#oh yeah my pen pressure died for some reason so this is without any...

[drag00ni]

i did say i was gonna draw someone else...

[duhragonball]

Battle Tendency Liveblog: JJBA Ch. 71-76

Let the joy of love give you an answer

And I will hold you when you're lost Just walk on to the light 1938 Bizarre Summer Every road will lead us to a memory of

Great Days

When I started reading the Battle Tendency Manga, one of my goals was to find connections between Part 2 and the others, because I feel like Part 2 is sort of isolated from the rest.   You never hear anyone talk about the Pillar Men in Part 3 or 4, and Joseph Joestar never appears again, save for an entry on a genealogy seen in JoJolion.

But thematically, there’s a lot of connective tissue here.   I already pointed out the scene where Smokey steals Joseph’s wallet in his first appearance, echoing Joseph’s final appearance, where Josuke steals his wallet in Part 4.   And I already mentioned the Italian connection.    Hirohiko Araki’s love for Italy is pretty well-known in the fandom, but only two JoJo parts have the distinction of taking place on Italian soil: 2 and 5.

But there’s other, subtler connections.   Joseph’s Clacker Volley relies on angular momentum, much like the “Spin” techniques used in Part 7.    But then you also have this moment in Battle Tendency where Caesar explains Hamon to Joseph, and compares it to the way a discus thrower spins around to gain distance on his throw.   In the same vein, the fictional Ripple techniques used by all the good guys is just an extension of something natural.    Everyone gains energy from respiration and blood circulation, but Hamon users can amplify that many times over to do amazing things with that energy.    It’s very similar to the lessons Johnny Joestar learns about “Spin” in Part 7.   I never really thought “Spin” had much to do with Hamon, and conceptually they may not be related, but the way they’re presented to the audience is very similar.

More Part 5 connections, you ask?   Well how about a trip from Rome to Venice?  No assassins on the train this time, so Joseph doesn’t have to steal 100 cars to finish the journey.

And how about a meeting with a mysterious person wearing a strange disguise...

Who turns out to be a lady?  What’s weird about this is that when I went through JoJo in order back in 2017, I never noticed the Lisa Lisa/Trish connection.   There was just so much crazy stuff happening in Parts 3 and 4 that I forgot all about how Lisa Lisa debuted.  

So yeah, let’s get back to the main plot.   I mean, I was going to talk about some connections with Part 6, but I seem to be drawing a blank.   Joseph’s parents died when he was very little, so there’s no way for him to have a contentious reunion with an absent parent.    There’s no way for his mom or dad to reveal that they were looking out for him this whole time, but they couldn’t tell him how or why.    I mean, Lisa Lisa kind of reminds me of Jotaro.   They’re both stoic badasses who smoke cigarettes.   But that’s kind of a stretch.  

Anyway, Joseph convinced the Pillar Men to let him live for another month so that he could give them a better fight later on.   To hold him to that promise, they implanted poison rings in his body, which will kill him in exactly 33 days, unless he defeats the Pillar Men and receives the antidote.   Caesar realizes that they both need more training to face the Pillar Men again, so he takes Joseph to Venice to meet his Hamon Master, for more training.   That’s Lisa Lisa.

I’m confused as to why Lisa Lisa wasn’t brought in a long time ago.   The plot progression of Part 2 implies that she only heard about this crisis when Caesar contacted her for more training, but we’ll soon see that the Ripple Clan has known about the Pillar Men for thousands of years, just as the Pillar Men knew about them.  

Actually, now that I think about it, why didn’t Straizo recognize the Pillar Man in Mexico then?   You’d think he would have taken one look at the guy and said “Oh shit, these dudes are back,” and forgotten all about his dreams of becoming a vampire like Dio.  Maybe Straizo had just lost all perspective by then.  Well, we’ll see if that gets explained later.

Anyway, Lisa Lisa starts the training immediately, by putting a mask on Joseph to control his breathing, which is a vital component of Ripple/Hamon stuff.  One thing Caesar explained to Joseph before they left for Venice is that their Hamon powers were about equal.   The only reason Caesar’s seems stronger is because he’s learned to concentrate it into smaller points, like his fingertips.   Joseph, on the other hand, has to express his Hamon power through his entire hand, which reduces its effectiveness.   Caesar compares this to the spray of water from a water pistol.   The smaller the nozzle, the more powerful the stream.

As for Speedwagon, well he just flew back to New York.   Joseph forbade him from telling Erina about the bind he’s in, so Speedwagon simply tells her that he’s bumming around Italy for a month.  Meanwhile, Lisa wants the boys to climb the Hell Climb Pillar.

So the Ripple Clan has this island castle off the coast of Venice, which they built in 39AD to train their students.   This was after the Pillar Men wiped out most of their guys, so I guess they wanted to really ramp up their training for the future.   Lisa opens the front gate and the first step inside takes you into this big pit full of oil, and she just kicks them inside without a word.   Ha ha, Lisa Lisa is awesome!

So the object of the Hell Climb Pillar is just to climb out of the pit.   Except the only way to do that is by clinging to a sheer pillar in the center and ascending 24 meters (about 79 feet).  Oh, and there’s some sort of fountain built into the pillar that keeps it covered with oil at all times.   The only way to make this work is by using Hamon power to cling to the oil and work your way up.  

Caesar is familiar with this test, and he at least has a general idea of how to do it, but he’s never attempted it before, and he knows a lot of students have died in the attempt.   The first thing he figures out is that it’s such an exhausting process that if you fall off part way, you won’t have enough stamina to start over, so you really only get one try at this.  

He spends most of his climb, however, worrying about Joseph, because Joseph’s Hamon skills are so rudimentary that he doesn’t even know how to cling to the pillar in the first place.   Fortunately...

Hermit Purple?   In my Battle Tendency?  It’s more likely than you think.   Joseph tries ripping his shirt and fashioning a makeshift rope for himself, but Lisa cuts it with a dagger before he can even try to use it.    I’m somewhat skeptical that this would have worked anyway.   She may have only foiled his attempt for his own benefit.   Joseph might have wasted a lot of precious energy trying to use this trick before giving up and doing it correctly. 

So, after all other options are exhausted, Joseph finally follows directions.  He watches Caesar for a while, then realizes that Caesar has been clinging to the oil with his fingertips, and not his palms.   It looks precarious, but Joseph remembers what Caesar told him about the water pistol and figures out that this is an application of that concept.    So he quickly catches up to Caesar, only to discover that the pillar gets harder to climb around the 18 meter mark. 

Around that elevation, the Pillar “protrudes”.   I think that means that it gently widens as you go up, something you can’t really see until you’re already climbing up there.    So now you’re not climbing straight up any more at a 90-degree angle to the ground, you’re more like 95 or 100 degrees, making it that much more of a struggle to hold on.  

But things get even worse when Joseph discovers a small crack in the pillar.   It’s the only handhold on the entire pillar, so he figures he can get a firmer grip on that and rest a bit.   Big mistake, because it’s booby-trapped, and when he touches the crack, it turns on this high-pressure stream of oil at the 20-meter level.   Oil just spews out from all sides of the pillar, and the pressure is so intense that when Caesar sticks a pen into it the oil stream cuts it in half.  

Joseph thinks Caesar is angry at him for his blunder, but Caesar’s actually worried for Joseph’s safety.   He only knows one way to get past the oil stream, and he isn’t sure Joseph has the skill necessary to pull it off.    See, you can use Hamon to cling to the oil, but you can also use it to repel the oil, and protect yourself from the high-pressure stream.   But Caesar now has to use use both of those principles simultaneously.   He has to cling to the pillar while moving through the stream.   He ends up doing this mid-air jump thing, and it works, but now he has to haul ass to get to the top of the pillar.   It’s not just for his own sake, but Caesar feels that he has to convince Lisa Lisa to call off the test to save Joseph’s life.   He doesn’t know how to do the trick Caesar pulled off, and Joseph’s the kind of guy who might get desperate or frustrated enough to do something drastic and get himself killed.   But when he reaches the top, there’s no one around.

But he needn’t have worried, because Joseph’s drastic idea actually works.    He apparently can’t repel and cling at the same time like Caesar, so instead he just clings.   Instead of passing through the oil stream, he clings to it, sliding across the flow of oil to the edge of the current, then flipping over it, where the pressure is low enough that it won’t hurt him.   Then he bounces off the top side of the oil stream and clings to the outer wall of the pit.  

Everyone is impressed, except the walls of the pit are even harder to climb than the pillar, and Joseph can’t quite make it to the top.    Caesar saves him with just 10 cm to go.   

Joseph is still sore at Lisa Lisa for putting him through all of that, but she tosses him an upside-down glass of water and Joseph is surprised to find that he can hold the water inside the glass with his Hamon, something he couldn’t do back in Rome, when Caesar told him they needed to train.    So now Joseph’s finally on board with all of this, and Lisa introduces the boys to he assistants, Messina and Loggins.   They put Caesar and Joseph through a grueling three weeks of training montage, until finally...

...They go shopping!  Some guy with a pompodour tries to steal a necklace from Lisa, but she catches him and lets Joseph deal with the guy.   Joseph covers the dude in mustard and then he complains about her carrying around a bright red stone like that for pickpockets to see.    Wait... red stone?  Yeah, it’s the Red Stone of Aja.

On their way back home, Lisa explains the backstory of the Pillar Men.    They created the Stone Masks to improve themselves, and tested the technology on humans.    No one knows how the Stone Masks work, but the “bones” that jut out of them somehow bring out “latent power” in the human brain and it turns them into vampires. 

I never really considered that before, but I suppose the bony spikes in the masks are kind of analogous to the effect of being pierced by the arrows in Parts 4, 5, and 6.  Part 5 offers a partial explanation for the Stand Arrows by saying the heads of the arrows were carved from a meteorite found in Greenland, and there was an alien virus in the meteorite.   You get cut by this metal, and get sick from the virus, and you either recover with a Stand power or you die.   There was a text piece in Part 7 that tried to connect the Stand concept with Hamon, the Stone Masks, and “Spin”, suggesting that the latter three were attempts to achieve what Stands can do, and I guess that makes sense.    Maybe the Stone Masks were the Pillar Men attempting to invent whatever the alien meteor was supposed to do.   Except it’s not as advanced, so it can only do vampires instead of Stands.

Eventually, Kars’ experiments led him to the discovery of a particular stone that amplifies and focuses light.   He believed that if he could work that into his Stone Mask technology, then he could create a more powerful mask that would bring about greater improvements into his own body.   The problem was that he needed a bigger, more flawless stone than the ones that were available to him.   And that’s why they went to Rome to find one.   The 1st Century B.C. Ripple Clan couldn’t stop the Pillar Men, but they did manage to secure the stone they were looking for, and it’s been in their possession ever since.   Lisa Lisa holds it up to the sun and blows up part of her boat just to show off what it can do.

Joseph suggests that they just destroy the thing.    After all, it does them no good, and it means everything to their enemies, so why keep it around?   But there’s some legend that says it will be impossible to defeat the Pillar Men if the Red Stone of Aja is destroyed.

This seemed kind of hokey to me at first.   Lisa Lisa even admits that she doesn’t understand what that legend means, but she’s convinced that she has to protect the stone anyway.   But then I remembered Tonpetty, the leader of the Ripple Clan in Part 1.   He taught Will A. Zeppeli how to use Hamon, but warned him that it would lead to Will’s gruesome death.   Presumably, Tonpetty had some sort of gift of prophecy, and maybe it’s not far-fetched to think that others in the Ripple Clan had the same ability.   So maybe someone, a long time ago, foretold the ultimate fate of the Red Stone of Aja, and the Ripple Clan has been following that vague counsel ever since.

This might explain how the Ripple Clan knows so much about the Pillar Men in the first place.    It never made much sense to me how the Pillar Men would travel to Rome and this secret band of warriors would be there ready to oppose them.   It’s also kind of convenient that the Ripple Clan knows so much about the Pillar Men’s Stone Mask research.   I mean, the Pillar Men barely acknowledge humans as it is, so why would Kars deign to explain anything to them?   

Now that I think about it, this might be why the Ripple Clan turned to divination in the first place.   Their enemies were so mysterious and their motives so baffling that they may have had no choice but to consult fortune-tellers and psychics for insight.    And, one way or another, they managed to get some solid intel this way.   Kars really was doing R&D on Stone Masks.   He really did go to Rome in search of a “Super Aja”.    Will Zeppeli did die, as Tonpetti warned him.   Kars really did return in 1938, as the Aztec’s predicted.   And it really will be impossible to defeat the Pillar Men without the Red Stone of Aja.    Lisa doesn’t know how that works yet, but she knows it’s true.

But that’s not important right now.   For now, it’s time for Joseph and Caesar to complete their training by heading back to base for a final showdown with their instructors.   Joseph’s final test will be a battle with Loggins, so I assume Caesar has to take on Messina.   But when Joseph shows up for his test...

He finds two people on the battlefield.   One is Loggins, and the other guy is killing him.

And yeah, it’s Esidisi.  Who invited him?   Well, Joseph was going to fight him in a week or so anyway, so why put off tomorrow what you can do today?

[homoose]

Winning is a Habit

Hi y’all! Okay sooooooooo this is my first time writing fic??????? Like omg please be nice lmao. I don’t have a beta reader, so if you catch any mistakes pls lmk! I saw this challenge and the world is total garbage, so why not write our own realities????? Ok here goes!!!!!!!!!! Written for @veraiconcos fic challenge

Summary: The BAU gets called to investigate two high-profile murders in a college town, only to find that they are part of a much bigger, more complicated picture. No real pairings, although you could make it happen if you want lol ;) This is an idea I’ve seen floating around the fandom for a little while now, and I really wanted to see it fleshed out. Set around season 4 or 5.

Category: some angst, sort of fluff? I wouldn’t say it necessarily qualifies as an AU, but it’s outside of canon.

Warnings/Includes: some brief descriptions of violence/CM type stuff; mentions of rape (no details)

Word count: 6.1k

———

“Stillwater, Oklahoma,” JJ said, navigating the map off screen and pulling up the crime scene photos. “Two college seniors— Tyler Allen and Leon Williams, star football players for Oklahoma State University— both found dead the day before the playoff qualifier.”

“Do we know the cause of death?” Spencer asked, thumbing through the case file.

“The ME report concluded that both boys died of acute alcohol poisoning,” JJ informed them.

Emily looked up from the file. “And the locals don’t think this could just be a case of college kids having a little too much fun?”

“Before a major playoff game? I doubt it.” Derek leaned back in his chair. “Especially considering OSU’s having a record-breaking season. I’d guess the coach had players on a pretty strict lockdown.” He raised his hands and joined them in a steeple over his chest. “Showing up to a game hung-over— particularly one as important as this— would be a major conduct issue.”

“That, and there was a pretty specific message left on both victims,” JJ added, arms crossed and eyebrows lifting into her hairline.

“On them?” Rossi questioned.

JJ motioned with her hand back to the screen. Six sets of eyes moved over the photo; the words “U LOSE” scrawled in ink across the foreheads of the two men.

“Resorting to murder to win a football game?” Emily asked, eyes narrowed.

“And why use the forensic countermeasure of staged alcohol poisoning, only to backtrack and assert it as a murder?” Spencer pondered, pursing his lips.

“Whatever the reason, we’ve got two dead college students and a definite signature. Wheels up in 30,” Hotch told them, closing his case file.

⧭⧭⧭

“No sign of forced entry.” Derek walked through the entry hallway and into the living space. “Doesn’t look like there was any struggle, either.”

Rossi thumbed through the mail on the kitchen counter and peered around the small space. “Everything you’d expect in a boys’ college dorm room: dishes in the sink, generic decor, general mess. Nothing that stands out.”

“Agents, thank you so much for coming.” A tall man in a dark suit stepped across the threshold of the apartment. He stuck out his hand for Rossi to shake. “Steven Barrett, Dean of Students.”

“I’m Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi. This is SSA Derek Morgan.” Derek nodded from his place in the living room.

“I apologize for not meeting you when you arrived. We’re dealing with a grieving campus,” Barrett said, running a hand over his face. “I’m actually on my way to speak to the Board, but I wanted to check in with you before. I’m not sure I can be of much help, but I can try to answer any questions you might have.”

“These boys were seniors, but they still lived on campus. Is that typical?” Rossi asked, gesturing around the apartment.

“Uh, yes, it is for student athletes,” Barrett confirmed with a nod. “OSU teams have demanding, sometimes grueling practice schedules. Being on campus simplifies things, allows students to get to classes and practices, as well as utilize the dining halls.”

“Does this building have security cameras?” Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. All of our buildings do. I’ll let Campus PD know you’ll need access to the footage.” Barrett’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached for it and punched the button to answer the call. “Yes. Yes, I—I’m finishing up with the FBI now. I understand. I’m on my way.” He ended the call and pocketed the phone. “I’m sorry to leave you, gentlemen. Our top priority right now is supporting our students and community through this tragedy. Part of that healing process is finding out who did this to Tyler and Leon. So anything else you need, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” He turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

Derek shook his head. “I’m glad I don’t have to do that job right about now.”

Rossi gave another glance around the nondescript apartment and sighed. “Call Garcia and ask her if she’s found any other cases that could be related. And let’s hope there’s something useful on that security footage.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Based on lividity and rigor mortis, I was able to put the time of death between 8:00 and 10:00pm on Wednesday evening. The blood alcohol content for both boys was over five times the legal limit. I’ve never seen anything like it,” the medical examiner mused.

Emily looked over the bodies, her arms crossed. “Dr. Saraj, about how much would they have to drink for the level to be that high?”

“When drinking, the level of alcohol in our blood reaches a peak before it drops off after the last drink ingested,” Spencer supplied. “In a typical night of drinking, spread over the course of several hours, the average man can have 8-12 drinks without ever reaching lethal levels. But considering each victim weighed around 230 pounds, they’d have had to ingest approximately 180 ounces of beer or 18.75 ounces of liquor to reach a lethal blood alcohol content.”

Dr. Saraj glanced at Spencer before adding, “Look, this is a college town. Kids drink. But... to have had this much alcohol still detectable in their system post-mortem indicates that these boys drank at least the equivalent of a 30 rack, by themselves, in less than an hour.” She flipped up the first page of the report in her hands, eyes scanning the second. “And the toxicology screen also found trace amounts of ketamine.”

Spencer bent over the examining table and adjusted the wrist of one of the boys with a gloved hand. “Doctor, are these ligature marks?”

“Oh, yes,” Dr. Saraj agreed, nodding. “They’re relatively faint, so I almost missed them. But I found similar marks on both boys on the wrists and ankles.”

“So,” Emily said, gesturing with her hands, “the unsub doses them with ketamine to gain control, ties them up, forces them to drink lethal amounts of alcohol, and then— what?” She looked to Spencer. “Waits for them to pass out before removing the restraints and leaving the message?”

Spencer examined the marker scrawls. “Were you able to determine what the message was written with and if it was left pre- or post-mortem?”

“My guess would be it was written with some type of permanent marker, but I can’t say for sure,” Dr. Saraj said. “We’re analyzing the residue now, and I can send the report your way as soon as I have it. As for when it was written, I couldn't tell you.” She shook her head. “The one simple mercy is that these boys would have been out cold for a while before they died.”

⧭⧭⧭

“I’m so sorry. I know how difficult this is. Anything that you can tell us will be helpful in finding the person who did this,” JJ encouraged softly. “Anyone that Tyler might have had an argument with recently or who he mentioned having problems with?”

