to sort out. He'll reach out to Mumbo and Grian, but first, he sends a message X's way.

[iskall85 to Xisuma] hey is everything alright? nothing broke?

[iskall85 to Xisuma] don't forget you can reach out to us if you need help.

-

He has no idea how much time has passed. Usually he's connected intrinsically to the server. It helps him keep track of the world, dig out any errors or mishaps - sometimes before his suit alerts him. It's essential for his job in order to keep things running smoothly. The server is always there, at the edges of his consciousness.

In this nothing, he can't even keep track of his internal clock. Perhaps it's his own panic, but the code he tries to reach out to feels fuzzy. It feels like it's glitching, sending shooting pains through his head if he focuses too hard. He couldn't take a guess how long he's been trapped. His breathing still comes too fast and shallow, ignoring his attempts to calm down.

He's completely helpless here. And he doesn't even know where here is.

-

Tango stares up at the stars on his ceiling. He checks his inventory again, counting aloud. He flicks it off with a frown. Yeah, he's definitely missing some. It's not a massive deal, Impulse will be happy to help out. But if he's having problems then some of the other hermits might be. Perhaps they fell and despawned in the reload. Either way.

"Tangoooooo!" The cry is accompanied by several rockets, something hitting the ground and the sound of damage. He chuckles, stepping away as Zed soars over the edge, stumbling forward with a flutter of his elytra. Tango straightens him up with his free hand.

"No, I'm not doing your redstone for you." Zedaph gasps, dusting off his jeans. He bounces up with a grin.

"You really think I'd come all this way for that?" Zed questions.

"So why have you come all the way here?"

"I'm bored," Zed replies. "And it still stings too much to do my redstone again." Tango laughs, opening up his chat. Xisuma's online, though Tango doesn't expect an immediate response.

"How do you feel about some wither grinding?" He types a message to Xisuma, Zedaph attempting to peer over his shoulder.

"Mmm, I don't see why not."

[Tango to Xisuma] Hey, seem to have lost some stars when the server reset

[Tango to Xisuma] might wanna check nothing important got eaten.

"Right, let's go."

-

Keralis hums, staring at the plot he was about to start building on. The area has been a bit... Funny. He'll break and replace a block, only to have it switch again. He might have to work on another area until it sorts itself out. His attempts at working here started after the reload, so he doesn't know if that caused it. He's not been able to spot Xisuma nearby either. He's been online, but Keralis hasn't spotted him in chat for a while.

He sighs as he watches the last blocks he placed switch back as if nothing happened. Crossing his arms, he examines the area. He wonders how big this is. Definitely more than one chunk. His new house is going to have to wait. He was excited to show Xisuma around, too.

With a glance at the sky, he realises it's late afternoon. He yawns, stretching his back out. Perhaps it'll be best to settle in his office and work on some future designs. He'll drop a message in chat first, in case this is affecting anyone else. It might give him an excuse to hunt down Shishwamy. He always feels guilty bothering him about things. Their admin takes far too much responsibility on his shoulders. They’re all adults. Keralis wishes he’d ask for help sometimes.

-

[Keralis1] Has anyone else been having glitchy blocks?

[iskall85] some of my redstone is broken but it's no biggie

[Tango] lost some of my nether stars with the reload but it's been fine since.

[FalseSymmetry] been placing glass without any problems since the reset

[MumboJumbo] I haven't had any problems either.

[Keralis1] A bunch of chunks around our bases are glitching

[Keralis1] but it seems like Shishwamy is busy :(

[Grian] well it looks like he just went afk

[iskall85] that answers that lol

-

His mind is becoming blurry. It's hard to focus on... Anything. He can't tell if it's because he's struggling to breathe, or something further, tugging him down and away. He tries to fight against it but there's nothing he can do to stay present. He can't hear anything, barely even his shallow breaths. He can only feel the consistent pressure on every inch of his body, the wet tears on his cheeks. He tries pulling on every one of his senses, but nothing comes up.

He slips under.

-

False empties the last of this glass stack, stepping back at a job well done. She smiles, rubbing her aching hands. It's nice to finally work on this part of her base. Even better now it's not going to pick itself up. At least she hopes so. She'll be right annoyed if it happens again. Something's been tingling at the back of her head, though. She wonders if it's because of the reset.

She looks up at the late afternoon sky. That's enough work for today. As she stretches, she can feel each and every ache in her body. She brushes away her hair, already falling loose. Maybe she'll have something nice for dinner. Some steak, potatoes and pumpkin pie. If she has pumpkin, of course. Xisuma was planning to build a pumpkin farm, wasn't he? His traditional pumpkin and melon combination. She chuckles to herself as she pulls out her rockets.

No matter how things change from season to season, there will always be things that don't. Hermits might come and go, but they'll always be her family.

She launches up, shooting through the water barrier. It's fast enough it doesn't stick. She lands gracefully, making her way to the kitchen. She hopes this nudging in her head doesn't get worse. She just wants to enjoy a nice meal. That's all.

-

"Well, I think we have a plan," Grian declares, grinning from his perch. His legs are crossed, hands resting in his lap.

"I mean, we didn't exactly need a plan to fix our redstone," Mumbo replies, slouched in his chair the way he only ever does in front of them. Iskall chuckles, resting his hands behind his head. They've really helped take his mind off the broken redstone. Mumbo had a similar problem, so tomorrow they'll meet up again and attempt some fixes.

"Always helps," Iskall says, shrugging. "Especially when one of us spends so much time in the Nether depths, now." Grian laughs, his legs kicking.

"Hey, I'm doing good work out there!" Mumbo yawns, looking between them.

"Well I don't know about you two, but I'm exhausted."

"Food then sleep?" Grian suggests. Iskall nods. It's been a long day.

-

It's dark as Zedaph and Tango return from The End. Zedaph yawns, running a hand through his hair, messing it up. Tango rubs the side of his own hair. Something's been bothering him, but he can't tell what. Like there's something just not... Right. Zedaph is chatting beside him, a bounce in his step. It's like he doesn't feel it at all.

"Do you want to have dinner together?" Zed asks, twirling his sword by his side. They've repaired their tools, done everything properly. It's been a hard day's work, but they've achieved a lot, even with the setback.

"Yeah, dinner sounds good." He looks at the night sky, squinting his eyes. Zedaph tilts his head at him. The purple eyes are concerned, particles floating up in his worry.

"Tango, are you okay? You seem... Off." Tango sighs, waving Zedaph's worry away.

"Something's nagging me. It's not a big deal." Zedaph's still frowning, but the particles die down.

"Let's just get you something to eat, yeah?" Tango nods, leaning into Zedaph when he squeezes his shoulder.

"Sounds good to me."

-

Keralis watches the night sky overhead. He's sat in the doorway to his office, a blanket around his shoulders. The stars are always a beautiful sight. It's the perfect way to relax after such a, hm, busy day. Not busy in a conventional sense, no, but still busy. His specially commissioned noteblock song plays in the background, a perfect accompaniment in the peaceful night. He thinks it's strange how the stars always seem the same no matter what world they're in. Maybe he should ask Xisuma about it in the future.

He pops up his screens open. Xisuma is still afk. He misses seeing his neighbour out and about. Xisuma often spends time at his farms, it's nothing new. But Keralis enjoys saying hello to him! Especially after missing well... Years of his life. He tries not to think about that.

With a sigh, he lies against the doorway. Time for bed soon. He laughs at the sound of Bubbles' voice in his head. His communicator beeps and he glances over to it.

Huh. That's interesting.

-

Xisuma is thrown into full consciousness. His stomach is still cramping with phantom hunger. He opens his eyes and finds...

Black.

No, no, he died. He died. Why has he respawned here? He chokes on his sob, realising no air is entering his lungs. His cheeks are still wet with tears, more leaking out as he gasps at nothing. His lungs burn, unable to take the shallow breaths he needs to. Would it even help? He wants to curl up, clutch at the growing pain in his chest. But he can't move an inch. Heaviness sinks into his limbs and head.

He wakes again in the same place. He doesn't know if he wants to scream or cry. There's not enough air for him to scream, anyway.

-

[Xisuma starved to death]

[MumboJumbo] X?? mate?

[Tango] X?

[FalseSymmetry] do we need to get your stuff?

[Keralis1] I'm by his base.

[Tango] he's not afk anymore

[Grian] x???????

[iskall85] maybe he's getting his stuff rn

[Keralis1] Shishwammmmyyyyyyy

[MumboJumbo] starving isn't a nice way to go

[Zedaph] It really isn't.

[Xisuma suffocated]

[iskall85] oh no

[FalseSymmetry] x???? im going over

[Keralis1] so am i

[Tango] this isn't right, this really isn't right

[Xisuma suffocated]

[Grian] what's going on???

-

False shimmies back into her elytra, reaching for the one jacket potato that finished cooking. So much for having a sit-down meal. She rubs her head, pushing away the fear that has something to do with this. Her communicator continues beeping as she grabs her rockets. She runs to the entrance, kicking off and launching into the air.

-

"We should go and help," Iskall decides, already picking up his armour.

"Thought you'd never say." Mumbo straps his elytra on, grabbing a spare shulker box and an ender chest. Grian nods with a seriousness that doesn't fit on his face.

"Let's go."

-

"We're going?" Zed asks. He's already stuffing food into his mouth. Tango rubs his temples, nodding. He takes the elytra that's thrusted into his hand.

"Yeah. We're definitely going." He watches the particles floating off Zed in waves, glowing the same purple as his pupils. Tango presses his eyes shut against another spike of pain as their communicators beep. "C'mon."

-

Keralis scrabbles until he balances on the tower roof. He's searched each one and not found X anywhere. Tapping his foot, he meddles with his communicator to turn some settings on. He has no minor admin powers - that he has to leave to False and Tango - but he can at least try this.

"Ah-hah!" He grins as hitboxes light up beneath him, hopefully a better clue where his currently red coloured friend may be. He scans the towers closely, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary. There are a few mobs, especially as night sets in. Then he sees Xisuma's new build.

He has to take a step back at the sight. The chunks look- a mess. The outline of the blocks are overlapped or flickering. It hurts to look at. Blocks aren't meant to highlight like that. He glides across the treetops. It not only covers the area he was trying to work earlier but spreads into Xisuma's current build. Yeah that's- that's bad. That's not good. His communicator has continued to beep with messages as he searched. He goes to read it, and spots different colours in the mess. The red of an eyeline. He stands on his toes, leaning off the leaves. The outline flickers in and out, accompanied by a beep.

He thinks he's found X.

-

[Xisuma suffocated]

[Keralis1] he's in his new build!

[Keralis1] I think I can see him in the ground

[Keralis1] it is very very broken

[FalseSymmetry] tango? you on your way?

[Tango] as we speak

[Tango] been a long time since we've had to use these powers

[FalseSymmetry] not long enough

-

Tango and Zedaph are the first to land by Keralis's side. They kick up loose powder from the road, taking in the massive structure in front of them. Tango's shoulders raise, cringing at the sight.

"That's definitely broken," he agrees, his eyes twisting as they focus.

"And Xisuma's in the middle of it?" Zedaph looks at Keralis. He nods, usually big eyes sharply focused. He points beyond the walls.

"You can just see his name tag. I think the glitched blocks have got him stuck. I tried to build there earlier but nothing would stay." Tango presses his lips together in thought as False lands. They nod to each other in acknowledgement.

"How long does it take until the blocks pop back?"

Keralis hums, tapping his chin before answering, "About ten seconds, I think."

"That's not going to be enough time to reach him," Zed says. "Can't you just teleport him?" He looks at Tango and False. Tango opens his console menu, typing something in. Zed can tell the answer before Tango says it.

"What ideas do we have?" Keralis asks. "We can't just leave him there!"

"Of course not!" Tango replies, sounding shocked at the suggestion. "We just- need a plan." False nods.

"We're not as powerful as X," she explains, "Together we should be able to roll back these chunks but- I have no idea what that would mean for Xisuma. We don't really work with player code." She brushes her hair back. The conversation is paused as the trio of Grian, Iskall and Mumbo land beside them. The three slot in, listening as they're caught up.

"There has to be something that's making him spawn there." Iskall points out, his hand held towards the structure. False searches through the control panel, whilst Keralis and Tango simply examine the messed up blocks.

"He has a bed in there," Tango answers. False taps where Xisuma's spawn is tied to on her screen.

"Since the blocks are glitched, it must mean the bed isn't like... Registering them. Since they don't fully exist." She thinks about it carefully, putting the pieces together as she explains.

"So if we break the bed, he'll respawn at the world spawn?" Grian suggests.

"But how do we get down there?" Mumbo turns to look. It's pretty far down in the ground. They'd have to move quick to get near where Xisuma is.

"There's a few of us." Iskall waves at the gathered group. "I say with enough TNT and manpower, we could do it."

"Wait-" Zedaph holds his hand up, "-Get me close enough and I can teleport in there, get the bed. Less blocks to destroy."

"Zed." Tango turns to him, glaring at the blond. "That's a stupid idea, don't you get how dangerous that is-"

"Xisuma is stuck in a death loop, Tango!" Zed cuts in, raising his voice. The others fall silent, not sure how to handle this exchange. "Sure, I might die a bit! That's nothing compared to what Xisuma's currently experiencing."

"TNT will destroy a fair amount, but it already puts us on a time limit," Grian adds, a sideways agreement.

"I'm willing to do it. Either we reach the bed, or I teleport in." Zed says it with finality. The others don't argue. False checks his spawn point. Zedaph will respawn back in his cave, safe and sound. Even if it goes wrong, it'll be recoverable.

"We need to be ready to roll back the chunks," False says, focusing on Tango. "If I have this headache for much longer I'm going to go insane." Tango smiles tiredly.

"Fine. Let's try this." He shrugs. "I don't think we have a better idea."

"Well, come on! Let's go!" Keralis claps, placing an ender chest. Tango sighs, typing in a command.

"I think I'm allowed this time," he says, a stack of TNT appearing in his hand.

"And other times?" Grian asks. Even through the teasing, they can hear the fear in his voice.

"Don't push it."

-

There's noises. He blinks his eyes open into the unending darkness. He tries to focus past his burning chest and the weight of his body. There's... Definitely noises up above him. It sounds like explosions. The space he's stuck in shakes slightly. After another lapse, he gasps back to life in the same position. He wants to scream, tell somebody he's down here. This opportunity might not come again.

Then he feels a sharp stab of pain. Something is there, near him. Everything hurts and he still can't breathe. For a moment, he thinks he hears the trill of an Enderman. His tired mind can't figure out how as he runs out of air.

He wakes up to a chill. He slightly opens his eyes, spotting yellow sand as he falls, blacking out.

-

[Xisuma suffocated]

[Zedaph suffocated]

[Grian] have we done it?

[Keralis1] he's at worldspawn! got him!

[iskall85] YES!!!

[Zedaph] Oh thank goodness I don't want to do that again

[World reloaded]

[Tango] Z, you okay?

[Zedaph] I'm good. Bring my stuff? I'm going to worldspawn

[FalseSymmetry] will do

-

"Keralis!" Zedaph's elytra beats as he lands, feet digging into the sand. "Is he okay?" Keralis nods. Xisuma's head is resting in his lap. The admin's eyes are closed as he breathes slowly. His expression is relaxed. It's a good sight to see. The spawn island is lit up well, but Keralis keeps his eye on the surrounding oceans.

"He's sleeping," Keralis says, messing with strands of brown hair. "I don't think I'm strong enough to move him on my own." Zedaph drops onto the sand next to them, crossing his legs. There are still bright particles floating off him, his eyes fully purple. "What about you, Zee?" Zedaph seems to notice Keralis's focus, ducking away to hide his eyes.

"Um, not the best. That kind of sucked. But, it worked, and that's what matters!"

"Make sure you look after yourself, too," Keralis tells him. "Fighting the server's code isn't easy." Zedaph laughs, resting on his hands.

"Can say that again. Forgot we have anti-enderman griefing." Keralis cringes, realising why Zed looks so much like he might collapse. It'll pass, but it's never fun to go against programming like that. The architech trio arrives next. All of them look relieved to see the three on the island.

"Oh, Zedaph, I have your stuff." Mumbo starts emptying it out, the few things Zedaph couldn't fit in an ender chest. Zedaph smiles, tugging his helmet on and feeling a lot more comfortable. He tries not to meet anybody's eyes.

"Tango and False will be on their way. They're just checking everything's good," Grian tells them, hands moving quickly as he talks.

"Should we try moving X somewhere safer?" Iskall suggests. "The shopping district isn't that far."

"If you're willing to boat him." Keralis is firm. "I don't want him dropped in the ocean."

"I swear nothing will happen to him under our watch." Grian puts his hand on his heart. Iskall and Mumbo nod in agreement.

"It'll be the safest boat journey on the server." Iskall's hands are on his hips. Keralis tilts his head up.

"Look into my eyes and nothing but my eyes, if anything happens to my Shishwamy, I will not hold back." The architechs look suitably threatened.

"Can I boat with someone?" Zedaph asks. "I nearly crashed so many times flying over here."

"Hop in the back of mine!" Iskall calls, placing one in the water. Grian plucks Xisuma into his arms, carrying him to the edge of the water. He sets the admin in the boat before climbing in himself. Keralis checks him over before nodding and allowing Grian to keep him.

"I've told the others to meet us there," Mumbo says. "I'm going to fly across and see where's best to bunker down. I think we could all use some sleep."

Zedaph looks at the moon hanging overhead, "Yeah, I think we could."

-

[MumboJumbo] we're heading to the shopping district.

[FalseSymmetry] thats a good plan

[MumboJumbo] any idea who's shop we could stay in?

[FalseSymmetry] my dimension shop is pretty empty

[FalseSymmetry] plenty of room for some beds. pretty warm.

[Tango] we'll get it set up for you

[MumboJumbo] ok. ill protect the others

[Keralis1] so will I.

-

The first thing Xisuma picks up on is the talking. He stays still, trying to tell if his brain is playing tricks on him after so long in the nothing. His body is like a rock. He's barely able to move. His lungs still ache and it takes some conscious effort to continue breathing. He blinks his eyes open, wincing at bright lights. Light. There's light. He rolls forward, a sob leaving his lips before he can catch it.

"Xisuma, hey, hey." The voice is soft, casting a shadow over him. Xisuma forces his eyes open now the worst of the brightness is blocked out. Keralis is crouching in front of the bed. His fingers gently brush across Xisuma's cheek. For once, Xisuma doesn't feel the dried tears that had become his constant. "You're okay, you're safe. We got you." Xisuma takes a shaking breath in, squeezing his arms to feel the pressure of his own touch.

"Do you want your helmet?" He flits to look at False. The mere sight of his helmet is overwhelming. He reaches out and wraps it close to his chest. Keralis laughs gently, scratching through Xisuma's hair. The admin sighs, his eyes slipping closed once more.

"There you go." He can hear the smile in Keralis's voice. "We've got you, right here." The sound of movement. Cracking his eyes open reveals False sitting in front of the bed, weaving her hand into Xisuma's. He squeezes it gently.

"You're in my shop, in the shopping district," she tells him. "It's past midnight. You're completely safe here. We've got things sorted, there's nothing you need to worry about." A tear slips from his eye. Keralis wipes it away.

"What happened?" He can't make his voice louder than a whisper, and even that hurts.

"Something went wrong with the world reload," False tells him. He can trust her not to sugarcoat things. "We all had a few bugs, but the chunks around you glitched out badly. Created a bunch of like... Invisible blocks, but they were visible, if you get what I mean? They weren't fully there. Ugh, Tango's better at all this technical stuff." Xisuma tries to peer around for him, but the light still hurts if he looks for too long.

"You were stuck in a bunch of them," Keralis finishes. "We didn't realise until you starved and got stuck in a death loop. I'm really sorry, Xisuma."

"We broke your bed to get you out. Well, Zedaph did. The others got him close enough then Tango and I fixed the area. It's all sorted." Xisuma forces his sluggish brain to put the pieces together. He didn't dream up that enderman sound. That was-

"He's over there, sleeping. Tango's with him." Keralis points at a bed nearby. Tango's back blocks any sight of their part Ender friend, but Xisuma can see purple particles floating into the air. A concerning amount of them.

"What did Zed do?" He asks, the vice around his lungs tightening in concern.

"Um," Keralis answers, False looking at him. "He mentioned fighting the anti-enderman griefing code? So I think he picked the bed up." Xisuma's stomach drops. He tries to push himself up but collapses onto his back again.

"Hey, X, careful," False warns. Her voice is stern but Xisuma shakes his head.

"No- I-" He shuts his eyes, fighting off disorientation. "The server's going to keep fighting him. I've got to reset it." False helps him sit up, but she still watches him with concern. He picks up his helmet, pulling it on and relaxing slightly as all the displays flicker to life. Now when he looks at Zedaph he can see the extent of the damage. His very code seems to be fighting itself. "Help me up?"

False gets an arm around his chest. He ends up leaning his weight against her to stand, his legs shaking. She's firm, grip only tightening to accommodate his need. Keralis hovers nearby, ready to jump in if he has to. They take slow steps across the room. Xisuma strains to see under the light, but the tint of his helmet helps. He can see the architechs sat nearby, watching without any attempt at discretion.

Tango looks up as they approach. Xisuma can see the resignation on his face.

"This isn't going to fix itself, is it?" He asks. His hand in clasped tightly in Zedaph's, whose usually bright expression is twisted in pain. His skin is all too pale, black freckles spreading into larger patches across his face. He doesn't open his eyes, not even as Tango moves so Xisuma can sit down. The grip on each other's hand remains tight.

"I need to reset the code that's attacking him," Xisuma explains. His words have a tired slur he can't quite hide. "I'm gonna write an exception, I can't believe I haven't already just- not right now. Don't wanna do it wrong."

"Xisuma, it's okay." Tango smiles, pinched but genuine. "I'm sorry you need to do this." Xisuma shakes his head.

"It's nobody's fault," False says, "Do what you need to do, X. Then you're going back to bed." Keralis hums in agreement. Xisuma laughs softly as the command screens in his helmet boot up.

He zones out the others around him, leaning on Keralis's shoulder when his friend perches beside him. He scrolls through information as he brings up Zedaph's data on one screen. With one eye on it, he unlocks the data packs, searching through them. He gives voice instructions with his microphone muted to the outside world. Finding the pack he needs, he disables it and checks Zedaph's data. It looks like his code is straightening out again. Thank goodness. He makes sure all activity is deactivated before he turns the pack back on.

"That should do it," he mumbles, before realising his microphone is still off. He reactivates it before repeating himself.

"Maybe you should teach us a bit more sometime," False squeezes his shoulder, helping him up. Xisuma slings his arm over False with a nod. That would be good.

"Thank you, X." Tango smiles. He rubs his thumb across Zedaph's hand. The ender hybrid has relaxed, face slack. It looks like he's properly sleeping now. Xisuma can finally rest.

"Come on. Don't you fall asleep here, I don't want to carry you across." Xisuma hums, too tired to commit to any words. Before he knows it, he's sitting down on the comfortable bed again.

"Shishwam, lemme get your helmet." Xisuma nods, tilting his head up so Keralis can unlatch it and bring it off. His head rolls onto his shoulder the moment it's gone. Keralis giggles, ruffling his hair. "Come on, sleepy time." False lies him down, his helmet tucked safely in his arms. Keralis's hand slips into his. Xisuma shuts his eyes, before blinking them open again.

"Stay?" He asks, too tired to worry about being needy. He doesn't want to be alone in that darkness again.

