#the big exaggerated movements in an attempt to express his emotions in a more acceptable way

[miss-morland]

dennis in dtamhd is so bpd recovery coded i feel so much about it <333333

[messyworldfanfictions]

Summary: You work as a nurse at Claremont Psychiatric Hospital where Martin Whitly, the famous serial killer who murdered 23 people is incarcerated. You’ve always liked serial killer stories and you had one a few doors away, but you were far too scared to break the rules. You’re not allowed to go into the prisoners’ cells, especially not the surgeon’s. One day, the guard brings you Martin at the infirmary for headaches. […]

“The hardest part is the lack of human contact, having someone to talk to, I miss it.” he lamented with a false expression of exaggerated sadness.

“I understand, it must be very difficult for you…” You said, avoiding his gaze. You didn’t know what to say to comfort him. He looked so sad.

He leaned towards you.“You seem like a nice girl,” he whispered, staring at every details of your face. “You could visit me at night after your work, I know you’re the last one to leave, the guard told me. ” he smirked, his eyes sparkling. “It’ll be our secret Y/N”. […]

Will Martin manage to manipulate you? Are you brave enough to accept his offer ? It’s just a visit for a little chat after all …

Pairing: Martin Whitly x reader , Martin Whitly x you

Warnings: Reader-Insert, Doctor/Patient, Rough Sex, Rough Body Play, Fear Play, Face Slapping, Hair-pulling, Daddy Kink, Emotional Manipulation, Light BDSM, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Orgasm Control, Dubious Consent

A Notes: Hi guys ! This fanfiction will be in 2 chapters, this is my second fanfiction so be kind please ^^. Constructive criticism are welcome, English is not my first language so I apologize for possible mistakes. If you see errors, please tell me! :)

I’m so thirsty for Martin Whitly, I needed to do this. Please, check the tags, it’s going to be very rough, don’t like don’t read.

Have fun and tell me if you want the second chapter ;) ! Feel free to reblog !

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Chapter 1 : Trapped

Your name is Y/N you started working at Claremont Psychiatric Hospital two weeks ago. You love your work and you love the place where you are working. You have always been fascinated by human psychology and having contact with mentally ill people helps you to understand them.

You work in the C-Wing infirmary, you are not allowed to enter in internees’cell even if you have the key, it’s too dangerous. When they need special treatments David, the guard, brings them to the infirmary and you examine them there.

There are not a lot of inmates in your prison wing, only 15, you’ve never seen one of them, Martin Whitly. He is a serial killer who murdered 23 people, no one can enter his cell without an authorization and without the supervision of David, he is responsible for him. Your unhealthy curiosity makes you want to approach this cell but it’s far too risky.

You’d like to know what’s behind that cell. A monster or just a human who made mistakes? You are often told that you are a little naive to believe that all men have something good in them, but you are convinced of it.

****

It’s 9:00 in the morning and you’re in the infirmary, suddenly you heard someone knocking on the door. “Come in!” You shouted. It’s David, he seems upset. “Hello David! Are you alright?” You asked worried.

His brows were snapped together and the features of his faces were tense “Yes, yes I’m fine. I just have a … problem with Whitly, he hasn’t stopped complaining about headaches for a few days and I think I’ll have to bring him to you.“ He answerd, sweating.

“Oh… But you don’t have to worry David, I don’t have any problem with that, why are you so … anxious about that ? ”

“ I-I… I don’t like taking him out of his cell and I don’t want him to talk to you or any other nurse. But I’m obliged to bring this psychopath to you, when you’ll be alone with him, please be careful. I’ll stay outside to respect the confidentiality between you and your patient, but he’s very manipulative. Don’t listen to him, do your job and that’s it. If he tries anything, call me and I’ll take him back to his cell. ”

David was leaning against the door, arms crossed, looking at you concerned. You moved slowly towards him and in an attempt to comfort him, you caressed his arm gently.

“Okay… don’t worry.” you said with a sweet smile.

The moment David lefted the room, grinning from ear to ear you jumped for joy, you were finally going to meet Martin Whitly! You’re so excited to see what he looks like in real life and not on a piece of paper. You’ll finally see if he’s so impressive, if he’s so intimidating or if he is just as sweet as a lamb.

But your whole face started decomposing when you remembered David’s words about Martin. You’ve never seen David so nervous about a prisoner before. What was he scared of ? You know David has a crush on you so you thought maybe he is overreacting, he just wants to protect you from a criminal.

“That’s cute” You thought, smiling. “ But I’m a big girl, I can defend myself. who does he think I am? A helpless little girl” you mocked for yourself.

What is certain is that you weren’t afraid of Martin Whitly or not yet. You’re just a little nervous, but it’s David who’s making you unnecessarily stressed. You’re going to show David that you can handle it on your own.

****

It’s 5:00 PM now, you’re tidying the infirmary a little. It’s been a pretty quiet day today, except David’s visit this morning you didn’t have any visitors.

You heard a door slam in the hall, so you went to the little window next to the door to see what’s going on. There, he was there. Next to David was standing the surgeon, his hands handcuffed and slowly walking towards the infirmary, chains on his feet.

He is tall, compared to David’s height you think Martin is about six feet tall. You could hear the sound of his boots and chains echoing in the hall. He is imposing, he doesn’t seem very muscular but he have broad shoulders and thick thighs.

Your gaze on his legs, you looked up slowly looking at every details of his body. The closer he was, and the more you could see he was smirking. He was looking at you from the moment you were looking at the window. Disturbed by the way he was looking at you, you suddenly pulled out of the window, embarrassed that he saw you staring at him this way.

You heard the door handle moving, “Try to look natural” you said to yourself, your hands trembling. 

The door opened, David and the surgeon silently enters the infirmary, Martin never taking his eyes off you. 

“Mr. Whitly, I’’m going to tie you to Miss Y/N’s treatment table, I’’m going to leave your feet tied, you don’t have to get up or walk, you have to lie down while Miss Y/N examines you. I remind you that you must not touching her, intimidating her and you must not asking her informations about her and her personal life. If you break the rules, Miss Y/N will tell me and I will escort you directly to your cell even if you have not had the required care.” David warned in an authoritative tone, looking at the surgeon with a dismissive look. 

The seconds seemed to be hours. They stared at each other like two dogs ready to fight. David had a tense face and Whitly was looking at him with an arrogant smile. "Is it clear” he whistled with his teeth clenched.

” Y-e-s. “ Whitly provoked, insisting on each letter.

David gave me a worried look and said, “If you have a problem, call me, I’m right outside the door. "I noded, giving him a falsely relaxed smile.

You are staring at the closed door, the silence is heavy in the room. Whitly is lying on the treatment table with his hands tied, staring at you intensely. You decided to break the silence  

"So, Mr. Whitly, what’s the problem ? ”

“Please, call me Martin,” he grinned broadly “I’ve had severe headaches for a few days now and it happens at any time of the day.”

You blushed and looked away. “Okay, I’m going to examine you, if I hurt you, feel free to tell me. ”

You could feel his gaze on you while you were taking his blood pressure. He was charming, his curly salt and pepper hair looked so… soft ? He had a little whiter curl than the others just above his forehead and it made you melt. You love bearded men, you are served. He had strong forearms strewn with dark hair. He was very, very charming…

You grabbed your stethoscope so you could listen to his heart, you approached his white blouse with your hands and lifted it up gently to introduce your hand under it and then bring your hand up to his chest. The contact with his skin made you shiver, you can feel his chest rising faster and faster. Is it your touch that is causing this effect? You decided not to linger and removed your hand a little too quickly, you hadn’t noticed that your hands were shaking but he didn’t missed it.

“Are you cold miss Y/N?”

“W-What? ” you said , stuttering. He looked at your hands and made a movement towards them. “Oh… Oh uhm… N-no I-I-I… ” you didn’t know what to say, stress started to rise, if you showed him that you were afraid he would take advantage of it.

“Don’t be afraid of me, I’m the one who’s tied up, and you’re the one who has the tools to torture me. ” he mocked. You responded with a coy smile. Now you are feeling stupid, it’s so embarrassing.

You applied a tourniquet on his upper arm, “I’m goint to do a blood sample, i want to see if everything’s okay, it’ll hurt a little” you said as you approached the syringe on his arm.

“What a thrill” he laughed.

When the blood sample is finished, you put his sleeve back on correctly.

