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forwhump · 3 months ago

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a/n; some belated robin backstory 🥲 for doughnut, who I promised this to months ago & then FORGOT IM SO SORRY IM JUST AN AIRHEAD I WASNT INTENTIONALLY BEING A DOUCHE I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING (I remembered out of nowhere within like ten minutes of finding out liam died so that’s why it took even longer)(I loved 1d 💔)(& bleach finally animated my WORST CHARACTER DEATH so I’ve had a really hard week)(if I was still 13 I’d be institutionalized)

word count: 4k (I only feel like I need to add a word count when these are especially long so idk why everything I’ve posted recently has been especially long that’s my bad 😔)

tw/cw: kidnapping, captivity, implied rape/noncon, drug use, misgendering, transphobia, dehumanization, medical torture, lobotomies, mentions of the military, passing threats of violence against pregnant women, implied human experiments

When Robin’s a kid, just a couple weeks after his dad dies, his mom brings home a new baby. A girl.

She’s really little but she shrieks at a pitch so loud and so shrill that sometimes it gives him headaches. Other times, it puts him in such a bad mood he has to rip all the sheets off his bed or all the posters down from his walls. She doesn’t really do anything but scream or sleep and still, his mother dotes on her, treats her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

Robin doesn’t get it. He doesn’t even really like her. He’d wanted a brother, anyway.

The baby’s first word is mama, which Robin doesn’t think is all that impressive. Her second word, however, is Rob, and he doesn’t know until he gets home from school and she squeals so loudly it makes his ears ring, clapping her little hands together.

“Rob!” She squeals. “Rob!”

“She’s been waiting all day for you,” his mother says with a smile.

He drops his backpack so he can pick her up, and she squeals again as she clings to him. “Rob!”

He doesn’t even try not to cry because he doesn’t realize he’s started crying until his mother wipes away his tears. After, of course, she takes a picture that she later has framed. A picture that he takes down and hides.

When Robin’s old enough, care of the farm falls pretty solely on his shoulders. He’d been expecting it — man of the house, all that. His sister’s very much a girl, all blonde and giggly, pink and frills, and their mother gets her into pageants when she’s still really small and pageantry comes with a pretty intense base level of maintenance. When mom washes her hair, it’s a whole day event. It’s kind of absurd.

When she first starts trying to follow him out onto the farm, he thinks it’s just to bother him. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s chosen to do something for the sake of being annoying. She asks, then she begs, then she just puts on her boots and tries to follow. When he ends up locking her in the basement to keep her inside, she tries tantrums, then she stomps to their mother and pouts.

“Take your sister with you,” she chastises.

Robin groans loudly. “She’s just gonna get in the way!”

She stomps a small foot and cries, “I can help!”

“No, you can’t!” Robin tells her. “You’re just a baby! And you’re scared of the horses!”

“You can’t tell me what I can’t do!” She shrieks. “I can help!”

“You can’t help!”

“Stop screaming,” their mother says, “both of you.”

“I can help, mama,” she whines.

“She’ll break a nail and throw a fit,” Robin groans.

“I don’t care!”

“You’d better care,” Mom says. “Be careful.”

She brightens, immediately done crying. “So I can go?”

“No,” Robin says, and her face falls again.

“I can help,” she whines. “Let me show you!”

“Let her show you,” Mom says.

Robin groans the whole way out. She skips beside him.

He eats his words, in the end. Even if it’s just to prove Robin wrong, she ends up being a big help. Not with the horses, not at all, but with almost everything else.

Turns out it’s because her motives aren’t to prove Robin wrong at all — she just wanted to get out to the cows. As soon as she’s finished, once Robin’s back is turned, he’s saying something like, “I can’t believe you weren’t totally useless,” and he looks back around and she’s gone, out to pasture. He finds her frolicking with the cows, laughing delightedly.

It’s like that for a few months. She follows him out, helps with actual farm work as quickly as she can, then disappears out to pasture to hang out with the cows. For the rest of their lives there together, in their childhood home, their jobs change; she tends to her cows, and Robin does everything else. It isn’t exactly fair, but Robin had grown up fully expecting to have to do all of it himself.

They settle into their routine, and they stick to it for years.

As soon as Robin’s eighteen, he enlists. He doesn’t hesitate. He’d always known he was going to.

His mom knows. She’s proud of him. He doesn’t tell his sister, because she won’t be.

When she finds out, she throws every plate in the house at him. Breaks every one.

The moon hangs low above the farm, casting everything in watery silver light. She sits on the fence in her boots and a pageant dress, this one so white and sparkly it kind of glows in the moonlight and it makes her look, frankly, like a ghost. She’d taken the pins out of her hair and it looks spectral, a cloud around her.

They’ve been passing a series of increasingly potent celebratory joints back and forth — she’d won a world title tonight, something that warranted a series of increasingly potent celebratory joints back and forth — and her ghost is really starting to crack him up.

“You’re being a dick,” she says, but she’s giggling helplessly. “I look so beautiful.”

“I can’t even look at you,” Robin says, and he isn’t lying, turned away as he laughs. “It’s making me mourn.”

She laughs so loudly she almost falls backwards off the fence, and that sets Robin off again.

He leaves next week. Six days exactly, the day after his very last high school exam. He hasn’t told her yet, and he doesn’t want to, especially not now, but he’s running out of time. He can’t leave without saying something, anything, but he’s tempted.

It’s almost like she’s read his mind. “Can I talk to you about something?” She asks carefully, and something in her tone makes Robin’s shoulders tense.

“If you’re pregnant you’re getting thrown down the stairs, girl,” he says. She snorts. “Mom’s gonna be pissed.”

“I’m not pregnant,” she says.

“I’m leaving on Friday,” Robin responds. He doesn’t mean to.

Uncomfortably quick, her face goes blank. “What?”

“Fuck,” Robin says. “I didn’t mean to tell you that.”

“What do you mean, you leave next week?” She asks slowly.

Robin looks away, out at her cows. “I fly out,” he says, “after exams.”

“Fly where?” She asks, now completely flat.

He doesn’t look at her, but he tries to smile. “My first tour.”

She doesn’t say anything for such a long time that he finally turns again, he looks at her.

She swings, and her fist gets him hard between the eyes. She doesn’t say another word to him as she leaves, and she doesn’t say goodbye to him before he goes. After that, he didn’t really expect her to.

War is hell.

Men are monsters.

The first time Robin gets to come home, it’s so good to be home. It’s the most unbelievably light thing he’s ever experienced, like taking his first, clean breath. He almost starts to understand the military appeal; the comedown after is the high.

When he gets home, his sister is trying not to be weird around him but she is, very blatantly. He thinks it’s because of how they left things; he’s wrong.

“Can we talk?” She asks, and there’s something so severe in her face that he thinks she’s probably cutting contact with him. It’s kind of a low blow. It stings.

He sits across from her, anyway. Waits.

For a long time, she doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t look at him. She doesn’t lift her head.

“Okay, what’s going on?” He asks finally. “Are you okay?”

She exhales loudly, but her voice is so small he can barely hear her when she says, “yes.”

“Then what’s up?” He probes. “What’s going on? You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“No,” she says into her hands, “I’m not always pregnant,” and takes another deep breath. Robin waits. He gives her the time she needs, watches the way her shoulders move as she takes deep breaths, watches the way her hands tremble, hiding her face. Robin keeps his voice level and his hands steady and he waits, but he’s waiting for the worst. He isn’t sure exactly what he’s expecting, but he’s expecting it to be bad. He isn’t expecting, “I’m trans, Rob.”

She still doesn’t look at him. She still doesn’t lift her head. Robin says, “what?”

“I’m trans,” she tells her hands.

“Trans what?” Robin asks, and she does lift her head, then.

“What?” She says, like she can’t tell if he’s serious. “Gender?”

“What?” Robin repeats.

“Oh my god,” she says. “I’m a boy, Robin.”

“What?” He says, because he still doesn’t get it. Then, “oh.”

“Yeah,” she says, and — well, he says, actually. He says it, and he drops his head again, covering his face with his hands and the sheet of his hair. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“What?” Robin repeats. He’s gotten himself stuck in a weird loop. He’s thinking faster and a lot more than he usually does. “What’s — why are you sorry?”

“I don’t know,” she says. He says. He’ll get better at that. He’s an adaptable guy.

“Gonna have to stop overthinking,” Robin tells him. “Guys don’t do that.”

His back stiffens. He doesn’t lift his head. “What?”

“It’s why we sleep better,” he explains.

Reluctantly, he lifts his head. He’s always had a deceptively sweet face, kind of doe eyed, but when he looks at Robin he looks so scared, genuinely scared, that it kind of hurts Robin’s feelings. “Rob,” he croaks.

“Can’t doubt yourself like that,” Robin tells him, trying to shrug off the tension, and when he still can’t quite meet his eye Robin stretches a foot out across the carpet to kick him in the ankle. “Guys don’t do that.”

He barely looks at him from beneath his eyelashes, but he looks at him, and that’s progress. “This isn’t a joke,” he says.

“I know,” Robin agrees.

“I’m serious,” he says. “I’m seriously coming out to you right now.”

“I know,” Robin agrees again.

She covers her face again, and — he covers his face again, and it isn’t until Robin really looks that he realizes his shoulders are shaking. That he realizes — “do you have a…name? A new one?”

He hesitates for a long time before finally pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. With a sniffle, he says, “Wren, I think.”

“Wren,” Robin considers. He looks across their mother’s favourite gaudy rug at Wren, tries it on for size. “It suits you,” he decides, and Wren chokes out a sound that’s obviously a sob but that he had tried hard enough to hide that Robin lets it go. “All the names in the world, though,” he says. “You still picked a bird.”

He sniffles again. “We still had to match.”

Robin feels that really low in his chest, a lot warmer than he would’ve expected. “I’ve always wanted a brother,” he says.

When he finally comes home for good, none of the colours are as bright as he remembers them being.

Wren had moved out while he’d been away, and the house is a lot bigger than he remembers it being. It’s too quiet. He can hear too much when it’s quiet.

Wren comes to stay for a few nights, to welcome Robin home, and he brings his girlfriend with him, introduces her. Julie. She’d probably be very beautiful if Robin’s type were outrageously scary people.

All tattoos, everywhere, and piercings studded with diamonds that catch the light whenever she moves. Her hair is like ink and all her tattoos are thick, black, and she looks a lot like Wren’s opposite in a way that’s endearing for a long time. He likes Julie in the beginning; she’s cordial to him.

She’s less cordial over time, slowly but surely. Then comes a time she’s rude, that she’ll snatch Wren’s phone out of his hands to tell Robin to get fucked on the other end. Once, Wren shows up in the middle of the night to post his bail and take him home. He spends that night, then the next few on their couch, and Julie doesn’t say a word to him once. Doesn’t even look at him.

It comes to a head at his mom’s house. He’s there because Wren is supposed to be there, but he never even gets to see him; he only sees his bitch girlfriend, sneering down the doorstep at him.

“I don’t think you like me very much,” he accuses.

“I don’t,” she says.

“Oh.” He already lnew she didn’t, so he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. That she’s so fuckin’ blunt about it, maybe. “Fuck you, too.”

“You’re a loser,” she tells him, and folds her arms. Robin’s quite a bit bigger than she is, but it doesn’t feel like it then. She’s an imposing little thing. “What’s there to like?”

“Okay,” he says tightly, “you suck, and —“

“You’re a cancer,” she says, “and I want you to leave Wren alone.”

That one hits Robin like a punch in the chest. He almost takes a step back, then pivots, because who the fuck does she think she is? Why should Robin cower? “Fuck you,” he says again. She just raises her eyebrows, smirks, and it’s so smug that it actually makes Robin hot all over. “Fuck you. He’s my brother.”

“Yeah?” She asks, and he doesn’t like her fuckin’ tone. “Because, from where I’m standing, it really seems like that didn’t matter to you all that much until Wren started making a lot of money.”

It makes all the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “You have no idea —“

“Did he tell you we had to move?” She asks.

He’s still fuming and it crackles in his ears. “What?”

“Do you remember his apartment?” Julie says. “How excited he was? How much he loved it? But we had to move,” she tells him, “because we couldn’t keep up with it anymore, because such a substantial chunk of your brother’s income goes to funding his junkie brother’s crack habit.”

He tenses his jaw so tightly his teeth click. “You’re a bitch.”

“I’m not kidding,” she says, “and I’m telling you as gently as I think you deserve. You’re ruining his life. Leave him alone.”

Robin tries.

Really, he tries. He does what’s best for everyone and clears out his mother’s purse before making a home for himself in the gutter. He sleeps in the street and sits in the sun during the day, usually high. High if he can help it, anyway.

He sustains it for as long as it takes Wren to find him. He isn’t quite sure how long that is. He thinks he might have lost a lot of time.

Wren looks different. This Wren still has his Wren’s hair, his Wren’s abnormally large eyes. He’s still a pretty boy, but he’s a pretty boy, right? His jaw is a bit more defined. He’s got more angles, sharper angles, less softness and curve. He wouldn’t look out of place in an eighties hair band. How long has Robin been gone? How long has he been sleeping?

“You look good,” he says.

“You look like shit,” Wren tells him blandly.

“Yeah,” Robin agrees, scratching his neck. He accidentally opens a sore he didn’t know was there and scratches a little harder. “Where’s Julie?”

“Left me,” Wren answers.

“Oh,” Robin says, and stops scratching. “Why?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Why do you think?”

He flinches. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Well, y’know,” he says, scratching his forearm, “there’s other fish in the sea.”

Wren’s face falls. Sighing, he looks away, half hidden by his hair. Robin has half a mind to wonder if that’s why he hasn’t cut it. “I can’t do this shit with you anymore,” he says.

“What shit?” Robin says.

“All of this,” he says, but he turns back to reach out towards Robin and forcefully pry his hands away from the sides of his face. “And stop fuckin’ pickin’ your face.”

Contrarily, Robin’s skin doesn’t stop itching so he doesn’t stop scratching.

Wren doesn’t stop taking care of him, either.

For a while, Robin has a really good thing going, honestly, and there’s something comforting about being at home again with his mom and his brother. He doesn’t notice, for a long time, how much it eats away at Wren, because it eats away at him so slowly. He gets quieter.

Five months after Wren decides he’s done taking care of him — and takes care of him, still — Robin clears all of the big bills out of his wallet before he wanders out onto the farm to grovel and ask to borrow a measly fifty bucks. He never quite makes it that far.

The cows are out, so it isn’t hard to track Wren down, but Robin never quite makes it over to him. He’s sitting in the grass, back against a fence post. Daisy has her head in his lap, and he’s got a hand between her ears, but it’s still. He’s staring off into nothing. It looks like he might be crying.

And that makes Robin so dreadfully uncomfortable he turns right back around and goes inside. Because that’s probably a little bit his fault, right?

He doesn’t leave then, but he notices it more. Wren stares off into space a lot. Cries when he doesn’t think anybody else is around. Never mentions to Robin all the money that vanished from his wallet.

Robin leaves a week later.

It takes Wren three months, this time, to track him down.

Robin’s been sleeping on the floor of an abandoned apartment building, and it’s kind of surreal, waking up to Wren, cross legged on the floor with him. It’s a relief to see him. “Can I b-borrow a c-couple bucks?”

The way Wren looks at him makes him miserable. He tells Wren it’s their mother, it’s the way mom looks at him, and it is, to a degree. His mother still looks at him like she’s proud of him, her son the soldier, her son the patriot, but the way Wren looks at him is worse. Wren’s disappointed in him, and that could almost make him throw up.

He’s trying to get Robin to come home, to get clean, and Robin’s trying to get some money out of him. He’s having a hard time focusing, he’s shivering, but not with cold, with a sort of fever that makes his skin crawl too tightly over his restless bones. When the door explodes open, Robin registers it a second after it’s already happened. The soldiers he doesn’t even see until they’ve already swarmed the room, covered every exit, pulled Robin to his knees by his arms and his hair. They knock his blanket loose, and he shivers until one of them grabs Wren by his braided hair, wrenches his head back, points his gun.

Not everything comes into focus, but it tries. This is really happening and this is really bad.

Their captain is a big guy that looks more like the Hollywood movie version of a soldier than a soldier. He has an arrogance to him that puts Robin on edge, that he’s only ever seen in very dangerous, very powerful men. The way he looks at Wren makes Robin sick.

When he knocks Wren unconscious, it’s with a wet cloth and a gloved hand over his mouth.

Robin begs. He hasn’t been above begging for a long time. The way the captain is looking at Wren — he’s seen what happens to people who get looked at like that.

And this is Robin’s fault.

This is all his fault.

It makes him think of Julie. He can’t remember the last time he saw her, or even the last time he really thought about her, but he thinks of her now. You’re ruining his life, she’d told him once.

She was right.

For a long time, he’d been ruining. Now, it’s in ruins at his feet. And it’s all Robin’s fault.

They try to make him watch, but he struggles and vomits himself into unconsciousness.

They take him to a weird, grey place tens of minutes below ground. They give him weird, grey clothes and they throw him into a weird, grey prison.

Wren isn’t there.

He meets Hal, and he meets June, and he begs them, too. They have to know something, anything. Maybe they heard one of the soldiers say something, even in passing.

They look at him like he’s crazy. They don’t even believe him.

Robin spends his first week in his weird, grey prison completely hysterical. Then a couple of men, dressed almost liked orderlies but masked, all in black, come to haul him away, kicking and screaming. They drag him through this weird, grey hellscape to a surgical room from a nightmare, entirely black. They strap him down to a black surgical table. The surgeons that hover around him wear black masks and caps and gloves.

One of them takes a long, black needle. He holds it up, into Robin’s field of vision, before he turns the point into the inner corner of his eye. “This will probably hurt,” he explains, “but you won’t think to complain.”

“What the fuck?” Robin shouts. He thrashes, but he’s restrained to that table so tightly he can’t turn his face away, not even an inch. “What the fuck! Get the fuck away from me!”

“This will make your development easier,” another says. He speaks with the slow, flat voice of an old movie mad scientist and Robin’s heart physically aches in his chest. Never, not once in his life, has he been so scared it’s made his heart ache. “It’s in your best interest.”

“Get the fuck away from me!” Robin screams.

But he’s still. He tries to thrash, to turn away, and he can’t. He can only watch that needle close in on his eye, and scream as it pierces it.

He screams until he can’t.

#this is a little wren centric at times but that is obviously just because wren is a special love of my life & im obsessed with him #whump #whumpblr #whump scenes #whump blog #whump series #whump tag #whumpee #whump community #whump writing #whump fic #whump snippet #whump story #whump stuff #whump things #whump angst #whump wip

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definitelynotshouting · 1 year ago

Note

3am Moldy Martyn Anon Back Again

still rotating hunger au despite the MONUMENTAL EVENTS OCCURRING (as soon as i watch secret life instead of just admiring all the fanart i’m gonna be insane too)

thinking abt the tragedy of current watcher grians existence.

so player grian got eaten, remembers being both the devourer and the devoured, etc etc etc, ship of theseus, we’ve covered that

but also? thinking abt the watcher larva that existed before it became grian.

if it could remember anything from that point, it went from

being cocooned in the not-yet-suffocating love of its caretakers, still so unaware of the scope of its world, taking its first steps, learning how to *be*

to, STRAIGHT TO, DO NOT PASS GO DO NOT COLLECT 200$ NO SNACK BREAKS NO NOTHING, DIRECTLY TO,

knowing far too much. knowing that you’re you, the larval watcher cradled by its caretakers, and also you’re you, the player stolen from his home and friends and everything he’s ever loved by these incomprehensible beings and NOW YOURE ONE OF THEM.

it’s incredibly sad— because there’s no one else for watcher grian to BE, other than grian. The larval watcher hadn’t had a chance to exist before it was someone else. Sure, watcher grian’s got the watcher form and watcher hunger and watcher needs— but there was nothing, really, to differentiate the biology from the watcher that watcher grian was before cannibalizing player grians code.

we are, i think, made up of our memories. There wasn’t enough memories in that larval watcher to be an individual at all, in the face of player grians memories. I wonder if the larval watcher had a name, before grian— did any of the watchers care about it, beyond a being a means of continuing a dying species? or was it always meant to be exploited?

think it would be mad interesting to see that angle as well. yes watcher grian and player grian are, functionally, the same person, just with differing amounts of trauma. But how empty did the larval watcher have to be in order for grian, memory wise, to be the same person?

