#so all you’re able to do is kind of repeatedly point at it in distress and awe at the fact they Really Went There

[south-sea]

shaking everyone’s hand who’s gone a little bit feral about the very obvious on-screen ptsd subtleties in that shadow generations short

[crimeronan]

hey! sorry if this is too personal a question but i was thinking of your soulmate-verse fic adam depiction and your posts on low empathy and i’m wondering how you knew you’re low empathy? i think i might be having an epiphany 😭 if i misunderstood and you’re not i’m sorry!! honest misunderstanding of your posts on that case

oh i Definitely am low-empathy.

mostly i learned this because i discovered most people don't need to actively study and take notes on social interactions to emulate them, most people don't spend a significant amount of energy on monitoring and analyzing the emotional states of the people surrounding them, most people don't have to quiz themselves on the appropriate reaction to any given situation, etc.

all of this can just be standard autism but it goes a step further with me as well in that most people don't have flexible morals, most people don't have a price point at which they'll sell out and write articles for ethically bankrupt industries, most people don't get homicidally angry and fantasize about murdering perfectly normal individuals to make themselves feel better, most people didn't repeatedly get in trouble as a young child for trying to beat the piss out of classmates who hurt them, and most people don't get the luxury or the burden of being able to choose what they care about.

i don't feel guilty about things unless they affect the people i've chosen to love. i manipulate conversations with strangers and play whatever (usually friendly, kind, sad, or anxious) part i need to play to get what i want. i enact long-con plans to slowly create hostile environments toward attitudes or individuals i don't like. i don't attach myself to people unless they benefit my life in some way (usually emotionally, i don't care that much about material benefits). i find it extremely easy to detach myself from and cease to care about people who have wronged me, even if those people were my friends for years or blood-related family members who raised me. i ignore people in distress in public unless i have time and a lot of energy to waste. once an elderly neighbor fell down in my line of sight and it wasn't until someone else bolted to help him up that i remembered Old People Falling Is Bad and called over to ask if they needed help. in crisis situations i offer services to help people in need because it's helpful for my community social standing and it's the right thing to do but i don't really lose sleep when people die or get hurt.

i mostly have grown to understand other people through building and psychoanalyzing different characters and i have a lot of admiration for people who instinctually want to do the Right Thing and help others, that's why i'm so attached to like, the luz nocedas and ganseys of the world. i have to work a lot harder to do the things that come naturally to them and it's worthwhile work because human beings have intrinsic value but it is Exhausting.

in some ways i have a more developed sense of morality / right and wrong than a person with normal empathy levels who has never questioned their own instincts, but there is like. i dunno. something fundamentally different and arguably broken inside me that i need to work hard to compensate for.

[local-redhead-bookworm]

Honestly?? I'm not even sure what to think after s4 ended. I've been racking my brain to come up with something worth mentioning. I see what you mean, though, about the possibility of Billy still being alive 🤞🏼 Vecna left that statement open-ended. And now I know that the tattoos and merch were much more of a tribute to Eddie 😅 also, I love that Max wrote a letter to Steve. I know he complains all the time about being a babysitter, but he truly means so much to them. It was so sweet. And it pisses me off that Neil's bitch ass got off scot free. I hate that they added "he couldn't stick around after you were gone". Sickening. And like you said, it doesn't sit right with me they didn't add Billy to Max's memories. I am loving the girls showing up and showing out. Nancy and Robin at Pennhurst. Suzie being a genius and getting those coordinates. Everything Erica does. Max stepping forward as a decoy (that may have backfired 🥲 I am upset that we went through Dear Billy just to have ep9 happen). I know that the Nina plot was drawn out, but I think it showed development for El. Being able to separate herself from others, to choose her own path. I also loved that she stood up to Angela. As for the last 2 episodes, they were very distressing. I hated that Vecna used the sauna test to torment her, but as someone pointed out earlier, it was a moment the mindflayer had taken over. Both times Billy appeared to her, it was flayed Billy. She was never actually scared of him. I am distraught over Max's plot after this. I am curious about the Vecna and Will connection. But other than that, I'm left kind of stumped. I'd love to hear your thoughts on anything, though

��� anon

You and I have a lot of similar thoughts on s4, anon. I haven’t been able to bring myself to rewatch it because of how emotionally distraught it made me, and I don’t have time for another breakdown.

I genuinely despise that the only solution the writers could come up with is “oh Neil couldn’t bear to be around here any longer without you.” In my opinion, it would have made far more sense if his anger had turned on Susan and Max, then Susan had put her foot down and left him.

I wish that more had been done with the girls, honestly. I liked what bits we did get, and Robin’s improv speech at Pennhurst made my theater kid heart so proud. I have some personal nitpicks with Nancy’s treatment of Robin though, don’t love that from her. And as much as I loved Susie, I feel like she’s always just kind of…there? She only shows up twice to deliver information so she feels a lot like a plot device to me. Erica is an absolute sass-master, and episode 9 had me super worried for both her and Lucas.

The Nina Project…had its good elements and bad elements. You’re right, it did develop El and it showed her standing up to Brenner, but it was also clearly insanely triggering for her. Her expression when she wakes up and realizes they’ve buzzed her head again absolutely gutted me. I would have preferred it if Owens had been the only one in charge and if El had had more of a choice. The fact that she was essentially forced to relive a traumatic part of her life didn’t sit right with me, it would have felt more powerful if she’d chosen to confront those memories herself. And I’m glad that she never forgave Brenner, he doesn’t deserve her forgiveness.

I’m so glad she stood up to Angela too. I know violence isn’t the answer and all that, and it was a bit severe, but it certainly felt satisfying seeing Angela get whacked in the face for repeatedly humiliating and picking on El.

I do wonder what the show plans to do with Will’s connection to Vecna, especially since he’s now the only one of his victims to survive. I know they’re going to bring Max back next season, you can tell, but the fact that episode 9 is left as her final opinion on Billy and that she never brings up that she cared and that she realizes now why he was the way he was, it feels like a complete 180 on her character.

Eddie’s pointless death and the absolute butchering of Max’s character made me lose hope in the writing of the show. And don’t even get me started on the wasted potential of the Russia arc! I spent so much of the time before s4 thinking up theories, and I’ve read other folks’ theories and fics that are 100 times better than what actually happened. S4 had some good bits, but I was just so frustrated with it. Obviously if you enjoyed it I’m completely fine with that, I’m just annoyed by the wasted potential.

[broken-freedom]

Random HC of the day, Eren Random drabble of the day:

TW: Idk what to put here honestly, but Eren seeking comfort I guess

WC: 1K

• You're my comfort •

You look at your boyfriend amazed how you were able to get into a relationship with him. He is cutting fruit and humming with only an apron on his bare chest with shorts to cover his lower half. You stare at his muscled back admiring how perfect he is, a body out of a novel, dense muscles covering every inch of his body, long brown hair cascading his shoulders that even it is not even brushed this morning, you know it will be so soft when you lace your fingers in it, green bright eyes that twinkle under the direct sunlight coming from the balcony’s window, plump lips you feel a bit jealous from the blueberry he tossed into his mouth because it touched his lips briefly. 

Eren is kind, and attentive to your every little need that he makes sure he fulfills daily. He makes extra sure you’re comfortable with the plans he wants before he makes them. He gives you space when you need it, and clings to you when you feel alone. He demands kisses every time you two pass each other inside your shared apartment, on your forehead, cheeks, nose, lips, jaw, neck, shoulder, and everywhere he can reach. 

He is perfect in every way possible, seeing him happy makes you happy and when he pouts because the second blueberry hits his eye instead of going inside his mouth you chuckle. 

“I am taking a shower, Eren, do you need help with, that?” you said pointing at the many fruits he has on the kitchen counter wanting to make a fruit salad.

“Ummmm good baby, go on. The salad should be done by the time you get out of the shower.” You give him a quick peck and make your way to the bathroom. 

You start your shower routine as you always do massaging your scalp and all until you hear a shuffle outside of the curtains. “Are you done already?” then you hear Eren mumbling something but couldn’t make out what it was. “What’s that?” “Can I join?” you giggle thinking he just wants to see you naked as always. “Of course you can Ren, you don’t have to ask each time.” The curtains behind you open, and you feel him hugging you from behind, warm body pressed against your back even and his head is leaning on your shoulder. The water hitting both of you from the shower head is already warm, but Eren’s warmth is unique on your skin. When he keeps the position for a minute too long, you try to shift to face him, so you can wash his hair as you always do, but his grip on your waist tightens “stay” it’s faint but you heard him, and you comply keeping your hands on top of his to offer comfort. His shoulders start to shake, and after a few seconds you hear his hitched heavy breathing. This is the first time this ever happened, you felt your heart drop as you hear his muffled whimpers, you want to move, to hug him, to tell him you are here and hush his worries away, but his hold is firm enough to keep you in place. “Please, stay … stay with me like this … I- … I need you.” he whispers quietly as he sits down on the shower’s floor and drags you with him, the shower head still pouring warm water onto both of your heads. Eren’s sobs grow louder while he is trying to communicate something to you, his words are caught on his throat as he digs his fingers in your skin repeatedly chanting words of distress followed by “please don’t leave me.” 

Your heart is shattered by the state your boyfriend is in, but you have to stay strong for him this time, to hold him in your arms, and tell him that you are here to stay, to fight his fears and chase off every small worry that clouds his head. You were finally able to get out of his hold, turn around and face his weak body, his hair is wet sticking to his face covering it from your eyes, his hands drop next to him and his shoulder is heavy with insecurity. You shuffle to get closer to him, lifting his head with your hand and resting it on your chest and sitting on your heels for support. A hushed lullaby rolls out of your mouth as you stroke his head and his back with your hands pushing him closer to you. You’ve never seen Eren in this state before, and it breaks your heart the way he clings to you whispering to you to not leave him. You know exactly where this is coming from, he told you about everyone in his life leaving him behind, until he found you and he clutched to your presence. You are just to understand that he’s trying his best to give you space and not overwhelm you with his need of seeing you all the time. The way his body shakes between your arms and his broken whimpers tell you how he kept all of these feelings building up until he couldn’t hold them anymore. You give him the time he needs to let it all out, your voice calming him down until his sobs start to slow down. Big emerald eyes surrounded by pools of red from how much he cried are looking at you with gratification for holding him close and helping him puking his emotions out. You trap his face between your hands and push back his hair so you can see him properly and start rubbing circles on his cheeks “I am here to stay Ren, you are safe with me.”     

Part 2

[adorerdraco]

I’m Here ✧ Draco x Reader

Request: Hi, so I’m not sure if you’re taking these kinds of fics for Draco, but I’ve been feeling really down lately, and I was wondering if you could write a one shot or a scenario where the reader has been having a really bad day/week and Draco comforts them? And maybe Draco lays the reader on his chest and he hums a small tune to make the reader feel better? You can ignore this if it’s an issue, but I’d really appreciate it. I love all of your fics btw! They make me really happy <3

Warnings: none bc mostly fluff, some tears, super soft!draco

Words: 1.9K

A/N: i saw this and had to do it effective immediately bc i am feeling the exact same wayyy so this was really nice to think about ;( thank you so much for requesting this and for reading my stuff and i’m so glad i can help in a way <3 i’m sending you nothing but peace, love, and light !!! but i really hope this is gooood <3 do not own gif

Life was punishing you, you thought. It had to be. Because there was no way how in the span of a week everything in your day-to-day life had gone from okay to borderline catastrophic. It was as if every situation you were in was taking its form in the worst case possible scenario and all you could do was watch hopelessly as things continuously got worse sprinkled with small misfortunes in between.

It started on a regular Monday morning, sitting down for breakfast in the Great Hall with blissful ignorance. Halfway through eating your toast, your owl had come in through the open large glass windows and dropped a letter onto your plate from home that left you some very unfortunate news and had set forth a ripple effect that began making everything else go downhill as your days progressed. By the end of the school week, you had managed to blow up a potion, lose house points because of said potion when it splashed onto some people and had some physically altering effects, tripped over your footing and fell in the middle of a crowded corridor, failed a surprise quiz, forgot to turn in an essay, got into an argument with a friend, accidentally slept in and missed a morning class, and took a trip to the hospital wing for a migraine that didn’t want to leave you alone. You could’ve sworn you had somehow been thrown into purgatory, or limbo, or something outer-worldly. 

“Are you alright?” Draco had asked you right after breakfast that Monday morning as he was walking you to your first class. “What was in the letter your owl gave you? You look worried.”

“It was nothing,” you dismissed quickly, trying to put on a half-hearted smile while you spoke to make it more convincing. “I’m fine, just tired.”

It was the beginning of the week, and he did keep you up late the night before when you were sneaking around together, so he just shook his head up and down and took your excuse even though he felt like there was more to it than you were letting on. But as the days went on, he was becoming more observant of the way you were acting and even looking. He didn’t like that every morning he saw the shadows under your eyes get deeper and darker, and he didn’t like how you would close your eyes in pain when you would groan about your headache. He also didn’t like the way he hadn’t seen you truly smile or laugh all week even when he tried countless times to amuse you or cheer you up. But what he didn’t like most of all was that he felt like there was nothing he could do. 

On Wednesday afternoon, he tried asking you again. You were sitting in the Quad with him on a bench and he was telling you a story from earlier in the day about how he had ‘accidentally’ tripped this Gryffindor boy and got Snape to take away house points from him that he thought for sure would you make laugh or perhaps give him a disapproving redirection, but when he glanced up to see your reaction, he noticed you weren’t even listening, to begin with. You had been staring down at your shoes and the way they lined up against the cracks in the pavement, kicking around some gravel as your mind was running a million thoughts per second.

“Love?” He said to you softly. You looked up at him swiftly with a quiet questioning hum, e/c eyes widened slightly from being ripped away from your thoughts suddenly. “You know if something’s bothering you, you can talk to me.”

“I know,” you nodded warmly. “I’m okay, Dray. I’m honestly just tired.”

And you were telling the truth, in a sense. You really were tired; physically, mentally, emotionally.

He frowned, dissatisfied with your answer. “Right, well if anything at all comes up, I’m here.”