“I’ll give you the results next week, don’t worry I’m sure it’s just the lack of air, it must be difficult to be locked in the same room most of the day. David told me you could walk around under supervision for 30 minutes a day. ”

“The hardest part is the lack of human contact, having someone to talk to, I miss it.” he lamented with a false expression of exaggerated sadness.

“I understand, it must be very difficult for you…” You said, avoiding his gaze. You didn’t know what to say to comfort him. He looked so sad.

You got up to put your stethoscope and the syringe at the right place, your hand grazed his hand still attached to the treatment table, he took the opportunity of this proximity to grab your wrist firmly. You turned around, surprised by this contact a little too brutal for your liking. You tried to pull away , but it didn’t work. He had a lot of strength. So you turned to the door, wondering if you should call David.

“Please, please… Y/N ! Don’t call him, I don’t want to hurt you. You seem like a nice girl,“ he whispered, his puppy eyes searching any reaction on your face. "I’m just asking you for a little bit of your time. You could visit me at night after your work, I know you’re the last one to leave, one of the guard told me. ” he smirked, his eyes sparkling. “It’ll be our secret Y/N” .

You felt the pressure loosening slowly around your wrist and you used the occasion to removed your hand a little precipitously. What had just happened? Was he that lonely ? You slowly backed away not turning your back on him and knocked gently on the door to let David know he could come in.

A few seconds later, Whitly was gone, you checked out the window, Whitly walked away looking behind his back, to maintain a visual contact with you. But he was quickly corrected by David. You didn’t know what to think, you were lost.

****

In the corridor, David was getting irritated, “Whitly, look in front of you, you freak. ” They passed several doors until they arrived in front of the surgeon’s cell, David pushed him inside and came up to him to tie him to the wall by his pants.

“Ohhhh calm down David, I’ve been a good boy. ” He provoked. “Very pretty girl… don’t you think? ” he added with an arrogant smile.

David felt the anger inside him, a vein popped out in his neck. David’s movements became rougher and rougher as he attached Whitly’s pants to the wall.

“When she passed her hands under my blouse… Oh Boy… It was hard not to get hard. Those big eyes and that mouth… Hmmm… it must be so satisfying to see her on her knees looking at you with her wet eyes, her mouth around your co…” Whitly did not have the time to finish his sentence that David had violently pressed him against the wall of his cell, he was strangling him. The criminal wasn’t even trying to loosen his hands around his neck, he was just looking at David with a provocative smile.

“SHUT UP! Shut your fucking mouth or I’m going to… ” he warned, before finishing his sentence he let go of Whitly who was catching his breath. “Jealous, are we?” Whitly giggled breathless.

David pointed his finger at the surgeon’s face in a threatening way, “If you touch her, I’ll kill you. ” and walked away slamming the door. Martin walked up to the red line that crossed the room and gasped , “I’m going to do more than touching her, and she’ll to love it. “

****

It’s midnight, you are sitting in the infirmary with the key that opens the cells between your fingers, you slide it from one hand to the other, remembering Martin’s words. David came earlier to say goodbye, he had left a few minutes ago. You didn’t know what you had to do. You were struggling inside, a part of you is saying it is a very bad idea to go see Whitly in his cell. The other part of you is saying that anyway he was tied to a wall, what could he do to you? There was something exciting about breaking the rules. The danger excited you so much. When the adrenaline flows through your veins, when you know that what you’re doing is very wrong, you love it.

"Come on, let’s go” you sighed giving yourself some courage. You took headache medication with you, in case he needed it, you’re too kind. You also took handcuffs because you know he doesn’t have his handcuffs when he’s in his cell, you prefer to know him tied up. Deep down you don’t really know him.

You are walking through the dark corridors of the hospital until you reached the door before the hall of Whitly’s cell. You walked past that door and locked it behind you, the path was dark, the only light was from the criminal’s cell. You were slowly walking towards that door that was forbidden to you. Your heart was pounding, and you didn’t know if it was excitement or nervousness.

You were only two steps away from the door. You raised your hand to knock on the door and then lowered it, you decided to enter, you don’t need to have his permission, so you gently slide the key into the lock. *click* The door opened, you walked in indecisively, he is sitting at his desk, his back is facing you, he slowly turned around and smirked at you.“Y/N” he pronounced your name with a hint of ecstasy in the voice. “Please, come in! »

You came in and closed the door behind you, unsure of what you are really doing, in your right hand were the handcuffs, in your left hand the medications. Martin first looked at your left hand

«  Hahnnnnn, you are so sweet Y/N” he said with a fake grateful look. Then his gaze moved towards your right hand and his eyes darkened. “What are you going to do with that? ” he asked emotionless.

“I-I… don’t take it personally I just prefer to take my precautions and… » you mumbled coyly.

With puppy eyes, he interrupted you "Please don’t treat me like an animal, I already am all day. "You lowered your head, sorry for what he had just told you, so you didn’t see that his sad face had turned into a wicked face.

"Okay,” you said with your eyes still lowered. “But I keep them on me and I won’t hesitate to use them” you said with a fake assured look.

He stared at you for a few seconds, “You are in charge sweetheart. "he said with a large smile. he got up from his chair and walked towards you, you saw the cable attached to his pants stretching as he moved forward, he took a step forward, you took a step back, he walked until he is stopped by the rope, his feet not crossing the red line drawn on the ground.

"Are you going to be glued to the wall like a scared little girl or are you going to have the courage to come and talk to me a little closer? »

"I’m not afraid of you. » Liar, you were terrified, you knew it was wrong but you liked it. You love the danger that is coming from him. You love the way he dared you to approach him, you’d never done anything so exciting in your life.

"I’m waiting. » he said impatient.

You gulped. You moved slowly towards him and you stopped at 1 meter from his body.

"That’s what I thought… girl. Incapable of crossing a red line.”  he whispered falsely disappointed, turning to the wall behind him, moving away from the red line. You couldn’t see his face anymore, his back is facing you now.

“Hey, I’m not a child! "You protested, as you rushed towards him, passing that red line and getting closer to him quickly. "You think I’m weak, but I’m a woman with…”

Before you finished your speech, you hardly have the time to see him turning around, he grabbed you by your arms, sticked you against the wall and he smashed his hand against your mouth. Shocked, you tried to struggle and scream, but his hand muffled the sound of your voice while his body crushed yours against the wall so you couldn’t move.

“Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh, stop screaming and struggling like that or you’ll make me angry." he whispered in your ear. He waited a few seconds until you calm down and finallly gently removed his hand from your mouth.

"Please, please…” You sobbed.“ Don’t kill me… I’m begging you… P-Please…” You begged, your eyes flooded with tears.

“Kill you?” he said amused. “I said I wanted human contact, I’m not going to kill a pretty doll like you,” he groaned, sticking his nose in your neck. You were relieved that he didn’t want to kill you. He began to give wet kisses along your neck and you started to relax. You felt a warmth growing in your stomach, your hands getting sweaty. The pressure his body exerted on yours made your head spin, trapped between the wall and his hard body, you were turned on.

Suddenly you heard a noise from the handcuffs, he took them and put one of your wrists in them.`

“W-what are you doing” you asked in an anxious and begging voice.

“You insisted on keeping them on you, so now you have to assume the consequences” He said with a face full of lust.

[cthulhubert]

Thoughts, not even a review, of Terra Ignota

recently finished Will to Battle.

(Book 3 of Terra Ignota, preceded by Too Like the Lightning and Seven Surrenders. The sequel and finale, Perhaps the Stars, is expected in 2021.)

So I wanted to post some thoughts, not even a review, really.

The take away is that despite many of its major, fundamental features leaving me cold or even actively repulsing me, I overall very much enjoyed reading it.

This is perhaps a higher recommendation than unalloyed praise. The more I like something, the more I complain. For one thing, it's a kind of eustress: the perfect thing has no flaws to catch interest; for another, if I just plain dislike something, I wouldn't spare much thought on it to begin with, much less linearize so many of them into words.

So my mostly negative venting (consisting of immediate and thorough spoilers) beneath the cut

So right off the bat: I HATE the genius serial killer trope; and I detest SFF trolley problem analogs.

I was so irritated by the one-two punch of these big reveals in the first book that I actually let my hold on Seven Surrenders and read several other books in the interim. (I knew I'd be back though, I put a new one on both 2 and 3 next.)