Like, the question was raised and answered earlier, abt the differences between the player and the watcher grian being a ship of theseus question for both the characters and the readers, and like i said before—

who else is there for watcher grian *to be*????

it’s horrifying to think of the implications of the watchers kidnapping and meddling with the very being of a player. it’s even more horrifying to think they’d be so willing to give up one of their very few and delicate larva to this experiment.

even done in desperation, the willingness to sacrifice a child and irrevocably change them in the name of a nebulous idea they (the child/larva) can’t even understand enough to consent to, is both the most horrifying thing that’s come out of the hunger au and also characterizes the watchers extremely well.

surprise! all that was context for a joke (<- says person haunted by the concept).

aware this isn’t canon but please imagine with me the forever toddler watcher consciousness living in the back of grians head:

grian, starving himself to avoid hurting his friends, going through two death games and maintaining enough of a facade to build some incredible structures: finally. sleep.

toddler watcher living in the back of his head: you got games on your phone? you got candy crush? temple run? doodle jump? You got games? Please? Games?

grian, searching up “lobotomy diy wikihow” on minegoogle: you’re lucky i cant punt you.

call that brain a meat hotel the way it’s— *EXTREMELY LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER*

ever think about how tf the watchers came up with this batshit idea in the first place. like i’m imagining a board room in the void with these solar shrimp/centipede lookin mfers in a suit and tie (the pants are either one big pencil skirt or many formal looking leg warmers), and mx. [GARBLED TEXT] (DUBBED JAMIE FOR TRANSLATORS CONVENIENCE) stands up after doing a line of void cocaine (like normal cocaine except it glows purple) directly on the boardroom’s void table and says “I HAVE A SOLUTION TO THE POPULATION CRISIS. ITS GONNA KNOCK YOUR SOCKS OFF. ALL 8 MILLION OF THEM. EVERY ONE OF YOU.”

dramatic pause.

“WE FEED THE BABIES PLAYER BRAINS.”

a timid hand raises.

“YES [GARBLED TEXT] (DUBBED SALAXANDER)?”

“sorry but uh isn’t that what we already do???”

“NO. SALAXANDER THATS THE BEAUTY OF IT. WERE GONNA HAVE THEM EAT THE PLAYER BRAIN…. AND THEN BECOME THEM!!!!!! NO MORE PESKY BABY YEARS. ONLY CAPABLE WATCHER”

“jamie if this is about the larvae throwing up on you the last time you watched them im awful sorry about that—“

“DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TAKES TO GET REGURGITATED EMOTIONS OUT OF IMPORTED CUSTOM MADE GUCCI???? THE HALF DIGESTED REGRET STAINED THE VIBES FOREVER. AND DONT GET ME STARTED ON WHAT THEY DID TO MY JORDANS— DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH 800 PAIRS OF JORDANS COST?? DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO MAKE PLAYER MONEY LOOKING LIKE THIS?”

a deep breath.

“NO MORE BABY WATCHERS! FUCK THEM KIDS. ”

a cheer echos through the room, a near unanimous agreement.

salaxander looks like xier contemplating reducing the dwindling watcher population by one tonight.

DJCJDJVJFJCJDJX no but damn. jokes aside was player eating the first option or did they try other things? it’s not ultimately important, i think, in the scheme of things, but i do think it would be very funny for player eating to be the FIRST resort. like damn y’all saw half an opportunity and jumped on it like vultures on roadkill.

4) re: docs mystery solution i saw someone mention microwaving grian a bit and yknow that one vine where they’re like “GET ON TOP OF THE FRIDGE. GET UP THERE.” and the person climbing the fridge goes “THIS HOUSE IS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE.”? yeah. grian microwave hours.

or or or

grian, getting the Watcher Brain Rumbles: do not contact me i will be microwaved.

someone: what

cut to deep fried image of grian in the microwave with impact font caption being

“he will b

be microwaved”

yeah okay memes MOSTLY aside having to go meditate in the ATROCIOUS vibes room for 30 minutes every day/couple of days beats starving. i’m imagining walking past this thing with like telepathy feels like a concert having a collective panic attack.

5) speaking of docs mystery solution, while i know the fic is focused on grians healing, i’m having fun thinking about the random watcher that sees this and goes “WE COULDVE BEEN DOING THAT THE WHOLE TIME????????” well not random there’s like 40 left but i have to imagine at least one of them is odd enough to go “OH BOY CARDBOARD? SIGN ME UP” we all know someone who would subsist off of like the irl version of soylent green exclusively so i imagine watchers aren’t that different. i’m assuming it’s jamie for my own amusement.

don’t have to bother feeding the baby watchers anymore just stick em in the Microwave Incubator while they flop around.

It’s not Delivery, It’s Docm77’s Mystery Meal Solution!

also side note re the mystery solution i feel like that’s the equivalent of being Watcher Vegan. don’t have any follow up to that lmfaooooo.

wow i did. not expect this to get this long. thank you for your time and i hope you have a wonderful day!

ps: you got a 🍄 anon? i think i’ve sent like four or five asks in the past week so perhaps picking an identifier is not A Bad idea djcjdjxjdjdj

HELLO 3AM MUSHROOM ANON!!! :D ajdhsjdjd ur absolutely free to take the mushroom emoji, i dont think anyone has that rn!!

godspeed on watching secret life, i have a post-finale fic up on ao3 now to read whenever u want if u desire an extra dose of pain LOLOL gods that ending gutted me. ive been deboned like a fucking trout about it

BUT YEAH FOR THE HUNGER AU THINGS...

1.) you raise a really good and interesting point, in that like-- yeah!! the larva didnt have time to be anyone other than Grian, because it was specifically modified from the start to copy over his memory code. the entire time it cannibalized his code, it was copying over those memories, his personality, his stats. from the start, the moment it hatched inside of him it was collecting that data and rapidly copying it over.

i dont necessarily think it was super aware while it was doing that-- i think that as time went on the awareness grew, but it was cloudy and uncertain, not something he remembers very clearly or was processed well. he remembers emergence, of course, and he remembers Player!Grian dying (and feeding on him as he did), but those hazy days before that?? not much more than sense memory, i think.

i think on the Watchers' parts it was an extremely calculated move that came from sheer desperation, and it wasnt made lightly-- Watcher culture is very community oriented, and children are incredibly valuable when you can only reproduce like. once or twice every year or so. it was a calculated risk, but in all honesty, it was less risky to them in the long term than just trying to raise a juvenile from scratch. a child doesnt really know their own limitations; an adult, however, is much more knowledgeable, and in theory is more willing to listen to them when they say "hey if you mess around too much you WILL die." Grian was selected because he was clever and tricky-- the Watchers needed a Player with a quick mind so they could cut down on the amount of teaching they'd need to do..... but what they didnt account for, bc Players are so alien to them (and vice versa) is that ummm . well !!!! Thats Trauma, Babe™<3

it genuinely did not occur to the Watchers that Grian wouldnt want to stay. or, at least, they just didnt consider the traumatic aspect of all this, or the MASSIVE cultural shock. Player cultural values are way different in many ways to Watcher cultural values!!! it was a blind spot they truly didnt account for, and ultimately that was why Grian was able to escape; they just didnt see the attempt coming.

UHHHHHH other than that like-- i dont think the larva had a name?? like, the Watchers cared, of course they cared, but this was about as blank of a canvas as you can get to stretch Grian's memories over. and something to note here for you that you might find interesting-- you mentioned here the horror of the Watchers changing the code of a child who cant consent, and thats super true, it is horrifying.... from ours, and a Player's, perspectives. Watchers are subject to a very orange and blue morality system as opposed to ours, which i find a very neat dissonance in-- yes, its absolutely horrifying for us to contemplate being changed so thoroughly against our autonomy. but for Watchers, who forcibly changed themselves to avoid getting wiped out by the Seekers, who regularly shift code around like its water... thats just a tuesday. idk i just think thats a neat concept to noodle on, and that it highlights how alien their culture is vs ours (and Players, whom are closer to us in terms of cultural similarities)

2.) something something funnier as a system--💥💥💥💥💥💥

3.) i am utterly obsessed with this image youve concocted of the Watcher boardroom (which also might be a consequence of having JUST spent over 5 hrs straight playing Control with my cousin LMFAO) and also,,,,, void cocaine,,,,,, 😭😭😭😭😭 the implication that this is just a normal Watcher board meeting is so fucking funny to me I CAAANT

i dont think it was the first idea they had, because i think they tried for very many years to hold out the normal way-- but with how fragile Watchers are, especially their juveniles, it just wasnt a viable option. so they started looking elsewhere; another option i think they explored was to see if they could try and modify themselves again, but... like i said, Watchers are fragile. capable of really cool crazy things!!!! but theyre a "made of spun sugar and held together with a packet of chewing gum" type beat of an entity, yknow?? forcing another hardcore evolutionary change Just Like That was WAY too risky to try again-- i think a lot of Watchers just straight up didnt survive that initial change, bc when you're fucking with structural code, you're about one misstep away from collapsing like a house of cards.

so thats why they ended up settling on Player conversion, so to speak. it was a calculated way to try and mitigate the heavy infant mortality rates they suffer due to juvenile watchers not understanding their limits-- being able to just skip years of around-the-clock minding and monitoring to make sure a juvenile doesnt die would buy a lot of time for the rest of the Watcher colony to start expanding their numbers, which could eventually bring them back up to a larger population. what they didnt account for, unfortunately, is that there is a HUGE culture difference, and a Player forced to go through something that traumatic is unmmm mm. not going to wanna stick around<3

4.) im so obsessed with how everyone has latched onto the microwave thing wkndejfnekfj its so funny to me bc like i know what Doc's machine is, i know exactly how it functions, i even know the exact components its made of-- im honestly just keeping it a secret for the sake of my own amusement at this point WHEEEEEEEZE so seeing yall go ham in the microwave jokes and the machine speculation is SO funny to me. i cant wait for yall to see what it actually is like im so excited to see the reaction SJDBEJDNSNSN /gen

5.) you're so right, Grian is the equivalent of a vegan Watcher 😭😭😭😭😭😭 SKDNSNDNNSNDKSS

begging to the gods that my readmore works here because holy shit this is a long one. but thank u for the ask and the questions and i am indeed having a wonderful day!!! i hope you have a great one too :] ❤️❤️❤️

#shouting speaks #asks #hunger au #secret life spoilers #<- just cause its mentioned in the post with a link to my fic /covering my bases #minecraft worldbuilding #long post #txt

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archerincombat · 3 years ago

Text

stay cool (it's just a kiss)

“So,” Chimney starts, trying to ease into it. “What do you think about Buck making out with a guy?”

or: Hen tells Chimney that Buck made out with the new firefighter. She just...doesn't clarify which one.

read on ao3 | 2.5k

Chimney thinks that maybe, just a little bit, he might possibly be missing something.

Hen tells him that Buck made out with the new firefighter at a bar, which, so Buck 1.0 of him but Chim can’t exactly say anything since this maybe the third time in so many years that he and Maddie have taken a break. And if he’s focusing on Buck’s complete mess of a love life in order not to focus on the awful stinging feeling that’s burning its way through his chest, then that’s his business.

Anyway, he’s not going to give Buck shit for cheating on Taylor Kelly. He doesn’t necessarily approve, but he also doesn’t think it’s his place to disapprove, right now. Not so soon after his hasty apology and Buck’s even more awkward forgiveness. They’re not at a place where Chimney can have an opinion even though his opinion is that the team is a mess. Eddie’s gone, and there’s a new firefighter/paramedic named Jonah, and so Buck went and cheated on his girlfriend.

“Buck made out with the new firefighter,” he repeats. “Huh. Can’t say I saw that coming.”

Hen fixes him with one of her patented glances, but she relents. “That’s fair,” she says finally. “I suppose you weren’t here to see all the,” she waves her hands in the air. “Spiraling.”

“Uh huh,” Chim agrees absentmindedly, because yeah, he doesn’t condone the cheating, but he thought Hen, of all people, would be a bit happier about this development. Not that anyone really thinks Buck is straight, but he’s never been so open about it before.

Honestly, despite the infidelity of it, Chimney’s a bit proud of him for making out with Jonah. Which sounds weird when he puts it in that order in his head, so he doesn’t say anything.

“Do you think he…” Chimney knows there are other things, more important things, like whether or not Bobby will give him his job back. “Like, do you think Buck likes them? Enough to break up with Taylor?”

Hen snorts. “I think there are a lot of people Buck likes more than Taylor Kelly,” she says, sipping her beer. “You’ll never guess what he bought her for Christmas.”

“Sex toy,” he answers immediately.

Hen makes a disgusted face at him. “No,” she enunciates clearly. “And please don’t—we’re all already scarred from the Bobby and Athena thing.”

Chim doesn’t know what the Bobby and Athena thing is, but he has this vague idea of Bobby buying Athena a sex toy for Christmas and then promptly wonders how soon he can book a lobotomy.

continue on ao3

tags: @berthulf @henwilsons @hetrez @kissyboytroye @dispatchersdiaz @1stbonesfan @polargypsy @whyisshesoromantic @itsbuckactually @buckbegns @himbodiaz @adamsparirsh @ravipanikar @fruitydiaz @dontknowwherethereis @bedhadakdiaz @theideaofhome @zaedabi @britishmysteries @lawyerlauren @moonn-liiight @sunshinediaz

#this is so stupid the writing isn't even that good but please laugh #911fic #911 fic #madney #buddie

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transdemigod · 3 years ago

Text

Cutting Yourself Off from the Entities: A Comprehensive Guide

I am once again overanalyzing the Magnus Archives for fun. This topic is super interesting to me, and I haven’t seen it explored as much as other theories, so here we go.

So, you’ve pledged yourself to one of the Dread Powers, but decided that you’ve had enough of terrorizing others. Not to worry, there is a way out. Melanie King did it and lived all the way to the end of the series!

Here is the summary, though I’m sure a full explanation will be more satisfying:

To escape the Buried, lose yourself to the emptiness. To escape the Corruption, kill what loves you. To escape the Dark, give yourself to the sunlight. To escape the Desolation, choose kindness. To escape the End, cut yourself off from dreams. To escape the Eye, blind yourself. To escape the Flesh, give up control of your body. To escape the Hunt, tear out your teeth and claws. To escape the Lonely, bind yourself to others. To escape the Slaughter, remove your emotions. To escape the Spiral, destroy your voice. To escape the Stranger, make yourself known. To escape the Vast, trap yourself in a small place. To escape the Web, give up your autonomy.

The rest is under the cut. Let me know if you have any ideas that you think I missed, I would love to discuss theories.

We know for sure that the way to escape the Eye is to gouge your own eyes out. The other entities have less information, but we get a few clues here and there. In the season 4 Q&A, Jonny and Alex joke about leaving the service of the Stranger by running naked through the streets. They also mention that the Desolation can be left by an act of true altruism. With these details, as well as other details in the rest of the canon, we can make a list of criteria that must be satisfied for an act that will cut someone off from each of the 14 Entities.

Firstly, it isn’t enough to just stop feeding your god. Daisy and Jon both tried to abstain and ended up wasting away, and it is implied that they would have died if they had continued. Dying is certainly one possible way to escape the service of a Fear, but we’re going for living out the rest of your natural life here.

Secondly, there has to be some sacrifice made that relates to the specific power. This is where the Desolation’s explanation kind of falls apart; doing one good act doesn’t stop you from just continuing to be destructive, so the act must also include giving up the thing that ties you to your Entity. In the Stranger’s case, one could argue that exposing yourself does count as giving up your anonymity, and there are several Stranger avatars that seem to thrive on being unknown. My theory is that each Entity has a draw of some kind, a power that it gives its followers, which you would have to completely give up if you are to leave it for good. Jon mentioned that the blinding has to be permanent, so I’m assuming this applies to the others as well. Basically, the avatar who wishes to leave must give up something that one who does not wish to leave would never want to.

Third, the change can be physical or symbolic. Obviously blinding yourself is a very physical change, while committing acts of altruism or making yourself known are less so. Some of the Entities will have pretty clear parts of the body that connect you to the power, others will need a bit more of an explanation. In special cases where a person gets their power from an artifact or a Leitner, destroying the thing would probably be enough to cut them off from that power. And of course, if you are as lucky as Georgie Barker and manage to completely get rid of your fear, that would probably be enough to cut you off from them as well.

So, here are my explanations for what you would have to do to cut yourself off from each of the 14. I’m basing it on examples we get in the series, the few rules I have decided to set, and what would seem thematically or symbolically appropriate. Realistically, each individual would have their own personal journey and each avatar is different, but it’s more fun this way.

The Buried- The draw of the Buried is a little difficult to narrow down, we’ve heard about restfulness, the comfort of enclosed spaces, the desire to be a part of the earth, etc. The thing Buried avatars seem to dislike the most is wide open spaces, though I don’t know how that would translate to something you can change about yourself. How would a person cut themselves off from the earth? You could move to a place that is very open, but you could also just leave. I’m not sure if there is a way a person could give up the concept of space, so I’m probably going to have this same problem when I get to the Vast. Probably the only thing you could give up that makes sense is the type of space the Buried is tied to, so you’d have to keep away from enclosed spaces. However you’re supposed to do that, I have no idea. This one is just going to have to be a less satisfying answer, unless I find another idea later.

To escape the Buried, lose yourself to the emptiness.

The Corruption- Most people who get into the Corruption get filled with bugs, and we know from Jane that it is appealing because you have a sense of belonging and purpose. The Corruption focuses a lot on toxic love, and I think communities specifically because the things we think of as infections are multitudinous: insect hives, bacteria, fungal colonies, etc. Even in the case of that one guy with the beetle wife, it was implied that there would soon be many more beetles. So, I think to stop being fed by the Corruption, you have to get rid of the infection in whatever form it takes. The one woman in the statement about the cult ended up leaving, but she wasn’t a full avatar, so I think that would require a bit more drastic action. If Jane had wanted to leave, she would probably have had to kill every worm inside of her. Knowing what we know about her, she would never want to do that, but she also had no regrets about becoming the Hive. Someone like John Amherst would have to get rid of all the diseases inside of him, so it might be as simple as a hospital visit and getting pumped full of antibiotics. If you got hollowed out by bugs, you might have to fill in the space somehow to be able to move, but I’m sure you could find a way. Maybe some help from the Flesh? It does seems to be in opposition to the Corruption in many ways, so that would work thematically.

To escape the Corruption, kill what loves you.

The Dark- Another abstract one. What’s the opposite of blinding yourself? The Dark, aside from the literal definition, includes things like weird science and unknowable things that lurk in the dark. Seeking knowledge would be a good opposite to darkness, but that’s not making a sacrifice or a permanent change. It’s not very clear what avatars of the Dark would hate to lose. Manuela Dominguez describes hating the light, how traditional divinity and knowledge are unnatural as opposed to the dark state of the world. This might be another location based one. Apparently, the sunniest places in the world are in northern Africa and the southwest parts of America, so moving there might do it. There isn’t an easy permanent change to make, but committing yourself to being in the sunlight as much as possible would probably work. Change your sleep schedule, move somewhere sunny, just avoid the dark in general. Maybe even start worshipping the sun; that would be in opposition to the cult following the Dark has.

To escape the Dark, give yourself to the sunlight.

The Desolation- We know it’s an act of altruism. I think it might need some adjusting, though, to make it more of a sacrifice by the person who serves the Desolation. This fear is all about sacrifice and loss, so it’s a bit tricky to think of something a Desolation avatar could give up when they’ve already committed to giving up everything. Well, everything except themselves. Many avatars, like Jude Perry, have shown themselves to be selfish, but I don’t think even they would be opposed to going out in a blaze of glory. No, the hardest thing for them would be to settle down and live a prosperous life. This one probably would have to be continuous effort instead of one grand sacrifice. It doesn’t fit with the others, but it does fit the theme of the Desolation. Yeah, I’ve just gone in a big circle. Altruism does make the most sense. Just make sure that selfless gesture counts. It’s not a real choice if you don’t mean it. I guess that would be really difficult if you’re used to burning everything around you, so maybe it’s more of a sacrifice than I thought.

To escape the Desolation, choose kindness.

The End- We actually already have a canon answer for this one: lobotomize yourself. Adelard Dekker found an End avatar that was killing people with carbon monoxide through their dreams, and he stopped him by cutting through his pre-frontal cortex- the part of the brain that lets you dream. It’s implied that this didn’t completely work, but I think the reason for that is that the avatar was not the one to make the choice. It’s emphasized again and again that serving the fears is all about personal choice, so it makes sense that any attempt to cut someone off wouldn’t take if the person hasn’t decided to give up their connection. The End is associated with dreams in most appearances, so I believe that a person who chooses not to dream would no longer be bound to it. Oliver Banks could see those whose deaths were coming in his dreams, which directly led to him becoming an avatar, so if he had decided to stop dreaming, that would be it. This procedure might be a bit difficult, I can’t imagine performing your own lobotomy would go very well, but I’m sure getting someone else to do it would count if you were the one to make the decision. Of course, Terminus would still have you in the end, but that will happen no matter what you do.

To escape the End, cut yourself off from dreams.

The Eye- This one is already answered. The draw of the Eye is the power to watch, so you have to give that ability up. Simple, straightforward, and definitely fits the theme.

To escape the Eye, blind yourself.

