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princessxt · 8 months ago

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hiii, i loved your hotch fic so much, could you maybe write a spencer reid x daughter one where he and the team interview y/n as a potential unsub and then reid finds out she's his daughter that he didn't know about, or any plot you want to write :) i hope you have an amazing day <3

You can make a request in the comments or by asking me a question!

You can see the list of who I write about here

like and follow to encourage me to keep posting<33

She Looks Like You

Pairing(s):Spencer Reid x Daugther Reader

Gender:Fluffy

Warning: none?

——————♥︎♥︎——————

Spencer never imagined himself in a family, with a wife, children, a dog and a house with a white picket fence. Contact with girls his age was embarrassing, as he generally couldn't stop talking about subjects that bored the girls. He had only two relationships in his life, and in both of them, the ending was devastating for Spencer. The first was in his last year at college. He met a lovely girl, dated her for a few months, but she disappeared from college. without telling Spencer. For a while he thought the worst could have happened to her, but when he contacted her family, they just told him she was fine and for the boy to leave her alone. And in his second relationship , well, we all know what happened to Mavie.those were the losses of Spencer's life.

He could get over it, after all, he didn't think he would have a family anyway.

He knew that his work took a lot of time, and that could strain a marriage, in addition to how dangerous it would be, considering what happened to Hotch's wife. He may have been shaken by his last relationship, but he didn't let it destroy him. , and now you're here, trying harder than ever to continue saving lives.

The case the team was on was not a case of a serial killer. A couple had been murdered, and the only evidence the local police had was a strand of hair, from the killer, which according to the tests was a woman.

It didn't take long for the team to put together a profile, which led to a young girl.

They didn't have the motivation, but they had in mind that during an interrogation she could say something that would be useful for the case. When the young woman was already in the interrogation room, the agents entered.

"Are you Y/N Y/L/N?" Hotch asks, sitting in front of the young woman, making the young woman look at him with contempt. Spencer was behind Hotch, just watching her, finding her face familiar.

"Unfortunately"She throws her body back and leans against the chair, bored.

"Do you know why you're here?" The older man looks at the files in front of her, waiting for the right moment to show them to the girl.

"It looks like I'm suspected of something." She looks at Hotch, staring at him.

"Do you recognize this couple?" He shows the photos of the crime scene, with the dead couple in one of the photos. Her reaction was not what the agents expected. In the profile, they said that when the killer saw the photos of the crime scene , she wouldn't have a negative reaction, and would just stare at the photos, without a sign of remorse, but Y/n, the moment she saw the photos, turned her face away, feeling her stomach turn and her lunch return to her throat. Place your hand over the photos and close the file.

"Look, am I going to get arrested?" She looks at Hotch, angry that he showed her those horrible photos.

"You can leave at any time. But first, we need a DNA sample." Hotch takes the folders off the table and places them on her lap.

"DNA? Don't you need a warrant for that?" She gets up and grabs the coat that was on the chair.

"Not if you let us collect it willingly and make everything easier." Hotch follows her with his eyes, watching her go to the door.

"Bad luck for you, I'm not the type to make things easy." He opens the door and leaves, without looking back, leaving Hotch and Reid alone in the room.

"Do you think she has something to do with murder?" Spencer finally speaks.

"Her reaction wasn't what we imagined. We need a mandate, we'll only know for sure when the results come out." Hotch gets up from his chair and leaves the room, going to provide the mandate.

A few hours later they were already at the door of Y/n's house, with the warrant in hand, ready to collect the DNA.

They knock on the door and the girl answers, looking disappointed by the agents at her door.

"Let me guess, they came to get my DNA?" The agents agree and she gives them space to enter.

"Mom, those agents are here!" She shouts towards the second floor of the house.

The agents deliver the warrant to the girl. A few minutes later, a woman, approaching 35 years old, appears. Spencer could recognize her from miles away. It was Melissa, her first love. The one who disappeared without telling him anything.

"Do you really think my daughter killed that couple? This has to be a joke." She sits next to her daughter and takes the warrant from her hand, reading it in a few seconds.

"I'm Agent Aaron Hotchner, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid." Hotch follows the manual, and introduces himself to the girl. When she hears Reid's name, her body tenses, and being a profiler, Spencer notices it. .

"A saliva sample and a strand of hair. Get it over with." The girl gets up and comes face to face with Hotch, who takes all the materials needed to do the collection. He takes the saliva sample and the hair, leaving the house then.

They take the sample to the laboratory. The next day, the result went directly to Garcia.

"Guys, I have some bad news, the DNA is not compatible. I'm sorry" Garcia says on the other end of the phone, the team sighs in disappointment, knowing that whoever killed the couple was still out there.

"Wait, here in the files it says that she is compatible with an agent." Garcia says and everyone looks at each other.

"What do you mean compatible with an agent? Is there any document saying she's adopted?" JJ says and gets closer to the phone.

"It doesn't say anything, I'll try to get into the file, just a minute." She stays silent and everyone in the room can hear the keyboard making noise. A minute later, Garcia sees the last thing she could imagine on her screen. one "Oh no" and the whole team is confused.

"Garcia, what did you think?"Emily asks, crossing her arms.

"I'll send it to you" is the only thing she responds. After that, the agents received a file over the phone, and what was written left everyone in shock.

"Spencer, is she... is she your... daughter?" Derek asks, staring blankly at the document. Spencer didn't know what to say or how to react. This had crossed his mind when he found out that Y/n's mother was Melissa, but he believed that if she was pregnant she would have told him.

"Reid, is that possible?" Hotch looks at him, who was motionless.

"I dated her mother during college, maybe it is." He didn't know if he wanted that to be true or a lie. He started thinking about everything, and remembered the date of birth he saw in Y/n's file. a few months after Melissa disappeared. He no longer had any doubts.

"Thanks Garcia, if you find out anything else let us know"JJ hangs up.

"So, she's no longer a suspect." Emily tries to change the atmosphere in the room, drawing everyone's attention to the case.

"Spencer, can I talk to you?" Hotch calls him and they leave the room.

"This is something very important, Spencer. Go figure it out, take the rest of the day off and talk to Melissa and Y/n, you have a lot to discuss" Spencer agrees. He grabs his things and goes to Melissa's house, knocking on the door.

She opens the door and says "I was waiting for you. I knew that after Y/n's exams came out you would come here. You can come in." She gives Spencer space to enter.

"You knew, and you didn't tell me anything."Spencer stops in front of her, in disbelief at everything that was happening.

"Would you like something to drink? Water, juice, beer." She goes to the kitchen followed by Spencer.

"You can sit"She points to some benches on the kitchen counter. She goes to the fridge and takes out 2 beers.

"I don't drink." Spencer says dryly.

"Then some water"She takes a bottle of water.

"Where is Y/n?" he takes a sip of water, calming down.

"He's at a friend's house, he won't be back until night, we have all the time in the world to catch up." She mocks the last part.

"Does she know? That I'm her father?" He says.

"She don't even suspect it."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He looks at her, remembering the past, the time when they were together.

"You were about to graduate and join the FBI, I knew that when that happened, she and I would be in the crosshairs of anyone who wanted revenge on you. I did it to protect my daughter."

"I would quit the FBI without thinking twice. I would graduate and look for a good job so I could take care of her. You should have told me, given me the chance to see my daughter grow up" At that moment, Spencer's eyes were about to look fills with tears, thinking about all the memories he missed in his daughter's life.

The silence in the kitchen was embarrassing. Neither of them knew what to say.

"I want to be part of her life from now on." Spencer breaks the silence.

"I don't know if she'll want to. Last night she spent the night talking about how idiots you and your colleague were." She laughs.

"I want to at least try, help me get her to support me." He looks at her, who avoids looking into her eyes.

"I can talk to her tonight, explain everything, and if she wants to see you, I'll call you." She says and finally looks the doctor in the eye.

"What is she like? Is she smart, kind?" He asks wanting to know more about her.

"She looks like you. She's smart, kind to people she likes, but she has my personality." She smiles remembering her daughter.

The rest of the afternoon was peaceful, they talked a little more about her the girl. When Spencer returns to the hotel, he waits for a response from Melissa, to find out whether or not Y/n wants to have contact with him. It doesn't take long until he receives a message from Melissa.

*Tomorrow, at 4 pm at the cafe in the center, she will meet you there*

He smiles reading the message, but feels nervous about having contact with the girl, now that he knows she is his daughter.

The other day, Spencer couldn't stop thinking about her date with Y/n, he thought about bringing something to please her, but he didn't know what she liked.

When it was time, Spencer went to the cafe, sitting at a table and waiting for Y/n. She arrived some time later, going directly to the table. Both, not knowing how to greet each other, just exchanged a "Hi".

"So, did your mother explain everything?" Spencer tries to calm the atmosphere. The girl only responds with a "Yes."

Spencer and Y/n knew that creating a father-daughter relationship would be a challenge, but they both liked being challenged.

——————♥︎♥︎——————

Hii, if you have a better idea for a title, you can tell me in the comments!

#x daughter!reader #criminal minds x teen!reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #female reader #spencer reid x daughter!reader #criminal minds oneshot #oneshot #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x daughter reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid x teen!reader #spencer x daughter!reader

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rainba · 9 months ago

Text

Here it is... The fic where Luka kidnaps both his darling and Kairos.

TWs/tags: human furniture, dubcon, kidnapping, slight depiction of violence, pet play, NSFW, mind break, cucking (?), dark content, use of shock collars

Reader is GN, however, there is one paragraph where the reader is gendered. The asterisk* will mark the paragraph with afab reader, and the one in parenthesis is amab. :3c)

MDNI! 18+

In one previous post, I mentioned that Kairos and Luka do live in the same universe and city– and in a few other posts, I mentioned that they’d never share their darling. If one of them tries to kidnap darling, they’ll just report the other to the police.

Then another idea came up, a way that Luka could circumvent that predicament: Luka figures that Kairos would instantly report him if he kidnapped his darling. So… In order to stop that from happening…

Luka would kidnap both you and Kairos.

Luka’s house is definitely big enough to keep both of you. In the beginning stages, he’ll keep Kairos locked up in the attic while he keeps you in the basement. The basement is much cozier– meanwhile the attic is all dusty, hot, and muggy.

Between you and Kairos, Luka will be much, much nicer to you. He’s (quite literally) obsessed with you, so of course you get the better treatment. He cooks your favorite meals and feeds them to you by hand. He gives you plenty of water and always showers you in attention– sometimes he’ll even place a TV down in the basement and let you watch random stuff. You know, just so you don’t get too bored. He wants you to feel at home–! When you learn to accept your new life, he’ll spoil you rotten.

But for Kairos..? Luka is absolutely brutal.

Luka will rub in the fact that he beat Kairos in “winning you.” He’s simply just the superior man– the superior partner. Luka loves you too much to ever let you go. After all, you're the only person that has ever made him feel anything at all. And he really drives in the fact that you belong to him, and that Kairos will never have the chance to even touch you.

Luka will walk circles around Kairos as he mocks him relentlessly.

“Nobody is looking for you.”

“You’re pathetic. Disgusting freak.”

“They’re all mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Kairos will scream, squirm, and cry as much as he possibly can– but nobody can hear him. Luka is right: nobody is looking for him. Kairos doesn’t have any family. He doesn’t have any friends. He’s stuck in this hell forever.

To keep Kairos alive, Luka gives him his leftovers. He dumps it onto the dirty ground and drags Kairos next to it, commanding him to “eat up.” Kairos is forced to pathetically writhe on the floor and eat without his hands– all because Luka refuses to untie him. As for water, Luka forces Kairos to drink out of a dog bowl.

Most of the time, Kairos can’t hear anything. Luka’s house is eerily quiet at night. And during the day, Kairos can sometimes hear the sounds of children laughing and playing outside, or he’ll just hear Luka casually going about his day as if there aren't two people locked up in his house.

It’s torturous.

Over time, Luka will get you to warm up to him– call it stockholm syndrome kicking in, if you will. Or maybe you already loved him and he just needed to build trust with you. Either way– you eventually upgrade from the basement to his bedroom. And that’s when things get infinitely worse for Kairos.

He’s not just listening to Luka going about his daily routine now– no, now he has to also listen to the two of you fucking multiple times a day. The way you’re moaning out another man's name… The sound of the bed creaking and banging against the wall… Kairos finds himself choking and sobbing as he’s stuck tied to the chair. Sometimes he starts to dissociate and pretends that he’s somewhere else.

Most of the time he pretends that the two of you just got married, and he’s playing out different scenarios of honeymoons in his head.

After a few more weeks or months go by, Luka will grow bored of keeping Kairos tied up in the attic. If he’s gonna keep a hostage, he might as well put them to good use. So what does he do with Kairos?

He uses him as human furniture. Forces him to also be a pet.

You’re horrified as you watch Kairos crawling around the house with a gag in his mouth and a leash attached to his throat. If Luka feels bold enough, he might even have the words “Luka’s Bitch” decorated on the collar. Oh– and it’s not just a regular collar, either. It’s a shock collar.

Any time Kairos acts out and disobeys Luka, he earns himself a shock so powerful that it causes him to seize and collapse onto the floor.

…This entire time, you thought it was just you in the house. You didn’t know there was another person. You’re not alone.

It makes your stomach churn.

And Luka encourages you to use Kairos as furniture as well. Use him as a footrest, use him as a table or a chair– do whatever.

Over time, deep down, incomprehensible and guilty thoughts begin to appear in Kairos’ mind. Things that made him once want to throw up now make him feel… Funny. He’s so happy that he gets to see your face again–!! He’s finally reunited with the love of his life, it’s just a shame it’s under such horrible circumstances.

Kairos doesn’t mind if you use him like furniture. It’s okay if you do it. But he loathes it when it’s Luka who’s using him.

The difference between you and Luka is like night and day. While Luka berates and degrades him, sometimes even depriving him of basic necessities, you always sneak around and give Kairos lots of love and extra food.

Kairos always breaks down and cries in your arms when you show him kindness– he’s so very thankful for it. But be sure that Luka doesn’t catch you. If he sees you being sweet towards Kairos, he’ll harshly punish Kairos and then fuck you right in front of him. Every time.

Kairos always feels so pathetic as he's forced to watch you getting ravaged by Luka. The way you're moaning under his touch... The hot, sticky sound of Luka's cock sliding in and out of you... All of this happening while Kairos is tied down and unable to do a thing. He's so fucking hard, and there's nothing there to relieve him. Luka punishes Kairos if he dares to look away.

In order to gain more privileges, both you and Kairos need to work to gain Luka’s favor. If the both of you prove that you’re capable of being trusted, he might give you more freedom. He’ll let you look out the windows every now and then– might even let you use the kitchen. He's much more open to giving you privileges than he is to giving Kairos any.

Except, of course, he always hides all of the sharp objects in the house. He doesn’t want you two to have access to weapons. And if you try to poison him even once, he’ll immediately make the kitchen permanently off limits when he's not around to watch you.

Also, over time, another funny thing happens. Luka doesn’t really like punishing you outside of sex- he'd much rather shower you in rewards. He’d rather save the roughness and punishments for more intimate settings. After all, he’s trying to earn your love– not make you hate him. So, what does he do instead?

Every time you act up, he’ll drag Kairos by his leash and punish him in your stead. After all, he knows that you care about Kairos and his wellbeing, so he uses that against you.

Oh, you just tried to break out of the house? You tried to poison Luka? Well, that deserves a proper punishment. Luka will tie you to a chair and force you to watch as he brutalizes Kairos. Whips him with a belt, kicks him in the stomach, takes away his food privileges for the next 48 hours... It’s horrible.

And in a way… This would cause Kairos to start policing you, too. Which is exactly what Luka wants. Kairos really, really doesn’t want to get punished. I mean, deep down, he’s absolutely happy that he gets to take the beating instead of you– it’s like he’s your hero!! …In some weird and twisted sense. But also, he really doesn’t want to get punished, so… Please don’t act out.

However, when the months keep rolling in, Luka will slowly warm up to Kairos. All of the punishments will grow less severe– and sometimes, Luka just lets you all off with a warning. It’s obvious that a big change has happened when instead of Luka just fucking you in front of Kairos, he lets him join in on the fun.

Except Luka doesn’t really want to touch him– so, he’ll let you touch Kairos instead. It’s what Kairos always wanted– Right?

Kairos should thank him.

Luka will tie his arms behind his back and keep him firmly locked to a chair, completely naked. Kairos feels so ashamed that he’s hard– but god, he can’t help it. He’s so excited to finally be able to touch you, his darling, the person that should’ve always been his–!

And Luka will make sure it’s enjoyable for everyone. Luka will strip you of your clothes, but he might put you in a cute pair of thigh highs, just for the fun of it. Luka will grab you by your hair and push your face into Kairos’ lap as he utters one phrase, “suck it.”

You’ll do as you’re told– you don’t have much of a choice. Kairos’ eyes instantly light up as you wrap your lips around his sensitive cock.

Finally– his dreams are coming true…!

Sort of.

As you suck him off, Luka will lift your ass into the air and he’ll fuck your tight hole. He’ll keep his right hand on your hip while his left hand grabs the back of your head, lacing his fingers into your hair. He doesn’t care if you can barely breathe– he’ll shove your head all the way down on Kairos’ dick as he bottoms out inside of you. Occasionally, he’ll lift your head up and lean in to kiss you on the lips.

It’s all so hot– but ultimately, it’s all for you and himself. Luka will always make sure you cum, that’s his top priority. His second priority is to make sure he gets to fill you up. As for Kairos? Well… Luka doesn’t care all that much.

If Kairos doesn’t cum? That’s too bad. It’s Kairos’ own fault that he didn’t come undone. But if he does cum? That’s alright too.

However, don’t expect Luka to make you stop sucking. Kairos will be squirming in his chair whining like crazy as you overstimulate him, his body trembling from the sensation, but you can’t stop until Luka says you can stop.

The second scenario is much more likely to happen than the first. The moment Kairos looks down and sees your fucked-out face choking on his length… He’ll cum right on the spot– every single time, without fail.

After the first instance of Luka letting Kairos join in the sex, he earns a lot more privileges. He can finally sleep in the same room as you two–!! But he’s not really allowed to rest on the bed. He’ll be forced to curl up and sleep on the floor– but hey, it beats the attic any day, right?

Luka also takes off Kairos' shock collar. Since Kairos has proved himself to be a good boy, he's now allowed to roam around freely. Hell, sometimes Luka will pet Kairos and give him some praise. It... Makes Kairos feel strange, but in a good way.

Kairos is also now allowed to cuddle you sometimes. When you’re simply sitting on the couch and trying to relax, Kairos will immediately hurry over to your side and rest his head in your lap– desperate to feel even an ounce of affection from you. He might ask you to stroke his hair and kiss the bruises Luka left on his skin.

* If Luka is at work and Kairos knows there’s no cameras around, he might beg to suck on your tits– you know, for comfort reasons! It would really make him happy to have them in his mouth– it would be therapeutic, even.

((And if you’re a guy, Kairos will instead beg to frot you. While it’s a lot more dangerous and the punishment for getting caught is heavy, Kairos is willing to risk it all. Don’t worry–! You can just sit there and relax; Kairos will be the one doing all the work with his hand.))

You know how stressful and traumatizing this whole situation has been for him… He needs to be comforted so badly… So.. Pretty please?

In some sick and twisted way, over time, Kairos grows to like the way things are– perhaps his mind does this as a way to cope. He tries his hardest to find all the positives in living this kind of life:

> He gets to spend every minute of every day with you!