From then on, Draco took it upon himself to try and increase his affections and compliments. He would hug you a little tighter, kiss you a little longer, whisper sweet little nothings into your ear before he left you for class. You felt a little bad lying to him, withholding the truth from him, and you saw the concern in his light gray’s when you’d meet him in the mornings and for the rest of the day, but it only made you feel a tad bit worse. You were starting to feel guilty for the way he was worrying, feeling like you were dragging him down into the dumps with you and raining on his usual carefree parades.

On Friday morning, you didn’t meet him for breakfast and you were out of the Great Hall faster than he could catch you. He felt like a stalker when he walked by your class, peeking his head in to see if you were there and well. He spotted you sitting at your desk, hunched over your unopened books with a grimace on your face and your head in your hands. He wanted to go in and whisk you away to somewhere far and quiet, but the Professor had caught him by the door and sent him on his way before he could even think of doing anything of the sort.

You felt the day had gone by extremely slow, relative to how the week was moving and also impossibly dismal. You were counting down the minutes until the end of the school day, ready to run to your dorm right after your last class and bury yourself deep into your duvet and pillows for the rest of the weekend.

Head still pounding, you trudged over to your final class, stopping outside the doors when you saw a small group of your housemates standing around with unnerved expressions as they passed each other papers and spoke in hushed tensed tones.

“I studied all night but my friend took the test earlier and she told me during lunch that it had stuff on it that wasn’t even in the reading!” You heard one exclaim in distress.

“We have a test?” You accidentally said aloud and a pair of eyes turned to look at you confusingly.

“Yeah? Professor’s been telling us all week.”

A scoff of disbelief escaped your lips, an overwhelming sense of defeat washing over you as you turned briskly on your heel and in the opposite direction of your classroom. Tears started pricking at your eyes, you felt the stinging of them wanting to be released but you refused to let them all out in the open and especially in front of people who were still taking their time to head to their classes. 

You were making a beeline towards your common room, blinking rapidly to try and clear your vision that was quickly pooling with unshed tears while trying to steady your breathing in another failed attempt to calm yourself. You were nearly there, you could tell by the paintings and doors that you passed by and the black stain splattered on the floor you saw every day on your way to the dorms from someone’s dropped ink bottle that Filch hasn’t been able to get rid of. 

Almost there, you kept repeatedly reminding yourself.

All hope of solace was gone when you didn’t notice the body you had unknowingly crashed into. All you felt were strong hands around your biceps, holding you in place from toppling backward and the very familiar scent of expensive cologne and mint.

“Y/N? Why aren’t you in class?” You looked up at the platinum blond sadly, his worried eyes searching yours with such care that it pushed you over the edge.

You didn’t answer him and instead wrapped your arms tightly around Draco’s middle, burying your face deep into his robes and letting out quiet and frail weeps that broke his heart. He held you tightly, pressing kisses to the top of your head and muttering soft “I’m here’s” into your hair. You stayed in his embrace for a few minutes, letting your tears freely fall into his vest with a sense of relief that only he was able to give you at this point in time.

“I’m sorry I cried on you,” you choked out when you pulled away from him, desperately wiping away at your eyes with the back of your sleeve.

“You don’t ever have to apologize for that,” he said quickly. He brought his hand up to your face, his thumb swiping delicately over a stray tear that was sitting on your jaw while you closed your eyes in comfort. “Do you want to go back to my room? I can set you up really nicely and we can talk if you’d like?”

“Yes please, I’d like that a lot.”

Draco interlocked your fingers with his, bringing the pair up to his lips with a warm kiss on the back of your hand before walking the two of you over to the entrance of the Slytherin common room. It was empty when you walked in, not a soul in sight since everyone was still in class and it made it much easier for him to sneak you into his singular Prefect room you were now extremely grateful he had. He watched contently when you shed off your robes and kicked off your shoes and immediately slipped into one of his dark green jumpers that fit you big. 

You were perched on the edge of his bed, his scent from his sweater engulfing you and doing a much better job of calming you down than you wanted to admit. He followed in your footsteps and changed into something comfier and when he finally sat beside you with his hand falling over yours as an encouragement to talk - you did. You vented to him all about the letter from home, the migraine, your classes, the argument between you and your friend, and everything else that came to mind.

“And I feel bad for ignoring you and not telling you all this before but I didn’t want to burden you,” you finished with sniffles, gazing up at him with a gloomy expression. 

“Y/N, I love you, and nothing you say to me is a burden,” he frowned slightly, “when I tell you I’m here, I mean it, for anything. You’re so important to me and it kills me to see you upset.”

In a careful movement, he had scooted towards you and affectionately cupped your face before placing a loving kiss on your forehead and murmured to you, “don’t ever hesitate to come to me.”

You let him pull you under his covers, draping his large duvet over your entangled bodies with your head resting right above his chest, the steady beatings of his heart instantly sending you into a much-needed peace. His chin was rested right atop your head and you felt his fingers run up and down your arm soothingly while he thought.

“Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?” He asked quietly.

“Can you help me fall asleep?” you muttered, closing your eyes gently when his hand smoothed over the back of your hair. You felt him nod against your head and after a small moment silence, you heard him begin to hum the faint tune of your favorite song.

You lied there in bliss, enjoying the way his chest was vibrating against your ear and the way his fingers were playing with the ends of your hair, curling the strands around his fingers and then moving upwards to massage your scalp. And for a minute, everything was finally okay again as you drifted off into a peaceful sleep, a full heart and with your love calmly lulling you away with a soft and now distant humming.

[lestatslestits]

What kind of things can give you compassion fatigue? O3O" I don't feel like I should have that, my life is pretty regular for the most part, and yet "compassion fatigue" sound pretty uh oh it’s-a me

Hi Anon! This is a great question. Sorry I didn’t get to respond to this yesterday, I wanted to make sure I set aside time to give you a good, thoughtful answer.

Compassion Fatigue can come from a lot of different sources. Compassion fatigue is basically an exhaustion (emotional or physical) that leads to an inability to feel compassion or empathize with other people, because you have been put in a situation of caring for someone (or multiple someones) to the point of wearing yourself out and, in some cases, developing secondary trauma from the experience. Burnout, stress, and a lack of resources can all be huge factors in causing compassion fatigue.

We often hear about compassion fatigue in healthcare fields, but a lot of people outside of those fields aren’t educated on it and it’s a real shame, because it can happen to anyone.

Some examples, off the top of my head include things like being a caregiver, being a teacher, being a first responder such as an EMT, etc. Although these are all different roles with different connections to people who need care, they all demand a lot of emotional energy and often demand being exposed to the negative experiences or trauma of other people.

But in addition to that, most of us are currently exposed to more new information and more communication than we have ever been exposed to before (thanks, in large part, to technology that wasn’t around even 10-15 years ago), and a lot of what we may be bombarded with is distressing. Those experiences can REALLY add up and be distressing/exhausting, especially if you don’t have the tools to understand what you’re experiencing. And at the moment, while pretty much everyone is experiencing collective trauma from living through a pandemic (as well as, you know, *gestures vaguely to literally everything*), it can be especially hard to navigate the way we interact with people, and the way they interact with us.

Obviously, caring for others is not a bad thing! It’s good and necessary to care for people. But it also is not a bad thing to experience a sense of burnout from caring for others.

You know the feeling of hearing yet more bad news and just kind of feeling like, “yeah, okay, probably,” and not being able to summon any kind of real emotional response, even though that information is intellectually upsetting? That’s one possible manifestation of compassion fatigue, and it can be very scary and make us feel like we aren’t good people because we feel like we can’t care enough. In reality, we cannot care for everyone or everything all the time.

I like to use the metaphor of a sponge. Sponges are designed to hold water, but not indefinitely. You can run a sponge under water and it will take on a certain amount of that water. But once it has hit its limit, it’s not going to hold more water. Running water over a saturated sponge for an hour isn’t going to make it hold more water if it hit its limit 5 minutes in. It’s just going to be water hitting a sponge for an hour. We are sponges. We can only take in so much before we need to be “wrung out” in order to keep working effectively.

The process of coping with compassion fatigue (“wringing out” so to speak), can come from performing effective self-care, having adequate time to recharge between tasks and being able to switch out of highly draining tasks, and taking time to debrief, especially if the source of compassion fatigue is from a job or a position on a team. Even having someone validate your work and remind you that what you do makes a difference can be helpful in combatting compassion fatigue (this is called compassion satisfaction).

The TL;DR here is: compassion fatigue is the result of being repeatedly exposed to other people’s stress or trauma, and reaching a point of being emotionally unable to process or care about that kind of thing anymore. We are only able to carry so much at a time, and taking time to care for ourselves is important and necessary. Nothing about experiencing compassion fatigue means that we are bad or uncaring people.

I hope that is helpful!

[dreamsclock]

dreamon au where dream slowly learns trying to convince people of his innocence only brings pain, slowly learning to be painfully compliant in order to be let out, a dream who can barely stand in the middle of town without feeling like he's five minutes away from a melt down , dream who gets shoved into the prison repeatedly due to paranoia about his nature and how even kindness is evil from him, the mind breaking humor of the dreamon hunters visiting him in prison to exercise him far to late

this ask made me so sad :’) in the best way !! i can so see dream doing this,,, ouch, the pain,,, this is a sort of au of the total control au !! :)

warnings: self destructive behaviour, temporary suicide, panic attacks, ptsd, mental illness, emotional distress, possession, demons

The signs of it are everywhere.

The dreamon is written into every street, every block, every location. Dream can feel its eyes on him wherever he goes; amused, predatory, cruel, and it doesn’t matter what he tells himself — it’s dead, he says internally, trembling hands twitching into fists at his sides, it’s dead, it’s gone, it’s never going to hurt him or anyone again — the eyes never leave.

And people see his twitching fists and they give him a wide berth and stare at him with such distrust and dislike that it drives the breath from his lungs and leaves him sick. Because the dreamon, worst of all, is in him, every little aspect of him, and no matter what he does, he can’t dismiss it.

It’s in every weapon he owns, and he burns them all. It’s in every fleeting memory he gets from that time, sharp and sharp and agonising. It’s in every nightmare he has, every word he says, every love he makes.

The dreamon is in his mask, but Dream is terrified to take it off.

He can’t win. He knows that now. He’s never been a winner, and it’s only a matter of time before he crumbles.

It’s today that he crumbles, and Dream finds himself outside the prison with wide eyes and shivers wracking his body.

“Dream?” Sam probes suspiciously. “What’re you doing back here?”

And it’s scary, to speak to Sam again. It’s scary to be here. But Dream knows the damage he’s done, knows the danger he poses, and so, in a soft, small voice, says, “you have to lock me back up.”

Sam is on high alert immediately, weapon drawn, advancing on Dream who can’t help but flinch backwards. “What have you done?” Sam demands, and Dream wants to cry.

“Nothing- Nothing yet, but...”

But I’m scared I’m going to. But I’m scared any day the thing possessing me will come back and ruin everyone’s lives again. But I’m so scared, Sam, please-

“...But I will soon.” Dream attempts a villainous smile, attempts any sort of cruelty - he manages a grimace and a pale imitation of the dreamon’s evil. “I have- all sorts of plans, Sam. To- to kill Tommy. To blow up the server. To hurt everyone, I want to take revenge.”

Sam is already leading him into the prison at the point of a netherite enchanted sword. Dream feels ill as he walks back into the prison, struggling to keep his breathing steady. It’s a losing game. 

“You’re out of your mind,” Sam mutters, disgusted, horrified, “but at least you turned yourself in.”

Help me, Sam, Dream thinks, and doesn’t say, because there’s no point. Please help me.

Instead of speaking, he lets Sam strip him of his items, lets him manhandle him back into the cell he has nightmares over that shred his throat, and lets him leave to tell anyone. As soon as he’s alone, Dream lets himself break; lets himself dissolve into sobs that shake his body, lets himself sink to the ground, lets himself grieve for the life he knows he’s never going to be able to get back.

And when Sam gets a message about Dream dying in lava, once, twice, thrice, too many times to count, he rolls his eyes, and goes back to his conversation with Sapnap. It’s just Dream seeking attention. He’ll stop soon enough.

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding XX

Part I - - - - - - - - - - Part XVII - - - - Part XVIII - - - - Part XIX

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

“I want you to understand that what we’re going to ask of you is entirely beyond the scope of duty and therefore completely voluntary. You are more than free to refuse participation, at any point, with absolutely no consequences.”

Deep within the Healing Halls best-kept medical secret, Eights quelled beneath the full might of the GAR’s highest and most lauded Generals. Yeah I’m sure whatever they ask I’m going to want to say no. Honestly, what kind of soldiers have they been working with?

“What can I do to help, sir? Sirs?”

“I know this might be shocking, but we have reason to believe the GAR is...compromised.”

“Sir?”

Eights thought furiously. This wasn’t about the healers who were hiding them, or the Jedi his battalion never received, or the decommissioning he had escaped. This was bigger.

The General Windu spoke calmly, “We suspect that you may have been trained or conditioned at some point without your knowledge to unquestioningly follow orders, orders that would usually be beyond what you would typically obey. With your permission, we’d like to try and activate that order in a restrained environment in order to gain more information, with the hope of finding a way to help the troops resist.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand. You’re just going to give me an order and ask me...not to obey it?”

General Koon nodded (General Koon! General Koon and General Windu were talking to him at the same time!). “In a manner of speaking, yes. But it’s possible that the order will do more than that. The only way we believe this could possibly work” Koon glanced to the man at his side. “And we...do believe this threat is real, is if you suffer from some form of brainwashing. Activating it might cause irreparable brain damage. Activating it might damage or kill the parts of you that make you you. Even if it doesn’t- the ideal scenario is we find something- an intentionally designed tumor perhaps- and surgically remove it. And brain surgery also has its own risks.”

Eights swallowed around a lump in his throat. 

“And this is something that could be going on with...my entire batch?”

General Kenobi winced. “The entire GAR I’m afraid. Every clone.”

The General of the 212th! Commander Cody’s General was here! Talking to him! Telling him existentially terrifying ultra classified intel!

The trooper stared up from bed in disbelief. If anyone besides three of most respected generals in the entire GAR (not including Buir Ti) was telling him this he would accuse them of bantha crap fear-mongering, if not outright treason. Instead he was just...outraged.