The Flesh- Oh boy, this is a weird one. We have dysphoria, consumption, body horror, I can’t say this one sounds very appealing. But it must be, or else it wouldn’t have people serving it. A lot of the draw to serve the fears could be interpreted as dishing out what you can’t take. You don’t have to be afraid of being watched if you do the watching, you don’t have to fear harm if you harm them first. Maybe the appeal of Flesh is making others share that fear that you are nothing but meat. I don’t think it’s really possible for people to give up their corporeal form, unless it’s metaphorical but I have no idea what that could mean. I think those who serve the Flesh thrive on being “more” than others. More body parts, more mass in general. You could go on a diet or become a vegetarian, which I think the writers may have joked about once? I want a more concrete solution, though. Diets are easy to break. You can’t fully give up food without dying, so I guess you could give up the control of food. Giving up your sense of taste would be interesting, but I’m going to keep it more general. No easy answer for this one either.

To escape the Flesh, give up control of your body.

The Hunt- People are drawn to the Hunt by that deep, primal desire to chase and attack. Humans have both predator and prey instincts inside of us, so you would have to completely leave the predator behind to escape the Hunt. I think a good way to do this would be the get rid of your teeth, or nails, whichever you use to cause harm. Daisy was able to temporarily leave behind her power in the Buried, but as soon as she got out, she started starving. I think this is a good argument that you could partially cut off your power by using a power that opposes it in some way, but you would have to give up a part of yourself to make it stick. As soon as she had the freedom and ability to hunt again, that was when the urge came back, and she eventually succumbed to it. Getting rid of the parts of your body that do harm wouldn’t completely stop you if you were dedicated enough, but it’s the choice to do so that matters. This one is a bit more of a symbolic choice, and you could probably do something else to your body that would prevent it from hunting, but I am going with the cooler option.

To escape the Hunt, tear out your teeth and claws.

The Lonely- Probably all you have to do to escape the Lonely is just…be around other people. I’m sure this is easier said than done, but there are lots of ways to commit to other humans. Get married, join a club, make a blood pact and permanently bind yourself to another human. The possibilities are endless! This one, I think more than the others, would require a bit more of a continued effort. I know that the whole point is to make one drastic, permanent change, but the Lonely feels like something that’s easy to relapse into. Maybe it’s the depression metaphor, I don’t know, but I don’t think this one has as easy a solution as the others. It’s hard work forcing yourself to stay connected to others, and it’s something most people in real life struggle with. Giving up any of these powers is a difficult choice, which is the whole point. Life is hard, and we have to make tough decisions. Anyway, I’m okay letting this one be a bit more abstract.

To escape the Lonely, bind yourself to others.

The Slaughter- This one is very similar to the Hunt in terms of actions, so I think the solution might be similar as well. Destroying your weapon would fit well, but it is just way too easy to pick up something else and continue hacking and slashing away. To give up violence entirely, you might have to destroy a significant part of your body. For the Slaughter, I think we should go with a less physical act. The opposite of violence is healing, so maybe become a doctor? You would have to really commit to helping others instead of hurting them, and that is too easy to go back on. I think the sacrifice made here would have to be emotion. Anger and the desire to hurt would go away if you couldn’t feel anymore. I don’t know how you would do this, except through drugs, but that isn’t permanent. There is probably a part of the brain you could destroy that causes emotion. It’s not the same as the prefrontal cortex, which we destroyed back in the End section, so at least it’s not the same solution twice. Honestly, the drugs could work if you did them long term, it’s about the choice anyway. However you do it:

To escape the Slaughter, remove your emotions.

The Spiral- The draw of the Spiral is the power to lie and deceive. There are many ways to do this, and there are probably just as many ways to stop yourself from doing it. However, there is one way that I think fits very well and is absolutely a permanent change: destroy your voice. This is actually the first one I thought of because even though it’s not technically the only way to stop yourself from lying, it fits very well thematically. Michael as the Distortion calls itself the Throat of Delusion Incarnate, so what better way to break yourself off from the same power then by tearing out your throat? It’s not perfect, but I like it so much that I’m going to pick it. I don’t know how one would go about destroying one’s voice, except with very careful surgery. Or screaming for a very long time.

To escape the Spiral, destroy your voice.

The Stranger- We got our answer to this one in the Q&A. Run naked through the streets, and make sure to engage with everyone who talks to you so that you can’t hide. Utterly terrifying. It makes perfect sense though; we heard from the Not!Them that beings of the Stranger hate losing their anonymity. Whether by switching skins, tricking the mind, or looking so generic that no one can remember your face, being known is antithetical to the Stranger. There are probably other ways to go about losing your anonymity then running around naked. You could get up on a stage somewhere and pour your heart out, or publish an autobiography. Basically anything the Eye would like. As long as you are putting yourself out there in a way that you can’t take back, you should be able to successfully cut yourself off from that uncanny fear.

To escape the Stranger, make yourself known.

The Vast- This one might actually be easier than the Buried, because it’s not purely spatial. It includes things like longevity, our insignificance in the face of a massive universe, and large scary things in general. A Vast avatar would hate to be enclosed, but they would also hate to be made responsible. They enjoy making others afraid of their insignificance, but what if they were important to the universe? What if the world was actually very small, and they fit neatly into it instead of being lost? There’s a lot of different ways to go here, so narrowing down one sacrifice might not be the best answer. I can’t really think of any one action that makes a person feel as though the world is small and trapping them. Giving themselves to the Buried would, probably. A direct contrast is the easiest answer.

To escape the Vast, trap yourself in a small place.

The Web- Avatars of the Web are manipulators, through and through. There are so many ways to manipulate a person that no one action could prevent you from doing that, so this one would likely vary a lot between individuals. That movie director who had people puppet him in his own house comes to mind, I think giving up your freedom like that is a good way to do it. Being paralyzed wouldn’t stop you if you used your voice to control others, and giving up both would suck, but if that’s what you need to do, then I guess it’s your choice to make. Maybe all you would need to do is let someone else tell you what to do, and fully trust them. That would be difficult, coming from the Web where everything is tied together and you know how easy it is to manipulate you.

To escape the Web, give up your autonomy.

#tma #the magnus archives #the buried #the corruption #the dark #the desolation #the end #the eye #the flesh #the hunt #the lonely #the slaughter #the spiral #the stranger #the vast #the web #tma entities #tma analysis

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bcdrawsandwrites · 4 years ago

Photo

Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: T

Genre: Angst

Characters: Caligosto Loboto, Loboto’s parents

Warnings: Surgery, lobotomy, hallucinations, child abuse, EVERYTHING IS HORRIBLE AND NOTHING IS OKAY WITH THIS (but there’s nothing graphic)

Description: Just be still, and you'll be fine.

Beta Readers: @jaywings and Rocket (who I’m not sure is on Tumblr?)

Notes: who let me write Psychonauts fanfic. also some of the phrases in this fic were taken from this site.

---~~~---

“Scattering sparks of thought energy

Deliver me and carry me away”

“Here in my kingdom, I am your lord

I order you to cower and præy”

- The Mind Electric, by Tally Hall

---

Sometimes it was nice to just lay down in the park and watch the clouds float overhead.

He often had a lot of energy, both normal and... well... unnatural, but sometimes it was nice to relax, especially when he didn't feel like himself. His energy was ebbing, and there was something… something...

"Can you tell us another?"

He glanced up. Several of his usual playmates were standing around him, their faces lit up in interest. He grinned a wide, toothy grin.

"The boy babbled blatantly but was blessed with a brilliant brain!"

"Good!"

The compliment made his brow furrow. Normally they might cheer "cool!" or "awesome!" but he shrugged—he'd take it. It gave him a warm feeling inside, unlike the frequent chill of his own home. Plus, he couldn’t help but light up as he watched the smiles on his friends’ faces—some of them were still losing baby teeth, he noted, and the progression was fascinating. He knew what he could do to see more of those grins, too...

Without raising his head too much—it hurt a little, and he could see well enough from where he was—he glanced around to make sure his mother wasn't too close by. Luckily she was way off in the pavilion, talking to several other adults. Good; she wouldn't see, and neither would the other prying parents.

"How about this?" he asked, and with a tiny bit of concentration lifted a few rocks off the ground, spinning them in circles. Instead of cheering, however, the children backed away, their smiles fading.

"Look, he's trying to—!" one girl whispered frantically.

"Don't worry, he's fine for now."

He frowned, dropping the rocks. "O-oh, I'm sorry! I didn't think they would see..."

"That's okay. Can you tell us another?"

"Disappointed dogs don't do dangerous deeds." Wincing, he closed his eyes—there was a breeze that seemed to pass over his head only, running through his hair.

His scalp felt cold.

---

"Go on, Caligosto. Show the doctor how you can pick it up."

"Like this...?"

"No, the other way."

"But... mother doesn't like it when I do it that way."

"Do as you're told, Caligosto."

"...Okay..."

The fish swam all about the pond, but came closer to the surface when they realized he was watching from his usual spot on the shore. As they nearned him, he settled over the grass, staring down at his scaly friends. The fish seemed to like his company, and they wouldn't snitch to his parents if he did anything they wouldn't like.

On top of that, he felt a connection with them, almost like the sort of connection he could feel with people. They couldn't talk, and they didn't have facial expressions… but he could almost read them somehow, more and more as he continued visiting. Now he could sense what foods they wanted, or when they were scared of a nearby predator. It was nice to help them out.

It was also interesting to see the different kinds of teeth the fish had—some had sharp fangs, some had tiny flat teeth, and some had teeth in weird places, like their tongue or throat!

"Can you hear us?"

He would have jumped, but that would have scared the fish. As it was, he leaned forward, his eyes wide beneath their glasses. "Yes! I can hear you!" He could hardly contain his excitement. "I'd always thought I could hear you before, but never this clear! Do you think—"

"Good! Can you tell us another?"

He blinked. "Another what?"

"Another phrase."

Oh, right. In his excitement he'd nearly forgotten that he'd occasionally show off for the fish as well, though he'd never been sure if they could understand. "Friendly fish flip-flop fast when facing fearsome foes!"

"Very good!"

Giggling, he settled himself back down on the soft grass. "I'm glad you think so... my parents always tell me to be quiet."

Apparently, the fish had nothing to say to this, for they remained quiet, swimming just under the surface and watching him. So he kept watching them too, observing the light that reflected off their scales. But one creature caught his eye: a small turtle swimming in place. It was odd to see to begin with, but the paddling of its little feet seemed strangely frantic, its front legs moving in big sweeping arcs. It didn't speak, but he swore he could hear it—

Away, away—

---

"Is that... all he's capable of?"

"I'm afraid not."

"D—Father, are we done? I don't like it here..."

"Only speak when spoken to, Caligosto."

"Can we see anything else?"

"Yes."

"I-I don't want to—"

"Caligosto."

"Okay, okay! Let me—"

---

The seas were calm, and he had worked hard today as a navigator (or was he first mate? he couldn't quite remember, but that was okay), keeping a close eye on the compass and making sure they were staying on course. They were nearing the shore, but for now, he was taking a break, resting against a coil of rope with his eyes closed, enjoying the smell of the ocean air and the feeling of sunshine.

And also trying to forget his headache—he was pretty sure he bumped his head coming down from the crow's nest.

"You're doin' good today, mate! Squawk!"

He opened one eye, noting the parrot sitting just behind him. "Thanks, Crackers!"

Birds hadn’t been something that interested him too much at first; what kind of silly animal didn’t have teeth? That is, until he’d learned that birds have a weird organ that acted as their teeth. Fascinating!

The parrot cocked her head at him. "Do you know any more?"

Oh right, of course the parrot enjoyed those phrases. "The pretty parrot perched upon the putrid pirate's peacoat!"

Crackers gave a pleased chirp, ruffling her feathers.

Wincing, he found his headache was starting to get worse, like a bad toothache, and closed his eyes again. "Do you think we'll reach shore soon?"

We won't if you don't get out.

He opened his eyes. Crackers was gone.

---

"STOP! STOP! MAKE IT STOP!"

"What are you doing?!"

"I-I just did what you asked—"

"I didn't tell you to—!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Put him out, hurry—"

"We've seen enough, doctor. We'll schedule an appointment for your son next week."

"N-next week?!"

"Very well. He'll be there promptly."

---

The kids’ expressions had changed from bright smiles to tightly-drawn lips and wide eyes, and it made him shudder. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No, it's fine. Tell us another."

"The store..." He paused, concentrating. Strange, he didn't usually have trouble remembering these things, but it must have just been his headache. "The store clerk stood and... stared at me in stupor."

"I would too after what I've seen," one kid muttered, only to be shushed by another.

His heart gave a pained jolt. "Wh-what?"

"Nothing!"

He didn't like the way they were talking—it reminded him of... something else. Someone else. Another child stepped closer to him, looking down at him with a furrowed brow and frightened eyes. He felt the sudden urge to scoot away.

You're in danger.

---

"Wh...where am I supposed to go?"

"Just in through these doors."

"Okay... Why do I have to come back here to the doctor, though? I feel fine."

"Nevermind that. Do you remember what your father told you to do?"

"Yeah! The fun phrases. I know a million of those!"

"Good."

"Would you like to hear... w-wait, who are all these people watching? Wh... what are those?"

---

The fish were swimming in circles and starting to make him dizzy. He rested his head down in the cool grass, but it did little to help. "Oh... sorry. I'm not feeling so good. I should be going home..."

"You can go home soon. Tell us another first."

"Ugh... My mom... m-my... mother makes a... marvelous... meat... mincemeat pie." Recalling these phrases was starting to feel like what he imagined pulling teeth felt like, but a lot less fun. Was his mother missing him now? How long had he been gone? "I... really need to go home now."

"No you don't."

His eyes shot open, and he shivered as he stared down at the fish. "Wh... what did you... say?"

"Don't try to move. You'll be all right."

All of the fish watched him eagerly... but the turtle was still waving its front feet even more frantically.

---

"Don't worry about that."

"N-no! I know what those tools are—I've read my dad's books. You're gonna hurt me!"

"Nonsense. Just lay on the bed and you'll be fine."

"No, I don't want to! You can't make me!"

---

The ship heaved up and down with the swell of the waves. His insides rolled with it, and he remained lying on the coil of rope, waiting for his stomach to stop lurching and his head to stop aching.

"You stopped. Keep going."

"Ugh... The newt... nuzzled in a... n-narrow... nook."

"Good."

"No, it's not, Crackers! I don't feel good..."

"You're fine, squawk! Try to distract yourself."

"Okay..." Opening one eye, he raised a shaky hand, lifting the end of the rope and making it snake through the air, though it shuddered all the while. It was a lot more difficult than usual... Normally he could lift several objects at once, and delighted the crew by juggling them. He felt like he should be able to do other things too, but what?

---

"Oh mercy! He's going to kill someone!"

"Caligosto, if you don't stop this at once, I will call your father!"

"So call him! I want him here! Why didn't he come with me?!"

"Oh no, he's trying to light the chair on fire—"

"Go get the earmuffs, now."

"MOM! DAD! WHERE ARE YOU?!"

"GET THEM NOW!"

---

The sun was covered in clouds, and the humid air brought a promise of rain. Why were the other kids still here? Surely their parents would have called them home by now. He wished they would. Surely his mom would have called him, too, wouldn't she?

"Tell us another," one girl asked urgently, taking a hesitant step forward.

His head was swimming. "I-I don't wanna..."

"Tell us now."

Focusing, he managed to force his mind to concentrate. "She sniffed... and s-smelled... the stirring storm."

"Good, tell us another," one fish bubbled from the water.

A sharp pain like a broken tooth filled his skull, his insides felt sick, and the rain was beginning to fall. "I... I can't..."

"Tell us, Caligosto."

"B... Bernie read a book... b-by the... ba—babbling brook." He wanted to wipe the rain from his face, but he felt too exhausted to move his arms. "C-can I go... home..."

"Squawk! We're not to shore yet. Give me another."

He stared up at the blurred vision of the bird. "Why...?"

"Do as you're told."

"Th-the... hummingbirds... hovered... a-and hummed in... heavenly..." His voice broke off into a choked sob. "I wanna... no... I wanna... go home..."

"Caligosto?"

---

"I WANT TO GO HOME!"

"Get it on him, get it on—"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

"Where did he go?!"

"The monster's turned invisible!"

"I WANNA GO HOME!"

"There! Put it on right—there!"

"STOP, I WANNA—"

---

"...go home!"

He blinked.

"You are home, Cali," his mother said, beaming down at him with a wide, pearly-white grin.

"I am?" Blinking again, he looked around. Indeed, he was in front of his house, with his parents both standing on the front porch, as they had been when he'd left. On top of that, his head didn't hurt and he didn't feel sick. "I... I am!"

"You're all done with the doctors now," his father said, smiling. "We're so proud of you!"

"You... you are?" He stared open-mouthed; his father had never told him that before. "I'm all done?"

"Yes you are, dear." His mother knelt down, but he didn't come closer—something was making his hair stand on end. "Almost."

His stomach twisted.

"Just tell us another, son."

"N... no..."

The smile on his father's face faded. "Do as you're told, Caligosto."

"N-no... no, no..." He tried to shake his head, but couldn't. "I... I want to go home..."

The pain was coming back, spiking through his head, and he cried out.

"We're going to lose him—"

"No, just a little more."

"No," he sobbed. "No, no! Mom! Dad!"

The park was flooding. The fish were swirling around his head. Waves crashed over the boat.

He had to do something. Anything.

Focusing with everything he had left, he tried to think, tried to move something, tried to make something burn, tried to call for help—

Did—did you hear that?

Cali?

The agony peaked, and his vision turned orange.

---

"Ooooh... ugh..."

"Is this safe?"

"It's safe for us. The psilirium will keep him under control during the procedure."

"But can he still hear us?"

"Son, can you tell us one of your funny phrases?"

"Sure... grass grows greener in the graveyard."

"You see? He'll be fine."

---

There was no park.

There was no pond.

There was no ocean.

There were several doctors staring down at him, a great many more people seated in the theater behind them, and an empty feeling within him.

Something was gone. Something important.

"How do you feel, Caligosto?"

His brain was slow to work, and he could not form the words, but if he could have, he would have answered:

Like... a cavity.

#dr loboto #loboto #caligosto loboto #psychonauts #my art #my writing #fanfic #who let me in this fandom

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embrassemoi · 4 years ago

Text

No Body, No Crime ✁ 1

AU - Y/N L/N is a second-year law student attending Stanford and studying under Professor Aaron Hotchner. Along with his associate attorneys, Ms. L/N is alongside some of the most ambitious and cutthroat law students in the nation. However, her life gets flipped upside down as she’s thrust into a life of murder, sex and lies.

Main Pairing: Spencer Reid x [F]Reader

Content — Mature themes, blood, major and minor character death, violence, angst, triggering themes, bad coping mechanisms, drugs, mental health shit, alcoholism, lots of smut, language, fluff, mystery, thriller, mentions of cheating, canonical typical themes , dark academia vibes, explicit content - read with caution

DISCLAIMER: This story will contain MATURE content. It will include themes such as smut, violence, etc (see content). If you are not 18+ and unable to handle such themes, respectfully, please exit this story. It is not my intention to make readers uncomfortable or trigger them in any way. If you continue to read the story despite the multiple warnings, I am not responsible for any triggers that may pop up.

Also, based off this blurb!

I am also not a law student, so there is bound to be misinformation!

【 ao3 | Masterlist | Playlist 】

CHAPTER 1: Death and All His Friends

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Blood, she thinks, you never really know how much blood is in a person. Logically, she did know; she had to learn how many pints there were in the human body from med school and the mass amount of profile study cases. From looking at crime scenes, reading textbooks, medical journals and fake charts; blood has never bothered her, if anything, she got used to seeing and being around it.

There are roughly about ten gallons of blood in the average adult, but typically, losing more than forty percent will result in death. That was about two thousand millilitres.

But, you never realize just how much blood a person can hold, not until a human is slaughtered like an animal, eyes glossed over, body turned cold and stiff — splayed out in front of you. It seems like a lot more than what was described.

There’s a saying, bleed like a pig. Well, she understood what it meant now.

God, she sounded like Spencer.

“What are we going to do with the body?”

“Let’s leave it. We need to go back and clean!”

“No, let’s bury it.”

A chuckle of utter disbelief forces its way out of Derek’s mouth in a rush. It’s both strained and ragged and sounds as if he’s about to burst into tears, but the shock and anger seem to immerse deep in his bones and control his actions. His head shakes subconsciously, “You’re — you’re fucking joking, right? It’s the middle of winter! Tell me how the fuck we’re going to bury a body when the soil’s hard?!”

There’s a collective panicked sigh that goes through the group as the implications finally start to settle in.

“Be any louder!” Emily half-shouts. She paces back and forth, the freshly fallen snow crunches under her shoes as they leave footprints in their wake. Her hands make extravagant hand movements, almost in an attempt to speak with her actions. But, the only thing that has Y/N somewhat grounded is the rusty blood on Emily’s hands. The stark contrast of her pale skin against the deep red does nothing but make bile rush to her throat.

“The body is what gets us caught!” JJ cuts in through her half-sobs.

“The one time it snows in California! Since when do we get snow?!”