> He doesn’t have to worry about talking to strangers.

> He doesn’t have to work and maintain a job.

> He doesn’t have to cook and clean for himself.

The list goes on. Kairos gains all of these benefits, and all he has to do is give up most of his basic human rights and submit to another man…!

Okay, Kairos still admits that is pretty bad. But… At least he has you…! That’s all Kairos really cares about in the end!

For Luka? He’s satisfied with the way things are. Not only does he not have to worry about Kairos ratting him out to the police, but now he has both the love of his life right by his side and a fun little pet to take his stress out on.

So… Everyone… Wins? In the end? ❤️

#yandere oc #yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yancore #yandere fic #luka being a little silly #yandere x darling #yandere x you #inconsistent art style strikes again lmao #wait lol this is my 100th post yippe #luka art

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kana-daydreams · 8 months ago

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𝐦𝐫𝐬. 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧

summary: a day in which you get mistaken for the general's wife.

𝐏𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Omg!! What a cute couple?!

I’ll tap that.

Is that their kid?

Goals.

Your left eye twitches and your face contorts into an embarrassed scowl as your ears are subjected to listen to the irking, hushed comments of strangers being hurled—left, right and centre— in your direction.

Were those people visually impaired?

Why in the world did they think you and this...this abomination were a coup—

“Ooo, ice cream! Can we, can we?!” A bubbly voice chirps from beside you and you glance down at the young child, a boy no older than seven, whose hands grip both yours and Warumono's in a tight grasp as the three of you amble along a sidewalk, like a cute happy family — a reality very, very far from the truth.

The only reason you were a part of this 'family' was due to the boy. And only the boy. A poor soul you'd happened to chance upon during your usual patrol, cuddled in the arms of the abomination, lost, and refusing to part ways with him. And his stubbornness, in turn, leading you to tag along, concerned about leaving his welfare in the hands of evil.

Your gaze follows the boy's across at the ice cream truck stationed to your right.

“Don’t you think you've had enough sugar for the day, sweetie?” You plaster on a soft smile, referring to all the treats both you and Warumono indulged him in on your way to the police station, as a way to cheer him up for getting separated from his parents.

“Yeah, but I want ice cream." His chubby cheeks puff from a pout.

You give him a look of uncertainty. “I don’t know…we really should be getting you back to your parents. They must be very worried about you.”

The boy looks at you, a sheepish look shadowing his features, before casting a longing look in the direction of the truck and at the faces of other children lighting up in excitement when they each receive an ice cream cone. And his own face takes on a crestfallen look. “I know…”

His disappointed tone and sad pout ache your heart. It reminds you of your Mugi and Sora back at home any time they didn't get their way. Instantly withdrawing your word, helpless against their puppy-dog eyes.

And therefore with your weak resolve against pouting, adorable baby faces, you begin to have second thoughts about your suggestion. But before you can make an offer, another voice annoyingly beats you to it.

“If we get you ice cream, will you quietly let us take you to the police station?”

The boy perks up at Warumono’s question, brown eyes seeming to sparkle in his direction. “Mhm!” And with his newfound glee, the boy tugs both you and Warumono by the hand in the direction of the ice cream truck’s concession.

Momentarily, you find yourself giving a waffle cone that towers three scoops of ice cream tall to the boy. “Be careful, now.” You say as he retrieves the cone from your hands. Advice immediately gone down the drain when the cone miraculously slips from his grasp, after he manages to take a single lick, and plops to the ground.

The boy's face scrunches. His brows pull into a sad frown and his lips quiver before he releases a surge of sobs, snot and tears.

His crying draws the attention of the others around you along with Warumono's, still in line waiting to retrieve his own order. He watches as you crouch down to the boy’s level, wiping a handkerchief at his tears and snotty nose, frantically attempting to calm him down.

“Poor thing.” Warumono directs his attention at the middle-aged man behind the open window of the ice-cream truck. And watches as he then disappears further into the truck, reappearing after a few minutes with two cones of ice cream similar to the one he'd ordered earlier for the little boy, together with his own.

“Here, take this. On the house.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, son. Y'er a loyal customer." He smiles a toothy smile. "I don’t mind givin’ freebies to ya, and y'er pretty wife and kid you've gotcha over there."

A beat of quiet settles between Warumono and the older man.

Wife? He arches a brow and spares a glance to his left in your direction.

He wasn't sure how to perceive the man's words. As a compliment or an insult?

Warumono returns his attention to the man, retrieving the ice creams from his hands.

"She's not my—"

"Next!"

Interrupted from clearing up the man's misunderstanding of the relationship between you and him along with the child, Warumono makes his way over to you and the boy you'd escorted over to a nearby bench, still sniffling and hiccuping from his misfortune.

“Here.”

You peer up at the ice creams in his hands and arch a brow in question, considering you didn’t order any.

"It's for you and the kid." Warumono supplies. “The old man gave it to me for free.”

“Really?” You take an ice cream from him, giving it to the child, his crying instantly subsiding, before taking the other for yourself.

“Yeah."

"Wait, did you threaten him?" Your eyes narrow in suspicion.

Warumono looks both unsurprised and unbothered by your bold assumption.

"No." He wipes away a dot of ice cream on the child's nose who giggles in response. "It's because I've got a pretty wife and kid."

“Well, that’s nice of him." You smile. "I love free...wait, w-wife?” Heat courses up your neck, and flares on your face when your brain registers his words. “What do you mean wife?!”

#𓇻 kana's misc ddrms #warumono san x reader #warumono x reader #kyuujitsu no warumono san #mr villain x reader #mr villain's day off

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literaryvein-reblogs · 5 months ago

Text

Some Law-Related Vocabulary

for your poem/story (pt. 2/4)

Admiralty - of or relating to conduct on the sea

Alter ego - second self

Attractive nuisance - a thing or condition on one's property that poses a risk to children who may be attracted to it without realizing the risk by virtue of their youth

Bequest - an act of bequeathing

Bequeath - to give by will

Bona vacantia - goods that are unclaimed and without an apparent owner

Capricious - governed or characterized by impulse or whim (e.g., lacking a rational basis; likely to change suddenly); not supported by the weight of evidence or established rules of law—often used in the phrase "arbitrary and capricious"

Colorable - having an appearance of truth, validity, or right

Damnum absque injuria - a loss for which the law provides no means of recovery

Dying declaration - a statement that is made by a person who firmly believes that he or she is about to die and has no hope of recovery and that concerns the circumstances or cause of the presumed death

Eleemosynary - of, relating to, or supported by charity

En ventre sa mere - in the womb

Euthanasia - the act or practice of killing or permitting the death of hopelessly sick or injured persons in a relatively painless way for reasons of mercy; called also "mercy killing"

Exculpate - to clear from alleged fault or guilt

Filius nullius - an illegitimate child; bastard; called also "filius populi"

Finger - to accuse or identify as guilty

Fireman's rule - a doctrine holding that a property owner or occupant is not liable for unintentional injuries suffered by firefighters or police officers in responding to a problem on the property

First blush - initial view, appearance, or consideration—used especially in the phrase "at first blush"

First degree - the grade given to the most serious forms of crimes

Hereditament - inheritable property

Homestead - a home and surrounding land

Inchoate - not yet made complete, certain, or specific : not perfected

M'Naghten test - a standard under which a criminal defendant is considered to have been insane at the time of an act (as a killing) if he or she did not know right from wrong or did not understand the moral nature of the act because of a mental disease or defect; called also "M'Naghten rule"

Mulct - fine, penalty

Mysterious disappearance - the loss of property under unknown or puzzling circumstances which are difficult to explain or understand

Pierce - to see through the usually misleading or false appearance of

Poison pill - a financial tactic or provision used by a company to make an unwanted takeover prohibitively expensive or less desirable

Prior art - the processes, devices, and modes of achieving the end of an alleged invention that were known or knowable by due diligence before and at the date of the invention

Pur autre vie - for another's life

Shark repellent - any measure taken by a corporation to discourage a hostile takeover attempt

Silent record - a record of a criminal proceeding which does not show that the defendant acted with knowledge or understanding of his or her rights (as in entering a plea of guilty or waiving the right to counsel)

Sui generis - constituting a class alone; unique or particular to itself

Vexatious - lacking a sufficient ground and serving only to annoy or harass when viewed objectively

Wrongful birth - a malpractice claim brought by the parents of a child born with a birth defect against a physician or health-care provider whose alleged negligence (as in prenatal testing or diagnosis) effectively deprived the parents of the opportunity to make an informed decision whether to avoid or terminate the pregnancy

Yellow-dog contract - an illegal employment contract in which a worker disavows membership in and agrees not to join a labor union in order to get a job

More: Law-Related Words ⚜ Word Lists

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uzumaki-rebellion · 16 days ago

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Spinning the Block Part 3

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Officer Jessica "Jess" Sims

Warning(s): 18+ Animal violence (hunting)

Summary: Jess tries to avoid running into Terry again, but a tip given to her may reveal who killed Mike in prison.

Word count: 4. 4K

"After all that we've been through

I know we'll make it,

I know the way

The question is it true

There is nothing we can't do

I see you along the way baby

The stillness is the move"

Solange – "Stillness is the Move"

Jess spread the bucket of corn on the cob that she soaked for a week on the ground. Dawn broke an hour earlier and the morning sky barely turned a pale peach to match the time of day. She kicked around the ears of corn that soured over time and spread a pungent odor in the air. The perfect bait for wild hogs that roamed on her granddaddy's land.

She lifted her high-powered Marlin 336 rifle onto her shoulder and carried the empty bucket away, stashing it behind a snag tree. Trudging past the bait, she joined up with her father and grandfather. Wild hog hunting had been passed down in her family for five generations. Her hunting knife rested against her right hip for dressing up game on site. Plenty of wild game thrived on the property — deer, turkey, raccoons, rabbit, alligator, wood ducks — but the Sims family loved some good feral hog meat.

Louisiana hog hunting required patience, a talent for shooting, and quick thinking on the spot. In the old days, her grandfather Hebert used trained hunting dogs with her father, Jermaine, and her three uncles. The dogs had all died off over the decades except for a ten-year-old brown and black hound dog named Redbone, the last of his lineage. Jess lived with Redbone and Hebert on the property. Ever since she lost her job with the police department because of its shut down over Terry's case, Hebert's house became her refuge. She took care of him, and he gave her shelter from financial ruin.

Redbone, blind in one eye, rested near Hebert's feet behind the camo netting they used to blend into the surroundings. Hebert stretched his legs in a folding chair and peered out into the trees with his binoculars. His lank gray hair looked thinner pulled back in a long ponytail that touched the middle of his back. She noticed the once sallow coloring of his fair skin had improved. His health hadn't relapsed since she'd been home most days while unemployed. Rheumatoid arthritis wore on him before. Perhaps her presence energized him. He had his good days and bad days with pain in his hands and feet. But today was a good one. Hebert could bend his fingers and shuffle his feet along without wincing.

The hogs roused up early in the morning and stayed active, openly, until full light. Hebert wanted to participate in the hunting, and Jess worried that a long outing would bother him. She found a doctor that prescribed marijuana usage to help his pain management, and since she no longer worked, he shared his weed with her on some nights when inflammation got bad. He toked on a little before they left the house. It pleased her that the effects lasted.

Jermaine nudged the drag sled prepared to haul the meat out.

"We'll probably need to take down about three or four…if we're lucky," Jermaine said.

"We're in the best hotspot, Daddy," Jess said.

Jermaine patted her shoulder and slid his hunting goggles down over his eyes. The feral hogs on their land were invasive, and the state welcomed hunters culling their populations. Hebert often gave permission to outsiders to come on their land to hunt for a small fee. He already allowed loggers to remove walnut trees annually for extra income. Any money he made from those two ventures he split among his children and used the rest to pay his property tax.

They perched quietly behind their camo netting for four hours. Jess noticed Redbone's nose twitching, and she slid her wrap-around shades on and peeked through her telescopic sight. Four rotund hogs barreled into view, chomping down on the corn.

Jess lined up her shot. Unfortunately, the wind shifted slightly, blowing their scent toward the animals. A mottled pink one caught the odor of human and hound, alerting the others.

BLAM!

Jess and Jermaine blasted the brains of two hogs, causing the others to scatter. They both used their levers to reload and popped off two more rounds. Jess downed another hog while her father clipped the shoulder of the one he aimed for. Jumping out from behind the camo, Jermaine went after the injured hog to finish it.

"Daddy! Watch out!"

Another aggressive hog appeared from out of nowhere and charged Jermaine. Jess shot it behind the ear, and it dropped a foot away from her father.

"Getting slow," Jess teased.

"Some good shootin', Jess," Hebert called out.

"Learned from the best," she said, and winked at him.

Jermaine killed the injured hog, and Jess dragged over the sled. Her father was a big, muscular, cornbread fed man, and he used that strength to drag two hogs onto the sled. She packed up the camo net and grabbed the bucket.

"Grandpa, I'll get the chair in a minute. You just relax," Jess said.

Redbone jumped around being frisky and followed Jess behind her father. They trudged along the wooded area until they reached Jermaine's truck. She helped him lift each hog onto the truck bed and they headed back to Hebert and repeated the process two more times. Hebert admired the hundreds of pounds of fresh meat piled on the truck.

"Gon' be some good barbecue," Hebert said.

Back home, Jermaine and Jess set about cutting up the meat behind the house. They donned protective covering and surgical gloves to prevent bacterial contamination.

After gutting the pigs, Jess and her father strung them up under their hunter gazebo. Herbert added salt to three large coolers half filled with ice on standby. Jermaine would transfer the meat to his house and a few others covered in the ice, and Jess's mother would prep their share for the big Saturday cookout.

Jess used her big knife to skin the carcasses, and then she dove right in to carve out sections of meat. She deboned joints, cut off shoulders, back strap, ham parts, hocks, and kneckbones. She used a smaller knife to work on the tenderloin parts and ribs once they moved the rest to a work table nearby. The pigs were too lean to carve out bacon, so she worked efficiently to get as much useful meat as possible off the carcass. Jermaine used a lopper to snap apart larger bones, joints, and the heads when needed. It took them about an hour to cut and quarter the various parts needed for Saturday. The rest would go into a deep freezer for winter soup beans and stews. Her father would drop off the unused parts at a rendering plant to be turned into fertilizer. It was a good day of hunting.

She cleaned up the gazebo and work table and then took a shower. Hebert caught up on his marathon viewing of Law & Order episodes in the livingroom. She fixed him an early dinner of baked sweet potato with turnip greens and fried catfish, placing it on a TV dinner tray in front of his recliner. Sitting near him on the couch, she ate with him and quietly watched cops go after bad guys. After Terry's case, Jess couldn't watch the show the same way again.

Terry.

Jess nibbled on her catfish. Was he still in town? She planned on staying away from the town square. No need to tempt fate and run into that man again. He was a past that needed burying.

The landline rang, and Jess answered it. Her friend Melody sounded breathless.

"Jess…girl…come on down to the Pit with me and Alexa tonight. It's Ladie's night and free cover. Alexa doesn't have to work tomorrow, so she's up for some drinking and dancing."

Jess glanced at her grandfather.

"Who is it?" he asked.

Jess covered the mouthpiece.

"Melody wants me to go down to the Pit tonight with Alexa."

Hebert waved his hand.

"Go on and get outta the house. Do you some good to be out with your girlfriends. I'll be okay by myself."

"You sure?"

"I got Redbone with me."

"Promise not to overdo it on the weed?"

"A man runs out of his house naked one time, and now his granddaughter can't trust him to be by hisself," he grumbled.

Jess giggled.

"Okay, I'm in," she said into the phone.

"Oh, good! Dress real cute, because you know Zion is on the prowl for you."

Jess sucked her teeth.

"I wish y'all would stop tryna fix me up with that man."

"Girl, do you know how hard it is to find a fine man that's single, child-free, and looking to settle down right away? He's had his eye on you for the longest."

"With all that's been going on with me, I don't see how he could be interested."

"Jess, hush, now. All that shit is over and done with. Time for a new start… and time for you to throw your hat in the ring before he gets snatched up. Be ready by seven thirty. Cover is free until nine. We get there early and we can get a good booth seat by the dance floor."

"Alright. I'll be ready. But I'm driving there myself."

She hung up and sighed.

"You don't sound excited," Hebert said.

"It's a setup. They're tryna get me with Zion."

"Zion is a nice fella. Decent family. I know his grandfather real well. You not interested in dating?"

"People think partnering up with somebody is going to make me happy now that I'm not working. I need a job, not a man."

"Zion makes good money down at the plant. Let a man spoil you a little bit if he wants to. You ain't gotta marry him or nothin'."

"You right, Granddaddy. You right. I just don't want to feel pressured about it, like I can't get a man on my own…if I wanted one."

She lifted his empty plate and glass from his tray.

"You want anymore to eat?"

"Nah, I'm full. That was a tasty dinner. Thank you."

She picked up her empty plate and piled it on his. While washing dishes in the kitchen, she thought of what to wear.

The Pit smelled like perfumed sweat and chicken grease, a thick country kind of odor that lingered in the air. Jess didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. She flat ironed her hair so that it looked long and silky falling down her back, but by the time she got inside the jumping club, her edges curled back because of the heat. A live band kicked up some fiery zydeco music, and she danced with several men before taking a breather at a booth seat with her friends. Several men bought them drinks, and Jess sulked a bit when she didn't find Zion anywhere. All that talk about him seeking her affections by her friends didn't pan out. She twisted her hair into a high bun and sipped on some bourbon. Revealing some cleavage kept plenty of other suitors barking up her tree.

Shelby Springs men loved big women. The more rolls on the belly and back, the better, too. The women were known to be talented cooks in the kitchen and in the bedroom, and southern Black Creole men had a predilection toward securing one and wifing them up. They liked buxom chests, real asses, and lively personalities.

Jess knew she was a catch.

Men eyed her up and down the moment she walked in the door, displaying her wares and swinging her hips from east to west. Tight booty-hugging jeans. Low cut V-neck top with her good strapless push-up bra. High heel ankle boots gave her extra va-voom. Her breasts were always her best lure, and then the men noticed she had a pretty face to match all the big girl curves. Pear-shaped with a short waist, Jess could use her front and back to attract dance partners.

The Pit was full of Black Creoles and Black Cajuns. There's no real hardcore distinction between the two in Jess's mind. After hundreds of years, they were all a big pot of gumbo culturally. Most of the Black Cajuns descended from the French Canadians that migrated to Louisiana from Acadie. Her great-grandfather used to tell Hebert stories about their white side. That's how Jess learned that Acadians were referred to as 'cadians by English speakers in Louisiana that eventually mutated into 'cajuns'.

The Black Creoles had immigrant French and Italian roots from Europe with some Indigenous heritage that spread out from New Orleans. Many of the Black Creoles had bloodlines all the way from Haiti. Out of the two, Creoles were the wilder by far because they had liberation DNA encoded in them from their African and Native ancestry. There was something about that Black and Red mix that stood out sometimes. Whenever Jess had to be called out as a cop to break up fights or do a welfare check, she could tell how things would go down by the ancestry. Black Cajuns valued communication first before they went off…but the Creoles? Pfft. Those negroes were cayenne pepper. Fists first, questions last.

Terry Richmond was definitely a Creole.