“What would the order make me...us...do?”

Windu took a deep breath. “Attack us. Try and kill the Jedi.”

“I would never.” Eights straightened up even further. “We would never betray the Jedi- it’s- never. We were made for the Jedi and even if we weren’t- you’re the only ones who treat us with an ounce of respect.”

“No one is questioning your loyalty,” the kind Mon Cal healer (whose name he had never asked for fear of getting her in trouble if this ward was ever discovered) said, obviously trying to sooth him. She spoke with heart-breaking earnestness. “The fact that you would never choose to obey such a command just makes the possibility of something forcing you to do so that much more horrifying.”

“How would something like that even get in our heads? The longnecks designed us to serve the Jedi, why... I’m sorry Generals. I didn’t mean to get out of line.”

“No need to apologize. You have every right to be angry about this intrusion, as well as any number of things,” General Kenobi reassured him, smiling sadly. “We don’t know to what extent the Kaminoans are involved with this plot. Not precisely.”

Eights nodded, clenching his one remaining fist. “I’ll do it. Whatever you need from me. I can’t let my brothers have something this big looming over them without any intel.” I’m not exactly front-lines material anymore anyway.

“Are you sure?” Mace Windu’s eyes seemed to stare into his soul. Eights stared right back.

“I am. When do we start?”

It didn’t take long to shave the soldier and connect a number of glowing vital readers to his skull. He was ushered into a chambered observation room with what appeared to be a sfaraday cage hastily built around it. 

“Alright, whenever you’re ready.” Bant (Master Eerin apparently, but she told him to call her Bant) said.

“I’m ready, sir.”

“Let’s start off small, see if we can learn anything without fully activating the order.”

General Kenobi took in a deep breath. He looked calm, but Jedi always did. The General took in another breath. Kriff, two deep breaths. That’s Jedi for freaking out, isn’t it? Right?

Fuck.

“Does Order 66 mean anything to you?” General Kenobi braced himself, staring intently at the trooper in his seat. 

Eights wracked his brain furiously. Sixty-Six...that was...

“It’s...a little familiar? Sorry sir, I feel like I’ve heard it somewhere but...I can’t recall.”

“That’s perfectly alright trooper, not to worry.”

A Twilek healer he didn’t recognize spoke into a micomphone from the other side of a transparisteel window. “His frontal lobe might be lighting up a little, but it’s nothing abnormal, and not enough to triangulate for anything intrusive.”

After several variations on the same question as well as a number of scans of different ‘levels,’ the questioning escalated to orders, as well an extremely uncomfortable mock fight that he would probably tell his grandchildren about, provided he survived today, and also was allowed to have grandchildren.

Still, Eights couldn’t quite recall ever learning an Order 66 and was starting to relax, thinking the whole thing was some sort of horrible separatist lie.

They left him alone for an uncertain amount of time before returning with-

“Quickdraw?!” Eights jumped up at the sight of his commanding officer arriving via hoverchair, nervously saluting with his left hand.”I didn’t know you were here!”

“Just got out of bacta. My spine’s not quite what it used to be after the blast,” the lieutenant responded wryly. “At ease, Eights.”

“Our apologies again for waking you prematurely,” General Koon said softly.

Quickdraw waved the General off. “I’m honored you did. For something as serious this- well I’d hardly forgive myself if I just slept through it.”

Quickdraw locked eyes with Eights. “I’m supposed to try giving you ‘the order’ now- General Kenobi suspects that as your superior officer, I might be authorized to trigger whatever the hell the longnecks put in our heads.”

Eights swallowed hard. “The longnecks, sir?”

“Who else?” Quickdraw asked in a tone drier than Jakku. He spun in the chair to face General Koon. “How are we doing this?”

After a brief discussion, the troopers ended up on opposite sides of a sound-proof transparisteel divider, an comm channel open between them. Eights plugged his ears and gave the order first. And giving Quickdraw an order was almost but not quite as weird as giving an order that would apparently make him try and kill Jedi.

Nothing happened and they swapped, this time with Quickdraw using a waxy covering to block his hearing.

His lieutenant stared at him straight through the clear divider and ordered him to execute Order 66. This time he finally remembered his training, and realized he was woefully outgunned. Oh well, he was a good soldier.

Eights stood up. The only visible change in his expression was a widening of his pupils. There was no malicious intent palpable in the force- he didn’t even look angry- just determined.

He lunged at the Jedi next to him, only to hit an invisible wall. He threw himself at the barrier desperately while the traitor backed out of the room and escaped. The wall finally dropped, but it was too late, he was locked in.

Sighing, he picked up the chair with his one good arm, slamming it repeatedly at the door frame. Good soldiers follow orders.

On the other side of the observation window, Quickdraw stumbled back horrified, reaching for his ears before hesitating. General Koon softly tapped his shoulder and indicated they should leave. 

“I’ve got a location.” Master Che said quietly as the lieutenant was ushered into an antechamber and the activated trooper continued to beat at the door. “It’s a small but clear patch lit up like the festival of lights- I don’t know why it didn’t turn up in scans but...I’m as confident as I can be. Worst case- it’s a small enough area that removing the grey matter shouldn’t...well it won’t kill him. It’s enough to go on for microscapel surgery.” General Koon nodded, then tilted forward, weight falling heavily in his palms on the counter before him.

Vokara rested a hand gently on his back “...I was hoping it wasn’t true as well.”

Master Koon flinched away. “I am sorry and glad to say you do not understand my feelings on the matter. I think...my apologies but I need some time to meditate.”

“Of course.”

Koon rushed out. After a moment Master Windu stepped in, radiating similar distress as Master Koon. Master Kenobi followed, looking grim but also happy. 

‘Oh I’m glad Koon isn’t around him right now,’ Healer Che thought wryly.

Perhaps sensing the mood, Obi-Wan sobered. 

“I’m sorry it’s just- I didn’t actually see the order get activated. Of course I believed it wasn’t a choice- and I’m obviously not glad that anyone’s will could be taken so easily-”

“You don’t have to explain anymore,” Mace offered quietly. “I can understand why seeing this would be something of a relief, all things considered.”

The Head Healer nodded in agreement before taking charge. “Kenobi, go in with Eerin and help her sedate him. I’ll prepare for surgery.”

“Wait- shouldn’t we try other permutations first? It’s possible that once activated, a clone might be able to order a superior officer-”

“And it’s also possible that if a lieutenant is activated, the entire army will turn,” Mace snapped. Obi-Wan bent his head, chastised. 

“Right. Yes. I’ll go- find Bant.”

An extremely long hour later, Master Che returned from surgery. Masters Mundi, Koth, and Yoda had left to and fulfill the other thousand and one duties of a council member not unravelling a Sith conspiracy at the heart of the Republic, while Master Aerdo had been dispatched to talk with Quickdraw as well as some of the other troopers in the hidden Medical bay. 

“It’s a chip,” Vokara said grimly. “Native biological material, but clearly a chip. Like you would find in a droid. Far more complex than any slave chip I’ve ever seen, and no explosive component. It would only turn up on a level five brain scan. I didn’t even think to run it before- it’s overly invasive and typically useless.”

The reduced meeting crumpled at the sight of the infinitesimally small object of control, carefully encased in a stasis slide and placed delicately on the conference table.

Proof of Obi-Wan’s future, a future that the group thought they already believed.

“We should get Master Nu,” Adi Gallia said quickly, “We’ll want our top researchers analyzing it as soon as possible.”

Koon nodded sharply. “Agreed.”

The Tholothian Master stood, “I’ll go at once- we should probably keep any mention of this off comms.”

As Master Gallia swept out of the room, Plo Koon wrenched his gaze from the stasis slide to face the healer. “Master Che, what is Eight’s status?”

“Unconscious and restrained, but he should wake up soon enough. It...might not be a bad idea to have another Jedi nearby when he does.”

Koon and Che left the room, taking the chip with them and conferring quietly.

Obi-Wan leaned forward, elbows on the table and face in his hands.

Master Windu exchanged a glance with Anakin. 

Finally Obi-Wan spoke, tentatively addressing Bant, “Could it be possible for someone...besides a clone to be chipped? If Palpatine had access to them as a child...”

Bant drew back, gaze flickering to Anakin. “I- we would have to study it more-”

Anakin interrupted, shifting in his seat. ”Master- what did I do?”

“It- it wasn’t you. It wasn’t you anymore that the person who fired on me was Cody.”

Bant exchanged a glance with Mace, before clearing her throat with a soft gurgle. “Perhaps we should leave the two of you alone to talk this through.”

The Mon Cala Healer stood and exited rapidly. Windu exchanged a glance with Skywalker before he left. “Talk through everything, understood?” Anakin nodded.

The door shut, leaving Master and Padawan alone. “I feel like I’m missing more than two and a half days,” Obi-Wan muttered wryly. “I don’t remember you three having a non-verbal communication system consisting of eye-contact alone before.”

Anakin chuckled once then immediately grew somber, picking at a loose thread in the sleeve of his robe. A thousand thoughts were swirling in his head, and he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“I- did I hurt you? Is that- is that why you stabbed me, you thought you were defending-”

“I did what?!” Obi-Wan paled, jumping up from his seat.

Anakin winced. “It’s nothing, that’s actually not important. I’m healed anyway so forget I mentioned it-”

Obi-Wan moaned, stumbling backwards over the fallen chair. “Of force- when you were trying to save me- I had a blade. I cut you down-” He tripped backwards, collapsing to the ground.

“Master!” Anakin lurched forwards, but the older Jedi scrambled back.

“I forgot my spray bottle in there,” Bant whispered outside the door. “Do you think it’s too late to go back for it?”

Mace peered subtly through the small window in the door. “Yes. They’re already on the ground. I think they’re both crying.”

“It’s been less than a minute!”

“Yes.”

“...We should go.”

“Yes.”

Unaware of their muffled audience, the two continued their conversation.

“Don’t- don’t touch me!” Obi-Wan gasped, back hitting a wall. “I don’t- I don’t deserve-”

The young knight reared back, falling from a crouch to his knees, “Is this...about the Tuskens again?

Obi-Wan blinked in confusion. “The Tuskens? What about Tuskens?”

“You don’t...remember?” The air grew cold and Anakin forced himself to continue, “What- what we talked about in the cave?”

“What we- I-” Obi-Wan thought furiously. “...Anakin. What did...what were you apologizing for in the cave? What- what did you think we were talking about?”

��Oh gods.” Anakin paled now, shuffling back.

“What are they doing now?” Bant asked the taller Master.

“They’re taking turns chasing each other back and forth on their hands and knees. They both look like they’re seconds away from passing out or throwing up.”

“I...is this a human thing?”

“No. What? Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know! Do you think this is how they usually talk to each other?”

“I think perhaps they don’t talk to each other, and that’s why they’re like this.”

“Right, right... I really want to hear what they’re saying.”

“Hm. I don’t.”

“Why are you also standing outside the door then?”

“I want to be ready to intervene if they start trying to kill each other.”

“FORCE”

“Quiet!”

“Sorry. Sorry. You think they fought then? In the...other timeline?”

“...It would explain Obi-Wan’s shatterpoint remnants better than anything else.”

“Not to mention the spice.”

“I thought we were politely ignoring the spice.”

“...and then I brought her back to the homestead for burial.” Anakin bowed his head, tears streaming against his will. “I thought...Master I know I can’t fix this but I’m sorry- I already stepped down from my position as General so I wouldn’t be in a position to kill anyone else- I need you to forgive me.”

“Oh Anakin.”

“What? What happened?” Bant asked urgently. 

The Master of the Order appeared unruffled in the force and human visible light, but the tips of his ears were heating up in infrared. She stood on her toes to see in.

“Oh- they’re hugging? Seriously? That’s what you’re embarrassed to see?”

“They’re clinging to each other like younglings. It’s undignified for a Jedi Master and Knight”

“Alright that’s it- we’re going. I really don’t think Anakin’s going to jump from crying and hugs to murder.”

Unaware of their newfound privacy, the two inside withdrew from their embrace, still sniffling slightly. 

“Thank you, Master,” Anakin said in a shaky tone. “I swear I won’t let you down, I’m going to do better.”

“I know, my padawan, I know. I’m going to be there to help you this time, I’m not going to leave you alone with- well I’m not going to leave you alone.”

Anakin smiled wetly at Obi-Wan’s careful avoidance of Chancellor Palpatine’s supposed Sith alter ego, refocusing on Obi-Wan and making intense eye contact.

“What did you think we were talking about?”

Obi-Wan looked down. ��It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “It- it never happened.”

“Ori’vod, please. You- you mentioned younglings. I did something else unforgivable didn’t I?”

Obi-Wan smiled but didn’t look up. “And i forgave you anyway. Even when I thought your apology was just a fantasy. But it wasn’t, it was real, and- and the people actually are unmurdered so...it’s not worth talking about it.”

Anakin bit the inside of his cheek, gut roiling. “You...really think I might have a chip in me?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped up. “I...don’t know. I didn’t even know that Cody had a chip in him.”

“You just...were suddenly betrayed by everyone.” 

“Not...everyone. Most who refused to fall in line were executed, of course, but there were a few senators who stood with the Jedi, secretly.” 

A new wave of cold terror passed over Anakin. “What happened with the other senators?”

“Like I said to the council earlier, from what I heard they cheered Palpatine on. Thunderous applause.”

“That’s not what I mean- Padme, Was Padme alright?”

Obi-Wan buried his face in his hands, shuddering.

“Anakin- I don’t know what to tell you,” he said in muffled voice. “I don’t want to deceive you but- things were dark. If I tell you everything now, I’m afraid of what you’ll do.”

Anakin winced. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I’m not...evil. I just...I messed up, and I want to make things better.”

Obi-Wan sighed, and pulled Anakin so they were seated next to each other in a mirror of the false peace a few days earlier. Anakin leaned into his Master’s side, feeling the cold retreat. “You’re not evil Anakin, but what you did to the Tusken village wasn’t exactly a small thing. I- look- Ad’ika-”

Obi-Wan hesitantly placed an arm around Anakin’s shoulder and the cold retreated a bit more.