"Of course," False replies.

"We're not going anywhere," Keralis adds. Xisuma smiles at them both, eyes slipping closed. The darkness is manageable with his friends by his side.

-

"Don't you dare wake them up," False hisses, watching as Grian and Iskall play with redstone. The morning sun is beginning to shine through the cracks in the windows. She's exhausted, having only caught a quick nap. Keralis is asleep next to Xisuma, sitting on the floor with his head resting on the bed. Tango's slid into bed beside Zedaph, holding him close to his chest. Mumbo's dead to the world across the room.

"We won't!" Grian calls, trying to figure out the game he could make out of this mechanic. Iskall has a Statues book open, an armour stand sat in front of a piston.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if the two people who have done this with armour stands were helping," Iskall points out, flicking through the pages.

"We're fine, it's part of the adventure!" Grian watches as the piston shoots the armour stand across the room. False smiles, leaning back against the bed. Some of the other hermits have been coming online with the early morning. Thankfully, they don't seem to know about everything that went down yesterday. It's best things are quiet for Xisuma whilst he rests. She's sure he’ll tell them about it. She'll make sure he does.

As the sun grows higher with the dawn, she dozes off again. Grian is yawning, him and Iskall only catching a few hours of sleep. He's still buzzing with activity. He'll crash later, easy enough.

It's to this quiet atmosphere that Xisuma wakes up. Iskall and Grian are still experimenting. Grian’s laughter rings out as the armour stand bounces in the air. The beat of the piston is monotonous, but they're nearly falling over each other at the sight. Xisuma watches with a soft smile, eyes barely opened.

"It we got one on top, do you think it would-" Grian holds his hand up, demonstrating an armour stand shaking up and down aggressively. Iskall chuckles, shaking his head.

"It's only the morning, we don't need to break physics yet."

"It's for science," Grian protests. He sounds breathless, half-delirious with his need for sleep.

"Please don't make me do work," Xisuma whispers, all too aware of the sleeping hermits around him. Grian perks up, Iskall turning to him with a grin.

"'Suma!" Iskall calls. Xisuma smiles at both of them, making no attempt to move. He's comfortable here and he doesn't want to wake his friends.

"Exy-Suma!" Grian slides across, leaving a gap from the sleeping hermits. Iskall stands by his side, resting his hand on Grian's shoulder. "How are you feeling?" Xisuma wraps his arm tighter around his helmet.

"Not the best, my friend," he answers honestly. "But I'm certainly better than before."

"Well, we'll just have to make that even better then." Grian is committed to the cause now. He's going to make Xisuma's day.

"You don't have to rush back into things," Iskall says, offering a smile. "I'm sure we can handle ourselves today."

"I don't think I'm getting out of this bed anytime soon." Xisuma looks down at Keralis, dark hair brushing Xisuma's chest plate. False is asleep slouched in the chair beside him. Even without being able to see the other occupants of the room, he can still tell they're sleeping. "Feels a bit weird not going for a jog at this time, though."

"I'm sure your legs won't wither away after one morning, X," Iskall jokes. "Be lazy like the rest of us." Grian grins.

"We could always play some mini-games later, too!" Xisuma laughs, stretching as much as he can without shifting Keralis. He's beginning to regret sleeping in his armour, but it's too late now.

The three chat with each other, Xisuma offering advice now he's awake. They're gradually building up a system to launch the armour stand across the room. Sure, they'll have to clean it all up later, but it passes the time and it makes them laugh. Hearing Xisuma laughing is good for all three of them, despite the roughness reminding them of last night's ordeal. It's safe to say that nobody envies Xisuma's experience.

The three jump at a strange, shrill noise, until the realisation kicks in. Zed is sitting up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Hair is falling into his face, ruffled from sleep. Tango remains slumped against him. He even rolls into the warmth Zedaph leaves behind. It takes a few seconds until the hybrid notices his audience. Zedaph jumps, smiling sheepishly.

"Oh, hi, sorry! Forgot I wasn't alone." His eyes are glowing brightly in the morning light. He looks down at the arm lazily clinging to his waist. "This oaf is used to it."

"No, no, you're okay," Xisuma tells him. False is stirring beside him, blinking to life, but Keralis remains out. "How are you feeling?" Zedaph taps his chin, resting his finger on his lip.

"Pretty well-rested, actually." Then his attention turns to Xisuma. "What about you? I should be asking you that question!" Xisuma laughs, flexing his fingers against his helmet.

"I'm okay. Taking it easy." He tilts his head towards Grian and Iskall. "Whether I like it or not, it seems."

"Too right," False agrees, yawning. "T'others can handle admin duties for today. You're ours."

"Is that a threat?"

"We can make it one!" Iskall tells him, his voice a lot more cheerful than the implication of his words. "We just need a good leash-"

"Oh absolutely not! Don't you dare!" Keralis pokes his head up next to him, trying to tune into the conversation. Zedaph laughs from across the room. He's tugging a bleary Tango to rest on his shoulder so he can wrap the blanket around them both.

"Oh come on, X, it'll be fun!" Grian wraps his arms around Iskall's shoulders. Xisuma shakes his head.

"You two are terrible. Absolutely terrible. Goodness me."

"I'm sure X will agree to take a day off willingly," False says, sounding far too threatening as she rubs sleep from her eyes.

"I already agreed. No leash required!"

"Why are we talking about leashes?" Keralis finally asks, looking more confused than anything. They break down into laughter.

-

[Grian] hello everyone

[iskall85] HALLO!

[iskall85] we are stealing your admin for the day!

[Grian] yeah he's ours.

[falsesymmetry] x had a rough night so he's having a day off

[falsesymmetry] so if any admins besides tango, x and i could step up please?

[cubfan135] yeah I'm on it.

[joehillssays] of course, and send our well wishes to our dear admin!

[Xisuma] your dear admin thanks you :-)

[Xisuma] please try not to break anything

[Etho] have a fun day lol

[joehillssays] don't make us lock you out of your screens, x!

[Keralis1] Nothing will get past us.

[iskall85] he's been suitably threatened.

[Renthedog] Should uh... We be concerned?

[Grian] about x-i-sooma finally getting a break?

[falsesymmetry] he's in safe hands. promise.

-

"Should we get this day started?" Tango asks. Grian is about to answer, only to yawn. He covers his mouth, face turning red.

"Another hour of sleep first?" False suggests. They look around the room, everyone in varying states of awareness.

"It never hurt anyone." Iskall shoves Mumbo over, fitting into bed beside him. "See y'all in an hour." Keralis smiles at Xisuma. He bumps their heads together.

"You deserve a break without being traumatised first, you know that Shishwamy?" He checks. Xisuma laughs, pressing their foreheads together.

"Yeah, I know." He leans back. "And I think I've got some good friends to remind me." False pats his back, getting comfortable enough to doze off again.

"And don't you forget it." Xisuma looks around the room. The architechs are fighting over the bed, Tango and Zedaph curled back up on theirs. He smiles, the fear from last night already on its way to being a distant memory.

"Don't think I can."

[quirklessthot]

request: smut with creepy stalker!momo? please 😭✋

warnings: 18+, stalking, non-con, yandere

➤ When you get the job offer to work at the Creati’s hero agency, you nearly pass out. It was a rigorous interview process and you managed to beat out hundreds of other applicants to become the personal assistant of Japan’s number eight hero

➤ I don’t see Momo as the “follow you around, break into your home” type of stalker. Why would she do all that dirty work when she has the funds and connections to keep track of your every move from the comfort of her home?

➤ She would have files with every bit of information she can find on you. Your birthday, birthplace, address, parents’ names, pets, favourite food, phobias...

➤ There’s nothing that Momo doesn’t know about you

➤ And that makes it so easy to befriend you. She already knows all of your likes and dislikes. She already knows you. It’s like you two are practically dating already! Especially since she was so generous to give you such a coveted position

➤ What, you thought you got the job because of your resume and references? Ha! You’re there because Momo wants you there

➤ You spend a lot of time together, and not just as boss and employee. You try your best to keep things professional – you don’t want to lose this job after all – but Momo is adamant on making your relationship more intimate than it’s supposed to be

➤ Months pass and Momo becomes more and more agitated. Why are you so unreceptive to her flirtations?

➤ Every compliment she gives, you shoot down with a polite rebuff. She tries to get physically close to you, but you insist on a distance of at least two feet between you. Even the gifts she tries to give you are turned down

➤ Apparently a diamond bracelet and a Chanel handbag for your two-month anniversary are ‘too extravagant’ for a lowly assistant

➤ But to Momo, nothing is too grand or expensive for her darling; she would give you the world on a silver platter if you asked for it

➤ At least you’re amicable to going out on dates with her. You call them ‘errands’ but she knows better, and soon, you will too

---

“Miss Yaoyorozu, there’s an urgent--”

“We’ve gone over this already,” Momo sighs from behind her desk. “I told you to call me Momo.”

You hesitate in the doorway of her office, clutching the files for her latest hero analysis close to your chest. “I don’t think that’s very appropriate, ma’am…”

“Oh! Or Yaomomo,” she continues, as if you hadn’t spoken. “My friends back in high school used to call me that.”

You’re powerless against the bright smile she sends your way and you give in, compromising on calling her by her first name when only no one else is around.

Momo would prefer you do it especially in front of others, but the relationship is still fairly new, and you do seem to be the shy type, so she lets it slide for now.

You continue you work, blissfully unaware of the looks of longing (tinged with possessiveness) that your boss sends you throughout the day. The following morning, as you’re heading out with Momo to get the busy day started, she instead has you drop her home to pick up something very important that she needs.

“A quick in and out, I promise!”

Which is why you’re so confused when she walks into her kitchen and turns the stove on under a stainless-steel kettle.

“Momo?”

She is elated that you call her by her first time without her having to prompt or correct you. She smiles and hums in acknowledgment as she goes around her kitchen to collect a platter of snacks and teabags big enough for a tea party.

You check your phone for the time. “I thought you said this wouldn’t take long. You have a meeting at eleven-thirty and a photoshoot with Hero Weekly magazine later this afternoon.” We don’t have time for this, you want to add but hold your tongue. Creati might be friendly to a concerning degree but she’s still your boss.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Momo laughs, pulling out two dainty teacups and setting them down on the counter where you’re seated. “We’ve got plenty of time for that.”

Right.

As Momo gets the tea together, you take the time to look around. “You have a lovely home, by the way.”

Lovely doesn’t begin to describe it. The enormous space is elegant and classy – much like its owner. Top hero rankings really do pay the bills. You imagine coming from money probably doesn’t hurt either.

“Thank you,” Momo says, handing you a delicate cup on a matching saucer. “I’m glad you like it.”

You nod in thanks and take a sip of the piping hot black liquid. It’s delicious and obviously high-quality. But you can’t help but notice the odd aftertaste - an almost bitter undercurrent that has you pausing for just a second. But not wanting to seem rude, you ignore it, silently finishing your cup while Momo slowly sips her own tea, looking on with a hidden smile.

It doesn’t take long for you to start feeling unusually drowsy. The room starts to spin as your vision blurs around the edges. You attempt to speak but your tongue feels like lead in your mouth, heavy and unwilling to from words so that anything that comes out is stilted and slurred.

“Oh dear, I think I made the dose too high,” you hear Momo mumble worriedly to herself.

You want to ask her what she means but it’s taking all of your energy just to stay awake. You allow her to sling a lifeless arm over her shoulders and drag you deeper into the house, into what you assume is her bedroom and onto what you assume is her bed.

“So beautiful…” she murmurs, using the back of her hand to gently stroke your cheek, nothing but adoration in her gaze. She leans down to place a gentle kiss to your lips and the unexpected action has you tensing up – as much as your body would allow, anyway.

Confusion mars her perfect features when you try to turn your head away and begin grumbling incoherently in protest.

“You’re not into…? But you had a girlfriend in your second year of college. You two only just recently broke up.”

Your brows furrow. How the hell does she know that…?

You attempt to voice that concern aloud but whatever was put in your tea has you fighting to stay conscious, until you finally succumb. The last thing you hear is Momo wishing you sweet dreams.

You come to sometime later, groggy and dazed, with a slight pain thumping at your temples. You groan and move to rub the sleep out of your eyes, but your hand is caught fast. Your eyes flick up from the padded cuff circling your wrist, up the gleaming metal chain to where it’s attached to the headboard; your other wrist is secured just as tightly.

Just as you start to panic, the door opens and in steps Momo. She’s out of her hero costume and in an oversized white sweater and black leggings.

“Miss Yaoyorozu!” you shout, nearly hysterical. “W-what’s going on? Why am I tied up?!”

Momo tuts, a small frown tugging at her lips. “Momo, dear,” she corrects gently.

Your boss’ behaviour has you baffled and a little apprehensive. Why is she acting as though having her personal assistant tied up in her bed is completely normal? Momo moves over to you, fluffing up the pillow your head is resting on, and asks if you’re comfortable.

You begin to tremble. “Miss Yao--”

A hand is on your jaw, squeezing tight enough to effectively shut you up.

“If you don’t stop calling me that I’m going to have to punish you.”

Momo leans over you, uncomfortably close as she keeps your face in a vice-like grip, perfectly manicured nails digging into the skin of your cheeks. Her tone is soft but strict, like a parent berating their child.

“Do you understand?”

Timidly, you nod your head.

Satisfied with your compliance, Momo lets go of your jaw to softly rub a thumb along the irritated skin. “I’m sorry, love. I hate being so rough with you. But we’ve got to nip those nasty little habits in the bud.”

“M-Momo?” You hate how shaky and small your voice is, but you continue when she hums in question. “What’s going on? I don’t… I don’t understand.”

She tilts her head to the side. “What’s not to understand?”

She can’t be serious can she? You swallow past the rising ball of panic in your throat. “I want to go home.”

“You’re already home, love,” she says with a chuckle. As if it’s the most well-known thing in the world and you’re being silly.

You immediately switch to another tactic. You’re going to have to play along if you want any chance of escape. “O-of course. Um, could you untie me? It’s a little uncomfortable,” you say, glancing up to where you’re tied to the headboard. You’ve never had any kind of combat training but maybe you can find a way to trick or overpower her once your hands are free. Going up against a Pro Hero is the last thing you want to do but you have to at least try.

Momo’s answer is swift and simple. “No.”

“No?” you repeat dumbly.

“You must really think I’m stupid,” she says with a laugh, high and bell-like.  “Oh, my silly little baby, do you really think you have a chance of fighting me? You’re not going anywhere, and you can’t escape. So you’d might as well get that thought out of your empty little head.”

The patronizing quality of her jab leaves you feeling utterly defeated and you sag in your bonds.

“Don’t pout, beautiful. I’ll make it all better,” she says, hand pressing into your stomach as she moves onto the bed to hover above you. She leans down and plants an unsuspecting kiss onto your lips. You try desperately to pull away, but your efforts go completely ignored as she deepens the kiss, running her tongue along the seam of your tightly closed lips.

The hand on your stomach slips upwards to cover one of your breasts. She gives it a squeeze, trapping your nipple between her fingers. The action has you squirming, and you let out an involuntary moan.

“Good girl,” Momo purrs against your lips.

“Get off,” you respond in protest. “Get off of me!”

“Behave,” she scolds, sliding her hands down your body until she has a strong grip on your hips. She plays with the hem of the large cotton t-shirt you’re wearing – definitely not the suit you put on this morning; she must have changed you while you were knocked out. With dread, you also realize that you’re not wearing any underwear.

Momo lifts up the only piece of clothing you have on and tucks in under your chin, allowing her eyes to freely roam the expanse of your naked body. “You’re perfect,” she breathes out, reverent. “I’ve wanted you the moment I laid eyes on you, you know.”

A finger glides up the curve of your breast to circle your nipple, stroking over the quickly hardening peak. Your teeth clamp down on your bottom lip, desperate to not let any noises slip out. But you can’t hold back the squeak when you feel her warm, wet mouth descend on your breast. You squirm at the way her tongue flicks over your nipple and her teeth

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, she slips a hand down to rest against your mound. Those graceful fingers slide down to pet against the lips of your cunt, slipping down even further to play with your hole.

She toys with you for a while, mouth firmly attached to your breast, sucking on your nipple until you can’t hold back your cries any longer. She slips a finger inside of you, the movement made easy by the copious amounts of slick. Another soon joins, slowly fucking you in a way that has your toes curling. The wet squelching sound is piercing in the otherwise quiet room; you ball your fists and shut your eyes tight, embarrassed by the way your traitorous body is responding.

You almost scream when Momo’s thumb begins to rub firms circles into your sensitive clit and within seconds you’re cumming all over her fingers. She doesn’t stop until you’re close to another orgasm.

“My sweet girl, you did so well,” she praises, slipping her fingers out of you.

You just lay there, panting and trying to come to terms with the fact that your boss just gave you one of the best orgasms of your life.

She holds up her fingers, the slim digits are covered in your slick. The embarrassment from witnessing how much you enjoyed that makes you want to crawl into a hole. But Momo shows no such reservations and pops them into her mouth, eyes closing and moaning as though she’s tasting the sweetest honey.

“If I had known you tasted this good I would have done this a long time ago,” Momo chuckles. “Good enough to eat.”

The hungry glint in her eyes has you quickly clamping your thighs together but it’s embarrassingly easy for her to pry them apart, holding you open and spread out in the most intimate of ways.

Despite the horror you’re feeling, you can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of Momo getting comfortable on her stomach and leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your mound. She starts with kitten licks against your folds that that have unwanted excitement pooling in your belly, before licking a broad stripe from your wet, twitching hole to your clit. Her lips close over the little nub, taking it into her to suckle and lave with attention. You moan and buck your hips up into her mouth, desperate to feel more of her tongue.

She lets go of your clit to close her mouth of you entirely, tongue wriggling inside, your walls immediately clench down on the slippery intrusion. You keen, back arching as your pussy releases a wave of slick, which Momo is more than happy to lap up, moaning hungrily. With the amount of noise she’s making, you’d think she’s the one being pleasured. She hums and sighs as she works you over, obvious in her enjoyment of eating you out.

Your body tenses and you throw your head back with a scream. You can’t stop yourself from cumming a second time – this one just as intense as the last.

Before you know it, Momo is undressed and shuffling until she’s kneeling directly over you. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what she wants to do.

“It’s only fair, right?” she asks, thighs straddling your head. She doesn’t give you time to respond before she’s lowering herself down onto your face. “Don’t disappoint me, ok?”

Her tone is sweet enough, but the threat is clear.

Without much of a choice, you stick your tongue out and begin lapping at her pussy. She’s already soaking wet, worked up from giving you pleasure. You use every trick you knew to get her off as quickly as possible. Luckily, it doesn’t take long.

“Oh, god! Yes!” she’s soon crying out, writhing on your tongue. “Please, baby. Please make me cum! Make me -ah!”

Momo grinds down harder and her pace picks up until she suddenly stops, hips giving short jerks as she whines and lets out a satisfied little sigh. She pulls away, shuffling down your body until she can lie down beside you to hug you close.

“You did wonderful, darling,” she praises, still slightly out of breath.

You say nothing but Momo is having none of that. She taps a finger against your slick-covered lips. “What do we say when someone compliments you, sweetie?”

You try to blink back tears. You’re really not getting out of here are you?

“Thank you,” you reply obediently.

[jbbarnesnnoble]

Hazy Horizons (Part Five)

Summary: In the wake of their lives being turned upside down and losing their son, Andy and Laurie Barber move to Maine, in search of starting over and starting a new family, by any means necessary

Features/Warnings: Dark!Fic; Dubcon/Noncon; Drugging; Manipulation; Smut; Breeding Kink; mentions of Lacatation Kink; Pregnancy Kink; Gaslighting

Series Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon; Manipulation; Breeding Kink; Drugging; Gaslighting

Pairing: Dark!Andy Barber/Reader/Dark!Laurie Barber

Notes: A glimpse into the thoughts of Laurie and Andy, two weeks after the doctor’s appointment

Another short part, think of it more as an interlude. I usually aim for 2k but fell short this time around. We get a glimpse into the thoughts of Laurie and Andy this part. Features some mild smut, nothing too heavy. 

Please note, I likely will not be updating again until the New Year because my dissertation is due at the end of December! 

Please bear in mind that this is/will be a dark fic. You’re responsible for the content you choose to read.

Word Count: 1411

Week Nine - Sunday - March

Laurie woke before you, the sunlight coming through the window, hitting you in a way that made you look angelic. And you were. You were their angel. The missing piece that made their family complete. She could hear Andy down in the kitchen, the bedroom door ajar. You were officially at the start of the third month, nine weeks. Three more weeks and you would be able to shout it from the rooftops. The two weeks since the appointment had been spent getting you to relax, a job Laurie took seriously. 

You had started acclimating. You didn’t fight them anymore, not too much, anyway. Laurie reveled in your submission. You were more vocal, finally giving in and saying their names in bed. Laurie wasn’t stupid. She knew at some point you would lash out, that you would test the boundaries. Andy knew too, which was why precautionary measures were going to be coming into play. They had laid the groundwork with the name change, with conversations with neighbors. Everyone in town knew you were having their baby, and as far as they knew, it was your choice. 

It was your choice, Laurie thought to herself. At any point before the night they finally had you, you could have rebuked their efforts at pursuing you. She knew you had to feel it too, the chemistry. You were too shy to make a move, so they did it for you. 

Her hand found its way to your exposed tummy, gently rubbing circles with her thumb. Soon enough your bump would show. She could swear she could see the hint of it starting. Your breasts were tender, leading her and Andy to be more gentle with them. Laurie’s own breasts had begun to ache, a sign that their efforts were working. Your morning sickness was still bad, but it was manageable. She ensured your meals were healthy, but knew that Andy would sneak you some candy here and there, or a burger at lunch when she’d be out. She knew fatigue had begun to set in, especially with your complaints over your caffeine intake being reduced. 

You began to stir beside her. A glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand told Laurie it was just past ten thirty in the morning, a late start for her, but worth it if it meant being in bed with you. You blinked as you opened your eyes, before stretching. 

“Morning sleepy,” Laurie said. You mumbled something she couldn’t decipher. She leaned in, placing a soft kiss on your lips. You didn’t return it. Laurie was used to your stubborn nature. Occasionally, you’d return the kiss in the morning, but moments like that were rare. It was one of your last pillars of protest as you came to terms with how your life now was. 

Laurie’s hand brushed against your core, left bare with the absence of panties beneath your nightgown. You gasped at the contact, giving Laurie an opportunity to deepen the kiss. She knew your weaknesses, she knew your body, perhaps even better than you did. She could feel your core dampen as she pressed a finger into you. Your brain may not have been on board but your body most certainly was as you ground down on her hand, trying to increase the friction. 

Laurie pulled away from the kiss, trailing her lips down your neck as she pressed a second finger into you. She heard footsteps in the hallway as Andy walked toward the room. She could hear his intake of breath before the sound of his sweatpants being removed. She pulled her fingers away, drawing a whine from your lips. Shame flooded your face. She could see the conflict written across it.

“My girls are starting on the main course already, hm?” Andy asked from the doorway, his voice thick with arousal as he moved toward the bed. Laurie glanced at him, a smirk on her face. She knew breakfast would go cold, but something told her, her husband wouldn’t mind that. 

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Andy took a deep breath as he took in your relaxed form. He and Laurie had worked you over, making you climax several times before either of them finished once. It was part of their enjoyment, watching you fall apart over and over at their hands. Laurie was preparing a bath for the three of you, breakfast long since forgotten. He didn’t mind, not at all. Especially when he got to start the day off like this. 