Jess chugged down her drink. The man lingered in her mind like a severe headache. He hugged her, and she knew what those muscles felt like now…the same ones that beat the ass of nearly a dozen men in front of her without using a gun. Pure Creole fury.

He smelled good, too.

Jess stood and walked around with Melody and left their two other friends, Patricia and Alexa, to watch their purses and seats. She tapped her feet to the hot, rambunctious music and searched around for another dance partner.

A man at the bar kept staring at her. He had a lean, rawhide build and purposely kept his baseball cap low on his face to obscure his eyes. Every few seconds, he glanced over at Jess. She sensed he wasn't interested in dancing or checking her out sexually. He studied her. She moved away to see if he would follow, and he did. She positioned herself behind some tall men near the end of the bar, facing the dance floor. Melody went to the restroom, and Jess waited for her. Right when Melody came back, a cute short king grabbed her hand to dance and pulled her away from Jess. Zion appeared then, and Jess forgot all about the man with the cap.

"Where you been?" Jess asked.

Zion grinned, flashing her big teeth. A husky man nearly six feet tall, he had rugged good looks and a flirtatious voice that sounded playful in her ear. Sweat shined up his dark brown skin. A crisp new haircut and fancy fits helped him stand out from the crowd, especially his gator skin boots.

"I've been looking for you, sweet thing," he uttered with sly charm.

"That's what I hear."

"What we gonna do about it, then?"

Jess grabbed his hand and dragged him out to the center of the dance floor, hugging her body tight against his as the ricochet of silver spoons dragging across a metal washboard and a reedy accordion squeezed by a heavyset man singing in French Creole controlled their spinning and grinding in time to the music. Jess snaked her hips and Zion swiveled his. The heat of her crotch rested on his thigh as they wiggled down to the floor and back up, the old school French La La music of her granddaddy's day pushing them to go faster and faster. Zion swung her out in a catch and release move and they yelled their delight at being alive in a sweltering club. God, it felt good to dance her blues away!

They stayed on the packed dance floor for three full songs until Jess begged for a break in her boots. She grabbed her purse and took a breather outside. A quick call on her smartphone reassured her that her grandfather was tucked in bed for the night. He told her not to come home early if she didn't need to, hinting that it was okay to hook up with Zion if she wanted.

She hung up and wiped perspiration from her brow, and noticed the reflection of the strange man behind her from the car window. Digging into her purse, she pretended to put her phone away and reached for her nine millimeter handgun to scare him. He caught her in the blind sight of the club, where no one would see or hear them by the SUV. She spun around and aimed it at his chest.

"The fuck are you following me for?" she barked.

The man held his hands up.

"Easy…I just want to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Terry Richmond."

She narrowed her eyes. Kept the gun on him.

"What about him?"

"I know who you are and I know what those cops did to him…and his cousin."

The man glanced around to make sure no one heard them.

"I have some information and know who killed Mike Simmons. I was at the prison where he was murdered."

Jess drew in a sharp breath.

"You betta not be fucking lying."

"I'm not. I also know the location of the weapon that was used on him. Hid it myself."

"Where?"

"We can't talk here. I'll meet you somewhere safe. You choose where. But I'ma need some money for the information to help me get outta town. It'll be too dangerous for me to stay here once I tell you."

"There's always some catch involving cash."

"It is what it is."

"How much?"

"Ten thousand dollars."

Jess rolled her eyes.

"You think I'm supposed to pay you that?"

"Not you…him. I know he's in town. I saw you with him."

She kept the gun on him and pulled out her cell.

"Give me your number."

"225-342-6863"

She typed and then glared at him.

"What's your name?"

His eyes diverted toward noisy patrons leaving the club in the opposite direction.

"Zeb Chapman."

Jess took a long, hard look at him.

"Zion's brother? How long have you been out of prison?"

"Eighteen months."

She relaxed and put away her weapon. Slinging her purse across her shoulders, Jess stared at him, full of curiosity.

"Call me and tell me where to meet you, Jess. I swear this ain't no con. I shouldn't even be seen with you. If they know I contacted you, they'd kill me."

"They?"

Zeb's jittery moves let her know he was truly nervous.

"Call me."

Zeb scurried back into the club. Jess stood next to her car to gather her thoughts. She assumed the "they" Zeb mentioned must've been the gangsters that had it out for Mike for snitching on a mob boss back east. It was the main reason Terry was vigilant about getting his cousin's bail. An uncomfortable tightness clenched her stomach. She called Melody on her phone.

"Where are you?" Melody squeaked, with the feisty zydeco music cracking in the background.

"I have a headache and went to my car. I'm going to head home early."

"Okay, call me and let me know you made it home safe. Are you good to drive?"

"I'm fine."

"I'm sorry you're not feeling well. Zion is looking for you."

"Tell him I'll catch him on the dance floor another time."

"Will do."

Jess dug into her purse again and pulled out a business card at the bottom. Terry's motel number was a few touches away on her phone. It might be too late to call. Plus, she didn't want him to have her number. She could just drive over there, knock on his door, and give him the information directly. He could pass it off to the authorities and she could wash her hands of the whole thing.

She popped open the trunk and rummaged around for something else to put over her top. Just a gray long-sleeve shirt sat under a pile of plastic recycled shopping bags. She glanced around and quickly yanked off her sexy top and traded it for the gray shirt.

Loading the GPS with the motel address, Jess quelled the anxiousness rising in her chest. Her Durango rode smoothly on the highway and she arrived at the rinky-dink establishment in less than twenty minutes. She parked at the far end of the guest parking and watched the property. Terry's room was the middle one on the bottom floor. The outside light was on and the curtains were drawn. She couldn't tell if the indoor lights were on because the curtains looked dark and heavy. Debating to get out or not, Jess sat in the SUV for half an hour, mustering up the guts to face him. Eventually, she hopped out and strode toward his room.

She knocked on the door and waited.

Knocked again.

No answer.

She closed her eyes, thankful that he wasn't there. It would be better to deal with everything in the morning with the soothing light of day. She turned to go back to her vehicle and bright headlights blasted her eyes. A car pulled in front of the empty parking space facing Terry's door. Summer and Terry stared at her in surprise. They both stepped out of Summer's car and faced her.

"Hey," she said.

Terry's lips quirked up into a half smile. The whites of his eyes looked pink under the overhead light of his room. But the green stayed intense…probing. He had a way of looking at people that unraveled them. Jess glanced at Summer.

"Summer was dropping me off," Terry said.

"Yeah, we just had dinner…dropping him off for the night," Summer said.

Terry took in her uneasy stance. It was after eleven at night. He turned to Summer.

"Thanks for a great meal, and the ride back," he said.

"No problem. Talk to you another time. Before you leave."

Summer awkwardly looked at Jess.

"Good seeing you, Jess."

"Yeah."

"Night y'all," Summer said.

She climbed into her car and drove off. Terry used a motel card to slip inside the door handle slot of room six instead of five. An audible click sounded off, and Terry opened the door wide.

"Come in," he said.

He reached inside and flicked on a light. Jess walked in before he did. Everything in the simple room was neat and undisturbed.

"Sit," he said, offering her the only chair in the room.

He sat on his bed.

"There's no air conditioning in room five. It broke before I went to dinner with Summer, so the manager switched me into this room. I'm glad you showed up. I had no way to contact you about the change. What brought you here so late?"

"A man approached me outside of a club tonight. He's been watching me and said he knows who killed your cousin. He wants to meet in a safe place."

Jess watched the information spread across Terry's features like water rippling across a pond. His eyes bore into hers like a sun blazing through a magnifying glass, causing her to shift uncomfortably in her seat and dart her gaze elsewhere. Like the wall to her right.

"Who is he?"

"He claims to have been in the prison with Mike when it happened. He's scared, and he also wants you to pay him ten thousand for the information."

Terry bolted from the bed.

"Take me to him right now."

He loomed over her, and those damn eyes rooted her to the chair.

"Jess…take me to him."

It was a stern command.

She jumped up.

"I'll give you his number—"

"If he's still at the club, you know what he looks like and can point him out to me. I need to talk to him tonight."

"It might spook him. He said he'll be in danger once he tells you. The money is for his escape from town."

Terry walked around the bed and pulled open the closet door. He dug into a suitcase, pulling out a fresh shirt. He took off the one he had on and replaced it with a form-fitting black shirt that fit his chest like new skin. Jess averted her gaze. His dark chinos and stylish black Moschino boots didn't need changing. He tucked a pair of shades into his shirt.

"C'mon…you drive," he said.

She couldn't protest. The determination in his face and steps forced her to comply and follow him.

Outside, she led him to her Durango.

"He might be gone already."

"Then we'll call him if he is."

She drove him in silence and slid into a parking spot not too far from her original one earlier. He climbed out and she walked to the back of her SUV. She opened her trunk and picked up her sexy top.

"Turn your head, please," she said.

Terry looked away, and she pulled off the long sleeve shirt, switching back to her previous top. She adjusted it and smoothed back her hair. He turned back around and her stomach filled with butterflies. Her cleavage worked its magic despite the circumstances, and Terry showed his hand by glancing at her breasts. He threaded his fingers with hers and tossed his shades on, pulling her toward the club entrance.

"Once we get inside, you play it cool. Understand? We're just on a night out together. When you spot him, whisper in my ear," he said.

The words flew right over her head. His hand was gentle, yet strong, holding hers. She could feel underboob sweat breaking out on her breasts. They reached the front entrance, and Jess took a deep breath. Terry squeezed her hand, reassuring her, and they stepped inside together.

Part 4 HERE.

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#terry richmond #rebel ridge #terry richmond fanfiction #rebel ridge fanfiction #Terry Richmond x Jess Sims #Terry Richmond x Officer Jessica Sims #Terry Richmond x Black Plus-Sized Heroine #Uzumaki Rebellion #Spinning the Block #Aaron Pierre #Terry Richmond Smut

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artficlly · 8 months ago

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smog & spirits: spirit-raiser (mini-series)

Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and you are the witch he has chosen to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, begging, orgasm denial, fingering, p in v, no aftercare, sex magic, blood magic, potion for arousal, curses and hexes, witchcraft, possession, mediums, if you squint theres some plot, smoking, mention of death/violence/torture, mention of police brutality, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8k

A/N: hey. don't ask. this idea came to me a few days ago and i wrote it all out in like two sessions at 2am. i want to write more for this, i have so many ideas for some more one-shot style interactions. this just got so long so quickly so i had to cut some stuff. sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

main masterlist | series masterlist

You did not remember leaving your door unlocked.

The fog that settled over the smokey, portside district of Sootstone was suffocating. Despite it being only midday, the entire neighbourhood was cast into a muggy gloom. The sun could not break through the thick smog that comfortably nestled itself along the windy streets of The Warrens. The stench of smoke and fish hung heavy in the air, with sweaty dockworkers and dirty children darting between alleys. In your short journey to and from the small Sunday market, you had nearly been bowled over thrice by oblivious residents.

The Warrens, or Sootstone Port, as it was formally known, was not a pleasant place. Home to the working class and the rotted underbelly of the city of Blackstone. The high society chatters liked to forget such a place existed, as it was simply not a charming place to think about. Most worked the ports, ferrying in the sea trade. Others worked in the Smokestack district, manufacturing metal in factories that pumped ash and soot into the air. There were also the select few who turned to other trades, such as pubs, hotels, brothels, or even those who were forced into a life of joblessness on the streets.

The Warrens weren’t so imaginatively named. It was a clever joke among high-society gossipers that the poor fucked like rabbits and lived in their elaborate winding burrows, from which they rarely emerged for air. The people of Sootstone had accepted the insult, finding the whole metaphor rather hilarious. That was because the Warreners could take a joke, unlike the condescending crowd of high society. It could also be argued that the residents of The Warrens could not come up with a better metaphor, as most were not educated in any sense.

Perhaps the mixture of smog and that lack of an education had finally made it to your head. You were left standing, perplexed, as your front door swung open without so much of a nudge. The lock was normally a sticky one, leaving you to jiggle the knob and slam your shoulder against the frame until it came unstuck. Never in your two years of living in the tiny flat had you ever witnessed such a sight.

You would’ve thought it a miracle if it weren’t for the implications.

It was true that The Warrens were notorious for crimes. Theft, assault, and murder. Even if coppers paraded the streets, they weren’t truly there to stop criminals. No, they were more interested in beating any poor innocents that got in their way. It was better to find protection from vigilante gangs who roamed Sootstone’s streets, scrapping like stray dogs over territories. As much as those uninvolved in such business were afraid of them, they also respected them. Their deeds weren’t always motivated by blood and destruction; the gangs stood to protect their communities as no one else would.

Even if you and your surrounding neighbours were under the protection of Barnes’ Smog Boys, it was definitely still alarming to see a group of them gathered in your small kitchen.

“Lookie who's home.” One of the men cooed at the sight of you. He stood closest to the door, one hand tucked in his jacket pocket while the other fiddled with a toothpick that hung from his lips. His blond hair was slicked back, tucked under a flatcap. Steve Rogers. The Smog Boys right hand man. Next to him was Sam Wilson, his stocky form leaning against your rickety cupboards. His gaze was fixed on a silver pocket watch he had tightly secured in his left palm, a short chain draping across his vest. He glanced up at Steve’s words, a wicked smirk crossing his lips at the sight of you.

“Sunday market?” Sam queried, and you drew your woven basket closer. There was an unsettling sneer in his voice.

The Smog Boys were one of seven gangs that roamed the underbelly of Blackstone. Their territories lay in the fog of Sootstone Port and the smokey streets of the Smokestack district and The Warrens. You could commonly see them stalking the streets, dressed in all black with their flatcaps and slicked back hair. They moved through the smog like ghosts, navigating the twisting streets with an unnatural ease. Some called them ghouls; others called them saviours from the fog.

The final man, the worst of them all, was Bucky Barnes. He sat across from you, half obscured by your small dining table. He had laid a box of cigarettes and matches on the marked wood. One was smoking between his lips, his head angled down and cocked to one side, as he assessed you with a look of boredom. There was a terrifying edge of calculation in his gaze as he evaluated you. He was just as large as the other two men, with muscles poorly hidden beneath his black, tailored suit. His hair, similarly to Steve's, was slicked back, and the sides buzzed. A 5’oclock shadow ghosted his jawline, but overall, his appearance was unsettlingly neat.

Not a speck of ash or soot. As if he had just appeared within your flat, blinking into existence rather than having walked The Warrens like any other mere mortal.

You had never seen the man in person. No. If the Smog Boys were ghosts, Bucky certainly lived up to the name. He was an enigma, a haunting story whispered between children. He had clawed his way up to a position of power from the gutters of The Warrens, bloodshed and all. He was a notorious skirt-chaser, his handsome appearance and strong build drawing in women from all classes. Looking at him now, despite the terror congealing in your blood, you could understand the appeal.

“Why’re you here?” You ask hesitantly. Unlike the gangsters before you, you were not pristine by any means. Falling ash had coated your shoulders, staining the tartan fabric of the mantle draped over your shoulders. Your hair was swept up under a head scarf, which was also covered in a layer of soot and dust from the smokestacks. Even your worn leather boots were not safe; mud and filth caked onto the heels and sides. The streets of The Warren had never known any type of cleanliness.

“Come to introduce ourselves. Don’t think we’ve ever met before, ‘least I think I would’ave remembered a pretty face like yours.” Steve speaks up, a gleam in his eye. His tone is playful yet somehow cruel. The chuckle he and Sam share rattles you. The two of them were also said to try their luck with the women who crowded around, searching for the thrill of a gangster lover.

“You might’ave mistaken me for someone else… I’ve lived here two years now.” You speak with a continued caution. With precise movements, as to not brush either of the hulking men crowding the kitchen entrance, you place your basket on a nearby surface. Even the cloth that you have thrown over the items is coated in a layer of ash.

“We know.” Sam says, twisting his body. He lifts up the cloth, inspecting the food beneath. You know it is nothing exciting—some bread, fish, and vegetables. As well as a handful of sweets you gave to the children of your neighbour. You keep your mouth shut as Sam dips into the white and red striped paper bag and pops one of the sweets into his mouth with a satisfied hum.

Steve pushes himself off the wall, his jacket brushing against you. He was far taller than you, tall enough that he had to crane his neck down in order to whisper in your ear. “A lil’ birdy told us you’re a spirit-raiser.”

“I—No.” You stumble over your words, eyes darting between the three men. Bucky is still silent, still like a cat hunting a mouse. The gaze he assessed you with was one of a predator, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. He doesn’t crack a smile as the two men beside you laugh between themselves.

To fend off some anxious energy, you make quick work of unknotting your headscarf. Ash and dust flutter to the ground as you shake out the fabric, a frown etched across your features. You could not help but let your mind wonder to the stories you had heard growing up. You were a lifelong resident of The Warrens, only moving to live on your own after sickness claimed your mother. You father had passed long before that, lost to drink.

“What do you call yourself then? Hm?” Steve asks, breath hot against your cheek. You flinch as he pulls a fleck of ash from your hair. In the stories, they would speak of men with their tongues cut out. Bodies that were filled with bricks, then stitched back up and sunk to the bottom of the Sootstone Port. Men were found hanged from street lights, severely beaten, with sections of skin along their thighs and chest peeled off with a blade. And those were only the bodies coppers found.

“I prefer witch.” You correct, brows furrowing. Your head turns to look at the gangster, wary of how close his fingers lingered. Teeth bared in a grin, he blows a soft breath across your hair, the last of the ash unsettled as it floats away. You can smell tobacco on his breath—a familiar scent to you.

“I need a favour.” Bucky finally speaks up, his voice low. Your gaze snaps to meet his.

You blink. “A favour?”

You jump as Bucky finally moves, his foot jerking as he kicks the seat opposite him. The chair scrapes across the hardwood floors, stopping centimetres before your boots.

“Sit.” He commands.

Sam’s hand finds the back of your neck, a soft push guiding you in the direction of the free space. You obey, your knee bouncing as you take a seat. You sit near the edge of the chair, leaving some distance between yourself and the table. As if sensing your desire to bolt, Steve sweeps up behind you, pushing the chair in until you are fully tucked in. Then, with mocking laughter, Sam and Steve take a seat on either side of you.

“No one told me there was any issue about magic—” You begin. Steve snickers beside you, returning to fiddling with the toothpick still poking from his mouth.

“A favour.” Bucky repeats, exhaling smoke from his nose. Sam leans back in his seat, legs spread so widely that his knee touches yours. You shrink back as far as possible. “I’m no copper. I don’t care what you practitioners get up to.”

You find yourself blinking in surprise once more. Magic was a subject that divided many, mostly due to it’s misunderstood nature. High society treated magic as another lavish hobby or skill, with some even going to private schools to turn their gifts into professions with the right licences. Of course, the people of the lower-class were banned from performing such tricks unless they were in possession of the right permits. Due to the nature of the slums being, well, impoverished, unlicensed magic ran rampant through the streets. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that an entire blackmarket of forbidden arts ran in the backalleys and warehouses of The Warren. Places where those needing particular services could find them for a much more convenient price than in the higherclass areas of Blackstone.

You had kept your services rather secretive, never using your real identity with clients. It was a precaution to not have coppers knocking down your door in the middle of the night. It seemed, despite your best efforts, that nothing flew past Bucky Barnes. But then again, nothing seemed to fly past the gangster. He knew of every black market and every whisper of illegal activity in the slums. It would be foolish to believe he was unaware of you; however, why did he specifically sort you out? Now that was a mystery.