“No, no. He was—he was just your typical boy,” Mrs. Allen sniffled. “Playing football and hanging out with his friends,” she said, voice hitching. “Oh my god.” She dropped her head into her hands.

“He didn’t have time to have problems,” Mr. Allen asserted. “He spent all his free time on the field. Coach had them out there for two-a-days until classes started. He’s the quarterback. He was leading that team to the first national title since 1945.” He stood to his feet, hands clenched at his sides. “Some lunatic murdered my boy and you’re sitting around talking to us while they’re out there, walking free.”

“Sir, I promise you that we have some of the best agents in the country working on your son’s case,” JJ assured. “But in order to help them do their job, we need to know as much as we can about who Tyler was.”

Across the bullpen, Hotch sat across from Mr. and Mrs. Williams. “Leon was a good boy. Football was his life. He loved being a part of this team. It was the season of a lifetime,” Mr. Williams said.

“We taught him better than to be drinking and carrying on,” Mrs. Williams added.

“Can you think of anything or anyone he might have mentioned recently that was out of the ordinary? Anything that was bothering him or causing him distress?” Hotch questioned.

“He was feeling pressure about the season, but he’s been handling that kind of thing since he was twelve years old.” Mr. Williams shared an almost indiscernible look with his wife. “He got into—into the same kinds of trouble any college kid gets in. Nothing that could have gotten him murdered.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Yeah, baby girl, what d’ya got for me?” Derek held the phone out so that Rossi could listen in as they waited in the OSU security office.

“Well, my handsome knight, I wish I could tell you more but so far, I’m coming up empty with similar cases,” Penelope sighed. “Nothing that matches our alcohol poisoning M.O. or the signature. I just expanded the search to surrounding states, and I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Anything on our two victims?” Rossi asked.

“Now that’s where it gets interesting,” Penelope mused, tapping the fluffy end of her pen into the palm of her hand. “There’s nothing. Zilch, nada.”

Rossi narrowed his eyes. “And that’s interesting because...?”

“Come on, sir,” Penelope scoffed. “Two young, athletic, good-looking college football stars and there’s nothing at all? Nothing scandalous on social media. No run-ins with campus PD. Not even a write up from an RA.”

Derek tilted his head in thought. “Hotch and JJ said their conversations with the parents told a similar story.”

“Okay, but no one is this squeaky clean, particularly not at a Big 12 college. Everyone has some dirt,” Penelope insisted. “I haven’t found it yet, but there’s gotta be something out there. When I have it, you’ll know it!”

“Thanks, Garcia,” Derek drawled.

“Over and out!” Penelope jabbed the button to end the call.

The OSU officer waved them over with his hand. “I’ve got it queued up to 6:24pm. You can see the boys here,” he pointed on the screen at the two victims, “entering the north entrance of the dining hall.”

Derek leaned toward the monitor. “So they leave practice, come through the dining hall for dinner. When do they leave?”

The footage sped up on the screen, then stopped. “Here. 7:01.”

“Rossi, you seeing this?” Derek slid his eyes over.

Rossi nodded. “Is there any way to enhance these frames?”

The officer shrugged his shoulders. “Not on this system. Honestly, the camera quality isn’t great. I’ve been trying to get them to invest in an upgraded OS, but you know—budget woes. Your analyst might be able to do more.”

“It’s not going to matter.” Derek sighed and straightened up. “She’s careful of her angles.”

“I couldn’t find them on any grounds cameras, but they pop back up entering the dorm. Here, at 7:12.”

“All three of them,” Rossi noted. He looked at Derek. “And like you said, she’s discreet.”

“They all go upstairs to the apartment,” the officer continued, “but only the girl leaves. At 8:43.”

⧭⧭⧭

“We have a witness from the cafeteria that confirms that the boys ate with a dark-haired young woman in a red coat,” Hotch said, arms crossed. “But other than those two details, the witness couldn’t recall anything else and said they’d never seen her before.”

“So we’ve got the two victims entering their apartment with an unknown woman. They’re upstairs for an hour and a half before she leaves,” Emily recounted.

Derek stood with his hands on his hips. “And in that time, she manages to dose and gain control of two boys that are more than double her size and funnel a lethal amount of alcohol into them. Now the question is why?”  

As the team converged around the conference room table, a uniformed officer entered into the doorway. “Agent Jareau? There’s a possible witness—says she might have some new information.”

JJ nodded to the team and moved to the doorway. A petite young woman stood in the center of the bullpen, wringing her hands. When her eyes landed on JJ, she let her arms fall to her side. As JJ approached, she motioned with her hand for the girl to sit at the closest desk. “Hi, I’m Jennifer. I heard you wanted to speak to someone about this case. Can I have your name?”

The girl nodded. “Um, I’m Cassie. I saw the announcement you made. About the woman in the red coat. I heard you say that she had brown hair. Is that true?”

JJ cocked her head slightly. “Yeah, the witness and security footage we have shows a woman with dark hair walking with Tyler and Leon. Why do you ask?”

Cassie’s eyes darted around the bullpen, and she drew her arms tightly over her chest. “I just— um—well, I—”

“Would it help if we moved somewhere a little quieter?” JJ suggested. When Cassie nodded and stood, JJ placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and directed her toward an empty interview room. Cassie sat in the chair farthest from the door, and JJ sat opposite her. “Is there something you wanted to tell me about the woman? Or is it something else that’s on your mind?”

Cassie let out a long breath. “When I heard that they were dead, I— I was relieved. That sounds awful, but it’s true.”

JJ tread lightly over her next question. “You felt relieved. Why was that?”

Cassie looked directly at JJ. “I’ve been looking over my shoulder everywhere I go for the last seven months. I won’t have to do that anymore.”

“Can you tell me more about what you mean?”

Cassie took a breath and closed her eyes for a long second, before opening them and continuing. “There was a huge party in the spring. I mean, there were, like, hundreds of people there.” Cassie’s eyes went wide. “I never go to parties like that. But it was the end of the year, and my friend—well, I went with my friend. She got invited.”

“Were Tyler and Leon at this party?” JJ asked.

“Everybody was. I mean, everybody who’s somebody at OSU was there. We saw them right away. The whole team was there, but people treated those two like kings.” Cassie looked down at her hands. “We were drinking... a lot. At some point, Laney and I got separated. I tried calling her phone a bunch of times, but the party was really loud. I—I didn’t want to leave without her, but I was getting really messed up. I had a guy friend from one of my classes walk me home.” She swiped at her eye with the back of her hand. “Laney didn’t get back until the morning. Her clothes were all torn up, her hair had... blood in it, and she—she had a bruise under her eye.” She looked up at JJ, eyes shining with tears. “They raped her. I left her behind, and they raped her,” she whispered.

JJ reached across the table for Cassie’s hand. “Cassie, I’m so sorry. What happened to Laney was not your fault, or hers. Do you understand me?” JJ paused before continuing. Cassie looked down. “Do you know if she reported it?”

Cassie nodded. “I’m the one who went with her to the infirmary. They did a kit and confirmed it. When we went to Campus PD, they did nothing. Said Laney was wasted, and there was no one that could back up her story.”

JJ squeezed her hand. “So there was no official report filed?”

Cassie laughed coldly. “Oh, they wrote a report. I think if we ask them to, they have to. But they wouldn’t name Tyler or Leon in it. Said they didn’t want to ‘give legs to any gossip.’”

JJ’s mouth stretched into a thin line. “Where’s Laney now?”

“I don’t know.” Cassie shook her head. “She didn’t come back to OSU this fall. I haven’t really talked to her since—” She looked at JJ. “I can’t get the image of her out of my head. How she looked when she came through the door that morning. What they did to her… I’m not sorry that they’re dead.” Her eyes were shining with rage. “People knew what happened… and no one did anything. And those two were still the kings of campus.”

⧭⧭⧭

The team absorbed the new information quietly. “So Garcia was right. They did have something to hide.” Derek’s phone buzzed. “Speaking of. Hey mama, you’re on speaker.”

“I hope you’re all sitting down,” Penelope warned. “I expanded the parameters of my original VICAP search to include the surrounding states. No hits on suspicious deaths by alcohol poisoning. However, the U LOSE signature? Seven hits across Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, and Kansas.”

“So our unsub’s been traveling across the South—” Emily started.

“Oh, I’m not done,” Penelope continued. “Just to double check, I expanded the search area to the continental US. Our unsub has been busy. Over 30 murders with this signature, all across the country, dating back to March 2007. All different M.O.s: gunshot, stabbing, strangulation, you name it. But all with U LOSE scrawled across their forehead in—get this—liquid eyeliner.”

“Anything tying the victims together, Garcia?” Hotch asked.

“All men, mostly white, but all across different ages, occupations, and marital statuses. At first glance, there’s no real connection,” Penelope answered.

“What about on second glance?” Hotch prompted.

“Way ahead of you, sir. I did a little digging.” Penelope shrugged. “Okay, a lot of digging—most of it legal. Every single one of these victims had at least one sexual assault allegation. Some are official police reports, some are HR complaints, some are sealed court records. But in every case, the victim’s cause of death is directly related to the details of the assault records. Women that were held at knifepoint, their attacker was stabbed to death. If they were choked, he was strangled. If they were held at gunpoint, he died of a gunshot wound. Et cetera, et cetera.” Penelope twirled her pen. “The differing M.O.s combined with the fact that the unsub kept crossing state lines kept local PDs and field offices from making the connection.”

“Garcia, can you search OSU PD records for an incident report?” JJ asked.

Garcia tapped rapidly across her keyboard. “Absolutely, sugar, when would it have been filed?”

“It would’ve been this year, sometime at the end of April or beginning of May,” JJ answered. “The victim would be named as Laney Collins.”

After a few moments, Garcia peered through her green cat-eye glasses at the report. “Mmm, I’ve got one incident report, filed on May 7th. And woof, this report is not much to go on. The responding officer wrote a whopping three sentences. According to him, Laney was incapacitated and thus was not a credible witness.” Garcia twirled her pen. “The alleged attackers, who are not named, denied Laney’s account of what happened. Because there were no other witnesses, Officer Thorough deemed that no further action was necessary.” She jabbed her pen in the direction of the screen. “And this, my friends, is why women don’t bother reporting.”

“Good work, Garcia,” said Hotch.

“There’s one more interesting detail from the report,” Garcia continued. “The dean of students signed off on it.”

“So Barrett knew about this the whole time,” Derek fumed.

“And again, people wonder why women don’t report,” Garcia repeated, ending the call.

“So our unsub is seeking justice for women she believes have been failed by the system. We’re looking for a vigilante, carrying out revenge killings,” Rossi concluded.

Derek nodded. “And she’s organized and efficient; she finished with Tyler and Leon in less than two hours.”

“She’s smart and she blends in, doesn’t draw too much attention to herself,” JJ added.

“She’s meticulous and has at least some knowledge of forensic countermeasures, considering there’s no physical evidence tying her to any of the scenes,” Spencer remarked.

“And she knew enough to keep her face off the security footage,” Emily finished.

“Rossi, Emily, and I will stay here and deliver the profile,” Hotch directed. “JJ, I’d like you to speak to the families again, see if they knew about the rape. Reid, Morgan, talk to Barrett and see what else he might be trying to keep quiet.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Makes you wonder just how many people knew what happened,” Derek considered, closing the car door.

“It’s estimated that twenty percent of student victims of sexual assault report it to their university, but less than one percent of assailants receive any type of disciplinary action,” Spencer cited, making his way toward the sidewalk.

Derek shook his head. “And so the victims don’t see the point in reporting it. Your attacker gets to walk around like nothing even happened. Cassie told JJ that she felt like she had a target on her back once they reported Laney’s assault.”

As they walked up the blacktop driveway to the entrance of Barrett’s home, Spencer slowed his steps as he noticed the front door. “Morgan.” He nodded at the door, slightly ajar.

Derek drew his gun and moved ahead of Spencer. He pushed the door slowly open and called out, “Mr. Barrett?” In the foyer were the remnants of a broken vase and a small trail of blood. “Call Hotch, let him know we’ve got trouble here.”

Derek and Spencer worked to quietly clear the rooms, one by one. Derek stopped at the bottom of the stairs and motioned to Spencer. As they started up the stairs, a woman’s voice called out, “Shut up! You had nothing to say before. So now, you’re just going to listen.”

Derek reached the top of the stairs and started down the hallway. He reached the open door where a woman stood, her back to the door. Behind her, Derek could see Barrett, sitting on the floor, blood dripping from a gash on his head. His hands were raised in front of his chest, palms facing out. Derek stopped, his gun trained on the woman, and murmured, “Laney?”

The woman pivoted her body, her short blonde hair whipping around. Derek saw tears in her eyes and a revolver in her hand. “Don’t,” she warned.

“Laney, my name is Derek. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to talk. I need you to put the gun down.”

“No!” Laney screamed. “You don’t know what he’s done.” She shook the gun in Barrett’s direction, and Barrett closed his eyes.

Derek spoke softly. “I do, Laney. I do know. I know what happened to you. I know that he kept Tyler and Leon’s names off the report. I know that he didn’t help you when you needed it most. I know that he let them get away with--”

“Rape. He let them get away with rape. Because he cares more about reputation and football than what happens to women on his campus. They ruined my life.” Laney turned away from Derek and put both hands on the gun. “They ruined my life, and you did nothing. And then they walked around campus like they were invincible, because you taught them they were.”

Derek moved further into the room, into Laney’s eyesight. Spencer moved into the doorway, covering Derek. “Laney, look at me. I’m putting my gun away.” Derek held his hands up and then moved to holster his gun. “Doing this won’t make the pain go away.”

“How many others? How many other women did he do this to?” Laney let out a painful sob. “If I don’t stop him, it never ends.”

“Listen to me.” Derek took a step closer to her. “Killing him won’t change what happened, Laney. It won’t. Believe me. I know how you feel.”

“People love to say that when they’re trying to shut you up. How could you possibly know how I feel?” Laney spit out.

“Someone hurt me, just like they hurt you. And nobody was there to help me. No one was there to listen.” Laney froze, eyes shifting to meet Derek’s. “I wanted to hurt him, Laney. Wanted to make him feel the same pain I felt. I wanted him to suffer.” He moved another step closer. “I know that those men hurt you, and I know that he let them get away with it. And I am so, so sorry. But you’re stronger than anyone knows, Laney. You are the only person who has the power to help others who didn’t get justice. I have a friend who’s spent her whole life helping survivors, and I know she’d love to talk with you.” He took another step. “You are the only person who can stop it from happening to someone else. You can make sure he’s held accountable for what he’s done. But if you pull that trigger, you can never go back,” Derek warned.

Laney looked at Derek, his hand outstretched, wordlessly asking her to give him the gun. She looked at Barrett, crying and silently begging her to show him the mercy she never got. “I wish I’d been the one to kill them,” she whispered.

The gun dropped out of her hand as Derek stepped forward to catch her. He kicked the gun into the doorway, and Spencer recovered it. “I’ve got you,” Derek said, helping Laney out of the room. “Shh, it’s ok, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Spencer moved to lift Barrett off the ground and helped him into a chair by the window. Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer caught a flash of red below the window. He stumbled over Barrett, nose almost pressed to the glass as he stared out. The woman froze, eyes locked on Spencer’s. His mouth opened slightly as he stared at her, bewildered. By the time his brain caught up, she had already disappeared from view.

Spencer turned and raced down the stairs, clinging to the railing as he nearly missed a step. He burst out the front door into the driveway, sprinting around the side of the house. He heard Derek call his name, saw the other SUVs pulling up, but he kept running. He skidded to a stop at the edge of the backyard, and then spun in a full circle, eyes frantically scanning the perimeter.

Hotch approached from the side of the house, gun drawn. “Reid! Are you all right?”

Spencer took a last look, scanned from east to west. “Yeah, yeah. I just—I thought I saw—I thought I saw something.” He shook his head. “Barrett’s inside. He’s got a head laceration, but he’ll be fine.”

Hotch lowered his gun and nodded. “And Laney’s not our unsub. So we’re back to the beginning.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Strauss is asking us to head back to Quantico.” Hotch pocketed his phone and looked at the team. “We’ll move the cases to our watch list and flag the signature for hits in VICAP. From what we know about the unsub’s behavior, we know she’s no longer in the area.” He gestured to the evidence board. “Our best course of action is to keep the profile in our periphery for now. We can do that from the BAU. It’s late. Go to the hotel, get some rest. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“I’m absolutely starving.” Emily slipped into her jacket and headed for the door. “Anybody want to hit up that 24 hour diner?”

Derek and JJ quickly agreed, following Emily from the conference room. JJ turned back, eyeing Spencer. “You coming, Spence?”

“I’m just really tired.” His voice lilted up, almost a question. “Next time, though.”

JJ gave him a look but didn’t press him. “Have a good night, Spence.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He gathered up the case files, not quite ready to put them away.

⧭⧭⧭

Spencer’s eyelids felt heavy as he walked through the lobby of the hotel. He really was tired. He blamed the exhaustion for what he thought he saw through the window at Barrett’s. His fatigued mind was seeing things that weren’t there. He practically floated into the elevator and up to his room. Sliding the room key through the slot, the door beeped open and Spencer stepped inside. He flicked on the light and dropped his bag on the floor, loosening his tie as he walked toward one of the sling back chairs sat by the window. He paused just before he reached the chair, his gaze lingering over something on the desk. A note hastily scrawled on hotel stationary.

623.

Spencer lifted the note with two careful fingers. “623?” He turned it over, looking for the rest of the message, but the paper was blank other than the number. He lowered the note, and his eyes landed on a small plastic card where the paper had rested on the table. Not just a card. A room key.

⧭⧭⧭

Spencer stared at the door of the room. Room 623. He turned his head and slowly looked up and then down the hallway. He took a breath and raised his hand to the door. He knocked in the familiar rhythm: five knocks, pause, two knocks. He pressed his ear close to the door, listening for any movement inside. When he heard nothing, he knocked again; the same pattern, but a little louder. He listened again. Nothing. Spencer felt a bead of sweat creep down the nape of his neck. He thought about turning around, about walking back down the two flights of stairs to his room and getting into bed.

Instead, he pulled the keycard from his pocket. As he lifted the card with one hand, he used his other to raise the strap on his holster. He held his breath as he swiped the card through the slot and heard the beep of the lock. Drawing his gun from the holster, Spencer slowly turned the handle of the door.

The room was mostly dark. Only the yellow glow of one of the bedside lamps illuminated the space. Spencer stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. Again, his mind said to turn around. Yet his feet carried him further into the room. He could see now that the sling backs were facing toward the window. There were two glasses from the mini bar on the table between them.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” a familiar voice mused.

Spencer startled and then swallowed audibly, a cartoon character realizing he’s in serious trouble. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“You can put the gun away,” she continued. “Really. Come sit down, Reid.”

Hearing her say his name sucked all the air out of his lungs. He closed the remaining distance between them, staring dumbly at her perched in the armchair. She gave him a small smile, warm despite the nervous energy in the air. “Hey, Reid.”

“Elle.” Spencer sunk into the chair across from her. “I—I thought I was seeing things. Earlier. At Barrett’s.”

She studied him quietly. “This hair is a good look for you.”

“Thanks,” Spencer blushed, smoothing down the hair at the nape of his neck. He quickly dropped his hand. “It was you then.”