Mycroft Canner... one who believes themself "free" merely because they can kill. It reminds me of something that's stuck in my mind for a long time: a guy calling other peoples cucks because they used alarm clocks to wake up. "I can't believe you let a machine boss you around."

Because I otherwise liked the writing so much, I kept trying to dredge up another layer of meaning to the treatment of Mycroft as torturer-rapist-murderer. For instance: "Oh, so many people around him being sympathetic and liking him is actually the narrative sneakily reminding us that the core trait of serial killers like this is a manipulative personality, which his savant abilities would only feed." Carlyle Foster even brings this up specifically in the scene where we first learn the specifics of Canner's crimes, but of course, their portrayal in that scene (which, reminder, is literally by Mycroft) is of one hysterical and unreasonable.

Palmer did achieve one of most author's highest goals in emotionally transporting me to one of their scenes, but it just really made me wish I was in Carlyle's shoes. To react with, rather than panic, the cold disdain merited by a creature so broken it is wrong about the ways in which it is broken. To spit on them and denigrate their feelings of uniqueness and specialness, arising both from the murders and from their oh so pitiable martyrdom and servitude now. "If only we could mercifully lobotomize away your personality and still use the savanthood modules so unfortunately stapled to them."

Mycroft: "Everybody seems to have one murder they thought was the worst. I thought yours would be []" Me instead of Carlyle, snidely: "Is that a fun game for you, that speculation?"

(In another scene, the Major's sympathy to Mycroft and Saladin as "fellow killers" somewhat raised my hackles; my experience is military people expressing exaggerated disgust for "civilian" killers, perhaps as a way of mental separation between their acts. Though the revelation that the Major is Achilles, with an ancient's attitudes, perhaps ameliorates this.)

As for OS... if you've invented prophecy, there will be heaps upon myriads upon multitudes of miraculous ways to reshape the world before you reach a best value intervention of cold-blooded murder. I was, at least, amused by considering the linear combination of this limitation between the author and the characters. Palmer was quite clever in making sure that the mystical demographic math must be facilitated by humans (and the very odd set-set humans at that).

I admit I hold this philosophy a bit more strongly than my time investment in the fields merit, but I see it this way:

In physics, infinite, friction-less planes in perfect vacuums occupied by inelastic, spherical cows are a useful tool. They approximate things that are theoretically possible, absent the various extra forces.

In ethics, and in any system that is so truly complex, everything you remove makes for a completely different system. None of the elements are basically orthogonal to the circumstances the way air resistance is to a bullet.

These philosophical sorts of thought experiments are, at best, emotional exercises. They are not simplified tools to build a foundation for more complex issues, they're figments born of the phantasmal conditions possible only in the interior of the brain, and too much work with them will only foul both logic and intuition with garbage data.

As for what merely fell flat:

While I deeply enjoyed so much of the speculation about cultural changes brought about by technology, and travel technology specifically, the "no proselytizing" law felt quite forced. I can definitely believe such a law would be passed after the Church Wars described, but holding so strong for centuries?

There are all kinds of supernatural thoughts and beliefs people accept, and there simply isn't a neat threshold between those and religion. Even in the counterfactual world where there was one, it would be quite concealed by the sophistry that's metastasized through the entire discussion space around it.

I can think of a dozen questions off the top of my head that they'd have to decide. And while flipping a coin or an attempt at a definitional framework could answer them, it couldn't do it in a way that's strong enough to stand the test of time. Imagine Laurel/Yanny, the Dress, or if a hot dog is a sandwich, but with material-security level of investment in them!

I'm areligious (to put it... mildly) but for personal, psychosocial reasons, when I sit down to eat I spend a moment in mindful gratitude towards the plants and animals that gave their life for mine. Is that religious? Are ghost hunter shows illegal because they're proselytory for any animistic religion? Would acupuncturists be able to work, or is that a daoist superstition? Could my neighbor's still paint the ceiling of their porch haint blue? Are scientists allowed to register trials for psychic powers? Can schools teach the arguments for dualism?

That doesn't even get into the subjects that, in real life, yank out all the stops on linguistic-conceptual inventiveness! Europe has had a pestilential outbreak of sophistry around head scarves! Would the Alliance ban them for being religious garb? If so, would they ban clothing that covers the ankles as Calvinist religious garb? Or that covers the nipples? (Oh wait, showing the nipples is of significance in some religions! can't allow that!) Should they ban clothing that contains unmixed fibers for being a religious display!? They don't seem to do any of these things, but that's just as much a choice about the First Law as doing so.

Someone proposes personhood begins at conception; I claim that this is fundamentally a supernaturalist belief. Is one of us in violation of the first law? If a hive outlaws birth control, how are they investigated for whether this is a cultural or religious condition? What happens when, I dunno, a Cousin run campus has somebody that wants to put Intelligent Design in the biology textbooks? Most people (well including the people pushing it) know that it's religion wrapped in plausibly deniable words. So is that proselytizing, or is someone pointing it out proselytizing atheism?

Speaking of, there's a pretty good correlation of peace and prosperity with movement to non-religioun. It honestly doesn't seem like sensayers should have much work.

But we meet Bridger and his miracles right at the beginning of the book, before we know a thing about the Church Wars etc. And it's obviously a central tension of the story, intended to be coequal with the brewing war, and yet it quite failed to rouse my interest. The book would've been stronger without it.

Perhaps this *is* just a me thing, since my mind has held miraculous intervention as a solved problem for most of my life. If I were convinced of an event's miraculous character, the most parsimonious explanation is in the vein of, "We're in a simulation that's only been running for a week or so, either as a game or as an experiment, and now we're running under different rules than the ones our (artificial) memories imply." The probability of that happening is too low to waste time processing any other ramifications or possibilities ahead of time.

There is another, related layer of enjoyable consideration, which is of course the reliability of the narrator and his evidence. In Will to Battle, our author is revealed as explicitly delusional, suffering regular, presumably PTSD (and/or anti-sleep drug) related hallucinations. I wish I'd had the patience to do a very close read, or to do a second read—especially given the revelation that 9A edited some of the delusions out of the first two books. Diegetic skepticism is a regular part of the narrative. And there are lots of "rhymes" in the text to mundane circumstances. We're told Bridger looks like Apollo and Seine, and shown the artificial, parentless children, Ganymede and Danaë (crafted to be such a degree of hyperstimulus that among other things, Ganymede has an entire school of art dedicated to him). We're shown that perceptions are malleable, with Thisbe's "witchcraft" and Cato's magician like showmanship. We're constantly exposed to griffincloth and know that just its presence at JEDD's assassination spread skepticism. We're told that scientists proclaim Achilles to have Ancient Greek DNA and an adult's bone structure, but we're also constantly shown an incredible variety of artificial animals and related wonders, and told Apollo was a great scientist.

And yet, over and over the narrative rebukes skepticism. 9A endorses most of what Mycroft has written, and if we go so far as considering them (along with, eg, the officialese headings and warnings) as Mycroft's delusions too, we're at the point where we have to step back so far that the unreliable narrator is actually this "Ada Palmer" character, who is writing about things that don't exist in a year we haven't reached yet!

I was bothered that nobody who learned about it seemed ready to express the proper amount of disgust at the extra-incestuous politics of the world leaders, and honestly find it simply hard to accept that their consortium worked so altruistically.

Finally, ultimately, the central themes of the novel, about peace and war and complacency seem awfully poorly considered for the current era, where voting age children have never known a world without an official war, and the just grown generation is the first since the industrial revolution to be poorer and less healthy and more stressed than their parents. Not just this novel, but the world in general seems to be sorely missing the concept of the important qualitative differences between distress and eustress.

[ringmaster-jack]

Pass the Kerosene

[ An intermitted drabble elaborating on what occurred between Jack and his firebreather during the events in Early August.  It’s long as shit and it took me forever to write but I’m sick of looking at it so herE.  Preemptive apologies for all the god damn fire puns.  Also this drabble gets kinda dark and psychological-like so if you’re bothered by that kind of thing, warnings inbound. ] 

                                                        ♤ ♠ ♤ ♠

"What do you mean he's GONE?"

"I mean what I said.  He's gone.  He left."