“I don’t understand—” You choke out, head whipping back and forth as you look between the men.

Bucky sighs loudly in annoyance, loud enough that you flinch back. He puts out the remains of his cigarette on your dining table, the smouldering dip leaving a black, circular mark on the wood. He digs into one of the pockets of his vest, revealing a large pendant necklace. The chain is silver, with an oval shaped jewel hanging from the centre. The silver that encrusts it in place is swirled, ensuring there are no gaps for it to escape. Sam and Steve fall quiet, any feeling of twisted amusement dropping from the room. Bucky slides the necklace across the table.

You recoil. This time not out of fear, but rather from the aura the necklace exudes.

Goosebumps rise across your skin, and bile rises in your throat. There was a wickedness in the air, as if all the light and sweetness in the world were sucked into an empty, yawning void. The world feels still, as if even the ash outside has failed to fall. The room is cast into a sickening silence, a silence so strong that even the surrounding world refuses to push through. You can no longer hear the people walking through the winding streets of The Warren, not the clang of metal from the smokestacks or the cry of the dockworkers.

Rot.

It is the only word that comes to your mind. It is as if the jewel itself is rotten, potent, and putrid. An invisible smell so strong you nearly gag. Your skin crawls the longer you stare, as if you rot along with it—bugs squirming beneath your flesh, the taste of dirt in your mouth.

“What’s this?” You asked, your voice strained. You know the blood has drained from your face. Bucky looks at you with curiosity.

“You tell me.”

You look down at the necklace. Dread rises once more, and the chill of soil settles across your shoulders. You twist your head and your neck, feeling uncomfortable and strained the longer you gaze upon the necklace.

There was something terribly, terribly wrong about it.

“There’s a… a sickness… a rot—a curse.” You stumble over your words, your entire body squirming against your will. The feeling of dread swims through you; the sensation that you need to get as far away as possible reverberates down your spine.

“Becca was right.” Steve sings somewhere besides you, but you barely register his words.

“Where’d you find this?” You ask. The room is tighter than usual, with the rickety, peeling cabinets closing in around you. The oven screeches on its iron legs, the yellowed wallpaper crushing closer and closer. Your head falls into your hands, elbows propped onto the table. You let out a shuddering breath, trying to rid yourself of the sickly feeling. You rub your fingers up your face, pinching the bridge of your nose, then massaging your forehead

“It was given to me. As a gift.” As he speaks, you reluctantly open your eyes once more. The room has returned to as you remember, your vision less dizzying as you take in a deep gulp of air, your heart thundering in your ears. You must make a face, because it prompts him to speak once more.

“My sister has a sensitivity. She is convinced—”

“There’s a spirit attached to that jewel.” You interrupt before thinking. Your knees bounce beneath the table, your feet shaking. Your entire being screams that you need to get away from the object. You do not care for politeness or fear of these men, as the horror in your heart you felt gazing upon the necklace greatly outweighed any potential anxieties of the future.

“Yes.” His voice matches his composure—cool and collected. Wholly unaffected by the horrific aura cast by the necklace. Bucky and his men were not magically inclined. They were completely oblivious to the calamity that sat before them.

“The spirits're attached to you, too.” You pause, the feeling of bile rising in your throat once more. “You need to get it lifted.”

“That’s where the favour comes in, doll.”

“I don’t…?” You nearly doubled over. “Please get rid of it. I can’t—”

Barnes leans forward, slowly dragging the necklace over the wood. He slowly deposits it into his breast pocket, watching with curiosity as you sag in relief. You would need to burn this table after they left. You could still sense the rot engrained in the pores of the wood.

“I need to speak with the spirit attached.”

Your forearms lay flat on the table, and you rest your head against them as you try to remember how to breathe. A wave of exhaustion rolls over you. Was this how they tortured their victims? Wore them down into pathetic, panting messes? Were you about to become another body at the bottom of the Sootstone port? You mumble into the fabric. “I can’t raise a spirit without a name.”

“I know her name.”

You pause, lifting your head slowly. “You want to ask her how to break it? You may know her, but spirits’re tricksters they won’t always give ya the correct information—”

“I know how to deal with her.”

You arch a brow, unsure.

“She’s a scorned lover.” Sam whispers beside you. You jump, having forgotten the two other men sitting besides you. Bucky scowls at his words—the most emotion he has shown in the entire time.

“Everyone knows you don’t ‘ave a witch for a moll unless you’re gonna marry her.” Steve butts in, and the two men share a chuckle.

“Shut your mugs. The both of ya.” Bucky snarls, and they both fall silent, although you can’t help but notice their bemused smiles. After a brief, tense silence, the gangster settles back into his seat, tipping his chin upward in a nod. “Morwenna Blackthorn.”

You hesitate, glancing between the three men. They watch you expectantly, relaxing back into their respective seats. Given their status and reputation, you had to presume they were familiar with the workings of underground magic. Licenced practitioners would have clients sign lengthy documents for protection in the event of a spell or session backfiring. The Warrens did not have such luxuries—if you made a mistake, no one could protect you or them from the consequences.

You inhale sharply, placing your hands palms down on the table. The wood hums beneath your touch, the invisible vapours of the curse tickling your flesh. With a roll of your shoulders, you exhale slowly, allowing your body to relax.

Ink drips across your vision, swirling darkness millimetres before your eyes. You stare hard into the invisible void, searching blindly through the tendrils of smoke. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your mind hums. Through the dark fog, you can make out figures—flickers of candle flames casting large, distorted shadows. Morwenna Blackthorn. Bones crunch beneath your feet, yet at the same time, you float. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your hands burn into the table, the rotting sensation tangling through your digits, pulling you deeper.

Morwenna Blackthorn

You can see a thin line of thread hanging through the void.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

It is red; a series of knots tugged tightly intermittently.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

Your fingers grasp the fibres gently, your nail hooking around one of the tiny knots.

You tug.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

A violent, ragged gasp leaves you. It claws up your throat, ripping at the flesh. Your entire body tenses, your spine straightening as your head snaps back. For a moment, you are suspended. You can feel her with you, her ghostly fingers stroking tenderly across your skin. She smooths over the back of your hands, slowly and gradually winding her way up your arms. She clutches your shoulders, her bones digging into your flesh.

Then, with violence strong enough that you fear she has folded your spine in half, she pushes down.

Your body instantly relaxes, head lulling downward. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and despite the appearance being a milky white, you can see perfectly clearly. Morwenna has settled herself deep within your bones, controlling your movements like a puppeteer. You are conscious enough to understand what is happening, but you are not in control of your actions or speech.

Your mouth spread into a wide, sly smile. “Bucky, my love.”

“Mor.” The gangster greets, although he does not seem entirely pleased. You pout, leaning your elbows onto the table.

“Not happy to see me?” You coo. Somewhere beside you, Steve shifts in his seat uncomfortably. It is the most off put you’ve ever seen the man so far. He winces as your head swings around, a wicked grin gracing your lips. “Oh, Stevie and Sam. Didn’t see you two here.”

“Mor.” The two men grumble in unison, scowling.

“Awh. Why so glum, boys?” You whine, your chair scraping against the floor as you stand. Your movements are fluid and graceful, entirely not your own. Your hands stroke across the back of the chair, then swooshes up to meet your chest.

You lean forward, tutting as you inspect your reflection in the glass of a nearby cupboard. “Trust you to find a pretty one in The Warrens.”

Your hands move to unpin your mantle, a cloud of ash lingering in the air as you drop it to the floor. You sigh in relief, your fingers unbuttoning the top of your shirt, revealing the curve of your breasts. Your hands smooth down your waist to your hips; your full figure is now displayed.

“You missed me that much, my love? That you had to find a pretty vessel for me so you could get your cock wet, hm?” You hum, sashying towards the table once more.

“That’s not why you’re here.” Bucky replies. He seems frozen in place. The horror of familiarity. Recognising the mannerisms of someone he once knew in a complete stranger.

You ignore his words, unpinning your hair. Thick locks unroll, cascading down your shoulders and back. You let out an exaggerated, satisfied sigh, rolling your neck. The strands frame your face, and the rich colour brings colour to your cheeks.

“Morwenna.” Bucky snaps. Your brows furrow as you look over to him, pouting once more. “You put a curse. On the necklace.”

Your mind momentarily blanks, as if Morwenna were trying to recall what he said. Spirits often grew confused trying to recall memories, especially ones that brought them anguish. A cog seems to turn as you flash the gangster another beaming smile.

“The necklace… oh. Did you like it? My parting gift to you? Before you fucked me over you piece of—” Your voice, once sweet and soft, deepens to a guttural growl. Your body shakes, and words cut off as you cough and hack. Your hand raises to your mouth, warm fluid leaking from your lips. You let in a shuddering breath, rubbing your fingers and palms down your chin. Blood smears across your skin.

“You shot me, my love.” You gasp, your brows furrowing as your head tilts. “You shot me.”

“You betrayed us, remember? You were a rat—” Steve jumps in, but is quickly cut off.

“Steve.” Bucky warns.

Your hands find your stomach, doubling over as you sob. There is no wound, no blood. Still, your hands dig at the fabric while ragged, pathetic cries leave your blood stained lips.

“How do I break the curse?”

You shuddering sobs stop, a dreadful silence falling over the tiny kitchen. A guttural laugh erupts from you, saliva mixed with blood dripping from your lips to the floor. “The curse. The curse? I should have known… I should have known…”

Your body jerks upward, movements stiff, and jerks like a marionette doll. Sam’s face contorts into one of fear, while Steve looks horrified. You jerk forward, nearly tripping over the chair as you plunge towards the table. Your stomach smacks hard against the wood, a winded wheeze escaping your lungs as you drag yourself forward by your nails.

“Don’t you love me? Don’t you want me?” You cry, your head beginning to twist, the angle so unnatural that it strains your neck.

“How do I break it?” Bucky repeats, voice firm. He hasn’t so much as flinched, a wall of steel as you crawl towards him.

“It was born in chaos, so it must be undone in chaos. I will find you. I will tear you limb from limb. I will make you rot from the inside out; maggots will grow within you; and mould will bloom in your soul. Everything will crumble to dust beneath your touch. I will ruin you until you b–b—be—”

Your body slides back, and for the first time in the entire session, you grab the reins. You search blindly for the knotted thread, tugging hard. Your body steps back from the table, muscles spasming and tense as your body locks in place.

You tug harder, and darkness swims across your vision. Candles flicker and dance in the distance, the sun rising and falling as your body twists up and down. The smell of rot slowly subsides, threads slipping from your fingers. The scent of copper and ash is on your tongue, and your head is pounding.

A dramatic sigh leaves you as your body slumps. You find yourself standing before the table, three sets of eyes burning into you as your own eyes roll back into place. Sam and Steve look equally disturbed as they are horrified, the blond’s mouth agape in shock.

“The fuck was that?” Sam barks.

“I ain’t never seen a spirit session like that before, Buck—” Steve begins.

“Shut it.” Bucky barks, rising to his feet.

There is a sickly feeling in your chest, a radiating pain across your ribcage. You barely register the gangster walking up to you, gripping your chin between his index and thumb.

“You pulled yourself out early.” Bucky sneers. “Why?”

“Buck—” Steve calls again. With a growl, Bucky releases you, twisting around to snarl at Steve.

“I thought you told me she was the best in the Warrens?”

“She is. Did’ya not see that shit?”

“She didn’t get me an answer—”

“Chaos magic.” You finally speak up, your voice raspy. The gangsters pause, slowly turning to face you. “She told you. It’s chaos magic. What’s born in chaos must be undone in chaos.”

Your hand raises to your face, your fingertips touching your upperlip as warm blood flows from your nose. You raise your hand into the light, inspecting the crimson liquid. Your eyes cut over to Bucky's, and he frowns.

“Chaos magic?” He questions.

“Sex magic.” You state, fighting the heat growing across your cheeks. Without much of a care or a flinch, you navigate your way past the group. Your shirt brushes against Bucky’s jacket, the rotting feeling momentarily settling in your stomach as the fabric brushes his breastpocket. You pause in front of your sink, knuckles white as you grip the lip. Blood continues to stream steadily from your nose, dripping into the basin.

“You focus your thoughts on one thing; you get pulled into a trance. Take the energy, the chaos, and you focus it. At the peak, picture what you’re manifestin’. The chaos that you’ve built through the act is released at the moment of orgasm.” You explain, your gaze solidly locked onto the blood that swirls down your drain.

“Sex magic.” Bucky hums in thought.

Steve spoke up from beside him with a snicker. “How poetic.”

—

You hated how your hands shook. If Bucky had noticed, he hadn’t brought it up. He was coolly inspecting your tiny bedroom, hands tucked into his pockets. The room had an eclectic taste, with walls covered in shelving. You collected books, objects, trinkets, or other things that helped your work. Drying herbs hung from your curtain railings, your desk cluttered with papers you had hastily scribbled notes upon.

You ground your palm harder into the pestle, gritting your teeth as you worked the herbs inside into a fine paste. Your bed, stripped bare, had been pushed to the side of the room. It usually sat near the centre, atop a fraying rug. The rug had also been removed, rolled up, and placed somewhere in your stairway. The old wood beneath had been painted by your hand, with intricate runes, symbols, and swirls making up the general shape of a circle. You had already lined it with black salt, candles burning at each cardinal direction. At the centre of the circle, you had laid your bedding and pillows for comfort.

Bucky had sent Steve and Sam away, the two men snickering like a pair of school boys. You all knew what was about to unfold; it was just a question of why you had allowed yourself to become tangled up in such a situation. You had done similar rituals for clients before, yes, but none of those clients had been the boss of the Smog Boys. None of them had been Bucky Barnes.

You eyed him as he paused in front of the carved circle, mindlessly playing with the jewelled necklace that hung from his grip. The awful, dreadful, rotting sensation was dulled; you’d nearly begged the gangster to let you cleanse the object. It was a temporary relief that would wear down in a few hours, but at least you could complete your work without gagging at the feeling of it. You hurriedly poured the thick paste from the herbs into a pot, which boiled in your fireplace. It only took a couple of stirs for the potion to settle. You could feel Bucky’s eyes assessing your every movement as you poured the steaming liquid into two cups, briefly swirling each to ensure the consistency was correct.

“Remind me what this is.” The gangster asked, closing the distance between you. His nose wrinkled in distaste at the scent.

“A potion to help with the ritual. Some find it…hard to perform.” You say, wincing as you realise what you implied. Bucky raises a brow as you fumble over your words. “It heightens arousal and pleasure.”

“I won’t find it hard to perform.” He replies curtly.

“I know. I wasn’t saying that—I just… from experience…” You stumble again. If only you could punch yourself in the face for this idiocy.

“Relax, doll.” He hums, his hand finding your shoulder. You exhale sharply, lips pressed together, as your shoulders drop in response. “I can find someone else if you don’t want this.”

As much as you hated yourself for admitting it, you did want this. Maybe it was a sick curiosity, wondering if this dangerous yet handsome man could perform as well as you imagined, as well as it was rumoured. You swallow, your mouth feeling dry. “No. I want this.”

“Good.” His hand brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, and his head dips to look at you better. “Honestly, I could fuck you with or without the potion, doll.”

There is a knowing smirk spreading across his face as your mind blanks. Fucking rake. You consider if the fumes from the potion have already leaked their effects onto you both. You can feel a warmth growing between your legs.

“It’s my job.” You mutter, stepping away. Although you’re unsure if the reassurance is for yourself or for him. His chuckle follows you as you sweep across the room, returning to your small desk. “Do you want me to explain the ritual in detail or just give you the gist of it?”

“Spare the details; just run me through what I need to do.” He responds. He has closed the distance between the both of you again, peering over your shoulder as you fumble through your things.

“Well, it’s pretty simple.” You sigh, turning around. Your chests are nearly pressed together as you spin. You back up as far as possible, your hands moving behind your back as you grip the edge of the desk to steady yourself. "We’ll have to draw some blood with a blade and put it on the necklace to link it to our energies. It’s sigil magic, nothing you’ll have to worry about. We take the potions…”

You fade off with a shrug. Bucky smirks once more, his chin lifting in amusement, but his gaze remains solidly locked onto you. His hands go to his pockets, and his wide chest blocks your movements. You clear your throat. “The ending is more what you’ll need to focus on. When you reach… climax… you must focus all your energy on the necklace and nothing else. I will be there to guide and remind you, but you can’t let your thoughts stray.”

“What about you? What will you have to think of?” He questions, his voice low. His adams apple bobs as he swallows slowly, his tongue running across his bottom lip in thought. Intriguing question. No one had asked you that before.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re the only one who needs to orgasm.”

“Why?”

“The curse is linked to you. Only you can break it, with my assistance, of course. I am just here to help guide you and lend you my energy. I am just a conduit for the magic, to focus it.” You explain. Thinking it was best to get it over and done with, you finally pluck up the courage to push past him.

Your athame was already in place; the candles were lit, salt laid, and sigil memorised. There was only one thing left to do—the act. You crouch down by the fireplace, retrieving the two cups. Bucky gives you an incredulous look.

“It tastes better than it smells.” You reassure him, handing him the saucer. He inspects the liquid once more, wincing, then shrugging in surprise as he finally downs the lot. You watch with a scrutinising gaze as he places the cup down, rolling his shoulders.

The potion would take all of five seconds to take affect. It didn’t alter the brain or take away authority; rather, it heightened already present feelings of arousal or pleasure. The user would experience a rather euphoric sensation. Dodgy brothels often microdosed their clients with such herbs to heighten the experience. Also to hook in a new, loyal customer. Used sparingly, the herbs were fine, but they were highly addictive.

And illegal. Most of your work fell into that category.

Within moments, you could see Bucky’s pupils dilate, his jaw and shoulders relaxing, and his nostrils flaring as he exhaled slowly. His voice was strained as he spoke up, his tone gravelly and low as he cleared his throat in surprise. “Fuck. That does feel good, doesn’t it?”

You smile shyly into your own cup and swallow down the liquid. You were familiar with the taste and it’s effects. It was surprisingly sweet, with a vanilla, nutty aftertaste. As soon as it hit your stomach, you could already feel the warmth growing in your core—a delightful tingling sensation spreading up your spine and skull.

You were quick to place your cup down and cross the room to retrieve the athame. You had to pin point your actions very directly so as not to get distracted by the hulking man looming in your room. The potion was definitely potent, because any fear or anxiety had left you. Your body begged for him to come closer, to touch you, to kiss you. Not yet. Soon.

“Come here.” You murmur, drawing the blade from it’s sheath. Bucky obeys, wordlessly stalking towards you and presenting you with his palm. You look up at him through your lashes, gently taking his hand into yours. Your skin sings at the content, a rush of goosebumps raising across your skin. “We don’t need much blood.”

The gangster is still as you drag the blade in a short cut along the heel of his palm. You push into the mound, coaxing out droplets of blood to blister to the surface. “The necklace.”

He lets out a low, agreeable grunt as he hands it to you. The potion has helped you ignore any bad energy attached to the object. Your skin simmers as you brush your finger tips along the cut, gathering Bucky’s blood. You take the jewel, smearing the blood across the slippery surface into one half of a symbol. Bucky watches expectantly as you hastily repeat the process with your own hand, smearing your blood to complete the symbol.