“What was me?” Elle asked innocuously.

“You were at Steven Barrett’s house today. In the yard.” Spencer folded his hands to keep from wringing them. “You were wearing a red coat.”

Elle lifted one of the glasses to her lips, taking a sip of the clear liquor, ice cubes rattling. She swallowed and gestured to the other glass. “Have a drink.”

“I, um, I don’t drink anymore.” Elle raised an eyebrow. “A lot has happened since… the last time I saw you.” Spencer smoothed his hands down the tops of his thighs. “You were there today. Elle, did you—are you…” He wasn’t even sure what question to ask.

Elle ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass. She was quiet for a long time. Spencer fidgeted in his seat, but stayed quiet, waiting. Elle set the glass down.

“Do you remember that night in Dayton? In the hotel room?” Spencer looked at her pointedly. Elle let out a laugh. “Sorry, I forgot who I’m talking to; of course you remember.” Their eyes met. Spencer felt she was looking right through him. “You told me that I’d won. That because Garner was dead, and I was alive, I won.”

“Elle—” Spencer started.

“You asked, Reid. This is my answer.” She screwed the cap off the bottle of gin. Pouring the remainder of the bottle into her glass, she continued, “It took time, but I started to feel safe in my own home again. I could close my eyes without seeing his face. I could take a shower without bringing my gun.” She downed the rest of her glass. “When I killed Lee, I gave that same freedom back to the women he’d raped. They could exist in the world knowing that he would never hurt them, ever again.” She smiled ruefully. “And it felt… good. It felt right. And after years of having watched people be destroyed by monsters… I don’t know. It was just something I had to do. To bring that freedom and that safety back to other women who had been hurt and broken and alone. To destroy their monsters.” Elle looked at him then, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I don’t expect you to understand or approve. But the answer to your question is yes.”

Spencer took a breath and asked, “Why’d you put the key in my room? You could have just… disappeared.”

Elle shook her head. “I chose this. I knew what I was doing and what it would mean. Most of the time, I’m fine, great even. Because being able to give these women justice is the greatest gift. But with this work, you can’t really keep anybody close. No holidays or birthdays. No dates or girls nights.” She shrugged. “I guess I just wanted to see what would happen. What the boy genius would do.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Spencer admitted.

“Well, that’s a first.” Elle smiled, but Spencer could see apprehension in the rigidness of her shoulders, in the slight bouncing of her leg.

“I should probably arrest you,” he considered.

Her leg stopped. “You probably should.”

Spencer looked down at his hands. He ran his fingers up to the crook of his elbow, ghosting over the scars there. His mind raced from memory to memory: Elle on the train car; Tobias Hankle standing over him; Elle in the hospital bed; the needle in his arm; Elle in the hotel in Dayton; the click of an empty chamber.

“Elle, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for telling you that you’d won.” She was motionless, staring at him. He continued, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know what it was like. To be consumed and overcome by a memory.” Now it was Spencer’s eyes that shone with tears. “I didn’t know that the trauma could… fester in your brain like an infection that you can’t get rid of. I don’t know if winning is even possible after something like that.” He rubbed his hand under his eye and cleared his throat. “It was an awful thing to say. And I’m sorry.”

Elle tipped her head back, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. “All’s forgiven.”

Spencer reached out and gently grabbed Elle’s hand. “I’ve been so tired recently. I thought I saw something through the window at Steven Barrett’s house. But when I did a perimeter check, I didn’t find anything.” Elle dropped her head back down and turned to look at him. “We’re headed back to Quantico in the morning. We’ll, um, be keeping tabs on VICAP hits on the signature.” Spencer gave her hand one soft squeeze before standing. He let a small, bittersweet smile move over his face.

He made it to the door before he heard her voice again.

“If I asked you to stay, would you say yes?”

Spencer swiveled back to look at her, the door just barely open. Elle’s arms were crossed over her chest. Her eyes were dark and wide and full of storms. “Just for a little while longer?”

Spencer turned and moved his eyes up the length of the doorway, considering. He heard Elle let out a breath. His own breath stuttered. He closed the door softly. He put his hands in his pockets and turned back to her. “I’ve got a little while.”

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 3

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark

rating: Explicit

warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark

Penny had sent Peter off to bed before allowing herself to cry for a solid two hours until she passed out on the couch in her work clothes. Waking up was a trial, her head was pounding and she hadn’t pulled the curtains over the living room window closed before falling asleep so it was ten times brighter than it needed to be. She hadn’t set an alarm, but she could hear Peter moving around in the bedroom so it was around 6 AM.

“Peter, you good?” She called out absently, the usual morning greeting that meant ‘are you moving fast enough to make it to school on time?’

“I’m good,” his voice was quieter than usual, dejected in a way that broke a piece of her heart.

She sat up on the couch and put her face in her hands, elbows digging sharply into her thighs. Everything felt off, like the earth had shifted on its axis but only by a few degrees. There had been several times in her life when everything had changed in the blink of an eye. Her entire world stopped spinning, first when her mom and dad died, then again with uncle Ben, and again with aunt May. Every time it had eventually started back again, but she’d always had an anchor.

She’d always had Peter, when everything went wrong. Having to start from scratch, to rebuild her entire life, was always possible because she had Peter. He was her rock, her reason for pushing forward to fix everything that went wrong. To restabilize.

When she’d been date raped in a club in Queens half a year ago, it had been traumatic. Brock had been sniffing around for ages before she finally agreed to go out with him and then he turned into a fucking monster at the drop of a hat, the piece of shit. She hadn’t meant to let Peter find out about any of it. She’d called a friend to get her from the club, to help her home. She’d been traumatized and angry, half drugged by the time they got to the apartment and screaming about the injustice.

Peter had helped her into the shower, sent her friend off for food, and held her while she screamed and cried and otherwise lost her fucking mind. By the next morning she’d gotten a note slipped under the door, essentially telling her to fuck off and keep her mouth shut or else. As if she’d even considered going to the police— what would she have said? ‘This dude I talked to for months slipped me drugs and raped me in the back of a club. No, there were no witnesses. No, I didn’t call the police. No, I didn’t go to the hospital.’ Stupid. She’d been stupid, as always.

Getting into such a stupid situation had spiraled into a rabbit hole of almost inconceivable bad luck. If she hadn’t let herself get duped in that stupid club, Peter never would’ve gone to Stark Tower. Never would’ve gotten spotted by the man himself. And now, she wouldn’t have Peter with her when she rebuilt after this most recent, life altering tragedy.

But he would be safe. There wasn’t anything else that she needed, or could hope for, other than Peter’s safety. Besides, prison might be a nice reprieve from the 108 hour work weeks she currently endured. And they had hospitals in prison, maybe they had dentists? She hadn’t been to the dentist since before aunt May died. Would she go to prison or jail? Penny didn’t know the difference between the two, honestly.

Standing up from the couch, her eyes landed on her laptop. It was sitting open on the dining room table, plugged in because it was so old it never held a charge. She should make a to-do list for the day, starting with calling into all three of her jobs and making Peter breakfast before he had to leave for school. There was a lot she had to get done before her brother got home from school today.

“Hey Pen, have you seen my biology textbook?”

“No babe, check the table by the front door,” she stretched her arms over her head and yawned, trying to work some of the kinks out of her body from sleeping on the couch, “do you have enough time to stick around for breakfast?”

Peter stopped on the other side of the couch, watching his sister act like it was a normal day, a frown on his face. They always joked that he was the smart one. Peter could recite pi to the 40th digit, explain thermodynamics, and had gotten into a super prestigious science academy on scholarship. Usually, he’d call himself the logical sibling, the one who could see the best course of action and follow it.

But looking at his sister he was realizing there was a level of maturity missing from his logical thinking. He might’ve been the smarter one, but Penny was the one who was going to get them through this hellscape. She was calm, he could see in her eyes that the wheels were turning and that she was in so much pain, but she was calm and collected and was going to work through the day to make sure her batshit crazy plan worked out so that he would be safe.

“Yeah, I’ve got time.”

“Sounds good,” she stripped her socks off clumsily while walking into the kitchen, dropping them on the floor as she went, “hey, open up all of the bills on the counter and leave them scattered around while I cook. I want it to look like I’ve been ignoring them and they’re covered in crap.”

Peter dropped his head back, staring up at the ceiling blankly. Penny was pretty good at covering up her emotions but the level of dissociation she was currently displaying was impressive. He retrieved all of the bills from the basket on the kitchen counter and brought them into the living room, dropping them onto the laptop’s keyboard and kicking his feet up on the table before he began ripping them open. He tossed the empty envelopes over his shoulder absently as he went while arranging the bills into a pile to be thrown strategically around later.

“Maybe I should see if Flash will beat me up today at school,” he cringed at the $95 electric bill, knowing that was pretty high for them, “some bruises and cuts might help us when the social workers show up.”

“Don’t get yourself beat up, bud, you don’t have enough padding on your bones to keep everything from snapping under pressure.”

“Well maybe if you actually fed me sometimes, you neglectful monster.”

“Savage, Peter!” Penny’s gasp from the kitchen was full of laughter despite the painful conversation, “keep that up for the social worker.”

“So aside from trashing my things, throwing out anything edible in the kitchen, and destroying the apartment, have anything fun planned today?”

The sound of Penny cursing, followed by the loud clang of a pan hitting the floor had Peter shifting in his seat, angling around to see through the doorway to the kitchen. She hadn’t hurt herself and there was no mess, so he didn’t bother getting up to go help.

“Actually,” she made a pathetic sound upon realizing the milk in the fridge was expired, “fuck. Oh, actually I’m gonna go get my hair and nails done. So it looks like I blow our money on frivolous things instead of like, food and clothes for you.”

“Nice, you should get one of those stupid expensive coffees from those hipster places on your way back. Just for emphasis.”

Once Penny actually managed to cook, she was pretty good at it. She usually cooked what she could for all major Jewish holidays when their budget could stretch to accommodate it. Otherwise she didn’t get around to it all that often, except on her days off, so Peter considered it a treat when she made breakfast for him before school. She shoved the laptop back on the table and put a plate down in its place, revealing a heaping egg scramble and toast.

“I think we have some major issues,” Peter stated casually as they ate, avoiding the chunks of turkey bacon to save for the end, “I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t be joking about today. Or tomorrow. Or any of it.”

“I figure we’ve got two options,” Penny kicked her feet up next to his, balancing her plate in her lap, “Cry about it or laugh about it. We cried about it last night and it gave me a headache. So, might as well try laughing.”

Peter shrugged but nodded in agreement, “So I think I’m gonna become a supervillain.”

“Oh? Why?”

“I could break you out of jail, bring down Tony Stark and all his minions, steal a whole bunch of money and then we could abscond off to some private island and live the rest of our lives in peace.”

“Except for when you have to go be a supervillain?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Penny gave a barking laugh and leaned over to shuffle a hand annoyingly through his hair, letting him slap her away like usual. The casual, relaxed attitude they shared was obviously forced, their eyes were full of despair, but they could at least pretend for a while. Pretending that everything was okay would at least get them through the next few days.

“Alright you dope, head to school. I’ll see you when you get home.”

Peter stood up from the table and pulled Penny up after him, wrapping her into a tight hug. He’d grown over the last year and stood several inches taller than her now. Sometimes, hugging her now felt weird because for so long he’d been smaller than her. He vividly remembered being engulfed in her arms, being surrounded by her scent and warmth and how safe it always made him feel. He hoped that she felt the same way he used to, that his hugs made her feel warm and fuzzy.

“See you after school,” he choked out after a moment, pulling away and darting out of the room without looking at her too closely.

It would hurt too much.

***

Nobody had left the living room, other than Rhodey, in over 12 hours now. Steve and Bucky were still in the recliner together, eyes glued to the TV screen showing the Parker’s living room. Peter had left for school about 20 minutes ago and Penelope Actual Angel Parker had disappeared into the bathroom.

Clint had ordered food from the kitchens about an hour ago and was waiting by the elevator for the chefs to drop it off. They’d all lamented the fact they couldn’t eat the breakfast Penny made with the Parker siblings but had satisfied themselves by listening in on their conversation with stalkerish intensity. Usually Penny didn’t leave the laptop sitting open when she wasn’t using it, so it had been another shocking revelation into their lives.

“Peter’s face while he was opening those bills makes me wonder if she usually hides them from him,” Bruce commented absently, cheek resting in his hand as he scrolled through the files on his laptop.

Instead of the lab reports from the previous night, he was looking through Penny and Peter’s medical histories—HIPAA be damned. Peter got regular physicals each year, was up to date on all of his vaccinations, had minor asthma but no other chronic issues. Penny’s medical history stopped around when her uncle Ben died and she dropped out of high school. She had all her vaccinations and was in the 2nd year of a 3 year birth control implant, no known conditions except for possible anemia. She hadn’t gone to the hospital after the rape, so he would need to run an STD panel just in case. A diet meant to promote weight gain might also be a good idea.

“I’m sure she didn’t want them to know how dire their situation was,” Wanda stated, “If given the chance, I would’ve hidden things like that from Pietro.”

“So they’re Jewish like y’all, right?” Sam squinted at the screen, pointing to a wall decoration in the apartment, “or is that a Buddhist thing?”

“A Hamsa,” she didn’t look up from her phone, having seen the wall decoration next to the window the first time she’d watched the webcam stream nearly a month ago, “they have it because they’re Jewish but it’s used in other cultures too.”

“Do we need to make sure we have anything… particularly Jew-y for them?”

Wanda finally looked up from her phone, eyebrow raised derisively, “did you get anything particularly Jew-y for me when I moved in?”

“I’m going to learn to make Challah,” Bucky intervened in the conversation before it could become a fight, having been looking up traditional Israeli and Jewish dishes for several hours now, “do you have any recipes Wanda?”

The two devolved into a conversation about homemade breads and the nuances of kosher foods, all the while Wanda scrolled through Peter and Penny’s bank statements. She was looking for their overall spending habits, what was bought for Peter and how often and when and what Penny bought for herself. The former list included the amount of clothing one would assume necessary for a growing teenage boy, along with an above average amount of groceries. There was far less fun stuff, like video games and extensive Lego sets (which they knew Peter loved). Usually those were bought around Peter’s birthday or near Hanukkah. Penny’s spending on herself was generally relegated to work clothes and toiletries, with the occasional splurge on nail polish.

“We had a Jewish neighbor growing up, you remember Buck? Ms. Goldstein made that soup,” Steve scratched his head, trying to remember the name of it but failing.

“Matzah ball soup,” Bucky supplied, glancing at the screen of Steve’s phone from his position in the man’s lap.

He’d started going through the Parker sibling’s social media accounts early in the morning, wondering who was going to put up a fuss over their potential disappearances and how much it was going to interfere with business. Not that it mattered, business was business and home and family came first but it still would be good to have a plan for any fallout.

Peter had all the social media accounts a teenager could want; Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, Snapchat, TikTok, everything. He overshared on the internet just as much as any other Gen Z kid, although he seemed to favour Twitter and Instagram over the others. Instagram was updated almost daily with pictures of his friends, from school and clubs, pictures of scenery taken around New York. It was actually pretty cute and a touch artistic. He had a decent amount of followers on it too.

Penny on the other hand only had an Instagram page and a Pinterest. The former wasn’t updated much since their aunt May passed away, the recent pictures were mostly of food she’d made or of her and Peter on holidays. He wasn’t sure if the followers on her Pinterest were friends or strangers. There were a whole slew of cute pictures on her ‘Memories’ board, several of which Bucky watched Steve save to his phone. One in particular, of Penny squeezing Peter’s face close to hers while both stuck their tongues out at the camera, was saved as his new home screen.

It would be difficult to spirit either of the siblings away without some repercussions. Peter had some very close friends, MJ and Ned in particular, and was involved in tons of extracurricular activities. If he disappeared, an AMBER alert would go out within a day. Penny wasn’t particularly close to anyone, but she did have several coworkers who would notice very quickly if she went missing. She had been working in the same three places for 3 years and was a well-established and liked staff member.

“We may need to stage some sort of accident,” Steve rubbed a hand over his mouth as he scrolled through Peter’s Snapchat memories, “Peter’s friends are very close and Penny’s barely ever missed a day of work. People are going to cause a stink if they just disappear.”

“Car accident? Fire? Carbon monoxide?”

“Something that won’t leave behind a body,” Natasha drummed her fingers against her leg, humming in thought as the elevator opened and Clint retrieved the cart of food that had been sent up, “probably a fire. Or we could stage a kidnapping and blame it on someone else.”

“Both,” Clint had half of a croissant stuffed in his mouth, spitting out pieces as he spoke, “set up a kidnapping, burn some bodies, set it up to look like Penny and Peter.”

“Who’s the kidnapper?”

“How about this dumb mother fucker.”

Rhodey’s voice came from the stairwell, the man himself emerging while shoving a heavily beaten and gagged Brock Rumlow through the door. His arms were bound from the elbow down and he lost his balance, landing with a heavy thud only to be kicked hard in the side by the very angry James Rhodes and forced back to his feet.

“He confess?” Tony’s back was to them as Rhodey pushed him farther into the room, making himself a cup of coffee from the French press that had been sent up on the cart.

“More or less.”

One of the things Tony had learned over his long career was that anticipation was almost worse than a beating. Adrenaline was a devastating drug when applied as a method of torture. He could almost feel Rumlow’s heart beating faster, the sweat dripping down his brow. He hummed quietly, taking a sip of his coffee before nodding to himself and turning around.

Rhodey had the man on his knees near the coffee table, head bowed in a mixture of panic and fear. He was bleeding from the head, from his nose, dark bruises were beginning to bloom across the bridge of his nose and around his neck. Rhodes had done a number on the man in the last couple of hours.

“Did you send a letter to Penelope Parker, threatening her younger brother if she went to the police?” His voice was low and he crossed the living room in with an unhurried stride, coming to sit on the couch just inches away from where the man knelt.

The reply was muffled but obviously not a yes or no answer. Tony was well versed in what begging sounded like through a gag, how ‘please’ and ‘don’t hurt me’ came out when one’s tongue was held down by fabric. Brock Rumlow might’ve been a big bastard, but when confronted with his own mortality he became a simpering baby just like all the rest. In all honesty, Tony had a thing for begging anyway.

“Now that didn’t sound like the answer to the question I asked you.”

From his position in Steve’s lap Bucky pitched an empty wine glass at Rumlow’s face. The stem snapped off, the bowl of the glass breaking against his brow bone and leaving a jagged cut in its wake. Bruce rolled his neck at the sound of the rest of the glass hitting the ground and shattering, the sharp noise irritating his always present headache.

“You’re making us upset Brucie here, my man,” Tony stated with a flippant wave of his hand in the scientist’s direction, still taking small, satisfying sips of coffee, “which is a huge mistake. He gets pretty dangerous when you make him mad.”

The exact state of being of most of Tony’s close associates was more… fantastical, than most of the population. Mad scientists had been around for centuries and so had horrible things, like eugenics and human experimentation. He had a tendency to pick up strays at the best of times and the exciting strays, the ones who were really special, he fought to keep. It had started with Rhodey and Clint. They weren’t genetically altered, just insane at the best of times.