The ringmaster clutched his face in his hands, a desperate and unyielding attempt to quell some of the disorganized jargon that threatened to spill from his lips.  It took him a few moments to collect his barrings enough to speak again without screaming, but even then, it was barely contained.  There was only so much one man could take over the course of a day, and there had been too many days like this over the passing months.  Chaos, change, danger and all that came with it; it was something Jack had more than accepted as a part of his life, long before he ever began his showmanship.  But everything was moving too fast, now.  Much too fast, and much too much of it, with repercussions he couldn’t even begin to unravel.  The way his brow tightened against the press of his roughened fingertips seemed to mark the coming of a nasty headache.

"What did you say to him.”

It took a hyper sense of focus, an ungodly shade of self-control for him to even manage one line to the woman in front of him without snapping like a territorial wolf.    

"What he needed to hear." Just one.

"...SERA.  What does that even MEAN?  WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO.”

Even if the sturdy-shouldered firebreather had wanted to respond to him, he didn’t really allow her the time with which to do that before he began flapping his jaws again.  Never shutting up was one of the ringmaster’s most defining features.  It was why a lot of the crowds he drew in enjoyed him, though to this woman, it was his most aggravating trait.  He never listened. 

 For a time, she allowed him to continue his yammering, though she felt herself not far from her own tipping point. Jack was the only one who could insight such a very specific and special sort of rage in her that was otherwise left unexpressed to their fellow carnies.  Amber eyes narrowed gradually the more she listened to him blather on, locked to his frantic and emotive pacing.  

"This is...bad. This is really really bad, this is not good this is a damned--catastrophe-- he can't--he has no place else to go, Sera, ANYTHING could happen to him--ANYTHING could just-- what, what was it?  What did you say to him?  WHAT DID YOU SAY? WHY? What the fuck possessed you to think that sending HIM --of all people--out-- THERE-- He was hurt, he--"

"He wasn't in critical condition. And he left on his own. He's a grown man, Jack, he can take care of himself."

"NO, HE CAN'T. HE'S NOT...THERE. MENTALLY."

"Okay, so then you took advantage of someone with a serious psychological condition.  That’s what you did, you haven’t done anything to actually help him. That’s pretty horrible, Jack.  You, you are pretty horrible. Y’know? "

Miss Seraphina Lefevre was many things, but she had never been one to pussyfoot about when it came to matters such as this.  For at least 5 years now she’d known and followed this man, which was why it came as no surprise to her when he turned on a dime and launched himself into her personal bubble to thrust her to the nearest tent rafter.  The framing of the big tops always held considerably sturdier than any of the personal tents, but even they shook with the force of his motion.    

"Don't you dare put that shit on me, Sera.  It’s not like--" 

The ringmaster didn’t have time to finish speaking before he felt a pain strike him where he touched her, a scorching heat that left blisters on his hands.  He should have known by now to never even try with this woman; the fire witch hadn’t even the need to struggle in order to get him to back down with a startled shriek.  

She pushed herself away from the pole she’d been so rudely knocked against, arms folding as she approached the man who by now had gotten over the momentary shock of having the first layer of his palm skin burned off. 

She spoke before he could finish, contemptuous and lucid in her speech, despite her obvious irritations over his lazy threats of violence.  Some people feared this man, but she knew him for what he was.     

"What is it like, Jack? Because from where I'm standing, this isn’t exactly out of your usual routine.  Maybe you’re invested in it now, but you know as well as I do you’ll eventually lose interest.  You always do.  You can go on and lie to yourself, if you want to believe you actually have feelings for him, then fine.  But it’s not the truth.  If you actually cared about him then you’d realize all you were doing was using him and playing games with his head. Hurting him. Like you do with everyone.  All. the time."

The heat that radiated from her person felt like stepping into a sauna, but Jack refused to swallow his pride no matter how many steps she took towards him.  He was sweating now, but his expression refused to crack under the very literal heat.  He was a stubborn sort.

"Why are you such a fucking bitch to me--”

"No, Jack. You're going to listen."

With every breach of distance, the showman's posture would sink.  Even with disregard to her firepower, this woman stood at a respectable and athletic 6′2″-- she was no delicate flower, and Jack, although he’d been healthier than in previous months-- was still not much of a match by comparison.  Not without his toys, or some backup-- and she was supposed to be his backup.  

"I don't care how much you think you want him. You do this every single time. You fixate on one person or thing and drain it of everything it has until there’s nothing good left."

"I don’t--want him, Sera, I need him--it was different with him.  I don’t know how to explain it, it just...I’ve never felt this way before.  You don’t understand-- you don’t-- get it.”

"Oh, I don't?"

Though she’d stopped moving toward him, her words were no less harsh than the fire in her veins.  Perhaps even worse, to one such as the ringleader.

"4 years ago, Cayri. Do you remember that name? 3 weeks of courting and one pregnancy later and suddenly you're not interested. She's madly in love with you but you push her away to the point of emotionally crippling her despite the child you left in her belly.  3 years ago, Scout. How about him? You certainly loved to push him around, and he was ready to give you the world, but whatever happened to him? You think he just--disappeared, Jack? He's probably dead now, and you don't even care anymore.  Left to rot somewhere in the catacombs for centuries, I’m sure of it.  2 years ago, Alice. Dead from an overdose on stimulants that you provided her with. She’d never done anything like that in her life before she met you.  2 years ago, Rosalie-- a prostitute and an addict now in the red light district.  She was in school to become a teacher before she met you, Jack. A teacher.  1 year ago, Khai. You--"

"Stop, stop-- just-- stop it. I get it.  I get it, okay?  What do you want from me?  I can’t control the way I feel. I don't know what to do. You don’t know all the shit I have to deal with Sera. I'm doing the best I can."

"THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH."

Ah, there it was.  Her breaking point. One could only listen to the crying, blithering bleats of a spindly, insane man-child for so long before losing their cool. She never really had that much ‘cool’ in her, anyway.  This was made abundantly clear by the flames that danced between her fingertips a mere inch or two from the man who spoke, exaggerating her gestures in the most intimidating of styles.  Jack ducked away from each movement she made-- she wasn’t making any conscious effort to injure him, not yet, anyhow, but he could still feel his unshaven chin hairs singe when she got too close.  

"I don’t CARE if you’re trying.  You need to be better.  You need to be a better PERSON.   Your mental disorders aren’t justification to be a horrible human being. You ruin everyone you come into contact with and you don't even CARE.  You can’t just keep doing this shit every other month and going on about your business like it’s okay.  It’s not fucking-- okay, Jack.  There are consequences.  Maybe not for you, but for everyone else who has the fucking misfortune of having to deal with you.  If you actually care about anyone then get your shit together."

Silence.

  The ringmaster heard nothing from her that hadn’t already been reeling around in his own mind-- and pretty often, in truth.  It didn’t make it hurt any less to hear it out loud.  Although his eyes followed the fire that swirled within her calloused hands, he gave no real reaction to it, now, unblinking and motionless.  There was a stillness that followed before his voice made its reappearance, indignant and soured.  He turned up the collar of his coat, a small expression of anxiety that he rolled into with a hefty side step, away from his second in command and her judging stare.

"...If that's really how you feel, then why don’t you just leave? Just.  Go. Get out.  Go ahead.  I don't need you."

"I can't.  I made a promise. Unlike some people, I actually keep my promises."

"And what promise is that, Sera?  To irritate me relentlessly until I develop high blood pressure and die of a heart attack at the age of 42?”

"This isn't funny Jack."

“No, it’s not.  You think I’m joking?  Leave.  I told you to go.  That wasn’t a suggestion, it was a demand.  Good day to you, madam.  Au revoir.  You are dismissed.  Goodbye, I am tired of listening to your bullshit.  Do not pass go, do not collect 200 gold.  Make sure to leave your keys by the door.  Get the fuck out.”

This did not earn the look of shock or terror that the jackal had initially expected.  In fact, she actually laughed at what he’d had to say, and genuinely so.  It wasn’t because of the content in his words; though, and he knew that long before her merry sounds were quelled.  Even with the heat of her flames still twitching through the air, he felt his blood chill.

“Jackie...” the redhead began, her voice softened from its previous state of enmity.  Coming from her, that didn’t necessarily mean something good was inbound.  

“I do...at least 70% of your paperwork.  Most of the documents for all this?” She gestured around them, her fire leaving streaks of afterglow in the dim light of the tent. 

 “Most of this is in my name.  Just because you’re the poster boy doesn’t mean you’re the showrunner.  I got you here, not the other way around. This is my circus.”