“You need to wear it.” You hum and guide the chain over his head. You know you should find a bandage or some kind of healing salve for your hands, but your attention is pulled away as Bucky grasps your hand. An involuntary whimper leaves your throat as he raises your palm to his lips, his tongue peaking out as he runs it across the open wound. The potion had definitely taken effect. Holy fuck, your back arches as pleasure shoots down your arm, blooming at the base of your skull.

His lips kiss along the cut, sucking and licking. Your mind swims from the sensation—ideas of where else he could be putting his mouth to use. You pull your palm away, dragging it across his cheek as you cup his face. A crimson streak is smeared along his skin, and his lips are glossy from saliva and stained with your blood. The two of you clash in desperation, a rumbling groan being pulled from the gangster as his lips engulf yours.

You can taste copper on his tongue, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you flush against his body. The two of you move in a frantic rhythm, scarcely making room to breathe. You guide him clumsily to the painted circle, the two of you falling to your knees in unison. Blindly, you find his clothing, helping him tug off the jacket and then unbutton his vest.

His hands slip under your blouse, caressing the skin beneath. His fingers roam to your brassiere, your nipples hardening as he brushes them through the sleek fabric. You mewl into his mouth, squirming under his touch as the pulse between your legs quickens. His large palm comes to rest below your breasts, his thumb sitting on your sternum as he yanks you backwards onto his lap.

Your lips break, and you gasp for air as the gangster continues his assault down your neck to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His stubble tickles across your neck, and he gathers your skirts, fingers gliding past your stockings to your exposed inner thigh.

Your head tips backwards to rest on his shoulder, and loud, satisfied sighs leave you. The sensation is near blinding, your body alight with pleasure. Had you accidentally made a stronger dose in your nervousness? You had never yearned in such a way before—

“What’re you doing?” You query with a gasp as his fingers slip beneath your loose tap pants.

Your question is answered as he strokes a fingertip through your wet folds.

“You’re so wet.” He hums against your skin, voice strained. You can already feel his erection pressing into you. His grip on you remains firm, your back flush against his chest as he dips two of his fingers into you. Ecstasy fizzles across your skin, nails digging into his skin where you grip his arm.

“What’re you— I’m supposed to make you—ah!” You whine, your breath coming fast as you lean harder into him. Your hips rock greedily, pushing your pelvis in time with his pumping fingers so the heel of his palm grinds against your clit.

“Shh, doll. Relax.” He whispers, his tongue licking up the shell of your ear. Your eyes squeeze shut, and your body is locked in place by his grip. His pace increases, and the panting in your ear grows as his two digits glide in and out of your tight cunt.

“Do you like that?” He groans in your ear. Your grinding hips are now giving friction to his cock, which twitches against your backside through his pants. You whimper in response, a short sob bubbling from your mouth as you clench around him.

Your head lifts, eyes widening as you look down. You can’t see much due to your skirts, but you can feel the knot tightening within your belly. Your hips move more desperately, needy, pathetic moans escaping you as his pace remains steady.

“Please—” You beg, squirming as the gangster chuckles.

“You do like this, huh? Even if you acted like a little innocent virgin earlier.” He growls. The vibration is enough to set you over the edge, a loud cry leaving you as you clench hard around his fingers, body spasming. Bucky continues to steadily pump you through your orgasm. “Good girl.”

A continued arousal stirs in your belly at his praise. Your body slumps against him, panting and exhausted.

“Such a good girl.” He hums again, his digits slipping out of you. You can feel the sloppy mess between your thighs, and as Bucky pulls his hand into the light, you can see the wet drenching his fingers. “I think I like this version of you. The one who makes pretty little noises while I fuck her brains out, hm?”

You’re left speechless as the gangster lifts his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a devilish smirk.

“Well, time to get this ritual over with then, don’t you think?” He says. You’re too exhausted and drunk on desire to bother replying. You allow him to guide you down, so your head is placed side-ways on one of the pillows. He guides your hips up, your legs slightly spread, and pushes your skirts to your hips.

“You’ll have to tell me when you’re close, so I can guide you.” You finally muster up the strength to say. The gangster pulls your tap pants down, exposing your cunt fully.

“Sure thing, doll.” He says in response. You hear the sound of fabric rustling as he pulls out his cock.

Without much warning, he pushes into you, your arousal making it easy for his member to slide in and out of you. A growl burns in the back of his throat while you wordlessly make a fist around the sheets and blankets beneath you.

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” Bucky groans, his voice strained. “And to think you’ve been hidin’ out in The Warrens all this time.”

He sinks deeper into you, pulling small whimpers and moans from you as he finds a steady, pleasurable rhythm. His hand slides up your clothed back, pushing you harder into the pillow with a grunt. His other hand finds your hips, his grip bruising as he guides you.

You bite down into the pillow, your pleasured sobs muffled by the feathers.

“You squeezed so tightly around my fingers; I can’t wait to see how you’ll feel when you come around my cock.” Bucky grunted as he ploughed into you. His hand fists around your loose hair, fingers tangling through the locks as he tugs. Tears are beginning to prickle in your eyes, and your legs are wobbling from the sensation.

“Please—” you gasp out.

“Please, what?” The gangster asks, tugging harder. The hand on your hip is squeezing tighter as he holds you in place.

“Please—I need to—”

“No.” He growls, tugging you upward. You fall backwards into his lap once more, his cock still inside you but somehow deeper from the angle he holds you. “You need to finish the ritual, remember? I can’t have you guide me if you’re too fucked out to talk.”

Another sob leaves you, but you wordlessly nod. You hold onto the burning sensation in your gut, the waves of satisfaction so immense that your limbs tremble. Bucky continues to fuck up into you, his cock steadily driving into you as his free hand comes to lazily swirl your swollen clit.

You try to remember words, instructions, anything. You feel too high to even breathe. All you can do is focus on the sensation of the necklace rubbing against your back and the friction burning against your skin.

“Focus on the necklace. How it feels around your neck.” You squeak out, your eyes squeezed shut, as you try to ground yourself. “Focus on the feeling of the chain, the weight of the jewel. Think of your blood, how a piece of you is painted onto it.”

There is a moment of silence between the two of you, only the slapping of skin and the rasping of breath.

“Are you focused on it?” You ask.

“Yes.” The gangster cuts back. His strokes were beginning to grow sloppy.

“Focus.” You whisper, though a breathy moan leaves you. “Feel your energy flow; feel your blood seep into the stone. Picture how it will shatter beneath your power.”

His hips jerk beneath you, his finger on your clit swirling faster. Your breath comes in sharp stutters, your back arching as you find no way to escape the rising sensation. His back is rock solid behind you, his hands keeping you in place as you begin to spiral. Your pussy tightens around him as you begin to scream—

“Please, Bucky. Please!”

Something snaps between the both of you, his hips jerking wildly as he spills into you. He moans into your ear at a deafening level, his fingers digging into your thighs. You double over in pleasure, your vision briefly going black as you cry out. Sparks dance across your skin, your body momentarily alight as the power of magic flows through you. You can feel the rush as your energy meets Bucky’s entangling with one another in a fierce battle. For a second, you feel intoxicated, colours bursting across your sight as the rush of magic rests in your chest, and then, just as quickly as it arrived, it cascades out of you.

Behind you, the sound of shattering can be heard above the moans.

Panting, Bucky releases you. You slump to the floor, off his lap. His cum drips from your pussy, thighs wet as sticky as you close your eyes, desperately trying to catch your breath. You roll onto your back, pressing your thighs together. Through heavy-lidded eyes, you look down at Bucky. He sits kneeling, dishevelled. His hair is ruffled, blood is still smeared along his cheek, and his shirt is untucked and creased.

At some point, he has tucked his cock away, suspenders hanging loosely by his hips. His gaze is not on you; rather, it is solely focused on the necklace in his palm. You go to lift your head, but you find yourself too weak and exhausted to bother. A mixture of being too fucked out to care and the lack of energy from acting as a conduit for the ritual.

“Did it work?” You ask the gangster, and his eyes finally pull up to look at you. His gaze wanders over your face, examining your swollen lips, the blush across your cheeks, and the areas where exposed skin remains. He cracks a grin, lifting his hand. The necklace dangles from his fingers, the large, blue jewel now gifted with a large crack down the centre.

You let out a sigh of relief, letting your head fall back as you stared up at the ceiling. Your eyes flicker closed, a sleepy warmth prickling across your scalp.

“Doll?”

Your eyes snap open with a jolt.

“It’s all done? The curse is gone?” The gangster questions. You weakly nod in reply.

“Her spirit and whatever curse she held have been released.” You affirm, voice sleepy, relaxing back into the pillows and blankets. “Apologies. This type of spell drains me.”

Bucky chuckles. You were just glad you had enough sense near the end to actually guide him. The gangster appeared to be attempting to prove something with the orgasms he extracted from you. In the state you were in, you had little reason to complain.

When you opened your eyes again, he was across the room, vest on and jacket slung over his arm.

“I’ll leave your payment downstairs.” He says, only pausing to look down at you, still curled up on the floor. You blink up at him sleepily. “Thanks for your help, spirit-raiser.”

You can’t find the energy to correct him.

PONY CLUB (PART 2)

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k-s-morgan · 5 months ago

Note

I in no way mean to be disrespectful, I hope you and your family are doing well and I’m so sorry for the recent attacks. I’m just ignorant and want to know what would happen if Ukraine surrendered to Russia?

I hope you are safe from bombing and air raids 🙏🙏

Hi! Thank you <3 And don't worry, that's a good question.

What I'm 100% sure would happen in case of Ukraine's surrender, even under the most optimistic scenario:

We'd have to give up the entire country, not just a part of it. Russia always comes back for more. It's been following the same pattern with different countries forever. With Ukraine, it got a pretty decent chunk back in 2014. That land continued to belong to Ukraine on paper only - in reality, it was fully under Russian control, and no one really fought for it any longer. Was Russia satisfied with it? No. It kept preparing and then attacked to overtake even more land. It will never have enough, so to give up now means to acknowledge that the entire Ukraine will cease to exist as a country, whether right away or after Russia starts another war against us.

Ukrainian language, culture, and heritage would be destroyed completely in the coming years. Our history - and the history of the world children are taught - will be re-written. There is a reason why the majority of countries that were a part of USSR speak primarily Russian. Russia keeps carefully erasing other languages and culture, it's been doing it for ages. It's doing it right now on the occupied territories.

Pro-Ukrainian activists and people of note would be persecuted, kidnapped, tortured, and killed. This is also a pattern, it happens everywhere Russia invades. I know many examples personally.

We'd be gradually cut off of the outside world. Like, Russia has banned major fanfiction sites; it's trying to block YouTube and other platforms. The transformation into a semblance of North Korea would be inevitable.

Ukrainians would be treated as third-rate non-humans on their own territory. Again, it's been happening everywhere Russia barges into.

Ukraine would be used as a military base to attack other countries, and Ukrainians would be forced to become Russian soldiers.

As for the rest, it could go in several ways. Maybe Russia would want to show how 'amazing' it is, so it'd turn Kyiv into a second Moscow, creating different well-paid positions and opportunities to suck up to Kyiv residents and to prove its hypocritical benevolence.

On the other hand, it could just as well turn the entire country into a concentration and extermination camp. Russia has been torturing, raping, degrading, and murdering our people everywhere. Stealing their homes, kidnapping children, etc. and etc. I have a huge number of friends, people I know, or their friends who shared their stories, and each of them has been absolutely horrific.

My Mom's colleague, for example, used to live near Bachmut. When Russians came in, they immediately began to hunt down anyone related to the police and the military and killing them or actually demanding ransom for them. They kidnapped this colleague's friends, a married couple, kept them in a dog's kennel, pissed on them, beat them up, and raped the wife repeatedly. At that point, the colleague managed to flee the area, and she has no idea as to what happened to them afterward.

This could very well be the fate of our country in case of our surrender since the world obviously doesn't care and wouldn't bat an eye at the millions suffering and dying, kind of like it's happening now.

So surrendering is dangerous because we might cease to exist, but perhaps we are just prolonging the inevitable. A tiny country with a pathetic level of support cannot win against a giant that has a ton of everything and whose allies keep sending it even more weapons of destruction. Oh, and let's not forget how Russia keeps producing more and more weapons because the US and EU keep selling it the parts it needs for missiles and other stuff, and how Ukraine, after seemingly getting help from these US and EU, is forbidden to use it to strike Russia back.

It's all a joke to everyone but us, so I honestly don't envision a positive outcome at all. In the end, as long as our heroes are determined to defend Ukraine, we'll keep trying to hold on. The future will show what it'll lead us to.

#personal #ukraine #russia is a terrorist state #war in ukraine

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lakesbian · 1 year ago

Text

rachel. rache. rachel. rachey :(

Rachel Lindt had never made any real attempt to hide her identity. She had apparently been homeless through most of her criminal career, just living on the streets and moving on whenever police or a cape came after her.

According to the wiki entry, her powers manifested when she was fourteen, followed almost immediately by her demolishing the foster home she had been living in, injuring her foster mother and two other foster children in the process. This was followed by a two year series of skirmishes and retreats across Maine as various heroes and teams tried to apprehend her, and she either defeated them or successfully evaded capture.

A red box near the bottom of the page read, “Rachel Lindt has a public identity, but is known to be particularly hostile, antisocial and violent. If recognized, do not approach or provoke. Leave the area and notify authorities as to her last known location.”

kind of already a start on the autism win in the sense of like. yeah this is absolutely how disabled or mentally ill problem kids are talked about. even with the details that she 1. triggered because her foster mother was trying to kill her dog and 2. used her power to save her dog with zero awareness that it would result in people being hurt being left out, even if we operate under the false premise that she did it on purpose, the question should still be asked: how bad would the foster home this fourteen year old child was in have to be for her to intentionally destroy it?

but despite 100% being aware that trigger events fucking suck, that being a 14yo in a foster home fucking sucks, the PRT didn't try to deescalate or think "gee, maybe this kid wouldn't be fighting back if we weren't trying to jail her/if she wasn't actively being fucked by the system"--instead they spent Two Years trying to "apprehend" her. she was fucking Homeless, literally unable to survive except via crime, and this is being framed as just a background detail of her ~Criminal Career.~ ah yes, criminal career. a traumatized child fighting back while being violently pursued by cops for years on end over an accident. and, like, no shit she's "hostile and antisocial" when society's default approach to her is "oh she's not allowed to exist in public, call the cops the second you see her." moral of the story cops don't fix JACK fucking shit. and in fact actively terrorize marginalized people. rachel autism lindt my girl. she deserves to Bite People. like yeah that's exactly what it feels like being a kid like her, being hunted down for a lash-out you couldn't control in response to a lifetime of violence and isolation enacted against you

#wormtime 2 #wormtime 2 arc 2 #parahumans #wormblr

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the-crystal-femmes · 2 months ago

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Filter Tag Lists

// pt: filter tag lists //

This is a master list of what each of us would like filter tagged due to triggers. Only Ula, Pearl and I will have tags.

Last edited 1/10/25 by Host

Triggers with * have been also general tagged by us as well, so general tags would suffice for them. Please note that the link below we will not be general filtering since it's so niche and also has to do with something important

If you feel uncomfortable with tagging any of these, that is completely fine, just please let us know! We would never force anyone to tag something for us if it's something that may impose on their own comfort. /gen

Host

// pt: Host //

Tag: #tagging for vamp (alternatively #batty please ignore this)

Reblog bait*

Gore*. PLEASE TAG YOUR GORE and do not CENSOR THE TAG use "tw gore" the censoring is horrendous and is counterproductive!!

Any sexual remarks regarding our sources, ESPECIALLY PEARL

Telling anyone to die in any way (i.e. "kys" etc) that is not a joke

US Politics, especially regarding the 2024 election*

Any "___ of pro endos" blogs. It's upsetting for me to see due to past incidents with the one who started the gimmicks.

Talks of thanksgiving, as enstated by Pearl*

Vagueposting, I could mistake it to be about us and get triggered. Positive vagueing is fine, though

Discourse in the following communities: lgbtqia+, fictionfolk, alterhuman*

The r slur*

Posts with the names of the w creature and s creature

Intersexist posts*

The queer term "bat", due to our NPD

Art meant to induce paranoia

Omegaverse and Misceverse content*

Monsterfucker content*

Trolls / Anon hate*

Hate involving Jimmy from mouthwashing, I am a swordsperson and we personally know a canon divergent Jimmy fictive and it makes me go APESHIT seeing hate due to that, no we do not support source Jimmy's actions use your common sense please 🫡

Stuffed animal harm

Tag games if I'm not tagged, due to npd

Ask games, we have memory issues and feel excluded

Ula

// pt: Ula //

Tag: #tag for ula

Syscourse*

Identity policing, as long as the identity isn't problematic

Mentions of religion as she is a demon* (does not include saying the word "God" or "Jesus" or anything, just downright religion talks. Could trigger her to front, which isn't bad, but he can get annoyed.)

Werewolves being treated like dogs

Hate against persecutors/prosecutors

She used to have a few urls filtered as well, but we don't see them much anymore and have been removed unless needed to be reinstated.

Pearl

// pt: Pearl //

Tag: #beach city outskirts

Greg x pearl mentions / art. Self explanatory.*

I would like to elaborate on this one and clarify that this does NOT apply to fictionfolk. This is specifically regarding source Pearl and Greg.

Hate against zeir source

Source being compared to a bird, finds it offensive

Age Regression posts that include zeir source in some way, ze is personally uncomfortable with age regression or even being seen in that light. (We are unsure if this includes pet regression.)

Very up close images of bugs, apparently <- mainly spiders, mantises and -pede bugs. Ze's fine with moths though

Posts about hating children

Please read this post as well (link)

That's all we got for now, I think. This will be updated as needed - Host

[ dividers by cafekitsune ]

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kikiiswashere · 4 months ago

Text

Children of Zaun - Chapter 29 Sulphur, Saltpeter, and Charcoal

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Things between Zaun and Piltover go from bad to worse. Katya's attempts to protect Viktor do not land as intended.

Note: Thank you all for your patience with this chapter. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, life has been a lot lately. I truly appreciate all you readers and am humbled by all the kind words this labor-of-love of mine has recieved. Y'all keep me going 💗

CW: Canon typical violence, police brutality, gun violence, murder, brief allusion to 69-ing

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 5.5K

Snowdown season ended. And with it, Topside’s patience.

A week after the skies dumped snow on Piltover and Zaun, three of the Children’s contraband runners were intercepted by Enforcers. Their usual route was gobbed up with snow and slush, forcing them to take a more travelled path.

They were stopped outside Augmentation Alley’s scrap pit. Enforcer’s pressed their fronts against the chain link fence, and searched them. Despite the cold, the air sizzled with the heat of tension. Each of the runners’ bodies was taut with anger and fear. Quivering like cornered dogs ready to bite.

The four Enforcers found bottles of clear Freljordian liquor tucked into their coats, shirts, trousers, and boots. They gently laid them in a snowbank nearby. Excitement bubbled beneath their skin over the find. Over what it might mean.

One of the Enforcers snidely asked for the stamped paperwork that was meant to accompany such product. Of course there was none, and the runners stayed tight-lipped, fuming and trembling.

“If there is no paperwork,” the Enforcer had said, his slippery voice hollow in his mask, “where did this come from?”

The other Enforcers pressed their batons firmly against the runners’ backs, the chain link biting into their skin. They said nothing.

“You steal it?”

No answer.

The Enforcer questioning them jerked his chin toward one of his peers. They knocked one of the runners to the ground – an older teen boy with shaggy blond hair. He grunted as he faceplanted into the dirty snow. The other Enforcers hauled him to his knees and found a revolver in his face.