He couldn’t help but think of the renovations that were starting on the house, the secret room that was being added so prying little eyes didn’t stumble upon things they weren’t meant to, connected to the master bedroom through a hidden door.  A nanny would be essential by then. They had no intention of stopping you from working, no, you had worked hard to be where you are. But they would have no problem reminding you of your place. With them, beneath them, writhing in pleasure because of them. 

The house was already big, with a huge yard. It was made for a big family, extended or otherwise. You had purchased the smaller side, designed for one or two people. The three of you would stay at the lakehouse for part of the summer. It was close enough that Andy could make the drive in to work if his physical presence was required. It would allow the heavier work to be done on the house. It was still months away, but he couldn’t help the absolute glee he felt at his and Laurie’s plans falling into place so perfectly. 

He had done the research, found you while they were house hunting. It was what drew them to the house. You were perfect for them. You trusted so easily. They adored you from the start. Their angel, their miracle personified, the answer to their prayers after the hellacious hand life had dealt them. 

You shifted beside him, looking at him with an indecipherable look. You caught him off guard when you initiated a kiss. He allowed it, deepening the kiss as he heard Laurie re-enter the room. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what you were doing. It would be a long while before you truly accepted your place, before you truly realized you were exactly where you belonged. But in the moment, he let himself enjoy it. 

“The bath is ready, then I think it’s time for a late breakfast,” Laurie said, a soft smile on her face. You pulled away from Andy and stood, making your way to the bathroom with Andy trailing behind. Laurie helped you into the massive bathtub before joining you, Andy not far behind. He smiled at the scene before him. Once you truly accepted your place, it would be true perfection. 

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After a bath and breakfast, you found yourself staring out a window into the yard. Andy had re-made everything, breakfast having gone cold. As it was, he was clearing the walk from the snow that had fallen overnight. You enjoyed the look of snow, but hated the work that came with shoveling it. Andy had purchased a brand new snowblower before winter started and was making use of it, helping a neighbor with their walk. 

Laurie flitted around the kitchen, preparing hot chocolate. You glanced her way every now and then. You scolded yourself when a smile rose on your lips as you took in the moment, a feeling of warmth overtaking you. It was getting harder to remember that they were the enemy. Harder to remember that they had essentially kidnapped you, that they had forced you to have their child. 

They had mastered the art of manipulation. They had cut off all avenues of escape for you. Hell, they had even gotten to your family. You were well and truly trapped. The easiest routes to escape had long since closed. 

You argued with yourself daily. Was it really so bad? They treated you well. But it wasn’t your choice. It wasn’t. Choice had been stolen from you. It scared you, the fact that you were becoming okay with that. What did it say about you that you were starting to bend to the will of your captors? Your thoughts cycled like that, full of the doubt and anger that had been plaguing you for weeks. You watched as snowflakes danced outside the window, losing yourself in your thoughts all over again. 

[wooorm]

tell us abt the benzen :)c go wild go crazy

Ah, 

well it all started when one day, when Benry was a wittle baby child (age 16) walking home and he spots some cute boy about his age, beyblade in hand and lighter in the other. With Benry watching in amazement as the young arsonist lights that bitch on fire and launches that bitch into a trash can lid. truly a sight to behold, and in that moment benry knew he had to meet this guy, like seriously dudes chaotic energy? off the fucking charts,,  so they get to talking and eventually become best friends :) 

They do normal friend stuff, hanging out, doing dumb shit, holding hands and smooching.. oh.. And they hang out alot, like alot theyre inseparable. Mostly bc Forzen’s home life is absolute dog shit but he has benny to help him through all that,,  all while Benry is indirectly helping Forzen figure himself out- he soon figures out why he feels the discomfort he feels about himself and then it hits forzen- hes transgender (he already figured he was bisexual at this point) Benry even offers to cut Forzen’s hair in a way that he sees fit, and then its a double combo for forzen as he figures out that he most definitely has feelings for his very best friend- 

Now, forzen fucking around and finding out he trans? good- bad part about that is Forzen’s fam isnt really into the trans idea,, so Forzen starts to hang around benry’s house even more than usual even tho benry’s house is p cramp with family-- 

pretty soon, the boy’s are 18 and forzen’s dysphoria only grows and his home life gets worse, and the pressure is on- he doesnt have any good career skills that could make a liveable wage (i mean he did barely pass highschool) and the only viable option he thinks he could make it on is going into the military, ofc benry opposes this... alot,, to where they argue about it furiously,, eventually causing a falling out with the two, to where they dont speak to each for a day. This kills the both of them inside but they both have different ways of dealing with the situation,,

  benry musters up the courage to actually talk to forzen and work things out before forzen heads off, he quickly makes a break for it to forzens house. knocking on the door only to be greeted by one of forzen’s siblings. Benrys heart drops as the words escape that relatives lips, “he already left bud- sorry” benry can hardly hold back the tears as he leaves his former friends house, sweet voice escaping his mouth. Yellow to black. 

Benry never really was the same after that, he seemed less enthusiastic about things he previously enjoyed, even taking that stupid security guard job at that dollar store area 51 knock off,,, 

cut to the res cas

Forzen is assigned to go to black mesa,, realizing that this is the same facillity that his old friend had mentioned before from overhearing his fellow comrades. As soon as he can he guns into black mesa with only one thing on the brain- 

switching over to benry,, the little snoop, no clipping through walls, joining and leaving the science team ever now and again. He eventually finds out that the military is here and what if ya know? what if his friend from the past is here? So he makes it his own personal mission to find Forzen. Just so scared of every dead bootboy body, not knowing if its the one hes looking for.. sometimes mistakenly sweet voicing bodies that very much could be Forzen. With both looking for each other the search is on... 

and then, like a spot light on either one of them they find what theyre looking for, across one of the many sprawling rooms in back mesa of all places, theyre eyes meet-  in an instant their body’s cling to one another as if neither one had felt touch before. There’s only a few ‘i missed you’s before theyre kissing. Forzen holding up benry in his arms tightly, not wanting to let go... After that theyre practically inseparable again, walking around black mesa as if nothings goinging on, catching up and talking. They agree to meet up again later,, but forzen’s got other plans to make that happen sooner,,, he’s even got the plan and dog to do do so-- 

// so i basically hc that forzen only held sunkist hostage so he could trade her for benry and he could look like a hero and possibly start to make up for leaving like he did, but all that is foiled when everyone but benry shows up, and now he has to improvise, thus the “dispel the rumor” bullshit--

after the res cas, benry and forzen make their mutual loving official and move in together like they always wanted to do,, and everything great! 

... 

...

“wait a minute- no you hurt me-” 

and a big argument starts and its bad. Benry is a crying, sweet voicing mess and forzen just wants to run away again. Both gordon and tommy have to intervene and talk both of them down from ‘this isnt going to work out’ 

ofc forzen feels bad for leaving the way he did, at the time it seemed like the best way to leave so he wouldnt feel bad about leaving benry and hoping benry wouldnt be hurt as bad in the long run. Forzen was trapped and needed an escape. He does realize that things could have been handled better and he often beats himself up for hurting benry the way he did and he would do anything for benry to make it up to him. After forzen apologized n shit benry doesnt even think much of it now, hes just glad hes finally with the one he loved all those years ago, and they can actually stay together this time <3

thank you for sitting here and listening to me ramble insanely about to funny men from halflife parody :0)

[doflamingadonquixote]

An Almost Perfect Life 2/?

Summary: You are a young career woman at one of the bank in London and, at the same time, attending a PhD in Statistics. Your life was perfect until your apartment was invaded by two demons.

Pairing: Sebastian Michaelis x Fem!Reader x Claude Faustus

Previous Chap: Page 1

II. Trapped

Sitting at your desk you had your head everywhere except on the study. You knew that you would have to make an exam shortly to continue your studies in Statistics and you had been too late because of work.

"Young lady, do you want a cup of tea?"

You snorted as you watched, from under your hand resting on your forehead, Claude advancing with a teapot, which you didn't even know you had at home, towards you.

“Stop it with this young lady, it's irritating. Also, I asked you not to enter while I'm studying.”

But the demon still advanced undisturbed, placing the cup and pouring the contents inside.

“Claude, right?” you asked, dropping your head on the palm of your hand and watching the dark-haired man bend over near your desk.

He nodded a smirk that you thought you would never see on him.

“I usually appeal to this name. But I can adopt whatever name you want.”

You almost laughed at the cliché that came out of it if only you didn't know you could call him a different way only if you became his contractor.

“Are you really forced to make a contract to have someone's soul?”

The demon seemed to reflect on it as he returned to using his figure to inspire fear, taking the boiling teapot with him. Maybe he was thinking about whether to tell you the truth or not.

“Let's say it's the practice.”

“And what do you gain from being with a person who is not interested?” you snarled, returning your eyes to the book.

You were sure that the demon would go away once ignored, however a black-nailed hand positioned itself right on the page you were concentrating on and when you turned to scream something against it, you found he bent on the knees while the other hand closed around to your cheeks.

His eyes shone with a bright purple, as if a fire burned inside, while his hands were cold as ice.

“Everyone needs something, miss. Something they would give anything for. " He whispered, his face gravitating on hers, not at all disturbed by the little space that divided you. And that took you back to the day they entered your perfect little world.

 That Thursday all three of you were sitting in the living room. The thing had become little more than absurd in the few hours of the morning and you had been forced to pretend badly not to go to work.

“I did what you wanted, what else do you want from me?” you asked, squeezing tightly the glass of water that 'kindly' one of the two had brought you. You hadn't dared touch it for fear there was some drug or worse, poison.

The two men could define themselves very similar in many ways but different in as many.

“I can assure you of my stay motivation, miss.” The one with the fiery red eyes spoke, slightly bending the torso forward, as if trying to get closer to you despite the table that divided you. “As I said, I'm grateful for your care and I'm willing to repay you for whatever you want.”

You blinked, still confused by that speech. “You must have been the wrong person, sir. Maybe some other girl helped you last night...”

The one who hadn’t spoken up to that moment but only observed with disappointment, got up making his companion frown.

“I think it's useless, Michaelis. She has no intention of believing anything.” He snarled, shifting his yellow eyes over your figure, as you shivered into the bones. “I propose to make things easier for everyone.”

The alleged Michaelis raised an eyebrow towards him, shaking his head as if a child had just said bullshit but didn’t object.

Suddenly, the room was plunged into a darkness never seen before. It was as if someone had wrapped all three of you in a large, heavy black blanket but you were still able to see the people around.

Then, that same darkness only gravitated to the man who had risen and thick smoke surrounded him.

You were petrified as his body disappeared beyond the curtain of smoke and your mouth opened and closed several times, unsure of what to say.

Suddenly, something ripped through the smoke and landed right in front of the small table.

You screamed.

A small bat stood with its paws on the surface of the cabinet and looked around bored.

“H-How ... what trick did you use? Where he went?” you asked, pleading with the eyes of the other man who had settled better on the armchair now that the other's presence was absent.

The red eyes that landed on you seemed to vibrate and then a softer color conquered its place while the pupil lengthened like that of a cat.

Your mouth had suddenly dried out and before you could be forced to see anything else you hid your eyes behind the palms of your hands.

“Please, God. I have never prayed you but please, make this all just a dream...” you whispered, trying to close yourself in a ball. “I beseech you, don't let them hurt me...”

A laugh broke the silence that had been created, making you moan.

“Oh, my lady...”

A couple of hands encircled your wrists and although you resisted, they were removed from your face and you didn’t have the courage to close your eyes due to the proximity of the creature.

His fiery eyes surrounded you as if they wanted to drag you away. The lips parted in an unhealthy grin and four pointed canines peeked out.

“Nobody's going to hurt you here ... yet.”

Then, with the chaos that your mind had created and the dizziness that took hold of your limbs, you let the darkness surround you once again. This time without the two disturbing figures who watched you collapse.

“Rest well, miss.”

 “Now, Claude, it is not very polite to grasp Miss (L/N) in this way.”

The hand that had grabbed your face was violently pushed away, clenched in the iron grip of another hand.

“Sebastian, if you are going to attack yourself like angry dogs I have already told you to do it outside my apartment.” you warned them, certain that they would try to fight again just like a few days before. They had already broken a picture that had been given to you for your graduation, you had no intention of making other objects do the same.

At that statement, Sebastian tightened his jaw and took a forced smile beyond his will, releasing his fellow man.

“I was just trying to protect you, miss.”

You smiled sarcastically as you returned your eyes to the book.

“For the umpteenth time, I'm not interested in anything. My life is perfect as it is.” It was the sixth time in four days that you found yourself repeating the same sentence. Those two didn’t seem in the least to give up.

In the last few days they had come out of the house to get food and you wondered if they hadn't had bosses or eaten souls recently. How long would they have been so helpful and accommodating?

They could have claimed your soul at one time or another.

They were demons, dirty creatures from the underworld. There was no reason to connect them with gratitude to someone who had helped them.

You had to find out as much about them as possible, but asking directly would have been of no use. You weren't sure about this either, they could have lied to you and lead you on the wrong path.

Would the Internet help?

“When are you going to let me out?” you asked, pretending disinterest towards the two who looked at each other with grudging glances.

Claude was easily influenced by answering first. “When we are certain that this situation will not go screaming all over London.”

You smiled internally.

So there was something outside in the world that also frightened demons. You should have applied to find ways to get them away from you once and for all.

“For what?” you answered, dropping your back against the back of the chair and passing the pen over your mouth. “Nobody would believe me, anyway.”

Before Claude could answer again, Sebastian took a step forward forcing you to lay your eyes on him.

“It's all for your protection, of course.”

So there was certainly an intelligent one between the two.

“I have a job, demon. I don't make things appear like you do. I need to work.” You retorted it, frowning. “And you'd better return my cell phone.”

Since they told you everything, they also stole your cell phone and never returned it to you. You had to communicate the reason for your absence directly to the bank via the home landline phone but you had no possibility to use it at your convenience because when one of the two demons was absent, the other was always annoyingly around the house.

Claude pulled the cell phone out of his jacket and waved it in front of you, as if to attract your attention.

“She is right, Michaelis. We certainly don't want your dear colleagues to think you're under kidnapping.” And he held it out.

Excited you stretched out your hand to catch it but he pulled it back again. “How do you say?”

You were silent, offended by that stupid and incredible request.

“Thanks.” And you held out your hand categorically before him, blushing with shame and annoyance.

The cell phone was placed in your hand and when you finally managed to slide your finger across the surface you confirmed that it was reality.

On the screen, it was all as it should have been. Nothing had been touched or tampered with and all unread messages had remained untouched.

At least they wasn't intrusive.

When you looked up from the device, the two demons had disappeared leaving you alone in the room.

The phone vibrated in your hand and a familiar number appeared before your eyes. You answered.

“Honey, it’s mom...”

Those words, that voice, filled you with happiness and relief. A tear slipped down your cheek and you bit a finger to avoid sobbing. How much you missed your mother's voice during those terrible days.

“How are you? You haven't answered for days, I thought you were busy and when I called the bank they told me you were sick.”

Swallow, to keep your voice from shaking.

“Yes mom. It's all right, I took a few days to recover.” You answered, getting up from the desk and approaching the window beyond which you could see your neighbors walking home.

“I'm glad my love, your father and I were thinking of spending the week with you...” but then she hurried to add “... or the next one, if you want.”

You opened your mouth to beg her to pass as many times as she wanted, but the feline eyes full of darkness that you felt observing made you desist.

“E-Ehm, I believe that-”

Your wrist was gripped and suddenly raised upwards.

“It will be a pleasure, lady.” Sebastian replied, smiling voluptuously as you glared at him.

There was silence for a brief moment on the other side of the receiver but then your mother's ringing voice returned to fill the room.

“W-Who's talking?”

“Oh, how rude of me. My name is Sebastian Michaelis, I am a dear colleague of your daughter.”

You opened your mouth and without holding it back you let out a scream. “You, bastard! How the hell-”

But before you could go on, your mouth was covered again by one hand, preventing you from adding more.

“Very pleased, Sebastian. (Y / N) never told me about you.” Your mother replied.

Sebastian opened his face in his unmistakable teasing smile and looked at you.

“I would be happy to tell you about our relationship myself.”

With one last strong shot, you freed yourself from his grip even though aware that he had deliberately let you go. You brought the phone back to your ear and went back to the desk.

“Mom?”

“Oh dear, then see you next week. Please don't let that boy run away!” and hung up.

You stammered something on the phone, as if hoping your mother was still there and hadn't said those words.

You had no choice, one of the two demons should have been present in front of your fucking family.

[deejadabbles]

The House of Anubis (Atem x Reader Halloween Special)

Part Two: The Shadows

One //// Two //// Three (coming soon) ///

Summary: The house was large, a manor, really. Imposing, yet striking more aw with every turn of a corner. You had never thought you’d be dragged back into the family business, but your brother needed you, and so too did his latest project. It stood alone among the trees, yet, you never felt alone when inside. Hairs prickle on the back of the neck, shivers run down spines, and hands fidget with every unoccupied moment. And the thing- or rather, person, who simultaneously eases and worsens these feelings? Atem, a man who was just as mercurial as the house itself, all smirks and light comments one moment, then lingering stares and strange musings the next. So the real question remains, will you uncover the secrets both the man and the manor are harboring?(A Halloween mini-series inspired by the show ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ and the movie 'The Frighteners’. The Reader x Atem themes are, admittedly, light as this mostly focuses on a spooky haunted house story, but the romantic undertones are there. Gender-neutral reader.)

A.N. HAHA look at me, actually getting this chapter done just in time to end Halloween on a good note! I can't believe I did it, but I'm proud of myself. We still have a chapter (maybe even two depending on how the ending goes) until we get to the end of the miniseries, but I hope this is creepy enough to spice up your Halloween! I also hope everyone had a good holiday in general, whether you stayed in watching movies, dressed up with a friend/loved one, or actually managed to get some treats! Also @ohyema and @itachified figured I’d tag you so you wouldn’t miss this <3

Happy Halloween!

You swiped at your forehead yet again, clearing off more sweat gathering there. Why exactly had you picked the last hot day of the season to do this?

Oh well, at least it was done now, you told yourself as you leaned back, stretching your muscles and looking over the work. It was only a temporary ramp, laid over the crumbling front steps, but it would serve its use: helping your brother get inside so you could both be in the house even before he was recovered. Just because he couldn’t lift anything didn’t mean he couldn’t help.

After weight testing the ramp to your satisfaction, you tucked the few tools you dug out for the job back into your belt. However, before heading into the house, you took a moment of respite, wandering over to the small wicker table that would likely need to be repaired or thrown out. You were surprised and lucky to find that the local gas station actually sold your favorite drink and took a long swig of it after sitting down in the equally disheveled wicker chair. With a long exhale you scanned the grounds around you, the forest, the forgotten flower beds that would need cleaned up as a bonus selling point, the weedy grass in between.

Despite the unkempt appearance, it was still peaceful. More peaceful than you felt inside the house anyway. Though, admittedly, the isolation that you disliked inside the manor persisted out here in some ways. Cars rarely passed on the road, not that you could see it from the house, the woods walling the grounds made an effective barrier, almost letting you wonder if there was anything beyond them at all. But there was, and out here you could tell that. Birds sang, squirrels and other critters nested in the trees, and there were houses somewhere in the distance. It was easy to shake aside any foreboding or negative musings out here.

Allowing yourself a few minutes more, you closed your eyes and took in the smell of the approaching autumn. It would only get chillier from here, but today the breeze felt nice and you only made yourself get up from the seat when you found yourself edging dangerously close to a nap.

With a sigh you grabbed your drink and headed inside, annoyingly aware of the work that still needed to be done today. You had left the doors open but shut them tight behind you since you would be occupied inside for the rest of your would-be work shift. The music you were playing from the boombox was louder now of course, but you didn’t bother turning the volume down since your next project was in the library.

As usual, you passed through the conservatory to get there and hoped that the room would wash a calming mood over you. The garden-like room was quickly becoming your favorite in the whole house. Perhaps it was how open the room was, easing the trapped effect big and old manors tended to have when you were alone in them. Or maybe it was just the peaceful sound of nature on the other side of the glass walls doing their job.

Either way, passing through the conservatory and even lingering there a moment didn’t help you. The moment you shut the door to the study behind you something seemed to tighten around your whole body, making you quite aware of the deeper breaths you had been taking since resuming the renovations.

You felt stupid for it, knew that your unease was the same unease you felt in any other large home. Having no one else around just made the wide and vast rooms feel more...void-like. Knowing that there was room beyond room around you just...empty, devoid of anything but chairs and paintings and figurines atop mantels; that you were the only living thing moving from room to room-

You shook your head, wanting to slap yourself. It wasn’t a new feeling, and you told yourself you should have gotten over it by now, this weird uneasiness of voids and empty spaces. Of being completely alone.

Of course, your next task surely wouldn’t help your discomfort.

It was only your second day of actually working on the house, but you told yourself you couldn’t put this next task off for the third day or the day after that. Surely the worst part would be cleaning up the blood, which you had done on the last visit. Surely climbing up that ladder and patching up that window wouldn’t be terrible.

So why did you find yourself standing at the bottom of the ladder, staring up at the cracked pane for nearly five whole minutes?

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, honestly, there was nothing to be scared of, it’s not like the ladder caused your brother’s heart attack. Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you reached out, fingers closing around the metal step.

Something crawled up your spine.

Something so tangible your body jerked, but you knew nothing was behind you. No, no it was just cold. But why was it so intense? You shivered next, still paused in your act of climbing the ladder- why was it so cold all of the sudden. You forced yourself to look up, eyes crawling up the ladder toward the window, images of what might meet your gaze playing in your mind.

But there was nothing, just the cracked pane and the sunlight seeping in through the stained glass. Still, you were finding it hard to breathe even as you tried to ease the breaths out in a calming manner. You had just fought off another shiver, when something gave a shout somewhere behind you.

A gasp almost escaped as you wheeled towards the door that led to the study. Someone had called your name. Your heart was thundering in your ears now, breaths getting caught in your lungs. Another beat, your breath holding as you simply stared towards the door and the call from the other side. Then, the voice said something else.

And your lungs released their chokehold on you. It was just Atem. Or at least you thought you recognized that sultry baritone. Seriously why the hell were you so damn jumpy?

With a ragged sigh, you all but stormed towards the study, passed the room, and stepped out into the conservatory. Atem stood there, by the glass door that led out to the grounds, looking cautious as he peered into the home. He flashed you that small smile when he spotted you.

“I thought I would ask permission before entering this time, since I startled you so badly during our first meeting.”

You actually found yourself snorting at that, “Thanks, but you can always use the doorbell you know.”

“It’s broken. Has been for years.”

“Of course it has,” you sighed, actually vaguely remembering the note to fix it being way down at the bottom of your brother’s to-do list. Then, after realizing that he was still waiting for permission to enter (what was he, a vampire?) you waved for Atem to follow you. “Come on, you can help steady the ladder while I patch the window.”

He complied wordlessly, and as you slipped into the study, you remembered how you wanted to scold him about shutting doors properly. Just as you started to look over your shoulder though, you heard the soft click of a latch behind him. Satisfied, you just gave an approving nod without even turning as you both entered the library.

Perhaps it was still your own lingering apprehension, but you were acutely aware of the way Atem seemed to stiffen as you approached the spot. His eyes drifted up the wall beyond the ladder, as if he was taking stock of every inch of it, waiting for it to do something. Maybe brother was right, maybe Atem was a bit traumatized from finding him mid-heart attack. No one could blame the man, heck, just the knowledge that it happened here was freaking you out. Enough to make you a jumpy cat at every cold breeze and knock, at that.