Sticky, cold, dry, flakey blood. It brings too much attention to the blood painting her body in a cruel, evil painting. Y/N lifts a shaky hand as she turns to observe the way the pads of her fingers were stained red. Underneath her fingernails, she can see the blood caking, dried underneath and can feel the heavy liquid travelling up her sleeve.

Her fingers pressed together before a hand shoots up, trying to pick off the blood in a hasty attempt.

Everything was uncomfortable — too uncomfortable and it was sticky and disgusting and there was too much happening. Her brain was overstimulated and all she wanted to do was yell or cry or strip herself clean from these heavy clothes, hiding the blood drenching her underneath. A hand went to claw at the fabric — she needed to breathe — she needed air and it was too tight and —

The falling snow had finally come to a stop, the ground becomes muddy, wet snow being tracked all around but aside from that, it’s dry out. Panic is slow seep within her body, only just registering the dull, prickling ache that travels up the side of her right arm. Not to mention the pounding in her skull felt like someone had taken a power tool, drilling a burl hole into the side of her head in hopes of creating a make-shift lobotomy. On instinct, her hand reaches up to her temples, massaging small circles in hopes to find relief.

But then she catches sight of her hand again from her peripheral vision, or rather, it’s as if she can feel it laminating her skin. Blood.

Now there must be smeared streaks of dried blood coating her face. Fuck, now she really feels like throwing up.

A soft wail can be heard in the background somewhere, but it sounds distant and underwater. She thinks it’s JJ. Her high-pitched cries are loud and she thinks that’s Derek’s voice yelling at her and god… it only amplifies her headache.

She needed an aspirin, Advil — maybe Spencer had some.

Her mind wanders back to the group. Emily… Emily — she’s — Y/N doesn’t know where Emily went actually. She could have sworn she was by the trees…

She continued to pick at her skin absentmindedly, and now she couldn’t tell where her blood started and the one that was sprayed onto her ended.

And Spencer, he’s pacing and hadn’t muttered a word since they left Hotch’s house. His body language is closed off, his hand rubbing up and down his arms in either a self-soothing method or because it’s cold out. She assumes it’s the former.

The one time — the one fucking time the asshole is supposed to be smart, his IQ magically drops below zero.

Everyone is arguing and they all hear the faint cheers, laughter, early fireworks and music blaring in the background. The sound of the bonfire crackles in the distance and all she can do is drown it out. She was supposed to be having fun. She should’ve been visiting home, or maybe studying of fucking Spencer, not wearing shoes twice her size, gloves to cover up her fingerprints; not trying to come up with an alibi and there definitely shouldn’t be someone else’s blood clinging to her. She should’ve been anywhere but here. It’s too much.

Lightheaded, Y/N stumbles backwards, supporting herself against a nearby tree. The shadows and black coat camouflaged her, engulfing her into the night and she feels an odd sense of comfort by it. But, it does anything but calms her down as her chest begins to rise rapidly up and down.

Oh god, oh shit, shit, shit! They’re all fucked — she’s fucked. Her DNA is all over the crime scene. The crime scene is on her and probably under the body’s fingernails. There was no way she was getting out of this. It wasn’t even her fault and look where she is.

She should’ve listened to her Grandparents; don’t go to law school, it’ll turn her into something she’s not. Y/N smiles twistedly thinking about it, they were right.

You can’t get away with murder.

Shit, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

“We need to stop wasting time,” Emily announces, appearing remarkably calm.

“W-we should call the police,” Y/N mumbles in a shaky voice. Her voice hitches and she sucks in a cry.

All of their heads, besides Spencer’s, whip over to her; she’s on the verge of breaking — possibly even running off and going straight to the local police station. Her phone suddenly feels heavy in her pocket.

“What we’re not going to do is that! Do you want to spend the rest of your life in jail?!” Derek exclaims. His mouth goes to open again before he suddenly halts, looking over to Spencer and shouting. “Ayo, kid-fucking-genius, could you, I don’t know — think?!”

The yelling makes her shrink in on herself. Yes, call the police, turn yourself in. Obstruction of justice; tampering with evidence, manslaughter, attempting to hide a body, invasion of privacy, possible perjury — all this leads to incarceration and more time. Maybe she could even get a deal, say that she was in shock, dealing with PTSD. Immunity! Maybe she could strike herself and Spencer an immunity deal.

God — they killed her. They murdered someone.

Immense guilt bubbles its way through her before she turns to gag on air. Her hands clutches her stomach as she heaves, distantly hearing the arguing background.

“— about Hotch?”

“What about him? He’s going to put us in jail himself. If we’re lucky, he’ll kill us so we can skip a life sentence!”

JJ cries louder. God was she fucking annoying.

“He doesn’t give two shits about her —” “Could everyone just stop for a fucking moment,” a new, irritated voice cuts in. It sounds like it’s been pushed through gritted teeth, muddled by straining and holding back tears. It’s Spencer.

His eyes shut, the palm of his hands pressed harshly on them before rubbing them hard. But, they travel up to his forehead and through his hair, pulling down so hard that Y/N would be surprised if he didn’t already lose a chunk. But within a swift motion, he crouches to the ground in a fetal-like position; the balls of his feet roll back and forth, making his entire body bounce in small rhythms.

He’s having a panic attack, judging by the way his breathing cuts in and out in large volumes, hyperventilation bound to happen soon.

The entire group stays silent before Derek has enough. He walks up to Spencer, a hand clutching his jacket which forces him to stare straight into his eyes.

“Don’t treat him like that,” Emily tries to cut in.

“If you don’t give us something good within the next few seconds, you better pray to god —”

With newfound determination, Spencer meets his eyes with a fiery look, his chest puffed out a bit and his voice is even.

“We burn it.”

━━━━━━━━━༻✈︎༺━━━━━━━━━

Friday, August 29th, 2003

Palo Alto, California. Apartment 7

Four months before

A clanging sound reverberates throughout the empty hallway for the third time within the last five minutes. Her keys.

An annoyed sigh involuntarily leaves her lips as she struggles to lift the stacks of heavy boxes in her arms. Her attention was drawn to a bulletin board near her door. A missing person’s photo was plastered, marked with an eye-catching red border. Printed underneath a photo of a man in bold letters: George Floyet, twenty-five-year-old student at Palo Alto University. Last seen on July 30th, 2003.

When Y/N L/N was fourteen, she vaguely remembered people asking her where she saw herself in the next ten years. Now standing outside her newly rented apartment, sweating as she juggled a stack of large boxes without tripping — well, she certainly hadn’t thought this.

Life had many ups and downs, as cliche as that sounded. She hadn’t expected to graduate university with an English and Human Physiology degree, nor had she expected into medical school before ultimately deciding to take the LSATs, pursuing a career in law.

Truly, had Y/N used one word to describe her career ambitions at the moment, she’d say she’s pretty fucked and clueless. Although, she’d liked to consider herself fairly motivated, resilient, perhaps even strong-willed and quick on her feet. Scratch that, if anything, the one thing she did pride herself on was her ability to compose herself quickly and the want to overcome fear. It was a motto, of sorts, which she’d been sticking close to: going with the flow.

If anything, those were the attributes that built the foundation of what anyone needed to become a successful lawyer. Yes, that made her situation sound a lot less… pathetic.

But certainly, standing in the middle of a corridor in a shitty apartment with walls too thin to save money on rent, she’d consider herself pretty pathetic.

Oh, the joys of moving.

Just as she felt one of the boxes tipping, the sound of shuffling fills the hallway. A pair of large pale hands come out of nowhere, swiftly catching the stacked cardboard boxes with ease.

When she looked up, she hadn’t quite caught a look at the man in front of her as he bent down to pick up her keys. But when he finally stood straight, eyes locking, she took note of his features

He was tall, much taller than herself and dressed in black slacks and a light lilac dress shirt which was pushed up by the sleeves. He was young, probably the same age as her or younger. He was wide-eyed, almost doe-like and wore a nervous yet seemingly gentle expression.

“Hello,” said the stranger. His hair was rumpled as if he’d just woken up as darken eyebags accentuated his face. His face was sharp, features dark — but in a soft sharp way that made the shape of his nose and lips the most noticeable. Pink lips, a tired look, pretty face.

This stranger was friendly and very attractive. That was her first impression of him.

“Hi,” she replied, a bit breathless from the weight of juggling the boxes. But still, she smiled and her head tilted to the side slightly.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were my new neighbour, I hope you don’t mind me helping, you looked like you needed it,” he says nervously, his extra free hand goes back to rub the back of his neck.

Y/N’s eyes shoot over to the door at the end of the hallway, conveniently next to hers: apartment 8. He must've heard the banging against the doors and walls, and suddenly, she felt guilty. She must’ve woken him up.

“Haha, yeah! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud.”

“No! It’s fine.”

Now, both stand there a bit awkwardly before she coughs, which has him nodding and fumbling with her keys in his hand, “Er — I have a couple of minutes before I leave for work, do you still need help?”

“Right, yes!”

Y/N hands him over her other box, her hand taking the keys back as she clicks open her door. The smell of cleaning products filled her nose along with the smell of old books. It’s spacious, considering what she’s paying for it. It’s a flat, aside from the bathroom and kitchen and there’s a small balcony that’s connected with another set of railings outside. The view of green trees and flowers could be seen and suddenly, Y/N considers herself lucky when she’s realized the place she’s snagged.

The man trails behind her, setting the boxes down on the kitchen counter before dusting off any non-existent lint off his pants. His eyes quickly scan the area, in an analytical fashion.

He clears his throat, “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

She nods too, walking back up to her door to lead him out. “Likewise, neighbour.”

This time, a real smile crosses his face before looking down sheepishly, a small tint covering his cheeks. “Please, I’m Doctor Reid — but please, call me Spencer.”

“Doctor?” Her face lights up with curiosity. This man looks as young as her, younger — and she’s only twenty-four.

“Oh, I don’t practice medicine,” he quickly adds. His hands go to fiddle with each other, “I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187,” he explains. However, it’s not in a blatantly rude manner — like he’s trying to flaunt it. If anything, he looks embarrassed. His head drops to look down at his shoes, trying to make himself appear smaller, seeming uncomfortable. But like she said, Y/N likes to believe she’s quick on her feet.

“Well then, Doctor,” she teases, which has him going a deeper shade of pink, “I’m Y/N L/N, I have no PhDs, I used to practice medicine and I have an IQ of — probably a hundred or less.

At this, Spencer visibly relaxes as a deep chuckle makes its way out. He nods again, making his way out the door and does a small wave before disappearing back into his apartment. Y/N leaves her door open, but her back is faced towards it as she hears his door click back open and she feels the vibrations of his door closing before the tapping of his feet becomes more and more distant.

There are a dozen other boxes she ends up hauling in, but she’s noticed that Spencer must have somehow carried a few of the boxes to the top of the stairs rather than just leaving them in the lobby.

As she wipes down the surfaces, music blasting through her earbuds before unboxing her new bed frame, a smirk crosses her face; cheap rent, enrolled at one of the top law schools in the country, has enough money saved for the next few months and a cute, tall, polite and a fucking doctor that just so happens to be her neighbour — damn, Y/N doesn’t mind this at all.

【 Next Chapter 】

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spexirou · 19 days ago

Text

Like a few months ago my pal read me like a fucking book. Evil. Stilll thinking about it.

Idk shit from ass abt stardew valley, I tried to get into it, it’s just not for me, but the SPRITES they sent me hit me like a truck that man sexy as hell I like NEED to hit him with a cartoon mallet and make a splat sound and then HE would get a hammer out from his hammerspace and hit ME and then I grab him by the collar a

#haha jk #loooool #lol lololol.#he’s such a bad bitch thoughnhhh #help meeee #I tried to get into stardew but it just not for me but oh god silly nefarious guy pls let #let me hit #morris stardew valley #stardew valley #sorry to my other friend on here who loves stardew lmao xoxoxox #the lobotomy can’t come soon enough

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petitelepus · 4 years ago

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Yo, LL manages to save their liason from the SG universe, what's the (rescue +) aftermath like? I want to see some angst with the bots as their liason is completely broken and traumatized and quite possibly a little bit insane and won't trust anything anymore.

WARNING: ABUSE, STOCKHOLMS SYNDROME.

"How's it going Brainstorm, Perceptor?" Rodimus asked as the two scientists worked their afts off in an attempt to save you from their evil counterparts.

"Just about done captain!" Brainstorm said while inputting codes into the supercomputer they had prepared for the occasion. The bright orange mech nodded, before looking and scowling at your counter version who had been tied in the strictest straitjacket after their attempt to sabotage the rescue.

"You're all wasting your time!" They shouted before cackling like a fucking drunk hyena. "There is no doubt that Rodimus, my Rodimus threw your little liaison to others to play with. You'll be lucky if liaison will be even able to talk after what others have done to them!"

"Shut up!" Rodimus was having trouble keeping his anger in check. Your evil version had been living with them who knows how long and honestly, every mech and femme in Lost Light felt fooled by your evil side's fake facade that they used to trick the crew.

The only one who saw through them was Whirl and no one believed him because it was Whirl. It took a long conversation with Cyclonus who appeared to be the only one who believed the empurata survivor and together they had tricked your evil side to show their true dark colors.

"Alright, I think we are done!" Brainstorm finally exclaimed and he joined Rodimus and Perceptor at the base of their universal portal gun.

"Are you sure it works?"

"Absolutely. Two of the greatest scientist made it after all." Perceptor nodded and Brainstorm beamed at being called genius but the situation demanded everyone's full attention. Rodimus nodded as he called everyone to come where he was. It didn't take long for the rescue party to get there.

Whirl and Cyclonus had been among the first ones who wanted to save you, followed by Megatron as he felt it was his fault that you had ended into this whole mess. If you hadn't become his guardian then you would never have ended in such a mess back on Earth. Drift was there also since you had been abducted while he was watching after you. He had to come. Ultra Magnus wanted to come, but someone had to look after the spaceship and he was honestly best suited for it at the moment.

Taking in all the mechs ready rescue you, Rodimus picked up your evil twin and nodded to Brainstorm and Perceptor. "Start it up."

The two scientists entered coordinates and the huge machine rumbled as it collected electricity all around itself until it reached its peak and shot out a beam that tore the line between the two universes apart. The Autobots looked at each other and lead by Rodimus they entered one by one into the other evil universe.

"Find them quickly, the longer the portal is open the more it might twist our realms!" Perceptor shouted. Rodimus looked at Megatron and Cyclonus. "You two stay here and watch that no one comes or crosses the universe!"

The two former Decepticons nodded and took their spots around the tear, protecting it the best way they could. Rodimus glanced at Drift and Whirl. "We will stay together since we don't know what we are against here."

"I tell you! Murderers, manipulators, and assholes, but mainly murderers!" The other you yelled and Whirl squinted his only optic at the evil human. "If it was left to me, you would be dead fleshie!"

"Oooh, I'm so scared! Don't you think my Whirl hasn't tried that before?" Other you grinned wickedly. "I can't wait to see what he has done to my better half."

"You little-!"

"Calm yourself Whirl!" Drift placed a hand on the blue mech's shoulder. "We must work together now. Don't let them get under your armor. Don't give them the upper hand."

The flyer glared at other you, but nodded and pulled back as the three of them ventured into the other Lost Light. Everything looked the same except for some occasional dent on the wall or suspicious-looking splat of energon. They had no idea where you could have been.

"Hey?" Drift said your other self and they shot a glare at the swordmech. "What?"

"You can make this easier and tell us where our liaison could be."

Your other half grinned maliciously. "Oh, there are way too many places! They could be a wet splatter of blood on a firing range where Deadlock likes to shoot anything that moves and has a heartbeat."

"Rung could have taken a liking to them, but where there is Rung there is Whirl close by. If not, he might have taken doctor's privileges to practice some lobotomy perhaps?"

"The best thing to them maybe if Tailgate got his hands on them first. He likes humans, has had a TON of them as pets. You know when you see something so cute you wanna squeeze the life out of it? Petite things we humans are, aren't we?"

"Fragger is enjoying this!" Whirl shouted in fury, but then they all heard something. Clapping. The three Autobots quickly looked at the source of the noise and saw a dark blue mech at the end of the hall, clapping his hands together as he emerged from the darkness.

"My, I see that you got yourself a nasty case of a disobeying human there."

"Rung?"

"Eyebrows?"

"No one has called me that and made the same mistake twice." The other Rung smiled and looked at the other you.

"Liason." He smiled, "My how I have dreamed of seeing you tied like that."

"Psych," Your evil version nodded towards evil Rung, but they didn't stop there. "And psycho."

Suddenly another mech emerged from the darkness, this one red and-! Empurata survivor. Whirl's only optic widened as he took in his counterpart. The red mech glared back at his blue version and tension rose. Rodimus cleared his intake to get the bad guys' attention and he lifted other you for them to see.

"Listen, we just want our liaison back and you can have yours back." The orange Autobot said and the blue Rung tilted his head. "Really now? Give us a reason to switch."

"Well... This one is yours and you have ours?"

"Ah, you sound so juvenile captain Rodimus. Much like ours."

"Enough, where is our friend?" Drift stepped up and Rung smiled as he took a step aside and let red Whirld open his cockpit. The three good Autobots were shocked to see you there, sitting inside the evil mech's chest, unconscious but otherwise unharmed. There was a click and Whirl suddenly pulled his gun out before anyone could stop him and pointed them at the evil Rung and Whirl.

"Hand them over or I'll paint the walls with your energon!" The flyer shouted. Rung chuckled and gently picked your unconscious body from his partner's cockpit. "You wouldn't shoot us when we have your precious human on my arms?"

"Try me."

"Whirl, no!" Rodimus and Drift shouted and your evil twin laughed, "Yes, shoot them!"

The blue Autobot growled but in the end, he lowered his weapons. "Just... Give them back."

"Hah! You're just as stupid as you look!" The evil you laughed wickedly, "Like Hell these bastards would-!"

"You have a deal." Rung suddenly said and everyone froze as he picked you up. Your evil counterpart turned their wide gaze into their Rung. "What the fuck!? You're going to give up so easily!?"

The mechs ignored you as Rung approached the good Autobots and held you for them. "Take them. We want what's ours."

"You can't be serious!" Evil you shouted as they were handed to their own Rung. They glared at the psychiatrist and grinned viciously. "You will never break me...!"

The blue bot smiled maliciously right back at them. "Darling, you should know that I enjoy challenges." He glanced at your rescue party and smiled. "It was a pleasure working with you. Give my best regards to my counterpart. I'm sure he will enjoy his time with your liaison."

And just like that, the evil Autobots turned and took their leave, while your counterpart kept insults coming on everyone. Rodimus looked at you in his hands. You looked so weak and vulnerable, his spark ached. Whirl felt the same way, but he would never tell that.

"Roddy, we have to go now!" Drift pulled both bots out of their pity party and they all quickly returned to the portal, only to be surprised by the number of unconscious mechs lying around in Megatron's and Cyclonus' pedes.

"We got company so we took care of them," Megatron said and it was enough for them all. They all went through the portal back to your universe and as soon as they made it out, Perceptor shut the gap between your worlds. As soon as they were safe, Rodimus transformed and drove as fast as he could to the medbay where Ratchet was waiting for them.

"Please, heal them!" The captain cried and Ratchet took your body into his hands and laid you on the surgeon's table. He carefully took in your vitals and came to the conclusion that you were perfectly healthy. Some bumps and bruises, but no broken bones or serious like that. At least with your body.

"I don't see anything wrong with them. No matter what happened, they kept our human in good shape." Ratchet said and Rodimus sighed in relief. The sensation was short-lived as you started to come by. Rodimus was beaming happily as he watched your pretty eyes flutter open and take in the surroundings.

"Wh- where...?" You stuttered weakly as your eyes fluttered open and you looked around but when your eyes fell on Ratchet and you suddenly screamed bloody murder.

"I'm sorry Ratchet, I'm sorry!" You cried in horror and quickly twisted your body so you were kneeling before the medic and to everyone's horror you started to bang your forehead against the hard solid metal bed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I don't know what came to me! I didn't mean to offend you!"

"H- hey, stop!" Rodimus shouted grabbing you before you could do any damage but you had managed to cut your forehead as blood dripped down your face. The moment your eyes landed on Rodimus and registered what you were sawing it was like a switch was clicked in your head.

"R- Rodimus!" You cried out before you suddenly hiccupped and your body went limp before suddenly jolting up like you had gotten an electric shock. "P- please captain...! Let me go...!" You whimpered like you were afraid for your life. Speechless Rodimus glanced at the medic and Ratchet nodded, already comming to Rung to quickly come to medbay.

"I'm here!" The orange mech exclaimed as he stepped inside the medbay and your eyes locked together. Rung's optics widened behind his glasses and you smiled coyly at him.

"Rung...! My beloved, where were you hiding all this time? Why did you leave me alone?" You looked at Rung like he was your own personal universe and this sent alarm bells ringing in the mech's head. You were friends but you never talked like that to anyone. You attempted to jump to him but Rodimus quickly caught you before you could break anything.

"How long have they acted like this?" The psychiatrist asked and Rodimus placed you into Rung's hands. "It was like they were a completely different person!"