“We can make it so you actually can’t answer.”

Feeling cornered shuts down one’s prefrontal cortex and the amygdala surges forward. Rational thoughts and actions get swallowed up by the primal need to survive. Which is why one of the runners, still held against the fence, flailed suddenly, her elbow threading the space between the Enforcer’s mask and chest, smashing into his neck. He choked and staggered, and she made to run.

Melee followed.

The Enforcer with the revolver shifted his attention and fired. The bullet embedded itself in the girl’s back, and she fell. The teen on his knees leapt up and tackled him. The third runner bucked against the hold of the Enforcer pinning them in place, thrashing out of their thread-bare coat and escaping. They went to scoop up the fallen girl, but her limp, heavy weight felt like death and they left her, darting for the hellish glow of Augmentation Alley. Two of the Enforcers streaked after them.

The tackled Enforcer and older teen wrestled on the ground, hands clamoring for control of the revolver. It went off without warning, without knowing its aim. The Enforcer’s back exploded in a warm, red shower and the young man gasped, kicking his way out from under the dead body.

The remaining Enforcer screamed, leapt forward, and bludgeoned the suspect with his baton. Between the twists of arms, mists of blood, and crunching of bone, another shot from the revolver blared and knocked the Enforcer back. He hit the fence and crumpled, chest gaping.

Shaking, bleeding, gasping, the battered runner gathered as many bottles as he could and crawled toward the nearest alley. He nestled himself in a snowbank, pouring the clear liquor over his wounds and down his throat. He waited for death to come.

It didn’t.

At some point, a pair of strong arms had hoisted him up. Voices murmured and glass clinked. Then there was warmth. The smell of stale beer and sweat. And astringent. The sound of a deep rumble and a rolling whisper. Something soft wrapped around his head. Something sturdy held his arm.

It would be a week before Dustin became remotely lucid. And even then, his eyes remained dark and drawn. Crazed.

The other runner managed to give the Enforcers the slip in the hot maze of Augmentation Alley. Ran appeared at The Last Drop a day later, covered in soot and burns, to inform Vander and Silco of what had happened. Their usual monotone speaking pitch turned jittery with anxiety.

The Children had been unable to retrieve the other runner’s body. The Enforcers that had pursued Ran came back to the crime scene before they could get to her.

There was a raid of Augmentation Alley the next day. Shops were turned inside out. Owners and their families lined up in the narrow streets while an army of Enforcers ransacked their livelihoods and homes.

Pok attempted to stop his shop from being destroyed, and was struck to the ground. Before Mek could come to his father’s aid, an Enforcer’s knee ground into the older man’s back and wrenched his arms around, slapping brass cuffs around his thick wrists.

“You’re under arrest for obstructing law enforcement.”

“You can’t do this!” Mek raged, advancing on the Enforcer.

“Leave it, boy!” Pok wheezed. Their eyes found each other. Even from the ground, Pok could pin his nearly grown son in place. “Leave it. Take care of things.”

The old augmenteer was hauled to his feet and led away. He gave Mek one last firm look, and his son was sure ‘take care of things’ did not just mean their shop.

Take care of Topside.

Pok was taken to Stillwater and never made it out.

The upturning of Augmentation Alley did not produce the suspect Enforcers were looking for. It technically did not reveal anything of note. But LeDaird had already been feeling Council’s pressure to act, to produce results. And now two of his own officers had been killed. The terrorist attack was already personal, but now the threat of the Children of Zaun had threaded beneath his ribs.

Screenings of goods destined for the Undercity intensified. Suppliers were searched along with their loads. New documentation became required. Small and fast skips patrolled wider and longer sections of the coastline, watching for any unusual activity.

Three weeks after the raid on Augmentation Alley, there was an unheard-of assembly at Rynweaver’s mine. Confused and agitated, miners and other employees shuffled into the facility’s cathedral. The space was rimmed with masked and armed Enforcers. The well-hewn walls glowed with strings of chem-bulbs and flood lights blared. Shadows of stalactites, stalagmites, and thin columns crisscrossed over the floor and walls. Atop the lead foreman’s trailer, Rynweaver stood. He looked coldly down at the Trenchers ambling in. Their dirty faces and dull eyes gazing up at him distrustfully.

Kat hung on the outskirts, shoulder brushing up against Silco’s. He’d positioned himself behind a craggy boulder, and had pulled the kerchief he wore around his neck over his nose. It was a habit he had developed the few times he and Rynweaver ever habituated the same space; born of his mother’s desire to keep her son separate from his sire. Lessening the chance of Rynweaver’s greedy gaze finding her boy in a crowd, and putting two-and-two together.

Sevika also stood with them, thick arms crossed over her chest.

Rynweaver held up a gloved hand and the crowd’s murmuring reluctantly dwindled.

“I will make this brief.” His cognac-smooth voice reverberated off metal and stone, sending vibrations beneath his audiences’ skin. “In light of the terrorist attack several weeks ago, the murder of Enforcers, and the raid recently, this mine will be doing its part to flush out the Children of Zaun. If anyone is discovered to be a member of this terrorist organization, they will be immediately fired and arrested. If anyone is found to have information of them and has not come forth, they will be fired and arrested. If anyone is found in support of the Undercity’s freedom, they will be fired and arrested.

“Thanks to these terrorists, the restrictions and protracted wait-time on imports and exports is causing the mine to lose money. To compensate for this unfortunate turn of events, all workers’ salaries shall be diminished by eight-percent – “

At once, the crowd erupted. They jostled and shifted like a school of fish, scales made of pickaxes and shovels glinting in the light. Kat’s stomach dropped, Silco stiffened. Sevika gasped and trudged forward, throwing her voice into the wails of complaints.

The Enforcers on the perimeter moved as one, stepping closer and herding the crowd with the slender but deadly bodies of their rifles.

“Consider this,” Rynweaver called above the din, “motivation for helping Council ferret out these traitors.” The angry swell of voices ebbed. “The sooner they are exterminated, the sooner this nation of Zaun nonsense is laid to rest, the sooner things go back to normal.”

“Normal is unacceptable!” Silco roared later that night at the Drop, standing atop the bar.

The Children rumbled their agreement. Over the course of the recent weeks, their faces had morphed. Once shining and hopeful, now darkening and angry.

“What is normal for Topside is us breathing smog, rationing breadcrumbs, breaking our bodies to service their needs!” A few of the growls rose into barked agreements. Others nodded, eyes hard and glassy. “Their normal will kill us!”

Kat watched him from her spot next to Enyd, heart pounding furiously. It was different than her first meeting. Her blood didn’t run cold with fear. Now, it boiled with indignation and fury. Her body thrummed with Zaunite pride and a disdain for their Sister City. Her chest swelled as Silco continued railing against Piltover’s abuse. Warm, slithering, smokey tendrils of awe filled the spaces between her organs and bones. His unabashed insistent belief and zealousness wafted from him, feeding her. Feeding the room. Their value, worth, and deservedness served to them on a silver platter with his words. And the crowd gorged.

Kat could even feel Enyd’s slight frame puff with pride at her son’s words and command of the room.

Vander leaned against the bar, watching and listening to his Brother’s ire. His face was a craggy series of lines and shadows, as if he’d been hewn from stone. His own fury was palpable. For the first time since overtaking The Last Drop, he hadn’t been able to pay the building’s rent, nor the other taxes Piltover burdened business owners with. It meant a yellow letter and a warning. Never mind the fact that the reason he’d been unable to pay in full was due to Topside’s chokehold on products coming into the Undercity.

Despite this, Vander listened to Silco and watched the crowd with a small amount of caution, ready to temper any hasty suggestions that would get their movement killed before any progress could be made. His eyes found Katya across the room, irritated that it was always her voice in his head when he thought of his responsibility to the Children. To the cause. To Zaun.

Since walking in on her and Silco, he’d avoided her the best he could. If he had to speak to her, his words were brief and colorless. He didn’t know if she thought he was still embarrassed and cagey, or if she was able to pick up on the undercurrent of envy coursing through him. In any case, she did not let on that she was aware of any shift in him. She appeared too preoccupied with the bombastic unfurling of her and Silco’s new relationship. Rarely was one seen without the other, their fingers tightly intertwined.

“We should gut any Enforcer that dares to step foot in the Undercity!” Tolder roared, leaping to his feet and throwing a fist into the air.

Lu jostled at his hip, giggling and tossing his own dumpling of a hand up. There was a small, angry swell of impulsive assent, frothing and spectacular in its heat. But most of the Children remained a dull sort of red. Their frustration grayed – caked and cracked by many heavy layers of unfairness.

Vander straightened at Tolder’s outburst. His heart hammered as he shot a glance up to Silco. His Brother folded his arms across his chest, lips thinning into a tight line.

“They deserve it,” Vander agreed, stepping forward. “But goin’ after Enforcers recklessly ain’ practical r’ wise. Silco n’ me – “

“So what? We’re just suppose’ta take it? What’re we doing here?”

“No,” Silco said firmly. “We will not take it. Haven’t you been listening?” He hopped off the bar and stepped in line with Vander. “We will not return to their status-quo. Nor shall we be stupid and hasty with how we move forward.”

Tolder blanched at his words, but Silco held the older man’s gaze. Then looked around the room.

“We are still in the cold season. Resources are always scarce. Now is the time to lean on each other. Stand shoulder to shoulder as Brothers and Sisters. We shall not be rattled.

“In terms of action, Vander and I have discussed the following – “

He laid out the development for new safehouses – places those in need could go if Janna’s Temple was full. It had been an endeavor spearheaded by Enyd. She reached out to her clients in the marketplaces and on the Promenade. Calling in favors and utilizing her likability to convince them to shelter Children who needed to hide, eat, or sleep. Thereby curling them into the cause.

Smuggling would continue. It had to. The change there would be security detail. Vander, Mek, Sevika, and other brawlers would flank the smaller, faster runners and take out anyone who stood in the way of their route.

Beckett would head a small crew of other Children – those specifically familiar with the docks – and sabotage Enforcer skips. Cutting fuel lines and puncturing hulls. There was also discussion of luring skips to the coast where a few Children would hide in the shadows of the craggy rocks, and use the few long -range rifles they had smuggled in from a Noxian trader to shoot them down. Although, the practicality of that plan was hotly debated. For one, ammunition was scarce. For a second, long-range marksmanship was a skill, and if the Children missed it would cost more than bullets and gunpowder.

“Katya can shoot,” Annie chirped.

Heads swiveled towards the medic, and while her shoulders stiffened, her eyes remained hard.

“I have never been trained. And firing a pistol is different than firing a rifle.”

“To-MAY-to, To-MAH-to,” Annie countered flippantly. “The ends of both go BANG, don’t they?”

“It is not that simple,” Katya replied, keenly aware that she was not scoffing outright at the suggestion. In fact, she felt annoyed by the idea’s pragmatic blocks. A frown formed on her face.

“We can make ammo,” Mek growled. Since his father had been hauled away, the teen had darkened and grown up fast. His voice had sunk and a heavy black cloud settled over his shoulders. His small eyes shone with rage. “Augmentation Alley can mold bullets.”

Katya swallowed, jaw setting. Her eyes locked onto Silco’s, still standing at the bar, before shifting back to Mek. “What of the gunpowder?”

Unsure murmurs vibrated through the tavern. Then, the most unlikely voice answered.

“The mines have gunpowder,” Enyd said.

All eyes fell on her, and she recoiled under the attention. But she took a deep, wheezing breath and stood as tall as her four-foot-eleven frame allowed.

She looked to her son and Vander before continuing. “The black powder used to blow apart the rocks there is the same as gunpowder. It is a fairly simple compound, too. Charcoal, saltpeter, and sulfur.”

Silco took a sharp breath in through his nose, remembering how that rotten-egg scent would linger on her clothes, in her hair.

“We have access to all of those things,” Vander said. “We could jus’ make our own. More work, yeah, but would be one less thing t’hafta smuggle.”

“We will do both,” Silco decided. His eyes shone as he looked at his mother. Possibility pulsed in his chest.

“There are sulfur pots deeper in the cave where the Springs are,” Kat said.

She nuzzled closer, her cheekbone rubbing against Silco’s neck, her left hand idly playing with the fingers of the arm wrapped around her shoulders. A low hum vibrated in his chest as he brought his other arm behind his head. He stared up at her bedroom ceiling in thought.

“Charcoal is easy enough to come by.”

“So is saltpeter,” he added. “It’s crusting every smokestack in Zaun.”

Silence fell between them. Then a thought curled Kat’s lips.

“It is ironic that Topside would shove us underground, only to give us the tools for their own undoing.”

A darkly amused sound huffed in Silco’s chest.

“They’ll choke on their own blood and hubris,” he whispered. “We’ll show them.”

The same warmth from the meeting swelled in Kat’s chest. It felt weighty with righteousness, her lungs struggling a bit under the emotion.

Suddenly, she sat up and made to straddle Silco’s waist. He started at her abrupt movement, but quickly settled back into the pillows. The blazing earnestness in her eyes held him in place. She hinged forward and kissed him, and he reached up to touch her cheek. When she straightened, the hand ghosted over her bare breast and rested on the ribs beneath it. She smiled at him, the dim green glow of the streetlamps outside cutting her into a beautiful shape. Then her smile lessened. Her eyes broke from his gaze and looked to the window.

“What is it?”

Silco watched the muscles in her jaw flex under the chartreuse light as she decided how to articulate whatever she was thinking.

“I have to get Viktor tomorrow.”

A low, short hum rumbled in Silco’s throat. His thumb swept over the mole beneath the swell of her breast. Kat disappeared from his side when she had her brother under her wing. He saw nothing of her between Friday afternoon and Monday morning.

“I will not lie,” she said, “the tenser things between Zaun and Piltover become, the more I am worried. I know there is no way forward without violence, but I am scared something may happen to him.”

Silco gently pet her flank, trying to decide what was best and truest to say.

“You cannot hide him from this forever.”

Kat’s brows pinched. “I am not hiding him. He knows there is unrest – “

“That’s not what I am talking about.”

She said nothing for a long moment. Then sighed, “I am not ready to tell him that I am a part of this. I am not ready to tell him anything.”

Her eyes sheepishly found his in the dark, the subtext of that statement settling heavy between them. She did not want Viktor involved in this part of her life – not the Children, not Enyd, not Silco.

Not yet.

Silco did not fight her on it. It wasn’t his decision to make. Viktor was her family, her responsibility. If Kat felt it was safest for him to be kept separate for the time-being, it wasn’t his place to insist otherwise.

Even so, he asked: “When will you?”

“When our freedom is on the horizon,” she said with a smile. Then, her expression sobered. “Or when I absolutely have to.”

Silco’s lips thinned and he nodded once, his eyes breaking away from hers. Kat reached out, running the back of her fingers down his cheek and over the scar on his lip.

“He is eleven. I want him to be a child as much as he can be. I know it is a privilege most Zaunite children do not get to have, but if I can offer some semblance of youth to him, I will. I want him to have better than I did. In every way. You understand?”

He did. Of course he did. A long sigh softened Silco’s body, and he leaned into her hand.

“I understand. I am selfish, and miss you on the weekends.”

Kat’s mouth quirked into a grin. She leaned over to kiss him, her hand threading through the ebony tangle of his hair.

How easily they fell into one another. Her plushness and his angles slotting together perfectly. How much sweeter would it be once Zaun was free, when their angst lifted and floated away on a sea breeze?

She could not wait.

“I miss you, too,” Kat whispered, pulling back. Then that mischievous, secret glint flashed in her eyes. “Shall I give you something to remember me by?”

Silco’s own eyes darkened, his pupils swallowing any of the faint light filtering into the room. A wolfish grin lifted the corners of his mouth.

“Like I said: I am selfish. I will gladly take whatever you’ll give me.”

“And then some.”

“And then some,” he agreed.

She matched his smile before spinning around, diving head first beneath the covers. Silco’s large hands gripped her hips firmly, and pulled her to his mouth just as her lips wrapped around him.

There was a promise of warmth on the edges of the breeze that fluffed Viktor’s hair. He and Miss Ivy stood by the Bridge’s attendance hut waiting for his sister. He hoped the warm season would begin sooner rather than later, if for no other reason than that he could take his lunch outside again. During the cold season he had no choice but to eat in the cafeteria with the rest of his class. They would shoot him prying stares and whisper about the stitches on his uniform and worn shoes. About how the button-up beneath his vest was a dingy grey color, instead of their pristine, crisp white ones. They’d hiss about how he was from the Undercity, and therefore made him a novelty. Not a novelty to be coveted, but one to be gawked at, poked and prodded. The other-ing had only gotten worse since that airship crash several weeks ago. The boys and girls in his classes plied him with taunts thinly veiled as questions. In more extreme cases, he’d be harassed as he walked across campus: older students yelling slurs at him, gesturing rude things.

He didn’t mention it to anyone. Professor Heimerdinger may have been willing to listen, but nothing would change. He had not seen Councilor Bone since before Snowdown. He didn’t tell Katya because . . . because something was off.

The sense of something being amiss he had had several weeks ago hadn’t ebbed. For weeks, his sister seemed a shell of herself. Attentive enough to keep his needs met, but there had been no light in her eyes. None of her smiles brightened her face. Then, the Friday after the Snowdown holidays, something had changed. Katya was bright again, but it didn’t warm him. She seemed happier, but still distant. Like her mind was elsewhere.

When she did not appear distracted, Katya was bubbling with frigid indignation about Piltover’s recent treatment of the Undercity. In the past, she kept their heads low and made a point to skirt around Enforcers. Avoiding them was not an option any longer, and Katya’s nervousness about them had transformed into anger. She kept her face hard when they walked through the Lanes back to the Sump, the grip she had on Viktor’s shoulder commanding and tight.

They had been stopped for questioning a couple of times. Where were they coming from? Where were they going? Had they seen anything suspicious lately? Katya’s answers had been short and sharp. Not rude enough to set the Enforcers off, but she left no room for them to think she would be any kind of helpful.

They’d been searched once. A perfunctory pat-down of Katya and a search of Viktor’s duffle bag. For a split second, he thought she might actually lash out when one of the Enforcers gently patted his body down. Of course, they had nothing on them, so they were allowed on their way. The rest of the evening, Katya stomped around the apartment, pots and pans clanging, her eyes – stuck in a perpetual glare – continually shot to the door and to the windows. As if she was expecting to see something there. She also kept lifting the collar of the shirt she was wearing – one he did not recognize – up to her nose, and breathing deeply. As if it brought her some sort of comfort.

The increased Enforcer presence in the Undercity also meant that he and Katya spent most of the weekend holed up in the apartment. No trips to the docks, the Oases, the Springs, or any of the marketplaces. And despite the close and constant quarters with his sister, Viktor battled a persistent, creeping sense of alienation.

His young heart twisted painfully in his chest as the ability to find solace on either side of the River dwindled.

“Here she comes,” Ivy sighed suddenly, pulling Viktor from his heavy thoughts.

He blinked his gaze back into focus, and saw Katya striding across the Bridge. She beamed at him, and Viktor desperately wished he could feel it. The gate attendant lifted the barricade, allowing him and Ivy to step through.

As usual, once Viktor was within arm’s reach, Katya gathered him up against her chest in a tight hug. Her nose buried itself in the fluffy folds of his hair, and her lips pressed against his crown.

“I missed you.”