“If the council accepts my plan, we’re going to have time together over the next few weeks, to talk more about...everything. We’re going to end the war- save everyone. I know the cave wasn’t what either of us thought it was, but it still meant the galaxy to me. I love you, no matter what...and that conversation, what you said. Well, it gave me the strength to go on, to do what I needed to.” Obi-Wan froze. “Not my, um, self-inflected injuries- that’s- obviously that wasn’t your fault-”

“You thought you were hallucinating. I know.” Anakin smiled, feeling honestly amused at the absurdity situation for the first time. “I’m going to mock you for that for the rest of our lives, you know that, right?”

“I look forward to it.” Obi-Wan smiled.

A vise that had been clenched around Anakin’s heart since he broke down the door to their apartment finally relaxed. “You really weren’t trying to kill yourself,” he sighed happily.

“I was attempting to stay alive. Honestly concerned about dehydration. I wanted to stay in the daydream, but I knew I couldn’t. And part of that was because you gave me the strength to keep going. Sorry I did such a bad job honoring that but, well. You know. Thank you, Anakin. For saving me twice over.” Obi-Wan’s voice was utterly earnest, though it was a touch more embarrassed than he was used to after the single day of utter unrestraint. 

Anakin’s eyes welled up. “I’ve been- I hated that you would just leave like that, give up-”

“Never Anakin,” Obi-Wan vowed. “I will never give up on you, or this galaxy.”

He twisted so he could throw both arms around his padawan.

“I swear by everything I am I will keep going. It’s... in my nature but gods is it easier with you besides me.”

“Even though i’m a child murderer twice over and once removed?” Anakin joked weakly, clinging desperately to Obi-Wan’s presence.

Obi-Wan shuddered. “Too soon, Anakin. Too soon.”

Part XXI

[inkandpen22]

I Hate You, I Love You

Pairing: Harry Potter x Female!Reader  

Warnings: Smutty-smut, swearing, fighting

Word Count: 

A/N: my first smut lol be nice 

Masterlist

It’s the day of Fleur and Bill’s wedding. Alone in Ginny’s room, I stand in front of her mirror, analyzing my appearance in this dress. Hermione picked it out at the store. She insists I look best in blue. I wasn’t sure about it being silk or the low neckline or the practically nonexistent back. At least it has straps, though they’re about as thin as pasta.

There’s a knock at the door behind me and a call over my shoulder for the person to enter freely. When I turn back to the mirror, I see Harry enter quietly. I swallow hard, clenching my jaw as I pretend not to care. He approaches me nervously, his hands in his pockets.

“You uh... you look really nice,” he compliments, look at my reflection by my side.

My eyes remain on the mirror as I mumble a soft ‘thank you.’

Harry sighs, picking up on my frustration. It rolled over to today after last night's bickering following dinner. Ron may have left it to slip that the ‘Golden Trio’ may be leaving any day now to search for Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Harry somehow failed to mention to me, his girlfriend.

“Y/N, I���m sorry,” he apologizes, sounding frustrated. “Can we talk about this? I would like for us to enjoy tonight.”

His words are rational if we were discussing him forgetting a minor matter! Instead, we’re referring to him leave for weeks, perhaps months! We will have no form of contact! I won’t know if he’s dead or alive!

“No,” I answer sharply. “Talking about it will just make it worse,” I determine, turning to head out of the room.

Harry grabs my wrist, stopping me. “Wait-”

“Harry!” I snap at him, much to his surprise. Harry stands there wide-eyed, taken aback by my rash reaction. How does he think I felt after I learned that he’s putting himself on death’s doorstep. “Look,” I sigh, softening my tone. “I understand that you’re ‘The Chosen One,’ but we’re only seventeen! Things are steady at the moment, why must we rush it?”

“I have to do this!” Harry insists and I yank my wrist free of his hold. I pace away and he follows close on my heels. “Do you think I’m going to enjoy it? This won’t be a little holiday, Y/N, we’ll be hunting ways to destroy Voldemort!”

I whip my head around, eyes pricked with tears, “but I don’t you to go...”

Upon seeing my distressed state, his features soften. He reaches out to me, cupping either side of my face softly. “I know, my Love. I don’t want to leave you... believe me,” he whispers, caressing my cheek and I place my hands over his. “But it’s up to me to fix this. Everyone is depending on me.”

“Let me help you!” I try to reason with him.

“No, I can’t ask you to risk your life for me,” he refuses sternly, but I can tell it’s out of fear.

“You're risking your’s for me,” I argue. “For all of us!”

“That’s different!” His hands fall roughly as he turns his back to me.

“How?” I shout at him.

He can the most irrational person! For being ‘The Chosen One’ he’s rather stupid! Hermione would’ve been a better option in that pointless prophecy!

He spins toward me sharply and yells, “because I don’t have a choice! Because I love you!” He pauses, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he stares into my eyes solemnly. “Because I love you...” He repeats in a whisper.

“I love you too,” I reply quietly, tears threaten to fall from my eyes. I can’t lose him. A world without Harry in it is a world I couldn’t bear to live in. “Please Harry, please let me go with you!” I practically beg.

He shakes his head, avoiding my gaze. “It’ll be dangerous Y/N. I... I don’t know if I’ll be able to live with myself if anything were to ever happen to you.”

“I can take care of myself!” I remind him in a hiss.

I hate how defenseless he sees me. I’m one of the most skilled witches in our class at Hogwarts, Dumbledore said so himself once.

“I know that!” He barks, hitting his boiling point. “But I want to protect you!”

I roll my eyes with a scoff, he can’t be serious! “Oh stop with that ‘me man, me protect woman’ bollocks, Potter,” I mock.

“Why can’t you just listen to me!” He yells at the top of his lungs, his face turning red.

“I’m coming!” I insist, not backing down as I add to this screaming match.

In a swift glide, Harry crosses the yards between us. He grabs both sides of my face and smashes his lips to mine hungrily. At first, the action catches me off guard and I struggle to shove him off of me. He merely wraps his arms around me, pressing me to his chest. Harry’s never done this before, this isn’t like him. He’s usually so hesitant and unsure of himself. I find myself melting into the feeling. I embrace the sensation and Harry grips my waist, his nails digging into my skin. I wrap my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. Harry grabs the back of my legs and I jump to wrap them around his waist. Walking across the room, he then lowers me onto the bed.

“Merlin, you’re so stubborn,” he mutters against my lips as he raises the hem of my dress up.

“I’ve learned from the best,” I remark bitterly, still frustrated with him.

“Why must you be so hard all the time?” He insults, rising above me with a disdainful glare in his eyes.

“You’re one to talk,” I giggle, referring to a different kind of hard. Potter doesn’t scare me. Though I’ve never seen him this way, I’m still shaken. In fact, it excites me.

Furious with my reaction, he aggressively curling his fingers under my panties and yanking them down his legs. “You expect me to allow you to come with us when all you do is distract me!”

“That’s not my fault, Potter. You’ve always been too deep in your own head,” I tease, combing my fingers through his hair as he lowers himself down between my legs.

“You’re right,” he agrees surprisingly, peering up at me. “I should be deep inside you more often,” he smirks wickedly before disappearing between my legs.

My eyes flicker up to the ceiling as I feel Harry’s tongue brush against my core. At first, it’s a series of steady glides. He’s teasing me, making me want more. My hand brushes his brown curly locks back gently. Then, Harry picks up his pace unexpectedly, causing me to jolt from surprise.

“Godric fuck,” I curse, breathless from the sudden burst of pleasure.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he purrs against my core, making me shutter.

Harry’s nails dig into my thighs roughly, holding me in place as I struggle under his aggression. I had no idea Harry had this in him, it’s incredible. The sensation is all-consuming, I can’t get enough of it. I bite down on my lip, suppressing a sweet moan.

“Don’t do that,” he commands. “Moan for me, Baby.”

I peer down at him, thinking of everyone in the house. “But-”

His eyes narrowed at me in slits. “Do as I say,” he growls, moving up from between my legs to lay on his side next to me.

I swallow hard as Harry glides his fingertips down my body, watching them travel down to my core. His flicker up to my face as they enter me. My lips part with a gasp and I grip his forearm.

“That’s right,” he mutters in my ear. “I want you to cum for me.”

I moan, his action and words testing my willpower. His lips kiss my neck and suck at the skin, finding my sweet spot. My eyes squeeze shut and I feel myself slipping. He knows me too, it isn’t fair.

“Please Harry...” I whisper pleadingly

“Look who’s so compliant now.” I can feel his smile against my skin, “you want to?”

I hum, nodding my head slowly.

“Say it for me,” he instructs. “Beg for it.”

I remain silent, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He can’t win everything. Then, he begins pumping his fingers in and out of me faster. I gasp, reaching down quickly to stop it. He moves to hover over me, his fingers continuing their attack as his other hand wraps around my neck. He towers over me with a pleased smirk at my defenselessness.

“I won’t unless you say it,” he warns mockingly.

I squirm under his pressure, his fingers driving me closer to the edge.

“Say it,” he repeats.

“Fuck me dammit!” I bark, frustrated that he can make me get so close with little effort.

“There’s my girl,” he chuckles wickedly. “You needy needy girl.”

His attack ends as I hear him unbuckle his belt. I pant, catching my breath after everything. I was so close, dangerously close. I’ve never yearned for someone or anything more. I want Harry, need him. The best part, I’m fucking pissed at him and he’s pissed at me. We fucking hate each other right out and we’re taking our anger out on each other in the most glorious way.

Standing beside the bed, Harry glides his palm over my soaking core. My back arches off the bed as a quiet curse escapes my lips. He chuckles, rather pleased with him.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, Y/N,” he grins, grabbing me by the ankles and yanking me closer to him. “Just wait until I fill you.”

I roll my hips uncontrollably, needing him inside me. Merlin, I need him to fuck me hard. I need him to utterly wreck me with everything he has.

Harry teases my entrance with his tip, glancing between me and my core. Then, his eyes stay on mine as he glides into me slowly. My lips part as I suck in air sharply. He smirks mischievously, slipping his hand around my neck. Steadily, he keeps apace. I moan, getting used to the sensation and adjusting. Then, Harry increases his pace at a rapid rate, making me hiss. Pounding into me, he grips my neck tighter. I whimper, overwhelmed by the pleasurable and foreign pain.

“Scream for me, Baby,” Harry pants, relentless with his assault. “Scream my name for everyone to hear.”

“Fuck Harry,” I whine, running my nails down his back, likely leaving marks.

He moans in my ear, the sound causing my core to pulse. I wish I could hear it repeatedly.

“Just like that,” he breaths. “Louder!” Taking a fist full of my hair, he tugs it back.

I shake my head, everyone will hear us, then what? We’ll have embarrassed Fleur and Bill on their wedding day.

Irritated with my refusal, Harry starts rubbing circles over my clit as he thrusts into me relentlessly. A yelp escapes me uncontrollably, much to Harry’s satisfaction.

“You’re going to do as I say from now on,” he hisses, starring down at me as I squeeze my eyes shut. “You’re going to be a good girlfriend and respect me!”

“Fuck you, Potter,” I grumble, barely able to speak.

He chuckles mockingly, “you already are.” I feel the pleasure building up in my core. Godric, I hate how I’m angry with him, but he still manages to get me off. We were fighting just minutes ago! I fought him off but it was hard not to give in. The passion in the anger energized the need for him even more.

He’s hitting my G-spot relentlessly as he rubs circles over my clit. I’m so close, my walls tighten around Harry.

“That’s it Y/N, cum for me,” he orders. “I want you cum all over my dick.”

His words push me over the end, the pleasurable feeling pouring over me. Harry thrusts into me faster, intensify my high. My back arches off the bed as a deep moan falls between my lips. Harry starts at my neck, kisses down my front.

He groans as I cum on his hardness. “Fuck, I’m cumming,” he pants. “I’m gonna fill you up so much.”

Right as I begin to subside from my climax, Harry hits his point. He rolls his hips, his dick hitting depths new for both of us. I moan, relishing in the feeling as his cum fills my walls.

Harry falls to the bed beside me. The room falls silent as we recover, nothing but the sound of the two of us trying to catch out-breath. Well shit, that was by far the greatest shag I’ve ever had. I stare up at the ceiling, still trying to process everything.

“You’re staying,” Harry pants as if that means anything. He certainly knows how to ruin a perfectly good moment.

I scoff dismissively, whipping my head to the side to look at him. “oh I am so coming!”

“It’s going to be rough!” He starts arguing again. “You’re going to get hurt!”

I laugh at his reasoning, “if what just happened proves anything, it’s that I can handle a bit of roughness.”

“Y/N...” he sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “I couldn’t bear losing you.”

Rolling onto my side, I cup his face gently and make him look in my eyes. “You won’t lose me. Now you know I don’t make promises, so I won’t. But, even if something does happen, I will always love you.”

With a soft nod, he kisses my palm and places his hand over mine. “I love you so much.”

There’s a comfortable pause as we stare into one another’s eyes, pondering the minutes. Harry reaches out and brushes his fingers through my hair comfortingly. Soon, we won’t have this and we don’t know what may happen. We’ll have to make the most of what we have now.

“What time is it?” Harry asks.

I check the clock on the nightstand. “Three forty,” I read before turning back to him. “Why?”

He scrunches his brows together up at the ceiling, deep in thought. “That gives us twenty minutes. We’d be cutting it pretty close.” He glances over at me with a cheeky grin. “What do you it again?”

“Oh please, Potter,” I giggle, already moving to straddle him. He grips my waist, steadying me. “We can do it in ten max.”

“God, I love you,” he grins, bringing me down for a kiss.

I think this time around won’t categorize as angry sex, but for the future, Harry and I wouldn’t mind if we bicker now and again. 

[im-the-punk-who]

I hope you don’t mind me asking but what’s wrong with Caesar Milan? o.o

Oh dear. xD A better question might be what isn't wrong with him?

Okay full disclosure that I hold a pretty low opinion of most 'For TV' dog training (also the problem I have with Youtube trainers, btw) because they always focus on the showiest and most visible problems with the 'quickest' fixes.

Dog training is boring. Really good dog training is really boring. This is something I tell my clients all the time. 80% of dog training is sitting around waiting for something to *not* happen.