The orange mech blinked at you as you winked at him. "Will we have fun with Whirl again, master Rung?"

Rung swallowed hard as he looked at you and smiled lightly. "It's okay, I'll take you to our room and change a couple of words with captains." He said and just like the switch was turned in you, you suddenly turned fearfully of everyone surrounding you. "Pl- please no! R- Rung, no, please, don't leave me alone!"

The psychiatrist tried to give you to someone else even for a second but the moment he tried that, you turned defensive, kicking and sending everything else flying instead of letting them touch you.

Not seeing any better way out of their situations, you were locked into your old habsuite while Rodius, Megatron, and Ultra Magnus went to Rung's private meeting.

"You won't like what I have to tell you." The orange mech warned and Rodimus scowled. "So just tell us! That's wrong in them!?"

"Well, captain... The liaison was exposed to extreme situations that their mind simply couldn't handle on their own so they resorted to finding shelter from my and Whirl's alternative universe versions. By the way she reacted, I think she was manipulated to believe those two sought only their best interest, making them ignore all the red flags and learning to appeal to other Rung's and Whirl's liking."

"So...? They fell for your twins?" Rodimus asked.

"It's called Stockholm Syndrome back in Earth. It means that the victim developed feelings like loyalty, sympathy or even love towards their captor." Rung explained and Megatron groaned. "I'm familiar with those cases."

"You had someone fall for you?!" Rodimus gasped and the grey mech gave them a small nod. "Not for me per se, but some war prisoners would switch after learning the truth of the Decepticon cause."

"How do we treat them Rung?" Ultra Magnus asked, "You're the only one with so much knowledge of this."

"I'm afraid there isn't some miracle pill that could heal them." Rung shook his head and corrected his glasses. "Therapy sessions as much as I can offer and light medication incase they developed a depression or anxiety. I also must treat them for post-traumatic stress disorder that they probably suffered from other evil counterparts' treatment."

The captains and Magnus shared a look and they all nodded, agreeing with their decision. Megatron looked at Rung and nodded. "Do whatever you can Rung."

#transformers #mtmte #transformers mtmte #rodimus prime #megatron #rung #whirl #ultra magnus #cyclonus #drift #abuse #stockholm syndrome #anon #request #shattered glass

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lookatmysons · 4 years ago

Text

M a r i a n H a w k e

Fanmix

“Why is it always Hawke to the rescue?”

1. The Hand That Feeds - The Crane Wives

“My papa was a howling man, traded in his youths. Sold his dreams and all of his days for the great American ruse- and my dear papa gave me lessons in regret, said all that he’d done would be for nothing if I followed in his steps,”

2. Body - Mother Mother

“Take my hands, they’ll understand; take my heart, pull it apart, and take my brain, or what remains, and throw it all away, ‘cause I’ve grown tired of this body; a cumbersome and heavy body.”

3. Dread In My Heart - Mother Mother

“Oh, I wonder what it’s like to be the type who doesn’t burn. The kind who fights the good fight, not the kind you’ll find fisti-fuckin’-cuffin’ in the dirt.”

4. Ghosting - Mother Mother

“I’ve been ghosting, I’ve been ghosting along, ghost in your house, ghost in your arms. When you’re tossing, when you turn in your sleep, it’s because I’m ghosting your dreams.”

5. Cough Syrup - Young the Giant

“If I could find a way to see this straight, I’d run away, to some fortune that I should have found by now. I’m waiting for this cough syrup, to come down.”

6. Hard Times - Paramore

“Gonna wonder why you even try, hard times gonna knock you down and laugh when you cry. These lives, and I still don’t know how I even survive hard times-“

7. The Kids Aren’t Alright - Fall Out Boy

“And with the black banners raised as the crooked smiles fade, former heroes who quit too late,”

8. Fake Happy - Paramore

“And if I go out tonight, dress up my fears, you think I’ll look alright with these mascara tears? See, I’m gonna draw my lipstick wider than my mouth, and if the lights are low, they’ll never see me frown.”

9. Sinister Kid - The Black Keyes

“And that’s me, that’s me, the boy with the broken halo. That’s me, that’s me, the Devil won’t let me be.”

10. Peach (Lobotomy) - Waterparks

“Pardon me, cutting sleep; I’ve taken up grinding teeth. You’re why I’m here.”

11. Weightless - All Time Low

“Manage me, I’m a mess. Turn a page, I’m a book half-unread. I wanna be laughed at, laughed with, just because. I wanna feel weightless, and that should be enough.”

12. Seven Devils - Florence + The Machine

“Seven devils all around me, seven devils in my house. See, they were there when I woke up this morning; I’ll be dead before the day is done.”

13. I’m Not Calling You A Liar - Florence + The Machine

“There’s a ghost in my lungs and it sighs in my sleep, wraps itself around my tongue as it softly speaks.”

14. Howl - Florence + The Machine

“Now there’s no holding back, I’m making to attack; my blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out.”

15. Smoke Signals - Phoebe Bridgers

“I buried a hatchet, it’s coming up lavender. The future’s unwritten, the past is a corridor. I’m at the exit, looking back through the hall, you are anonymous, I am a concete wall.”

16. Which Witch - Florence + The Machine

“Who’s a heretic now? Am I making sense? How can you make it stick?”

17. Way down We Go - KALEO

“Oh, father, tell me, do we get what we deserve?”

18. She’s the Prettiest Girl at the Party, and She Can Prove It with a Solid Right Hook - Frank Iero

“You’re on my mind, and the things that you say hurt me most of the time, but I’m sinking fast, it’s alright.”

19. Sedated - Hozier

“Something isn’t right, babe. I keep catching little words but the meaning’s thin- I’m somewhere outside my life.”

20. Eyes on Fire - Blue Foundation

“One more word, and you won’t survive- and I’m not scared of your stolen power, I see right through you any hour.”

21. Some Nights - fun.

“But I still wake up, I still see your ghost, oh Lord, I’m still not sure what I stand for.”

22. Kiss With A Fist - Florence + The Machine

“A kick to the teeth is good for some, a kiss with a fist is better than none.”

23. Half Hero - Oh Land

“Always in the middle of it, one foot forward, one to the left. What will I become from this? Half hero, half thief.”

24. I Am the Fire - Halestorm

“I promise to myself, me and no one else, I am more than this. I am the fire.”

25. Therefore I Am - Billie Eilish

“Stop, what the hell are you talking about? Get my pretty name out of your mouth; we are not the same, with or without. Don’t talk about me like how you might know how I feel.”

26. Champion - Fall Out Boy

“And I’m back with a madness, I’m a champion of the people who don’t believe in champions.”

27. Float On - Modest Mouse

“Don’t worry, even if things end up a bit too heavy, we’ll all float on alright.”

28. The Kids from Yesterday - My Chemical Romance

“This could be the last of all the rides we take, so hold on tight and don’t look back.”

29. Tell God and the Devil - Solas

“The Gods don’t venture down here, the Devil lost your name, your life hangs in the balance on this fragile human chain.”

30. Arsonist’s Lullabye - Hozier

“When I was a child, I heard voices; some would sing and some would scream. You soon learn you have few choices; I learned the voices died with me.”

31. Butttercup - Jack Stauber

“Fine, electrify mine, electrify my golden tooth. Can’t look at your eyes without sparking some.”

#Spotify #this could really be either hawke #i just main marian #marian hawke #garrett hawke #hawke twins #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age 2 #dai #da:i #dragon age two #dragon age hawke #hawke x varric #da2 hawke #dragon age fanmix #dragon age playlist #spotify playlist #spotify fanmix

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drprettyboyspence · 5 years ago

Text

You’re a Hero, Spencer Reid

Dr. Spencer Reid/reader

Summary: Late one night Spencer comes home from an especially difficult case. His girlfriend Y/n persuades him to talk about it. Inspired by the JJ/Will episode “Sick Day” (Season 12 Episode 2) This takes place during Season 15.

words: 4.9k

warnings: mentions of violence, mental illness (basically the amount of violence in a regular cm episode), angst, very very light swearing, nothing else to my knowledge!

a/n: I honestly love that JJ and Will scene so I decided to right one about Spencer. This made up case took we way too long to come up with and honestly I know way too much about lobotomies now lol, but I hope you enjoy!! :)

It’s 12:30 am, Spencer Reid trudges up the stairs to his second floor apartment which he shares with his girlfriend of 5 years, Y/n Y/l/n. His body on the verge of collapsing but his mind hyped up on adrenaline, Spencer pulls his key out of his pocket before unlocking the door, excited to finally be home after an energy-draining case. He knows he should sleep, the team very rarely gets much sleep during a case and the last one had been short but intense, so it’s been about 48 hours since Spencer has slept if he’s being truly honest. Spencer feels as if he’s in a trance, he’s exhausted but he just knows he won’t be able to sleep if he tries. His exhaustion leads him to crash into a chair near the table, causing it to scrape against the floor loudly. Damn it Spencer thinks, hoping he didn’t wake up his girlfriend but knowing he probably isn’t that lucky.

“Baby, you’re finally home! I missed you so much!” Y/n says, appearing out of the shadowy hallway, obviously having just woken up. She gives Spencer a hug and notices the way he holds on to her extra tightly, like he does when he’s feeling stressed or overwhelmed.

“I missed you too Y/n, so much.” Spencer whispers, still enveloping her in a tight hug. The last case had been harder on him than he’s willing to admit, but holding Y/n close to him makes him feel safe, he can’t lose her if he just never lets go, right?

“Are you okay Spence?” Y/n asks after Spencer finally lets her go. She knows the tells, she may not be an FBI profiler but she can tell when Spencer isn’t okay, and right now is unfortunately one of those times. She can see the way he holds her just the smallest bit too tight, she can see his eyes, droopy from exhaustion but darting around the room at the same time, still hyped up on the adrenaline from the case, and the eye circles that have become a signature look for her boyfriend are even darker than usual, showing he’s been without sleep for likely more than a day.

“I’m fine Y/n, really, you know how the job is, it's never easy.” Spencer replies, in a manner that shows Y/n he wants to talk about it, but he doesn’t know how to ask and doesn’t want to be a bother.

“Are you sure Spence? We can talk about it if you want to-“

“I said I’m fine Y/n! Please drop it!” Spencer snaps back at Y/n, regret immediately flushing over his face. He doesn’t yell at her often, and they hardly ever fight, he says he’s seen too many couples separated by tragedy to waste time on silly arguments and quarrels. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to snap at you, I think I’m just high-strung and exhausted.”

“You can’t keep it in Spencer, it will all build up inside and stay with you, you know that. We need to talk about it if it's weighing down on you this heavily, I’ll put the coffee on, it looks like we won’t be sleeping for a while.” Y/n says warmly, walking across the kitchen to switch on the coffee machine. “Okay Spence, start at the beginning…”

40 hours earlier

“All I’m saying JJ is that you aren’t even giving science-fiction a chance, its not all-”

“Spence I honestly don’t care, I refused to go to comic-con with you back in the day and I still refuse now, but you can take the boys, they’d love to go.” JJ and Spencer abruptly finish their conversation as they walk into the round table room and see the rest of the team staring back at them with solemn looks on their faces.

“Let’s get started please.” Emily says promptly as JJ and Spencer take their respective seats at the table, everyone focusing their attention on Garcia.

“Alright my crime-solving friends today’s devilishness comes to us from the one, the only, sin city itself, Las Vegas, Nevada.” Long-time members of the team glance sympathetically at Reid, knowing how difficult it can be for him to go home, especially now that his mother has been moved closer to Virginia. “Those pictures on your tablet now, they are of Dolores Smith, the fifth victim in a series of what appears to be lobotomies gone wrong.” The team winces, remembering the last time lobotomies had come up in a BAU case.

“The fifth victim? Why weren’t we called in earlier, lobotomies aren’t exactly a common occurrence, even in Las Vegas.” Rossi asks.

“This unsub has been driving his victims out into the desert, even crossing state lines, victim number two, Susan Atkins, she was found in Utah, almost 400 miles away. They simply didn’t put it together until the last two victims were found in Las Vegas.”

“Garcia, anything connecting the victims, they seem to be of different sexes and ages.” JJ asks.

“Yes, this is where it gets tricky, all five victims were schizophrenic patients at Bennington Sanitarium.” It was like a chill went through the room.

“So they were all patients at a mental hospital?” Luke says, clearly confused about the strange energy currently in the room.

“Tell them Spence” Emily urges.

“Bennington Sanitarium isn’t just any mental hospital, it's the mental hospital my mom was in.”

The coffee machine beeps, interrupting Spencer’s telling of the story, he moves to pour the cups. Y/n places her hand on his knee before he can move out of the chair.

“Sweetheart, let me do it, you just sit here and try to relax, you’ve been through enough, the least I can do is a pour a damn cup of coffee for you.” Y/n picks out Spencer’s favorite mug, a Doctor Who one she had bought him for the first Christmas they spent together. They both inhale deeply over the cups of steaming liquid, as good as gold on a late night like this, the 1:20 am flashing over the stove only showing as a reminder that this night won’t be ending any time soon. “Alright, continue.”

36 hours earlier

“So here’s what we know. All five victims had recently been released from Bennington Sanitarium, they were schizophrenic, having been residents of the hospital for ten to twelve years.” Luke starts the discussion as the jet begins its descent into Las Vegas.

“Why were they released?” Spencer responds.

“Garcia, any information you can give us?” Tara asks the computer screen where Garcia’s face pops up.

“My friends, unluckily because of the discreet nature of mental health records, the mistress of all things technological is having a little bit of trouble narrowing in on the information you search for, but from what I can see, all five victims were taken out of the hospital after responding well to medication, I haven’t gotten to those records yet but I will hit you back as soon as I hear anything, peace out.”

“You okay Reid?” Emily asks Spencer as quietly as she can, knowing that this case is surely striking a nerve with him, all these victims sharing a very big part of their life with his mother, she probably knew some of them personally.

“I just have a bad feeling about this, and I tend to listen to those feelings very carefully. Let’s finish this one quick and get back to Quantico.”

“You heard the kid, let’s make quick work of this case and put this bastard away before he can even think about taking another victim.” Rossi states, earning nods from the rest of the time.

“I hate to burst your bubbles my friends, but a sixth victim has just been found in Las Vegas once again, 63 year old Barbara Sullivan.” Garcia popped in.

“Alright change of plans everyone, Matt go to the 5th dump site, Tara and JJ, you girls will go to the most recent dump site, Luke and Rossi will go the morgue, try to get any information you can about the lobotomies, Reid and I, we’ll go to Bennington and get insight into why each of these victims were released and what medicines they were on at the time.

“Sorry to interrupt, but why was Garcia having such a hard time finding the medical records, isn’t that type of thing usually a breeze for her?” Y/n asks. She’d become quite close to Garcia in the years she and Spencer had been together and there was nothing that girl couldn’t do.

“We were having trouble with that too to be honest, mental health records are usually rather secretive, but nothing a hacker like Garcia wouldn’t be able to crack in an instant. Can I have another cup of coffee baby?”

“Of course Spence, anything you need.” Y/n say before filling up another coffee, glad he’s finally relaxed enough to talk freely about whatever happened on this case that was so clearly affecting him.

34 hours earlier

“Dr. Reid, good to see you again, I wish we didn’t have to meet under these circumstances though.” The main doctor at Bennington says, having known Spencer over the years Diana had spent at the hospital.

“Dr., hello. This is BAU Unit Chief Emily Prentiss, we want to ask you some questions about the victims if that would be possible. I know it’s-”

“Excuse me Dr.! Oh I’m sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt! Wait, are you Dr. Spencer Reid of the Behavioral Analysis Unit? I’m a huge fan of your work. Work, oh god you must be here about the recent murders, tragic aren’t they?” A rather hyper man interrupts Spencer. Spencer awkwardly and reluctantly shakes the hand of the stranger, both him and Emily puzzled about this strange interruption.

“Mr. Robbins, if you would, please leave us alone as the federal agents and I have some important details to discuss. Actually, you may go home for the day, your services are no longer needed, see you tomorrow.” The high-strung man nods eagerly before waving once more and leaving. “I’m so sorry about that Dr. Reid, that would be the new data collector and organizer, Mr. Robbins, a bit hyper for my taste, but that man is a wizard with anything technological.” Just as Emily is about to resume questions about the victims, Garcia calls.

“What’s up Garcia? Anything you can tell us?”

“Emily, my sweet, sadly I come once again bearing bad news. A woman has just been reported missing, 54 year old Dana Reeley, schizophrenic, reported missing by her son 20 minutes ago, says he left the house for no longer than 20 minutes, came back to an empty house no signs of struggle.”

“Is it possible his mother is confused, left the house on her own?” Spencer asks, remembering times his mother had been so confused that she went off on her own.

“Definitely not, the doors had protective covers, the mother couldn’t get out by herself, it had happened before. By the way, I’m still having an extreme amount of trouble trying to figure out why the victims were taken out of the hospital.”

“Oh I can help you with that, each of the victims were taken out of this establishment due to the opinions of each of their respective children that they would be better taken care of under their own roofs.”

“Well, uh- thank you unknown male voice that I’m assuming is the Dr. running Bennington Sanitarium, that’s helpful information.”

“Dr. thank you for your time, but it seems we should we getting to the police station.” Emily says, realizing that this probably isn’t a good place for Spencer to be, and seeing his face becoming increasingly distressed due to the implications of the information the Dr. had just given them, if they’re going to need him to use his brain to solve this case they need to get out of here.

“Woah wait one second Spencer, all of the victims were patients at the same hospital that your mom spent years at, they were all schizophrenic, and they were all taken out of the hospital by their children shortly before their murder, that’s a-“

“Hell of a coincidence, I know, and you know me, there’s no such thing as coincidences. This was weird though, like a very small chance that this could be about me, but it was seeming more and more like I was to be more involved with this case than I had thought.”

24 hours earlier

The rest of the team had gone to bed hours ago, but Spencer is still awake, lying in the hotel bed staring at the ceiling. He debates calling Y/n, he tries not to bring his work home, he tries his hardest to keep the purest thing in his life away from the horrors and despair he sees everyday. He doesn’t want to put two and two together on this case, he doesn’t want to believe that this could all be because of him, all these victims, their lives ended early, simply because he decided to join the FBI those many years ago. It had happened before, Professor Rothschild back in 2009 and he doesn’t like to think about it, but Maeve was in the center of a case inspired by him as well. Spencer knows he’s overreacting, he knows he can’t blame himself, he didn’t kill those victims, and he didn’t force the hand of the unsubs, all he can do now is get some sleep so he can use his IQ of 187 to stop this son of a bitch, stop him from killing anyone else, ever.

The sound of a stomach rumbling interrupts Spencer this time.

“Spencer, when was the last time you ate? God knows how long its been since you slept and its probably been even longer since you ate. Tell me how long Spence, please.” Spencer looks down guiltily, knowing that Y/n is going to be mad when he utters his next words.

“I don’t know um I’m having trouble remembering-“ Y/n’s face tells it all, the man with the eidetic memory can’t remember when the last time he ate was. “It was yesterday afternoon, there were bagels at the Las Vegas police station, terrible ones but I ate one of those, figured I shouldn’t be drinking five cups of coffee a day on an empty stomach.”

“Yesterday afternoon? Spencer it’s 2:30 am!”

“Okay so the day before yesterday afternoon I guess, sue me Y/n!”

“Spencer Reid I know you aren’t trying to tell me you haven’t eaten in over 36 hours! You wouldn’t do that to me right? Sweetheart, you need food! What would you like?” Y/n notices that it’s strange, right now in this moment Spencer looks like a small child, shy and embarrassed.

“Um, could you…make pancakes?” Spencer quietly asks. Y/n could laugh, Dr. Spencer Reid, renowned FBI agent who will walk into an interrogation room no problem, is scared to ask his significant other to make pancakes.

“Pancakes is it? Sure thing sweetheart I’ll make pancakes.”

“With chocolate chips?” Spencer adds.

“Now you’re pushing it.” Y/n retorts back with a giggle, beginning to make the batter, if Spencer hasn’t eaten in 36 hours he deserves better than some nasty boxed pancakes, that’s for sure. “So what happened next Spence?”

17 hours earlier

“Good morning Garcia, any information for us?” Luke asks in the morning.

“Oh newbie how I wish it was a good morning, another victim has been taken, 43 year old Richard Saxons, his daughter reported him missing when she woke up to an empty house, hasn’t seen him since last night.” The team looks at each other with confused glances.

“Another victim? But he hasn’t dumped the last victim yet, this is a major change in M.O., do we think the last victim is still alive, we need to rethink this.” Emily explains.

“Okay why a lobotomy? That can’t be the easiest way of killing the victims.” Matt asks.

“Here’s the thing, this unsub isn’t necessarily meaning to kill the victims. Lobotomies began in the 1880s when Swiss physician Gottlieb Burkhardt removed parts of the cortex of the brains of patients with auditory hallucinations and other symptoms of schizophrenia. Later in 1935 Portuguese neurologist Antonio Egas Moniz is credited with inventing the lobotomy. There are numerous negative effects and since the procedure literally involves drilling into the brain to slice up pieces of the frontal lobes, if it isn’t performed by a doctor there’s a very high mortality rate.” Spencer of course rattles off.