Viktor knew she wasn’t lying. Yet, the sentiment seemed to bounce off his heart, unable to sink in.

“I missed you, too.”

She drew back and pet a hand through his hair. Her eyes gleamed as she took him in, an intense look of pride that strangely left him feeling lacking.

“Come. Let us go home.”

As had been the case for the past several weeks, Katya only acknowledged Ivy enough to take Viktor’s duffle from her.

“Have a nice weekend, Miss Ivy,” he offered before limping away.

The aide smiled sweetly at him. “You as well, Viktor.”

“Come along.”

Katya gently tugged on his coat, encouraging him to step away from Piltover. He gave Ivy a meek smile and she waved good-bye.

As they slowly traveled toward the conveyor car station, Viktor eyed the artwork and graffiti that now decorated buildings, walkways, fencing, and lampposts. Blue birds and ‘Zs’ scribbled in varying art styles and detail. Slogans of ‘FREE ZAUN,’ ‘WE ARE THE STORM’S FURY,’ and ‘FUCK TOPSIDE’ were written in manic zig-zags of chalk. It made him feel nervous. Dread brushed gently against his stomach.

The pair stiltedly ascended the few steps up to the conveyor car, and Katya flashed her Academy-issued badge. She and Viktor took their seats, and he fished out one of his steno pads from his school satchel. His sister smiled as he reviewed the notes he’d made that week in Professor Heimerdinger’s robotics class. Sketches of gears, cogs, and possible engine designs covered the pages.

“Still planning on a boat?”

Viktor nodded. “We will get to start constructing in a few weeks. We have to get designs approved first.”

Katya nodded. Her body jostled as the conveyor car began to slide down into the Undercity.

She pet a hand through his hair and said, “I am sure you will have no problem getting your plans approved.”

“I want to make an engine that is not reliant on traditional fuel. Like wood or coal,” he said, eyes glued to his notes and drawings. “Something that is sustainable and renewable. That way, maybe, it is something that can be transitioned to a larger scale. To help out the fishermen at the docks.”

Katya’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and drew him close. She kissed the crown of his head.

“That is a marvelous idea.”

Viktor kept his notebook close the rest of the night. Skimming through pages, adding notes and annotations. Adjusting sketches and scribbling new ones.

Gnawing on his lip, he sat back in his chair at the kitchen table. Katya stood at the sink, washing the dishes from dinner. He looked at his notebook, then Katya, then the living room window, then Katya again.

“Kat?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s getting warmer out. Do – do you think that we could go out this weekend to try and find materials for my boat?”

Katya stilled, the soft scrubbing of her sponge silencing. Viktor watched as her shoulders slumped. Disappointment began smoldering in his belly before she even turned around.

“I thought the Academy was providing materials,” she said, turning to face him. A hand on her hip, her mouth fighting a frown.

“They are. But . . . I want to use things from the Undercity. We could go to the scrap pit by Augmentation Alley. Just get scraps. We don’t have to even spend any money.”

Katya lost the fight with the grimace trying to spread across her face. Viktor held her gaze, but he could not understand why her emotions were being so fickle. He knew things were precarious in the Lanes as of late, but he was so tired of spending his weekends holed up in their apartment.

“Viktor – “

“Please!” he burst. “Please? Nothing will happen. We will not draw any attention to ourselves. Enforcers won’t bother us. Please? I want to go out. I want to find things for my boat.”

A heavy sigh blew through Katya’s lips as she hung her head. Viktor watched as the fingers on her hip tightened, the skin on her knuckles pulling white. His lower lips tucked itself under his incisors as he waited for her verdict.

“We can go – “ Viktor sat up and gasped “ – but if there are more than two Enforcers skulking about, we will come home.”

Her brother nodded emphatically, unwilling to press his luck. Katya’s eyes did not soften, and he tried to not let it bother him. He turned back to his notebook, pretending that his sister was just as excited as he was.

After a beat, Katya wiped her hands on the rag hung over the kitchen faucet before stalking over to her coat, hung on the peg by the door. Surprised, Viktor looked up as she whipped the garment around herself.

“What are you – “

“I need to go take care of something,” she answered, shaking the collar out around her head. “If I am not back before nine, get ready for bed. Yes?” He nodded slowly. “Good. I love you. I’ll be back soon. Do not open the door for anyone.”

Viktor’s brow crumpled as she whisked out of their home. The sharp sound of the door clattering into its frame echoed in his ears. It vibrated against his bones. It inspired loneliness to press against his chest. And frustration to bubble beneath his skin.

Katya kept her promise and they visited the scrap pit the following day. Relief sagged through Viktor’s body when he counted only two Enforcers in the immediate area. Eagerly, he scurried toward the bent and barbed metal gates. His eagerness was quelled as he saw a small pile of candles and trinkets piled against a section of fence a few feet away. There was a framed picture of a young girl leaned against half-melted pillar candles. Dread swiped a cold finger over his stomach. He ignored it and pressed onward. Clumsily, he sat before the nearest tangled heap of metal, and began scouring through it.

Katya lingered behind him, arms crossed over her chest, eyes continually scanning their surroundings. Her lack of interest made him feel self-conscious. A small voice in his head sneered that he shouldn’t have pushed for this. But when his hand landed on a large, uncorroded gear, that voice was drowned out by excitement.

“Kat! Look! I think this will be the perfect size for the motor’s main driver!”

Her head snapped back to look at him. Her eyes were wide and blank, confirmation that she was not actually there with him. She blinked and her gaze focused on the cog in his hand. She smiled.

“Very good. Are you going to put it in your satchel?”

He nodded. “It would be great if I could find another one. Or, at least, one of similar size. Will you help me look?”

The small pull at the corner of her mouth sent a bolt of shame through his chest. But before his face could fully fall, Katya knelt beside him. She held her hand out, and he gingerly placed the gear in her palm.

Inspecting it closely, she asked, “Do the teeth need to be the same, or just the size of the gear?”

“Ideally both.”

Together, they dug through piles of metal. Just beyond the scrap pit’s ridge, Augmentation Alley smoked and burned, its forges in full-force. When the wind picked up, Katya instructed Viktor to pull his scarf over his mouth and nose. The boy grimaced, but complied. He was already sweating. The day and activity proving too warm for the coat and scarf Katya had been insistent on. But his annoyance waned as they continued to sift through scraps together. Every now and then, she would present a particularly interesting looking twist of metal or clean gear, and ask for his opinion.

Slowly, carefully, ease dared to flicker in Viktor’s chest. The interaction between him and his sister leaning much more familiar than they had in several weeks. He held to it tightly, even when they would shift to a new pile, and her eyes would lift and the energy of her presence slipped for a moment. When she hunkered down again, Viktor would sneak a peek in the direction she had looked, expecting to see an Enforcer. There was none. Instead, a slender silhouette swaggered back-and-forth just beyond the scrap pit’s fence.

For some reason, that pricked at Viktor’s nerves more than any Enforcer.

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antifainternational · 2 years ago

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Far-Right Mass Shootings, May 2022-May 2023

Now that we know that the mass murderer in Allen, Texas was a far-right extremist and incel (as well as that puzzling but not-that-uncommon mix of being a racialized neo-nazi/white supremacist), we wanted to illustrate that mass shootings by the far-right are not aberrations with this list of similar events from over the last twelve months: December 23, 2022: A gunman opens fire in Paris, killing 3 Kurdish people & wounding 3 more in a plan to “kill non-European foreigners.” The attacker had just been released from prison after attacking migrants in Paris with a sword the year before. December 19-20, 2022: 22-year-old Anderson Aldrich enters a CO. gay bar with an assault rifle & opens fire, killing five and wounding 25 others before he is subdued. November 25, 2022: A 16-year-old former student storms two schools in Aracruz, Brazil, armed with two pistols and wearing a bulletproof vest emblazoned with a swastika. The teen shoots 16 people in the rampage, killing three of them. October 12, 2022: After posting an online manifesto against Jewish & LGBTQ+ people, a Bratislava, Slovakia teen shoots three people outside a local gay bar, killing two and wounding the third person before fleeing. The suspect was found dead the next day. September 27, 2022: Brothers Mark & Michael Sheppard are charged with manslaughter for opening fire on a group of migrants getting water near Hudspeth County, TX. One victim died from gunshot wounds, and one is recovering at an El Paso hospital. September 26, 2022: A gunman wearing a balaclava and a t-shirt with a swastika emblazoned on it enters an elementary school in Izhevsk, Russia, killing 15 people - 11 of them children - and wounding another 39 before turning the gun on himself. September 11, 2022: 53-year-old Igor Lanis’ obsession with far-right conspiracies ends when he guns down his wife, 25-year-old daughter, & family dog, before turning his shotgun on responding police, who shoot him dead. Only his daughter survives. August 9, 2022: A group of Black men helping someone jump-start a car in a Macon, GA. Wal-Mart parking lot are subjected to racial abuse by another man who then pulls a gun and begins shooting at them. May 15, 2022: 68-year-old David Wenwei Chou is charged with hate crimes after storming a Taiwanese church in Laguna Woods, CA. and shooting parishoners, killing one and injuring five others

May 14, 2022: An 18-year-old white supremacist opens fire in a supermarket in a black neighbourhood in Buffalo, NY, killing ten customers and wounding three others while livestreaming the attack.

May 11, 2022: A masked gunman walks shoots 3 Korean women working in a Dallas hair salon. Authorities believe the incident is connected to two earlier drive-by shootings targeting Asian-owned businesses in the Dallas area on April 2nd and May 10th. This is just a list of mass shootings committed by bigots, fascists, and far-right extremists over the last 12 months. We haven't included shooting with less than two victims, thwarted mass shootings, or any of bombings, stabbings, vehicle attacks, or other acts of violence.

In 2022 we documented 477 violent incidents motivated by hate or committed by bigots, fascists, or right-wing extremists, including 112 shootings. These attacks killed 366 people and injured 399 others. Read our 2022 report here. When we say anti-fascism = self-defence, we meant it. The endpoint for far-right ideology is mass murder. Fascists intend to do harm to our communities and will seize on any opportunity to hurt others. The only thing stopping them is ourselves. WE PROTECT US!

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definesanity · 8 months ago

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Lords and Dames That Sung in The Chapels on a Sunday

There was a library in Laplace, which many borrowed books from. Likewise, there is one in the SPDM, too.

Due to circumstances, the one from the former to had to help the latter, leaving Mesmer Jr. to take the part as the librarian in Laplace.

Which also meant she had to deal with the genius herself.

Every so often, at the exact same time, she always came by. Either to borrow or return a book, and always making sure to say at least one thing to Mesmer Jr. before she left.

It made her want to tear out Vertin's throat and--

Vertin came towards the desk, holding a borrowed book. "Good day, Mesmer Jr."

"...Good day, Vertin." replied the girl who did not want any interaction with any Arcanist ever. "Returning?"

"Yes, I am," she passed over the book to the Mesmer child. "I found it quite interesting, if quite morbid."

It was, of all things, a book detailing Jack The Ripper. Insane.

Mesmer's expression did not shift, but she did look from the book to Vertin. "I did not expect you to enjoy such grotesque stories, Miss Vertin."

"I don't, really," she replied, face equally stoney. "But I found it interesting on the many factors involved with the cases in 1888 Whitechapel."

"'Factors', you say?" Mesmer Jr. replied. No one else was in the library, meaning she had to keep the conversation going. "Like what? The police dogs?"

"Indeed," Vertin nodded, which was not what Mesmer was expecting. "The Metropolitan police failed with a number of aspects; using bloodhounds was one of them."

"I hope you realise that the story isn't true."

"I know, yes; I still find it intriguing. Moreso when you consider the fact we still know not many details of Jack the Ripper."

"And why, pray tell, are you so enamoured with that madman?"

Vertin shrugged. "A current interest. And, it helps to converse with others."

"Ah, yes. Because people would love to discuss serial killers." Mesmer rolled her eyes.

"And what we are doing right now, then?"

"..." Mesmer paused. Then, placed the book back on the shelf. "Are you here to borrow another book, Miss Vertin?"

"No, just wanted to return it." Vertin gave a smile and a bow. "Good day."

She started to walk out.

After a moment, Mesmer followed after her.

"You appearing every day is a plot, isn't it?"

Vertin shook her head. "Not at all."

"You had never used the library prior to my starting there. You must have a reason behind it."

"..." Vertin looked, for once, conflicted. Eventually, she gave a short sigh. "A guilty consciousness. That is all."

"And who's fault is that, hm?" Mesmer Jr replied, her tone clipped. "Need I remind you of--?"

"Mesmer." Vertin's voice cut her off. It was quiet, but Mesmer could hear anger in it.

"Oh? Touched a nerve, did I? I'm surprised that exposed nerve hasn't healed yet, all these years later."

"Mesmer, I'm warning you." Vertin's expression was stormy, eyes narrowed.

"Now you're warning, huh? Could have saved a group of innocent children, had you warned us!" she wasn't shouting, but her voice had been raised.

"Mesmer."

"Oh, no, but you thought you had everything planned out, didn't you?! Our dear little girl, our dear little genius, a leader for a group of children!"

"Mesmer!"

"And look where we are now, Vertin:" she stared directly at Vertin, hatred in her eyes. "Us, alive. And Isabella and The Ring? De--"

SLAP.

It took both parties to register what had happened. Vertin was the first, eyes filled with fury. "THE FOUNDATION KNEW, DAMN IT!"

Mesmer Jr. placed a hand near her right cheek, feeling a stinging sensation. "What did--?"

Vertin grabbed a hold of both of Mesmer Jr.'s hands, and slammed her against the wall, staring down at her, body shaking in pure, unadulterated, anger.

"Every move we made on that day, every fight, every step, even the timing in which we defeated Lilya? All planned by Constantine."

Mesmer had never seen this side of Vertin before. Like all bubbles, you can only make it grow so much before it bursts. And in this case, it bursted violently and swiftly.

"There was no way of knowing I'd lead them to their deaths!" Vertin exclaimed, their voice now slightly hysterical from 4 years worth of repressed feelings and emotions. "And no way in knowing I'd become the Timekeeper!"

She squeezed hard on Mesmer's arms, and the girl knew it would leave rashes. "So for once, in your goddamn life, DON'T. RUSH. TO CONCLUSIONS."

With a rough sigh, she let go of Mesmer Jr's arms. And, without looking back, left.

Mesmer slid down the wall, and looked at her arms. Peeling back the sleeves, she saw red start to form.

She should be hateful. She should go and report Vertin. Heck, she can, right now.

...But then...

Why is it that she feels...

...She deserves this?

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

She did not often use Arcanium. But this was an exception.

She used it to stop the rashes from vanishing from her arms, and spent the next day trying to figure out what was going on.

Mesmer Jr. thought on Vertin. Not the Timekeeper, not that small, idiotic child, but Vertin.

And found that, no matter how hard she could, she could not feel any distate towards her. If she tried, all she felt would be... an empty feeling.

Vertin was just... Vertin. A girl thrust into a role she did not want.

Like herself, in some ways.

She rolled down her sleeves, and got to work.

She thought during it, too.

Arcanists were chaotic, it's in their nature.

It was Constantine who showed her that...

She stopped dead in her tracks in her room.

Was that... also apart of what happened--?

"That's a curious expression."

She turned to face the intruder, a mask set immediately. "Get out, X."

X did not listen, that smile on his lips taunting her. "You know, being a researcher, my field often overlaps with others. In this case, I can safely say I can fully understand that you're experiencing some... interesting emotions."

"..." Mesmer Jr. sighed. "No, you know what? I don't have enough energy to deal with you. Good day."

She slammed her head into the desk, and as planned, fell unconscious.

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

She woke back up in her own bed. She could tell it was, because she was the only one to have air fresheners in her room.

Her eyes didn't have to adjust to the light, it being low in brightness, and saw a retreating figure.

One with a top hat.

"Wait." she rasped out.

Vertin stopped. Then, turned around.

"Hello, Mesmer." she said. "I... owe you an--"

"If you're going to apologise, then let me do it." she said, controlling her breathing as the headache (unexpected) began to set in. "I provoked you. It was only natural you'd respond, what with so much repressed emotions."

Vertin stayed silent, but she looked momentarily surprised. Not that Mesmer Jr. could blame her. She isn't one to be trustworthy, after everything.

"...What I'm trying to say is..." she breathed in and out, struggling to get the words out. Saying aorry is not something she often does. And for good reason. But in this case...

"...I'm... sorry, for my behaviour."

Vertin looked at her. And then, smiled. "Thank you for being honest. I also apologise, although that is for the..." she trailed off, and Mesmer rolled her eyes.

"I wouldn't have kept the rashes if I didn't want to. Whatever you did, it made me think on a number of things; the fact that I have never gotten to know Vertin was one of them."

Vertin, once more, looked quite surprised. "...If that is the case... when you have recovered, would you care to do that?"

Mesmer looked at Vertin. And, for a split second, Vertin swore she saw the lips of the girl upturn. "Provided there is coffee. It is not often that I indulge, and I want to make sure that I do not perish due to boredom during it."

Vertin gave a nod, smiling. And then left, leaving Mesmer Jr. alone once more with her thoughts.

She looked over to her bedside.

It was a music player, and it has a cassette in it. She leaned over and turned it on.

A song she did not recognise started to play. And the calmness to it, like being near a beach, lulled her into a sleep.

She did not recall the dream. But when she woke up, she found her lips in a smile.

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

She drank from her coffee slowly and carefully, taking time to enjoy every ounce of it.

As she said, she did not partake in it often. But if there is one thing Mesmer Jr. enjoys, it is the taste of espresso. A comfort, in a world of stupidity and nonsense...

Speaking of nonsensical, Mesmer Jr. looked at Vertin, who drank heartily from a cup of mocha.

The two sat in silence in the Suitcase. There was no one here but them.

Mesmer Jr. took the time to truly study Vertin. Her face was a healthy flush, and Mesmer could smell remains of soap and deodorant on her.

"For the record, pineapple does not suit you." Mesmer Jr. commented.

"It was the only one I had at that current moment." Vertin replied.

The two, once again, went into silence. It felt... strange. One was meant to hate the other and, yet, that very same person who sat there did, in fact, not hate the other one.

Hatred is an emotion that is something Mesmer feels often, mostly towards those in the ward. And, yet, she felt none towards Vertin.

And it annoys her greatly.

"If you don't mind me asking..." Vertin spoke up. "You have heard quite a bit about me, either thorough Laplace or the Foundation; so, would you like to share anything about yourself?"

"Not particularly," Mezmer Jr. immediately replied. "...But, since you are insisting, there was this one event I can remember from my childhood.

"When I was younger, I just so happened to write down my thoughts or any passing interests on pieces of paper. This came to bite me as, one day, my father noticed them and brought me downstairs.

"'Jane, Jane!' he yelled, waving the piece of paper in his hand. 'Look at how intelligent our daughter is! It is certainly a strange way of seeing the world, but one oh so interesting!'"

Mesmer Jr. looked deeply unimpressed. "My mother took the paper, gave it a quick glance, looked at my father, and said: 'James. These are the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody."

A small but noticeable snort came from Vertin upon hearing this.

"After that, I can't remember any more, because I was sent to the SPDM." she gave another sip of her coffee. "By the way, having all that sugar could lead to a heart attack."

Vertin immediately put the cube of sugar she had in her hand down. "And you?"

Mesmer Jr. took another sip. "I will be fine. I measured the exact amount I needed and used it."