As I said in an earlier post, aggression and anxiety are tiered, connected behaviors. And a good trainer will be able to predict those tiers and the escalation pattern of a dog just by watching them interact with low level stressors. Additionally, just like people, dogs do not learn well in high-stress environments.

If you see a dog reacting visibly, that dog is already over threshold and cannot learn. Again I'm gonna say this again. You cannot do good training with a dog if that dog is being visibly reactive or aggressive - you need to be working at a lower reactivity level.

Additionally Caesar, like many trainers, views behaviors as causationally independent. That you need to know 'the root' of a problem to address it. That you need to treat each problem differently. Which means you're going to be consistantly exposing your dog to the same stressor just at different 'levels' until they get used to it, rather than working on a lower-level issue to teach them the basics and then using those basics to address the larger issue.

The reason this is so in a lot of dog training methods is because these trainers don't understand *how* the behaviors are connected. (And trust me, they are.)

So in general, any trainer who seeks to *cause* a reaction in order to 'assess' where the dog is at or for show is intentionally causing that dog needless harm. They are putting that dog in a situation where they (should) know the dog is not ready for it simply for their own ego or inexperience.

But with Caesar Milan specifically, he also uses a hierarchical pack method and ideology of the 'alpha pack leader' that is outdated, disproven, and frankly counterproductive to good training.

GOOD dog training is a conversation. It seeks to remove confrontation and open communication. It seeks to make the dog feel confident in making a choice for itself and not relying on the human at all. It tries to teach the dog not only that it can say no, but that we recognize when they are in distress and will listen to that, so that they can trust us not to put them in truly dangerous situations.

Good dog training is not about 'being the alpha' it is not about gaining 'obedience' from your dog or even respect. It's about getting your dog to like following your directions because they know that doing that usually leads to cool things.

BUT

it is ALSO about helping the dog regulate itself, and recover when bad things happen. Good dog training is just as much about stress recovery as it is about a dog listening to its human.

And this is really what's wrong with the techniques Milan (and a lot of trainers, frankly) use. They do not focus at all on the dog's emotional recovery after a stressful event, focusing instead on what is an issue 'for the human' rather than addressing *why* the dog is behaving like it is and trying to address the emotion underlying the behavior.

Like, aside from the fact that Milan uses just *wrong* techniques and teaching ideas, the biggest problem is that he only seeks to stop a dog from doing a certain behavior, rather than improving the dog's overall mental wellness (which would then not just prevent that one behavior but prevent other related behaviors AND give the dog it's own emotional toolbox to address its problems with.) And that's a problem.

I recced it in my other post, but i REALLY suggest reading this post to understand what I mean about how we address the emotional wellness of the dog before addressing any specific behaviors:

Is your dog an optimist?:

Suppose you never learned to swim and you were afraid of water, leaving aside the possible chicken and egg discussions of which came first. Someone comes along and says “I can teach you to swim in one quick lesson. Meet me at my boat tomorrow morning.” You show up and go out on his boat. He drives you to a lagoon and all around are alligators. He points to a dock a hundred feet away and says if you get up on the dock the alligators can’t eat you….and then shoves you in the water and takes off with the boat. It’s quite possible that you will learn to swim and make it to the dock alive but if you do, do you think you will now feel better about water? Will you have less fear of water or perhaps might you have an even more intense fear of water? Initially you may have had no clear or particular reason to fear water, you just did, but now you have a really good and concrete reason to fear water, you are absolutely certain you almost died in it and have a strong association with water, alligators, and fear.[...]

--

This is what happens with the most challenged dogs when people try to “socialize” them. All they are doing is repeating bad experiences for the dog. A question that I like to ask owners and trainers who are doing this is, “Think of a food or a type of music that you really hate. How much of that food would you have to eat or how much of that music would you have to listen to before you would like it?” Of course people look at me with confusion or like I’m nuts. The question is absurd – everyone knows that repeated exposure to that food or music only makes them more convinced that they hate it.

So why would this be different with the dog? Why would Rover all of a sudden decide that something he really didn’t like was all of sudden (or gradually) actually good and enjoyable? And of course that brings up a really important point – the best you could reasonably expect from this kind of repeated exposure, in most cases, is acceptance, not that the animal would actually come to like the stimulus. Similarly, you would probably not come to like that food or music that was repeatedly forced on you – at best you might just learn to tolerate it.

For me, this is not a good result for our dog. I want the dog to move from fear and anxiety to comfort but even further – to joy and happiness. I want the dog to learn to not just become some degree of comfortable with the things s/he used to be afraid of but to get to a point where s/he likes and looks forward to those things.

[thestorytellersapprentice]

Why Hye-yeong

TLDR; Me discovering Love Alarm and being pleasantly surprised by the endgame(!) and I know many of you are disappointed, but I love Jo-jo and she deserves buckets and buckets of pure love and happiness, and IMO, she’s better off with Hye-yeong.

Here’s why, the shorter version. (Yes, really.)

One. Hye-yeong loves Jo-jo just because. He doesn’t expect and doesn’t ask anything in return. He’s happy just because he can show her that he loves her.

Zero possessiveness. He’s never demanding, he just offers his love freely. Look how happy he is back on season 1, just being able to ring Jo-jo’s alarm repeatedly with his bike, while she obviously doesn’t and says that she probably will never ring his alarm back.

Hye-yeong: “You don't have to like me back just because I like you.”

Jo-jo: “How’s that fair to you?"

Hye-yeong: “I just wanted you to know how I feel."

On S02E04, even after Jo-jo disappears from his "will love you" list, Hye-yeong sees that it's raining and he sends her a text: "It's raining all of a sudden. Did you bring an umbrella? Should I pick you up when you're done?" And even later on, he still smiles the same smile as he notices her there with the yellow umbrella. He continues to ring her alarm again and again that evening, fulfilling his 10x/day quota, even though he's actually really distressed himself.

There are really too many to list here, but you’ve got the point, right?

-

Two. Hye-yeong’s the epitome of being patient. He freaking waits four(!) years after Jo-jo and Sun-oh’s break-up before making his move.

On one hand, he’s such a frustrating guy. (Get moving already!) But on the other hand, the way his love is still so strong and unwavering for years is 💕💕💕

-

Three. Even from season 1, Hye-yeong makes Jo-jo hopes again.

Jo-jo: “Thanks to a single person who’s ringing my Love Alarm right now, I now have hope that I can be happy. One is bigger than any other number in the world.”

Love and relationship is not only about passion, but also commitment. Conscious effort that one continues to choose the other again and again despite everything. So, the fact that Jo-jo herself says this is 🤩

Jo-jo: “Hye-yeongie is a warm and kind guy. I want to try my best.”

-

Four. And on season 2, Jo-jo learns how to love because Hye-yeong shows her how.

Jo-jo notices that he’s struggling even though he says that he’s fine. She ties his necktie for him and says this: “I’m good at it now, right? I can do it now because you taught me.”

And she’s not only talking about the necktie, but also recalling to the moment when Hye-yeong does the same thing to her back on season 1.

This is such a contrast with Sun-oh, who’s starved for love himself. Sun-oh’s also still learning how to love someone properly: how to put their feelings and needs above his own, know when to let go of his pride, how to trust and be gentle.

-

Five. Hye-yeong also shows her how to heal (though unconsciously).

Jo-jo: “People act two different ways when they’re hurt. People who cover up and hide the wound and let it fester. People who show their wounds and grow like trees.”

But I want to stress this. Jo-jo grows and makes peace with many things from her past on her own. She has her own power, always does. But it is also Hye-yeong’s presence and his support throughout their relationship, that I believe gives her the boost. She has such stable and strong support system in the form of Hye-yeong now.

-

Six. Last but not least, they’re so secure with their feelings, that they don’t need the confirmation from the app anymore, at the end. Jo-jo’s log data is such a sweet throwback to all of their moments, yes, but character-wise, they both just shrug if off when their attempt to view the data is apparently unsuccessful.

-

Edited, since I realized belatedly that Tumblr messed up the formatting.

[tlbodine]

The Great Content Warning Debate

Horror Twitter has been aflame for a few days now with heated discourse about trigger/content warnings, and I keep seeing the same arguments and questions and points come up repeatedly so I wanted to collect all of it into one place because I feel like discourse can only get so far if people keep reinventing the wheel -- so perhaps having the full discussion laid out in one place could be helpful.

Of course, the folks arguing probably won’t see this post, but perhaps there can be some benefit from talking about it anyway. This is intended to be more of an overview of arguments and counter-arguments, collected and displayed as impartially as possible, but of course my own opinions are going to leak in and color some of this. 

NOTE: This is written specifically from the perspective of the horror book community, a genre that traditionally is associated with troubling, transgressive, risk-taking and shocking works. There are discussions to be had for content labels on other types of fiction, but as I’m unfamiliar with the norms and expectations of, say, romance, I’m not going to wade too deeply into that here. 

So without further ado, the arguments and counter-arguments and discussion points that I keep seeing hashed and rehashed and circled around when the issue of trigger warnings comes up! 

If you’re sensitive, you shouldn’t be reading horror 

“Horror is supposed to be horrifying! It’s not fluffy bunnies and kittens! You’re supposed to be made uncomfortable!” 

There are a few problems with this: 

“Uncomfortable” is not the same as “Sent into a panic attack/flashback/relapse” (ie, triggered) 

People with PTSD and other issues can and do engage with horror all the time and often love the genre for entertainment or therapeutic purposes

Many people are fine with some types of content but not others; blood and guts won’t affect them the same as rape, or they’re fine with adults dying but can’t handle child death, and so on and so forth 

Knowing what you’re getting into can help you prepare/brace yourself so you’re not taken unaware; people with the right warnings can mentally prepare themselves and enjoy a book that they would not have been able to read if they were confronted with it unexpectedly

Trigger warnings are censorship 

Some folks have an implicit/kneejerk reaction that “trigger = bad thing” and respond to the request to put warnings on a book as a moral value judgment on the book’s contents. I can see why they might fear that, especially because at a glance it’s easy to conflate the groups asking for warnings with the groups who say things like “if your characters have underage sex then you the writer are literally a pedophile.” But by and large the folks asking for warnings do not seem to be asking for folks to stop writing certain difficult themes, only to provide a heads up for readers about the type of experience those readers can expect from the book. 

There is an argument to be made that warnings could affect the sales of a book, in much the same way that an NC-17 film doesn’t get the same distribution opportunities as an R-rated or PG-13 film, and that authors/publishers will make marketing decisions to include or exclude certain types of content in order to avoid this. 

Trigger warnings will spoil the book 

While some readers will benefit from content warnings, others might have their reading experience ruined by knowing about major twists. This seems especially relevant with a warning like “child death.” It’s very important that people who have, for example, recently lost a child not be unexpectedly re-traumatized by reading about a child dying without warning. But it’s also important that people who want to enjoy the full, shocking impact of such a scene have the opportunity to do so without having it dulled by forewarning. 

Any kind of warning system needs to be opt-in for a reader. Some suggestions include: 

Placing warnings at the end of a book, where readers can flip to that page to look (not helpful if you’re ordering online) 

Placing warnings on the author’s website, where readers can search (not helpful if you’re buying in person)

Given the limitations, a combination of those strategies seems to make sense. It may also be unfortunately true that someone looking for one type of warning (ie, rape) will have their experience ruined if they spoiler themselves for another warning (child death). This may be unavoidable collateral damage. 

Authors/Publishers should be responsible for putting warnings in their books

There seems to be some debate over whether the onus of responsibility for providing warnings rests on the author or the publisher. It should be acknowledged that authors may not always have the power to make this choice -- and if the presence or absence of warnings becomes a factor for judging the quality/moral fiber of authors, those authors could be punished by the reader community for a choice that was largely out of their hands (although, there’s still nothing keeping the author from hosting those warnings externally - how successfully that is implemented is another matter). 

Additionally, the demand for warnings will be placed more consistently on small presses simply because those presses are more likely to heed the request. This could create a double standard where readers might be more forgiving of large pub works that forego warnings because there’s no expectation that they would have implemented them anyway. On the other hand, this could be a way for indie publishers to differentiate themselves on the market and appeal more to certain subsets of readers. 

External groups or communities should be responsible for warnings

There’s a line of reasoning that an author or publisher may not be sensitive to the potentially triggering/damaging things in their work, and some kind of external governing body should manage this work instead. This does sound a lot more like the censorship argument that people are worried about. 

Wiki-style sites and places where people can freely tag books (such as Storygraph) also fit this bill to an extent. They would presumably have less power over the market than a ratings board like the MPAA, but could still exert influence over how a book is received. 

Demanding warnings will negatively impact marginalized authors 

We’re already seeing some evidence that BIPOC and LGBTQ authors are affected more by user-generated trigger warnings on sites like Storygraph, and that these warnings can be weaponized against marginalized authors. Much like review-bombing a book before it comes out can affect its launch, labeling a book with inaccurate trigger warnings could damage its sales. 

Similarly, lists of “safe” and “unsafe” authors have already begun to circulate among some groups, and there seems to be a disproportionate number of marginalized creators on that “unsafe” list -- at least according to the anecdotal reports I’ve seen. 

Historically, it is true that any attempts at censorship or content moderation will be more harshly applied to marginalized groups (see: film ratings for gay sex vs straight sex). 

It’s impossible to warn for everything

One hesitancy that some authors have with tagging their work is they’re not sure what to tag for. Triggers are highly personal, and there’s no way you can possibly guess what might upset a reader. 

Here’s a list of commonly agreed-upon things that might make sense to tag for in a given work: 

Violence/gore 

Suicide/self-harm

Rape/sexual assault

Domestic violence

Child death/endangerment

Animal death/abuse

Drug use/substance abuse 

Racism/slurs 

That said, it’s still difficult to account for context. At what stage do you warn for something? If a character is drinking a beer, do you need to tag for that? Do you distinguish between the tone things are written in, such as being played for laughs vs seriously? If the rape scene is written artistically/metaphorically, does the same warning apply as if it were described act-by-act in a clinical sense? What if your blanket list of warnings gives readers a false sense of what the book will be like -- is it actually helpful at all, or is it just posturing/virtue signaling to include warnings that won’t actually be effective?  