“That makes sense with what the medical examiner told us, the lobotomies were crudely done but there was no reason to believe the unsub is a sadist, no signs of torture, the bodies were often dumped with what could be taken as remorse.” Rossi adds.

“Okay so we’re looking at an unsub who’s trying to cure these victims of their schizophrenia.” Tara states.

“We need to deliver the profile.”

“We believe our unsub is a white male of medium build, we believe this because all victims have been caucasian and although there have been cases of serial killers crossing racial lines, overwhelming statistics show he’s most likely white.” Luke begins,

“He has come into contact with all eight victims including the two currently missing, he knew all of them suffered from schizophrenia and were recently released, he waited until they were no longer patients at the hospital , meaning he most likely has a close connection to Bennington Sanitarium and could be tied back to the crimes, if he works at the hospital it puts him between the ages of 25 and 50, he could be the janitor, a cook, any job like that.”

“We don’t believe he has official medical training because the manner by which the lobotomies were performed lacks the professionalism a doctor could use, but he also demonstrates knowledge of schizophrenia and lobotomies in general, which shows he isn’t dumb, most likely can hold down a job.”

“Important as well, we don’t believe this unsub necessarily means to kill the victims, he is attempting to help cure these victims of their schizophrenic symptoms, he may have experienced a loss caused by mental health issues or believes the treatment each of the victims received was inadequate.” Tara finishes the profile, all of the team stepping back into the other room.

“Hey Garcia you’re on speaker with the whole team here” Rossi answers his phone,

“Hey guys, this is just getting more and more strange, I finally got into the hospital records, it really seemed as though someone was hacking me from the inside, but I finally got in and here’s the kicker, all of the records of the victims have been deleted, who would even have access for that.” Garcia says.

“Okay we’ll looks into that Garcia, can you start looking at anyone who fits our profile, has access to the records at Bennington, and has purchased items needed to perform an at-home lobotomy in bulk over the last few months, if the missing woman has somehow survived, this unsub needs at least elementary medical equipment in order to keep her alive, hopefully we’ll see it in his credit history.” Spencer instructs to Garcia before Rossi hangs up the phone.

“You know who might have some knowledge about all of this, that guy from the hospital, I know the Dr. osaid he’s only worked there a few months but maybe he’s seen something, or maybe he’s noticed someone snooping around the online files, we need to go back to the hospital, Spence lets go.” Emily says.

“So Dr., you’re saying Mr. Robbins hasn’t been to work since you sent him home when we were here last? That’s odd. What did you say his name was again?”

“Anthony Robbins, like I said before, he’s an odd guy but does good work, no one around here knows him that well though.” Spencer and Emily nod their heads to each other before Emily calls Garcia,

“Garcia I need a background check on an Anthony Robbins, stat, and send Rossi and Luke to his house, we need to talk to this guy fast, he knows something.”

“Agents, are you thinking he could have anything to do with this? I can’t imagine Mr. Robbins doing any harm to any one, especially not the patients at this hospital, he is always the kindest to them, the schizophrenia patients in particular.” Another call from Garcia interrupts Emily and Spencer before they can answer.

“Things are starting to look a little weird, Anthony Robbins, 37 years old, native of Las Vegas, was born to Linda and Christian Robbins, he had a happy childhood, no signs of trauma or abuse that I can see. He doesn’t have a record, juvie or adult, but his life did change when he was 10.”

“What happened then Garcia.”

“Reid stop interrupting me, you know how I like to tell my dramatic story. When Robbins was 10 his 7 year old brother Charlie was diagnosed with schizophrenia, when he was 18 he was put into care at a mental hospital, not Bennington but a close by hospital.”

“Any interest in alternative schizophrenia treatments?”

“As a matter of fact my dear genius yes, Robbins has been publishing articles for years, and I’m looking at his recent purchases right now, Robbins has been purchasing health care equipment as well as tools needed for an at-home lobotomy, Anthony Robbins is your unsub.”

“Hey Rossi, change of plans, the guy’s our unsub. You sure? Alright you guys stay there in case he comes back, the guy must have a secondary location.” Emily says before hanging up her phone. “Alright Reid that was Rossi and Luke, Robbins isn’t at home and it looks like he left in a hurry, there’s gotta be somewhere else he’s working, Rossi also said he wouldn’t be able to hold anybody in that tiny apartment, there’s no room and neighbors would hear.”

“Okay let’s think, we profiled he may have suffered some sort of loss. Garcia do you see any type of loss in this guy’s recent history.”

“Charlie Robbins, his schizophrenic brother, died two months ago.”

“That’s right before the murders started, that’s gotta be the stressor.”

“Garcia what hospital was the brother treated at?”

“Uh, it looks like a place called Smith Sanitarium, he was there was there for almost 20 years.”

“Smith! I know where that is, it’s scheduled for demolition actually, closed down about a month ago and has been abandoned since, it’s only about a 15 minute drive.”

“That’s the secondary location, let’s go Reid.” Emily says, the two agents rushing out of the room.

“Spence, the pancakes are ready.” Y/n says, pouring syrup over the stack, just the way Spencer always likes them.

“Thank you so much Y/n, I don’t deserve you. I know talking about the case is supposed to make me feel better but I just feel like an idiot. I mean, he was right there the first day we were at the hospital, it was so obvious, why didn’t I see it?”

“Spencer stop that right now, you can’t blame yourself for any of it, you met that man for less than a minute when your mind was focused on researching the victims, there was nothing about him that should have screamed 'mad scientist performing lobotomies to mourn the loss of his recently deceased schizophrenic brother’, you can’t blame yourself.” Y/n reassures her boyfriend while reaching up to rub his shoulder. He begins eating the pancakes in front of him, groaning slightly at the taste of food after going so long without eating.

“I love you Y/n, not just because you’re amazing at making pancakes, seriously these are so good, but because you somehow always know how to make me feel better.”

“That’s my job babe, personal pancake chef and make-Spencer-Reid-feel-better specialist, now tell me what happened next, it seems like you’re almost at the end.”

10 hours earlier

“Alright Reid, the rest of the team and Las Vegas police are on their way and will meet us as soon as they can, but you and I are going to be on the scene first, they’re significantly further away than we are, we’ll have to wait for them of course, this man may not be meaning to kill his victims, but he’s killed at least 6 people nevertheless.” Emily says, driving as fast as she can through Las Vegas towards the abandoned mental hospital, Reid quietly looking out the window. Emily is strapping her vest on when she sees Reid walking towards the hospital alone.

“Reid, no! I told you, we need to wait for backup, it’s too dangerous!”

“Emily you know how much I respect you, but there’s two victims in there and if they’re on the brink of death, an extra 10 minutes is not something we have, I’m going in.”

“Damnit Reid” Emily whispers before running after him.

“Anthony Robbins, FBI put your hands up”, Reid loudly speaks as he walks into the hospital with his gun in the air, immediately seeing two victims in chains.

“Dr. Reid, I’m so happy you’re here! Let’s put the gun down so I can show you the medical masterpiece I have accomplished.” Mr. Robbins says while holding what looks like a grenade in his hand.

“Mr. Robbins I know you think you’re doing what’s right, but this isn’t what your brother would have wanted, these people did not ask for this, they were doing well with the medication, now I need you to put down the grenade and let these people go.” Sirens can be heard from outside and Emily appears behind Reid as well, noticing the grenade in the unsub’s hand, but Reid’s eyes are completely focused on the female victim, a woman with extreme similarity to his own mother.

“It’s such a shame Dr. Reid, I thought you of all people would understand, seeing as you went to Mexico to research alternative medication for your own schizophrenic mother.”

“That was different Mr. Robbins, I was attempting to research homeopathic remedies for dementia, not performing life-threatening surgeries on mentally ill adults.” Emily can tell that Spencer is getting angry, this case being too close to his personal life, they should be stroking this guy’s ego, not angering him.

“Mr. Robbins, Emily Prentiss here, I think what you have done is magnificent! I actually want you to come with us, the rest of the world needs to see this!”

“No, too late, Dr. Reid doesn’t appreciate my genius, so no one will be allowed to. Sorry, agents.” The man says before dropping the grenade. Emily grabs Reid, pulling him out of the hospital while he’s screaming, still not taking his eyes off the female victim. They make it out of the hospital just as it explodes, Reid staring back into the burning building in disbelief while Emily looks at the rest of the team, shaking her head.

At this point in the story Spencer’s voice cracks, tears start welling in his eyes. “I should’ve saved them, it was completely my fault. He was a classic unsub with a god complex and I did exactly what they teach you NOT to do. I let my emotions get in the way and three people died because of it.” Spencer gets out before he starts crying completely. Y/n enveloping him in a hug and allowing him to cry into her shoulder.

“Oh Spence, shh, it’s okay, that was not your fault. That man was holding a grenade, did you force his hand? Tell him to kill those victims, no.”

“But we should’ve been able to save them, we profiled him exactly right, and I ruined it all by raising my voice at him, plus I didn’t wait for the backup we needed, I was too focused on saving a woman who reminded me of my mom.”

“Spencer Reid, I need you to listen to me right now, look at me, okay, you can do that right? Look at me sweetheart.” Spencer lifts his head to look at Y/n, his teary eyes matching her sympathetic ones filled with love. “You, Spencer Reid, are a hero. You’re my hero, you’re a hero for your team, and you’re the hero of all the people you save every single day. Today was not a good day, but how many victims would that man have killed if your team hadn’t intervened. Today you didn’t save everyone, but if you stop now, you’ll never save anyone ever again.” Spencer and Y/n sit at the table holding hands in silence for longer than either of them care to count, before Y/n hears soft snores, realizing Spencer has fallen asleep in her arms, exhausted from the past days and the emotional release of reliving it all in their kitchen. “Come on Spence, let’s go to bed” Y/n gently shakes him awake and helps him to their bed, knowing that what Spencer needs is a good night’s sleep and a lot of love, which she is more than happy to give him, for the rest of her life even.

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds season 15 #criminal minds #reader insert #y/n #criminal minds imagine

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robots-and-writing · 4 years ago

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The Road to Ruin (MTMTE Sunder part 3)

(TW: Needles, Surgery, blood, mind control, yandere, mentions of human experimentation)

Sunder left his beloved's room, human blood staining his hands. His room is directly beside it, and in the corner is a hole where he has a perfect, one way view of his dearest. Their set up is the same as last time, except this time a note is set on their chest. It's handwritten, in his scratchy yet legible handwriting.

"To my dearest most beloved little angel,

My dear, you've been out for a day after those nasty decepticons attacked us. I fended them off but they managed to injure you. I've dressed and bandaged your wounds and I will be back soon with some food and some clothes for you.

Your dearest Conjunx,

Sunder"

It was a messy letter, with a small bloodstain on the corner. But it would serve its purpose well. He checked his human supplies for anything he may be lacking. Blood transfusions ready to go in case of any injuries, water, food, and clothes. There was still more to get but the human would have to wait for them to arrive.

Sunder looked over to the altar dedicated to his beloved. Pictures of them adorned his walls, along with their name all over the walls written in energon. The altar had little keepsakes of them. One of their shirts he had stolen, a lock of their hair and a vial of their blood were his favorites. But his favorite thing of theirs? A recording. Taken without their knowledge back on earth, they had a lover there. They confessed under a tree to their old flame, and Sunder's spark broke in two at that moment. But one good thing came of that confession. A recording of his little angel, saying "I love you, more than anyone else. Despite your flaws and despite mine, we are meant to be."

Those words tasted like the most delicious memories, like the sweetest energon, and like the greatest victories. They repeated in his mind 24/7, and were what motivated him to continue on when it came to keeping as sane as he could be without them by his side.

But despite his best efforts, Sunder couldn't handle being without them. Seeing them with another person made his brain swim with thoughts of violence. He should use his powers to tear that wretched other human to shreds. But something made him stop himself.

What if my dear hates me?

Sunder wasn't exactly the friendliest looking cybertronian. Tall, broad and scary, with spikes and pointy bits sticking out of him, most humans would run away in terror. (Before being torn apart of course.) But after a few human experiments, his idea was made possible. Mnemosurgery works on humans. Not from a distance, that requires a brain module. But it could be done.

His first experiments were unsuccessful. Too many needles meant a full lobotomy and possibly making them brain dead. Too few needles and the results were more temporary and a much more thorough "coding" would be necessary. Some of them bleed out due to him accidentally hitting a major artery. Some starved as he didn't feed them right. And some couldn't handle being an experiment, so they threw themselves off the workbench onto the ground, committing suicide. It was a delicate balance.

At first he didn't want to alter his beloved too much. Just make them despise other humans. Then he realized that would just make them miserable. So then he wanted to make them like him. But that would be too easily undone. He had to go full in. Make him their guardian angel. Make him the only one they feel safe with. He is the only one they will ever love. He is what stops the universe from killing them.

Getting the human was a challenge. He could do it himself but that would run the risk of alerting the other Autobots to his presence and imprisoning him again. He could do something the humans called "Catfishing" but that requires patience. And that is not something he has ever had enough of. He finally settled on a bounty hunter. 10 million shanix, as long as not a hair on his precious human's head is harmed.

He got a ping from a famous bounty hunter. He had the human. "Rendezvous at the coordinates and bring the shanix." Sunder did, and the human was finally in his grasp. Kicking and scratching at his hand, they were a wild and untamed thing. Taking the human back to his ship he pet them gently on the head, far more gentle than he ever had been.

"Who are you? Why was I taken here? Are you going to kill me? I thought Autobots didn't harm us?" He only smiled.

"Are you even listening to me? I'd at least like to know if I'm going to die? Are you really just going to keep on petting me like some pet-"

"You're home now darling. And soon, you'll be whole. We're two sides of the same coin."

"Uh- WHAT? I have a partner, and I love them very much! Besides I don't even know who you are, now put me down before you break my arm or something?"

He deposited the human in a large glass enclosure, with a bed, sink and bathroom and a cup on the side of the sink.

"Is this... an enclosure? Am I a pet to you? Excuse me but I'm a person with a life to live, rent to pay, and a partner to love! I'm not for your sick entertainment!"

Sunder only looked at them with wonder and glee, like a kid on Christmas. He spoke in a spine-tingling, nerve-wracking voice, as if Satan himself was speaking through him.

"You my dear, are a unique creature. Small and insignificant in stature, yet bigger than anything in existence." His words did nothing to soothe them as he leaned in so close his eyes reflected their face like a mirror. "Humans are so short lived, yet manage to reek of sin. Even you! With your small head, and tiny little legs, you have managed to commit the worst atrocity of them all!"

"What did I do?"

"You promised yourself to someone other than me."

Sunder tilted his head in a way that was probably trying to get a better look at them but only brought tears of panic to their eyes.

"I don't- I don't understand! I don't think I deserve to die!"

"Kill you?" The confusion in his voice was true. Had his intent not come through clear with his words? "My dear! You are sorely mistaken. I am your Conjunx! Your other half! Or as humans put it, your husband?"

"HUSBAND!? Sir I hardly know you! And even if I did know you, I already have a boyfriend and I love him more than I will ever love you."

The hand Sunder had on the edge of the clear box the human turned to a fist, shards of glass bursting everywhere. It cut into the human and they hurriedly put their arms in front of themselves to protect their face.

"Now now. That walking pile of sin is far far away now. And there is nothing more you have to do with him."

"But-"

"You're bleeding darling. And while your blood would taste delicious, I can't afford to have you fall unconscious or worse."

Reaching for them with the hand that didn't have glass shards sticking out of it, he held them firmly in his hand and took them to a corner of the room that had medical supplies. Sunder pinned them to the table as they thrashed around with blood dripping everywhere. One limb at a time, he picked the pieces of glass out of them and dressed and bandaged the wounds. Judging by the screams of pain the human made, it stung terribly. Then Sunder moved them to the medical bed and strapped them to it and moved on to cleaning off their face. He patched them up with expert precision as they cried out hoping someone would rescue them.

"Hello? Anyone? Please, someone help me! This can't be happening to me!"

"You speak as if anyone will ever rescue you."

The human finally stopped moving and let Sunder work as his words set in. No one will ever come for them. No one will ever save them. Ever. Ever. Ever.

The human didn't even react anymore to the sting of the cleaning of their wounds. Nor when he set them in his hand, this time loosely and just sat there petting them with a look of wonder and some sick form of love. For once, his mouth was closed.

Sunder looked back on the next two days as a time where he had what he thought he always wanted, but had been in denial of one fundamental truth. Having his beloved is meaningless if he isn't their beloved. Sure they didn't resist his petting, or him telling them all about the last person he ate the memories of. But they never reacted. They only drank when he forced water in their mouth. His dearest didn't even eat and became lethargic and entirely nonresponsive. That's when he knew. It's time for you to be perfect.

That was also the day he realized he had been conned. He woke up and they were gone. All that was left of them was a fresh bloodstain where he had broken the glass a few days ago. The vent nearest to the glass box was open as well, meaning they had truly escaped. Sunder cursed himself and his oversight. But now he had a human to catch.

The first place he checked was his room. And sure enough, there was a stack of boxes the human must have climbed down and the door was open. They must be terrified. If they stayed with me they would be worry free. And they were terrified. Straining his audials, he heard a faint and distant whimpering from a hallway further down.

"Oh dear human, why do you feel the need to run?" He put his hand around the corner of the hallway, just to hear their muffled gasp. "With me, you will never feel any shame from your sinful memories, and you will have eternal happiness by my side."

Now backed into a corner, they stood strong and tall, looking him in the optics with nothing but pure revulsion at him.

"Sunder, eternal happiness by your side? How is that possible?" His hand dented the wall unconsciously. Their words hurt, but he was not surprised. "You tore my family to bits, kidnapped me and forgot to give me anything but water for 3 days! I could never be happy with you."

Yes. It's time now my dear. Now It's time for you to be perfect. He didn't bother trying to hide his smile as he reached his hand towards them. There was no trying to escape him now, they were cornered.

Back in the present, Sunder had been scrawling mortilus' name on the walls in the blood of his beloved. The walls had been written over multiple times, in both blood and energon which made his entire room smell of rust. He checked on the human one more time before going into recharge.

#heed the trigger warnings #mtmte #idw #mtmte sunder #maccadam #transformers #sunder #yandere #my writing

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packsbeforesnacks · 5 years ago

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Inside You There Are Two Wolves || Adam, Cece, Darwin, Nell, Ulfric, & Winn

[Part One | Part Two] [Side B]

TIMING: Sunday, July 19th, 2020, Sunset LOCATION: A clearing in the Outskirts. PARTIES: @walker-journal, @thebickedwitchoftherest, @wardinasrani, @nelllraiser, @big-bad-ulf, & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: The ritual to recover Winn’s memories goes very, very wrong. WARNINGS: None.

Everything was in place, the way it was meant to be, in the small clearing Winn had chosen as the place for the ritual. At first Darwin had been a little hesitant: a memory journey was always tricky, even with just one mind to explore, but travelling through two minds? So many things could go wrong that he refused to think about it, let alone share his doubts with the participants. At least Darwin wasn't alone: granted, he'd guide the ritual, he'd keep the connection stable, but two others would fuel his magic, and the help of Nell and Otto had been invaluable, really; the procedure was fairly simple, but knowing he wouldn't have to rely only on himself made Darwin's task easier. Darwin looked at the four unconscious bodies of Noah, Arthur, Mercy and Winn, carefully arranged on the ground in a sort of cross, their heads touching. Right now they looked peaceful, sleeping a dreamless sleep thanks to the magic they casted, but Darwin knew that was going to change soon.

“Well, here we go.” Darwin addressed Nell and Cece, his lips a thin line. “I'm going to join them. I don't know what we'll find inside, but whatever happens, you two will need to keep the flow of energy going. If the magic stops we could be trapped; it doesn't have to be a lot of energy, but it has to be stable. I, of course, will do my best on my side, but... Like I said, we can't foresee what will happen there.” Darwin wasn't a fan of putting his mind in the hands of others, but Nell had proved to be reliable, and at least they had backup. Speaking of, he turned to Adam (another person he knew would take his task seriously) and Ulfric. “To make this journey possible there'll be lots of magic involved. And we're not dealing with simple humans here, so... Be ready for anything. I'd like for us to still have a body to return to, if you know what I mean.” Sharing a meaningful look with the other magic users, one that let them know he was about to begin, Darwin sat down between Mercy and Winn, and placed one hand on each of their foreheads. “Wish us luck,” he murmured before closing his eyes and focusing, ready to begin.