Well... she had him there.  It was never something he’d actually thought about, though.  Ever.  In fact, it was such a distant concept in his brain that it almost felt as if he’d just learned it.  How was he supposed to come back from that?  He hated arguing with this woman.  He hated this woman, period.  

“Well...then...fine,” He was defeated.  He knew when to admit that.  But it didn’t mean the lanky showman was going to take his defeat lying down.  

Instead, he’d walk away from it entirely.  

“Then I’ll leave!  I don’t need this place.  And I especially don’t need you.  See how well this garbage runs without me, I’m gone.  I don’t have time for this.”

A dramatic exit was the goal, here, but yet again, the witch superseded that in an instant by way of magic.  Before the ringmaster could even get halfway to the door, he’d been cut off by a wave of fire-- if he hadn’t sucked in and allowed himself to stumble and fall back, it would have most certainly burned him.  The uncharacteristically high pitched shriek that came from his lungs would have been funny in other circumstances, but this wasn’t really that sort of moment.

 The fire that spread formed a ring around them, a cage of flame that suspended itself at a height that made it nigh impossible to take his leave.  He was more than just a bit upset, now.  He was pissed.

“No.” the fire witch exclaimed, her voice strong and unyielding.

“Sera, what the fuck?”

"Jack..."

Through the veil of flame, the fire dancer had coast towards the ringmaster, unscathed by the heat of her element.  She’d made a point to kneel down beside him, her hands to her knees to speak to the man as if he were a child. Jack rebound from his momentary startle and returned to a state of violent irritation in record time, his brow heavily knit in her direction. 

"Why am I here?" She asked of him.

"Well, presumably to make mon--can you please stop it with the fire?  My nuts are getting steam-cooked here, "

"No. Besides that."

"Because you enjoy making my life miserable?”

"Jack...”

“...Let me go, Sera, I swear to your gods...”

Seraphina didn’t seem to have any intention of dropping the firewall that surrounded them.  Even as the ringmaster tried to slip back on his rump, she stayed where she was -- it wasn’t like he could really go anywhere unless he wanted to burn.  The possibility of crossing the flaming barrier wasn’t completely out of his mind, though.  Especially when she began talking again. 

“She asked me to stay with you.  Tabitha. She asked me to keep an eye on you if anything happened to her.  To make sure you don’t get into trouble.  I’m basically your caretaker, Jack.  We’ve talked about this.”

“I can assure you we most certainly have not.”

“Three times.  I’ve discussed this with you three times, now.  You’re not...well, Jack.”

“No, but I’d be a whole lot fucking better if you stopped holding me hostage like some kind of fucking domestic terrorist.”

While his anger was mounting, the firebreather remained static, indifferent.  Jack had begun the task of pushing himself back up to his feet again, though with a brief curse beneath his breath when he used his scorched palms to do so.  He’d forgotten about that.  

 “I need to go, Sera, I need to-- I don’t have time for this, I have to-- find him, he could be--”

“He hates you.”

Although he’d begun pacing around the flickering heat that surrounded them to try and find a means of escape, the showman stopped in his tracks when she spoke again.  Of all the things she’d said to him, this was one he hadn’t anticipated.  He gawked at the woman with more confusion than antipathy, his forehead dripping with sweat.    

“...What?  What does that even mean?”

“He said he hates you, Jack.  The jester.”

“...You’re lying.”

“Do you really think he would have just left like that if I was making shit up?  I didn’t want to tell you that part, Jack, but you left me no other option.  You nearly got him killed.  The gods know what else you’ve done to sway him in the other direction, but he told me himself how he feels.  Not in...so many words, but-- just let it rest.  Persuing him won't get you anywhere.  You’re just going to make yourself even more miserable. It’s been a long day.  For everyone.  It’s time to give it up.”

Whether she was being honest or not, this new revelation was one that Jack hadn’t the mind to even begin contemplating.  He didn’t want to contemplate it, but he knew that the moment he actually had a second to relax, it would be the first and only thing he’d be able to ruminate on.  He felt a hollowness in his chest that crept into his belly like the sensation one felt when falling.  He didn’t like it.  Not one little bit.  

“...Okay.  Fine, just.  Whatever, I won't--I won’t go -- looking for him.  Please, just... take down your stupid firewall. I need to get out of here, Sera, I need to--”

“You need to calm down.”

“I AM CALM.” Hardly.  He inhaled sharply and shot her a glare that was even sharper.  Everything in him was tense.

“I have to feed Umbra.  Do you have any idea how much I’m trying to placate this absolute trainwreck of a situation that is my life without having a total and complete nervous breakdown?  Because frankly you’re doing nothing to help with negating that scenario, woman, so if we could just please please please continue this conversation later, I promise promise promise you, I won't-- leave, okay?  Scout’s honor.  But I need to fucking go.  Now.  He has to be fed before this gets any worse.”

“I’ll get him food.  You need to go rest.”

“You can’t give him what he needs, I--”

“I know, Jack.  I spoke to him.  He told me what you’ve been feeding him.”

“...You...spoke to him?”

“Yeah.  The night you got stabbed, actually.  I took him to a diner.  Bought him a milkshake and everything.  I know what he is, Jack.  It’s inconsequential.  You were supposed to stop--”

“I did--I did stop!  But I have to now, for him.  You don’t know what will happen if I don’t...”

“You don’t know either, Jack.”

She just wouldn’t let up, would she?  The fire still blazing around them, Jack pushed his fingers into his eyes-- not enough to really hurt, just enough to blackout his vision and show him stars.  He pinched the bridge of his nose after this, no longer even attempting to take his leave as he tried, tried to compose himself.  As was the case with most situations for the ringmaster, he knew that the only way he was likely to get out of this was to smooth talk his way to the end.  But he hadn’t felt this angry in a long, long time-- and when he opened his lips to try and convince her again, all that came out was a bitter, tired,

“I fucking--hate you.  I hate you so much.”

The firebreather had pushed herself back into a standing position, if only to keep on level grounds with the ringmaster.  She’d remained unphased by the lazy insults or Jack’s penchant for traipsing the tent floor, something that had started again, like a caged lion.  When she spoke, it was much calmer than it should have been.

“I think you need to go back to Zaun.”

He halted in his tracks, but only to look at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you need to be hospitalized again if this is how things are going to be with you. In the past half a year alone you’ve almost died at least 5 times, you’ve happily invited an assortment of demons and malevolent spirits into our place of work, endangering everyone in the process, you’ve murdered an unknown amount of innocent people to use as sacrificial fodder to a literal dark god-- do I need to go on?  Because I definitely can, you’ve also-- ”

“Shut up.” he hissed, his voice barely a whisper.

“You’ve made it crystal clear to me that you’re a danger to yourself and to others.  You need things that I’m not capable of providing.  With the record you have, getting you involuntarily committed is a non-issue, Jack.  But I’d really rather have your consent.  You need help.  Please recognize that.”

“You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about!  They don’t help anyone there, Seraphina!  They make everything worse!  Exponentially!  Do you know what they did to me in there?  Do you have any fucking idea--”

“I’ve been given a basic summary of your history, yes.”

“Then you know it won't make anything better.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“NO.  NO I AM REALLY, REALLY NOT.”

Incapable of finding an exit within the ring of fire, he turned back to the flame dancer instead, her self-righteous attitude and confident stare doing nothing but fueling the anger that bubbled in his stomach.  He wanted to approach her, to scream in her face, or worse-- but he knew any attempt at fighting this woman would probably end poorly on his behalf.  Especially if what she said was the truth.  So he continued speaking, instead.  Aggressively and with a bit too many flippant hand gestures, but maybe she’d listen.

“2 years in that place was enough.  They kept me so doped up I could barely function-- I’m only just now remembering bits and pieces of it, Sera, but I don’t need to remember any of it to know the shit they do in there-- it’s not fucking good.  By ANY stretch of morality!” he exclaimed, to which the witch seemed apathetic.

“They don’t heal people there, Sera, it’s where you go when no one else will take you anymore.  They just lock us away with disregard to any kind of human dignity and throw away the key.  They do things that would never fly anywhere else in the world because nobody actually gives a fuck about people like me.  Do you understand where I’m going with this?  I don’t know what misguided garbage my sister funneled into your thick fucking skull, Seraphina, but I’ll tell you right now--her whim isn’t worth the trouble.”