“You okay?” the question was out before you even realized you wanted to ask it, but it felt right.

Atem’s eyes flicked away from the wall to gaze at you from their corners, “I will be. Just...promise me you’ll be careful.”

You gave a shrug, hoping to lighten the mood, “Come on, not like this spot in the house is a heart attack inducer or something, I’ll be fine.”

To further lighten, you stepped towards the ladder, facing your own hesitation head-on as you prepared to climb.

“That’s not what I meant, not exactly.”

Atem’s voice was low, and it almost seemed to tickle your ear despite the fact that he hadn’t moved closer. When you looked over your shoulder his gaze was steady, boring into you with something too gentle to be intensity, but too binding to be soft.

“Just be careful while you’re in this house,” he continued and you couldn’t break his gaze even if you wanted to. “This place...it has a bad habit of collecting accidents. Just...please be careful.”

Your throat was dry, so dry you didn’t bother trying for a verbal response. Instead, you just nodded after a moment, and something in your chest seemed to release when another smile lifted Atem’s lips at the agreement.

Despite how odd that moment might have been, you still took comfort in Atem’s presence as you turned back to the ladder and began climbing with care. Some part of you still expected something to happen with each step you took, but you were able to push the paranoia to the back of your mind.

After the hurdle of the climb was over, the actual patch job didn’t take more than a couple minutes, just gluing the cracks so they didn’t spread further and taping up plastic. The pane was a simple square, easily replaceable much to your relief. You were just about to climb back down when something else caught your eye.

Oh, you almost forgot about the odd tears you had seen on your first visit, but up here they were almost at eye level. Seeing them up close was even more odd. There were two tears in the wallpaper in the small space between the window and the bookshelves. They weren’t warped or bubbled enough to be moisture or water damage, besides that there weren’t any other signs of that on the walls. You ran your fingers over the tears, feeling the rough texture of the thick paper. The edges weren’t clean, they were frayed, stressed, like something had swelled underneath until the paper burst. Again your mind went to water damage, but you had never seen it do something quite like this, and surely it would have bubbled up further down the wall.

“Is everything alright?” Atem called from below, snapping you out of your baffled wondering.

You shook your head, “Uh, yeah, just trying to figure out what caused these marks. Always have to watch stuff like this, houses will give you signs of problems if they can.” Another motto your parents had left with you and your brother, though you supposed it was true in a way, you always had to look closer at these things, in case they were symptoms of a worse issue.

But, since you couldn’t find anything wrong besides the cosmetic damage, you opted to leave that for further investigation on another day. Besides, you were still a bit eager to get down.

You climbed back to the ground with ease and found Atem waiting patiently with his hands tucked in his pockets. It was only then that you took real notice of the man’s clothes: a plain black turtle-neck, and dark blue pants that weren’t as casual as jeans, but not dressy either, honestly you weren’t sure what kind of pants they were. He looked cozy in them at least, which, despite the heat of today, would be useful as fall continued.

“So, what’s next?” Atem asked with polite curiosity.

“I’m heading upstairs now, there’s a support beam in the attic I need to check on and a leak in a sink that should be taken care of before it gets worse.” You hefted a bag of tools over your shoulder.

He followed beside you as you headed towards the library door that led to the entry hall and the main staircase. At least the architect of this place had the common sense to make most rooms accessible from most parts of the house. You had been in several from the victorian era that were like mazes to get through, that had rooms you could only open after jogging through four other rooms.

The second floor of the house wasn’t as grand as the first in terms of decor or originality. In fact, most of the rooms were rather standard for a place built in the 20s, though still emulating the victorian style. The third floor wasn’t much either, though it had a nice loft above a den-like area that could definitely be the envy of any kid’s room. Heck, even you caught yourself daydreaming about how you would have decorated the space as a kid. Most of the third-floor rooms were cramped compared to the rest of the house, ceilings angled as the roofs neared their peak, spaces narrowing as the craftsman style made the rooms more haphazard than the first and even second floor.

The only access to the attic was via the second set of stairs in the house, the narrow servant’s stairs near the back. It was even more cramped up here, despite the fact that there was literally nothing but cobwebs, dust piles. and some minor debris from the house chipping and flaking away with age. Anyone on the tall end of the spectrum would have to crouch the whole time they were up here or risk banging their heads into the rafters and ceiling frames. You noted that Atem was short enough to avoid that problem altogether, though that wild hair of his was likely collecting some cobwebs.

He was rather quiet, another note made as you shuffled your way across the attic.

“I replaced this support beam the other day,” you started, if only to have some form of conversation, “it was the next pressing thing on the to-do list, but it’s been a while since I’ve done a repair that important so I want to keep checking on it.”

“You did such a thing by yourself? Isn’t that dangerous?” Atem asked, and though you couldn’t see his face as he walked behind you, you were sure his eyes were a bit narrowed in a silent scolding. “I never thought work like this should be done alone, yet you and your brother seemed determined to do so.”

You flashed him a rather flippant scowl over your shoulder, “We’re not stupid, yes, we do prefer to do things with minimal help, mostly because of cost, but we do hire other people when we need to.” You had reached the beam in question, and inspected it carefully as you continued, “There’s this kid- well, teenager, in town he had already agreed to help when it was needed, so he helped me with this.”

Atem apparently didn’t feel the need to reply and you took another minute to look your work over in silence. Then, satisfied, you looked back at your companion. He didn’t seem to be quite there, mentally speaking, he was gazing at nothing in particular and only blinked himself back into the moment once you gave a gentle call of his name.

“Sorry, I was just thinking. Well, at least you have help when you need it, I can’t imagine how upset he would be if you got injured while having over his project.”

You snorted at the thought, though you supposed your brother would be beside himself if you got hurt. Big brothers were always expected to be protectors, but that went double for yours. He had taken the role as your guardian very seriously after your parents were gone.

“Never mind him,” your tone was light again, still trying for that easy air, “ I’ll be beyond pissed if I have to join him in physical therapy.”

Moving on, you ducted past the beam, and Atem jerked out of your way as you headed towards the stairs.

“So, Atem, I really don’t know anything about you yet, mind if I ask some stereotypical questions?”

He made a small scuff of a laugh, “I don’t mind, ask away.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a historian. You made a joke the other day about me being an Egyptologist, I’m not, I simply know quite a bit about history in general.”

“So you, what, mostly do stuff online? There can’t be much call for a historian out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“I manage. You could say that I don’t need much to get by, and live a rather quiet life.”

As you two came to the door that opened to the stairwell, you took a moment to look back at Atem. He hadn���t really answered the question, though you supposed it wasn’t much of your business if he didn’t want to. Hell, for all you knew he wrote historical erotica and was too embarrassed to admit it. You had to hide your smirk at the thought as you turned to march down the stairs.

“Are you married? Seeing anyone in this teeny little town?” you asked next, though you were worried the loud creaking of the steps under your feet would drown out his answer.

“No, I don’t tend to get out enough to date. And you?”

If you hadn’t asked the single or taken question first, you’d be tempted to tease the way his voice went up a notch when he asked you. “Nope. Been single for over a year now, but that’s okay, he was an ass you made me seriously reconsider my dating priorities.”

“I see...”

You thought you heard Atem take a breath, ready to say something else, but a noise from your phone interrupted him.

“Right on time,” you said, taking a quick glance at the screen, then, seeing Atem's curiosity you waved the screen displaying your brother’s name and message, “He’s giving me a one-hour warning before his therapy is up so I know when to head that way. Should give me just enough time to fix that pipe.”

You notice a slight fall in Atem’s expression, “I did not realize you would be leaving so soon, I suppose I should have visited earlier.”

Though you weren’t sure why, something akin to guilt started itching at your chest, especially since he was seeming to avoid your gaze now, opting to look at the hallway walls instead.

“Well, if you’re free tomorrow, both of us will be here all day,” you suggested, even as you turned into the master suite. “Now that I put that ramp in, we can spend most of our free time here. Besides, I know big bro will be happy to see you, he’s pretty certain that he traumatized you last time you saw him.”

You were happy to hear Atem chuckle at the words. “You can assure him that it takes more than that to shake me, at least now that I know he’s alright.” Right when you reached the bathroom door, Atem stepped slightly in your way, making you halt. “I will be sure to visit you both tomorrow, until then, have a good day,” he ended the parting words with your name and a nod of his head, though his eyes lingered on you, trailing over your face for a long moment before he stepped back.

“You too…” the words lingered after him and his rather abrupt goodbye as he headed out of the room, only giving you a smirk over his shoulder as he went.

He had done that during your first meeting as well, suddenly taking his leave as if his time here had always been pressed. Then again the man had a life of his own, work or errands likely calling his attention.

Shaking it off as the man just being ‘a bit odd’ as your brother had said, you went ahead and stepped into the bath to wrap up the day’s chores. As you crouched near the sink and dug out the needed tools, you tried to listen for the front door, but there was only a soft thud somewhere in the distance. That made sense though, sound rarely traveled well through homes like this.

Much like the window patch, this was an easy fix, just replacing the gasket that had worn down in the past years, and you had bought the part in the city earlier that day. You hummed to yourself as you worked and barely more than ten minutes later you were done. You noticed a knot forming in your shoulder from the awkward position, and tried to stretch it out as you reached up to turn the faucet on. After letting it run for a bit you were sure the leak was fixed and climbed to your feet. Stretching again, you took in the bathroom’s design, hating how much it would cost to repair everything else in here.

Alexander Hawkins had apparently wanted to feel like the royalty he snatched treasures from, because his master bath was reminiscent of a pharaoh’s bathhouse- or at least what you imagined one looked like. Turquoise mosaics made up the sink, backsplash, and countertops, the walls were painted with a pattern resembling flower bundles, and decorative pillars flanked the bathtub. To top it all off the tub itself was large, with two steps leading up to it, golden faucets, and depictions of Isis and lotus flowers on the sides.

The problem was that time had not been kind to the delicate materials, and numerous cracks littered the tiles and mosaics making up the room. If big brother wanted to keep the design intact, it would cost. Still, the bathtub was in working order, and it was only the outside tiles that needed replaced, that was a plus.

Oh, the thought of a shower was inciting. your shirt was sticking to your back and you felt dirty from the sweat you had collected while working outside. You were going out to eat again tonight, and the thought of going out like this really did not appeal. The tub was clean, showing that your brother had probably used it several times after getting dirty himself. And besides all that, you did have a towel and spare shirt in your backpack downstairs.

You checked the time on your phone. If you hurried, you could get just clean enough and still only pick your brother up only a few minutes late. You at least had the decency to shoot him an “I’ll be late” text as you bolted for the stairs. You snatched your backpack up and headed back up the stairs in record time.

It was only when you reentered the master bedroom that the eerie emptiness of the house started to creep back upon you. It wasn’t so bad with Atem around, having another person made the whole house feel more...alive. But you forced the uneasiness to the back of your mind as you slipped the sticky clothing off, you only had to deal with it for a few more minutes, you could handle that.

The tub didn’t have a curtain, relying on the sheer size of the tub to catch all the falling water, so you just stepped in and turned the golden faucet on, instantly singing as the water hit your bare skin. You reveled in the rain-like droplets, closing your eyes and simply letting it wash over you. You let yourself have this for a while, long enough for steam to build up and cloud the mirror over the sink and then some. But, unfortunately, you couldn’t relax for long, time wasn’t on your side after all.

So with a final rinse, you turned the knob and let the water roll down your skin down the drain, before stepping out. You had to be wary of the time floors, now slick with the condensation of your hot water. After thoroughly patting yourself down with the towel, you walked to the vanity where your new shirt and the rest of your clothes lay.

Your fingers had just touched the fabric when something cold ran up your arms

You froze, just like in the library, something intense and unknowing wracked your senses. It made the hairs on the back of your next stand up, your skin shiver and crawl. Before you could even think as to why, your eyes were darting up to the foggy mirror- and your heart nearly stopped in your chest.

Something had clawed at the glass.

No- no. You took a step back, shaking your head as you clamped your eyes shut. Don’t be stupid, nothing had clawed at the glass! You took a calming breath before opening your eyes and looking at the streaks closer. You were thoroughly scolding yourself now, they were just finger marks, likely having been there for years since the glass hadn’t been cleaned in all that time.

Of course, that’s why they were, there was even a spot that looked like a palm below the streaks. It was the same as drawing on a mirror with water then blowing hot breath on it, it was bound to leave marks. Still, the fact that you were so jumpy was off-putting in of itself, why did this place have that effect on you.

“Christ, what’s wrong with me?” you snapped to yourself. Then, in an irritated move, you swiped your hand across the mirror to clean off the rest of the steam-made fog before snatching up your clothes.

Crack!

Something flashed just above your hand and you reared back with a cry just as a shard of glass shattered on the turquoise sink! You nearly slipped on the tile in your frantic move, but just managed to catch yourself on the counter. Heartbeats were thundering in your ears again as your eyes snapped back up to the mirror.

There, right across the middle in a jagged slash, the glass had cracked, leaving the top half to fall free and nearly impale your hand. You let out another curse under your breath, only then realizing that your breaths were coming out in something just short of frantic heaves. With another step back, slower this time, you closed your eyes, keeping your hand clamped over your heart as you calmed your breathing.

Your sense came back with every breath and once they were under control, you forced your mind to start thinking rationally again. Just like the ‘claw’ marks, the breaking had to have a logical cause. The glass was old, yes, that was it. It was just used to years of the temperature only changing slowly over the seasons. Your hot shower, the drastic temperature change, must have stressed it, and your irritated rubbing was the last straw. That had to be it. You told yourself as much even as you opened your eyes and looked at your jagged reflection.

“Just being jumpy,” you assured yourself in a whisper, the half-face in the mirror staring back at you just like any normal broken mirror would.

Still, once you tore your gaze away from it, you were practically tripping as you yanked your clothes back on, and didn’t look back as you sprinted out the door.

One of the only spots in the village of Hartstown was a mom and pop diner that had specials labeled things like “kettle-me hungry soup” and “sandwich supper surprise”, but the restaurant was decent enough despite its nonsensical wordplay on the menu. Though you had ordered something safer than a surprise sandwich stuffed with lord knew what, you were still picking at your plate with a disinterest that had little to do with the meal.

The scene of that glass shard falling kept replying in your mind, not only that, but your reaction to that and practically everything before it. Maybe it was just the AC unit near your booth, but you thought you even felt a phantom of the shivers that had crawled up your spine during those uneasy moments.

“So, as you might have guessed, I’ve definitely decided to head to LA and dance naked in front of Scarlet Johansson!” your brother proclaimed from the seat across from you, which promptly caused you to blink back into the moment.

“Wait-” you shook your head and finally looked back up at him, “what the heck are you going on about?”

With the good-grace of a toddler, he rolled his eyes at you, “Finally I get your attention, I’ve been rambling nonsense for the past two minutes!”

“Sorry,” your voice sounded more defeated, more tired than you meant it too, and you tried to give him an apologetic smile to strengthen the word.

At that, his brows actually drew together a bit, his eyes gaining a more serious look, “Are you okay?” he asked, tone low, gently nudging, “You’ve been off ever since you picked me up, you’re starting to worry me.”

You opened your mouth, intending to brush his worry off with a ‘yeah’ or ‘of course’, but the words didn’t come. Instead, you finally set your fork down and said, “I don’t know. I… can I ask you something, even if it sounds stupid or silly?”

“I think I got desensitized to silly questions that time you asked me why dragons aren’t real when you were four.” He was grinning now, obviously trying for an easy air, but it only lasted a second before he dropped the silly smile and leaned in. “Come on, you know you can tell me whatever. What’s wrong?”

“Have you...since you’ve been working on this house, have you noticed being more...uneasy, or jumpier? Like does the place make you unsettled at all?”

His brows were furrowed again as he thought the question over. He took his time, maybe looking over all the days spent there, or maybe just trying to figure out the best answer that wouldn’t upset you. “Well, not really. I don’t feel more jumpy necessarily, but… okay, this may sound stupid but, I actually started having these weird dreams about the house. I don’t remember my dreams a lot of the time but these were like...super intense. But I just figured I was stressing over getting the renovations done.”

He thought for a moment again, actually biting his lip before continuing.

“Actually, now that I think about it, I had the weird dreams not long before the heart attack. Maybe they were signs of my health taking a big drop, you know stress or whatever?” His eyes, which had been staring unfocused at the pine colored table, now snapped back up to you. “Why do you ask? Been getting weird vibes from the manor or something?”

Suddenly feeling more embarrassed than before, you picked up your fork again, only to resume batting your food around. “I’ve just been acting kinda jumpy and nervous when I’m in the house, that’s all.”

“Weird, that’s not like you,” concern and even a little interest was apparent in his voice, “heck whenever mom and dad moved us to a new project you were never afraid or skittish of exploring the old places. And I can’t remember how many times I woke up in the dead of night and had to drag you back to bed.”

“I know, it’s why I’m weirded out by the way I’ve felt while in the manor. Doesn’t make sense...” He didn’t say anything at first, and when the silence persisted for a few beats longer, you took a deep breath and put on your biggest smile for him. “Eh, doesn’t matter now, I’m sure it’ll get better now that you’ll keep me company while I work.”

He stared back at you for a bit, eyes narrowing some to show just how unconvinced he was. Still, he let it drop and gave a shrug. “Yup, thanks for putting in that ramp, I think making myself useful will help my recovering go by faster.” Then, obviously deciding to let you move on from the topic, he snatched up the dessert menu tucked between the salt and pepper shakers. “Anyway, if you aren’t going to finish your food, we have to get something in your stomach. You want some cake or ice cream?”

The next day began a repair project sure to be a lengthy one. After talking it over you and your brother decided that working on the grand staircase should be the next task and you were dreading the days upon days it would take to get everything he wanted regarding the staircase done. Well, at least you had help.

“Bring your end to the right just a tad, Max,” you said, making a slight motion with your hand so he wasn’t in doubt on if you meant your right or his. “That’s it, perfect!”

The son of the local hardware store owner was impressing you more and more as the day ticked on. He was a surprisingly capable and had good intuition on what needed to be done as you two worked together. Heck, when he helped you install that replacement beam you hardly had to coach him at all.

“Yes yes, you’re both doing an amazing job! Looks great!” your brother called from his lounged position in the entry hall.

Seeing as how you and Max were crouched in the cupboard space under the stairs, he had made camp on the other side of the opened door with a cup of coffee and some cookies Max’s mom had baked for the three of you. He had also made a habit of gloating for the past fifteen minutes. After screwing brackets to the planks you and Max cut to size, there wasn’t much work for your brother to do, something that he was all too willing to make comments on.

“Oh shut it, before I kick you in your bad leg,” you grumbled as you twisted to the side to screw in the wooden brace you and Max were holding under the step.

“That, kiddo, is sibling abuse and I will not have it from my servants,” he replied, doing a terrible impersonation of an English Lord.

He jumped in his chair when you kicked a stray L bracket at your foot through the door and towards him, promptly causing Max to stifle a snort.

After that “attack” he managed to remain silent as you and Max continued to work, at least for a while. Sometime later there was a knock on the front door, one that echoed so cacophonously, that poor Max gave a start, knocking his head into the underside of the stairs. Your brother called for whoever it was to come in, and the door creaked open with a groan.

“Atem!” he called to the visitor, and though you couldn’t see from your spot in the cupboard, you heard Atem give a warm hello in return.

“I see you’re doing well, I’m glad,” Atem went on and you could just see his figure as he stopped beside your brother’s seat.

“Yup, just have to get these limbs healed up,” he wiggled his cast-coated arm and leg, “after that I’ll be back on the job. And I hear you’ve met the kiddo,” he waved his good hand towards the cupboard, causing Atem to lean down a bit and peer through the door, “and the kid in the back is Max.”

“I have a name too, jackass,” you scolded, before drilling in another screw. He had always made a bad habit of introducing you with the nickname.

“The stairs needed to be repaired?” Atem stepped closer to look over your work with curiosity, though he didn’t enter the space for fear of getting in your way.

“Not dire ones, no, but we noticed some weak points in the wood and figured adding some braces to the steps would be a good call.” You turned to repeat the drilling process on Max’s side, but just managed to catch a glimpse of Atem’s face falling into a slight frown.

“This looks like it will take a while,” Atem muttered and you looked over your shoulder to find his eyes wandering up the many steps.

“It will, especially since the second flights will be harder to get to,” you waved a bit to indicate how the stairs split into two and turned opposite each other halfway up, indeed dreading the chore, “But I think it’ll be worth it, it pays to assure buyers that their grand lavish staircase won’t collapse on them.”

“You’re not going to work into the night, are you?”

At the question, you again looked over your shoulder, almost giving him a raised brow, “Uh, probably not, Max here has school in the morning and we actually like to have a thing called dinner. We’ll be here for a few hours though.”

Atem nodded after a pause of consideration, “Good, it wouldn’t be wise to work so late.”

That comment struck you as odd too, but you brushed it off and turned back to your work. There was silence behind you for a bit, but another glance at Atem showed that he was looking the stairway over with careful consideration. Then, as you and Max moved on to attaching the next plank, your brother decided to distract Atem by waving him back over. Judging by the low tones, you figured he was thanking Atem for saving him that day. Your suspicions were confirmed when Atem simply smiled at him and assured that he was happy he started stopping by the house so often.

You started to tune out the conversation a bit as they chattered, working to get the next brace up before the shake in Max’s arms started to get worse. Once that was done you gave the kid a sympathetic smile.

“Ready for a break?”

He nodded, obviously grateful you had noticed his need for one, poor kid must have wanted to avoid looking like a whiner. When you two stepped out of the cupboard you saw your brother chatting Atem’s ear off and, though he looked attentive to the conversation, you couldn’t help noticing that Atem was looking more worn than the previous time’s you’d seen him.

After tossing one of the homemade cookies to Max and biting into one yourself, you held the plate out to Atem, “Cookie? They’re fresh and super yummy.” You wiggle the plate to further entice him, earning a smirk in reply, despite that he seemed even more haggard now that you were looking at him up close.

“Thank you, but I’ll have to pass,” he actually took a step back then- and you almost dropped the plate when he stumbled a bit, your instinct to jump forward to help him taking over. He held up his hand the moment he straightened, a silent assurance that he was fine to pair with his thankful smile. “I’m actually feeling a bit under the weather all of the sudden,” he looked to each of you in turn, his eyes holding an apology, “I should be going, the last thing I want is to make anyone else ill.”

You took a step towards him even as he stepped back again, the man was practically worsening before your eyes! “I can walk you home, if you want, make sure you get there okay.”

“No, that’s alright,” his smile had fallen now, though you could tell he was still trying to put on a grateful air.

“Need medicine from town or anything? We can go pick some up for you,” your brother offered next, leaning forward in his chair and watching Atem just as carefully as you.

Again Atem shook his head, “I’ll be fine, but thank you.” He gave a look towards the sitting room, one that was a bit anxious. “Do you mind if I use the kitchen door?”

“Uh- yeah, yeah sure,” your brother insisted, waving Atem in that direction, “feel better soon, dude.”

Atem didn’t say any more to that, just nodded his head in thanks and ducked into the sitting room. You tried to listen to his footsteps as he retreated through the house, but rugs must have muffled his feet. At least you didn’t hear him collapse on the ground.

You and your brother exchanged a look and a shrug, before Max chimed in with, “That dude was weird.”