Some would argue that this is dramatically overthinking it, but this does seem to cause a great deal of distress to authors who want to do the right thing but worry about getting it wrong. An argument could be made that trying and failing might be worse than doing nothing, especially if your attempts get you labeled as a “trustworthy” or “safe” author only for that trust to be “betrayed” by a warning you used incorrectly. 

On the other hand, many would argue that we all “pretty much know” what needs to be warned for, and that warnings are intuitive. These granular questions could be viewed as a distraction from more common sense issues. 

Readers are responsible for managing their own safety

Ultimately, because it’s impossible for every potential trigger to be identified and warned for, readers will need to remain vigilant. Of course, there are already ways to identify the content of a book without any kind of established warning system -- such as, for example, reading posted book reviews, asking a question on a book’s Goodreads page, reaching out to the author directly, asking about the book in a reading group online or having a friend/parent/spouse/trusted person read the book first and report back with their findings. 

This is the system we’ve pretty much used as readers for years, before “trigger warning” became part of the common vernacular, and it does have some distinct advantages just because you can get a lot more specific information this way. 

It is possible that if warnings become more commonplace for books that readers may become less vigilant about their own safety, which could paradoxically put them at greater risk of finding troubling content unexpectedly. 

There’s also the issue of “safe” and “unsafe” author lists. At the moment, while the discourse is hot, it’s perhaps more natural to pick sides and disregard some authors for reasons that may be unfair -- for example, marking an author as unsafe or boycotting her work because she doesn’t want to include warnings, but she wants to avoid warnings because she strongly believes they will be detrimental to a reader’s safety. A reader may or may not agree with that perspective, but it’s certainly not the same motive as an author who would do something actively malicious to a reader (like, idk, emailing a screamer to a reviewer or something. that’s a made up example.) 

In the end, trigger warnings are a good idea, but the issue is complex to implement and some people do still have reservations about their overall efficacy. 

We simply won’t know one way or another until we try to implement it. But in the meantime, I do think it’s valuable to continue talking about this, as long as everyone involved remains civil and engages in good faith. Once people’s perspectives start getting thrown out the window in the heat of the moment, or strawmen arguments are erected that don’t reflect what anyone involved actually believes, the discussion ceases to be helpful. 

[radarcore]

First Meet

Dr. Woodsworth, a biologist who works at a wildlife rehabilitation center for dragons in a more modern-day, ends up getting the strange task of researching an unknown dragon that is way past the biologist's comfort levels.

Contains: Fearplay, fluff, 'trapped' tiny, like, two mentions of basically vore, dragon giant bc hell yeah L:<, non-binary tiny / giant.

mspaint is a hell to draw with man i didn even bother wit that background anyways hi yes, Orpheus (the giant) is owned by my friend, Bard! This is based on an au we had,,,,yeah >:))) Dr. Woodsworth is my character that i made like, today. Sorry if the ending was cut a bit short, i was rEALLY tryna end it.

Story under cut!

There were three people riding the railways towards Enclosure 7-B. Two well-armored guards, eyes just barely seem behind the glinting visors of their helms, tranquilizer guns tightly clenched, close to their chest. They were standing up, somehow able to keep their balance in the shaky compartment riding the railways. And then there was the scientist, a half-elf, half-pixie sitting down on the seat of the compartment. He had crossed his legs, fiddling with a bike chain fidget as he subconsciously bit his lip. Dr. Woodsworth certainly was no stranger when it came to dragons, unknown species of the (usually) winged reptilian species was his branch of work in the rehabilitation center. But most of the dragons he dealt with within that branch were fae dragons, whom Woodsworth, due to his fae roots, could understand, or rather just smaller dragons overall. But he had been told about…whatever this was. Huge…horns that curled upwards, boney claws with could most *certainly* tear him apart in seconds. He was mentally pacing, desperately trying to think of a way he’d be able to deal with such a beast. …He had been told the dragon could talk, so that brought some relief to him. …And what if he were to have to go inside the enclosure…? Woodsworth didn’t have wings, not anymore, at least…he would be as good as dead if the dragon wanted anything to do with him. The movement suddenly stopped; the compartment let out a pressured hiss. The scientist hadn’t looked up at anything else besides his fidget, but he could hear the guards’ armor shift. Letting out a shaky sigh, Dr. Woodsworth pushed himself up from where he sat, sticking the fidget into his pocket. His legs quivered under the weight. “…Here we go.”

***

As the hallway’s walls turned into glass, Dr. Woodsworth quickly pulled out his circular sunglasses, trying to still adjust his eyes to the sudden light. He didn’t bother to gaze outside, just desperately trying to keep pushing onward and hope things go well. Certainly, when it came to the…least dangerous dragons, things weren’t this technologically advanced, not built to keep whatever monstrosities could lie inside. Gigantic…monstrosities. But suddenly, the guards had stopped. “We’ll stand out here, go inside, there’s a distress button if you’re in need of us.” One of them had lightly tapped Dr. Woodsworth with their supposed tranquilizer gun. “…fuck…” Dr. Woodsworth gulped, and carried on, opening the door… It was a small square room, with four simple buttons and a lever. The middle part of the room was nothing but glass to show the *proper* enclosure inside. It was huge, coated with a thick snow with a somewhat rigid terrain. In the corner was…the dragon. A hulking beast of mostly fur, the claws were even sharper than Woodsworth imagined, the horns even larger, their neck winded like a snake’s. …A skull-like mask to cover the upper head. Dr. Woodsworth sheepishly leaned in towards the microphone that was close to the lever, trying to repeat the same words repeatedly before he pressed on the (supposed) microphone button. “…H-h-h-hello…h-h-hello…good-good-good morning? A-a-afternoon? Fuck…fuck…fuck it.” He slammed down onto the microphone button, choking out, “Good afternoon!” The beast winded their head upward, bending into an S shape as they slowly leaned towards the observatory that Dr. Woodsworth was basically stuck inside. Dr. Woodsworth hyperventilated, slowly backing up as the beast got closer, “Please…please don’t…” As if the beast could hear him now, so far from the microphone. As anyone could come for his aid. Whatever happened now. He wasn’t ready.

.

.

.

“Heyo!” With a soft bonk against the glass, the dragon had responded, gently fluttering their massive wings as they peered at the doctor with interest. Refusing to leave the massive dragon waiting incase of…*something horrid*, Dr. Woodsworth clicked on the button once more, leaning into the mic. “…M-my name is-is…Doctor. Doctor W-Woodsworth. I’ve…come to a-ask some questions…” “Oh, my name’s Orpheus!” Orpheus’ ear flicked, their tail faintly swaying in the distance. “Can I ask a question first though…this place is kinda weird an’ all, so like…” “…G-Go ahead…” He pulled out a clipboard and pen, preparing himself to jot down notes of his ‘interview’. “Well, first off, how long have I’ve been hibernating, *why* am I a dragon, and where’s ghost cat? He’s smaller than me, and he…*also* isn’t a dragon.” Dr. Woodsworth, his finger hovering above the microphone, *how was he supposed to answer those questions?* But there…was something interesting. They weren’t always a dragon…? …Huh…? “…You weren’t always a dragon?” “Oh no!” Orpheus raised a claws,”I was like…uh…I think shorter than you…? I dunno. But my friends called me short. Also I didn’t have these cool wings before too! And now everyone is small too, not just ghost cat! Like you! …But. Uhm…it’s really lonely in here and it’s making me nervous.” Dr. Woodsworth wrote that all down,”…W-well I-I s-suppose we-we can help you g-get adjusted…” He tried ignoring Orpheus’ comment about being lonely. As kind as the dragon seemed…he didn’t want to risk it. “Or…or…we can r-reverse it.” “Oh no! No! I don’t want to reverse this! This is super cool, …um, unless ghost cat is uhm…scared of it, but! …You haven’t answered where ghost cat is…?” As Orpheus’ ears flattened, Dr. Woodsworth’s heart sank. What was he suppose to say…? “…I don’t know.” Orpheus paused,”I…I…” The dragon slowly turned. “W-wait! I’m sure we can think of something! Uh-uh…we-we still n-need to a-ask q-questions…and…” Dr. Woodsworth put his hand to the glass before taking it away, his feelings conflicting. Fuck…what was he supposed to do? The dragon wasn’t talking, but he was coming out with no research whatsoever.

He leaned into the buttons, slammed down on the lever, maybe that could do something…? With a mechanical whir, Dr. Woodsworth was… Descending.

Dr. Woodsworth PANICKED, desperately trying the switch the level back and forth, “No! No! No! NO!” No, fuck fuck FUCK. The room shook as it stopped at a halt, the door whining open as a chill swirled into the room. He was still frantically pressing buttons. “…Huh…?” THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. Fuck…fuck…fuck…this was it. He collapsed onto his knees, clinging onto the panel. This was it. The end. Dr. Woodsworth screamed as he saw as Orpheus’ snout poked through the door. He attempted to curl into a ball, sobbing into his lab coat. “Heyo…is everything alright? I saw the square thingy going down, it’s probably really cold in here! I can warm you right up!” Dr. Woodsworth slowly turned, “Wh-“ Orpheus, using their mouth, plucked Dr. Woodsworth by the labcoat, pulling him out of the room. Dr. Wordsworth simply had gone limp, barely able to move by this point, his heart beating out of his chest as he simply accepted his fate. …Whatever that fate was. Being eat alive? Torn apart to shreds? …He didn’t know, but he accepted it to be painful. He closed his eyes, letting the darkness overtake him. …But there wasn’t any limbs slowly torn off, teeth tearing as his skin. …In fact, wherever he was, it felt soft. As he opened his eyes, he realized he had been gently pressed against the dragon’s chest, the dragon’s ‘arms’ curled around the scientist. Dr. Woodsworth caught his breath, still shaken from the recent events. He eventually let himself sink into the dragon’s fur, quivering as he sat himself right up afterwards. “…Is it less cold now…?” Orpheus turned their head slightly down, blinking as they awaited Dr. Woodsworth’s response. Dr. Woodsworth hugged his legs, he was finally able to relax, and soon as the panic was over, it had turned into annoyance. He let out a grumble, “I’m quitting this job.”

[rosevanhelsing]

Wendigo

Chapter 20.

As Vic made her way to the gas station, Manx straightened up, sat on the couch, and watched Alice. The girl was shivering with cold since she was only wearing a nightgown.

-Come on, pretty. You're shivering with cold and you're going to catch pneumonia.

Alice approached him suspiciously. Charlie smiled, trying not to show his pointed teeth and said:

-Come, sit here a little while. I do not bite.

She sat on the opposite side of the couch but she didn't say anything. Manx took his coat and wrapped Alice up so she wouldn't get cold.

-That's better, isn't it? - said Charlie

Alice nodded in response. Charlie was curious to know what kind of inscape and special ability that girl might have to attract the Wendigo's attention so he subtly started asking her.

-Why was that bad man chasing you to kill you?

-I do not know. That man came into our house at night, I don't know why the alarm didn't go off, he came into my room, woke me up and said that people like me shouldn't exist, that we are bad and that he was going to kill me and then eat me - she said in a distressed voice.

-It is awful. You must have been terribly afraid. Lucky Vic rescued you.

-What was that man referring to "people like me"?

Charlie said:

-It means that you are a very, very special little person. Tell me, have you ever been in a place that is the same as you have imagined?

-Yes. Repeatedly. I have a place that I always go to. I call it The Forgotten Yard. I discovered it one day while going for a walk with my parents. Once I was there for a long time and my parents were very scared. They believed someone had kidnapped me.

- Oh, and how did you get in? Did you take something special with you?

- Like what?

- Something that you like a lot, and that you always wear when you go to the Forgotten Yard

 Alice thought a bit, and said:

"I think this," she said showing him a pendant of a little angel.

- How beautiful. Did your parents give it to you?

- No, my grandmother before going to heaven

- "Wow. I must be losing my faculties”- Manx said to himself, -“I should have been able to guess this”

At that moment, the Wraith sent him a telepathic message:

- This woman is a mess. She is driving me out of pain ...

- Well, take the initiative. Make driving easier.

The Wraith's engine roared a little under its breath as if it were huffing with resignation, though Vic didn't notice. In a subtle way, the Rolls made it easier for Vic to drive, anticipating her movements on the gear lever and clutch. Vic arrived at the gas station, put in the gasoline that Charlie had indicated, and went inside to buy a can of gasoline, oil, distilled water and some food.

While Vic was shopping, the Rolls asked Charlie if he wanted him to turn Vic into someone like him .... Charlie thought for a moment and said:

- No, now is not the time. That moment will come, sooner or later, Vic will end up being mine ... and she will be the one who begs me.

The Wraith's engine purred and she waited patiently for Vic. She loaded the bags into the front seat and they returned to the library. Vic called to let them  know that she was there and went upstairs

- Wow, Charlie. You have better color ... - Vic said- At least now, you don't look like a vampire at all ...

- You are so funny ... - Manx said sarcastically

 Vic looked at Alice peacefully asleep on the sofa and decided to wait for her to wake up alone, she sat on the floor and said:

- I'm going to call Tabitha to send the FBI and Child Care to take care of Alice and give her police protection as long as they don't capture or kill the Wendigo. If he is smart, he will not face the police, fortunately he is not practically immortal like you.

- I keep insisting that Alice should come with me to Christmasland, Vic. She is a creative soul, they will not understand her and that matter will get out of hand- said Charlie- By the way, in your absence, I have found out what her inner landscape is called, and what is her supposed "knife" ...

-Maybe it would be better for her if she didn't use her powers, so that the Wendigo couldn't track her again ... -Vic said

- Definitely. To do this, if you don't want her to come with me, we should take the knife from her, even destroy it. It is the pendant that she wears, it was given to her by her late grandmother.

- Charlie! Surely it is the only memory left of the poor girl of her grandmother. Surely there is a better way to explain it to her or to convince her to "lend" us her pendant while the Wendigo is on the loose ...

- What about my pendant? Alice asked half asleep

"You woke up, sleepyhead," Charlie said affably.

- Nothing, Alice.  I was simply commenting to Charlie that we had to tell you that you should not enter the Forgotten Yard while the Wendigo is on the loose.