“It’s absolutely worth the trouble.  I loved her, Jack.  And she loved me.  And regardless of what you think, I’m not your enemy.  You’re like family to me, now.  I just want what’s best for you.”

My gods, the emotional rollercoaster they’d been on over the course of the past 15 minutes was one for the history books.  Now, it was the ringmaster’s turn to laugh.  It was a cold sound that built up from a soft chuckle into a half-exhausted but deep-bellied cackle, one he made zero effort to hide.  It made the elemental hesitate; if only for a moment, shifting her weight to the opposite foot in discomfort.  When he looked at her again with a shimmer in his eye, that hesitation grew.

“Is that really what you think?  You think she actually loved you?  Oh, honey-- if that’s really what your whole life has been based around for the last 6 years, do I have some sad news for you--” 

She’d wanted to interrupt him before he spoke again, but she didn’t get the chance.  His body lethargic in the heat, Jack floundered his way in her direction-- though this time there was no intent to try and assail the witch.  His cruel smirk betrayed his intent.

“Tabi didn’t love anyone.  You think I’m bad?  At least I have the capacity to actually feel something.  I fucking hate it, but it’s a thing, no matter how much I try to ignore it, y’know?  Her, though-- all she ever cared about was power.  Progress, at any cost.  What she thought was progress, anyway. She’d do anything if it meant furthering her ‘career’.  She slept around a lot more than I ever did-- you were just one in a long, long list of others.  I really don’t think she wanted you to babysit me with my best interest at heart.  She never really did care what happened with me.” The bitterness that hung on those words was enough to crumble his facade of egotism, at least for a moment, before his speech would continue on, more somber than before.  Sera was left to her own rumination for those few protracted seconds.  

  “If you’re really telling me the truth-- if you really do care about me, then.  Prove it.  I made a promise to you, and I don’t intend to break it.  But I need.  To go.  And you need to trust me.  Please, Sera.  I’m begging you.”

The firebreather knew that Jack had a way with manipulating people in his favor, regardless as to whether he was in the right or not.  She was one of the few mortals who had lifted that veil and seen the ugliness beneath the surface.  She didn’t buy his bullshit, not for one minute-- but in the stillness of the evening, with only the sound of her embers crackling in a coil around them... she saw some sincerity left within this filthy but charming man she’d followed for half a decade.  Maybe it was something in the way his eyes gleamed with unshed tears, or maybe it was the sheer exhaustion in his voice.  She didn’t know at that moment.  He’d hit her in places that were much more damaging than the scorch of any flame ever was.  Things weren’t adding up.  

“...Fine.”  

Jack let forth a triumphant but passive ‘woo!’ when the intense temperatures that surrounded him where uplifted in a flicker of hot ash.  He knew better than to bolt immediately, so he took a moment to wipe the sweat hanging from his skin with the sleeve of his jacket, and offer her his graciousness.  Of course, the almost sardonic tone to his voice belittled that sentiment, now that the danger had been extinguished.  

“Thanks, boss, you won't regret it, I--”

Well, maybe not extinguished, so much as... muted.  Temporarily.  

His words garbled by the sensation of the firebreather taking clutch to his throat, Jack’s own hands instinctively moved to try and grab her arm-- a poor choice, as it only reignited the sting on his palms.  Her grip was so rough that the tips of her ruby-polished nails left crescent brandings around his neck.  Speaking was nearly impossible when you had a fire witch strangling you, which had perhaps been her intention.

“But let me make one thing clear to you first.”

Her amber gaze left holes in the man’s skull.  Jack did his best to avoid eye contact, but the panic in his expression was undeniable.  

“You’re not a hard man to track down, Jack.” 

That was all she said.  Nothing more, nothing less. One cryptic line that would stick with him in the coming weeks, though the burns on his neck would fade in a matter of days.

It didn’t take the woman long to release him, giving him the freedom of speech again-- but it took Jack a moment to compose himself through the fit of dry hacking.  He managed to rasp out a passionless, 

“Okay,” 

to her statement, though nothing more came for a minute still. Fire mages were never any fun, and though it was in his nature to poke fun of her for her amusingly heated temperament, he toned it down.  For once in his life.  

“I’m... leaving now.  If you want to dance again later, you know where I’ll be.  Thanks.  I suppose.”  

It was an anticlimactic ending to an incredibly intense night, enunciated with wounded pride that he did his best to uplift long enough to carry out the door with him.  He was no gentleman, but Jack would still do the bare minimum to at least present some sort of dignity, whatever that meant in his mind. It was a fine note to end on, he pondered, as he knew somewhere in the back of his thoughts that this was far, far from over.  

The stench of paranoia lingered in the air beneath the saccharine smell of late summer.  It hung itself heavily on the evening breeze that kissed the showman’s wet skin when he stepped out of the big top.

[itallcomesdown]

Cloud 9s

The waves, ever so gently colliding into one another as they collapsed onto the beach, provided the perfect soundtrack to Nicky's breakdown.

Not too loud, not too harsh.

Soft and low like the tears running down her cheeks.

This wasn't Nicky’s first time weeping at the edge of the ocean. In fact, she was well into the double digits at this point and likely to hit triple before she closed out her third decade.

The first time she made the short drive to the shore for the express purpose of crying, she'd felt a little ridiculous. There was nothing wrong with her bedroom but something drew her to the drama of grey skies and sea breezes.

That's one of the perks of living by the water, depressive episodes seem more cinematic.

Today's helping of woe was served up by a call from her mother which, if you read a transcript, should have been totally normal but was, as always, specifically designed to destroy her.

"Darling."

Nicky cringed but replied sweetly. She could only hope to survive by mirroring her mother's tone.

"Darling, I'm so glad to hear from you. Your father and I do worry so much."

The first blow.

What was there to worry about? Her parents had checked in with her twice a week, every week, for years and Nicky had never shared even a passing comment that would indicate she was anything other than perfectly happy.

Now, was she? No, of course not. She was regularly crying by herself at the beach, but her parents didn't know that. Nobody knew that.

Nicky gave the verbal equivalent of a hand wave as a response. Life was all sunshine.

"Are you sure? You don't sound well."

She sounded the same as she had sounded the last time her mother had insisted that she'd sounded unwell. The same as all the times her mother had insisted she’d sounded unwell which was every time they spoke.

Another spoken hand wave. The salty air was in her throat, nothing more.

"I did say when you decided to move up there that the sea air would be bad for your lungs."

Lungs! How had this become about lungs? Last time it was "something something, microscopic sand particles are lacerating your vocal chords".

Nicky couldn't get the image of sliced, white bands out of her dreams for a week.

"You need to see someone or it will get worse. I'll speak to Dr Kline and see if she knows anyone you can go to down there."

Why?! From 16 words spoken over a patchy internet connection, her mother had decided that intervention was necessary.

Nicky’s chest tightened as she made a mental note to avoid clearing her throat for the rest of the call lest it fan the flames in her mother's mind. She kept her voice even in her response but made sure to not attempt firmness as she insisted that she was fine. Resistance only strengthened her mother's resolve.

"Jerry, remind me give Marsha a call tomorrow about Nicky's lungs."

Nicky imagined her father, somewhere off camera, giving a silent thumbs up to his wife.

Marsha Kline was not a doctor of medicine. She was a wonderful woman and a very accomplished professor of art history who had been friends with Nicky’s mother for longer than Nicky had been alive. Dr Kline was also very convinced that western medicine was a death cult and any medication not administered in tea form was bad for you.

"Don't roll your eyes, Nicky. I'm only doing my job as your mother. Someone has to look after you."

Blow 5?

The subtle difference between "out for" and "after" in a sentence like that would go unnoticed by most, but Nicky had been playing this game with her mother for all of time. Her mother used "out for" when referring to all adults except Nicky.

Now, you might think that's totally reasonable. Mother's always look after their children and that doesn't mean the semantic difference is some kind of dig. Except Nicky was the oldest of three children and the only one who her mother felt needed looking after.

"You did roll them, Nicky. I'm not going to argue, but you did. I used to be able to hear it in your voice over the phone but now that we are on Soom I can see it."

Nicky bit her tongue and tried to keep her jaw relaxed.

Where had the call gone wrong this time?

She should have suggested the call to Dr Kline herself. That way her mother wouldn't have been primed to fight about it.

At least this time she let "Soom" slide.