Again, your brother shrugged, “Wonder what made him feel sick all of the sudden,” his eyes flickered down to the cookies, “I mean, the cookies aren’t that bad.”

“I don’t know,” you signed, then set the plate back down on the end table beside him, “Sucks too, I think he was looking forward to seeing you again.”

“Well, at least we won’t stop coming around any time soon.”

You nodded at that, and the conversation seemed to move on as your brother asked Max to go refill his coffee cup. You quickly offered to do it instead, your mind still occupied with Atem’s odd demeanor and wanting to check on something. It wasn’t until you were turning towards the kitchen that you realized the path Atem had taken was an odd one, as there was a door beside the main stairs that led almost directly to the kitchens. He really must have been out of his head with his sudden illness.

That made you more concerned though and you found yourself double-checking the route he had taken to the kitchen just to make sure he hadn’t fallen on his way out. He hadn’t, but you still scanned the grounds through the kitchen windows as you poured your brother’s coffee, just to make sure. You didn’t see anything resembling a body out there either, thank goodness.

Despite having that assurance, however, you found yourself unable to shake him from your mind, even as you went back to work.

Several days passed, two of them spent at the manor, and not a word was heard from your repeat visitor. The previous day you were there, before you began the day’s work, you had even taken a walk in the forest bordering the manor to see if you could find his house and check on him. The search yielded nothing, and you had to tamp down the worry you felt for the rest of the day.

Honestly, the concern you felt for him was a little surprising, you barely knew the man but couldn’t seem to get him far from your mind. If it wasn’t mulling over how...mysterious he was, it was something else like this.

Now it was the third workday at the manor later, and you were hoping he’d show up today. If he just had a cold or felt bad from the changing seasons, surely he would be better by now. Even aside from your aforementioned worry, you felt his absence particularly bad today, as it was the first time all week that you were alone in the house again.

The stairs were all reinforced now, and today your brother had opted to stay at your shared airbnb seeing as how he couldn’t help much with your project today. You wanted to get all the work needed on the staircase done now, and that included sanding down every step and revarnishing them. It was a necessary task to recapture the manor’s original sparkle, but you didn’t relish how much time it would take.

At least the loudness of the sanding belt gave some form of distraction, you hardly ever had time to think about how empty the house was over the noise. No, instead you found yourself constantly looking over your shoulder and taking periodic breaks to check if the house really was empty. You were sure you were just expecting to find Atem leaning against the banister, waiting until you took notice of him before saying anything.

But no, time ticked away and no matter how many times you checked, Atem was nowhere to be found. You worked anyway and took a break to go get some food and check on your brother before going back to finish the job. You were thankful that the house had plenty of lighting because you noted the setting sun as you parked your car in the driveway again. Though you did want to groan at having to be here so late, you were determined to get it done.

There was still plenty of sunlight as you unlocked the front door, but even still, when you opened it you felt the urge to shiver.

Memories of the broken mirror in the bathroom came back to you and gave you pause, the door only half-open. You stood there on the stoop, staring at nothing and only able to register the shiver and those memories. This was ridiculous, the mirror was just a mirror, and nothing strange had happened in the manor that you couldn’t explain away.

Taking a calming breath, you pushed the door the rest of the way open. A vision of someone or something standing on the other side flashed in your mind, but you released a hard huff of air when nothing but the large entry hall greeted you.

You still fumbled a bit frantically for the light switch on the wall beside you, even as the day’s dying light filtered in through the window at the top of the stairs. Again you scolded yourself, rubbing a hand over your face as you all but slammed the door behind you and told yourself to stop being paranoid.

After that, you wasted no time in getting back to work, determined to get the varnishing done so it could dry overnight. This work was quieter than the sanding, but you played your favorite playlist on the boombox to keep distracted. The light outside the window slowly faded until only the lights on the chandelier lit your way, but you didn’t mind. The trees surrounding the house might be particularly foreboding at night, but in here you could easily put such things out of your mind.

At one point you found your eyes closing of their own accord and only snapped them open when your hand felt wet, a result of touching the still wet varnishing in your sleepy stupor. Thankfully two steps after that incident you were finally gloriously done!

With a stretch and a yawn, you took real notice of just how exhausted you were, though little else could be expected after considering how many hours you had worked. Just as you were hating the idea of the drive back to town through the pitch-black roads, your phone rang.

“Hey, how's it going, close to done yet?” big brother asked after you answered.

“Just finished, actually-” a yawn broke the words, causing him to chuckle on the other end.

“Sounds like a good thing too, you sure you’re okay to drive back? Those country roads can be dangerous at night.”

You almost shrugged before remembering that he couldn’t see it through the phone, “I mean, I don’t have much of a choice, not like I want to crash in one of the dust-filled mattresses upstairs.”

“Well, there’s one bed there suitable for human slumber,” he said with a hum, “I cleaned the mattress in the master suite and put spare blankets and pillows in the closet, in case there was ever a night like this and I just needed to crash.”

The sheer magnitude of your exhaustion showed in your cry of relief at the words, “I think I’ll do that, then, because I’m so tired, I could probably curl up on the stairs if I didn’t have a way home.”

“Go for it! Catch some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning, k?”

“Okay, goodnight.”

A tired brand of excitement took over at the promise of immediate sleep, so much so that you almost jumped on the still wet steps before remembering that you would have to take the servant's stairs. That wasn’t a far walk though, and just a couple of turns after the stairs you were in the master suite. Indeed there were blankets and pillows tucked away in the closet and you dug them out greedily before throwing them on the bed. You didn’t bother undressing, considering you didn’t have PJs anyway, and just crawled under the chilly covers, tucked in, and closed your eyes.

Warm took over soon, and with your music still playing downstairs, you were able to drift off rather quickly.

The night ticked on, your sleeping form peaceful from exhaustion even after your playlist came to an end and silence filled the halls. Silence, all except the old grandfather clock ticking in the entry hall. Nothing stirred in the lounge or the kitchen. Nothing shifted in the conservatory besides the crickets resting on the weeds outside the window.

Nothing within the halls of the House of Anubis moved. That is, until the shadows came.

Moonlight had bathed your sleeping form for over an hour, but once the moon crept higher and disappeared above the window, shadows slowly filled the room. You slept on peacefully, even as something scraped behind the walls- claws dragging, searching. Something whispered, something growled as it dragged itself closer to new flesh; a new victim.

The shadows were its paths and something shifted beneath the thick wallpaper of the master’s room. Its claws scraped just enough to make you stir for a moment, but it wasn’t enough to wake you, even as the wall above your headboard started breathing. A hiss, and the walls looked more like cloth as something that vaguely resembled a hand moved under it, and down closer to your peaceful form.

In slow, almost labored movements the hand- the boney claw tried to reach out, straining against the wall like rubber, desperate to reach you- desperate to tear and squeeze the life out! It growled again a beast fighting to grab hold of its meal-

Then it reared back and hissed as even darker shadows grabbed hold of it.

There, in the far corner of the room, something shifted in the dark, sharp eyes glowing as the darker shadows chained the creature, yanking it back from you even as it snapped and hissed and spat. Atem stepped out of the shadows then, hands tucked in his pockets as he glared at the thing hovering above you.

“You can’t have this one, I won’t allow it!” he said in a voice low and cold.

With nothing but a thought, more shadows crept into the room, spiraling out from his own shadow like tendrils until they wrapped around the creature. It fought even though it was no use, it was still too weak to stand up to him and Atem knew it. Soon enough with a snarling whine, it retreated, back to the dark hidden pit it came from, leaving Atem victorious.

He closed his eyes, their glowing irises fading as the shadows settled, blending into the natural shapes on the walls as if they were never there to begin with. He sighed as he opened his eyes again, gaze landing on your form. It wasn’t surprising that you didn’t wake, even if you did you’d find an empty room. Still, Atem almost wished you had, almost wished you had seen the creature hovering over you so you would finally have the damn good instincts to stay away from this place at night!

He bit back the bitter thoughts, he couldn’t blame you, not really, and he should just be thankful that you and your brother hadn’t decided to live in the house while restoring it. Even still, his worry simmered in his chest, causing him to step across the room until he was by the bedside. You looked so calm, tranquil, even...vulnerable.

He hadn’t realized he was reaching out to touch your cheek until his fingers were hovering just a hair away from your soft skin. He let it linger there for a bit, on the verge of touch, until he closed his fist and pulled it back with a shake of his head. He was such a fool sometimes. Even after all this heartache, he still found it hard not to get attached, not to cling to every positive force that he encountered.

Even still and even considering the fact that the creature wouldn’t dare return that night, Atem settled down in the armchair beside the bed, and watched over you until sunlight creped over the windowsill and filled the room.

[literaphobe]

Im so sorry...is your sister a minor

yeah she’s 17. i really don’t blame her it just sucks. anyway i think i needed to work through this but its also way too long so 

lol like that was supposed to be my birthday gift but it has now become a romantic getaway for a man and his gf (who is 18 years younger than him) and my sister and one of her friends. at like. one of the most expensive hotels in the country. the same man who guilted me into giving private tutoring to 8 students at a time while i was a student because he apparently is super poor and has no money and no job. (i started tutoring for extra money and to just. have a job. because he has also given me shit about that before too. if i don’t have a job i’m like a useless baby child who he can never trust to be responsible for her own life. turns out that was just a load of bullshit to trap me. and yeah i was teaching 8-9 students at some point and i think i was like telling him hey i don’t know if this is a good idea. its a little crazy. and he was like no u should keep doing it. its money u should just earn it. we aren’t doing great financially and at some point we might need ur help paying for ur sister’s tutoring classes. and so i did and it hurt me SO much last semester. + covid but also. it was tutoring mostly lmao) 

anyway i just. the thought of everything made me cry a lot in the shower lol. like that. quiet cry where u are sobbing uncontrollably but u have to mute it as much as possible so that ur mother who’s washing dishes in the kitchen doesn’t hear it

today we had some ikea furniture delivered. and i was assembling it. and my mom told me “when we were married i was always the one putting together the IKEA furniture. ur dad would always get frustrated and give up” and then in the shower i realized that’s exactly how my dad treats me lmao. i am.... his ikea furniture

so like. i can actually trace the most recent incident of abuse i faced from him back to when. i allowed him to “help” me with my university degree transfer issues. u know. because i couldn’t do the coding degree he pressured me into doing. and wanted to do something else (i could’ve gone to my uni open house w my friends. who ended up entering the arts faculty. and i WANTED to do psychology in the arts faculty too. but my dad and his gf were there. and they just. told me if i did that i would have no future and no job prospects when i graduated. which is SO fucking funny because both of them individually. their grades were super fucking shit and they were never good enough to get into the school that i did. so they had no fucking business telling me what i should or shouldn’t do. but i didn’t know that because they lied to me. my dad lied to me about so many things to scare me into thinking i couldn’t do anything. and at this point in my life. they were still monitoring my internet usage. and there were restrictions set on my phone. mere. months. before i was meant to be a university student. even getting restrictions off my phone was a big fight i had to have. i bought my own laptop with money i made from this f&b job because i knew if i waited for them to get one for me i would be waiting forever. and i was just so fucking scared of them so i got a. ‘practical’ degree. and then slid off my adhd meds because even that felt like part of the trap they kept me in for years) 

i decided i wanted to do linguistics and become a linguistics major but my school wasn’t letting me. and it had been a year. so i let him and my mom get involved. which i had SUCH a bad feeling about. an awful awful bad feeling. i was right lmao. i should’ve known his involvement wouldn’t have done shit and would also. set me up for yet another Major Traumatic Incident. which i have spent the entirety of 2020 trying to avoid. do you know how stressful and tiring it feels to just like. every moment around ur own father is u just trying to walk on eggshells praying and hoping that nothing bad will happen. i tried so hard and it fell apart in the end anyway. he couldn’t fix this problem so he took it out on me

my school essentially texted us back saying “we get a shit load of transfer requests every year, even from students from other schools. ur grades from the classes u took aren’t good enough to justify a transfer” and like they were right. i had been off my meds. various things in life had happened. my commute situation wasn’t helping matters either (to and from was 2 hours each) and it has just. not been great. grandad passed away like 2 weeks ago or something at that point. which. may have been an underlying cause for the situation. or maybe he was always going to blow up at me and get violent and crazy. idk

anyway. i guess u could say it is ‘my fault’ for cutting off contact w my father n not speaking to him. but also. he threatened to throw me into a mental institute. and also. violently refused to let me leave the house so he could keep yelling at me. he physically would not let me. i yelled at him to just let me go but he implied that he would actually hurt me if i tried to get past him again. and he said all sorts of shit like he can be crazy too and he can be crazier than me which is something he’s said before. what triggered me to leave was. ok so in the beginning he was giving me the same thing he has yelled at me about over the years. i am super super fucking smart but i waste it all away on purpose and refuse to get my shit together and that’s somehow a personal attack on him. i can’t remember most of it by now. but anyway. i was tearing up and keeping absolutely quiet just waiting for it to be over so i could leave and go to another room. but then he started to. yell at me for crying. its so fucking ironic and weird because in a separate previous incident i was complaining about my school and how much it all was. and i was barely raising my voice but he was like woah woah stop being so emotional!!! as if he doesn’t regularly scream and shout and punch walls or whatever the fuck over the SMALLEST bullshit. anyway. he started to scold me for crying. and then he said ‘if you go out in the future and get a job are you going to cry like this too when ur boss scolds you? or are you acting like this because i’m family and you think its okay?’ as if. i have never had a job. as if i have never had to deal with a boss. bro i swear to fucking god. i am dead to most things now because of him. he can’t do shit. but. in the moment i found this so ridiculous and just SO fucking stupid that i left. i had had enough. i started laughing and i walked out and went to grab my bag so i could go. i didn’t. get very far obviously. and when my dad started threatening me i genuinely thought i was going to die. he was so angry and deranged that i thought he was going to murder me. my heart was going just. so so so fast. even tho i was just standing there. and i told him he was terrifying me (to which he said “GOOD”) and i just NEEDED to get out of this situation and get some space (to which he said “NO” repeatedly). he refused to admit that he would use actual violence to prevent me from leaving the house. he told me he would NEVER let me leave. which was fucking ridiculous. i stay at his house. 2 days out of the fucking week. he literally shoved me backwards so hard when i was trying to leave and he wanted to stop me. he also refused to admit that he used violence or was planning to use violence. i tried to point out this flaw in his logic to him. i said ur going to hurt me. he said no. i said ok then if ur not going to hurt me then let me walk past you and leave the house. he also said no again. and then our cousins rang the door at some point. so then he started to come to his senses. he was like. ‘the reason i don’t want to let you leave is because i’m afraid you’ll hurt yourself.’ which was so fucking stupid. i have NEVER threatened to hurt myself in front of him. i have never shared ANY thoughts of self harm in front of him. he’s the one who would get into massive fights w his dad and threaten to jump out of the window in anger (and i don’t even mean when he was younger. he would fight with his 93 year old dad. fucking stupid bitch). i made this clear to him that i was never ever planning on hurting myself. and then he said fine and let me leave. meaning i had to answer the door to my cousins in tears while he got to walk back to his room and lock himself in

he also. at some point during this argument, told me there would be consequences to me leaving. i guess i know those consequences now lmao. and like. i went home to my moms house. my cousins walked me there. i still haven’t told them. idk if my dad told them. my dad texted me to gaslight me. said that when he said he was going to put me in a mental hospital he meant it as a friendly suggestion because of ‘the state i was in’. and that it ‘wasn’t meant as a threat’ and like. oof. healthy suggestions aren’t meant to be yelled. anyway. i might be texting him. just to inform him about developments and to like. i guess set boundaries maybe. idk. i can’t carry on like this. i hate him and am terrified of him but. cutting him out of my life is basically inviting ostracism from his side of the family. and it’s putting so much stress on me. so. lol

[more-miserables]

I was trying to keep a steady-ish posting schedule but that hasn’t happened. I’m flakey as hell now I don’t have teachers and deadlines. I don’t know if any of you guys still remember or care about my pair of whumpees, but I was randomly inspired tonight. Hope you enjoy this anyway.

Tagging: @albino-whumpee @cubeswhump @liliability

Warnings for dehumanizing language, institutionalized slavery, boxboy universe, implications of past self-harm, implied and obvious abuse, implications of drugging, very brief implication of an eating disorder, panic attacks, lots of messed up stuff, you guys know.

Yates never seemed to get completely better after his illness. He stopped coughing, his fever went away, but he stayed very pale, and Ginger could hear how crackly his breathing was at night. His nerves didn’t seem to recover either. Yates’s hands shook now whenever Stanley gave him a task, and he became clumsy and jumpy, forever dropping things. Stanley stopped being so soft with him and started yelling, which just made things worse. Yates was a bundle of stress.

He cried bitterly every night, cradled in Ginger’s arms. “I’m a failure,” he sobbed. “I keep messing up. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“It’s not you, it’s never been you. You’re just tired, that’s all it is,” Ginger insisted over and over, but Yates couldn’t seem to hear him.

Seeing Yates looking so pale and miserable all the time made Ginger burn with fury. He didn’t care about the pain in his head now; he was frequently spitting in Ivy and Stanley’s food, arguing back, slamming doors, doing anything he could to draw their attention away from Yates. He was disciplined over and over, in new and creative ways, until he was black and blue all over, but it was worth it to keep Yates safe.

The first time he swore at Ivy he was chained up in the garden all night, completely naked. Ginger drew his bare knees up to his chest and held them tight, shivering. English winter nights could grow cold enough to kill, especially when a person had no protection; maybe that’s what Ivy wanted.

Maybe that’s what Ginger wanted too.

“Ginger?”

Ginger jumped, his head snapping up off his knees. Yates was standing beside him, pale and anxious, carrying a blanket.

“What’re you doing here? How’d you get out of the room?” Ginger asked.

“Window,” Yates whispered, cuddling up beside Ginger and wrapping the blanket around them both. “I couldn’t just leave you out here. Give me your hands, I’ll warm them.”

“You’ll get into trouble if they catch us,” Ginger said, linking his fingers with Yates’s.

“I couldn’t leave you,” Yates repeated firmly. He clasped Ginger’s freezing hands between his own, rubbing them hard.

Ginger smiled weakly. Maybe he didn’t want to die just yet.

It was hard to hang onto that feeling during the day, even so. Ivy found fault with everything he did now, and Stanley was equally brutal with Yates. Ginger’s headache was constant, but he refused to lie down and take it. He argued, yelled, swore and spat like a wildcat, allowing Yates to creep around relatively unnoticed.

Ivy had taken to standing in the kitchen while Ginger cooked, peering over his shoulder and critiquing every single thing he did, even the most basic things like pouring water. Each correction carried its own insult.

“Stir that syrup, it’s sticking to the bottom of the pan! Are you blind as well as stupid?”

“I thought icing cakes was your speciality? Seems you only specialise in failure.”

“You’re too heavy-handed with that whisking. I don’t know why we ever bought you. You’re such a disappointment.”

Ginger knew Ivy was just trying to wind him up - but it was working. He felt like he was boiling along with the syrup. It was so unfair to be stuck making wonderful desserts for two people who told him he was stupid and useless and disappointing - and he couldn’t even spit in the food with Ivy hovering.

Ginger held his tongue, presenting Ivy with the finished cake. It was baked beautifully despite Ivy’s complaints, with pin-neat icing flowers and swirls, the buttercream smooth as silk. It was perfect - but Ivy sniffed scornfully. She gripped the plate and slowly pushed it off the counter, watching it fall face down on the floor with a depressing splat.

“Make another one,” she commanded, then turned on her heel to walk away.

Ginger felt like someone had ignited a bomb in his chest. He burned all over with rage. Without thinking, he grabbed hold of the egg box, took one out and pelted it with all his force at Ivy. The egg hit her squarely in the back of her head, splattering yolk down her back and in her hair. The force of the blow sent her staggering forward with a scream. She peered over her shoulder, looking bewildered. For a second.

Ivy’s face flushed a deep red, and she rushed at Ginger, gripping fistfuls of his red hair and slamming him against the kitchen counter. “How dare you!” she screamed, shaking him so violently he felt she’d yank out clumps of his scalp too. “I won’t stand for this. You’ll learn if I have to beat you till you piss blood!”

“Get off me!” Ginger yelled back. He tried kicking out at Ivy, but he was weak and undernourished, and Ivy was a big, strong lady. He couldn’t wriggle free.

“Give me your hand!” Ivy commanded. Ginger didn’t, so she took hold of his left wrist herself, dragging him over to the cooker. “I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget. You’ll be able to look at your hand every day after this and remember what happens to disobedient little pets.”

She swept the dirty saucepans away with a flick of her arm. The hob was still on, glowing bright red with heat. Ginger renewed his efforts to break free, but Ivy hung on grimly, battering him about the head with her free hand.

“Remember this,” she snapped, and pressed Ginger’s palm firmly against the hob.

The scream Ginger let out echoed through the whole house. It was barely human, like the howl of a dying animal in a trap. Ivy held his hand down for a good three seconds, though it felt like a lifetime to Ginger. He arched his fingertips, trying his hardest to escape the blinding heat, but Ivy had her hand pressing down on the back of his own, so Ginger’s palm couldn’t be spared.

When she finally let him go, Ginger collapsed in a heap on the floor, whimpering. He cradled the burned hand to his chest. It was bright red and already starting to blister. The kitchen was filled with a sickly sweet, burning smell, and he gulped in horror when he realised he was smelling his own cooked flesh. He couldn’t stop the tears this time, though he hated Ivy seeing how much she’d hurt him.

Ivy laughed heartlessly. “I told you so,” she said. She crouched down in front of him, her voice soft, menacing. “You’ll never win. You’ll learn to do as you’re told if it kills me - or if it kills you.” Then she stalked out the room, leaving Ginger sobbing on the floor.

Yates was horrified when he saw Ginger’s hand that night. He’d heard the scream, but Stanley hadn’t allowed him to go investigate. Ginger told him the whole story, whispering because his crying had left his voice raw and painful. He couldn’t remember how long he’d cried; it must’ve been hours. His hand was still so painful he couldn’t move it. His fingertips were mostly spared, though they were raw and red, but his palm was screaming and covered all over with throbbing blisters. He couldn’t even make a fist anymore.

“Ivy did this?” Ginger had never seen Yates look so angry. “That’s horrible! Oh, you must be hurting so badly. How could she?” He took hold of Ginger’s hand. “You poor thing... Here, I’ll help you. I’ll fix it.”

They sat up well into the night while Yates cleaned, treated and bandaged Ginger’s palm as best he could with the limited supplies. He didn’t have anything stronger than pharmacy painkillers and it barely touched Ginger’s agony. Before the burn was even properly dressed, Ginger had been begging Yates to stop for almost an hour. He was howling again, light-headed with pain.

“Stop, stop, please...” he moaned.

“I’m almost done, I promise,” Yates whispered. He saw Ginger starting to wobble and quickly pulled him close, right onto his own lap. Ginger was bigger and heavier so Yates must’ve been very squashed, but he didn’t complain. “Put your head on my shoulder. I don’t want you fainting. Your eyes keep losing focus.”

Ginger let his head fall on Yates’s shoulder with a thump, biting his shirt hard when the treatment continued and the pain returned with a vengeance. He managed not to faint, but the agony combined with his sobbing made him retch. He thumped Yates’s shoulder weakly with his good hand. “Le’ me up,” he gasped. “‘M gonna puke.”

“No, you stay there,” Yates said firmly. “I don’t care if you’re sick. Do whatever you need to. Vomit, bite my shirt, bite me if you need to. It’s alright.”