Certainly, Nell wasn’t Winn’s biggest fan, but she also wasn’t one to stand by and let someone have their memories locked away while wanting them back. Still— the entire memory debacle with August had left her apprehensive when it came to do any magic that might even be remotely similar, and it had only been under the reassurance that she’d be more power source than anything that she’d agreed to partake. After all, her track record with memories and magic wasn’t exactly squeaky clean, and the last thing she wanted to do was make things worse. Nevertheless, she let her magic flow through her to join Darwin’s and Cece’s. “We won’t let you guys get lost in there.” As for possible complications cropping up, that was something Nell had more confidence with. “And we’ll make sure he’s got enough fur on him to survive the winter when it’s all done,” she joked with a deadpan look. Then she was silent, letting her own eyes drop closed as she focused only on giving Darwin the power he’d need, glad that her magic had recovered decently enough after all of the recent debacles.

Adam glanced to Ulfric, feeling the ice-hot burn of the larger man's inhuman presence, a twin to the constant discomfort Winn produced in Adam’s Hunter senses. He had no idea what this guy was, but hopefully the ginger giant was strong enough to deal with whatever Total Recall craziness was about to go down without also being hungry enough to eat the sleepers.

Regardless, Adam listened to Darwin’s explanation of the proceedings carefully, having come to trust the Demonologist’s expertise during a particularly harrowing assignment to close a Hell Rift. This was a complex ritual to say the least. On one hand, it was interesting to see all the folks that’d turned up to help when Winn had… like… a forced brain transplant into Mercy because of bird bookends or something. Most of them, Adam knew, some in contexts that’d given no hint to the abilities on display here.

Nothing like some communal lobotomy to bring folks together.

The axe holstered at Ulfric’s waist hung heavily, seeming to absorb the weight of the situation. In this clearing, the familiar tool would become a tool of execution. There had been more formidable options to choose from in the buried stash of weapons the werewolf had found amongst Celeste’s parents' things, but if the worst occurred here he did not want Winn to go out by a hunter’s blade. In fact, he would’ve preferred not to bring a weapon at all, besides his natural ones. However, there were too many others assembled for this ritual, some of whom he’d never met before and more still who weren’t aware of his true nature. It wouldn’t have been wise to expose himself even if there wasn’t a high risk that shifting would result in the rest of the attendees ending up as collateral mincemeat.

He glanced at Adam, hoping that Winn was right about the boy’s ability to defend himself and the sleepers. The younger werewolf hadn’t given Ulfric any reason not to trust his judgement recently, but he couldn’t sense any shifter in Adam, which did raise questions about why he’d been chosen to take up the role of bodyguard opposite him. Returning his gaze to Darwin, he paid close attention to the spellcaster’s words, wanting to keep the chances of anything going wrong as low as possible. He’d never even considered taking a fellow wolf’s life before Winn’s request, and he was still vehemently disinclined to cross that threshold. “Lykke til,” he nodded solemnly to Darwin to indicate that he understood both the content and gravity of his instructions, wishing him luck as he joined the four in their slumber.

Winn sure had assembled a ragtag group of people together to get this job done. Cece recognized a few of them. Mostly, Cece was just happy to not be the one leading the charge for this mental magic. Cece had more experience with taking memories than piecing them back together. She was fairly confident that she could do it, if required. But having someone specialize in it was way more helpful. Plus, as far as safety went Cece would much rather be chilling outside of Winn’s body instead of roaming around in that head of his. She didn’t need to know all that information.

Luckily, this Darwin fellow was taking the lead and Cece was more than happy to be a power conduit. She sat cross-legged on the forest floor, peaking an eye open at the group surrounding Winn. Into the dreamworld they go, Cece supposed. “Just a heads up to any non magic users,” Cece glanced over at Adam, and probably Ulfric, “If you haven’t been in any spells like this before. We know you don’t use magic, but we can still borrow some of your strength to help the spell. So just keep calm and focused with us. All of us will be happy and healthy at the end with everyone participating.” If things went smoothly. Did things ever go smoothly?

Wind blew through the forest as the ritual thrummed to life. The bodies of the sleepers were illuminated in the late afternoon sun cutting through the curtain of the trees overhead. The air buzzed with the presence of the magic, and, if anyone had been watching Winn’s face closely, they would have noticed a frown on the werewolf’s face.

Then, the crackle changed, the mood of the energy shifting down into something darker. Mercy’s face, previously serene, was frowning now, too. The ritual was underway, and the sleepers were making their way through the dreamscape. But then, the unexpected happened.

Winn sat up, and opened his eyes. There were no signs of life from him, other than the steady up and down breathing of his chest, the unblinking stare into the middle distance, and the way that, if you looked closely, his fingernails were lengthening, slowly, into claws. Behind him, something like a black mist rose from the centerpoint of the spell, covering the ground like rolling fog.

The forest had gone cold.

Even though Nell wasn’t the most comfortable with memory magic, she could feel the way it was shifting between them as Darwin worked, feeling it take form and shape as she quite literally powered on, keeping her intentions in line with what they were trying to accomplish here. But her eyes opened as she felt the twist in it, a potential unwanted result coming to fruition bringing her own little frown to her lips to unknowingly mirror Winn’s and Mercy’s. “Something’s happening,” she said aloud, eyes already scanning the faces of those that had been put under for this mission for anything that might tell a story as to what was going wrong. As she watched, she locked onto the claws sprouting from Winn. “Adam,” she spoke with a warning tone in her voice, tilting her head in the direction of the werewolf’s hands. “His claws.” She wouldn’t tear herself away from Darwin and Cece just yet, not when it seemed there was still the potential to keep things under control.

Adam, sage of the arcane that he was, could generally identify a couple key indicators of when wizard shit was headed sideways. For example anything with creepy children or dramatic laser beams into the sky was like DEFCON 1 as far as Satanic tailgate parties went. Bloody writing on the wall in ancient languages was a good indicator that someone needed to be shanked back into their home dimension, as were well-endowed chicks with psychic powers making narcoleptic predictions about the ‘master’s arrival.’

Black mist? Bad Sign.

Hot Turkish girl saying his name in a way that really made Adam feel….

Oh wait, bad sign today.

Damn it Nell.

Clearly Adam’s secret wolf wrassling skills were needed and the Hunter was quick to hustle to Winn’s side before the sleepwalking…sleepslashing?...of other participants could transpire. He attempted to hold Winn’s arms in place.

Ulfric winced at little as the blonde witch, who he deduced must have Cece, called on them to ‘lend some of their strength’. He’d only just managed to win it back, and with the new moon looming he still only possessed a fraction of what he would when it was full. But if there was anything he’d be willing to lay it all on the line again for, it would be another wolf, one he was bonded to in both word and blood. Bowing his head, he concentrated on keeping his thoughts centred on the desired outcome of the spell, just as he had the last time when he’d been helping Ariana and Celeste before—Focus. That is not focus. He internally chided himself for letting his mind wander away from the present moment, just as Winn jerked upright, claws extending.

Ulfric rushed to his other side without any further thought. The balance of magic had been disturbed and knowing whether his slip in intentions had contributed to it wouldn’t save his friend. “Come on, Woods, you told me yourself you can control this,” he urged the young werewolf, grabbing one arm so Adam could focus his efforts on the other. “You know how!” With his words and thoughts, he willed it to be true, willed that the memories Winn already had access to would triumph over the ones that had been locked away.

“Son of a bitch” Cece sighed. Wolf Winn clearly didn’t want to cooperate as much as person Winn did. Whether this was some alter ego lashing out at the idea of recovering memories or just a reaction to whatever was happening inside of that fucked up head of his, things would turn dangerous real quickly if Adam and Ulfric couldn’t calm him down. “Keep the spell going,” Cece spoke to Nell, breaking off for a moment to rummage in her purse and pull out a vial of powder. She popped the lid off of the vial, pouring the powder onto the ground. She grabbed for her keys, pressing the point against the tip of her palm. She pushed deep, twisting the key until she felt the skin break. She made a fist over the powder, squeezing tightly until blood dripped from her hand and into the powder. She pressed her finger deep into the mixture, mumbling Latin to herself until the new substance began smoking, then she dragged it across the ground, forming a barrier around herself before moving towards Nell.

“This should keep things out for now, but it won’t work forever, if he breaks free and comes after us.” Cece spoke mechanically, not wanting to break Nell’s focus, simply inform her of what Cece had been doing. As far as protection spells went, this wasn’t the strongest. It was purely for emergency situations only. It wouldn’t hold up against an onslaught by wolves. “You can step out, but nothing can get in. Unless they break it.” That cheery thought out of the way, Cece jumped back into her circle and sat back down, joining back in on the spell.

Magic crackled through the air with warning, the fog of the black mist had engulfed the clearing, settling on the ground in an ever-present wash — save for the circle Cece had created. Though, perhaps, outside, the sun was still shining, the rays of ‘light’ coming into the clearing through the trees were violet, the trees themselves becoming twisted and black. The grass beneath Cece’s feet was still green and lit by the sun, unaffected, but darkness fell on the rest of the assembled friends, painting the world in grim tones. Winn, or Winn’s body, was still, for a moment.

But then, Winn let out a gasp of pain as a thicker, darker mist pulsed out of the epicenter of the spell, his form trembling. Eyes that had been glazed over lit up with panicked recognition, as he surveyed the scene before him.

“Get away,” Winn said, fast and quiet, his body shaking against the force of Adam and Ulfric’s hold, now. His breath was golden-hued, slipping out when he spoke. “No time. They’re… coming.” The golden breath, time, was rapidly running out, and the new mist began to curl in and around Winn’s form, covering his skin with a sticky, black-blue liquid. His hands, the first to get covered, curled inward, and began to change. Into… something.

“It’ll… get…. you… too,” Winn grit out, trying to keep the mist from sliding down his throat, infecting him with its magic. His unfocused eyes hinted that the werewolf hadn’t ‘woken up,’ so much as been able to communicate, somehow, through the spell. And then, as the last of his breath wisped away, he coughed and gasped, inhaling a lungful of the mist. It came more quickly now, spurred by this invitation, and Winn’s body, with a growl, began to transform more fully.

It wasn’t the wolf, not quite, there was something… off, about it. Something that seemed to cut angles into Winn’s form that shouldn’t have been there. Elements of both of the werewolf’s forms made it in. The strong, lupine claws, golden eyes, a coat of black, black fur, and big, vicious teeth. But it was lithe, coiled, like a human, and, as it ripped its arms from Ulfric and Adam’s grasps — with a firm snap, like it had broken something — it leapt across the clearing, landing to stand, the mist clearing from its body, but not dissipating, no.

The mist poured out from the creature born from Winn, and into twin pools of black ink. Here, at the confluence of the ancient magic, the sheer power of the assembled casters, hunter, and wolf, the valkyrie’s kindling, and… something deeper and darker, buried in the fabric of White Crest itself, they could come free.

Winn’s dreams gave them form, these half-shadows, and they warped into grisly manifestations. A human, with slashes down his exposed chest. A werewolf, transformed, dripping black blood from its neck. They spared a single, venomous glance at the creature that had once been Winn Woods… and then rushed Adam and Ulfric with inhuman speed.

Nell knew the magical black mist couldn’t have come from their end of the spell, which made her assume this was simply a manifestation of Mercy’s abilities, subconsciously fighting back on this breach to keep their hold on the memories that they were trying to unlock. For a moment, she thought back to Erin’s father and the wish magic they’d faced there, wondering how she’d managed to get caught up in two fury debacles in the last few months. But that didn’t matter now.

Winn’s words and the wolf’s leap didn’t bode well for their bunch, and Nell turned her back on the magic for a split second to launch a blast of magic towards the wolf’s side in an attempt to knock it off balance, hoping to give Adam and Ulfric any time they might need to prepare themselves for the apparently imminent fight to come after the wolf had wrenched itself out from under them. The rest of her magic was still focused on the spell, continuing to be the battery pack that Darwin needed in this moment as she looked over her shoulder at the action, deciding whether or not she should give Cece the reins for a few moments.

Given the tendency of magic to stick a taser up physic’s asshole without using a safe word, Adam hadn’t brought any firearms to Winn-intervention (Winntervention?) just in case bullet trajectories went all non-Euclidean.

Thus, Adam drew two silver versions of modernized Ka-Bar tactical knives, weapons of straightforward brutality and cutting edge material’s science that would’ve made good on Adam’s promise to make Winn’s death as painless as possible.

But even as the lupine nightmare made manifest charged, Adam had a flicker of hesitation in the tunnel-vision that so often overcame him in the thick of combat. Was this thing connected to Winn somehow? Could they hurt it without harming Winn too?

Adam was pretty sure shanking Winn in the soul violated Bro-Code.

Rather than the disemboweling slashes to the vulnerable underbelly that would’ve been standard procedure when face a lupine adversary, Adam met the creature’s charge by rolling to the ground beneath the creature and delivering a superhuman kick to straight to the gut to throw it off-balance and break its stride.

“Can we hurt this thing without hurting Winn too?” the Hunter shouted, flipping alacritously back up to his feet as the wolf manifestation’s claws ploughed deep grooves in the forest floor right where Adam’s had just been seconds ago.

Ulfric only had a fraction of a second to be relieved Adam had gone for the more wolf-like manifestation, before it was nearly on him. He unsheathed his axe and gripped its handle tightly, ignoring the dull throb in his right hand. Unleashing a war cry, he pulled the axe back, in anticipation of striking the shadow man’s side and slicing through his softest parts to fell him like a tree. But Adam’s yell caused him to hesitate, the battle cry withering in his throat as the surprisingly heavy vision collided with him at full force and knocked them both to the ground. Timber! “Yes… a head’s up on that front would be… appreciated!” the werewolf called out to the conscious spellcasters between grunts as he wrestled the manifested figure, pinning its wrists to the wilted grass beside him, the axe dislodged in the fall.

With an almighty thwack! Ulfric headbutted the shadow man and rolled out from underneath him. Regaining his footing and his axe he assumed a defensive stance again, this time he turned it round to the blunt side, ready to dole out non-lethal blows while he waited on the official word from the witches on how to proceed.

Fucking hell, there were dream demons now? What the hell was going on? Something else had to be feeding into this magic. If this was just some form of mental magic it would be easy enough to cut off. Cece poked an eye open, witnessing the scene unfold as her and Nell tried their best to focus on the spell. If they were cut off and the others got trapped, well, that would be hard to explain.

“Kill those things!” Cece yelled out to the men wrestling them. “Just don’t kill Winn. We don’t care about the other things.” It probably wouldn’t have any bad effects on Winn. It totally most likely wouldn’t. Maybe. “Nell, you got any fight in you?” Cece and Nell seemed to be juggling the power by this point. Keeping the spell wouldn’t be easy alone, but it was still better than being mauled by an angry wolf of his horde of fucked up nightmares. “I got this if you want to tag in.”

Winn observed the scene unfolding in front of him without worry. He snarled, rushing towards the circle that the damned witches had formed to protect themselves, and started slashing and clawing at the barrier. His ‘claws’ broke off, faded into mist, and then came right back to settle on his paws. Eventually, he would knock this barrier down, and kill both of them. He would feed his bloodlust.

The wolf felt its own claws scrape into the dark ground, blood dripping and sizzling the grass where it fell. Adam’s assault had winded it, but, given it didn’t need to breathe, this wasn’t much of an issue. The knives — silver. But… Silver couldn’t hurt it. Not anymore. Not since… It howled, a strangled, gurgling sound in the darkness, choked off and dove for the boy, dripping maw bared as it went for the hunter’s side. Tearing into his flesh would be the revenge he deserved. After all, Winn Woods had killed his brother. Why not kill Winn’s friends?

The man, for his part, was faring well against Ulfric. He had been trained to hunt werewolves since he was a child, and, before Winn had taken his life, he was good at killing the beasts. If it hadn’t been for his children, watching, the wolf would have never stood a chance. With fury and power, it reached to grab the axe, black tendrils wrapping around it as its twin appeared in the man’s other hand. Excellent. He slashed at Ulfric, going low, trying to cut into the soft skin of the werewolf’s legs. A wolf that couldn’t run was as good as dead.

Nell didn’t need to be asked twice when it came to joining the fray as Cece held her spells. “Just keep draining me, too!” she called to the blonde, knowing the spell needed power to stay aloft. She knew the men could hold their own, but there was still safety in numbers, wasn’t there? Besides, with Winn’s shadow right up against their barrier, it’d be better to head him off right now rather than wait for him to break through. Not for the first time, Nell cursed the fact that she hadn’t yet gotten her summoning tattoos redone after the skin of her arms had peeled off, knowing this would have been much more to the point if she could have brought in her hellhounds or cockatrice. But it didn’t matter, she was confident she’d be able to take him on her lonesome.

Still she’d had the same thought flitting through her mind of whether or not any bodily harm done to this version of Winn would manifest on the man once this was all said and done. If she could, it’d be prudent to take him down with minimal damage done, just as she aimed to do when she’d been bringing in beasts for the Ring. Before she could do that, she needed to get him away from the barrier before he broke it where it stood. Well— no better way to do that than giving him what he wanted, right? Casting a spell over herself that would temporarily enhance her speed, she darted out the other end of the barrier, away from Winn in hopes of getting him to play a little game of chase. “Come and get me, mutt!” Sorry, Ulf, she mentally apologized should he happen to hear.

So there they were, two sorceresses, sleeping beauty wolf, timber wolf, shadow wolf, evil wolfish wolf, man wolfish wolf, and Adam.

In other news, Adam had just gotten bitten in the side by a dream. Was he infected with imaginary lycanthropy now? Did he now have Winn’s emotional hangups in his bloodstream? Sin rabies? What would he tell his family when he turned into a were-dream?

The Hunter might’ve given the issue more thought if he wasn’t in so much pain. Admittedly part of that pain was from where the dream wolf's maw had sunk into his chest and back. The other half of pain was that these silver knives seem to be doing jackshit as Adam football tackled his adversary from the side to try and knock it off balance, trying to plunge his daggers deep into its underbelly.

Ulfric had the shadow man in a holding pattern, keeping the strangely solid figment of Winn’s subconscious at arm’s reach with the blunt side of the axe. But it was getting tiring, so he was relieved when Cece gave the go ahead to just kill the meddlesome manifestation. That was, until it manifested an axe in its hand out of whatever substance dreams were made of. “Ugh, Drit og dra,” he swore under his breath. If he hadn’t resorted to bringing a weapon along with him, would the shadow man have been able to arm himself without copying his?

He didn’t have much time to contemplate that, as the shadow-axe swung towards his legs and he jumped back narrowly missing the blow. Growling, Ulfric swung the axe at the man’s neck only to be blocked by the handle of his. The two axe-heads caught on each other and the werewolf used the stall in the shadow man’s momentum to charge into him and knock him to the ground, before following through with a savage blow that drove the wedge of his axe into his skull. He dug his boot into the man’s neck as he yanked on the handle to dislodge his weapon from the bone it was caught in, and then left it there as took stock of the battlefield. Cece and the rest of the sleepers remained safely inside the circle for now, with Nell holding Winn off while Adam wrestled with the wolf manifestation.

Ulfric’s first instinct was to assist Nell, since he knew and trusted her and had never gotten round to thanking her properly for how she’d assisted him and the Bennetts. But the boy looked to be in more immediate need of assistance, even if the werewolf was reluctant to throw himself into the fray with anyone wielding silver. “Can you handle yourself?” He called out to the young man, when he finally pulled the axe free, glancing between him and the dark haired spellcaster for any changes in the tactical situation.

Chaos had erupted around the group. While Cece had always been pretty adept at tackling insanity and violence with a more level-headed and calm approach, even she had to admit she was getting a bit nervous as Winn barreled towards the barrier. It hadn’t been made to stop a creature as strong as a werewolf. Luckily, Nell had distracted it and led it away, keeping the barrier as well as the spell safe for now. But things weren’t looking especially optimistic at the moment, with Nell facing down Winn’s werewolf, Ulfric and Adam both dealing with their own troubles and injuries. All while Cece was forced to sit in her little bubble, bored and trying to remain focused.

“Hey could you guys wrap this up? I’m trying to focus here! You’re being really loud!” Cece fucked with the trio outside of her bubble, mostly out of boredom. She wished she could drop a message to the group inside of Winn’s brain to hurry the fuck up as well. They were the ones actually lollygagging. Take any longer and their bodies were the ones that would be getting the real shit end of the deal

Winn turned his attention away from the barrier as Nell darted out, but no sooner had she done so that Ulfric’s axe was buried in the skull of the shadow man. In that moment, both of the other shadows seemed to almost glitch, and Winn cried out in pain as the shadows faded back into mist and wisped into him. He twitched, growled, stood stock-still as the mist covered him. The edges were a little sharper, now, claws longer, looking less and less like a werewolf and more like an abomination. Winn set his sights on Ulfric, chasing him down, claws first, fast and furious with wild abandon.

The wolf, meanwhile, howled in pain as Adam’s daggers sunk into its underbelly, rolling over and up again. It grasped at the daggers with its claws, using its newfound resistance to silver and tearing them out of it, and tossing them haphazardly towards the witch. The hunter had some bite to him, did he? Well… It feinted towards the hunter, before turning and barreling towards the witch, hoping it hadn’t been slowed too much by the wound.