"Anyway, your sister and I had a lovely chat yesterday. The boys are doing great, she and Pat are looking really lean with the marathon coming up. Have you spoken to her?"

Marriage, children, weight. The self-esteem trifecta, all in one beautifully benign sentence. Nicky almost admired the efficiency.

Claire should have been born first. She was third in birth order but seemed to have decided from an early age to reach every available milestone before Nicky could make a meaningful attempt.

"You really should talk to her more. And James. Both of them really worry about you."

At this point, Nicky had accepted that she would be going to the beach as soon as the call was over. Why waste a day or two trying to hold it together when all she would be thinking about is the family meeting she hadn't been invited to where everyone did the sad head tilt as they talked about her.

"James is always saying he's happy to have you if you need somewhere to stay."

Somewhere to stay.

Nicky had a perfectly lovely apartment with her own office, a parking space and a gorgeous view but because she didn't have a mortgage, her family talked about her as if she was homeless.

"It doesn't have to be long term. Just until you're on your feet"

Would this be after her newly signed 2-year lease or would James buy that out for her?

"I'm sure he could afford it."

He probably could.

"You don't have to. I'm just putting it out there so you don't feel stuck and alone."

If Nicky had to pick a title for her autobiography, it would be "Stuck and Alone". Even at work where everyone was different from each other, she felt completely out of place. Like a puzzle piece you jam into the wrong section because it looks like it should work but when you take it in as part of the picture, something's off.

"You said you would think about it last time. I know you, you're stubborn but now is not the time for stubbornness. People are trying to help you."

The hardest part about these calls would always be having to defend her contentment when it seemed like everyone else thought she was drowning. Nicky wasn't sad about the life she had built for herself. She was sad that it seemed too small and pathetic for those she loved.

"Just call your siblings. If you've lost their numbers, I'll send them to you. Jerry, remind me to send Nicky the numbers."

Nicky sometimes distracted herself by imagining her father as a sort of humanoid smart speaker with steely mesh for skin, warm glowing eyes and a permanently erect thumb that shone green when a command had been accepted.

The speaker was called Greymax and it always made Nicky smile.

"What's funny? I know you think I'm a silly old woman so you might as well let your laugh out."

Nicky exaggerated her eye roll and sighed. It broke the tension and they both chuckled a bit but they probably couldn't tell you why. Sadness lingered behind both smiles.

"Anyway, nothing to report on this side since our last chat so I'll let you go. I'm sure you have lots of work to do for your fancy new show."

Nicky performed pleasantries with her cheek between her teeth.

It took her less than twelve minutes to reach her usual spot from the end of the call, a personal best, and less than twenty seconds to achieve full body sobs, another personal best.

The actual crying wasn't particularly intense on this occasion. Hard crying just added physical hurt to the emotional despair.

One time, she had attracted the attention of a couple of youths on what looked like a first date. They were shy and gentle but visibly concerned. Nicky was mortified.

From then on she sat in a partially enclosed opening on the side of a sheer rock face and avoided excessive wailing. Sometimes she'd get a curious bird or a tiny crustacean but, for the most part, human contact had been limited to surprised stares.

The time on her phone told her that she had been out there for twenty minutes. That was more than enough for one day and should tide her over until the following week if everything stayed calm at work.

Nicky imagined herself, in another universe, choosing to jog through her inner anguish. Smartphone strapped to her upper arm, smartwatch keeping track of her movements and bluetooth earphones delivering alternate universe pop into her ears. Was that worth a try?

Imagination Nicky was exactly as good at her job and bad at relationships, she just had a comfortable pair of running shoes. That was totally attainable but Real Nicky had always resisted. Crying sucked but it was cleansing and felt natural. Running felt like someone else's thing that she was putting on to prove a point.

When Nicky got back home, she ordered an inexpensive but well reviewed pair of running shoes. The product description painted a vivid picture of how impossibly soft these shoes were, at a fraction of the price charged by other brands. Confirmed buyers wrote formulaically about never needing another shoe again and buying pairs for friends. Nicky never read any of that though because she chose them exclusively for the price and availability for next day delivery.

The shoes arrived but remained in their box for days. Nicky passed them every time she entered her bedroom, making a mental note to try them on, even if only to check the fit, but quickly forgot.

Her mother's next call came and went without incident. A neighbour had to be hospitalised and their pet's needed a temporary home so the entire call was consumed by intro to the pup and solemn predictions regarding the neighbours fate. The prognosis was pretty good but Nicky's mother was certain big pharma was gunning for him. Dr Kline had been consulted, of course.

Teas had been ordered and special instructions repeated in hushed tones but the call was fine. 

Nicky was fine.

Usually, the down time between calls was a safe zone where Nicky could stock up on the mundane joys of life but the shoes had been ordered so the universe needed to make sure they were used.

James sent a picture to the group chat. Two little lines on a white stick. Congratulations all around. Wonderful news!

That evening the phone rang.

"I'm trying to convince your brother to move into a bigger house so there is room for you and  the baby but Ryan is acting as if I've gone crazy. Can you believe it?"

Nicky finally got to the beach after an hour and a bit. Turns out the shoes really were baby clouds with laces, but it's hard to run when your chest is heaving.

Next time she would have to drive to the beach, then cry while running. 

Fewer witnesses and, again, more cinematic.

[kor-knight]

Darkness Prevails epilogue

AND ITS DONE. Though, this was actually very hard to write. I overall wish to thank all those who read my story, and everyone who liked it, reblogged, and commented. You are my very existence. I also wish to thank my boyfriend, cause he’s like my biggest fan, following the story alongside all of you guys haha. Angel, enjoy it hunny! @stillapieceoftrash

Perfect

Of all the words in the plethora of words known to man, Betty would have never thought she would use that specific word to describe her life right now. But no amount of words that came to mind could possibly describe it better than that – her life was perfect.

7 years had past since the events of her teenage years – since her life was on the edge of a blade and she danced with darkness more times than she liked to. After her trip to the hospital and court hearings, Betty finally went back to school, soon after graduating top of her class – valedictorian obviously – alongside Archie and Veronica. Jughead had graduated a year later, having to repeat due to absences and lack of good grades. But once they were all done high school, it was a collective agreement to attend college together.

So they all applied, and got accepted to NYU; Betty and Jughead with the English majors, Archie on a sports scholarship with a minor in Music, and Veronica majored in Fashion design. After long conversations with parents, tons of planning, and house-hunting, the 4 set off for the city that never sleeps (or was that Paris?) They moved into a slightly larger apartment relatively close to the campus, adorned with two huge bedrooms located on opposite sides of the space - “for privacy sake” Veronica had said, a coy smile on her lips. The large common area had 4 desks, one of which was huge – Veronica clearly stating she needed a big one for her designs. Betty was solely in charge of cooking for the 4 of them, whilst Jughead and Archie were strictly on cleanup duty. Their little family was dysfunctional, but just as much home as Riverdale was.

College had been fun too, albeit insane exams. Classes were easy (at least for Betty they were), and her professors were pretty cool. They had even attended a few parties, more so a ‘Veronica and Archie’ scene as a designated “Power Couple” on the campus. Jughead and Betty had chosen more reserved extra curricular activities, such as poetry reading nights at the Java Jones down the road, or (big surprise) the double feature at a local theater.

But it was during their last year of college when Betty and Jughead’s life had changed for the better.

Betty had found out she was pregnant.

After countless failed attempts at getting back into their rhythm, of nights spent crying over too real nightmares and reoccurring ptsd, Betty finally sought the help so the elephant in the room didn’t butcher her relationship with Jughead any further. Though, even with all the struggles, Jughead never pressured Betty into anything, always letting her be the one in charge, pulling away when he felt her whole body tense, or just sit and talk her back from the edge of insanity. He had been everything she needed, and then some. So after weekly sessions with a therapist, Betty was able to expand their relationship to the peak they had it at before.

They spent nights wrapped in naked embraces, whispering sweet nothings to one another as they conquered Betty’s internal battles and heeded Jughead’s external desires. So little words were said during their times together, only primal sounds of need and want, battling for control throughout the night.

And thus lead to their baby.

She still remembered telling Jughead the news, every single detail.

“Juggie, I need to tell you something.” Her lip was between her teeth, eyes carefully watching the man in front of her. They were in their room at the apartment, Betty seating at the edge of their bed while Jughead was perched at the head of it, back against the wall.