He’d met Rhodey in university. At the time, the man was being paid to watch Tony by his father and report back on his activities. Tony had paid better and overtime gained Rhodey’s loyalty as well as friendship. They’d been inseparable and Rhodey had been the one who thwarted Clint’s assassination attempt on Tony. It hadn’t been anything personal, of course, Clint was a world-renowned assassin and was one of the best—if you could pay him the right amount, he was willing to take out anyone. Then he’d been waylaid by a Very Angry Colonel Rhodes. Clint was easily persuaded to switch targets for the correct amount of money and soon Tony had come to see him as less of an employee and more of a friend.

Natasha and the Old Men had come next. From a situation similar to Clint’s, Natasha had been sent to off Tony. Not only had he offered her a better deal, but also protection from the Red Room, a branch of the former KGB that specialized in stealing little girls and genetically altering them. She didn’t hate the violence or the killing, she hated being controlled.  

The freezer burned boyfriends had come along looking for Howard Stark, who had apparently betrayed them (and the United States as a whole, actually) in the 40’s in a whole bunch of exciting and horrible ways. Bucky had been traumatized, a veritable murder machine and Steve hadn’t been much better off. Tony had kept them out of the public eye so they could live in relative peace and in turn had become emotionally attached. Especially upon realizing that Bucky was likely his father’s unknowing murderer, which was endearing.

Bruce had been Tony’s next acquisition and the only deliberate one. There had been reports of some sort of monster raging across the globe. It had taken ages and lots of illegal activity in the form of JARVIS hacking satellites and cameras all over the world but they’d found Bruce hiding away in India, providing illicit medical attention to the poor. He’d been attempting to copy the Super Soldier Serum used on The Olds and turned himself into a monster in the process. Tony adored the man.

Then came Thor and his adopted brother Loki, who had been experimented on by their father from a very young age. They’d lost an older sister to a process of attempted Berserker serums and they themselves were forever genetically altered. Thor was in slightly better control of his rages than Loki, but both came to Tony seeking asylum when their father had decided to end his experiments and terminate all test subjects. They were strong and brutal and Thor’s loyalty was unwavering, which was nice because Loki’s only loyalty was to his brother. It was a compromise Tony could live with.

Sam and Wanda and Pietro had been picked up by Steve and Clint respectively, the former a veteran and counselor who turned to murder for hire after being honorably discharged from service and the latter a pair of genetic experiments who’d accidentally stumbled upon Clint after escaping imprisonment. All three had been brought back to the Tower and into the fold.

Pepper and Happy had been picked up along the way of course, his right and left hands for all intents and purposes. Pepper had helped him build the legitimate face of his business and Happy had run interference in all illegal aspects, as well as literally putting himself between Tony and danger.

A short whimper of sheer terror escaped Rumlow before he seemed to almost crumple in front of them, folding in half and hitting the ground. Tony raised an eyebrow as the man landed just a few inches from his foot and groaned in annoyance before dumping the rest of his coffee on the man.

“Don’t pass out on me now, Rumlow, we’ve got— Oh, would you look at that.”

Tony drew the attention of the whole room to the TV screen, where Penelope Precious Parker had emerged from the bathroom in clean clothes. Her long hair was dripping down her back, dampening her white t-shirt just enough that Tony sent Clint a look that said Watch Yourself, Pervert. The same look was not given to Steve or Bucky, although with the way their eyes followed the woman, it should’ve been.

Rhodey bent over and hauled Rumlow back to his knees, turning him to face the TV and yanking his head back, “You see her, Rumlow? You remember her?”

Another whimper, this one with enough inflection to mean ‘yes’. Tony nodded and let out a deliberate, disappointed sigh.

“Yeah, I thought you might say that. You see, that precious little thing has just become one of the most important people in the world. In my world. Her little brother, who you threatened after hurting her in such a despicable way? He is my world,” Tony rolled his shoulders and stood up, walking around the table to get a closer look at the TV.

Penny had sat down on the couch, still well within view of the webcam, and was pulling on a pair of socks. A pair of beat up tennis shoes were on the floor next to her, having been fished out of the trunk that doubled as an end table. Bucky shifted out of the corner of his eye, watching as her shorts rode up higher on her shapely thighs as she contorted to pull on her sneakers. She continued on to gather all of her wet hair into her hands, tying it into a big messy bun on the top of her head.

“I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now,” he continued after a moment, “being confronted with your mistakes like this. You see, I go out of my way to not make mistakes. Or mistakes that could come back to haunt me, at least. I tie up my lose ends, I like pretty packages.”

“She’s a real pretty package,” Steve fucking sighed like a swooning school girl as Penny stood up and started shifting through some things on the table in front of her, bent over enough to offer an excellent view of her ass.

Tony snorted along with Sam and waved a dismissive hand in the blond’s direction. Steve and Bucky had been half infatuated with Penny when they thought she was a cruel, neglectful monster; now that they knew the truth, that Penny was precious and kind, they were falling in love just watching her through a screen.

“Now the point of this whole thing, unfortunately for you, is that you hurt Penny and you threatened Peter and by extension, you hurt and threatened me.”

There was a muffled ‘I didn’t know!’ through the gag and Tony Stark once again Did Not Roll His Eyes, because he was above that sort of thing.

“Of course not, that’s why this has to sting. You see, maybe if you just didn’t rape anyone this never would’ve happened. You never would’ve been in this situation. But instead you had to go and drug some poor girl and stick your disgusting dick in her and hurt her,” Tony rolled his head to the side and cracked his neck, “And once again, unfortunately for you, everything just kind of got more complicated from there. Because I’m not sure what to do with you at the moment.”

“Tones?” Rhodey’s eyebrows were furrowed, his hand still keeping Rumlow’s head in place.

“Right, right, let me explain to the room at large,” a flamboyant wave of Tony’s hand made everyone sit slightly straighter, “we have a couple of options going forward. The first, is take Peter and Penny, frame and kill Rumlow and be done with it,” several noises of agreement followed the sentence but Tony shook his hands again to quiet them, “Or, we could take the babies, frame Rumlow, but not kill him.”

“Why not kill him?”

“Because then we could let Peter do it. Or Penny,” Tony tapped chin and began to pace, “or, because they’re both going to be very upset in the first few months, we could use him as… incentive, to be good.”

“Hm, killing him in front of them is ballsy,” Sam stood over next to the cart of food, making himself a plate and a cup of coffee, “You want to induce Stockholm Syndrome, but the shock might be too much.”

“Are you worried about them reacting to a murder in general or like, feeling bad he was killed because of them?”

“Both, either,” Sam shrugged, “pick your favourite.”

“Why don’t we keep him around for a bit, we don’t necessarily have to make the decision today,” Steve suggested, shifting Bucky off of his lap and standing up.

The imposing man made his way towards Rumlow with his usual level of heavy swagger, natural as a result of his musculature and dimensions. Rhodey took several steps back at the approach, recognizing the glint of near ferality in the former Captain’s eyes. Getting in the blond’s way was in no one’s best interest and besides, Rhodey trusted the man implicitly. The man’s hand came down on Rumlow’s head almost gently, his fingers carding through his hair and tilting his head back to look him in the eyes. His face was swollen from Rhodey’s heavy hits already, but he could still see.

“Besides, me and Bucky are gonna need a playmate for a while. All that pent-up aggression—it’s gotta go somewhere, right, Brock?”

[devilrising]

Fallen Draco, Pt. 14

This story is following a prompt set by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Draco starts falling in love with Harry.

Word Count (Part 14): 3,216

Word Count (Total): 45,312

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic), graphic injuries

***

26th April, 1998

It turns out Harry did have a plan. Multiple, actually. After that dinner with Hermione and Ron two days ago, Harry firecalled someone who he trusted to rescue Mother from the Ministry. Once Harry told me that the rescue team was on its way back to Grimmauld, I couldn’t stop pacing around the drawing room. But now, as Apparition cracks on the doorstep, the only thing I feel is dread. What if something's gone wrong? What if she’s terribly hurt? Harry glances over at me with reassuring green eyes, before rising from his dining room chair and answering the door.

“Right this way- over here!” Harry’s voice echoes down the corridor, bouncing off the walls. I clench my hands into fists trying to calm my nerves. Giving up immediately, I jump up from the leather sofa I was reading on, and walk to the mirror. Gazing into my reflection I sigh heavily. I pull my wand out of my pocket and wave it over my entire body. My wings slowly fade out of sight, as do the remainders of my cuts and bruises. Turning and leaving the dining room, I walk as slowly as I can towards Harry. Slowly ends up being slightly faster than normal, but it’s better than sprinting which is what I feel like doing.

“Lay her down here,” Harry is saying when I arrive at his side in the kitchen, next to a couch that’s been transfigured into a small bed.

“How is she?!” I ask Harry, my voice raised above normal pitch with worry.

Harry turns to look at me and places a hand on my shoulder. “I can’t be certain.”

I swallow hard and pull him into a hug. My head rests on his shoulder as his arms wind around my back.

“Thank you,” Harry nods to the wizard carrying Mother, a stranger to me. The man nods back and walks out into the corridor. Harry releases me from his arms and I finally turn and look at her.

Mother’s pale skin has turned black, blue, and purple with bruises. Red lines run down her skin in the form of cuts and blood trails. I feel the warmth drain from my face as I take in a particularly harsh graze down her left side where the skin looks like it’s been peeled away and stuck back on as an afterthought. Suppressing a shudder at her delicate figure being torn apart, I pivot around to face Harry.

“We need to help her.” There is no room for argument in my voice. This has to be done and I want to be a part of it.

“Let’s get started then,” comes Harry’s response. No questions asked. He knows how much this means to me.

Harry summons a stack of books from somewhere in the house, and I listen as they thud the whole way down to the basement—no doubt running into furniture and knocking things over. Harry catches them with a swift hand and puts them on the rounded end of the bed, where they wobble for a while before settling in. I scan the titles quickly before finding one about testing for internal damage. The book is a massive volume in a red cover with a white cross on the front. Harry scoffs at it for a second, the colours and symbol clearly meaning something to him. Opening the cover, I search for an index on the front page. I find a section called “Magical Scans for Internal Bleeding” and flick to the referenced page.

A wall of text and nothing else is there, and I swallow hard.

“Maybe we will need Hermione…” I whisper. “I don’t understand a word of this.”

Harry takes the book from my hand and runs his eyes over the paragraphs. “Neither,” he confesses. “But hold on… I can fix that.” I watch as Harry pulls his wand from his pocket again and waves it over the book. The words rearrange themselves and shorten, the entire book thinning out slightly by the time he’s done.

“There we go…” he murmurs. “Now we can read it.”

He hands me the book back and my jaw drops. Harry has essentially translated it out of scientific-medical terms into something we can easily understand. Overwhelmed by the thought, I press a firm kiss to his mouth before reading over the page. Harry wraps an arm around my waist as I read, kissing my forehead every so often.

“Okay… so we need to cast this spell and then write down the results so we can see how her body and magic are functioning,” I tell Harry. I hold up the book so he can read the spell’s incantation and see the required wand movement. “I probably won’t be able to cast it, so can you do it?”

“I can give it a go,” Harry says with a nod. He turns to a pillow not being used and transfigures it into a small mouse. I quickly freeze it in place so it can’t scuttle around and ruin the bed. Trust Harry not to think of something like that.

“Salutem taxationem,” he enchants, flicking his wand to form a cross in a circle. I watch with bated breath as numbers and words rise above the mouse, detailing everything from heart rate and blood pressure to magical signature—in this case a zero, because it’s a mouse.

I hug Harry tightly before reversing his transfiguration. “I guess I’ll scribe then,” I suggest. He nods and turns to face Mother.

“You’re sure about this?” He asks. “What if something goes wrong, it’s not like I’m a professional.”

“Then we’ll take her to St Mungo’s, I just don’t want to risk something else happening to her.” I can’t allow her to be taken again. Not when I have her now and have already failed her.

“Sure,” he replies. “Okay then,” he murmurs under his breath. I summon a muggle pen and a notebook like Hermione’s, getting ready to take down information.

“Salutem taxationem.” Harry casts the spell over Mother and we watch as the numbers and words rise up once again. I immediately start moving the pen over the paper, jotting down her heart rate, blood pressure, blood sugar, oxygen levels, magical core strength, and a whole range of other figures. The spell wavers a couple of times but never dies out, a testament to the strength of Harry’s power.

“Finished,” I say, the second I write the last word. Harry drops the spell, the results wavering and flickering out of existence.

“Let’s see them,” he replies with a raised eyebrow. I watch as different expressions cross his face. Harry seems to understand what he’s reading completely, and I feel kind of stupid that I don’t. I know what some of them mean, but that’s only a handful, and the rest I’ve never even heard of.

“Everything looks alright Draco,” Harry declares a couple of minutes later.

“Really?!” I ask, excitement bubbling in my chest.

“Yeah, it’s all external damage apparently.” Harry puts the notebook and pen down on the ground before stepping closer to me. “Now we only have to clean and close her wounds,” he states.

“Oh thank Merlin,” I breathe. I peck Harry’s lips again, finding it addictive now I’ve started. I still can’t believe he lets me.

Harry grins and kisses me a bit longer. “Come on, let's get her healed up.”

With reference to another book—this one titled “Cleansing and Closing Wounds”—Harry and I manage to remove the excess blood and any dirt or possible causes for infection. The waste is gathered into an empty potions vial and set aside for Hermione in case she wants to run any tests on it. Then, it’s my job to knit her cuts back together. My stomach squeezes as the pale skin shifts and reforms under my wand, memories of the same on my own body coming to the forefront of my mind. Harry’s hand on the small of my back keeps me concentrated, the only reason I manage to finish the task without being sick.

“Is that all of them?” I ask once I can’t see any more lines.

“It appears so,” Harry confirms behind me.

“Thank Mordred for that,” I say on a heavy breath. I never want to have to do that again.

“You don’t want to thank Mordred,” Harry chuckles. “He’s basically Voldemort but in the past!”

“Technicalities,” I wave the argument away. “It’s a saying, and I said it.”

Harry shakes his head, black fringe falling into his eyes. “Come on, let's get her to bed.”

“Which room?” I ask. “It can’t be the one she used to be in.”

“I know…” Harry chews his bottom lip for a second. “What if she’s in your room?”

“Would there be enough space for both of us?” I say with a tip of my head.

“Probably not,” Harry confesses. “But you could stay with me…”

“Harry Potter! Are you saying what I think you are?”

“We don’t have to do anything,” he says, throwing his hands up to show his innocence. “But I’d like having you next to me.” Harry blushes an adorable dark red.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it…” I admit.

“Which part?”

I slap him. And then kiss him. “So we’re doing this?”

“I guess we are.” Harry kisses me again.

I pull away first, my breath gone and my heart pounding. “We have to move Mother.”

Harry sighs, presses his lips to the side of my mouth, and levitates my mother off the makeshift bed. He walks out of the kitchen with a backwards glance at me, and then makes his way through the corridor and up the stairs. I wait a second, not knowing what to do, before deciding to follow too. I catch up pretty quickly and walk just behind Mother’s floating feet. The stairs prove to be slightly difficult, given the sheer number of them, but Harry manages to get her up and onto the landing. I offer to help, and once Harry agrees I take over the charm. Harry all but collapses in on himself, exhausted from the amount of magic he’s used today. I levitate Mother’s body into my room—or… my old room—and carefully drop her onto the bed.

She looks ethereal there, her blonde hair a halo around her pale skin and eyelashes. Despite being really injured a couple of hours ago, she looks much better now. Her skin still has a certain tone to it, revealing recent trauma, but for the most part she looks to be healing nicely.

“She looks good Draco.” Harry’s sudden voice behind me makes me jump, unaware as I was with my surroundings. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Harry murmurs into my ear.

“You didn’t!” I protest. “And yes, she does.”

“I definitely did, and I’m sorry, but you’re wrong. You should have seen your face!”

I scowl at Harry from over my shoulder. He tickles me in retaliation. His fingers dig into my skin, rubbing against my ribs and waist.

“Fine, fine!” I give in. “I forfeit!”

“Do you admit it?”

“Guess so,” I huff.

“Oh come here,” Harry says with an eye roll. His lips land on mine and I allow myself to smile into him.

“We have things to do Harry,” I murmur as his mouth connects with my throat.

“Mmmm,” Harry hums against my skin. “Yeah, you.”

“No, Harry. Like preparing for a war.” That sobers him very quickly and steps away. “Sorry, that was uncalled for,” I apologise.

“No, no. You’re right,” he sighs. “I’ll call Hermione and catch her up with Narcissa, we’ll figure something out to keep her safe.”

I only nod in response. We turn and leave the room together. “I guess I’ll cook some dinner for us,” I offer. “Merlin knows you can’t cook.”

“Thank you Dray,” Harry smiles. I scoff at the nickname.

***

The water finally starts boiling, and I carefully pour it into the two mugs sitting on the kitchen counter. The teapot is heavy and very hot, and I rush to put it back down as quickly as possible. Scents of peppermint and chamomile fill the kitchen, and I tip my head closer to take it in. I push my hand through my hair, annoyed at it falling in my eyes. It’s growing very quickly, and is steadily reaching my shoulders. Sighing, I search through the cupboards to find a tea tray. As I bend down to open the bottom row of cabinets, a sharp pain cuts down my back.

Not again… I bring a hand up and around to touch my spine, and find it covered in blood. At this point I’m just sick of it. Gasping in pain, I stand back up and hunt for a towel or something to clean up the blood I know is about to come. I don’t see anything immediately, and give up when I feel my wings twitch where they’re connected to back. A groan pushes past my lips and pain shoots down my back again. I twist and bring my hand back to my skin, finding it warm and wet. A drip rolls downwards, tracing down my skin. I feel around for the bones I know are jutting out of my back and grip them hard. They feel solid and normal in my hand, and I travel up to where they split into branches. The feathers are soft but droopy, and as I’m touching them they curl in towards the bone.

A scream is ripped from me as they start to fall out; memories flashing before my eyes of the days spent in the Manor, and the pain I experienced, merging with the current pain underneath my skin. I force my hand away from the feathers and back down my bone. It’s twitching, shuddering inside my skin.

“Draco!” Harry shouts, running into the kitchen. “What’s happening?”

Relief fills me when I meet emerald eyes. Harry will help me. He always does. His question goes unanswered, but he catches on once his eyes roam over me. Blood is dripping down my back and arm, red lines a stark contrast against my skin. His eyes bulge, he swallows hard, and then he’s rushing towards me.

“They’re going back in Draco,” Harry explains as he looks over me. “Your wings are withdrawing into your back.”

“Ughhh,” I groan as I feel them shift slightly. Now that he’s said it, I can feel them moving beneath my skin. It’s going to be a slow process this time. Bone grates against bone and I shudder at the sound and feeling. It’s like being exposed to the cold, and it sets my teeth chattering in the most uncomfortable way imaginable. A rush of warmth follows, and I’m repulsed to discover it’s a wave of fresh blood. My head spins, the room going blurry and spotty with purple dots.

“Nu- numb me,” I gasp out to Harry as the pain rapidly increases.

I hear Harry patting himself down, hunting for his wand within his clothes. When he finds it, he recants a long, intricate spell. Must’ve gotten it from the books.

A cool relief washes over my body, and the pain dulls down to a bearable level. I can still feel every push into my skin, every time something catches or grates, but the pain isn’t there.

“Thank you,” I manage to get out in a whisper shout. I shudder again, my body twitching, as the bone sinks in further. “Where is it up to?” I need to know how much longer. I need to prepare myself mentally for this.