"I've always noticed that you recall the times of ceratin things; it's rare to meet someone with a photographic memory."

"Well, congratulations to you." Mesmer Jr. remarked, and finished her drink. "..."

She looked away. And then, back. "...Thank you for the coffee, Vertin."

"My pleasure," Vertin smiled. And then stood up. "And, before you go..."

She passed a gift box to her. "Here. Sorry if it's nothing special."

Mesmer Jr. gave a non-committal hum and left the room.

She arrived back at her own in the Suitcase, and opened the box.

It was a plant. A very distinctive one, too.

Lycoris radiata. The red spider lily.

She could have simply returned it. And left it be. A memory.

Instead, she held it gently, and stared.

And stared.

And, then, as the stared, she noted a feeling inside of her stomach.

A flutter, as she stared at the gift in her hands.

Maybe...

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

They met again and again, over the course of three weeks.

During that time, Medicine Pocket was seen entering Mesmer Jr.'s room and later seen leaving via running out, their right hand broken. Both parties deny that Mesmer Jr. had any influence.

During it, both also thought more on each other.

Vertin saw Mesmer Jr. as an enigma, one that had many mysteries, and Vertin was curious about each and every one of them.

She was a girl that had so many things go wrong for her, and no one was there to help pick up the pieces. During that short time, Vertin felt as if she had gotten to know someone she both knew, and did not know both at the same time.

She... loved Mesmer Jr. And she knew that Mesmer would never return it.

To Mesmer Jr., she saw Vertin much like the flower she was given. Mesmer Jr. knew both of their hands were dirty with many deeds, but Mesmer Jr. learnt something during these interactions:

That fluttering was caused by intense emotional responses. In layman's terms, she... loved Vertin.

And that scared her, more than it did disgust her.

She did not want to become the one Vertin loved, as Mesmer did not want anything bad to happen to her.

Mesmer was afraid. Afraid and, she can admit to herself, cowardly.

And, yet...

That gentle embrace gave both new worries and made old ones vanish.

"Mesmer..."

The two stood in silence. A gentle one, once more.

And, very slowly, Mesmer held Vertin, too.

"...Jane."

"Hm?" Vertin looked at Mesmer, who looked back.

"When it is merely you and I, call me by my first name."

Vertin nodded. And smiled to herself.

Jane Mesmer Jr. What a beautiful name.

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

The door opened, and Vertin looked up. "Hello, Jane."

"Don't." Mesmer said, sitting down on her bed. "I know that I said I wanted to try and talk to other Arcanists, why did you stick me with Regulus?"

"She was the only one available."

"..." Mesmer sat in silence. Then, looked up. "My term as the temporary librarian has come to a close. I was informed on my way back five minutes and thirty-one seconds ago."

"Shame," Vertin said. "I... enjoyed you being there."

"You only did to come and see me. And, besides, Jack the Ripper?"

"It was the only book I saw at the time," Vertin tried to defend herself.

Still, Mesmer looked at her. And then, sighed. "I suppose... as far as Arcanists go, anyways... you..."

"..."

"...'

Mesmer looked at Vertin, a very small, but still there, smile on her face. "You are... alright, I suppose."

#ryuusei's works #reverse 1999 #r1999 #vertin #mesmer jr #mesmervert #mestin #mesvert #which one is it lmao

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ncstalgicz · 2 years ago

Text

⋇⊶⊰ 𝗕𝗨𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗗 𝗠𝗘𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦 ⊱⊷⋇

miles morales x reader

During ITSV - ATSV | !SPOILERS AHEAD!

sypnosis: where you lose your memories helping Gwen in a battle and only remember one certain event, also that some of the scenes mentioned are from atsv and itsv plot: angst, fluff warnings: minor blood, trauma, slow-burn, atsv or itsv does not belong to me words: 3.3k music: i bet on losing dogs - Mitski

~ part one ~

Before Miles was able to catch the monitor, Doc Ock took it with her tentacles on her back. Miles was falling off the branch but before he and Peter B. Parker could fall, webs tangled on their body. You and Gwen zoomed past both of them using your webs. You shoot your webs towards the two tentacles on her right while Gwen took the two down on the left.

You land next to Gwen as you take off your mask. “Hey, guys.” Gwen greets them both. “Wanda?” The boy with the Spider-Man merchandise asks looking at you mostly. “It’s Gwen actually.” “You know her? Very cool.” Peter comments sarcastically. “I’m Y/n!” You tell them cheerfully. “We’re from another dimension. I mean another another dimension.” Gwen specifies. (I’ll skip Gwen’s intro and move onto yours)

Alright let’s do this one last time, for real this time. My name is Y/n L/n, I was bitten by a radioactive spider. And for the last 1 and a half year, I’ve been the one and only spider women. I saved my Uncle, I couldn’t save my brother. “Peter…” You hold his body hugging him close to you as you weep softly. After that I distanced myself from everyone, my boyfriend broke up with me. It hurt more because my brother was always there for me, but not anymore. I was trying to figure out who killed him when suddenly this weird thing appeared in my room. I got sucked into the weird looking portal and ended up in New York, except it wasn’t my New York. My spider senses told me to head to Visions Academy where I met Gwen. We told each other that we were both Spider Women. I wasn’t the only one was my first thought, we both belonged in the same dimension and we became close and that’s when I met him.

Miles Morales saved New York from being sucked into a black hole. He became my new friend along with Peter. He’s the reason why I didn’t grieve about my brother anymore. I finally socialized and became friends with other people. I became a new role model to children, The PDNY soon started connecting the dots and found Spider Women to be a suspect of the murder of my brother. My dad was a police officer as well. He would always tell me how close he was to catching Spider Women. He never knew it was right in front of him this whole time.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

1 MONTH LATER

You were currently fighting the Vulture along with Gwen. You were thrown against a wall and so was Gwen, vulture soon grabbed you both and pinned you against the wall. Vulture lifted his talons up getting ready to scratch Gwen when suddenly a red neon web got attached to the talon. Suddenly a familiar looking portal appeared and a weird-looking Spider-Man came in throwing himself towards Vulture as you look at him making eye contact. You and Gwen get out of vulture’s grasp as you and Gwen swing yourself towards the unknown man. You look at his hands and notice claws and a watch.

“I’m sorry who exactly are you supposed to be?” Gwen asks first. “That’s classified.” The man turns his head around glancing both of you a look. “You’re…The Blue Panther?” “No.” “The Caped Blue Seder?” “No.” “Dark Garfield?” “Stop.” “Macho Libre!” You exclaim this time. “I’m from another dimension.” The man tells you two. “You are?!” Gwen puts her hands over her mouth in shock. “Wow, actually I am not confused.” You snicker at her comment. “My name is Miguel O’Hara.” The man was about to tell Gwen about his backstory when she stops him. He was telling you both about the watch, how he can go through different dimensions without glitching with the watch, and convincing you both to let him fight Vulture by himself. “Alright, knock yourself out.” You told him noticing Vulture appearing behind him. “What is that supposed to mean—” Before he can finish his sentence he was attacked from behind by vulture. (I’m going to skip the whole battle scene lol)

Miguel was about to bite the vulture until he noticed a helicopter telling him to put the body down. “I’m a good guy.” Miguel reassured them. “You don’t look like a good guy.” They answered back. The vulture threw his knives towards the helicopter as the aircraft started going down. Your spider senses warned you as you looked up and see the helicopter going through the damaged building. You and Gwen looked at each other as if you had the same idea. You used your webs to make a spider web, you shoot your webs into different directions until the helicopter starts getting close to the ground damaging most of the building. You were to busy to notice the pieces of the building started to fall off. Gwen swifts through them but notices you were to busy saving the helicopter. “Y/N LOOK OUT!” She shouts for you. You get out of your daze before a piece of the building hits you on the head.

You felt the harsh pain in your head as you started falling down. Jess soon comes to the rescue with her motorcycle as she catches you in time. “We’ve got an injured spider.” She tells Miguel through the Watch. Gwen hurriedly shoots her webs to catch the helicopter, with all her strength she grabs the webs as they start to rip from the hold of the helicopter. Once successful she lets go and pants heavily, she quickly goes down towards the floor where she tries to walk but falls on the floor. (I’m also going to skip the father and daughter scene)

Before Gwen’s father could shoot her. Miguel throws a device which locks her father into this red looking cage. “No, Dad!” Gwen tries to reach for him but Jess stops her. “It’s alright we got you, right Miguel?” On Miguel’s shoulder is Vulture and your unconscious body as he lays you down on the floor checking your pulse. “Y/n…” Gwen walks towards your unconscious figure, she looks at your bloody head as tears start forming. “Shes alive but she needs medical attention.” Miguel reassured her. “Lyla, scan this mess.” Lyla scans, “No further anomalies. Canon remains intact.” She tells him.

With the watch, Miguel opens a portal as Gwen’s father looks at his daughter who was holding you in her arms caressing your head. “We can’t just leave them here. She’s doing this on her own.” Jess tells Miguel who looks at both of your figures. “I don’t know how to fix this.” Gwen cries softly looking at her dad. Jess looks at Miguel as he sighs and pulls out two watches. “Yeah, well, join the club.” He tells Gwen throwing both watches towards her. She looks at the watch in her hand as she puts it on her and your wrist. Miguel grabs your body and hauls you over his shoulder. Both Miguel and Jess go through the portal with him carrying you as Gwen stares at her father one last time before she goes through the portal. Once you got into Miguel’s Dimension, he immediately transports you to the medical wing and gives the doctors a brief summary of what happened. Gwen was waiting outside sitting on the floor with her head buried in her hands crying softly for her friend and for what had happened with her father earlier.

Two weeks later you finally wake up from your long coma. Gwen was alerted immediately and gave up on her mission to head towards you not caring about the consequences. Once she arrived she sneaked past the lady who was answering a call and found your room. “Excuse me miss.” A nurse behind Gwen noticed her tapping Gwen’s shoulder. Gwen quickly grabbed the wrist of the nurse as she exclaims in shock unwrapping her hand from the nurse. “If you’re here for her..I’m sorry…she has post-traumatic amnesia.” The nurse told her as Gwen took off her mask sobbing silently. She looked at your figure who was staring emotionless at the ceiling. “Is there anything I can do to help?” Gwen asks the nurse. “Time is all we can hope for. Let’s hope in a couple of weeks she’ll be able to remember certain things.” The Nurse walked away from the grieving girl.

During the week, Nurses would always check up on you asking what you remember. “I remember feeling pain…someone shouting…” you muttered as you hold your head in pain. Gwen would always be there for you during the check-ups hoping it would help your memory if she was there. Once the nurses left Gwen tried talking to you. “Hey, Y/n. Do you know who I am?” Gwen asks. You look at her and shake your head, she sighs as she lifts up her mask. “What’s the outfit for?” You ask her. “You had one too. It’s for us Spider people. You know?” Gwen tells you as you shake your head.

Gwen starts telling you about spider man and the radioactive spider, how you became spider women along with her and had these amazing adventures saving people. She didn’t wanna tell you about your family hoping that it would help your social anxiety. “My brother…is he worried?” You ask, worry laced in your voice. Gwen never knew you still remembered your brother. She looks at you not answering your question, she decided to ignore it. “Have I told you about the time you saw me perform?” Gwen asked you changing the subject. You shake your head.

For the past week Gwen has been visiting quite a while that she sneaked in two of her friends, Pavitr and Hobie. You got along with them just fine, they would bring you tasty food, fun games and even taught you the basics of your powers. You never asked the same question ever again. You were soon gonna be able to leave again anyway so you would find out yourself later. Once you were able to leave, your friends took you everywhere, to Pavitr’s Dimension, meeting his girlfriend, drinking some chai tea which you got scolded by him, experiencing traffic. You visited Hobie’s dimension watching one of his bands. When you asked Gwen to go to your dimension she declined. “But why not?” You asked her again. “We just can’t, or well I can’t at least.” She muttered the last part.

You never knew how to go to your dimension so you were never able to go, but one day you will find out.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

1 YEAR LATER

Miles was on his bed listening to music on his headphones. Next to him was his notebook full of drawings of you and Gwen, mostly you. He wasn’t paying attention until Gwen called his name. “Miles. Miles!” He got up startled when he noticed the weird portal. Gwen got down with an orange jumper around her shoulders. “Nice room.” Gwen started observing everything while Miles was looking at her confused of where she came from. He hissed when she took off the action figure from the box, which pained him. She noticed the notebook. Miles tried grabbing it but Gwen was quicker and turned the pages noticing the drawings of Y/n. Her face held pain since he didn’t know about your condition yet. Then she stops on a drawing of her.

“We missed you too.” Gwen told the boy. “Wanna get out of here?” She asked. “I’m grounded.” Miles told her. “Oh.” She went towards the window and took off her jumper. “Is Spider-Man grounded?” She asked with her mask on.

Both Gwen and Miles were swinging around the city until they decided to stop for a short break. “So, how’s Y/n?!” Miles broke the silence watching the sunset while hanging upside down. “She’s been good…” Gwen faded. She toyed around with her watch nervously. Miles noticed her fidgeting around. “Let’s go back, yeah?” Gwen asked Mile’s starting to get up.

They got back and used their webs to grab food. They were underneath a water silo where they were eating all the fresh food. “This is what keeps you from glitching when you go to a different universe?” Miles asks Gwen holding the watch in his hand. Gwen spaces out until she notices Miles clicking something from the watch. “Oh, no no no. Miles don’t touch that!” Gwen hurriedly grabs the watch keeping it away from the kid. “My bad.” Miles stands their guilty. “I’m sorry for thrashing out like that.” Gwen apologizes. “It’s fine.” It stays quiet for a while until Miles kept thinking about Y/n.

“Why didn’t Y/n visit me?” Miles breaks the silence. “We couldn’t.” Gwen tells him looking at the city view. ‘I have to tell him eventually.’ Gwen thinks to herself. “Listen Miles, something bad happened to her—” Before she was able to explain Miles parents appeared and started talking.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

A COUPLE MINS LATER

“I should probably go.” Gwen takes her leave, putting on her jumper that was given to her by Rio, Mile’s mom; “Wait, Gwen what about Y/-” Miles was cut off by Gwen leaving immediately. ‘What was it that she was trying to tell me?’ He thought to himself. “You should go after her.” Rio tells his son. “Just promise me you’ll be back. With a better cake.” She scolds him. Miles hugs his mom as he follows Gwen with his Spider-Man suit on. Gwen stops in front of an abounded building that seemed to have giant holes all over. She distracted the cops by reversing the car which successfully caught their attention.

She swiftly got inside the building and told Lyla to scan the area to figure out what has happened. Miles follows her inside as he uses his invisibility to not get caught. As she saw the scene unfold with The Spot creating more holes on his body to go to different dimensions. “Shoot! Shoot! Shoot! Shoot.” She kept muttering as The spot creates a tiny machine. Jess soon appears behind her. “Gwen. How’s the chase going?” Jess asks the teen noticing her stressed state. “Uh, it’s going great. Almost got him.” Gwen lies. “Jess we’ve got another anomaly who seems to be moving quickly.” Lyla tells her. “So you’ve almost got him right?!” Jess asks Gwen. “You made another visit to the kid again, didn’t you?”

Gwen stays quiet and nods softly. “Gwen you can’t keep doing that. Think about what would happen if the spot gets away, Y/n already tracked his location several times but he moves quickly.” Jess told the girl. Miles ears perk up at the mention of your name. “He’s here, no wait here, here, wow this guy moves a lot, okay he’s not moving anymore at Earth-50101. Y/n is heading there at the moment.” Lyla told the ladies. “Gwen you have one day to fix this mess, until then you can’t see the kid anymore.” Jess told her. “Alright.” Gwen looks down at the floor.

Miles eyes widen in betrayal. Gwen opens up a portal as she looks at the city outside. “Goodbye, Miles.” She goes through the portal. Miles turns visible now as he looks at the portal. He remembered the mention of you going to, Earth-50101? ‘What am I Doing? What am I doing?’ Miles hesitated before he went inside the portal where he was sucked into this tube and was transferred to Earth-50101. He kept falling where he passed roads as he shot out his webs but before he could grab on he started glitching, hurting himself in the process as he continues falling. Going through hanged clothes, pedestrians, and finally falling all over again.

He soon hears The Spots Voice and Looks over to see Gwen and..you. “Stay still.” Gwen looks at The Spot as he keeps going through different holes, trying to keep up with him you shoot a web at him while he was talking to people on a balcony. You were about to punch him until Miles shouts your name. “That’s the best you can do?” The Spot kicks your face by making a hole as you start falling. “Oh no, Y/n!” Miles catches you swinging away. “Did you follow me?” Gwen appears looking at the Miles who was carrying you. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to see Y/n real quick.” Miles told her looking at you. “Um, who are you?” You ask the unknown boy.

“What? It’s me, Miles..Miles Morales?” You look at him confused until you look away and see Pavitr heading towards you three. “Hey, Y/n, Gwen, who’s the new guy?” He asks. “This is Miles. He came in unattended.” Gwen told him. “Wow, you came in here without permission, new guy must be in love with you.” Pavitr teased as you laughed getting off of Miles as you shoot a web, swinging away until you found a place to land, the three following you. “Hey, Pavitr. Nice to see you again!” You throw an arm over his shoulder. Miles seems to notice as he looks at you hurt. He looks at Gwen as well. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?” Gwen reassured him.

The four of you enter Alchemax trying to stop The Spot. You were currently trapped when he put a wall mechanism to not let you four stop his idea. Miles puts his fingers on the wall trying to use his power until another Spider-Man came in using his guitar to remove the force field. “Hobie!” You exclaim in happiness greeting the boy with a handshake. Miles looks over at you as he notices that the handshake was the one he taught you when you first became friends. He looks away and notices Gwen looking at him sadly. “Don’t just use your fingers mate, use your palm as well.” Hobie advised him.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Nueva York - Earth 2099

“That’s not fair!” You chase after Hobie who decided to play a game of tag with you to let time pass by. Miles and Gwen were seated at a bench staying quiet while looking at the two. “How come she doesn’t remember me?” Miles asked the teen next to him. “I tried telling you- I swear I tried. But I couldn’t knowing how much it would hurt you and me both.” Gwen told him. “She got injured during a fight, she got a serious concussion and I wasn’t able to do anything but wait. Miguel took us in, and immediately took her to the hospital where we learned that she was in a coma. Once she woke up, the nurse told us that she had post-traumatic amnesia. All we could do was wait until she remembered certain things.” Gwen finished off fidgeting with her hands.

“Was she able to remember?” Miles asked the girl. Gwen looked up to see you tackling Hobie finally being able to catch him. “Her brother, she thinks he’s still alive.” Gwen told the boy. Miles eyes widen as he looks at you who looked back at him until Hobie tackled you back. “Isn’t he..dead?” Gwen nods. “She doesn’t know, and I don’t intend to tell her. You know how she acted before when she still remembered things, I don’t want her to be like that again. I love the way she is now.” Tears fill her eyes as she holds them back, not letting them fall. “You have to tell her one day, just like me.” Miles told her as she looks up and shook her head. “No, you can’t. I know it’s bad but if she finds out about his death she’ll probably want to change the canon. We can’t let that happen. She already wants to figure out how to visit him but we don’t let her.” Gwen warns the boy who just looked at you in worry.

‘Just what happened when I wasn’t here.’ Miles thought missing the girl he used to know.

#spiderverse #miles morales #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x reader #atsv x reader #atsv miles

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