- The Wendigo is the bad man who killed my parents?

-Yes. In a while I will call the police and they will protect you and hide you. The Wendigo will not come near you. But while to facilitate their work, do not enter your inscape.

-Inscape?

-That's what the Forgotten Yard is. A place created with your imagination and that you can make real and enter it.

- The Bridge that we cross also an inscape?

-Yes. It's mine

-And the amusement park where it is always Christmas from Mr. Vampire, too?

"Yes, it is too," Vic said as she laughed at the nickname Alice gave Charlie. "Now what do you think if we eat a little?"

 Alice nodded and Vic took the sandwiches she had bought out of her backpack.

-Are there any without meat or fish? I am vegetarian- Alice asked

Charlie rolled his eyes and said:

-You have to see  that you children are fussy  nowadays ... that if I'm allergic, that I don't like that or that ... take a walk with the Wraith and she will take away all that nonsense ...

-Don't worry Alice. I can take the ham off the sandwich… Vic said. She removed the ham from the sandwich and handed it to the girl with a reproachful look at Manx.

Alice stuck her tongue out at Charlie. Manx grunted and said:

- Jesus, look at how badly they educate children nowadays ...

Charlie took the distilled water and oil and said.

-I'm going to put the water and oil in the car. Leave me some of this delicacy ... he said ironically

While Manx was busy with the car, Vic called Tabitha to arrange Alice's pickup time. She also took the opportunity to call home and inform Lou of the situation and calm him down. Lou said:

- An invitation for Halloween has arrived from the publisher of your books. For a costume party, set in the 1930s.

- For parties I am ... we'll see ... how is the theme of Wayne's birthday?

- All ready. I have bought everything the puppy will need. Shall we pick up the puppy with Wayne or may he be surprised when he arrives?

- I don't know, Lou. I don't know what would make you more funny ... Let me finish fixing the girl and when this is over, I'll go home and talk about it. I have to hang up or I run out of battery.

- Okay.

When Charlie returned, Alice was half asleep with her head in Vic's lap. Manx took one of the sandwiches and one of the sodas and satiated his hunger a little. Vic said:

- We have to take care of the Wendigo, Charlie. I'll do it with or without you. I can't allow it to destroy more lives, like Alice's.

- We'll do that.- Charlie said sitting down next to her. -Miss Leigh predicted with her Scrabble tiles that we could beat him together." If the two of you were about to kill me ... imagine what the two of us can do. Vic, I am sure that right now we are the most powerful creatives- said Charlie enthusiastically, taking Vic gently by the shoulders and turning her towards him so that he looked into her eyes - We will come up with something ... and we are not going to die, none of the two. Since we have started this, we are going to finish it.

Vic smiled at him and held out her hand to fit him

- Done deal. The creative soul team will kick the Wendigo's butt and send him to hell.

Charlie laughed and looked directly at Vic as if he wanted to hypnotize her with his gaze, suddenly the Wraith began to honk its horn, and police sirens sounded in the distance.

- I think I'd better go, Vic. When you have a plan and are ready, just tell me.

- I will do it.

Charlie went downstairs, but instead of leaving, he sent the Wraith a few miles farther and hid in the shadows to watch. Vic and Alice went downstairs and spoke to that police officer who had chased him once. Vic hugged Alice and said

- They will take care of you. The bad man won't come for you.

Alice hugged him back tightly and said:

-Thank you for saving me, Vic. - She suddenly took off her pendant and said, "I'll lend you the little angel that my grandmother gave me to protect me.  It sure protects you too. You will return it to me when we meet again. Why will we meet again, right?

- Of course. When the Police and I are done with the Wendigo, I'll come see you and give it back to you. You have my word.

From the darkness, Charlie watched the scene intently, licked his lips and said to himself:

- You have changed a lot, Vic McQueen ... now you are worthy of being Mrs. Christmasland.

[angst-fairygodmother]

Light Fingers (The Umbrella Academy)

Diego’s vigilantism brings him repeatedly across the path of a young cat burglar. But as he finds himself developing feelings for the thief, he begins to wonder if there’s more to her than meets the eye, and whether they’re really on opposite sides. And as their relationship deepens, it brings with it a plot involving his estranged adopted father, and threatens to destroy all of them.

CHAPTER 11: ON THE CASE

Word Count: 3369 Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Reader Rating: T Content Warnings: swearing, references to violence (canon-typical) Cross-posted to AO3: here

Previous Chapter: Normalcy || Masterlist

A/N: Sorry it’s taken me so long, my loves. This chapter was rough. And I’m not a mystery writer, so I can only hope it satisfies.

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

“So,” Diego said around a mouthful of cereal, absently scratching Duncan’s head with his other hand. “Who exactly are we looking for?”

“John Miller. Assistant archivist at City Hall,” you explained stirring your coffee. “He plays pool with my fence and a few others on Thursdays. I mentioned I was looking for a big score with a flexible timeline, something to work on in the background between things. He put us in touch.”

“And you’re sure it was Miller that sold us out?”

“He’s the only option.” You shrugged.

“What about Derek?” Diego offered, frowning. 

You froze, staring at him, agape for a moment.

“No. No way,” you shook your head. “The only person I’ve known longer is my brother, and maybe yours. There’s no way he would do that. I trust him.”

Duncan whined, sensing your distress and circling the counter to press himself against your leg instead of Diego’s. You absently placed your hand on top of the dog’s head, comforting him if not yourself. 

“I just had to ask. Cover all our bases,” Diego said, trying to placate you.

You glared for a moment, before deflating with a sigh. “I know…”

“Other than city hall, do you have any leads?”

“No…” you admitted. “But if he’s not at his office, maybe someone there will know where to find him. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Maybe...this is a mistake and we should just leave it…”

Diego frowned. He’d never known you to just give up, not for anything. And yet, he had been hoping you would, scared for your safety and how things might play out. 

“That’s a change from what you’ve been saying,” he observed cautiously. 

“I know but...if Miller ratted us out, and Reginald hired extra security, the kind that use real guns and shoot first, don’t ask questions...what if he also did something to...silence loose ends?”

You hated that you were suggesting it, didn’t know if it was even probable. But you had to say it out loud. You just hoped that by calling him Reginald and not Diego’s father, it would make the suggestion seem less horrible, although it didn’t seem to be working well on yourself.

“Isn’t that all the more reason to keep looking? If someone is hurt, or dead, because of my father, and we’re the only ones who can put those pieces together, we have a duty, don’t we?”

You chewed nervously on your lip. “I...you’re probably right.”

“I could go alone if you’re worried?” he offered. “You’d be safe that way.”

“Diego,” you sighed, fixing him with a level look. “That makes no sense. I’m worried that this is too dangerous for the two of us together, why the hell would I let you do it alone?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Are you trying to reverse psychology me?” you gaped at him, scandalized. 

He shrugged. “Did it work?”

“You don’t have to convince me to do anything, Diego. I’m not going to give up, even if we probably should.”

“Good. But, we should be on our guard.”

“Are we ever not?”

“Even more on our guard than usual,” he said, rolling his eyes. 

~

City Hall proved to be a quick dead end; the only thing John Miller had left behind was an office that looked like it had never been used.

“There must be something,” you fumed, running your fingers anxiously through your hair as you paced the empty room. “This can’t be it.”

“We could try asking? Or find a phone book?” Diego suggested, shrugging. 

“We’re going to need more to go on than a name when it’s as common as John Miller. There’s probably twenty of them in the area.”

“Good point. Trash can.” Diego pointed to the unassuming bin under the desk.

“What?” You frowned at him in confusion.

People always forget to empty the trash can, and throw out all kinds of things. Like receipts.”

“Worth a shot.” You sighed, circling around to kneel down and take a peek inside. 

Diego was right that when trying to erase the fact he’d ever existed, Miller had forgotten that little detail. But it didn’t look at first glance like it would be all that helpful, just old napkins and cigarette butts. You grumbled something about him being a fire hazard and sighed, resigning yourself to rooting through. 

“Jackpot,” you muttered before tossing a balled up receipt for ‘May’s Clean-n-Dry’ to Diego. “Think we can do something with that?”

“It’ll narrow things down at least.”

“Great. Then let’s get out of here. We’ve hung around too long already.”

~

It took several more hours, before you were able to narrow down from a radius near the dry cleaner’s to an exact address. The sun was setting as you approached the unassuming brick-faced building. You scowled at it, almost annoyed that for something likely so important it looked so...ordinary.

“So he lives on the second floor,” you said, reviewing the notes you had jotted down throughout the day. “Alone. We should split up and approach from multiple angles, in case this is a trap.”

“No. We go in together,” Diego argued. 

“Diego, be reasonable. I don’t like it either. But we both know it’s the best way to do this.”

“Y/N…” he frowned, expression deepening at your determined and somewhat annoyed look in return. “Fine. But I’m going in the front door. If he’s there and expecting trouble that’s where he’ll expect it from.”

“I’d argue with you about being overprotective, but that was already my plan anyway.”

You leaned over and kissed him swiftly, trying to comfort him and sooth your own nerves, seeking some sort of reassurance in it that the two of you, together, could handle anything that might come. His hand wrapped around the back of your neck, clinging to you and answering your emotion with his own desperation and need. 

“Showtime?” you asked when you parted finally, quirking an eyebrow at him and smirking excitedly. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, voice quiet. 

You slipped out of the car, immediately wrapping your powers around you to blur the sight as you crossed the street and circled the building. It wasn’t hard to find a fire escape and open window, slipping inside and crouching in the shadows to wait for some sign of Diego. Glancing around, you noticed that the apartment looked like it had been tossed, clothing and personal belongings scattered.

The front door creaked open and Diego slipped inside, freezing immediately as you heard a sound from the next room. 

Suddenly, Miller burst through, not noticing either of you as he tossed the room further, like he was looking for something.

“John Miller?” Diego asked, stepping into the center of the room and making the other man freeze, wide-eyed. 

“Are you here to kill me?” he asked, strangely calm. 

“Now why would we do that, John?” you asked, leaning against the sill you had just come through.

He shrieked, jumping to look at you, fists raised. You watched him standing there, trembling, and frowned, casting a look over at Diego.

“B-b-because of the robbery. The warehouse. You’re mad it was a setup, right?”

“You knew?” Diego snapped, pulling a knife. You rolled your eyes and waved for him to stand down.

“Now why would you sell me out John?” you cocked your head. “Seeing as I’ve never done anything to you.”

“It wasn’t me! Please you have to believe me! The old man came to me!”

“What old man?” Diego snapped. “Tell us everything.”

“No. No. I can’t. I have to get out of here! We all have to get out of here!”

You were starting to suspect that John was going to cry, or piss himself. He was terrified, certainly not the sort of man you had expected. He didn’t seem like the sort to be a criminal mastermind, or even an informant. Something wasn’t adding up, again, and you were starting to get really angry about it.

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “You got in over your head, obviously. And you’re scared. Talk and maybe we can help you.”

“You can’t. No one can.” He shook his head. “He’s going to kill me.”

“We can protect you,” Diego offered, holding out his hands placatingly. “You just have to tell us everything.”

“No. No one can protect me. You least of all.”

“We can,” you insisted. “If you just calm down and tell us exactly what happened.”

“You don’t understand. He paid me a lot of money to bring the plans to you. To get you to break in. Not just any thief. He told me your name, where to find you, who to contact. He wanted you.”

“He...what?” Diego asked, voice catching.

“What was his name?” you forced out past the lump of fear in your throat.

“You did what he wanted. I know too much. I’m a loose end. I know how this works. Now if you’re not going to kill me, I have to get out of here. I have to hide. Maybe he won’t find me. But I have to go.”

“What. was. his. name?” you asked. You knew the answer. But you needed to be sure, to hear it. 

“Hargreeves.”

“Fuck,” you sighed.

Diego looked pale, like he might be sick. You felt the same. 

“Get out of here,” he told Miller, shaking his head. 

~

“Just trust me, alright?” you asked, holding Diego’s gaze. “We’re not going to engage, we’re not going to do anything risky. Just take a quick look around and see what we see.”

“No. Y/N. It’s too dangerous. And what if we find something?”

“Then...I don’t know. we should probably go to Eudora? You said yourself that we’re the only ones who can make this connection, so we have to do something. Right?”

He was chewing nervously on his lip, a habit you were pretty sure he’d picked up from you at some point. 

“But he’s also your father, and I get it if that makes this complicated for you…”

“Going to the police will mean we have to explain how we know. And having something concrete.”

“That’s why I said Dora, specifically. She’ll be more understanding than most. Maybe she’ll be able to help us swing it so that we don’t end up in jail too. Either way, that’s assuming we can figure out exactly what’s going on.”

“We won’t find anything sitting out here. Let’s go.”

The pair of you stayed in the car, parked across the street from the infamous Umbrella Academy for another several minutes.

Diego, you could tell, was nervous to reenter the place he’d grown up in and left behind long ago. There were so many memories within those four stone walls for him, and most of them were bad. You almost expected him to balk at the last moment and ask that you go alone. And you had made contingencies in your mind for just that purpose. But Diego was never one to run from a fight. 

You, on the other hand, were terrified to potentially confront your father and brother in law, for both Diego’s sake and your own. You hoped that the building was empty, or that the only beings inside were Diego’s mom and...whatever one classified Pogo as (and you weren’t sure that wasn’t “your husband is pulling your leg about just how weird it was growing up in that house”). But none of your luck had been good so far, so it seemed like too much to hope. 

“We should get going…in there and...g-get it over with...” Diego said haltingly. 

“We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable. I can come back alone or something,” you rushed to assure him, catching his stutter immediately. 

He shook his head. “No. Let’s finish this.”

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze while the other fell to the door handle. He returned the gesture with a strained smile and a determined glint in his eye. Without speaking, it was like the pair of you counted to three, synchronizing. 

The Academy towered over you both, casting a looming shadow even from across the street. You swallowed and set about to work. 

~

“Diego?” a voice said, stopping your husband short. Slowly you both turned toward the door on your right. “What are you doing here? Who’s she?”

“Is Dad here, Luther?” Diego asked instead of answering questions. 

“No, he should be home soon. Don’t try to tell me you’re here to see him though. I know that’s not true.”