“Just where it splits into the branches,” Harry replies. His voice is unsure and worried.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, swallowing hard.

“I’m not totally sure…” he says. “It just- the feathers are curling in and falling off. Has that happened before?”

“I don’t think so…” I murmur. “But my memory isn’t working too great right now.”

“Oh Draco, I’m so sorry you have to go through this.” Harry walks around to face me, his hand on my shoulder and his eyes sympathetic. He rests his forehead against mine, his tan skin filling my vision and making me dizzy for a totally different reason.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I say as the first branch shifts under. One of the sharp bones catches on my skin, and I feel it tear. I gesture to Harry, who goes back around and carefully unhooks it.

“There’s no way I wouldn’t be here,” Harry replies.

The moon is high as time passes while we stand in the kitchen, the charmed windows reflecting the sky above ground. Eventually, the entire bone structure recedes into my back, and feathers litter the tiles. Harry collects them all with wandless magic, conjuring a jar and placing them gently inside. The numbing spell starts to wear off and I can begin to feel Harry’s hands wandering over my skin gently. We stand pressed up against each other for a few minutes, wrapped up in the comfort and warmth. I feel safe and at home in Harry’s arms. But something is off.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Why haven’t they regrown yet?”

Harry sighs, rubbing his hand over my arm. “I’m not sure.”

I feel tears burn at my eyes. I’ve gotten so used to having wings these past few months, and now it feels weird to not have the weight pressed into my back. Searing pain shoots down the entire length of my spine again, and I almost laugh at the timing. It feels different than normal though, the pain is more… distant. It feels far away, like it’s not happening on the surface of my skin, but rather to a different person entirely. The very-most tip of my wing prods against the inside of my skin, and then it breaks through. It doesn’t stop. The bones keep rising out of my back with no intention of slowing down. The pain still doesn’t register, even as the skeleton becomes fully visible.

“Merlin Draco!” Harry shouts as he realises what’s happening. He whips around to face my back, gasping with the sight he sees. “They’re fully regrown! Draco, they’re fully regrown!”

“Let me see!” I call out, excitement filling me to the point I can’t control my voice.

Harry conjures a large mirror and holds it up to my face. Sure enough, the webs of bones are back in place.

“Feathers?” I breathe. I raise my hand to touch them, but quickly withdraw when I realise just how soaked through with blood they are.

“Let me clean them,” Harry offers with a kiss to my cheek. “Tergeo!”

I watch as the blood is siphoned off my wings, and my jaw drops.

“Harry. Harry are you seeing this?! Please tell me I’m not imagining it!” I gush.

Harry lifts a reverent hand and strokes it over the feathers, eliciting a shiver from me. “Definitely not imagined…” he murmurs. “Dray, they’re white. Actually white,” Harry laughs with amazement and joy.

I twist to face him, sharp pain reminding me that my back has just been split open. I wince, my face screwing up. But none of that’s relevant, because my feathers are white, and I’m fully restored.

***

A/N: Another chapter out on time! I hope everyone is staying safe and that you’re looking out for yourself. Stay home! and spend all day reading fic because why not? Xx

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@draconianhorntail @p3trovass @cowboy-simp @queeneyart @ohheavenlylord @h0pehauntedmyw0rld @unsolicted-chick-picks @itsclayclay @harrybpoetry @slash-slut @jianing2603 @magical-fairy-princess-stuff @give-me-the-queer @youmakeprettybeautiful @hello-i-am-moi @slytherclaw134689 @sinnysin-sin @lafilleetlechatnoir @rebelwolf91017 @irrelevantdrarry @glo-up-goddess @birdy1032 @d-addict @pizzasandwich72 @madison-is-a-small-baby @joshoriande @sugarhoneyice-t @imaginemymemories @shipperofalltheships @uniiicornen @thewanderingnomadsworld @randominternetloser @levi7755 @localxmermaid @biyaaaaaaaaaa @just-some-bibliophile @pizzabitch @champagnemonarch

[spyrkle4]

Quiet Conversations (Bh6 one-shot)

AN: This was the first bh6 literature I ever wrote, I’m not the best writer but I try. Hope you enjoy and polite criticism is welcome. Onto the fic!

Despite being able to note the most places Big Hero 6 had appeared in, Megan had started hitting a few dead ends. She’d been looking into the incidents the mysterious superheroes were involved in. The incident at Krei Tech, the whole thing with the star, and most recently the big monster attack. But she just couldn't find many clues that could link to finding out who they are.

She couldn’t ask Hiro for help either, as her friend/teen genius had been rather busy of late. Whenever she asked him for help in her investigations, Hiro would claim he had some sort of school work to do. Eventually she stopped asking, not wanting to put any more pressure on her friend’s back. He hadn’t been doing well since the monster attack and the whole thing with Sycorax for some reason. She asked him once what was wrong and he replied with, 

“It’s complicated,” and looked rather sad, so getting Hiro’s help wasn’t an option.

However, luckily for Super Sleuth Megan Cruz (it was a cool journalist name no matter what Hiro says) she had the greatest idea on how to look for more information on Big Hero 6.

By interrogating the enemies of Big Hero 6, surely some of the villains that they fought have some information on them. But which villain to interrogate was the real question.

Her first option was to question Globby (the supervillain turned hero that had been known to help Big Hero 6 in the past). But since the whole incident at Joe’s Diner, that wasn’t an option anymore. Speaking of that incident, her father had labeled Big Hero 6 has fugitives since they were found helping Globby. Megan often heard her classmates at school complain about it, since many of them were fans of the super heroes. She was hopeful that perhaps by finding out who Big Hero 6 were, it would change her dad’s opinion on them.

She considered questioning Momokase, a longtime enemy of Big Hero 6 but her dad vetoed that. Megan didn’t blame him, the sushi chef/ninja mercenary was known to be dangerous even behind bars. 

“One of the villains Big Hero 6 faced has to have some information on them,” Megan stared at her conspiracy wall, trying to scrounge for any clues.

“What does Hiro always say? ‘Look for a new angle?” Megan sighed, her fingertips tracing the timeline she mapped out.

“Maybe if I start from the beginning I could find a clue,” There has to be something. Maybe it was a bad idea, most of the villains that Big Hero 6 faced were dangerous! Her eyes glanced over a picture on her wall, it was a photo someone took of a fight between Big Hero 6 and one of the villains they fought. It had been one of the first battles Big Hero 6 had since they showed up at Krei Tech, against the mother-daughter crime dancing duo known as High Voltage.

A lightbulb inside Megan’s mind lit up, and she had an idea on who to question.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” her dad asked her for the 50th time. “Yes Dad, this could help me find out the identities of Big Hero 6!” Megan replied. When she told her dad the idea she had, he insisted on giving her an escort.

“Alright, but be careful.” He hummed, realizing that she wasn’t going to change her mind. She waved him goodbye when they got to their destination (after saying hello to the person at the front desk), promising to be back before the sun sets.

Megan clutched the notebook in her hand while she walked through the hospital. It was definitely one of the better hospitals in San Fransokyo, the floors and walls were clean. Despite the little nerves in her chest, Megan kept thinking of all kinds of questions she’d ask and what kinds of information she’d learn. She stopped walking when she got to a hospital room at the end of the hall. 

She entered the room, it was a normal hospital room. The walls and floors were the same dark grey shade as the hallway. The single bed was on one side of the wall, and the tv was on the opposite end. Megan had only been to a hospital once, and that was when one of her friends had broken their leg. The hospital room didn’t look that much different than the one her friend was in when she visited. Although that hospital room hadn’t been on the fourth floor.

The occupant of the hospital room was sitting by the window, her eyes gazing to the outside world. She looked to be not that much older than Megan. With long dark blonde hair, brown eyes, and pale skin. A tuft of her blonde hair was highlighted purple but it was fading. Megan was unsure how to approach her, but she then spoke up.

“I can hear you over there.” she didn’t turn around, but Megan could sense she was annoyed.

“Sorry,” she took a seat next to her, “I’m Megan.” There wasn’t another response.

“What’s your name?” 

“You already know my name, don’t you?” Megan nodded, “then there’s no need to ask.” “It’s still common courtesy to ask someone you don’t know their name.” A small smile formed on her face.

“I’m Juniper,” she turned to face Megan, who was able to get a good look at her brown eyes, “Nice to meet you Megan.”

“Nice to meet you two, I wanted to ask you a couple of questions,” Megan spoke in her journalist voice, keeping her notebook and pen in hand.

“Questions?” Juniper narrowed her eyes, staring suspiciously at Megan.

“Yep,” Megan opened her notebook, ready to write things down, “I wanted to ask you about B-” “Should’ve figured you were another reporter asking about Sycorax.” Those brown eyes were glaring at her, the look of anger made Megan flinch.

“What?” Megan’s eyes widened, “No, I wasn’t going to ask any questions about Sycorax.” At first she was confused why Juniper thought she wanted to ask about the Bio-Tech company. “Everyone always asks about Sycorax!” she shouts, “They always ask about...her or call my Mama and I monsters!” the outburst ended as quickly as it began. Juniper curls herself into a ball on the floor, shuddering.

Oh..oh..Megan realized, she remembered during the monster attacks. Diane Amara (an evil clone of Liv Amara, that was a shocker to the public), had used several villains in her evil schemes. Mutating them into monsters whether they were willing or not, and High Voltage were not willing participants in Di’s schemes. 

“Hey,” Megan sat down, unsure of how to approach the shuddering blonde. “I don’t hate you..” “You should,” Juniper sniffles. “I am a monster for helping her.” “She forced you and your mom to help her against your will,” Megan argued, “that doesn’t make you a monster.” “Even before that, I did a lot of bad stuff,” the blonde wipes a few tears from her eyes.

“Do you still want to give up crime dancing?” Megan asks. Juniper turns to face her, a bit of confusion in her chocolate brown eyes, “At the..school dance, you and your mom mentioned about giving up a life of crime and turning a new leaf to the point of singing an entire song about it.”

“Y-you were there at that school dance?” Juniper’s eyes widened with shock. “I go to that school!” 

“Really?” “What did you think I was homeschooled or something?” both of them started giggling, the tenseness in the air starting to fade.

“You do look a little familiar,” Juniper noted, “Were you wearing a pretty blue dress at the dance?”.

“Yeah I was,” Megan replies, wait..pretty? “Surprised you’d even remember me.” “At least I remember something good from that dance,” she sighed, rubbing the bandage wrapping on her neck. Megan was curious what that was but knew better not to push the emotionally fragile girl any more.

“Why don’t you tell me a little more about yourself?” and so the two girls spent a great amount of time conversing. Megan ended up not asking any questions about Big Hero 6, not wanting to accidentally trigger Juniper. She asked a little about Juniper and her mom and Juniper asked about her and her dad. Eventually the evening started to roll and Megan had to leave.

“Ah look at the time!” Megan realized, “My dad will freak out if I’m late!” she turned to Juniper, “I have to go now, sorry.” “Are you going to visit again?” Juniper asks her, there was a funny feeling in her chest as she stared back at those warm chocolate eyes.

“Of course,” she replied without hesitation, “I promise.” “That would be nice, I enjoyed talking to you Megan,” Juniper smiles, and it makes her happy to see a smile on that face.

“See you later Juniper.” Megan waves, walking out of the hospital room.

“See you later!” Juniper waves back, her expression much happier than when Megan first entered the room. 

As Megan was walking home, there was a skip in her step. A warm feeling in her chest she couldn’t describe. Despite not getting any clues to the identities of Big Hero 6, Megan found something better. She found a new friend, and maybe..something more.

[jestbee]

WHAT DID YOU SAY TO THEM

Not a lot is the short answer. But, in case you wanted long detailed post about it all, my entire meet & greet experience is below the cut

So we got there super early and we were sat at this bar/restaurant that’s attached to the venue and we looked up at a window across the way and I thought, fleetingly in the back of my mind, “That looks like the back of Phil’s head”. But I didn’t say anything to my friends because I thought I’d come across as a bit of a weirdo. Who recognises the back of someones head? Inside a building? In silhouette? 

Anyway. Turns out it was Phil’s head, and then Dan came to the window wearing his grid jumper and waved and we all waved back (I’m sure I looked like a stunned idiot) and then he got his phone out and held it up while he continued to wave at us.

Consequently, I’m half convinced he has a photo/video of us on his camera roll somewhere. A very odd thought. 

So that was the first moment. The one that was to kick off the weirdness of seeing them in real life and- let’s be real- the low key panic attack I was just going to have for the next two hours until it was all over. 

And I remember Dan smiling really wide and I was just like, ‘oh my god, he’s real’ which is a stupid thought to have, but it wouldn’t be the last time I thought it. 

When the time came we went to the foyer of the venue and they had all the merch but you couldn’t buy it yet but they were setting it up in the vip area upstairs so we could buy it there. 

There were so many cool people, other fans just having fun and it was really nice to be in an atmosphere where you knew we were all there for the same reason. Gathered because of two tall ex-emos that somehow make our days a little brighter.

There was also a line of old people buying tickets to other things at the box office looking around like this was the oddest thing they’d ever seen. They were right. It probably was.

We were counting down, watching the merch trolleys being wheeled back and forth to the lift and it was getting more and more real. Then it was 4 o’clock. People started doing that British-person-shuffle thing where you all try to get as close to the place you are supposed to be as possible. As if that will get you in quicker. It rarely works but we all try. 

They took the barrier down. It was starting. 

The venue staff looked at our tickets and then gave us a wrist band and we went to an upstairs area (that was actually like a bar you usually go to before shows) and the m&g backdrop was there and a merch stand and a playlist playing out of a Beats Pill speaker just plugged in in the corner. I mean.... what? 

World wide tour, neon lights and a fancy set and this is the production value Nottingham could provide. Well done hometown, well done.

We sat on some tables near the front of the room and there was a stoic security guard in a grey suit standing at a door next to the screen like something out of a movie. Everyone made so much noise every time the door vaguely moved and we were all on edge. 

The room was buzzing. People were hyped.

So at this point I got SUPER nervous and my face and neck starting getting hot, even my ears felt like they were about to spontaneously combust on the side of my head. Thank god for @ineverhadmyinternetphase and @charlottekath who were also nervous but totally encouraging, because I never would have coped without them 

The organisers put a line of green tape on the floor and they were giving out Haribo... I think. I’m a vegetarian so I didn’t get any. I couldn’t concentrate anyway.

Also the line for merch was REALLY long at this point but we thought we’d go after our m&g. Good decision. There was no queue after cus everyone was queueing for m&g so we walked straight up. 

Plushies had almost gone though but we were lucky and snagged 2 of the remaining 3. 

They had more later, downstairs, this was just the vip stand.

So it then came time to line up behind the green tape and we all got in a queue and we were 5 PEOPLE FROM THE FRONT and at this point I began to panic a little and I was half convinced I was going to leave... Seriously, I just had the thought that I could turn around and go because why was I putting myself through something I knew was going to give me anxiety, you know? Why did I need to do this?

Good friends, my pals. Good friends. They pointed out that I’d regret it if I left which yeah, I would have. I stayed.

On shaking legs goddammit it, I stayed.

So then it was explained that the boys were on their way and that there was a lot of people there but that we had time and we would definitely all get to meet them so no pushing etc. The crowd kept cheering and being loud when she was talking which was annoying but everyone was just so excited! 

So, you had to have your 1 thing to sign, you could get a selfie/photo whatever and then you’d have your wristband cut off and get a little vip merch tote thing. Have it all ready in your hand before you go round. Trust me, it makes it so much easier! 

I wasn’t taking much more in by this point because the heat in my face and neck was uncontrollable and at this point I was hitting myself in the knuckles with a sharpie because I think I was very near a panic attack. 

Then it was TIME. 

They came out through the side door. The cheer started at the back and followed down the line like a wave at a sporting match and then.... they came round into full view. 

I was just... stunned. Into silence. 

Literally lost the ability to speak. 

Most people comment on how tall they are. I can deal with tall. I’m used to tall. I’m not used to two nerds I watch on my computer screen suddenly appearing in real life. 

I was mostly struck by how Dan was wearing merch actually. He really followed through on that. Plus it was the one I wanted to buy so I was glad to see it in person. 

Dan asked us all how were were doing and everyone cheered appropriately. 

Then Phil said (quietly and mostly to Dan) “Thank you for coming” 

Then Dan said louder to the crowd “Yes, Thank you all for coming!” 

And that was cute as hell, because Dan clearly does all the shouting and Phil giving him that little prompt was just... wonderful. The way they work together so easily is just lovely. 

So then they went back behind the screen thing and the moment came. 

Everyone moved forward, I was panicking and hitting my knuckles with the pen and counting down the number of people left to go before I would have to do it. 

Then it was our turn. We’d already talked about how I was going last out of the three of us because I am a wimp. So those two went up together and I watched them in the reflection of the glass and they were all laughing and I was like, SO SO HAPPY for them. Honestly, my friends are the best and getting to experience this whole thing with them was the best. 

After what seemed like a hilarious conversation I won’t spoil here because you can probably read about on their blogs, it was my turn.

But first: 

“Is that a letter?” she said.

They collect the letters and things before you go round to see the guys and then put them in these neat large brown envelopes with “Dan and Phil” written on and the venue and date. 

“Yes,” I said, “But it’s not from me. It’s from my friend. In California.” 

Sometimes when I am nervous I ramble. But, @adorkablephil that one was for you. I wanted to make sure I mentioned it. 

“Ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

Then I had to go around the screen. 

Before I got there, in fact for the entire 7 months since I bought my ticket I have been saying the same thing. I was looking forward to my Phil hug and I didn’t think I’d be able to handle meeting Dan in person. I don’t know why. He was intimidating to me for some reason. 

But, let me tell you. I was not prepared for the absolute force that is Phil Lester. 

I rounded the corner and Phil immediately smiled and held his arms out and I just kind of shuffled over and gave him a hug and he was like “hiiii” 

Then I got a half-hug from Dan in that way that he does and I was so happy about it. They are both like, SO lovely. And gentle.

Phil was just... I don’t know. Dan looked like Dan does on my laptop screen. Just, in real life which was bizarre yeah, but Phil... Phil looks different. I don’t think if its the hair or just that I’m not yet used to 2018 Phil but he looked his age. Which... if you’ve been paying attention to this blog at all you will know is totally my jam. 

I’m a Phil girl. I’ve become a Phil girl. I think it’s just time I admitted it. 

I didn’t intend on saying much. I didn’t have anything planned and there was no huge statement I wanted to make. I never would have been able to manage it, my anxiety levels were pretty high at this point and I just wanted to enjoy the moment without any added pressure to say anything like, meaningful.

And I was still pretty much stunned into silence anyway so I think I went “Hi.” all quiet and squeaky. Then the conversation went like this:

P: Do you want us to sign your calendar? 

Me: Oh, Yes please. 

I passed them the calendar. Backwards. Of course. I’m an idiot. 

D: Do you want us to sign May? 

Bless this boy for checking. God amongst men. Cus I didn’t have it in me to correct it unprompted. 

Me: Oh. Actually, June please. 

They flipped it over, both with black sharpie in hand, poised and ready. 

I almost let it go. I had a plan that I almost let slide because, hello awkward, but I didn’t. I summoned the courage to finally like, actually speak.

Me: I, um, I brought a silver sharpie. Cus... it’s black. 

I meant the page. June is the black background photo and I didn’t think the black sharpie would show up. 