So Ginger stayed, and when he did bring up bile and spit all down Yates’s back and across their mattress, Yates didn’t even flinch. Ginger felt a soft hand rubbing up and down his back, a gentle voice shushing him when he groaned.

“I know, I’m sorry, but we need to make sure it’s treated properly,” Yates said, his own face crumpling whenever Ginger whimpered. “I’ll change your bandages every day, but it’s going to take a while before this heals. How’re you going to do any cooking and cleaning?”

“I’ll have to, won’t I?” Ginger sighed wearily. “Never mind that now. I don’t even care about the mess. Let’s just get some sleep, please.”

The next day was exceptionally difficult for Ginger. He supposed that was what Ivy had wanted. His bandages were cumbersome and clumsy, and the pain was still so terrible he couldn’t put any weight on the afflicted hand. Ivy made sure to give him every possible job that required two hands, eventually resorting to ordering him to move heavy furniture across the room and back with no real purpose other than to cause him pain. Several times Ginger’s knees buckled from the agony, his vision becoming dark and fuzzy at the edges, but Ivy’s shrill voice would always drag him back to reality. He vomited again three times before noon.

Ivy elbowed Ginger out of the way when he prepared Stanley’s lunch tray, piling it with half a dozen plates, cups, cutlery, even a teapot. She smirked, handing it to Ginger. “Be careful, it’s heavy!” she said in a falsely bright voice. “Hold it with both hands.”

Ginger couldn’t. It wasn’t even about defiance anymore, he really truly couldn’t. He was almost sobbing with the pain already, shifting the majority of the tray’s weight to his right hand. He couldn’t take this anymore. He wanted to run far away, across fields and over pavements and through cities. He wanted to lock himself away with Yates and never see another person again. He wanted to cut his own hand off to stop the pain. He wanted so many things and none of them were allowed.

Stanley’s door was closed. Ginger tried nudging it with his foot, but it didn’t budge. He didn’t know how he was supposed to get the door open with just one working hand. He knocked, but Stanley just barked at him to come in already and stop hovering outside. Ginger sighed, juggling the tray and trying to hold it just for a second with his left hand as he grasped for the door handle with his right.

Sharp pain surged all the way up his left arm in an instant. He stumbled through the doorway with a yelp, dropping the tray with a terrible clatter. Food splashed all across the linoleum and crockery shattered into shards of glass like glittering stars. Stanley and Yates gawped as Ginger landed on his knees on the bedroom floor, crouched in the midst of the mess.

“You stupid, clumsy idiot!” Stanley roared, his face flushing scarlet. He grabbed his walking stick and raised it to swing.

“Oh please, sir! It’s not Ginger’s fault,” Yates gasped frantically. “He’s hurt his hand, sir. He shouldn’t really be working at all. Please don’t hit him! He’s being so brave and-”

“Shut up, will you! You’re getting far too mouthy. Ginger’s a bad influence. You shouldn’t question me, boy.” Stanley paused, walking stick still raised like he was about to conduct an orchestra. He suddenly smirked, holding it out to Yates. “Okay. I won’t hit him.”

Yates took the stick gingerly. “R-really, sir?”

“Am I not a man of my word? You, Ginger!” he barked.

Ginger raised his head, glaring through his curtain of red hair.

“Hold out your hand!”

Ginger did as he was told.

“No, not your right hand. The one with the wound,” Stanley said, still smiling. Ginger did so, far more reluctantly. Stanley turned to Yates. “I won’t hit him. So you’ll have to do it for me. That’s what you’ve been trained to do, correct? So whack him six times on that hand with my walking stick. And don’t you dare hold back or I’ll double the punishment.”

Yates stared at Stanley, mouth gaping. “But... but he’s so badly hurt, sir.”

“That’s no concern of mine. Get to it.” He paused. “At once!”

Yates glanced at Ginger, helpless and terrified. Ginger tried to smile at him. It’s okay, he mouthed. He wanted to comfort him, but Yates’s eyes filled with tears - bad tears, that’s what they’d been taught. He’d never seen Yates cry properly.

“No,” Yates said quietly, his voice wobbling. He put the stick back in its usual place by Stanley’s bed.

“What?” Stanley snapped. “What’re you waiting for? Do as you’re told, boy!”

“I won’t,” Yates said. He blinked, and two fat tears ran down his face. “I’m not going to hit him, especially when he’s hurt.”

Stanley trembled with rage. He grabbed his stick and aimed a swipe at Yates instead, and Ginger hurried to his feet to drag Yates out of reach. Stanley shakily swung his legs out of bed, leaning heavily on the stick, practically frothing at the mouth.

“You disobedient little swine!” he yelled, pointing mutinously at Yates. “You’re more loyal to him than me, the man who feeds and clothes you and lets you live under his roof. All Ginger ever does is hold you back! How dare you! You’re not to answer to Yates any longer. I don’t want you attached to my name. You’re not worthy of it. You’re nothing.”

Yates was sobbing in earnest. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t hurt Ginger like that. I’m still loyal, I promise, I can still be Yates, I-”

“Shut up!” Stanley screamed. He turned to Ginger, crimson in the face and breathing heavily. “And you! You were a mistake right from the start. You’re the cause of all this!”

“What the hell is going on up here? What’s all the noise?” Ivy demanded, rushing into the crowded bedroom too. “Oh for God’s sake, look at the mess on the floor! And what’s your idiot blubbering about, Stanley?”

Stanley wasn’t listening. “Get him out of here!” he boomed, pointing at Ginger. He sounded so fierce that Ivy did as she was told at once, grabbing a fistful of Ginger’s hair and yanking him out the door.

“You just wait!” Stanley continued, staggering out into the hall and yelling down the stairs as Ivy pulled Ginger away. He was exceptionally wobbly without his wheelchair, supporting himself on his stick and the wall. “I’ll turn you out of my house without a care. You’ll die like a dog in the gutter, you’ll see. I won’t have you two together anymore. You’re getting in the way of Yates’s work. You need to be separated!” He wavered precariously, eyes wild.

Ginger felt sudden panic, raw and sharp. “You can’t split us up! We’re a pair!” he yelled.

“I can do whatever I want with you. You’re mine,” Stanley said triumphantly. “And you’ll do as I say, and be out of here by-“

Stanley was cut off by a sudden cacophony of bumps and thumps, then eerie, still silence. Ivy, almost back at the kitchen with Ginger in tow, quickly hauled him back to the bottom of the stairs.

They stopped short. Stanley was lying crumpled in a heap on the floor, one leg bent at an unnatural angle, head twisted uncomfortably and staring at the ceiling. There were shallow, rasping gasps coming from low in his chest. His eyes swivelled round frantically, the only part of his body still able to move freely.

Ivy started screaming. Ginger’s mouth fell open, but he didn’t make a sound. He looked up - and saw Yates standing there at the top of the stairs, face ghostly pale, eyes wide, outstretched arms shaking, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

There wasn’t time to think. They couldn’t let Ivy recover from the shock. Ginger dashed up the stairs, grabbed hold of Yates and rushed him down past Stanley’s crumpled body, along the corridor and out the door. They ran like rats despite the hard pavement cutting their bare feet. They ran even though they had no idea where to go next.

[asterekmess]

Scott McCall is the poster boy for entitlement, misogyny and toxic masculinity. Remember when he demanded that Allison goes out with her stalker (Matt) and then yelled at her in the middle of a crowded club because she had the audacity to trust her own father to save Jackson instead of obeying him? Or when Scott pinned Allison against her bedroom’s door and humiliated her just to prove how ‘weak’ and ‘fragile’ she was and because “If I’m scared shitless, then you should be scared shitless too”?

I told my friend Mads a long time ago that with every new fic I put out, my urge to become, if not popular, then just understood as an anti-scott blog got stronger. I mean, it’s not like I want my blog to just be about hating Scoot, but I didn’t really want people to come in and follow me thinking I was a Scott fan, because it would be disingenuous.

I think I got my wish? Either one person has a lot of feelings (which I’m all for) or a bunch of v angry anti-scott people have swarmed over me like hummingbirds on sugar water. It’s a really interesting experience!

Anyway, back to your ask. So, I don’t like Scott, and admittedly sometimes I’m a little extra bitter/hateful than others, but I do try to be accurate in my dislikes of him (usually), so I’ll go through what you said one at a time and try to decipher (from my v faulty memory, so apologies if there are mistakes) if I agree with each statement.

Since some people have requested the Read More thing so they can scroll easier.

Scott is: Entitled. Off the cuff, I would agree. I’ve mentioned before how frustrating it was to see the show attempt to portray him as a poor kid, when he’s nowhere near that. I’ve also seen posts before that explore how Scott doesn’t carry a ‘poor kid’ mentality at all (they probably did it better than me, and it was probably Athenadark who did the analyzing). Growing up, I didn’t consciously know I was poor. Not as in ‘i had everything I needed’ but as in “i assumed all kids grew up occasionally eating a single can of pears for dinner or had to return groceries from the car because their parent’s card was declined and they were out of food stamps or wore a pair of tennis shoes until they were literally taped together with packing tape because we couldn’t afford new ones.” I grew up in a poor town, on the poor side of that town, so there wasn’t a lot that showed me it was possible to live differently. Being poor gives you a specific mentality, and when I finally met kids who were ‘middle class’ I was blown away by the differences. I say all this because Scott is very clearly a middle class kid.

Yes, he has an after school job. Who tf didn’t? That doesn’t automatically make you poor? Even my rich friend got a summer job because she wanted to buy band merch and her parents wouldn’t let her. But have you seen his room? It’s a wreck. We get the scene of him digging under his bed trying to find his phone, and I honestly was kinda disgusted. (I also grew up in a hellhole hoarder house, so clutter fucks me up) It’s not just the messiness though. It’s finding out that his mom is the one doing the laundry. Melissa “One shift won’t break us completely” McCall still cleans her son’s room and does his laundry and sews his clothes even though she’s supposed to be working herself to death at the hospital. Oh, and he’s sixteen years old, so he should be able to do his own fucking laundry? it’s one thing if his stuff ends up there while she’s doing laundry, but apparently she goes out of her way to do his clothes regularly enough that she has no qualms about going in his room to clean? Scott works at a VET’s office and has for long enough that he can put a cast on a dog and feels confident giving it painkillers in the right dosage. And he can’t sew a line of stitches in his clothes? He’s got an ensuite bathroom. His room is clearly the master bedroom. He doesn’t make his mom dinner to bring her, he picks up chinese. And there’s the house itself and its size, etc. Of the two of them, i would’ve expected Stiles to have the messy room. He’s adhd, I know how hard it is to keep a room clean with that kind of headspace. But no, his is really clean most of the time, even his desk, unless he’s researching something specific. I mention Stiles because it’s the comparison of the two that makes Scott’s own messiness stand out. Hell, literally no other bedroom we’re shown is messy in the slightest. Allison’s, Lydia’s, Jackson’s, none of them. (I don’t remember Liam’s room, if we saw it) He feels entitled enough to take up extra space and add extra work to his mother’s stress level (which, listen, I’m not saying being not-poor makes you entitled. I’m saying that the show makes the claim Scott IS poor and he Still does these things. THAT is the entitled part.)

Then there’s his relationship with Stiles. “Yeah, but I had you before.” When talking about the good and bad things in his life, he doesn’t even think to mention Stiles as one of the good things. He says he has nothing, just like before. Stiles isn’t even on his radar, even though they’re looking right at each other. Yet we know that Stiles is basically Scott’s only friend. As someone else with very few friends, I can’t imagine saying to my best friend’s face that I have nothing and no one. Let alone if that friend had been keeping me from dying and teaching me how to be a fucking werewolf for months on end. When do we see him worry about Stiles being human and stuck in the middle of all this? Especially in earlier seasons, we never see him say anything like “maybe you should hang back cus’ you’ll get hurt.” Like, we know that Stiles would do it anyway. And we’d get pissed if Scott told Stiles he wasn’t allowed to help because he was human, but that’s because Scott doesn’t get to tell Stiles what to do. We know Stiles finds ways to protect himself when he has to, but Scott never even asks. He never hints at “I’m worried about you and please know I wont’ be mad if you stay away from the fight.” Even Derek shoves Stiles behind him when the kanima shows up. There’s the thing where he warns them ‘if something goes wrong call for me.” But he explicity says that worry is for Allison, even though she has some method of self-defense. Stiles has nothing. Scott never cares enough to think “Maybe we shouldn’t bring him to the rave where there’s gonna be a vicious killing machine that has already tried to attack him once.” One word from Peter “vulnerable” and Scott stalks Allison (and forces Stiles to help him) for a week. But Stiles gets trapped in a pool for hours, scared out of his mind, and Scott never so much as seems to get clingy? He just assumes Stiles will be fine. He feels entitled to Stiles’ help and assistance, without putting any thought into Stiles’ safety. He asks “is it illegal?” not “Will you get in trouble?” He looks at Stiles when he says “I can’t protect anyone” But when was he trying to protect STILES?  Then there’s the part where while he’s ‘under the influence of the wolfsbane whistle’ (A plot point I fucking hate) he drags Stiles down with him and includes him in being nothing. Being no one. He assumes that if he was nothing before the bite, then Stiles must’ve been nothing also. And since Stiles didn’t get bitten, it also implies that Stiles is still nothing. He’s just hanging on Scott’s wolfy coattails. That’s an incredibly entitled viewpoint to have.

Admittedly, we do see some more humble moments with Allison, especially at the beginning of their relationship, where he says “I just wanna make sure I get my second chance” he’s not assuming he’ll get it. Go scott! (I’m not the hugest fan of him asking her out after he’s clearly just done her a massive favor and is keeping her from getting in trouble for hitting a dog, and she’s wearing his SHIRT and she can’t really say no without looking absolutely horrible, but she seemed pretty into him, so I’ll let it go) But once they’re together? I know that most best friends share secrets and private stuff with each other...but Scott tells Stiles so much about his sex life with Allison that Stiles is actually pissed off and kind of disgusted by it. Stiles. Who is supposed to be sex obsessed. Even he thinks that it’s just way too much information. I can’t imagine Allison would be comfortable with Stiles knowing that much about her in bed. (But at the same time, we see Scott tell Stiles that he never wants any more info on Stiles in bed than Stiles’ vague innuendo abt wet dreams, and then he still feels entitled to tell Stiles whatever he wants about him and Allison and won’t listen when Stiles asks him to stop.) When he asks Allison to go out with someone else, there’s so much that makes me both sad and angry. She is confused and scared, and has clearly committed really hard to Scott (enough to go against everything her family wants) and he tells her to go on a date with someone else. Not just that, but to kiss someone else. To kiss Matt, specifically, whom he knows Stiles thinks is really fucking creepy (though, we need to acknowledge that no one knew Matt was stalking Allison.) And she tries to show him that he’s asking for something really fucking weird and uncomfortable. “Kiss him? You mean, like really kiss him?” And even then, he doesn’t think anything is weird about telling his girlfriend (and they are clearly v monogamous. We see how insanely possessive he is of her, losing his shit when she’s just introduced to other guys Lydia knows, after only one date that he bailed from) to kiss someone else, but not kiss them the way she kisses him. He doesn’t ask for any info about the date, doesn’t ask if Allison’s uncomfortable. He just says “Do it.” and expects her to obey. He feel entitled to controlling who she’s with and what she does, without asking her if she’s okay with it. Because I haven’t seen later seasons in a long time, I usually try to stick to the earlier stuff so I’m less likely to say something stupid, but I do remember him scaring her in her bedroom. There’s a lot about that scene to unpack, but in the case of Allison specifically, we see that he still feels entitled to touch her. They are not friends right now. She has not given any hint that she wants to get back together (except asking to talk to him in ep.1). He should not feel like it is in any way okay to touch her at all, let alone hold her still with super strength. But he does. In his mind. She’s Allison, so why wouldn’t he able to touch her?

He also feels entitled to his leadership. We need to make clear that Scott doesn’t do the leadership stuff. He just happens to be the person in the friend group who’s a werewolf. Stiles and Jackson are the ones who go and set Peter on fire after they can’t get ahold of Scott (WHO IS NOW WITH DEREK, and THEREFORE HAS HIS PHONE). (You’re telling me Scott could’ve done the howl thing at any time to find Derek, and he just left him there for a week?) (Also, yes, I know Stiles was also not involved in helping find Derek until Peter made him. I’m annoyed at him too.) What is leadership-worthy about leaving a tortured man on a grate with electric wires plugged into his side and shackles on his wrists until he agrees to help you kill his own uncle (Oh, also, I have Peter feelings and have salty thoughts about the plot of s1, if anyone’s interested)? But let’s say Scott’s leadership comes in Season 2, not at the end of S1. But when exactly does he earn it? When he tells a teenage girl he doesn’t care about the humiliation and pain that led her to taking a bite that would cure her lifelong illness and give her a friend group that she didn’t have to be afraid of or bullied by? When he called a boy who looked him in the eyes and begged for him to keep his wolf secret “Bloodthirsty”? When he dismissed Boyd’s want for the bite, which was a way for him to make friends and feel like he belonged somewhere, as ridiculous? When he damaged Boyd’s workplace in a way that would almost certainly get Boyd in trouble? (You think smashing a massive crater into the middle of the ice rink with his fist didn’t get Boyd yelled at or maybe even fired?) When Boyd asked to talk to him on the field, and Scott attacked without rhyme or reason? When he let Erica sit and seize while he fussed over Allison? “This doesn’t Feel right” really Scott? You know, I think Erica, who’s having a fucking seizure in the next aisle, would agree! Hurry the fuck up! Oh my god, I went so off track. I have more thoughts on all that though, if anyone’s curious. Anyway. Scott doesn’t do anything that actually entails being a leader. His one job in the rave, he passes off to Isaac so that he can go call Gerard, because he’s currently working with the villain behind everyone’s back. The whole thing with Allison telling her parents and the plan with Derek getting messed up? Yeah, that was Scott’s fault for not telling her. Hell, for not telling GERARD. He, what he expected her to read his mind? Scott knew Allison was telling her parents about Jackson! She said she would tell them after he broke out of the van! The entire fuckup is his fault. But he still shouts at her and blames her and says she should’ve ‘trusted’ him. He passes all the guilt onto her and leaves her there on the verge of tears. He’s entitled to her obedience and he’s entitled to shaming her and scolding her like a child when she doesn’t do what he wants.

So, yeah, I think Scott’s entitled.

Scott is: Misogynistic. This one...I’m not so sure? Scott has a lot of bad qualities, a lot of behavior that’s incredibly toxic and manipulative, but I can honestly say that I can’t think of a single time when his reasoning for not letting/not thinking someone is capable of doing something is because they’re female?

There’s a lot to be said about the manipulative way that he speaks to and interacts with his girlfriends, but that doesn’t stem from misogyny, from what I can see. It stems from everything else. From his self-obsession, from his moral code, from his honest belief that he deserves obedience and complete candor from those closest to him. He does this to everyone, not just the women. It’s just easier to see it with the women because we’re primed to look for it. (I’m making the assumption here that you are female/feminine presenting, anon, since I know that the vast majority of the fandom is, but if I’m wrong, my apologies) Wow, though I’d have more to say on this bit, but I don’t.

Scott is: Toxicly Masculine. I’m not sure where I lay on this idea. Teen Wolf does have a lot of general instances of toxic masculinity, and Scott does exhibit some of them, but again, part of those behaviors can be found in women as well.

I know that it regularly pissed me off how often they reduced men to sex machines. *Scott and Allison are making out on Allison’s bed* Scott: “I don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna do.” Allison: “I’m not doing anything I don’t wanna do. Are you?” Scott (incredulous): “Are you seriously asking me that question?”

*Stiles and Heather are talking about having sex at the party* Heather: “I mean, would you be okay with that?” Stiles (gently mocking): “Would I be okay with that? Yes, yes, I believe so.” They go out of their way to completely negate the possibility that a guy wouldn’t be into sex, even making the concept of asking for a man’s consent sound silly. This becomes even more toxic when Stiles complains about Malia leaving marks on him, hurting him during sex, and he gets teased for it. No one considers it a problem that Malia is scratching him. He’s expected to be appreciative of it/like it.

There’s the possessiveness, yes. Scott does some really fucked up, possessive things. Like freaking on Allison when Lydia introduces her to other guys, or getting angry from the sidelines just because Jackson is talking to Allison, not even flirting with her. Or running off to attack Jackson AND Allison (because there’s no proof he was only going after Jackson, and he’s only ever been able to follow allison’s scent across town, so he couldn’t have specifically been looking for Jackson) after she broke up with him. Throwing Isaac into a wall for liking Allison, even though they’ve been broken up for FOUR MONTHS. I can’t think of any more at the moment. But it’s a lot. BUT. We also see possessive behavior from Malia (yeah, she was an actual coyote for years, but she’s still a woman.) and similar amounts of aggression throughout the seasons from most of the shifters, implying that the habit is born from the werewolf/shifter thing, and not specifically Scott being toxicly masculine. (It’s still not good, but it’s not technically toxic masculinity.)

Aggression I think we can all agree is a shifter-wide phenomenon.

So, yeah, there’s instances that come across this way, and there’s also evidence that some of it is werewolf related, not scott related. I’m torn.

Anyway, again, I’ve talked way too much. If there are moments from later in the show that I’m missing that specifically prove/disprove these points, I’d love to know about it and check it out! I feel you Anon, Scott is infuriating and you’re in good company. <3

[shireness-says]

Proximity

Summary: Killian Jones is not an idiot. Unfortunately, he’s also plagued by a problem - the uncontrollable urge to say something, anything when he finds himself forced to share space with another person. Will it ruin his chances with a beautiful stranger forever? ~2.3K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: The other day, I made a fool of myself in a restaurant, and @optomisticgirl was kind enough to laugh at me and tell me it should be a prompt. So, here we are. Thanks also to @snidgetsafan, my utterly stellar beta. She is French and trapped at home, and would like me to tag my “going outdoors whenever you want” porn. You’ve been warned. 

AO3 tells me that this is my 50th fic! Thanks to all of you who have been here since the beginning. Stay tuned - I’m planning something special to commemorate the milestone, which I should be launching in the next few days.