“No. We’re looking for answers.” 

Luther seemed more confused than combative. You let your eyes wander over your brother-in-law’s large form and decided that was probably for the best.

“Answers? Answers to what?” his voice raised slightly. 

You practically feel the way Diego tensed beside you, his hand subtly dropping to one of his knives. You stretched your fingers to dance over his and try to get him to ease off, for now.

“Diego, what’s going on? And you still haven’t answered who she is.” Luther pointed a finger accusingly at you.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, offering a smile and stepping forward to shake Luther’s hand, only to retreat when he shifted as if expecting you to launch an attack. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Diego,” you didn’t like the tone of Luther’s voice now, a warning, or a scolding maybe. 

“We don’t have time to explain Luther. We just need to take a look around before Dad gets back.”

“No. Not unless you tell me why.”

“I...had a run in with some guys that tried to kill me,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “I have reason to believe your father might be involved, and convinced Diego to help me...snoop.”

“You've always been selfish, Diego,” Luther snapped, face darkening in anger and disbelief, and Diego scowled back, “but this is a new low. I can't believe you'd turn on us for some girl.”

“She is not just 'some girl', Luther!” Diego had drawn his knife in a blink and pointed the tip of it at his brother. 

You flinched. You didn’t want it to come to a fight between brothers. Even if Diego probably could handle it physically, and pretend he was fine with it emotionally, it didn’t seem right to you. 

Luther scoffed disbelievingly. 

“She’s my wife. I love her, I have to protect her. We…” Diego hesitated, afraid of how easily the words felt like they could roll off his tongue. “We’re family.”

“What would you know about family? You ran away from yours as soon as you could!”

“We didn’t have a family growing up. This, between Y/N and I, is real, not forced because our father thought it would make us easier to control.”

“What exactly makes her so special?”

“Y/N sees me. I’ve never been a number to her, or our last name. I’m just me. And she cares about me, flaws and all. She’s been here for me no matter what. She makes me happy. Really happy.”

“And that’s enough?”

“What else is there?” you asked softly, shrugging apologetically. 

Luther turned his glare on you. “I wasn’t asking you.”

“Don’t talk to her like that, Luther,” Diego warned. “I made a decision. Now get out of our way.”

“No.”

“Don’t make me do this, Number One. I will.”

He shifted into a different stance, one you recognized from the boxing ring when he wanted to taunt his opponents and look weaker than he really was. Luther seemed to take the bait, raising his fists, and the two brothers circled each other slowly in the foyer of that house.

You stepped back, neither of them seeming to notice you anymore. Your heart fluttered, and nervously you wondered if you should stay in case Diego needed your help. Part of you wanted to step in and put a stop to it, to remind them that they were family too and should be on the same side. 

But then your logical mind kicked back in. The watchdog was distracted. Now was going to be your best, probably your only, chance to slip away and look for answers. If you moved quickly, everything would be fine. You rationalized that this was probably part of Diego’s plan, and you slipped away.

Most of the house was just empty rooms, storage and old bedrooms, places that hadn’t been lived in in years. You passed one with drawings on the walls, chicken scratch and frantic pen and wondered whose mind had been so excited that they couldn’t look for paper (you had your suspicions though). Another with scuff marks in the door and holes in the walls, as surely Diego’s as anything you’d ever seen. 

‘At least now he uses a board to practice,’ you thought, smiling softly.

Passing further down the hall, you found a back stairwell and followed it up, circling around a balcony strewn with memorabilia of the famed Umbrella Academy and of the exploits of Reginald Hargreeves. You scowled. The whole building was a monument, a museum of one man’s ego and you wanted to light it all on fire.

Reigning in your temper, you tried one of the doors on the upper level, easing it open to reveal a cluttered space that was quite clearly a study. 

“Alright, Reginald. Tell me your secrets. It’s the least you can do,” you breathed, slipping inside and shutting the door behind you. 

Immediately, you went to the desk, piled high with papers and journals. There was too much to stop and read. You needed more to go on, so you started leafing through, looking for some sort of system or organizational mark. You swore under your breath after a few minutes of hunting. Of course there was nothing that straight-forward. He was too smart for that. 

Just as you were considering giving up, you found a folder full of papers stamped with D.S. Umbrella Co. letterhead. Most of them were just lists: dates, locations, item descriptions, something you thought might be crate numbers or license plates, names. You frowned, tugging at your lower lip as you read through them, looking for something. On one page, the date a few months prior, was the name of someone you recognized as a missing person. But there was so little else to go on. Still, you pulled it out and shoved it in your coat pocket, planning to take it and study it in more detail later. 

You returned the rest of the folder to the drawer and straightened to go. Then something you had missed before caught your eye and you paused.

Underneath a pile of what appeared to be invoices for building materials and construction equipment, you found a journal, red-leather embossed with the letters RH, apparently hastily hidden. Easing it carefully out, trying to disturb everything around it as little as possible to cover that you had found it, you flipped the obviously important book open and began to read. 

First was a list of locations, some crossed out, some with initials or marks next to them, and eight circled, including one you recognized as your parents’ home address. Your jaw clenched angrily and you kept reading, finding notations about which children he had found, how’d he’d acquired them, and added in a different ink at another time their numbers and abilities. Skimming a few more pages, you realized that this book was full of observations about the seven children and their raising/training. A chill ran down your spine when you realized that there were also notes about you. Eventually you shook yourself, trying to absorb the information was taking too much time, and irrelevant to the matter at hand. 

Flipping to the end, you scanned the last entries. Much of it was in code, and you growled in frustration, but one date caught your attention: your wedding date. Starting there, you began to study and puzzle through every entry, wishing you had a pen and paper to help you. 

Before you could get very far, a hand fell on your shoulder and you gasped, spinning around to defend yourself. 

Instead, you felt rooted in your spot by the cold glare of Reginald Hargreeves. 

[hailbop1701]

25 Days of FicMas

December 25th prompt: Strangers meet in an airport(Shuttle) terminal on Christmas

Word Count: 1,705

Journey Home

It's the last FicMas guys! Well until next year anyway. I hope I made the final one awesome even with all the stuff going on today! I hope your holiday was awesome and full of cheer! Merry Christmas all!

-H❤🖖

Leonard McCoy clenched his hands into his hair a look of anger and disbelief on his face. Across the board were lines upon lines of shuttle cancellations and delays, “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me!” an irritated voice said from beside him. Looking down Leonard saw you, arms crossed and a rather adorable scowl on your face. You puffed out your cheeks angrily and clenched your hands into small fists by your sides. Leonard huffed in agreement with you, “A storm, what in the hell is the point of climate control if they aren’t going to use it!” you ranted on not caring if Leonard answered you or not. “Now I’m stuck in freakin’ Chicago shuttle terminal on Christmas eve,” 

Leonard couldn’t help but agree, “You could say that again,” you finally looked up at him curiously and then around the nearly empty terminal. “Heading home for the holidays?” you asked picking up your large duffle. Leonard sighed heavily, “Yeah ship got in a few hours ago and I thought-” he waved a hand half-heartedly at the schedule board. “You thought you might be able to make it on time. Same here, fleet?” you asked walking over to the seating area with him. Dropping your bag next to a hard plastic bench you sat down crisscrossed on it, “Yeah, the Enterprise just got back from her shakedown cruise,” Leonard muttered tiredly. You nodded in understanding, “ I heard she was coming back. One hell of a ship, I’m getting resigned.” you grimaced. Holding out your hand you gave Leonard a kind smile, “Lieutenant (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” Leonard shook your hand in a firm but gentle way. “Lieutenant Commander Leonard McCoy,” 

Leonard had sat down on the bench across from you an eyebrow raised in mild curiosity. “Your choice or somebody else’s?” he asked leaning forward so his forearms rested on his knees. He was already pretty surprised at himself; he was talking to you like he has known you for years. You bit your lip and sighed, “My XO and I had a little altercation,” you looked down at your cuticles. “It sounds like one hell of a story,” Leonard huffed a chuckle. You snorted and rolled your eyes, “You have no idea.” taking a deep breath you picked at your nails nervously. The subject was sore and you didn’t want to bother a complete stranger with it. Leonard saw you wilt a little and he automatically went into doctor mode; you had dark circles under your eyes indicate that you haven’t been sleeping. “I’m going to see my daughter, her mother didn’t want me showin’ up but I managed to convince her that seeing Jo would be good for the both of us. She’s going to have a field day when I don’t show up on time. She has been full of piss and vinegar since even before the divorce” he let out honestly. He saw you lift your head brows furrowing, something flashed in your eyes but it was gone as soon as it appeared. “I’m sorry, that sounds rough,” you whispered genuinely, Leonard shrugged his shoulders in accepted defeat. “You’re trying and that’s all that matters,” you continued resting your chin on your fist, your elbow digging into your knee. Leonard looked up at you, mouth hanging open slightly “I know it’s really non of my business but I don’t think it matters what your ex thinks of you. The only thing that matters is your daughter and her feelings,” you said with a small sad smile. Leonard bowed his head and pressed his lips together, ‘she’s right, it is none of her business,’ he thought but he couldn’t help but smile a little. Your words brought a warmth that he hadn’t felt in quite some time. “Thank you,” he finally said looking up at you his lips turned up a little at the corners. He then tilted his head almost expectantly, as if to say ‘your turn’ 

You gave a humorless chuckle, “Clever,” you muttered under your breath. Taking a deep breath you leaned back into the bench, the cold plastic making you shiver slightly. “My commanding officer-” you paused mouth open to say more. Nothing came out. You pressed your lips together trying to come up with the right words. Leonard waited patiently eyes without judgment or annoyance, so you tried again. “My commanding officer had a thing for me, it was obvious with all the flirting and hinting he did. I told him that I wasn’t interested and repeatedly turned him down. He persisted and the more I turned him down the more he became harder to work with. One day he finally snapped and cornered me in a supply closet; he got handsy and I punched his lights out,” you finished your condensed version of events. Leonard’s eyes flashed angrily making you deflate a bit and look down at your clenched hands. Faintly you heard him get up and carefully sit next to you, “And your Captain knows what happened?” he asked gently. Gulping you wrapped your arms around your torso, “He knows, and he thought it would have been best if we let it go and I get resigned,” you mumbled looking anywhere but toward Leonard. 

McCoy growled, “Unbelievable,” he hissed with a shake of his head. “What’s your focus?” you shifted so you could look up at him, “Stellar cartography,” Leonard nodded eyes far away, thinking. “That shouldn’t have happened to you and your old CO should be brought up on disciplinary action, “ he seethed pulling out a PADD from his messenger bag. You looked at him confused, “What are you doing?” you squeaked, legs falling from the bench to the floor with an audible thud. “I’m sending a message to my Captain-” he murmured tapping out the quick message. This caused you some distress, “Oh please don’t I’m fine there is no reason to bring your Captain into this!” you said placing a hand on Leonard’s wrist. He looked at you, “lieutenant, this is a serious matter and it needs addressing. It’s alright, I promise. Jim Kirk is a close friend and we’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” he reassured placing a hand over yours. You opened your mouth to argue but the look McCoy sent you made you snap it shut again, “Yes sir,” you whimpered shoulders sagging. Leonard pursed his lips at your dejected look and went back to typing, he stayed a respectable distance from you as he did so. Despite the strange fact that he wanted to wrap an arm around you and tell you everything will be alright. He shook the thought as he waited for a reply, “I’m sorry to trouble you with this,” your voice cause McCoy to look up sharply. “No darlin’ you’re not troublin’ me at all!” the pet name slipped out and his drawl brought a twitch of a smile to your lips. 

Leonard spoke more to you than he ever has with a complete stranger. ‘It took Jim a solid two months to get full sentences from me,’ he mused silently. He spoke about his daughter, Jim of course, and the adventures the Enterprise experienced. He needed to get your mind off of what was stuck in your head. You sat on the bench beside him legs to your chest listening to another story about how the Captain of the Enterprise got himself into trouble. Again. You giggled and added in comments and questions here and there but otherwise kept silent. The more he talked Leonard realized his southern drawl became more pronounced, “-and then the dumb kid turns to me askin’ if I could jus’ put a field dressin’ on it!” your fit of giggles made Leonard cut himself off. You placed a hand over your mouth trying to stifle the laughter. Your laugh brought a smile to his lips, “He must have been concussed!” you snickered with a cheeky grin. “Oh he did and I’m pretty sure he lost his common sense somewhere on that damn planet,” 

Leonard’s PADD pinged; the sound it gave caused you to stiffen. Picking up the device McCoy quickly read the message, he smiled and chuckled darkly. “Darlin’ it looks like the situation is taken care of and you have been reassigned,” he said and right then your own PADD gave a little chime. A look of shock spread across your face and you dug out your PADD almost dropping it when you saw that you got a notification and a message from “Captain James T. Kirk,” 

“I’m assigned to the Enterprise, but-” you shook your head and Leonard gave you a crooked smile, “I told you everythin’ was gonna be okay. Jim would never let somethin’ like that slide; neither would I for that matter,” he grumbled. He glanced up when you kept silent, he was shocked to see a smile, and the happy tears gliding down your cheeks. He was even more shocked when you flew at him wrapping him up in a tight hug “Thank you,” you whispered. Leonard blinked for a second before he returned the hug, rubbing your back he waited until you stopped shaking like a leaf to pull back. “What happened to…” you trailed off wrinkling your nose and Leonard snorted amusement coloring his face. “Oh let’s just say he has matching black eyes, ” 

"Attention shuttle flight 158 to Atlanta Georgia, you are now cleared to board," a sugar-sweet voice echoed through the terminal. Leonard sighed and got to his feet slowly. Grabbing his messenger bag and fleet issued duffle he watched as a few people in the waiting area practically ran to the door. You gave McCoy a sweet smile, "I hope you have a great Christmas with your daughter," you held out your hand toward him. Leonard gave you a crooked smile as he took your hand and raised it to his lips, "I was nice to meet you (Y/N). I look forward to seeing you on the Enterprise," and with a cheeky wink and a smile, he was gone. "Oh, this is going to be one hell of a ride. Merry freakin' Christmas," you breathed cheeks flushed red.

 "Now boarding shuttle flight 164…" 

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