Jughead blanked, body timid, eyes concerning. “Did I do something wrong?” His voice was raspy but soft, just above a whisper.

Betty shook her head furiously, placing her hands on the sides of his face. “No Juggie, you didn’t do anything wrong.” His smile melted her heart, hands coming to rest on her sides.

“So what did you need to tell me?” Jughead asked.

“I uh-” Betty bit her lip again, looking away. Jughead’s hand came to rest on her jaw, bringing her eyes back to his, without saying a word he just nodded. Letting out a breath and standing from the bed, Betty finally said. “Juggie I’m pregnant.”

The first thing Jughead did was drop his mouth open in shock. Or awe. Or dispair. Betty didn’t quite know what emotion it was, but what came after is what Betty truly loved. Jughead smiled. He smiled so large she thought his face was going to crack. A full, toothy, completely and utterly happy kind of smile. Then he kissed her. He kissed her again, and again. Peppering kisses across her face, along her neck, back to her face. His arms were around her, pulling her so close she thought he was trying to morph them together.

“Really?!” He asked, so much excitement and joy, Betty had never seen him like this before. She just nodded, unable to find words in this wonder. “I’m going to be a dad?” He said the last word tentatively, sorta like he was testing it out. His smile a few seconds later made Betty assume he was fine with the term, and new title. He picked her up in his arms, twirling her around a few times before setting her down once more, placing another quick kiss on her smiling lips. Jughead stood quickly, launching himself off the mattress with ease.

Then he dropped to his knees, side of his face flush against her tummy as he smiled. “My baby,” was all he said. A tear escaped Betty’s eye, words cutting off from the lump in her throat. She just sniffled. Jughead looked up at her, concerned. “Whats wrong?” He was standing in front of her again, hands on either side of her face. Betty just shook her head, a few more tears streamed down her cheeks. Jughead’s thumb gently wiped them away, kissing her cheeks softly. “You are so beautiful.” Betty just smiled, closing her eyes. “The mother to my baby.”

He kissed her then, and no matter how many times Betty relives the moment, the kiss gets longer and longer. Better every time. Their lips played a devilish dance, limbs wrapping around one another in a fight for dominance. Betty finally let Jughead take control, falling into step with his movements and just living for the moment.

Betty flushed at the memory, touching her lips with her finger and smiling. The door opened to her right, Jughead appearing from the threshold.

“Hey Juggie.” Betty said, smiling. She was making lunch, smiley face sandwiches and only the best fruit. Jughead took a step forward, placing a quick kiss on Betty’s temple.  

“Hey Betts, where’s Hunter?” Jughead asked, grabbing an apple slice and shoving into his mouth.

“In the living room with Ronnie. Archie should be here soon.” Jughead smiled, kissing her temple once more before retreating to the other room, happy giggles erupting from within. Betty smiled as she continued to cut the fruit. Finishing up, she plates everything and quickly emerges in the other room, food in hand and a smile on her lips.

Before her was Jughead, seated on the floor with Hunter – their energetic 9 month old son – while Veronica laughed from the couch. Archie was walking into the room as Betty put the food down, nodding for everyone to eat while she pulled Hunter to her arms. He cooed loudly, throwing his tiny arms around her neck. Betty giggled, enveloping him with her arms.

Jughead was beside them soon after, picking up the toddler easily and tossing him up slightly in his arms, igniting fits of laughter from the tiny boy. Hunter’s green eyes bright with excitement as Jughead continues to play with him, tickling and playing airplane. Betty just watches, laughing at her two boys. Veronica comes to sit beside her, gushing about a new set of cute clothes she’s going to buy Hunter. Archie pipes up about teaching their son how to play the guitar.

“He’ll be a rock star, like me!” Archie puffs out his chest, smirking. Veronica laughs, while Betty just smiles.

“Sure Archiekins, whatever you say boo.” Jughead says coyly, making silly faces at his son.

Archie just smiles wider, laughing. “I don’t know what’s more scary. Jughead calling me boo, or the fact that Ronnie didn’t have my back!” He feigned hurt, thrusting a hand to his chest and hanging his head. Betty bursts out laughing, covering her mouth to stop herself from snorting at the poor boy.

Veronica moves to sit beside Archie, placing a manicured hand on his shoulder. “Babe, there isn’t anything I can do to help you there.” Her smile was smug as he pulled from her grasp, gasping at her words.

“You guys are so mean to me! Why did I ever become friends with you again.” Everyone was laughing then, even Hunter, at Archie’s exaggerated expressions and flailing of his arms. Betty held her stomach tightly, the muscles in her core tense from the fits of laughter.

Once she calmed her laughter, she leaned back against the couch, watching her friends. Archie and Ronnie were talking about something, both their face close to one another and animated. Ronnie was smiling at something Archie said, leaning her head against his shoulder before kissing his cheek. Betty smiled at them, fingers tracing the scar on her wrist idly.

Jughead’s hand engulfed hers, bringing her attention to him. His blue eyes were filled with concern, looking down at Betty’s fingers then back up at her. She just shrugged, smiling at him. He mouthed the words she knew all too well, nodding before he could finish. He frowned, placing their son on the floor in front of him before scooting over to drape an arm over her shoulders.

“You ok?” He whispered, voice tickling her ear and sending a wave of pleasure down her spine. She bit her lip and nodded, not trusting her voice won’t sound heady. She notices his frown again, before leaning her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes gently.

“I’m ok Juggie.”

He cleared his throat, Betty feeling his head move in a nod. She keeps her eyes closed, unaware of if she’s falling asleep of just lost in thought. She’s brought back to reality when Jughead moves away from her, causing her head to dip painfully to the side. Rubbing her neck, Betty just opens her eyes. Hunter was sleeping on the couch behind her head, snuggled closely with his toy monkey named FP. Looking around, she stands.  

Jughead was watching Archie and Veronica closely, waiting for the signal. When Archie finally looked over at him, a slight nod was all he got before Archie stood.

“Ronnie?” Veronica looked up at her name, concern filling her perfect features. 

“Yes Archie?” She stood, sparing a glance at Betty, who just shook her head with lack of knowledge. “What is it?”

“Veronica. Ronnie. You’ve been by my side for longer than I can remember. You’re my biggest fan, and truest supporter, you’re one of the reasons I even continued with music when I wanted to quit.” Veronica was watching him, a charcoal tear trailing down her face. Archie reaches behind him, grasping something, then drops to one knee. “Veronica Lodge, will you marry me?”

“Holy shit!” Betty’s voice broke the silence, causing Jughead to chuckle. Veronica stood silent, tears streaming down her face, smudging her makeup. She had a hand over her mouth, nodding furiously. Archie shot an eyebrow up, confusion all over his face.

“Yes!” Veronica finally shouted, a choked laugh following. Archie smiled huge, standing up and enveloping her in his arms. “100 times yes, Archie. Oh my god.” Archie kissed her then, while Betty whistled, laughing at the two of them from her side of the room.

“Betty?”

Jughead’s voice broke through the noise, Betty turning on her heel, still smiling. Then she halts. Before her is Jughead, down on one knee and navy blue eyes burning bright. A hand comes up to her mouth, strangling the gasp that escapes her closing throat.

“Betts, I don’t have a fancy speech like Archie does, but I just have one question.” He pulls out a tiny box, opening his with a click. Inside is the most beautiful ring Betty’s ever seen, engraved on the side is a J, opposite of that is a B. Tears flow freely down Betty’s cheeks as she inhales sharply. “Elizabeth Cooper, will you marry me?”

“Oh my gosh.” Veronica’s voice rang out, a shrill sound in the silence that followed.

Betty doesn’t respond, just launches herself into his arms, tears flowing quickly as she wraps her arms around his neck. He wraps his arms around her torso easily, holding her tightly. She could hear his small sniffles, indication of his own crying.

She pulls back slightly, leaning back on her knees. “Yes.” His face lit up at the one word, leaning forward to capture her lips in a kiss so full of passion, it was a wonder the whole world didn’t shatter. Betty wrapped her arms around his neck, tangling her hands in his messy hair. His arms came around her waist, pulling her as close as possible. They stayed like that for eternity, or at least it felt like it to them.

Pulling away, out of breath and flushed, Betty leaned her forehead against Jughead’s, biting her lip.

“I love you, Elizabeth Cooper.” She opened her eyes, looking up at him through her lashes.

“Jughead Jones. I love you.”