Tagging: @kmomof4, @katie-dub, @thejollyroger-writer, @let-it-raines, @scientificapricot, @profdanglaisstuff, @thisonesatellite, @searchingwardrobes, @snowbellewells, @spartanguard, @ultraluckycatnd, @teamhook, @ohmightydevviepuu, @shardminds

~~~~~

Killian Jones is not an idiot.

(It feels weird to say that, but Killian really feels that it bears mentioning under the circumstances. State it for the record, as it were.)

In most circumstances, he’d go so far as to call himself of greater than average intelligence. He’s smart and charming and quite the conversationalist when the situation calls for it. 

Unfortunately, he’s also plagued by a problem - the uncontrollable urge to say something, anything when he finds himself forced to share space with another person. Elevators are his ultimate nemesis, coaxing him to say all manner of stupid things he regrets immediately.

Unfortunately, it’s not limited to elevators. He only wishes he were that lucky. And unfortunately, it seems to crop up at the worst possible times. Such as at the soda dispenser at lunch.

You see, there’s an excellent deli just around the corner from his office. It’s nothing really exceptional just to look at the building, but the food inside is something else altogether. The bread is homemade and the cookies are fresh and the meat is always stacked tight and high and it may just be a sandwich, but there’s just something about it. There’s no other place he’d rather go for lunch.

It’s busy, today; that’s a thing that can happen at noon on a sunny Wednesday. He and Robin and Will know well enough to come early so they can get a seat, but they also know to get out once the order lines start backing up. While his friends duck out, however, Killian detours to refill his soda cup; like any truly respectable lunch spot, the machine is self-serve and the refills are endless. 

And that’s where the real trouble starts. 

Getting a refill of Coke is fine; it’s hard to muck that really. But Killian makes the mistake of stepping to the side to put a lid back on his cup, and when he looks back up to head for the door, she’s there. A woman. In his immediate space, right next to him filling up her own cup at the dispenser. She’s gorgeous, too - a blonde haired, green-eyed dream with a trim athletic figure and legs for days.

Maybe that’s why he can’t fight it - the irrepressible urge to say something, anything. In another setting, he might have managed something charming and flirtatious. But they’re in a state of shared space, and unfortunately, the blabbermouth urges that this triggers override any other instinct or effort. 

He doesn’t even recognize his own voice when he finally speaks; it’s somehow pitched lower than normal into something almost cartoonish, or like a theatrical sotto voce gone horribly wrong. 

“They’re leaving without me!” he declares before fleeing for the door, unfortunately not fast enough to avoid the look of utter confusion on her lovely face as he goes. 

He regrets it as soon as he reaches the swinging door, an impressive four steps later. Unfortunately, it’s too late to take the words back at that point. 

(Worst of all, maybe - besides the fact that his friends are decidedly not leaving without him, instead waiting patiently just outside the door - is the fact that she hadn’t even looked his way before he’d made an utter fool of himself. It simultaneously hurts his ego and makes Killian want to kick himself for bringing this upon himself.) 

“Someone’s got a look,” Robin comments with a smirk. “What’d you do?”

Killian sighs heavily. “Do you ever do or say something that you just… immediately regret?”

“Nope!” Will chirps back cheerily. “Pillar of decorum, me.”

“More like utterly shameless,” Robin quips back. “What’d you do this time, Jones?”

Robin and Will wind up in stitches as the sorry story of the sorrier encounter unravels, not that Killian blames them (much). He can’t believe himself either, and if it was anyone else, he’d be laughing too. 

“It was one of those moments where I just wanted to ask myself, ‘what the hell is wrong with you’, you know?” Killian says to conclude his lament. “I don’t know if you saw, either, but she was stunning, too. Which just makes it worse, somehow - of course I’d make a fool of myself in front of a beautiful woman.”

“Ah, don’t take it too hard,” Robin tells him with a consolatory pat on the back. “What are the chances that you’ll see her again, anyways?”

———

The chances are higher than any of them thought, as it turns out. It seems she must have started a job in the same building that houses their publishing office. He’s not quite sure where; there’s too many options to narrow it down. All Killian knows is that he keeps seeing her in the lobby and the parking lot and outside the windows.

(Mostly, he just ducks out of sight or around corners so that she can’t see him. It’s becoming a problem.)

Killian can’t help but admire her from a distance, even if he intends to never let the blonde see his face again for fear that she’ll remember the very stupid thing he said at the deli. She wears a series of trim skirts and tailored pants that always mold perfectly to her slight frame, and her hair has this bounce to it that’s just mesmerizing. Even if the sunny color hadn’t caught his attention, the way those curls move certainly would have; it’s hair that makes a man dream of sinking his hands into those curls, though he knows those are inappropriate thoughts to entertain about a woman he doesn’t even know, and doesn’t ever intend to.

That doesn’t mean he’s not horribly, disgustingly fascinated and smitten. 

The thing about his particular office building is that it’s older - beautifully so, with ornate carvings at the corners and tall ceilings that keep him from feeling quite so trapped inside. Older buildings, however, tend to have quirks, no matter how charming and architecturally pleasing they are. One of the particular quirks of this building is a series of elevators that seem to alternate breaking down in no discernible pattern. The beautiful original elevators from the 1940s have been preserved, to gorgeous effect, but it seems like their parts need replacing more than newer models. Technically, he could take the stairs; however, he works on the 8th of 10 floors, and most days, it just doesn’t seem worth the effort (or the workout) to haul himself up and down all those flights when he could take the elevator in a fraction of the time. Theoretically. Killian has learned from his own experience and that of his coworkers that it depends on the day. 

And today is not his day. 

It starts out fine, as he gets in the elevator to make his way down to the street for lunch. It’s a beautiful day out, and though he’d planned to reheat some leftovers - and in fact, had left a tupperware full of last night’s pizza in the break room fridge - with this kind of weather, Killian can’t bear to stay indoors a moment longer. It couldn’t hurt to go get a sandwich from the deli, anyways. 

Things get a little more complicated when the elevator stops on the sixth floor and his mystery blonde steps into the car. She’s distracted by her phone when the doors open, and takes a moment before stepping in; in fact, the doors start closing as she steps through the opening, causing her to startle a bit. 

“Those things will nearly take your arm off!” Killian blurts out in a mixture of nerves and horrible impulse rooted in space constraints.

(Elevators: once again, his nemesis.)

The blonde looks at him strangely at that, only to double take when she apparently recognizes him from before. “Hey, weren’t you the guy from —” she starts as the elevator begins its descent. 

“I don’t think so,” Killian quickly interrupts.

“No, no, at the deli, weren’t you the guy —”

For better or worse, the elevator chooses that particular moment to stop. Not a regular stop either, where someone might step on from another floor on the way down - the elevator breaks down between floors with a horrible, grinding halt that Killian knows means they’ll be stuck until the repairmen or fire department can pry them out. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, not quite under his breath - though then again, nothing is really out of earshot in the tight confines of an elevator. Of course he gets trapped with the one person he’s been avoiding for weeks. 

At least it causes her to drop that particular line of questioning for the moment. Her gaze has turned fearful, somewhere between concerned and panicked, as she looks across the little box at him. “Has this happened before?”

“More than anyone likes to admit,” Killian tells her. “Welcome to the Misthaven Building. It’s practically a rite of passage.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Eh, don’t think about it too long,” Killian advises. “They’re good about getting us out quickly anyways. Just got to give the building manager a call.”

This is his third time trapped in the five years he’s worked in the building; he’s well used to the ritual of reporting the situation and being told to sit tight. Like he has any other option. Still, his companion’s face relaxes when he tells her that people are on their way and they should hopefully be out within the hour.

“I suppose I should introduce myself, if we’re going to be stuck together.” It feels like more of a concession that he’d like, but truthfully, there’s nothing about this situation that he’s a particular fan of. Except, of course, the woman herself, but there’s no changing the multitude of mortifying circumstances under which they’ve met. “I’m Killian Jones. I’m with the publishing company up on 8.”

“Emma Swan,” she smiles in return. “Just started with the law firm on six.”

“A pleasure, Swan. Or, at least, as much of one as it can be under these circumstances.”

She laughs. “Same, I guess.” He should have figured, though, that she wouldn’t just let their previous encounter go - especially after finding out that she’s a lawyer. “Are you sure that we didn’t meet before at the deli?”

Killian sighs heavily. “Meet would be a strong word, but aye, we did. A little passing encounter at the soda machine.”

“I thought so!” she grins. “No offense, but it was an… interesting encounter.”

“Oh, none taken. That’s the polite way to put it.” That doesn’t stop him from blushing at the memory. That ridiculous voice, seriously. He still can’t believe it. 

“Yeah, it was… not what I expected,” Emma admits.

“I’m sure it’s not, since it’s not what I expected to say either. I’ve been kind of kicking myself ever since.”

“Why did you say it, then?” Emma asks with an amused smile.

Killian scrubs his hands over his face with a sigh. “I wish I had a better answer, but… do you ever just feel the urge to just say something, anything when you’re forced into close proximity with someone? Just to feel the air?” Emma nods tentatively. “I’ve got a particularly bad case of it.”

“Ohhhhh,” she exhales, as if in realization. “That would explain the arm thing when I got on the elevator too, then.”

“Precisely. There is no limit to the amount of stupid and ridiculous things I will say in elevators.”

“It was kind of what made me remember you,” Emma admits. 

“Of course,” Killian groans. “I swear I’m not usually so awkward, around lovely young women or otherwise.”

“Now that I know the story, it’s kind of charming,” Emma assures him. “At least I think so.”

“You’d be the first.”

Conversation gets easier now that they’ve talked about the elephant in the room. Emma proves to be just as charming as she is beautiful - funny and smart, with a great sense of sarcasm that weaves through their conversation. He learns that she’s just moved to town to be closer to her family - her brother is a county sheriff’s deputy in the area, and her sister-in-law a teacher - and she’s got a five year old son at home that she loves more than anything. Killian is even more impressed as he realizes she must have finished law school with an infant and as a single parent. Somehow, he gets the feeling that there’s nothing she can’t or won’t do if she sets her mind to it. In turn, he tells her about himself - the shenanigans he gets up to with Robin and Will, his brother states away, all the little coffee shops and quiet nooks he’s found since moving here himself. It’s easy to forget that they’re trapped when he’s enjoying their conversation so much, even if they are sitting on the floor of the elevator. 

All too soon, however, the car jolts back to life, making its way down to the lobby at last. Killian struggles to his feet as the car moves, before reaching down to pull Emma back to her feet as well. Even if she wasn’t wearing some very impressive and spindly heels that undoubtedly affect her balance, it’s the chivalrous thing to do. 

“Thanks for this,” Emma tells him once they’re finally back on the solid marble floors of the lobby. “I definitely would have been freaking out if you hadn’t been there.”

“It was my pleasure, Swan.” And it truly was; the circumstances may not have been ideal on the surface, but he can’t bring himself to regret it, as they’ve brought him into the company of an enchanting woman. It’s easy to realize that he wants more than just today; knowing that, Killian quickly screws up his courage. “I don’t suppose you’d want to get coffee sometime? Or dinner? I promise I make a much better date outside of elevators.”

“I’d love to,” Emma smiles, setting Killian’s heart soaring in joyous flight. “I’ve got to find out what you’re like in more normal settings and situations, after all.”

(He’s happy to prove he’s much better - and less vocal - at sharing space for more pleasurable reasons.)

[katehuntington]

Title: Three Days Ago Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester (Sam Winchester & Castiel mentioned) Pairing: Dean x Reader Summary: Dean and Y/N finally decide to settle down. But before they do, they take on one more case, which will turn out to be their last. Warnings: ANGST with a capital ‘A’! Canon typical violence, description of blood and injury, panic, major character death, grief. Seriously, do not read in public if you don’t like crying in a crowd. Word Count: 3514 words Author’s note: Grab your tissues, hurdle up in a burrito of sadness, because this is gonna be sad. @kittenofdoomage said: “Well, that was rude,” @wingedcatninja: “HOW. DARE. YOU.” and @winchest09 asked: “Why? Why do you do this to me?” So on that note, I hope you all enjoy!

     Three days ago, you and Dean had the talk. About quitting the job, about getting your own place, maybe even start a family. It has been occasionally discussed before over the years, but always jokingly, always the sarcastic ‘as if’. Dean and you are both realists. You know you will most likely die in armor. There is no happy ending in the cards. Every time the hunters took out an enemy, new ones would arise. The war never seemed to end, you were always covered in blood and bruises, always neck deep in trouble, fighting some impossible greater power that was way above your pay grade. And so you both laughed at the idea, like neither of you could picture it, while deep down both longed for that kind of peace. 

     One time, while driving through the night with Sam fast asleep in the back seat, the two of you fantasized about living a normal life. How it would be to have a home that isn’t a bunker, with windows that would allow sunlight to peek through the curtains. A house where the floors creak and the roof tiles tick when autumn rain pelts down. Maybe a house with a porch or a deck, with a view over a lake, so that Dean could spend his retirement fishing. A house like the cute cabin in Grand Mesa, Colorado, that you spotted on a real estate website. Dean doesn’t know, but you’ve been keeping an eye on the property, feeling a hint of relief every time you went online and found it to still be for sale. Even though the chances of ever living there are slimmer than winning the lottery, you couldn’t help yourself. 

     That is, until the final big bad was defeated. All there is left now are the little cases. The little cases that other hunters would have no problem with, the little cases that aren’t worth dying for. After decades of fighting a battle against what hides in the shadows and threatens mankind, you and Dean have decided the time has come to lay down the weapons. Your hunting days will soon be over, you were finally going to settle down with the man you love. So when Dean came across a suspicious news article and convinced you to work the case, you promised yourself: one last job. 

     Three days ago, the two of you went on that final hunt, having no idea that this case would end so much more.

      “Dean!”

     The damage is done before you can blink, let alone prevent it from happening. With a gun trapped and steady between both hands, you hurry around the corner and enter a dark alley in one of the neglected neighborhoods of Chicago. The hunter you care so much for comes into view, pushed against the brick wall by the shapeshifter that’s wearing your skin. Making a split second decision, you fire two silver bullets. Both hit the shifter in the chest, one piercing its heart. When the creature turns to you, horrified, the light coming from the lamppost on the corner of the street hits its eyes, igniting them to flash abnormally bright one last time. Then the spitting image of yourself crumbles to the ground, a fist clasped around the handle of the knife, pulling the weapon from Dean’s chest. 

     Every detail is clear, your senses heightened by the adrenaline. It all happens so fast, yet you are very much aware of every detail of what’s playing out in front of you. The fresh crimson on the blade, the gasp that escapes from Dean’s lungs as the knife is roughly drawn from his flesh, your racing heartbeat drumming in your ears, triggering a crippling state of inner panic. You lower the gun, big eyes watching him in shock as he turns his head to meet your gaze. A desperate, hopeless shade of emerald green, begging you silently to catch him before he collapses.

     You start to run towards him, but his legs give out. Unable to stay on his feet Dean slides down against the brick wall, but before he tumbles over to the side, you grab him and keep him vertical. 

     “I got you. I got you now. Hey hey hey…”       You force him to look into your eyes, your hand firmly on the back of his neck, holding him upright. Damn, he took a good punch. Two nasty gashes on his brow and cheekbone allow blood to drip down his face, but the red substance that is pooling on his bottom lip and starts to drip down his nose is not just a result from the beat down. It’s coming from deep within, filling his lungs, creeping up his throat. 

     You hastily shrug off your flannel shirt, first one arm, then the other, so that you can keep him steady. After folding it into a ball, you move his denim jacket aside to witness the stabwound between his ribs. For a short second you just stare at the stain that evens out the colors of his plaid shirt in one dark tone of red, growing larger with each passing moment. The image translates in your mind, setting it in overdrive. 

     “Cas!!!” you yell up to the sky.      You know he can’t hear you, you know Castiel doesn’t have the power to heal Dean either, not at this moment anyway. Still, you hope for a miracle, looking up at the tainted clouds above, painted in a hue of purple from the city lights. You call out for the angel again, but nothing happens, and so you return your teary eyes back to the hunter. The look he returns petrifies you to a degree that it can be felt in your deepest core, because besides the mixture of fear and pain, you notice something else. Sympathy for having to leave you for good this time. Acceptance of the inevitable fate that lies before him. Then you know. Dean is going to die tonight.

     You could give up. Now that you realize all hope is lost, you could stop fighting. But you can’t. You can’t give up on him. Not now, not ever. The small voice that tells you to stop your attempt to save the man you love, causes your hands to tremble and your heart to race, but you are calmed by the strong minded will that wants to keep him alive.       “This is going to hurt a little,” you warn, before you press the bundled fabric against the injury, doing your best to stop the severe bleeding.       Dean groans in agony when you apply pressure, grinding his teeth in the process as he does is very best to keep pulling in breaths.      “I know, I know. I’m sorry. Shhh…” you hush him, pulling out your phone and dialing 9-1-1.      “Y/N… don’t bother,” he says.      “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that,” you return, stern yet broken. “We’ll do this the old fashioned way, alright? All we gotta do is get you to a hospital and they will fix this. You’re gonna be fine. You're gonna be just fine.”

     You’re not just trying to convince him as you keep repeating the mantra in your head, but who are you fooling? Certainly not Dean, who watches you with empathy as you press the cellphone between your shoulder and your ear. The operator asks what your emergency is.       “I need an ambulance! M-my boyfriend just got stabbed in the chest and he’s - he’s losing a lot of blood. You’ve gotta send someone quick,” you tell the woman on the other end of the line, trying your best to get the message across best as you can.      “Okay, m’am. Help is on the way. What’s your location?”      You quickly glance at the corner of the street, trying to find a street sign. There isn't one, but years of experience in hunting and tracking pay off. You only need a fraction of a second to determine where you are, going on observations and memory of your chase that led you in this dark and empty street.       “I'm in a back alley of N. Morgan Street, right next to the ‘L’,” you explain, returning your focus to Dean.      “I’m dispatching units to your location right now. Is your boyfriend responsive?”      “Yes. Yes, he is,” you reply. “He's conscious.”

     You observe the oldest Winchester, witnessing how the flare in his eyes slowly starts to die down. He has a calm over him that seems foreign, at terms with the inevitable. Dean, who never backs out of a fight, who keeps throwing punches no matter what, has accepted his fate. The sight causes tears to fill your eyes again, desperately clinging to your lashes. You can't let them fall. If the tears fall, you will acknowledge it. If the tears fall, you will admit that you are about to lose him.      “What’s your name?”      You snap your attention back to the operator, who tries to gain more information. For a second your mind rushes through your aliases, deciding which one to give the woman on the phone, but then Dean’s head slowly dips in your hand as his eyelids become heavy.      “Dean? No no no no. Stay with me now,” you respond panicky, quickly dropping the phone to the concrete in order to hold him up.      “Look at me. Look at me. Dean?!”      Frantically you cup his face, trying to get him to focus on you again. Your thumb rubs his scruffy cheek lovingly as you pray for him to hang on. Someone seems to listen to the request, though, because his eyes flutter open again, able to take you in once more. 

     “They’re on their way, Dean. You just have to hold on a little bit longer, alright?” you say, emotion thick on your voice. “Tell me something.”      “Tell you what?” he asks, weakly.      You shrug, because honestly, all you want is to hear his voice.      “Anything. A stupid joke, a funny story. Just keep talking to me.”      A small smile appears on his lips while thoughts form in his head. Something in his warm eyes changes as he seems to figure out what to say to you. You can tell it’s a message he needs to get across, last requests and pleas for promises.      “W - will you do me a favor? Sammy, he's gonna be devastated--”      “- Dean,” you object, knowing where this is going.      “Y/N, please let me say this,” he whispers, weakening by the second. “I'm not sure how much time I've got here.”

     You want to interrupt him, yell at him to stop talking like he is going to die. Because you still want to believe that he isn't. You still want to believe that the two of you will have your happy ending. But you let him continue, as the tears finally fall. Reluctantly admitting, acknowledging, the last spark of naivety slipping away.       The hand that is clenching the piece of clothing against the wound, hesitatingly loosens grip on the fabric. Eventually you let go completely, allowing the dam to break. Dean sighs relieved when the painful pressure is taken away from his chest and then looks into your glistening eyes. Despite his deteriorating condition his hand now reaches for yours, rubbing his thumb over your bloody skin comfortingly, then gripping it tight.

     “Promise me--” He inhales sharply, trying to get enough air in to deliver his message. “- that you will look after my little brother. Make sure he doesn't do anything suicidal... And let him look after you too. Don't go through this alone, okay?”      A burn ignites in your chest, the hurting flames firing up your throat as you lower your gaze, unable to hold yourself up. Actual physical pain, caused by heartbreak. Nonetheless, you promise with a nod.       “One other thing. Now this… this is important.”       His voice gains a little strength, drawing your eyes back to his. His pupils are dilated slightly, the darkness of the alley surrounding them this dreadful evening, but the beautiful shade of jade that has always captivated you is still noticeable. You take him in, trying to look past the blood, past the bruising.      “Promise me you'll quit hunting.” Dean pleads.

     Your jaw lowers a little as you stare at him. Not nearly confident enough to take a leap that substantial, especially now that you are going to have to make it on your own, you shake your head frantically, and look down again.       “Dean, I can't,” you resist.      “Yeah, you can,” he pauses, trying to catch his breath.      You watch him struggle, blood coloring his teeth red as it gathers in his mouth. Despite that the shadows are closing in on him, he clears his throat.      “You’re talented, Y/N. You’re capable of so much more,” he says, smiling lovingly as he watches you. “Go get that degree you’ve always wanted, buy that little house by the lake that you’ve been checking on for months now. But don't dwell on revenge, okay? Leave this life behind.”      “How the hell am I supposed to do that without you, huh?” you reply, whimpering.       “It’s gonna be easier to move on from being a hunter now that I won't be there to slow you down.”

     As he swallows apprehensively, he glances down at his hand on yours. The message shocks you at first, but quickly transforms into compassion when the true meaning of his words settles in. Moved, you run your fingers through his hair as you support his head, trying to get through to him.       “You picked me up when I was at my worst, you took me for the mess I was and you made me into a better person. So don't you dare think that there has ever been a moment in my life that you were a burden, you hear me?” you say, the words coming out strong, contradicting the tears that stream down your face.      For the first time you witness a glazed fog in his eyes, not caused by the pain he is suffering from, but surfaced by your moving words. You know he needed to hear that, because he would never be able to convince himself of that fact. The guilt doesn't leave his weary mind completely, though.

     “I - I’ve done many stupid things in my life, but you know what I regret most?” Dean continues.      You shake your head, waiting in suspense as he coughs violently. He settles, though, and you wipe the blood away that drips from the corner of his mouth.      “Not settling down with you,” he continues. “Not taking the chance that was right in front of me. I waited too long, and I - I was too damn scared to let my guard down, that I drove right by the exit…”      You hush him, trying to ease the man who carries so much on his shoulders still.      “Hey hey… It’s alright,” you say, softly. “You know why? You didn't have to take that exit. I was right there on that highway trying to hitch a ride. Look who stopped and let me in, huh?”      You smile through the hurt and Dean mirrors your expression as he blinks slowly.      “It's been one hell of a ride,” he whispers, his flooding lungs making it difficult to speak.      “It sure has,” you chuckle, trying to mask a sniffle. “And I wouldn't have missed it for the world.”

     Fingertips try to break the trail of blood that has come down his handsome face when he closes his eyes again, pulling in a shallow breath with difficulty, trying to cope with the pain. It kills you to see him like this, to watch him stall, trying desperately to stay with you for a little while longer. He’s living on borrowed time.

     “You need to know something, too,” you start, steadying him with both hands now, cupping his face.       His eyelids part again, but he can barely focus. He is beginning to weigh heavily on you and it is petrifying to see how the strength oozes from his body. As his heartbeat slows to a worrying low pace, yours speeds up. Tears have now carved shimmering lines in your cheeks as you tremble, not ready for the moment that is about to come.      “I love you, Dean. You know that, right?” you say, falling apart.      Going on fumes, he looks up into your eyes, as the corner of his mouth twitches. There is no actual answer to your insecure question, but the line parting his lips growing further into a small smile says it all. Pupils bouncing over your features, trying to imprint this image in his mind, so that he can take the memory with him to wherever he will go in the afterlife. It’s the last thing he is going to see.       “Kiss me,” he breathes, barely audible.