At this point I kind of thrust the sharpie at them and Phil smiled again. I died. 

P: You’re so prepared

D: We’re never prepared for anything in life just generally

I laughed. 

At this point I realised my error in only bringing only one pen because then they couldn’t do the crossed-arms thing to sign. But it was okay. Phil still held the calendar but Dan signed first and then passed the pen over to Phil. Seamless. Wonderful. 

At this point I’m digging my phone out of my front pocket and my hands are shaking. 

Phil puts the pen lid back on and passes it all back to me and I like, fumble with all my stuff and flicking open the camera app at the same time. 

D: Would you like a photo?

Me: Yes please could you... *passes him my phone*.

I never give anyone my phone. Ever. But here is Dan Howell with his huge hands on my phone just handling it like a pro and it was great. 

So I sort of awkwardly shift to the middle of them and Phil leans in SO close behind me and Dan takes the picture and I think I don’t look too bad. A little stunned, of course, but that was to be expected. 

Me: Thank you so much.

D: Thank you for coming, I hope you enjoy the show. 

Me: You too

What? You too? Ugh I’m the worst. 

P: Bye!

Me: Bye!

Then I get round the other side and the guy with the totes looks at me like really hesitantly, like he’s approaching a scared animal and says “Can I cut your wristband off?” 

I held out my wrist. Silent and shook and shaking. He cuts the wristband off, He gives me a tote bag, I clutch it and the calendar to my chest and wander back over to my friends and finally, mercifully, collapse. 

The camera app is still open on my phone. My ears are still hot and my knuckle has a bruise forming I’ll definitely regret tomorrow but this has been one of the best things ever. 

I had to drink two beers with lunch just to get over it. 

[darkpaladinchris]

Of PMA and Pancakes, Ch 2.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters. All rights belong to our lord and master Sean William “Jacksepticeye” McLoughlin.

Summary: Anti is used to having it easy. Outside of doing videos for Jack, he has no life. But when an accident happens while everyone is away, how will Anti react to having a huge responsibility shoved on his shoulders? Will he crack under the pressure? Or will he grow closer to one of the only beings in the universe he can bring himself to harm? Read to find out. This is my first fanfiction. Let me know what you think. No flames please.

Normal speech

Anti’s thoughts

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

Poor kid Anti thought as he went through the process of transferring Sam into the portable tank, Schneep really needs to let him out of here more often. Glad I came down here when I did. From the looks of things Sam really needed some, what does Sean and his crazy fans call it? PMA.

Entering the lab, Anti was careful not to disturb anything as he searched for his target. Though the room had not been part of the original layout of the house, at Schneeps insistence Sean had Marvin conjure up a full laboratory and medical bay as a basement portion to the house which, until Anti’s appearance, had seen very little use. The doctor had a habit of keeping things clean and organized when it came to the area, so much so that he could usually tell whenever someone had been in there without his permission just by a pen being out of place. Hearing a noise off too his left, Anti headed deeper into the lab still being careful not to move anything. After a few more minutes of searching Anti spotted what he was looking for and started to approach, but stopped when he saw what was making the noise he heard earlier, taking in the sight that laid before him. One of the things Marvin did when he constructed the lab was enchant the walls to display different images of natural scenery, or at anyone’s command, play different videos. Currently the wall was replaying one of Sean’s chat videos, specifically the one that he made the day before he left for L.A. But what drew Anti’s attention the most was the large floor to ceiling tank in the center of the room and inside on the bottom of the tank, watching the video, and currently in his large form which was roughly the size of a basketball, was the only being in the world Anti would openly admit was more than a friend to him. Sam. Not wanting to disturb him, Anti just silently stood by and listened to the video for a few minutes.

“-I wanna challenge myself again. I wanna get back to a state where I find that fire, that passion to try my best to do other things and I’m seeing so many other YouTubers have a renaissance on their channels recently, and I wanna find that. So I’m excited for that, its gonna be a good thing for the channel…”

The video continued on for another minute before Anti heard Sam give a soft sigh hearing Sam’s small voice quietly whisper, “I miss you Sean.”

“I’m sure he misses you too Sam,” Anti said breaking his silence as he walked forward and placed his hand on the tank. Sam was so startled he nearly hit the top of the tank when he jumped. Anti doubled over in laughter as Sam returned to his normal size, roughly the size of a baseball, as he floated back down to eye level with Anti.

“Antiiiiiiii!!!!! I hate it when you do that.”

“Sorry Sam. I didn’t want to disturb you buddy. You looked really involved with what you were watching,” Anti said, his laughter finally having died down. “You really miss him don’t you?”

“He didn’t even say good-bye Anti. He just left… he forgot about me” Sam said a little dejectedly.

That statement shook Anti to his very soul. By now Sam had shrunk to the size of a ping pong ball and was currently by Anti’s feet near the bottom of the tank, floating their almost dejectedly. Anti knelt down so he was almost level with Sam and spoke in a voice that if you had never met Sean, or even Anti himself, outside of anything related to YouTube or an event you wouldn’t think that either of them could speak so softly without the latter of the pair making it sound menacing.

“Sam, look at me. We all know how busy Sean was before he went on vacation, He literally was packing a huge majority of his life into a suitcase, traveling halfway across the globe, and didn’t plan on being home until November. Not only that, but there was also all that he was doing to get the new merchandise out and his mental state at the time. Even if he didn’t come say good-bye to you Sam, I can almost guarantee he misses you just as much as you miss him.”

Sam looked up at Anti. “You mean that?”

“Absolutely,” Anti replied before dramatically grabbing his chest as if he were in pain. “Oh my god. Is this what it feels like to have a sappy heart warming moment?”

“No, more like how to ruin one,” Sam instantly replied back.

Anti chuckled at that remark. “Damn kid, somebody got their sassy voice on this morning. You know, the whole reason I came down here was to ask if you wanted to get out of here, maybe share some of my pancakes for breakfast, and let you spend the day with the awesome being that is yours truly. But after that comment,” Anti said as he started walking away, “I think I’ll just leave you here to torture yourself with those h̫̩̹̩̖͔̯͖̅̉̆̌̆͢͟͡o̶͖̮̲͚̼͉͆̀̍͐̍́ȓ̵̢̢̥̖͚̗̹̹̠̹̒̋̓̓͑r̷̛̤̺͈̫̳̬̞̪̠͗͌̈́̑̋̾͋͑͟i̺̭̲̭̭̱͇̐͗̀͛̓̌͘̕͜͞͞b̲̼̞̞̮͐̎̈̈̾̾͠l̹̲͚̠͚͂̌̂̕͟͜͡ͅḛ͎̰͙̟̯͓̂͆̽̀̔̐́̐̑�� videos from Sean,” Anti finished rather dramatically.

Before he could even make it five steps Sam was instantly apologizing and begging to come with him, .

“No wait.  Anti I’m sorry. Please take me with you. TAKE ME TO THE PANCAKES!!!!”

That last sentence nearly had Anti in stitches as he turned around and walked back to Sam’s main tank.

“Alright, alright. Let me grab your portable tank, then we can head upstairs and enjoy my probably now cold and soggy pancakes,” Anti said as he went to retrieve the portable tank they used on the few occasions Schneep actually let Sam out of the lab whilst Sam did his usual energetic dance that Robin had animated him doing at the end of Sean’s videos.

Poor kid Anti thought as he went through the process of transferring Sam into the portable tank, Schneep really needs to let him out of here more often. Glad I came down here when I did. From the looks of things Sam really needed some, what does Sean and his crazy fans call it? Oh yeah, PMA. 

And with that thought, the duo proceeded back upstairs to the living room where Anti’s promise of pancakes awaited them both.

AN: Let me know what you guys think. Don’t be afraid to like and reblog if you want.

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

Forgotten Memories. 4

You never wanted new flatmates but yet here you are, sharing an apartment with Jeon Jungkook and Kim Yugyeom. Maybe landlord Taehyung had a reason for letting Jungkook and Yugyeom move into your apartment. You only hoped that they didn't mind living with a ghost.

Jungkook  roommate au ft BTS & Got7

Warnings; Supernatural stuff. Sad stuff. Ghost Y/N. Ghost Namjoon. Mentions of suicide. Mentions of death. Swearing. Harmful things.

Forgotten Memories Masterlist

After Taehyung revealed his suspicions to you and Namjoon, the three of you stayed up all night trying to figure out who would want either of you dead and who would benefit from your deaths. Due to the fact Taehyung didn't know an awful lot about either of you when you were alive and neither you or Namjoon could remember your lives past the building you resided in, there wasn't a single name on the list when you were done.

"Maybe I should talk to Jackson," Taehyung suggested. "He knows you both better than anyone without getting your family involved."

"No, you can't pull him into this." You argued firmly. "First of all, he doesn't believe in ghosts and nothing you could say would convince him that we're still here. And secondly, he is suffering more than enough as it is without knowing we suspect we were murdered."

"You're right." Taehyung frowned. "I don't think anyone else here would know anything helpful."

"And once again, convincing them that we are ghosts and still roaming around the building will be near impossible." Namjoon added.

"Don't you have any information on us, as your tenants?"

"I have next of kin but seeing as you changed that to each other months ago, I have nothing. I don't legally need any information besides the obvious on tenants and I wouldn't feel right having more than necessary."

"If only we had a creepy landlord who stalked his tenants." You replied with a dramatic sigh. Both males chuckled. "So, that's it, we have to quit before we even started?"

"No, we can figure something out." Taehyung assured.

Not a single word was voiced in the apartment for a good twenty minutes while the three of you sat in concentrated silence. Suddenly, Taehyung made a loud sound of realisation that oddly enough resembled the yelp of a dog getting his paw accidentally stood on.

"What the hell was that?!" Namjoon shrieked, looking at Taehyung with wide eyes.

"I just remembered something! Do you two have any belongings of your own left?" His eyes flicked between the two of you.

"Jackson kept some of our stuff."

"Anything particularly precious? I mean really precious?" You and Namjoon looked at each other as you thought hard.

Every item in Namjoon's bedroom belonged to either you or Namjoon himself. Jackson had added more of your belongings to the room after clearing out most of Namjoon's stuff with help from Jimin.  But still, there was a lot Jackson couldn't bring himself to donate or send back to family members.

Honestly, most of the items didn't recall any special memories for either of you so it took you a while to find something.

"Oh! Yes!" You exclaimed, looking at Taehyung. "There is a ring, a promise ring Namjoon gave me on our one year anniversary."

"Oh yeah." Namjoon smiled at the memory. "I spent ages looking for the perfect ring for you."

"I love it, I wish I could still wear it." You looked down at your bare fingers with a frown. "It's my most treasured possession and I can't even touch it."

"I can teach you," Taehyung announced gaining your attention. "I saw my grandmother teach a ghost to interact with objects when I was little. I can help you, at least, I think I can."

"And you're only just telling us now?!" Namjoon cried out. "Taehyung!"

"I'm sorry, I forgot about it." He apologised.

"Why do you want to know about our precious possessions?" You enquired, bringing the conversation back on track.

"You can use them to leave the building." Your eyes blew wide. "Spirits have three possible anchors in the mortal world, the first being their home if they have enough love and important moments there while alive. The second being their place of death but you two don't seem to return to the car where you were found so that is more reason to believe that isn't where you died. The third is a precious object. If someone has the object and leaves the building, you can leave with them but you can only stay within a certain distance of the object. I'm not sure on that distance though."

"It can be tested." You mumbled. "So say if you had my ring and went to the shops, I could go with you?" Taehyung nodded. "You need to get that ring, Taehyung."

"How am I supposed to do that? I can't just break into Jackson's apartment for a ring, I'd get arrested!"

"He's right, babe." Namjoon put his hand on your thigh. "We need to be smart about this."

"What is your precious item, hyung?"

"A watch. It was my grandfathers and he gave it to me just before he died. I broke it though and couldn't wear it for years but Y/N got it fixed for me last Christmas. It's honestly the best gift anyone has ever given me. It was important before then but it's been the more important item to me ever since."

"Jackson has it?"

"He wears it. He knew how important it is to me. Do you think that's why I'm drawn to him a lot?"

"Definitely," Taehyung confirmed with a positive nod. "Do you think he'll take it off?"

"No. I don't even know if he takes it off to shower." Namjoon confessed. "That means I'm stuck here until he leaves, right?"

"Yeah." Their attention turned to you then. "We will focus on your ring then."

"Okay, what should we do?" You didn't argue and shuffled forward to focus on Taehyung's next words.

"You need to somehow get the ring to me so I can take it out with me."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that? I can't exactly just pick it up and walk away, a floating ring is going to look rather suspect, Tae."

"l don't know." His lips turned downwards at his lack of useful ideas.

"How about we just learn how to move objects for now? There's no point in coming up with a plan if we can't execute it." Namjoon suggested realising you and Taehyung were getting quite discouraged.

"You're right." You mumbled before straightening up and pushing your negative thoughts and worries from your mind. "Okay teacher, how do we do this?"

"Well from what I remember, you need to try and imagine your hand as an object itself, like, real, like bones and blood and muscles and skin and-"

"Okay, we get it." Namjoon interrupted with a chuckle. "Pretend we actually have flesh and bones." He summarised shuffling to sit next to you, both of you looking at items on the coffee table. "Do you think weight will affect our abilities?"

"Hm, possibly." Taehyung thought then reached over to move a pen to the table in front of you. "Let's start small. Spirits can move very heavy objects, I think it's because you're not restricted by bodies so you aren't limited to your muscle strength but it will take a while to work up to it."

"Makes sense." Namjoon hummed and hovered his right hand over the pen. His eyes closed as he focused on imagining his hand once again existed physically in the mortal world. He imagined every little mark he had grown to know his handheld, every single visible vein, every crease. A full 72 seconds later, he opened his eyes, a look of determination on his features. You couldn't tear your eyes away from his hand as it lowered over the piece of stationery. You couldn't tell if he had made contact with the item or not, his hand had covered it fully. Slowly, his pulled his fingers in as his palm lifted until his index finger and thumb were directly either sides of the pen. He paused for a second then proceeded to bring his fingers in until they touched the plastic. A gasp left your parted lips as you saw the pads of his fingers indent slightly from the pressure of the plastic. With a proud smile that only grew with every passing moment, Namjoon lifted the pen.

"Wow." Taehyung breathed, awestruck.

"That's my man!" You cooed, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

"Here, try and take it from me." He replied with a goofy smile, happy with himself but also your praise. He turned to you and held the pen at one end, leaving the other for you.

You nodded enthusiastically and reached out only for your hand to pass through the item.

"You're too excited." Namjoon chuckled. "Calm down."

"Okay okay, calm." You took a few slow breaths to relax your body and mind.

"Don't forget to imagine your hand as a physical object." Taehyung reminded. You nodded and closed your eyes to try and copy Namjoon's technique.

You concentrated on the feel of your hand against your thigh, how every finger felt individually, how the weight distributed. You didn't spend as long concentrating as Namjoon did and maybe that was where you went wrong or maybe it was the excitement that rushed through your system once again.

Your eyes fluttered open and you looked at the pen. Carefully, you lifted your hand and touched your fingers to it. The second you felt the hard plastic under your fingertips, your face lit up with excitement and you lifted your head to look at Namjoon. He looked so proud and happy for you but he nodded back to it.

"Don't lose focus." He instructed. You followed his words and looked back down only to find your fingers had gone through the item. You whined in annoyance and pulled your hand back. "Try again." Once again, you followed his words but, you couldn't even touch the pen that time.

You threw your body back against the pillows in anger. The second your back hit the material, the lightbulb above your heads on the ceiling exploded.

"Was that me?" You mumbled, a cold feeling spreading through your chest. Since you returned as a ghost, you hadn't felt any temperature difference and you thought you'd be happy to feel something you wished you hadn't felt the chill. It was as if ice had encased your heart and was slowly spreading out from it.

"You always did have a problem with controlling your emotions." Namjoon chuckled. The second his reassuring hand rubbed soothing lines up and down your arm, the ice abruptly stopped. You looked at him to see his lovestruck eyes staring down at you with such a soft fondness that your heart managed to thaw for the most part but there was still a coldness there that scared you. You didn't know what it meant and you didn't want to mention it to prevent the pair worrying but you didn't doubt it wasn't good.

"It's okay," Taehyung spoke, getting up to gather the dustpan and brush. "I have plenty of bulbs." You watched as he cleaned up, wishing you could help him but you couldn't even hold a pen let alone cleaning instruments.

Beside you, the pen clattered to the floor and Namjoon vanished.

"Joonie?!" You instantly called, jumping to your feet. "He's never done this."

Taehyung walked over to the window with the view of the road out the front of the apartment building. "Oh, Jackson is going out." He commented amazed. You rushed over to peer out the glass too.

Jackson was indeed in his car and fiddling with the radio to pick a station he liked while simultaneously plugging in his seatbelt. Namjoon was sat in the passenger seat beside him a little perplexed for a second until he spotted his watch on Jackson's wrist and he realised what was happening and relaxed. Namjoon looked over to the window and grinned at you with an excited wave. You and Taehyung grinned and waved back. Jackson looked up then, getting the feeling he was being watched. He quickly found Taehyung stood at his window and gave a very awkward little wave back. As quickly as possible, Jackson put his car in gear to reverse out of his spot and drive off.

"Wonder where they're going." You voiced, walking away from the window.

"I think Jackson and Jungkook were talking about a new gym last night with state of the art equipment," Taehyung commented, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Ah oh yeah, sleep." You spoke noticing how tired he looked. "Go to bed, Tae."

"No, we're working on your interaction skills."

"You can't exactly do anything." You laughed. "Just go to bed, I'll go up to my apartment so at least it won't be your light bulbs I break."

"Ah, good idea." Taehyung grinned and yawned loudly, stretching his arms over his head. "Good night, Y/N."

"Good night, Taehyung." You watched as he dragged himself to his bedroom, leaving the door wide open as he flopped down on top of his bed. You laughed lightly as you left.

Up in the apartment, Yugyeom was just collecting his belongings to leave for work. A glance at the shoe rack told you Jungkook was out already.

"Have a good day." You sang knowing full well that Yugyeom couldn't hear you and walked through to Jungkook's room. You knew it used to be your room, Taehyung had told you that much and you never had a flatmate, you liked it that way and he didn't mind as you always paid rent on time. But, you couldn't remember what you had in those four walls. Did you have a double bed like Jungkook did? You assumed you didn't have a single bed, it wouldn't make sense to have such a small bed for a grown woman, especially in such a generously sized room. You had to have had a bed that was at least queen size but very likely bigger, considering you were in a long-term relationship and Namjoon had a king size bed in his room next door. Did you have as little furniture as him? Did you also only have the necessities? It was clear Jungkook used his room purely to sleep and store his clothing and private belongings. You wondered if you did the same. Was your style similar to his? The fact that you always felt calm and happy in the room told you that is was very likely that your preferred style was also minimalistic and clean.

You couldn't deny that the two young men left you pleasantly surprised every day when you found the apartment tidy without a foul smell. You never expected two 21-year-olds to be so clean but they were and it made you a little less mad at Taehyung for renting your apartment to the pair without consulting you first. They were respectful of their home and their neighbours. You hated to admit it but Taehyung chose the perfect tenants.