“No good fucking wolf,” Nell cursed under her breath as Winn seemed to give up the chase from her as soon as it had started. Still, at least he’d been lured away from Cece and the magic. And perhaps this gave her more of an opening now that he was distracted by Ulfric. Cursing herself for not thinking of it or bringing them in the first place, Nell whispered a quick few words under her breath to Summon forth what would hopefully be her saving grace when it came to the werewolf— wolfsbane, grown in her own greenhouse and crushed until it could be fit into pill form. She’d dropped the capsules into many an unsuspecting wolf’s drink in a bar while she distracted them, and they’d worked wonders when it came to bringing in fighters for the Ring. Of course...none of those werewolves had been in a raging dream state. What was she supposed to do with Winn? Slather the thing in peanut butter and hope he gobbled it up?

She didn’t have a chance to think further on the matter when a sudden, searing pain erupted from her thigh. Huh. A silver dagger seemed to be sticking out of her, much to her annoyance. Looking up, she saw the last of the knives the wolf had tossed headed her way, and her hand instinctively raised, magic pulsing through the air to stop them in their tracks, and turning them back on the charging wolf.

“I’m good, man,” Adam told the lumberjack guy in the midst of wolf wrassling.

Or at least things were fine until the wolf faked him out and made a beeline (dogline?) over towards...

…where Nell giving Winn diet pills? Sleep aids? Now with 50% less chance of wolfing the bed at night?

Holy shit she just got shanked.

Adam didn’t didn’t really have to give that matter any more thought as he sprinted after the wolf-thing, attempting to football tackle the wolf from behind.

Ulfric nodded at Adam’s assurance and did pause as he hurtled himself in Winn’s direction, swinging his axe in a wide berth to keep the creature that had grown from the man at a distance. It wasn’t enough to keep his unnervingly long claws from scraping along the flesh of his arms leaving bright, burning trails. But the older werewolf kept at it, pushing Winn back in Nell’s direction so they could take him on from both sides. Noticing the vial of what looked to be pills in her hand, he realized her intent to get him to swallow them. Chances of getting that done without feeling the full sting of Winn’s fangs were slim, and even if it wasn’t the full moon, he wouldn’t have blamed the humans for being hesitant to risk that. From the way things were going, hesitancy wasn’t something they could afford. “Toss it,” he called to Nell, jerking his head back to indicate that she should go long as he dodged another swipe of Winn’s talons. “I can do what needs to be done.” Soon Woods wouldn’t be able to brag he was the only one who’d gone and got himself deliberately bit. That alone would make it worth it, even without the bonus hopefully putting an end to the nightmare the ritual had unleashed.

Things were getting pretty boring, leaning back and supplying power while all the others were battling werewolves and dream demons in shit. Not that Cece would rather be battling it out with any of them. That shit looked hella dangerous and- did Nell just get impaled with a dagger? Damn. She didn’t let it bother her though, and kept on trucking. They seemed to have a plan. Or a semblance of a plan at least. Cece had a guess what Nell had summoned, but it didn’t matter much at this point what it was as long as it worked. If the group could get that shit inside of Winn, then they may have a chance at calming the asshole down. Honestly, Winn was even more unbearable asleep. From her bubble, there wasn’t much Cece could do to help the group rangle the wolf. But she might be able to distract it, as long as she could multitask.

Sound spells weren’t difficult. Trapping noise within a certain space was easy enough. It was helpful for keeping conversations private and blocking out noise. Cece used to use it to focus, it beat the discomfort of noise cancelling headphones. She split the power between Darwin and Winn now, taking a moment to focus on the wolf that was attacking the rest of the group. She drew a circle into the dirt below her while chanting to herself, trapping the sound within a small barrier around the wolf. It wasn’t hard to tell that the other two weren’t exactly normal humans, the last thing she needed to do was blow out Adam and Ulfric’s eardrums too. Once she was confident the noise would only affect Winn, she positioned her fingers at her mouth, mumbling “Heel boy” and laughing to herself before whistling. It wouldn’t look like Cece wasn’t making any sound at all, unless they were in Winn’s bubble, where the high pitched noise must have been deafening to a creature with enhanced hearing.

The wolf went snout first into the ground with the force of Adam’s tackle, struggling against Adam’s grip. It wouldn’t die. Not here. Not like this. Not again. And certainly not to a fucking whelp of a hunter. It gnashed its bloody teeth, still fresh from the blood it had already taken from Adam. It was slowing down, it knew, a side-effect of the wounds the hunter had inflicted. Was this its last gasp? Was it to be forgotten, again?

Winn snarled, then howled loud and deep as the whistle from Cece — fuckin’ witches — pierced his monstrous ears. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move. He needed to fight, needed to escape, needed to kill. But try as he might, he was immobilized. The shadows clung tighter to him, but he couldn’t breathe.

With the knives landed on the wolf, and Adam tackling the dream creature from behind, Nell was free to magic the wolfsbanes pills straight into the hand of Ulfric, leaving no room for error as the glass vial rocketed towards him, making a beeline for the ginger wolf. Ulfric would be alright to get in down Winn’s throat, right? There was a kernel of worry gathering in her gut, but she didn’t have the time to pay it any attention while there was still a shadow wolf gnashing away, currently connected to Adam. Looking back to the pair, she couldn’t help but wonder when the wolf had gotten hold of the Hunter, another flicker of worry flashing through her as she saw the initial wounds that had been dealt to her friend. Mental note. Healing party after all this bullshit is done.

Speaking of healing, the fucking knife was still lodged in her damn leg. Maybe she could use that, though. Sure, you weren’t really supposed to take knives out of wounds until you were ready to heal them, but the sooner they ended this— the sooner she’d be able to stitch herself and the others back together. Gritting her teeth, Nell pulled the dagger from her thigh, stifling the gasp that wanted to break free from her as pain once again made itself known. “Adam!” she called out before tossing the knife his way, figuring it might be a welcome sight in dispatching the wolf. The silver hadn’t seemed to hurt the thing, but Ulfric’s shadow man had withered away under the axe, right? First the vial, now the dagger, she really should have looked into more shot put in highschool with the way this scuffle was going.

Adam knew that there were two main methods to kill wolves. One was slow and cruelly tactical, a painful crippling that permitted an inclined hunter to track the victim back to other prey. This was typically accomplished with heavy jacketed AP ammo, though a serrated tactical knife could serve with some freakish strength behind it. The prey would typically panic in the agony of the steadily worsening wound and their instinct to run would in fact seal their demise, as circulation did the Hunter’s work for them.

The second method was the to maximize internal tissue trauma in the shortest period possible, singular swift brutality. Softer tipped bullets were usually employed for this, as they mushroomed inside the body cavity and killed very quickly. But this method was admittedly much harder to accomplish with a knife.

Earlier this year Adam would’ve likely gone for the first method, maybe even enjoyed the savage simplicity of it. Growing up, Adam had been warned in vain to not get addicted to the adrenal rush of combat. A Hunter is merely a servant fulfilling a duty, and taking pleasure in regrettable necessity was the quickest way to fall from grace. After dad died, Adam had backslid in a big way. The consequences spoke for themselves.

As he’d been taught, Adam mentally visualized a six inch deep wound through the chest into the hard knot-like heart. The Hunter locked his legs around the wolf-beast he was wrestling, pressing down on its lungs. With one hand, he lunged directly under the wolf’s jaw to grab its throat directly on the trachea, muscles knotting and straining like bruised wire as Adam tried to twist the nightmare-thing’s unnaturally large maw away from him, grimacing as its thick moist breath sent hot splittle across his face.

Ignoring the searing pain of the seeping lacerations the wolf’s thrashing claws had raked open during their wrestling match on the forest floor, Adam called upon the rote mental exercises of training while his breathing settled into a staccato tempo. Pain, the filth caked mud, the ritual, the other combatants, and Nell’s blood still sliding down this blade all faded. For a moment Adam and the wolf seemed completely alone, nothing else existed. Almond shaped amber eyes met the human’s cold jasper stare in a split-second of understanding before a dagger’s plunge snuffed out their light.

Once the frigid metal of Adam’s dagger was the only thing left of the wolf’s form, the air shifted, again, the black mist of the creature fading back into Winn. Winn howled, once more, in pain, as though this much power was too much for him. He fell to the ground, writhing, twitching as the force of the shadows overcame him, the force of the screeching from Cece’s spell blistering in his ears. Howling cut through the sky, through the clearing.

There was a hand in his mouth, shoving something down his throat, and Winn chomped down hard into the skin of Ulfric’s arm, but the deed was done.

Winn’s body convulsed as the wolfsbane took effect, not even magic able to overcome the werewolf’s weaknesses. Eventually, the shadowy form collapsed, maw first, onto the forest floor. The woods were silent, the mist was fading. Winn Woods was facedown in the dirt, bruised and bloodied, but breathing.

And the dreamers were waking up.

Blinking, Noah opened his eyes, the adrenaline of their kissing making him grin. “Winn?” Noah called out to his boyfriend next to him, rolling over to poke the other, before panic overtook him. Where was Winn? Something was wrong.

#wickedswriting #para #Adam #Cece #Darwin #Nell #Ulfric #Inside You There Are Two Wolves #Chain of Memories

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fleckcmscott · 5 years ago

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Watch What Happens - Chapter 20

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Angst, Swearing

Words: 2,616

A/N: Special thanks to @ithinkimawriter for beta-ing this chapter! She’s awesome and you should check out her blog if you haven’t already!

The doctor at the hospital met with them in his office. Penny had had an ischemic stroke, which weren't uncommon in women of advanced age, especially if they had a history of smoking. It was unknown if the lobotomy had increased the risk. The left side of her body was experiencing severe paralysis, and she could barely stand. She was also having trouble speaking and understanding speech. But she did appear to know she was in the hospital.

Y/N observed Arthur's face as the doctor rattled through the information. The expression he wore was neutral enough, but she saw his neck tighten on and off, and his eyes remained downcast. He was also chain smoking more than she'd ever seen. When the doctor would pause for a reaction or ask a question, Arthur's responses were curt.

"There isn't a need to keep her here much longer," the doctor intoned. "Her life isn't at risk. She should be discharged by the end of the week."

At that, Arthur closed his eyes. Y/N could guess what he was thinking: that he'd be stuck with Penny, again, except now he'd have to do more for her. That assumption must have hit harder than usual, given what he'd learned three days ago. His posture became rigid the longer they sat there. After he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the doctor's wide desk, the doctor stood and told them to take their time, giving Y/N a soft look as he left. As soon as the door shut, she put her arm around Arthur.

He started laughing humorlessly and rubbed the back of his neck. "It'd be easier if she'd died."

"You don't mean that," she said.

"Yes, I do."

She pressed her lips together. "It's normal to have mixed feelings."

“I don’t have mixed feelings,” he replied.

Kneading his shoulder, she chose her next sentences carefully, not wanting to unduly influence him. But she hoped could lift some of the weight he carried. "There are options for her care."

Lighting up again, he furrowed his brow and stuck his pack of cigarettes back in his pocket. "I don't have any money, Y/N," he said tersely.

"There are programs you can apply for."

He scoffed and looked at her skeptically. "They cut all those."

"Federal programs, not Gotham services. They won't be cut because the Waynes or whoever else in this city doesn't want to pay taxes." That made him smile crookedly. "We should be able to get the paperwork from the hospital social worker - they deal with this all the time. We'll fill it out and you can decide whether to submit it or not." At his nearly imperceptible nod, she leaned into him. "You've taken care of her twenty years, Arthur. You've given her enough."

After speaking with the social worker and completing the applications, they walked by Penny's room. He stopped outside, his grip on Y/N's hand tightening. She watched his narrowed eyes, the way he worried his lip. "Do you want to go in?" she asked gently.

Anger flashed across his face, his nostril twitching. But after a few minutes, he released a long breath and shook his head. "No," he rasped. "I don't need to."

~~~~~

After leaving the hospital, Y/N had gone back to her apartment to get her notes and presentation. A lick of excitement went through her as she walked into Matt’s office. What she was about to go over was the culmination of hours and hours of off-the-books work, and she was relieved she'd no longer have to keep the information secret. With all the evidence she'd collected and put together, she thought there’d be a good chance she'd be heard.

She sat on the other side of Matt's desk, wearing her best skirt suit and modestly ruffled blouse, and explained everything she'd found so far: the properties' lack of disrepair; the corresponding dates of the Wayne Foundation's motions and Renew Corp.'s letters; the matches of employees listed on the foundation's tax returns and registered agents of the corporation; and the ridiculous conversation she'd had with one Anthony Mancuso at the gala.

It took awhile. When Y/N was done, she leaned back against the chair she was perched on, unbuttoning her top collar. "So," she said when Matt didn't answer. "Are you going to stop this shit?" She ducked her head slightly to study his expression. He was squinting. And she thought he looked a little glum.

He continued to peruse his copy of her notes, tapping his pen on each line as though it meant something. "Your work is very impressive, Y/N. You put a lot of effort into this."

She smiled widely and let out a long breath. "Thank you."

"But I already explained that we can't simply drop this case."

The initial resistance didn't come as a surprise, but frustrated her nonetheless. "I'm not a lawyer," she said. "I don't have any duty to these people or their organization or foundation or whatever."

His gaze was weary when their eyes met. "They have us on retainer-"

She leaned forward. "Do you really want the Waynes to be able to own more of this city?” As her indignation grew, she stood and stepped behind her seat. "I've looked it up, Matt. Both directly and indirectly, they're the largest landowners here."

"What do you know about the Waynes?" Matt countered. It was one of the few times he had ever sounded annoyed at her. "You're a transplant. Gotham owes them a lot."

Rapidly, she was losing any hope that reasoning with him would affect anything. But she continued to try. Maybe changing her tack would help. "Let's say it wasn't the Waynes," she started, putting her elbows on the high-back. "It's some other temporarily benevolent billionaire. If we win this case, it's going to set a precedent for property to be seized and shoved into private hands. It'll be easier for anyone to do this in the future, again-"

"Y/N, stop."

"-and again." Y/N huffed, gesturing towards him with an upturned palm. "I've always thought you were a good person, Matt. I can't believe you approve of this!"

"It's not that simple. You're experienced enough to know that," he said, raising his voice slightly. "The Wayne Foundation is our largest client. Without their money, we wouldn't exist.” Counting on each finger, he continued. “They're buying your groceries, keeping you in your apartment, allowing you to dress as nicely as you do."

Y/N felt the hair on her neck stand up at the idea she would be "allowed" to do anything. "You're scared of them."

"No,” he breathed. “I'm being pragmatic."

She folded her arms over her chest. "Yeah, well, your pragmatism is going to hurt a lot of people."

Matt stood and leaned forward onto his desk with his hands. It wasn't a threatening posture, but a tired one. "This was the first Wayne case you were entrusted with. You were so damn happy about it." Shaking his head, he sighed. "The other lawyers here didn't think you were ready, but I knew you were. Turns out you were too ready." He chucked sadly. "I'm sorry."

Y/N stilled, her mouth opened slightly. "Are you... Are you firing me?" As she waited for his answer, she mentally went over her financial situation. A couple months of pay were in her savings account, her checking had about a thousand dollars in it. She thought she'd be able to get unemployment, but there was a waiting period, and-

"No. The work you do on the family cases is excellent. I like you. And Patricia would never forgive me." He gestured towards her with his pen. "But other people in this firm would let you go. If you breathe a word of this to anyone else, you will wind up losing your job. Do you understand me?"

Gulping, she looked down at the floor and nodded. "Thank you," she said meekly. A sense of defeat, mixed with relief at still having work, settled in her stomach. It caused her to feel like the smallest person on Earth.

She exited the office before he dismissed her and sat at her desk. She still had her copy of her notes at home. But she didn't know what do to with them. Trying to distract herself, she dug out the list of upcoming family court dates and corresponding files, sinking into the routine of them until her mind went numb.

~~~~

It had been close to seven when she'd gotten to Arthur's, later than she'd told him. She hadn't wanted him to see her upset, thinking he had enough to worry about. He'd kissed her at the door and frowned when she hadn't responded enthusiastically. After a quick sorry, she'd kicked off her shoes and said, "I had a really shitty day and need some time." Then she went straight to the bedroom and lay down. She'd left the door open, though, not wanting to shut him out.

She hadn't been laying long, maybe fifteen minutes, when she heard him approach. Wondering what he would do, she pretended not to notice he was standing behind her, next to the bed. It only took a couple minutes for him to climb in next to her. "Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"Amish."

God, she could tell this was going to be terrible. She rolled her eyes, the corner of her lips turning up. "Amish who?"

"Amished you."

Unable to help herself, she chuckled. When he nuzzled at her face, she twisted her torso to look at up him and drew him down to her mouth. One of his arms went around her head as she kissed him deeply, his other hand holding himself up. "Thank you. I needed that," she said. "Was that an old joke?"

"No, it just came to me. It happens sometimes." He stood, then. "Spaghetti's on the stove."

Stretching, she sat up and followed him to the kitchen. He already had a plate out for her, so she served herself, listening as he continued to talk. "I mailed the forms we filled out."

She scooped sauce out of a second pot. "If you change your mind, you can reject the funding."

"I won't," he scoffed as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

Turning around, she looked to see if he had dried parmesan somewhere on the counter. She didn't find any, but what she did see stopped her. There, in his pile of mail on the breakfast bar, was an unopened red letter. That same terrible feeling of disappointment that Arthur had helped her through returned.

She reached out for the envelope, biting her lip. There was no return address, but she recognized the font Penny's name was printed in. It was definitely from Renew Corp. She wasn't ready to talk with him about this, to admit she'd failed everyone, failed him.

But, she supposed, she was being pushed into doing the right thing. She had a seat at the breakfast bar and patted the stool next to her. He followed eagerly, a puzzled expression on his face. She went over a simplified version of the same explanation she'd given Matt. It came easier this time, having had that earlier practice. Mid-way through, Arthur lit a cigarette and rested his forehead on the side of his hand, elbow on the counter. He seemed to understand well enough, but became quieter and quieter as she went on, staring at the letter threatening to kick him out in ninety days.

"You're going to keep getting these letters. They're trying to bully you." She felt her patience with the situation slip away the more she spoke. "But what they're saying isn't true. It'll take a long time before they can do anything. It has to go through the cour-"

"Is this why you're seeing me?" he interrupted.

Holding the fork just under her mouth, she stared at him. "No. Of course not," she said as she took her last bite of dinner. "That doesn't make sense. This is a legal issue." It was a logical answer, but apparently not the one he wanted. When she reached to touch his bicep, he pulled away from her, taking her plate and going to the kitchen. "Arthur, I found out your building was involved last week."

He started rinsing her dish. "Before or after we-"

"After." Y/N stood but didn't follow, remaining on the far side of the counter.

He wasn't looking at her when he turned around and took a drag off his cigarette. "You should have told me."

She leaned onto the bar with her forearms. "And give you more shit to deal with? Are you kidding?"

"I've dealt with worse," he bit out, flicking ash into the sink.

Her tone was snappier than she meant it to be. "I’ve been working on it for weeks. It's not like I’ve been doing nothing." She shook her head, knowing she wasn't only upset at his stubbornness and refusal to see she’d been trying to shield him. But also at all the time and energy she had put into caring about this case. She was irritated at her powerlessness. And heartbroken at the whole damn thing. Dropping her head to look at the counter-top, she sighed. "Dammit, Arthur. Why can't our first argument be about what restaurant to go to, or what movie to see, or whose apartment we're spending the night at?"

There was no answer to her attempt at cutting the tension between them. He simply stood, unmoving except for the twitch of his fingers as he fiddled with his cigarette. His voice was low when he finally said the wrong thing. "Penny lied to me all my life. I never thought you would."

The cut of those words went deep. Heat went up her neck and face, and she knew she was turning red. "If I had shown up at your apartment, soaking and in the state you were in, telling you to get rid of a razor, would you have told me?"

He flinched at that, but she continued anyway. "No, you wouldn't have." Stepping to the entrance of the kitchen, she threw up her hand. "And don't act as if you've been completely honest. You must have done more than drop off a letter for Thomas Wayne to tell you about Penny's file."

Arthur nodded stiffly, then narrowed his eyes as he smoked. "I need you to leave," he said. "I have to practice."

She folded her arms over her chest. "You're doing this again?" At his lack of response, she slipped on her shoes and started putting on her coat. "Fine. Be angry at me for trying to protect you." Even as the words left her, she knew she didn't mean them. But his obstinacy pissed her off. When she picked up her canvas bag, he went to her and opened the front door.

As she stepped out she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. This entire argument was stupid. They were both wrong and right, in their own ways. And they'd hurt each other. She’d been waiting to see him all day and was loathe to end the evening on a sour note. She turned around to face him. "Hey," she said, consciously softening her voice. His eyes bore into hers as he set his jaw. “Arthur, we’re being idiots.” Then she set her bag down and tried to put her arms around his neck. “Let’s not be angry. At least, not at each other.”

He caught her, gently but firmly, mid-embrace and pulled her arms away from him. "Just go," he said, then turned around and closed the door.

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