     You lovingly stroke his cheek with your thumb as more tears spill from your eyes. Willingly, you come closer until you’ve closed the gap between the two of you completely, pressing a gentle kiss on his mouth. You are the one who he wants to feel in his final seconds. You are his last wish.      As his lips move over yours, dwelling in the moment, you understand that this is his way of saying ‘I love you, too’. His taste that is so familiar to you, has mixed with the metallic flavor of blood, but you try not to think of that matter. Memories of all your epic moments with him flash through your mind, and God, how beautiful those memories are. 

     4th of July on an empty desert road on the hood of the Impala, beer instead of champagne, shooting stars instead of fireworks. Driving across the country for a Bob Seger concert and ending up right in front of the stage, you dancing freely and him singing along every word. The first time he took your hand in his while riding down the 101 in California, finally allowing himself to fall for you. The first time you kissed him under the traffic lights, stretching the moment until the lights turned green and the cars behind you started honking, but neither of you cared. All you want is to make more of these memories, for those intimate moments to carry on. But they will not. This is going to be the final moment you will share. So you put all the love you carry for him in this last kiss, just like you did in the first.

     You feel his last breath on your lips without realizing it. It’s only when he fails to respond to your touch, that you freeze. Paralyzed, you wait as fear of your worst nightmare coming true begins to crawl up your throat, closing it off. You slowly remove your lips from his, not ready to look at his motionless face that you still hold in your hands.       “Dean?”      His eyes are closed, like he’s sleeping and could wake up at any second, but the silence is horrifying. Frightened by what is right in front of you, your fingers slip down to his neck, desperately trying to find a pulse. You relocate your fingertips on his artery in denial, looking for a heartbeat, a breath, any sign of life.       “No no no no…” you speak again, repeating his name more forceful. “Dean!”

     Unable to accept what has in fact become reality, you shake your head as you keep holding Dean up, unable to bare feeling him slip from your hands. Desperately, you try to force him to feel your touch once more, running your fingers through his hair, caressing his clammy skin, as you whisper to yourself in order to keep calm. This is not happening. This can't be happening. This must be a very, very twisted dream. This is not real, this is not real, this is not real.

     But it is. It is real. And just like that, your light is gone.

     Your breath hitches in your throat and the confirmation hits you like a freight train. You let his lifeless body slip against your chest as you fold your arms around him, letting his head rest on your shoulder. A heart wrenching cry reverberates through the back alley. Unable to breathe you struggle to let the cool air fill your lungs, so unsettled by the loss of the man that you love, that you can’t imagine yourself ever getting up again. As sirens approach in the distance and echo between the concrete of Chicago, you hold Dean close, your tears mixing with his blood, your wailing breaking the silence.

     Three days ago, you were faced with a choice and made the wrong one.      Three days ago, you could have decided to spend the rest of your lives in peace, but you promised yourself, one last job.       Three days ago, it wasn't Dean who drove past the exit. It was you.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

This work is written by me, Kate Huntington, and it is under no circumstances allowed to copy my work.

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[jackalopefreckles]

I feel like Ive aged at least 6 years since covid started. Im angrier. Less adapted to being outside then I used to be- which is saying a lot. This time last year I was?? Actually healthier mentally then I had ever been and looking forward to having the house alone for a month which?? Was the most freedom I wouldve ever had.

A lots fucking changed. I drove halfway across the country- all 30 hours at once with my big brother AND two elderly dogs, plus my cat. All animals on too many drugs (the vet said they couldnt overdose, and then failed to give any further instruction) cami peed on herself twice, unable to move. I had to waterboard her in Phoenix, a truly terrifying hell city where all the roads are raised and overlapping and its a hot as shit cause its?? What june?? Time was so fake this year I mustve just been stoned the whole time till I ran out of weed, and since moving its been a relief to be able to turn off the spinning anxious thoughts for a few hours

my big brother joined us. He brought a new dog with him which?? Is always a lot, plus I have this pack of dogs now cause the puppy wouldnt leave the super cancer ridden dog alone, and Im able to get her cbd regularly here, so shes always comfortable now instead of just?? Sometimes which is a lot nicer. We didnt think shed make it to chrisrmas. I thought shed die with me home alone to take care of everything, like always. It was almost a relief, I wouldn't have to coach my brother through the grieving process at least, and I had already finished. Its hard now even, for me to realize she might even have another christmas (but I wont hold my breath)

I feel safer going outside here then I did in Austin. I only went out a handful of times in texas, for the last few months I was ordering almost all groceries, and only going to the store once mask mandates were mandatory (theyre not anymore. Im so worried for texas. I missed a huge freeze by mere months. I dont think my elderly dogs wouldnt survived it. If I was alone with them, Im not sure I woudlve.

My parents took my brother to mexico with them. I begged them not to go, told them how irresponsible it was to travel across boarders. To visit an island and take all the plane germs with. I told them that even if my mom and brother were staying at home all day with me, my dad was still going to work and he didnt know what his coworkers were doing. That they wouldn't know what the people on the plane were doing. That at any point they could become the stupid americans that killed half an islands population.

They left a week after today last year. The boarders were closed the next day. Their friend has been traveling back and forth ever since. I have no idea how, except for the fact shes white and rich and wont hesitate to destroy a child, so I can only imagine how shed treat costomer service.

I will no longer allow this angry aggressive woman to ever make me feel bad, and I will allow myself to finally fight back. Im an adult, maybe not all the time (cause lets be real I'll always be a bit too eccentric for most) but when I get angry and allow myself that anger, it's not a bad thing. Anger doesn't have to make me feel like Ive done something wrong. Im usually very just in my actions, and I wont allow my parents influence to tell me all anger is misdirected and hurtful for reasons I couldnt understand. Its okay for me to be angry.

I think being alone with animals for months is at least reassuring that my childhood was unreasonable if nothing else. Which of course is a silly polite society term for pretty fucked, if nothing else.

My aunt had to gall to say weve had a good 2020 cause our family wasnt hurt, and I had to walk away from the zoom call. I haven't attempted communication with any of them since, not that I normally do. Of course none of us died, all rich old white people, most of them retired and able to stay home all day (not that all of them did, I learned about my grandfathers routine and just.. Im honestly surprised no one got it yet. Of course I knew from the beginning if anyone was gonna get it and die, it probably wouldve been me. Hence the 8 months of solitude before the move.

Was the move in August?? Im so unsure about time. Even with 2020 vision.

I tried to date when I moved here. Strictly on tinder. What was the point? On and off testosterone due to the wonders of texas, hadnt changed my body nearly as much as they should've a year after being on them. I look much more handsome now. Im also allowing myself to toss gender aside completely. He/him doesn't mean man, and they/them dont mean nonbinary, so why not mix them since Im?? Not really either.

It wasnt even a thought process like that to start. Much more "this is nice" which I think more gender should be allowed to be. Dont gotta be deep just comfortable.

I wont ever allow my parents to forget what they did. I ended up with three dogs I didnt want (I was so looking forward to not having any dogs) and I ended up taking care of my brother. Again. Its easier without my parents at least. Everything always is. My dogs are even happier. Cami finally isnt anxious 24/7. Again, a sad reminder my childhood wasn't great. Daisy is healthier. Trauma can be stored emotionally or with health issues, often both. I think the cancer dog getting better and?? Surviving and thriving so much longer then the vet said (how good was my old vet?) Is another unfortunate nail in thay proverbial coffin.

Im not as soft and openly loving. Im even more touch starved somehow. Harsher. I still want to choose love and compassion, but Im not letting myself fall into the trap of being so nice people wont be nice to you. Fighting back is something I wont feel shameful about, because it never stopped me from doing it completely anyway.

I was already reaching this on my own though. This was just more coffins, more nails. This didnt need to happen. We know our government let this happen. Its still letting it happen. Im not sure when Im getting my vaccine. My big brothers sick of quarentine and keeps trying to get us to go out. Sometimes I yield, and we go to a park, or the top floor of the parking garage. I get a vegan hotdog from nearby. We talk and laugh and were genuinely just. Boys being boys.

I shouldn't have to deal with parent shit anymore. I do though, especially since two out of three are unemployed and we can really only afford to live here cause of them (they owe me if anything though. Especially with my brother and these animals) I hope I can get a job soon. Or maybe even go back to school. Im lucky I had so much saved up (for top surgery, which I guess wont happen before Im 25 like I really tried for. I wouldve done it before now, but texas waitlists and rules kept holding me up. I literally went to an appointment in dallas, a 4 hour drive, just to found out the surgeon canceled on me for the second time)

Its incredibly depressing, and I know Im lucky to have had that stash. So many people didnt have anything and lost so much. People lost people. Half a million at this point. I remember when it got to 300,000 and I just?? Felt so awful it was so close to how many people we lost to AIDS. Its over that by so many now. It doesn't really stop, does it??

Is that catholic guilt?? Or maybe just irish guilt in general. Is it something I inherited or earned through all the end of the worlds and once in a lifetime recessions Ive been through. Im not sure how many off the top of my head, theyve been coming since I was so small and its always more and more. Im not even catholic anymore. I cant stop being irish though, even though the brits tried (and succeeded. Weve lost a lot. The current royal cotastrophy is bullshit as well, the only person who deserves a royal title is from Meniappolos

My home is decorate all inside for st patrick's day. My big brother loves it so Im going all out, and its def making me feel much more irish then usual (which is a lot Im over half)

I think I just wanted to say Im not the same. I hope I can still be happy an obnoxious is public. I wonder if I remember how

[queenjunoking]

Wolf Taming Pt 25 (2/2)

CW: Noncon - Shock Collar - Pain - Petplay - Drugs - Kidnapping  - Manipulation

It was 6:30.

The moment it hit 6:30 I received a call. I was expecting it to be from the same number. But it wasn't. A chill went down my spine.

It was Eos.

There was no red notification. I just let it ring. Eventually my phone went silent. Unfortunately it wasn't silent for long and it began to ring. It was Eos again.

I was in such a hurry I hadn't had time to think about who filed the report. Eos was here but… surely Sasha acting out on a phone call wasn't enough to get her taken away from me? Things misbehaved when they were new.

Did… Satori give me up? Did he report me? He always pushed me to get people to help me around the house. Did he not think I could take care of her on my own?

It was 6:35.

My phone rang for the third time. It wasn't going to stop. There was no point in waiting any longer. I answered the call.

"Sweetheart." Eos was laying the honey on thick the moment she knew I was on the line. I could tell when she was really upset with me, she’d treated me like a misbehaving child. "You need to let us in. I don't want this to get worse for you."

"Why are you here Eos?" I came across as more panicked than I wanted too.

"I was asked to come assist because we knew eachother and they thought that I might be able to talk to you. And honestly hun, you have a history of hurting people very badly when they try taking something from you. We both know how that retrieval team ended up after you were done with them. The Society wishes to do this without violence if possible."

"Where is she going to be taken?" I was starting to have trouble breathing.

I heard her sigh. "Sweetheart. I was informed of the vote late last night and called in favors to spare Sasha from auction. Instead of being put up for anyone to buy she will be living with me."

I felt my heart stop. "No. No no no. You can't have her. You're going to break her."

"No Sweetheart. I'm going to make her better. If you let us in I'll even let you come and see her. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"I'm not letting you in." My hands were starting to shake.

"Z." I felt irritation creeping into her voice. "You're being irrational." She smoothed out her voice again. She sounded like she was trying to placate a child. "Have you slept at all tonight sweety? I know you have trouble sleeping since that night. It can be hard to make good decisions while you're sleep deprived."

"I'm sleeping just fine!" I yelled into the phone. The stress was becoming too much. It was getting hard to catch my breath.

The phone went silent for a moment. I heard some mumbling, Eos must be talking to someone.

"Z. Sweetheart. Are you ok? You sound like you’re on the edge of a panic attack.” The sound of concern in her voice infuriated me.

“I’m fine!” I was having trouble keeping my voice down.

“Z. Darling.  I'm only going to be allowed to ask this one more time without you facing repercussions. If we need to we can get in without your help. But I'd rather you let us in. Will you let us inside? There’s no reason for you to get in trouble over this."

I went silent. Getting in trouble would make getting Sasha back almost impossible. I couldn't stay down here forever. Either they'd break in or we'd be trapped here until we starved. I felt tears stain my cheeks as I disarmed the security.

"Thank you sweetheart. We'll be down in a moment. It’s going to be ok." With that Eos ended the call.

I went to one of my apps and followed the instructions. It wasn’t often I felt like this but I needed something to focus on. A small ball appeared on the screen. Some text appears on it.

-Breathe in-

I breathed in until the ball fully inflated.

-Hold-

I held my breath.

-Breathe out-

I breathed out slowly until the ball was back to its original size.

I kept following the instructions until I started to feel it pass.

Then they walked into the room. Four masked men followed by Eos. The people that did this job wore masks to conceal their identity so they couldn’t be retaliated against. Eos stood by the door as the men approached the cage.

“Please open the cage door Miss Z.” Their voice was synthesized.

I hesitated for a moment, but it was pointless to resist at this point. I unlocked the cage door. One held the door open so no one could get locked inside. Two of them went inside and lifted Sasha. The fourth was watching me to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid.

“Please… don’t hurt her.” I wanted to reach out and touch her as they carried her past me, but the one standing next to me held me back.

“She will be fine Miss Z. She will be transported to Mistress Eos’s farm where she will be trained as she should have been.” He looked down at me. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew there was contempt in his eyes.

“Please take her to my farm. I’m going to stay here and talk with Z.” Eos approached us. The mask man nodded and went upstairs. I went to follow him and Eos placed a hand on my shoulder. I hated when people touched me.

“I want to see her.” I glared at her.

“It’s not going to make you feel any better.” She wasn’t hiding her condescension anymore. “You know Z, I couldn’t help but notice her collar was missing.”

I looked over in the corner of the room where I threw the remains. “There was an issue with it I tried to fix. Guess my hand slipped.” My eyes narrowed at her.

She sighed and rolled her eyes at me. “You really should be thanking me Z. She would have been put up for auction. Would you want Callidora going up for auction or would you rather belong to someone you knew?”

“Callidora?” I blinked in disbelief.

“Hm?” She was beginning to look disinterested.

“That’s not her name. Her name is Sasha.” She couldn’t just give her a new name. That was her name.

“Z. Sweety.” I hated this tone. “It's the name you gave her. I mean, do you really want me using the name you picked out when she’s in my stables?”

“Stables? Why would she be in the stables?” Sasha was a canine. I had her registered as one.

“I’m sorry Z, but she was wasting her potential here. I mean look at this place.” She gestured to the room. “Locked in some cage to be taken out occasionally when you see fit? Callidora deserves more. She’ll get a nice spot in my stables and she’ll get to walk around outside daily. Under my gentle guidance she’ll shed the bad habits you allowed her to occur. The pain she’ll go through is your fault. It's easier to remove your influence entirely. Her name is just another bad thing you have your fingerprints on.”

“You’re going to make Sasha a horse.” I blinked in disbelief.

“No honey. Sasha is a dog’s name. I’m going to make Callidora a horse.” She crossed her arms and started tapping her fingers impatiently.

“No! You can’t do that! She’s mine!” I was starting to lose my temper

“You know Z, you become so childish when you’re out of your element. What are you going to do? Stomp your foot until I give her back? Know your place.” Her eyes narrowed at me.

“I know my place! This is my house! You're in my Wolf’s Den! You and those assholes are the ones invading my place! You don’t have any right to be here!” The stress was too much for me to handle, I couldn’t stop the words from spewing out of my mouth. I was digging a hole for myself but I didn’t care.

“This is your place? I’m the one who found this house for you because you didn’t know how the process worked.” She jabbed me in the chest with her finger. “I’m the one who decorated it for you because you couldn’t be bothered to make anything look nice.” She jabbed me again. “When you were going through the process to get Penny I’m the one who showed you how to do it.” Jab. “Then when you got bored of her I showed you how to sell her.” Jab. “Now I’m cleaning up after your mess because you couldn’t train your dog right.” Jab.

“Sasha doesn’t need you to train her! We were doing just fine. You don’t care about anyone you train. They’re just things to you. All you do is run them ragged day after day. How is that any better!” I was training Sasha the right way. I cared about her and personalized her training.

“I may train my slaves harshly Z, but they’re all the better for it. My farm is known for the spectacular animals I create. But I’ve seen what you’ve done. You got quite the epithet for it. Z the Torturer.” I glared at her. “Oh, don’t you dare pull that annoying face at me. I’ve seen your work. I know what you did to all those assigned to you in the Auction Hall. Too broken to be good for anything really. None of them could be trained to obey anything, they barely reacted to anything. You could whip any of the people who had the misfortune of being assigned to you and they wouldn’t shed a single tear.”

“They only had to spend a small amount of time with me before they moved on and they were better for it. The people under your care have to deal with you for the rest of their lives. I can’t think of a worse fate.” She raised her hand in the air like she was going to slap me. A few seconds past before she took a deep breath and lowered her arm.

“Only have to deal with you for a small amount of time? I don’t think you know how trauma works dear. I think the only time I ever saw really react is when one of them was on stage and you walked into the room. They started screaming their head off when they recognized you. Though I’ll occasionally see the eyes of a statue in the Auction House go wide when you walk past. It’s a good thing they can’t make any noise. I really can’t believe you. The Auction House gave you anything you could have ever wanted to continue that work and it still wasn’t good enough for Z.” She bent down and got close to my ear and whispered  “Was losing Bridget too much for you? If you wanted to you could always go see her. I’m not sure she’d recognize you though.”

“Shut up.” It came out as a whisper. I was trying to keep my temper under control. I just wanted to be alone.

“Don’t get mad at me Z. I wasn’t the one that broke my own friend. I can’t imagine how terrible that must have been. Seeing my friend and getting a glimmer of hope before they put me in that… thing you made. I bet that feeling of betrayal stung until they just couldn’t feel anything anymore.”

“Shut up!“ I screamed at her. I kept trying to resist her bait but I couldn’t anymore. “I wasn’t going to let anyone else touch her! I care about the people I worked with!”

“Oh Z.” There was a genuine sound of pity in her voice. “You can’t possibly think you’re capable of that.”

“I do! I care about them a lot! And I don’t need your help!” I was fuming. I cared about everyone I worked with. I was doing what was best for them. They were better off with me than any of the other breakers.

“Have you ever been grateful about anything in your life Z? You’re only here right now because I helped you get here. You got to join the Society and I helped you fill out everything you needed. I didn’t even ask for anything from you. When you needed obvious direction I got you a job in the auction house as a breaker. I could have just left you to your work. It's the only job you showed any aptitude for. But you got bored and didn’t want to do it anymore. Poor little Z couldn’t be grateful for her lot in life. You got that disgusting little epithet and on that virtue alone you were allowed to own slaves. People of your rank don’t get to do that for a reason.” She wore the smugness in her voice like a trophy. 

“At least I earned my position! I got my epithet on my own merits. You got your position because you were born into it! You never had to earn anything in your entire life!”

I felt a pain in my cheek as my head whipped to the side. I blinked a few times to clear my vision. She... slapped me?

“You ungrateful little filly! I’ve earned my position.” She was seething.

“Filly?” I was still trying to clear my head.

“Yes Filly you stupid bitch.” She practically spat it at me. “If you had just let yourself get captured none of this would be happening. Neither of us would have met Sasha. You’d have been a show pony in my stable and Sasha would have gotten a normal life. Wouldn't that have been a nicer fate for her? Having a fulfilling life with friends and family? But you resisted and you cost her everything. You were the perfect target. No one gave a shit about you. You had one friend and she was broken by your hand. Had you just vanished like you were supposed to I bet she’d probably be safe at home right now as well. You do nothing but hurt anyone you have affection for.”

“You… were the one who sent the retrieval team?” I didn’t know what else to say. She had knocked the wind out of me.

She placed a finger under my chin and tipped my head back so I met her eyes. “You’re quite slow sometimes Z. But a lot of animals are pretty dumb. Just because you dress the part of master doesn’t mean you belong. Metaphorically of course, you never actually dressed the part. You barely take care of yourself half the time.”

She let go of my chin and slapped me across the face again, sending me to the floor. I didn’t know how to react. I just touched my cheek as I looked up to her. She examined her hand as she spoke. “She could have had such a lovely life and it could have cost nothing. Because that's what you are. Nothing. Zilch. Zero. Z. Worthless. A nothing name for a big nothing. Too stupid to even think up a new name for her paperwork she was filling out to join one of the most powerful organizations on the planet. So I wrote down one that suited you. I bet you wanted someone else to name you anyway. I would have named you Callisto.” 

She knelt down beside me and grabbed my chin again, pulling my head left and right like she was examining an animal. “Your only value is that you're still quite beautiful. Unfortunately you lost that cute quality I wanted in a filly when you snapped that night. I’d pay a lot of money to see first hand what made you snap like you did. You looked so cute before. So skittish and nervous. But then those stupid assholes failed such an easy mission. Now you look like this. Somewhere between a resting bitchface and someone who hasn’t slept in a week. You have no idea how much pleasure it’s brought me knowing that I’m the reason you get so little sleep. I’m the boogeyman in your closet and you didn’t even know.”

She lifted her hand up and I did something I’m not sure I had done since I joined the Society.

I flinched.

She gave me a smile and lowered her hand before standing back up. “You know, it's not too late to give up your membership in the society Z. Become what you were obviously meant to be. No one would blame you. I'm sure there would be a long line of people to buy someone as pretty as you. Be glad you have that Z because you have nothing else to offer anyone. Why bother pretending anymore? Wouldn’t it be nice to finally be the one to be up for auction? Getting to hear all the people who want you enough to put down money to buy you? Wouldn’t it be nice if anyone wanted you Z?”

She stared at me for a few moments. “I see you’re too dumb to realize I was waiting for an answer. Maybe you’re too dumb to be a filly. Tell you what Z. If you ever feel like giving up and stopping this stupid act all you have to do is come to me and ask. I’m not sure what I’ll do with you, but I’m sure I can find a purpose for you. Maybe you’ll even get to see Callidora again.”

“Her name is Sasha.” It was the only thing I could muster up.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Stand up Z.” I sat on the ground just staring at her. I was still trying to take in everything she had been saying. “I said stand up!”

I slowly got to my feet. Eos held her arms out wide and approached me. I tried to take a step back, but I was against the cage. She grabbed me and pulled me into an embrace. I felt my entire body tense up.

“Good luck rebuilding Z. You have no money, no friends and, most importantly, no Sasha. You didn't deserve to have any of those things anyway." She let go and took a few steps back away from me. “I want you to thank me Z. Be grateful that I took in your pet. Thank me for not letting her get put up for auction. For training her since you failed at such a simple task.”

I couldn’t feel any rage or hate. I didn’t even feel sad. I just felt numb and stared at her.

“Ah. Right. You’re too stupid to read between the lines. How about I just spell it out for you? You’re going to be a good girl from here on out. Because you won't be the one to suffer if you aren’t. I don't think you care if you suffer so there's no point in punishing you. But your former pet will be the one to suffer for anything you do wrong from here on out. Everything that happens to Sasha is all your fault because you were the dumb filly who didn’t know her place.”

She was right. I didn’t really care what she did to me. But I didn’t want her to hurt Sasha. She was going to look for every excuse she could to hurt her.

“Now dear. I believe you were going to thank me for something?” She started tapping her arm impatiently.

“Thank you Eos…” I mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

“Louder. Look at me when you’re speaking.” She didn’t try to hide how annoyed she sounded.

I looked into her eyes. I could see the contempt in them. “Thank you Eos.”

“Mistress Eos.” Ice crept into her voice.

“Thank you Mistress Eos.”

“Good girl Z. Keep being a good girl. I'm watching you." She flashed me a smug smile and walked out of the Wolf’s Den.

By now Sasha was on her way to her farm. Once the drugs wore off Eos would start her training. I put my back against the cage and slid down to the floor. I felt tears sting my cheeks. I felt lost.

What was I supposed to do now?