Slowly, you looked around but found nothing small left around for you to practise your interaction skills with. With a huff, you left Jungkook's room to enter Yugyeom's. His room wasn't as immaculate. Yugyeom spent more time in his room but it wasn't at all messy. You would describe Yugyeom's room as "lived in", for the most part, everything was where it belonged and relatively neat but a few varied items were somewhere they didn't belong. A pile of freshly washed clothing on top of the dresser ready to be put away. A pair of shoes at the foot of the bed. One slipper by the bed, the other somewhere out of sight. A hoodie slung over the back of the desk chair. A pile of CD's on the desk looking like they could topple over any moment. A handful of pens spread across the desk around a notebook.

"Pens." You gasped, walking over spotting your opportunity. As the desk chair was tucked under the desk, you stayed stood up and simply rested your left hand on the back of it. You held your right hand over a lone pen and closed your eyes.

That time, you allowed yourself almost 2 whole minutes to focus and imagine the flesh your hand once consisted of. Then you opened your eyes and tried to pick up the item.

If anyone had been in that room right then, they would've seen a single pen float up from the desktop before the stack of CD's finally lost the battle with gravity and clattered noisily to the floor. Of course, they wouldn't have seen that you had accidentally helped gravity win that round.

"Shit." You cursed, putting the pen down to crouch down and quickly pick up the CD's, putting them back in their respective cases to stack them back up in a way you hoped looked similar to how they were originally.

It took a few seconds for what just happened to really click in and then you jumped around excitedly until you decided to test your limits.

You opened the door successfully and closed it again, not noticing it didn't shut fully as you were already skipping off excitedly to test your new skill.

***

Hours went by with you interacting with everything in the apartment. You could even lift the sofa up in both of your arms but you almost dropped it so you decided to quickly and carefully put it back down before it really did slip through your grasp, literally.

It barely occurred to you that Jungkook was due home any minute until you heard keys rattling the lock. You quickly turned the TV back off and tossed the remote onto the couch to run off and duck behind the kitchen counter. As Jungkook walked towards his room after taking off his shoes and jacket, you realised that you didn't need to hide. He couldn't see you.

Without warning, Jungkook stopped mid-step and so did you, fearing he could suddenly see you. But, he was staring at the sofa confused. He could've sworn it was slightly further forward earlier. He quickly shook off the thought though, there was no way Yugyeom would move the couch while he was gone, it was really heavy and required two people to lift. Aside from that, there was no reason to move the furniture less than a foot.

As Jungkook looked away from the couch, he noticed the wires behind the TV looked neater. Yugyeom certainly never touched the wires, technology was Jungkook's area and one of the wires was very temperamental so it always took him ages to find the right position. The fact that it was weird got pushed back as annoyance settled in his mind. He wiggled that wire for a full twenty minute to make sure they got all the channels they paid for. Jungkook approached the sofa and made a move to grab the remote from the armrest but it wasn't there. That was definitely strange. It was an unspoken rule to leave it there so it was easy to find, even Jimin knew the rule. Jungkook's eyes found the remote on the seat and although it bothered him, he simply picked it up and turned the TV. His rational mind declared that the device probably was balanced oddly on the armrest and simply fell onto the cushions, it was the only logical explanation. Quickly, Jungkook flicked through the channels, glad to find they were all still working fine, in fact, they had a few HD channels they didn't have previously at least, he was pretty certain they never had them before.

"Nah." He reasoned aloud. "We must've always had them." He turned the TV off and placed the remote on the arm, where it belonged.

A few other things started to look out of place. Jungkook made his way around the living area, taking mental note of all the things that didn't look right. The number was very high.

While Jungkook wandered around the room, closely scrutinising every single object, an image of your promise ring popped into your mind and you were made aware of the fact that you could move the item.

With a spring in your step, you walked past Jungkook and through the front door.

You didn't notice it but as you passed Jungkook, he shivered. A cold breeze passed him by and he straightened up. Once again, logic kicked in and said that Yugyeom probably left his bedroom window open again but the voice was small and something bigger in Jungkook told him to turn around. So he did.

His heart fell still in his chest as he watched a dark shadow pass through his front door.

[crisontumblr]

UtVG: “As You Know...”

Related Reading: Under the Van Gogh Masterpost | Original Fiction Masterpost

Tagging @abackwaterprincess, @catch-the-ghost, and @staticcatfish, because they’ve been some of my biggest/longtime supporters and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t hear the end of it if they found out I posted something UtVG-relevant without alerting them. XD This is a portion of that excerpt I was talking about posting yesterday. It’s typed mostly verbatim from the journal it was written in, with the sort of tweaks here and there that get made as one transcribes, but otherwise...

I am...actually really nervous to share this with you guys? But, in this case, I think that’s a good thing. It’s way past time for you guys to meet some of my old friends.

“What do you know of the Dead and our world, based on the things you were told and the events you’ve already experienced?”

Finally, someone who just gets right to the point! I show Saint Essex my little red Molskine, and he looks…surprised? Confused? Both? I’m not sure.

“I like telling stories and, as of this semester, I have officially accepted my destiny and become an English major. Having paper and pens just comes naturally with the territory, so I just…y’know, I do what comes naturally. I make notes. I write it all down.”

“I see that.” He returns it to me unopened. “That doesn’t entirely answer my question. Based on the information you’ve gathered from what you’ve been told and what you’ve experienced—”

“Oh, like—you want, like, an inference or maybe a direct exposition of everything I’ve—okay.” Where do I even begin? “Well, first of all, there’s…existence after death. There are two realms. Planes. Worlds? Anyway, they’re joined by the literal Mortal Coil, which is like this giant glass staircase in the space between worlds that can sense whether or not you’re dead and demonstrate how much it frowns upon the Living walking on it by shattering under your feet—”

“Yes, that reminds me.” My guest begins to search the pockets on his uniform before reaching for his canvas bag. “Saint Viticus made mention of the incident that transpired on your journey down and asked me check further.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

With a penlight, apparently. Saint Essex goes into physician mode almost the moment he clicks it on. As he shines it in my eyes, he directs me to point my gaze first one way, then another, and still yet to another point in the room; even if he’s made himself visible, and even if there aren’t that many people in this part of the student center, it still probably has to look weird.

Actually, I’m certain it looks weird, since he’s still wearing that vintage-looking uniform instead of actual regular clothes.

“Hm.”

“Hm?” I try to blink away the afterimage of his light. “What’s the diagnosis?”

The sound Saint Essex makes suggests he has heard a version of this question before, if not far too often. “You know the proper term.”

“You’re not my first doctor.”

“Fair enough.” He slips the penlight back into bag’s front pocket. “Your eyes appear normal, which I will attest means a considerably different thing for you than for most.”

“Obviously.”

“Fortunately,” he continues, “I am pleased to assure you that it falls well within your range of normal—a fact I am certain will also put Saint Viticus at ease, given his insistence on the subject.”

“He’s a good guy… But what do you mean, it falls within my range of normal? I mean, I’m glad to hear my sight’s not getting any worse, but I don’t recall you ever giving me a full physical—and I’m pretty sure I’d remember a British guy in World War II greens giving me a thorough once-over.”

There’s something kind of…off about his expression. I don’t know how to explain it, exactly, but it’s certainly hard to tell what he’s thinking.

“Shall we get back to the topic at hand?” Saint Essex picks up his cup of tea, his third since he politely arrived and reintroduced himself (after which Present rather noticeably made an exit with his cigarettes).

“Not before you tell me why everyone is so concerned with my eyesight. What exactly is that light in the Coil? Why is it so dangerous? Is it even actually light?”

“Miss—”

“Call me ‘Cris,’” I tell him. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that since we started. Having someone address me by my last name, it feels kind of weird. Too formal. A little bit medical.”

He sighs through his nose, and I—

“If you insist. To be honest, no one really knows what the light is or what composes it. We do know, however, that most who’ve come into direct contact with it are…altered, in some way.”

That sounds bad.

“Altered?”

“Irrevocably.”

Yeah, that definitely sounds bad.

“Oh. Hm.”

“Of course, there’s a very large chance you fall into the minority who experience nothing at all.” Saint Essex shrugs before taking a sip from his tea. “It’s happened before. Besides, the changes in those who were affected were immediate and markedly severe.”

Okay, so maybe it’s not so bad. “Maybe you should tell me what those changes were, just in case?”

He frowns, but it… How do I explain this? It’s almost like he doesn’t know how to use his face to make expressions properly. He frowns, but it’s less a gesture of his mouth and more of his brows.

“I assure you, Miss—” My guest catches himself. “Cris, I have been doing this a long time. If I was concerned for your safety, you would know. Now, may we return to the topic?”

“What’s the point of regurgitating what you seem to already know? The dead exist in a separate world from our own, but they can travel back here and exist among us if they choose. For whatever reason, I can see them. There’s, like, a hierarchy or a royal court of people who’re called Saints and they have attendants who aren’t dead, but they serve you guys in some capacity or whatever—

“Oh, and then there are the Ghosts, who are dead, but they help the Living? And Hell is a real place, but it’s not called Hell anymore—if it ever was—and like…it’s actually more of a city-state or something? And then one of the other Saints has like…Fisher King powers or whatever, and Viticus looks after people who commit suicide even though he was murdered—but it’s apparently rude to ask about being murdered? I think?

“Also, Death is a redhead who likes sweets—a-at least, that’s according to Present, who’s my…er…like…assigned Ghost—and she pays them a stipend that I can only imagine Present blows entirely on coffee and cigarettes because he’s almost always broke or borrowing money from Past…”

Once again, it’s hard to tell what Saint Essex is thinking just from looking at him and his eerily neutral expression.

“How am I doing so far?”

Saint Essex draws in a breath. “It’s a bit…scattered, but it proves you’ve paid attention, at least. There are, indeed, five of us, each assigned with different tasks and each of us overseeing different walks of life. I, for instance, show favor towards the military—”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“—those in medicine—”

“Also figured.”

“—and farmers.”

Wait, what?

“Farmers? Why farmers?”

“I am also given the task of helping to maintain order, alongside Saints Sorrows and Orpheia.” It’s as if I didn’t say anything at all. “We manage the delicate balance between the Living and the Dead, and we have done so for quite a long time.”

“What about Viticus and the, uh, the other guy? The fifth one?” I know I wrote his name down in my book, but it’s lost in all my notes.

“Edward manages his own affairs. The City of Dis always has.” Again, he frowns in that odd way. “One might suggest it would run more efficiently if he did not.”

Right, so no field trips there, then. Dante can keep that honor all to himself!

“How do you guys maintain balance? I mean, people are always…y’know, coming and going, and you’re three guys—”

“Three, yes, but we’re not without our assistants nor our own abilities.” Saint Essex pauses. “How much have you seen, in terms of displays of power?”

“Do you want a full list? It’s quite a list, even though it hasn’t been that long. Voice changes, items appearing out of nowhere, portals to other planes of reality, translocation—”

“Point made, although I must admit, you seem rather…well-adjusted to all of this.”

It’s an effort not to laugh. “I’ve been enough to learn just to roll with it. And I mean, at least it’s not proof I’m cracking under the pressure of university study!”

“I…suppose.”

“Plus, my family’s always been open to the supernatural—which… Is that actually okay to say or what? Viticus made it seem like it’s frowned upon.”

My guest merely nods a little, adjusting his wireframe glasses. “Social etiquette, particularly among the higher class of the Gray City, has given certain words and phrases the air of impropriety, but that isn’t a matter with which you need concern yourself. It’s not as though you’ll be making regular trips, after all.”

Probably not. Then again, the way Viticus spoke… I’m not going to tell Saint Essex this; pretty sure he’s the kind of guy who’d greatly disapprove.

[pyro-flug]

Can I have number 18? Black Hat saying "Watch me". You're great writer do what you want :)

“Watch me!”

When Black Hat spat those words out, blood dribbling from the corners of his mouth, Flug knew he couldn’t look. Skin stretched thin like a membrane, the eldritch was close to his breaking point; he wasn’t going to last much longer. The doctor’s hands were trembling as he gripped the gun in his hands tighter.

One. two. Three.

BANG BANG BANG

The clinking of empty casings on concrete.

NOT DEAD NOT DEAD NOT DEAD JUST PISSED OFF

BANG BANG BANG

Flug couldn’t breath; that wasn’t his gun going off.

There was a scream straight from the pits of hell.

“FLUG OH MY GOD!”

Dementia?

“SHIT, BLACK HAT!!”

TOO MANY TOO MANY TOO MANY TOO MANY, THIS IS HOW IT ENDS

“Take care of him, Dem... I don't think....”

Too much blood, not enough pressure, not enough air in my lungs. Punctured lung? Broken Ribs...

“Tell Black Hat I....”

Fading......fading.................fading......................................

Flug awoke to the sound of ringing and a torso riddled with pain. He tried to breath, but he felt like he was choking, and he reflexively reached up to claw at his throat.

NO, NO, NO, FLUG! DON’T DO THAT!” Dementia shouted as she leapt out of her chair at his bedside to pin down his arms. Flug locked onto her as an anchor and tired to speak, but found that he couldn’t with something numbing his vocals chords. “No, don't try to speak, Flug! I had to put you under some pretty heavy sedatives and numbing agents, so you’re not going to be able to move most of your body for a few hours still, okay.” Dementia looked like she was about to have a break down.

Weakly, Flug shifted his arms and lifted them to make a writing motion in the air. The girl nodded furiously, disappeared for a moment, and then reappear a moment later with a notepad and a pen. The doctor wrote a question.

What happened?

“Well... when?? After you passed out, or the whole thing?”

I guess a little before I passed out, the details are foggy.

“You were shot 3 times, right after you shot that-that THING that that hero had with it. Then that- THAT MONSTER.... You were hit once in the right lung, and twice through the gut.... I.... I watched you...” Dementia cut off, making a choked noise. Her eyes grew wet, and tears began to fall down her face as she tried to keep talking. “I- I- watched you collapse.... I -I through your were- you were dead or something! There was so much blood everywhere and Black Hat... oh Black Hat....” Dementia wiped at her tears violently and sniffed. Flug scribbled frenziedly

WhaT haPPened to BlackHAt?

Dementia let out a pained laugh.

“He... Well... he... See for yourself.” Dementia moved her body so that Flug had a clear view of... of another hospital bed. Black Hat was laying in it, propped up with pillows, his torso and the half of his face with the monocle were bandaged with white and stained with a blueish green fluid. His one eye was closed, and his chest rose shallowly with each breath.

“I thought he was dead too,” Dementia rasped; silent tears continued to fall as she tried to steady herself. “After the final showdown moment that he rushed in to do, everything was quiet and you both... I called for 5.0.5 and we hauled you back here. I was worried I wouldn’t be fast enough.... “

Are you okay?

“Ha! Yeah, just a broken leg and some nasty cuts and bruises, but otherwise... what? What are you writing?” Dementia was surprised to see such anger in the gaze that Flug was directing her. Then he showed her what he wrote.

YOU WALKED US BACK HERE ON A BROKEN LEG!!

Dementia howled with fractured laughter.

“You bet I did, Flug!” she claimed. “Messed it up really bad, but got you two to safety didn't I!” Then she was in tears again, sobbing uncontrollably. “You guys. Almost. DIED, Flug! WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO! NOTHING!!” Dementia buried her face in her arms as she laid them on Flug’s bedside. She was shaking like a leaf in a storm, and Flug felt his heart squeeze.

Gently, he laid his hand on her shoulder, and began to rub mindless patterns into it. Then he found that despite not being able to speak, he could make some odd noises with his throat, and began to try and hum a disjointed tune.

It took several minutes for Dementia to calm down. When she had, she lifted her head to flash Flug an anguished smile, and then croaked out,

“5.0.5 should be here with tea any minute. I told him to go make some in case you woke up, or to help calm my nerves if... If you didn’t.” As if summoned, the fluffy blue bear came into the room carrying a tray with a tea kettle and mugs. 5.0.5 seemed to perk up when he saw that Flug was awake, and he came rushing over with a relieved ‘“Aroo!”

What kind? Flug wrote

“Chamomile to help you sleep, and like I said, calm my nerves.”  For a few seconds, the two drank their tea in silence, but then Dementia set her mug aside and said,

“You know, since the moment I got back I’ve been terrified that you and Black Hat wouldn’t wake up. I felt like... like I had failed you guys in some capacity as you guardian, as the “guard dog,” as this family's protector. And if you hadn’t woken up.... If you hadn’t...” Flug laid a hand on Dementia’s knee to get her attention, then he took a minute or two to write something and show it to her.

Dementia, I know you take your role as a guardian very seriously, but you need to understand that you're not without flaws, and you can't save us from everything. I know sometimes you think that it would be better if you went down sacrificing yourself for us rather than letting us take the hit, but we need you too, and love you and much as you love us. You like a sister to me, and my best friend, so what do you think I’d do without you? You’re just as important as any of the rest of us, and you got to remember that, and know that you do your job well in every circumstance.

Dementia tried to smile, but it came out as a strained grin. She appeared tired and worn thin as she lifted her mug to her lips and downed the rest of her tea in one go.

Why don’t you rest with us?

“You know? That does not sound like such a bad idea,” Dementia whispered. Then she stood up and grabbed a nearby by crutch to hobble to the end of Flug’s bed. “Hey 5.0.5? Can you push Black Hat and Flug’s beds together? I know Black Hat would be happy to see Flug first when he wakes up.” The bear made a soft chirrup noise and then assisted the girl with moving the beds. To the side, Dementia said to Flug,

“You know, the reason he went final showdown mode was because he saw you get shot? He was wearing pretty thin by that point, but he saw you get hurt and it was like someone gave him a shot with 10 times the energy he was running on. He DESTROYED the hero and its monster thing in seconds flat, but then he just collapsed... like you...” Dementia gained a faraway look for a moment, then she shook it off. “Anyways, let me help you here, I don't want you to tear any of your stitches.” Then she carefully shifted Flug over so he was nearly touching Black Hat between the two beds, and then crawled in beside the doctor. With the extra room at the end of the long beds, 5.0.5 curled up at their feet with a quiet hum.

Flug shifted his hand ever so slightly, so it rested on top of Black Hat’s cold one. Then he let his eyes drift shut to the sound of Dementia softly snoring, and the wispy sounds of Black Hat's rising and falling chest. Everything would be okay in the morning Flug believed wholeheartedly. Everything was going to be okay.

Well…. this was originally going to be really funny… then I wrote the first sentence and I thought of Black Hat spitting out blood, realized I’ve written a bunch of fluff fics lately, and decided to be angsty (It was also 2 in the morning so uhhh). Whoops. I hope you like this though because I really like how it turned out @emilia531!! Thanks for the ask!

[theravingcycle-blog]

Pynch soulmate au

Here's a re-upload of a (now edited) pynch soulmate au from my old blog, lynchganseyparrish. Please enjoy and send any other prompts you can think of! The forest on Ronan’s back had wilted. The leaves had curled in, just slightly, and the branches were drooping. Normally, Ronan wouldn’t have thought about it too much – it wasn’t any of his business how his supposed ‘soulmate’ was feeling, plus it wasn’t like he cared either way – only something new had appeared in the tattoo; flowers, of all different colours, peeking out cheerfully through the vines and twisting their way around the trunks of the trees. It bemused Ronan, as it seemed to mean his soulmate was feeling both happy and sad at the same time, and he couldn’t help but wonder what caused it. Ronan also had another reason to be a little more anxious than usual – his best friend was getting married. He was viciously pleased when Gansey asked him to be the best man, because he thought Gansey might have been pressured into asking someone a little more presentable to have by his side in front of the upper-class men and women who would be attending the wedding to see how Senator Gansey’s son had turned out. Of course, Blue wasn’t exactly a ‘presentable’ companion either. In fact, neither Ronan nor Blue were really fitting company for someone like Gansey III, but it wasn’t like Gansey himself had ever complied with tradition. Truly, he and Blue were a perfect match, just as their tattoos had foretold. Ronan loved imagining the looks on the Gansey’s faces when they finally met their son’s soulmate – a 5’ nothing wildfire of a person with a fashion sense to rival their son’s, though at least hers was edgy. Ronan took his spot near the Altar, waiting for the music to start. He nudged Blue, who was standing next to him in a tattered white dress that she had layered with other clothing, and brought his mouth to her ear. He actually had to bend down to reach, which was fucking hilarious. “Last chance to back out. I did have to physically force him not to wear boat shoes,” Ronan whispered, and Blue laughed while cringing. “I think it’s too late,” she muttered back. “Some congress people are here, and if we stop it now I won’t get the chance to yell at them.” “Atta girl,” Ronan said, and ruffled her hair. She scowled and was about to reply when someone put their hand on her shoulder. “Hey Blue, sorry I’m late; Noah almost nailed me with the glitter pot and I only just escaped.” Blue pulled whoever it was down –again, hilarious – for a hug, and then laughed. “He still got you, look, it’s all over your neck!” she sounded a little too gleeful; like she had a plan starting to form in her dwarf brain. Ronan almost felt sorry for the poor dude. Wait, that dude was hot. Okay, Ronan definitely felt sorry for him now. “Ronan,” Blue said. “This is Adam Parrish, my wench of honour.” Parrish rolled his eyes and stuck out a hand. “I prefer man of honour,” he laughed lightly. Wowzer, Ronan thought, and then: Did I just unironically think the word wowzer? Adam’s hand was warm and elegant when he shook it. Ronan really liked Adam’s hands. He cleared his throat. “Ronan Lynch.” Adam smiled softly, he seemed a little – shy? Abashed? Ronan couldn’t tell. “Nice to meet you, Ronan,” he said quietly as the music began to play and the doors started to open. Naturally, Blue had insisted that Gansey walked down the aisle, because the idea of a woman being ‘given away’ by a man, to another man, was incredibly sexist, and if she was going to get married at all, it would not be in a way that ‘further encourages the subtle dehumanisation and oppression of women’ as Blue had put it. Although, she had said it with a lot more feeling, and a lot less child-friendly words. Ronan zoned out again as Gansey reached the altar, but who could blame him? Weddings were boring as fuck. Actually, he was pretty sure Parrish was also zoned out – his eyes were slightly glazed over and he’d been staring at the same spot for the past two minutes. Not that Ronan had been, like, watching him or anything. He’d just…noticed, was all. He forced himself out of that dangerous train of thought as Noah brought the rings. It was quite the scandal when Blue asked Noah to do it – generally people like him weren’t allowed to participate in things such as weddings. Noah didn’t have a soul tattoo, something about which there were many theories – soulmate died before birth, etc. but no one really knew. The more bigoted, stupid and therefore most popular assumption was that those without a soul mark didn’t have souls, and so were not truly alive. Ronan really hated that theory – especially after he met Noah. The guy was the most vibrant person he knew. Suddenly, Gansey and Blue were kissing (did he really zone out that long?) and the wildfire on Gansey’s arm roared into an inferno, licking its way up his neck onto his cheek before it died down as they pulled apart. Ronan’s gaze shifted to the map of Henrietta on Blue’s ankle, and saw the lines representing streets begin to darken until the bolder lines formed a pattern – two crowns, side by side. Gansey really was a sap, Ronan thought, but he couldn’t help grinning a little. Finally, the ceremony was over, and Ronan was free to do as he pleased at the reception. Which was hide in a corner and glare at all the people swarming around Gansey and Blue, whilst simultaneously watching Parrish. Not in a creepy way! Adam was just… interesting. He wondered idly how he became friends with Blue. He didn’t seem to be good friends with anyone else here, in fact, he looked a little lonely, leaning against the wall over there. Maybe Ronan should- “Ronan!” said Blue, a little breathlessly, dragging an apologetic looking Gansey behind her. “There you are! We just escaped the mob,” Gansey winced and looked around in the vain hope that no one heard her “-and we’re all about to go sit, do you know where Adam is?” “Yeah, he’s right over there,” Ronan pointed, and Blue beamed wickedly. She tugged on Gansey’s sleeve, and he bent down – again, fucking hilarious – so she could whisper in his ear. He nodded, then set off. “Been keeping an eye on Parrish, huh?” she smirked. “I mean, I don’t blame you. Adam is smokin’.” “I-what-no!” Ronan spluttered a little (though he would never admit that). He regained his composure, shot her a Ronan Glare ™ and stalked off to find Gansey and their table. “YOU KNOW ABOUT THE TRADITION FOR THE MAID OF HONOUR AND BEST MAN,” Blue shouted at his retreating back. She sounded like she was wiggling her eyebrows at him. He flipped her the bird without turning, and heard the gasps of scandalised guests, along with Blue’s cackle as she went to get Adam. He flopped into the seat next to Gansey, and put his head on the table. “You married a fucking gremlin,” he said to Gansey, who didn’t look put out in the slightest. “She’s incredible,” he agreed reverently, as if Ronan hadn’t just been attempting to insult her. “Whatever,” Ronan said, smushing his face against the table. “Just don’t feed her after midnight.” **** Adam and Blue joined the table shortly after, along with Noah. Adam was really pretty. Not that it mattered, because it wasn’t like Ronan was going to act on it- he found out (subtly) that Adam and Blue had dated when they first met, so odds were he was probably straight. Also, he thought maybe Adam had some mixed feelings about today - he seemed a little wistful when no one else was looking, so maybe he still had feelings for Blue. Tragic, but Ronan would get over it. Probably. “Ronan,” Adam laughed, waving a hand in front of his face. “Rooooonan.” Ronan was coming to the conclusion that Adam was a little tipsy, though it wasn’t his place to judge considering he was much closer to drunk. It was just after the reception, Gansey and Blue having just driven home in the Pig (whether they’d make it home without it breaking down was a different story) and Ronan and Adam were… well, they were just standing there. Should they be heading off too? “Fuck,” said Adam, with a bit of humour in his voice still. “I don’t normally drink. It’s those stupid apple juice Champaign things. They trick me every time.” He groaned, mussing his hair and sending Ronan into cardiac arrest. “I can’t drive home.” “I can give you a lift,” Ronan said, probably a bit too eager to make a good impression on Adam. Adam looked at him like he was an idiot, and well, yeah, fair enough, but it wasn’t a completely stupid thing to offer! “You’re drunker than I am,” Adam said. “You’re not driving anywhere.” Ronan rolled his eyes. “Okay, mom,” he said mockingly, and Adam drew himself up to his full height – which was still just shorter than Ronan. (He should have found this funny but instead he just found it adorable and he was so screwed) “Hey,” Adam said, voice slightly slurred and – was that an accent slipping out? Oh god oh god oh god- “Rules are … important,” he said, poking Ronan in the chest. “I’m calling a cab,” he sighed, getting his phone out. Ronan ignored the twinge of disappointment in his chest as Adam finished speaking and hung up. He started to walk back inside, to see if he could get a lift with someone, when he felt Adam’s hand on his shoulder. “Ronan,” Adam said clearly, and there wasn’t a hint of alcohol in his voice. “I really would like a drive… maybe when we’re both completely sober?” Ronan couldn’t breathe. Is this what it sounds like? Is he… He cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray him. “I’d- I’d like that.” Adam grinned and Ronan’s breath had just come back, fuck you Parrish- “It’s a date,” he said, and reached for Ronan’s arm. Ronan complied with whatever he was doing mainly because his brain had forgotten how to function properly, because HIS HANDS ARE ON MY ARM, oh fuckfuckfuckfuck- “There,” said Adam, drawing back, and Ronan took his arm back to inspect it. There were numbers written on it (he hadn’t even realised Adam had a pen) and he distantly realised it must have been Adam’s number. He had Adam’s number. Adam’s number was on his arm. Wowzer. He was so out of it he barely registered a cab pulling up. Adam turned away and made to open the door when Ronan spun him round again. “I’ll- uh, see you soon,” Ronan said, and he must have been a hell of a lot drunker than he realised because he leant forwards and kissed Adam on the cheek. He spun quickly and started walking hurriedly back indoors, his thoughts a turmoil of holy fuck I just did that I just DID that! He walked so fast he almost missed Adam’s breathlessly pleased laugh of “…Bye.” Ronan almost ran into the door when he reached it. **** Three weeks later, they were dating. Ronan hadn’t expected Adam to be so much, so smart and witty and kind and fierce and so full of surprises. It had only been three weeks and he had fallen so hard, but then, Ronan never did do things slowly – he lived like he drove, reckless, wild and probably incredibly dangerously for bystanders. He was over at Adam’s place (which was tiny but he didn’t care because it was Adam) after their fourth (or fifth) official date, and he was decidedly too distracted by Adam to care which it was. Adam slid a hand under his shirt, lips still locked feverously, and traced the skin of Ronan’s back. Ronan jumped and pulled away, stifling his groan. “Sorry,” Adam said. “Too much?” “No,” Ronan breathed. “God, no.” Adam regarded him strangely. “Are you alright?” He asked. Ronan took a deep breath and nodded. “It’s just- that’s where my tattoo is,” he said, cautiously, analysing Adam’s face. “Oh,” said Adam. “Can I- Is it alright if I see?” he questioned, sounding a little nervous. Ronan held his breath. “Yeah,” he said, roughly. “Yeah, that’s- okay.” He turned around and slowly pulled his shirt off. He heard Adam gasp, and felt hands ghosting over his back, tracing the trunks of the trees. It had been getting much more impressive in recent times, the forest blooming like nothing he’d seen before, and he had even spotted small animals darting through the trees. Ronan bit his lip as he felt Adam’s blunt nail trace down the curve of his spine, and tried desperately not to do anything to scare him off. Suddenly he felt Adam’s hot breath on his ear. “Ronan,” he said urgently. “Ronan, it’s mine.” Ronan turned around instantly, so he was face to face with Adam once again. “What?” He said disbelievingly, and Adam bit his lip, smiling wider than Ronan had ever seen. “The mark,” he said. “That’s mine.” Ronan lurched forward and pulled him into a desperate, needy kiss. Breaking it off, he said “wait- where’s yours – can I?” and Adam nodded. His brain short circuited as Adam began to pull down his pants, and he was sure he blushed furiously as Adam shot him an amused glance. He’d only tugged it down a little past his hipbone, but Ronan couldn’t find it in himself to be disappointed when he saw the small mark moving on Adams skin. It was really quite small, and he had to lean closer to get a better look at it (well, that was his excuse anyway). It was a raven, only a small one, perched delicately on Adam’s hip. It looked up at him as if to say well, what are you waiting for? Ronan felt recognition and certainty flood through him as the raven took off, soaring in circles around Adam’s body before settling back down on his hip. Ronan leaned forward more, pressed his lips to it, and smiled when he heard Adam’s gasp. He looked up and met Adam’s eyes, resting his head on Adam’s stomach. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, that’s – that’s mine.” Adam laughed breathlessly and pulled him up for a deep, heart-wrenching kiss. The raven cawed soundlessly in triumph and the forest whispered back. They both said the same thing. Finally.

[daisyxking]

If there was anyone on earth who had truly mastered the art of stomping through sand in 5-inch heels while maintaining near-perfect balance - it was Daisy King. However, this never meant good news for whoever was facing her wrath. As it was, she hadn’t had a good absolute explosion for far too long, especially considering the amount of shit she’d gone through.

“Mason Safaatauemana!” She practically screeched upon spotting the tall redhead sweeping sand off of the patio of a random bistro where she made a mental note to call and ensure Mason was fired. The boy dropped the broom he had been using before a look of dread settled upon his face. Was Daisy sad that Ocean had died? Yes, of course. Was she sad that Mason was the one who was the most hurt by it? If she said yes it would have been a lie. He deserved all of the pain and loss that Daisy nearly had to feel because of him.

She stood there, waiting for Mason to come to her, which he did. After propping the broom against the wall and brushing off his hands, he approached her. He didn’t specifically know what he’d done to infuriate her this time, but it didn’t look promising as steam practically poured out of her ears.

“Dais,” he said with a weary nod, maintaining a safe distance.

“It’s Ms. King to you, don’t act as if we are friends. Not now or ever again.” Her arms were crossed her chest and she looked at Mason with an expectant expression, waiting for him to apologize.

“I don’t… I don’t know what to… what do you want to hear from me?”

“I had a visitor today,” she hissed out. “Delaney, yeah. You know, my best friend, your girlfriend, you know the one.”

“O…kay?”

“And you know what Delaney said?”

“Um… no,” Mason admitted.

“She told me how sorry she was for what happened…” Daisy paused, glancing around to make sure no one was listening before lowering her volume. “With Dustin.”

“It’s… it’s because we are sor-”

“Oh you’re sorry?!?! You’re SORRY?!? You tell him how right his father was for never wanting him… you-you mimic my… my sounds from that MISTAKE years ago, you tell him how he wouldn’t have anyone if it weren’t for you taking pity on him all that time ago and you’re SORRY?!?!?”

“I- Daisy you know I wouldn’t say tha-”

“ITS MS. KING AND YOU DID SAY IT MASON YOU DID!”

And Mason looked devastated but Daisy thought he could be laying there run over by a truck and he still wouldn’t deserve her pity.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“Shut up, Mason. Just shut your fucking mouth. Nothing is going to change what you said or the thoughts you put in his mind that will never go away. But you know what really fucking pissed me off, Mason?! You wanna know what really got me fucking GOING?!” She shrieked, not giving him a chance to respond. “I have lived with this secret since it HAPPENED, you idiot! I haven’t told anyone, I’ve had to lie to my best friends! You’re back on MY island for three days and you shoot that all to hell!!!! What?! You couldn’t keep your big fucking mouth shut for a DAY?! You had to go run and tell the only person who can stand your presence about this?!”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Why didn’t-?!? Are you kidding me?! Because, you fucking stupid piece of shit, then they’d treat him differently and that’s not okay!”

“What if he needs friends who support him and make sure he doesn’t do it again?”

Almost immediately after the words passed Mason’s lips, he knew they were the wrong things to have said. Fury filled her eyes more than maybe ever before. She took three slow, terrifying steps towards Mason before slapping him hard across the face, so much so that he actually raised his hand to it in an attempt to numb the sting.

“Let’s get one fucking thing straight you goddamn asshole,” she growled in a tone that could freeze the ocean they stood by. “I know what is best for Dustin. I have paid more money than you could possibly imagine to hire the best professionals in whatever field he needs, I have provided more emotional, moral, physical and literal support to Dustin Young in the last 4 hours than you have in the past month. Where have you been? Off in D.C. with your little girlfriend? Fucking good for you, Mason. Ask if I give a single fuck about that?” Mason didn’t ask if she gave a fuck, as the answer was obvious. “You know where I’ve been for the last month?! By his side, 24 hours a day, to the point where he probably can’t stand the sight of me! But I’ll tell you one goddamn thing, Mason Safaatauemana, before you there was one person, aside from the doctors and nurses in that hospital, that knew about what happened to him and that was my nanny. Since you waltzed your fucking way back onto MY-” She emphasized her ownership of the island once more, knowing it stung him when she did. “Island, that number has doubled, and if either of you AND I MEAN EITHER OF YOU utters one fucking word of it - ONE WORD MASON - you will both see, and I mean truly see, the reason people fear my family. I will not have anyone treating him differently and that means no one can know.”

“Doesn’t June know?” Another slap, more satisfying than the last to the small pregnant girl. “What was that for?!”

“You’re barely worthy of saying my Dustin’s name, keep June’s out of your mouth.” Her arms were crossed once more and she felt powerful and proud of herself for shutting him down. Pulling her phone out, she checked her texts as she had been doing obsessively since the incident. “Now if we are understood here, I’ll just need you to sign this for me now, and you’ll need to get Delaney to sign one as well. Basically it’s giving me permission, if you tell anyone about his situation, to ruin your family name, source of income and livelihood, take away any businesses you’ve opened along with all of its profit and comb through your personal life until I find enough dirt to drive you into exile.” She finished her sentence with a forced and bitter smile, pulling a clipboard full of nondisclosure agreements out and handing the boy a pen as well. He didn’t read through it before signing it, Daisy tucked it back in her large purse with a satisfied nod, giving him a once over much in the same way she would glare at a pile of dog shit she almost stepped in. He wasn’t even worthy of a goodbye, so she turned in her heels, preparing to stomp off before she heard one more sentence from Mason.

“He still thinks about it, you know.”

“What did you just say to me?” The words came out from between clenched teeth as she turned back to face him.

“I said he still thinks about it. About wishing it had wor-”

“Shut up,” Daisy warned him.

“He wishes it had worked and I’m not saying this to be mean I just want to make sure you knew!”

“SHUT. UP!!!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, practically charging at him, reaching her hands out to land a solid shove against his chest. “YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT?!?” Her pitch might have broken a glass had she been close to one. “YOU THINK I SLEEP MORE THAN 45 MINUTES AT A TIME AT NIGHT BEFORE IM AWAKE AGAIN MAKING SURE HES ALIVE?!?“ Another shove against his chest, backing him up to the wall of the lifeguard’s storage shed. "YOU THINK I DON’T SEE HIM DEAD IN A MILLION DIFFERENT WAYS EVERY FUCKING TIME I BLINK?!?” Her hands were around his throat, nails digging into the skin as Mason tried not to push her away in his sudden panic. “DON’T YOU TELL ME WHAT I OUGHT TO KNOW YOU FUCKING MESS, BECAUSE I WILL TELL YOU WHAT I KNOW AND THAT IS THAT DUSTIN YOUNG IS A MAN WHO IS BETTER THAN YOU AND WILL BE FOR THE REST OF TIME AND SOMEONE WHO DESERVES A FRIEND SO MUCH BETTER THAN YOU AND THAT IF ANYONE DESERVED TO DIE IT IS YOU BECAUSE YOU ALMOST TOOK HIM FROM ME YOU ALMOST TOOK HIM FROM ME!” She was screaming as if her life depended on it, the skin of his neck breaking and spilling a small amount of blood onto Daisy’s pointy pink nails. Some tourists with English accents came up, pulling Daisy away who didn’t even think of apologizing to him for the scars that she might leave because Dustin had some bruises that were still there because of him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hoarse from the pressure she’d put on his vocal chords. The English woman was making sure Daisy wasn’t hurt as the man did the same for Mason but Daisy shrugged her away, glaring at Mason.

“You know, if it wouldn’t be a waste of a death tally on my island’s statistics and if I wasn’t concerned that you’d enjoy making this all about your own fucking self, then I’ll tell you what I’d have to say,” she told him coldly.

“And what’s that, Ms. King?,” he asked in a sarcastic tone, knowing what was coming next.

“I’d tell you to go join your grandfather.” And Daisy knew that the words would cut like a diamond on dry, tortured skin but she wanted him to feel as worthless as he’d made Dustin feel so, without waiting for or humoring a response or reaction, she turned, storming away just as she’d arrived.